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caradecema · 1 month ago

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Flying Too Close to Bob

PART: 2/2

SUMMARY: Diana "Wildcard" Perez was made for the sky, reckless, brilliant, and impossible to ignore. When she's picked to lead a high-stakes mission, she'll risk everything to bring her team home. Even if it means taking the hit herself. Along the way, she crashes into Bob Floyd's orbit and maybe his heart.

Robert (Bob) Floyd x Oc

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0530 Hours – Mission Launch, Miramar

Diana stood in front of her jet, helmet tucked under her arm, the early morning wind tousling the loose strands of her light brown hair. Her blue-green eyes scanned the horizon, steady and focused. The time had come.

“Wildcard.”

She turned to find Maverick walking toward her, his jaw tight but his eyes full of something else pride and worry wrapped into one. Without a word, he reached her and pulled her into a quick, firm hug.

Diana blinked, surprised, but hugged him back.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he murmured near her ear.

She pulled back with a crooked smirk. “Me? Never.”

“Bring them home.”

She nodded once and turned just as Bob jogged up. Their eyes met, and her confident smile softened into something private, something real. She bumped her helmet into his chest.

“Keep your head on straight, Floyd.” Bob gave a shy smile. “You too, Wildcard.”

They climbed into their jets. Wildcard led the mission. Phoenix and Bob were her Foxtrot. Payback and Fanboy brought up the rear. Rooster flew at her wing.

The first half of the mission went off like clockwork.

They dove through canyons, skimming treetops, pushing the envelope at every turn. Phoenix called the target in sight. Wildcard issued the strike order. Bob dropped the payload clean. Explosions lit up the enemy compound behind them like a firework finale.

“Clean hit,” Bob called, voice tight but thrilled.

“Let’s get the hell out,” Phoenix added.

Wildcard was already banking hard right, pulling them back toward safety.

That’s when it fell apart.

“Hostiles inbound six o’clock!” Payback yelled.

“Shit banking left, banking left!” Fanboy echoed.

The comms broke into chaos. Jets split and swerved. Missiles whistled through the air. Chatter layered over each other, indistinguishable, a mess of breathless panic and sharpened instincts.

“Stay tight!” Wildcard barked. “Don’t break formation Phoenix, Bob, stay on me!”

“They’re everywhere!” Payback grunted, “We got two on us!”

“Covering you,” Phoenix snapped.

Wildcard dipped her jet between them, firing off a burst. One bogey went down in a fiery spiral. Another peeled away.

But then Rooster’s voice cracked through: “I’m out of flares! I got two on me they’re on me, Wildcard, they’re on me!”

“Hold on!” Diana growled. “I got you, Rooster!”

She kicked her thrusters and cut across the sky at an angle even Bob winced at.

“Wildcard no wait!” Bob shouted, but it was too late.

She slammed into the path of one of the enemy fighters just as it fired. The missile clipped her wing violently and precisely.

Alarms screamed in her cockpit. Fire. Smoke. She reached down, hand hovering over the lever.

She heard Rooster’s voice: “No! Wildcard! Diana?!”

She slammed her palm down. Eject!

Her seat rocketed skyward a split-second before the jet exploded.

“Wildcard is down! Repeat, Wildcard is down!” Bob’s voice cracked through.

Maverick, still watching the radar from base, went cold. His hand clenched the armrest. “Damn it, Diana.”

The remaining four jets regrouped Phoenix, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy battered, burning fuel, but still in the air.

The sky had quieted, but the victory was hollow.

Wildcard was gone.

The canopy exploded above her, and then she was falling.

The wind screamed past her ears as she tumbled through the air. Trees rushed up to meet her. Branches snapped against her flight suit as she hit the canopy thunk-thunk-thwack! before crashing hard onto the forest floor.

“¡A LA VERGA!” Diana groaned, coughing as the breath was knocked clean out of her lungs. “Me lleva la chingada…”

Everything spun. Her vision blurred at the edges, her head throbbed. Her hand went to her temple warm, wet. Blood. The ringing in her ears drowned out the crackling fire above. The dogfight raged on in the sky, muffled now by leaves and distance.

She forced herself up, clutching her ribs as pain stabbed through her side. “You better be alive, Rooster,” she muttered as she limped to the closest tree for cover.

She pulled out her portable comm. Static. The screen was cracked straight down the middle. Broken.

“Great,” she muttered, eyes sweeping the jungle shadows. She pressed close to the tree, heart racing, when she caught movement a soldier.

Alone. Walking perimeter.

Diana’s eyes narrowed. Her training kicked in.

Quiet as a shadow, she circled behind him. One quick move she pulled him into a chokehold, then knocked him out cold. His pistol, ID, and radio came off in seconds. She tucked them into her gear and started moving.

The jungle thinned as she approached the outskirts of a small enemy outpost. Makeshift, likely forward operating. She crouched behind a shed, heart pounding, ribs aching. Her vision swam but she grinned anyway.

A jet.

Old, dust-covered, but familiar. A relic. A beast.

“Bonita suerte la que tengo.” she whispered to the aircraft as she ducked under the fencing.

She didn’t even make it five feet before two guards came around the corner.

They stopped. So did she. And then she fired. Three bullets, two bodies.

“Still got it,” she muttered, sprinting for the jet, blood trickling down her face.

She climbed in, flipping switches she hadn’t touched in years, fingers dancing over the controls. The engines groaned like a waking bear.

Come on, come on…

The plane roared to life.

Airspace Minutes Later

The fight above was thinning. Maverick’s team was spread out, ducking and weaving in evasive patterns. Hangman’s backup squad was arriving from the south.

Rooster grunted into the comms, “They’ve still got two on me! I can’t shake!”

A jet streaked in from the trees.

Old paint. No call sign. Just speed and fire.

It tore into the dogfight and took out one jet with a straight shot. A second peeled right, trying to escape but a missile nailed it clean in the tail.

“Holy” Fanboy’s voice came in. “Who the hell is that?!”

“Was that?” Bob’s voice cracked.

The old jet twirled through the clouds with wild abandon, flying like it had nothing to lose. Then the pilot’s voice burst onto the open channel, cocky and clear:

“Foxtrot Lead back in the sky, cabrones. Miss me?” Phoenix exhaled sharply, half-laughing. “Wildcard?!”

“Guess I’m harder to kill than they thought,” Diana grinned, adrenaline roaring in her ears.

Hangman’s voice rang in. “Damn, Wildcard you’re crazier than I thought.”

“Save the compliments, Blondie. Let’s finish this.”

With one last scream of thrusters, the sky turned red and wild.

Wildcard was back.

The air was thick with smoke and adrenaline as the remaining jets descended toward base. The sky, once a battlefield, now stretched wide and calm an empty canvas above a sea of steel and runway lights.

Payback and Fanboy touched down first, followed by Phoenix and Bob. Rooster came in next, canopy cracked but intact. The final roar was louder, older Diana’s resurrected relic of a jet screeched across the tarmac, tires shrieking as it skidded slightly, then steadied.

It came to a shaky stop, exhaust hissing like a war beast spent from battle.

On the ground, Maverick stood next to Warlock, Cyclone, and a few high-ranking officers. No one spoke.

Warlock gave a long whistle. “That jet’s not even in our records.”

Cyclone blinked. “Where the hell did she find that thing?”

Maverick didn’t smile, but his chest swelled with pride. “That’s my goddaughter.”

Diana threw open the cockpit, her helmet already off. Blood matted one side of her hair, and there was a bruise blooming beneath her eye, but she was grinning like the lunatic they all knew and respected.

She climbed down barely. Her knees buckled, and for a moment, she swayed.

Then

“Diana!” Bob.

He was out of his jet before anyone could stop him, running at full sprint. She looked up, eyes catching his just as he reached her.

“Hey, Bobby ” she started to joke, smile tilting

and then her legs gave out.

Bob caught her just before she hit the ground, lowering her gently onto the tarmac, cradling her against him. “Hey, hey, stay with me. Stay with me,” he whispered, voice cracking. Her blood smeared across his uniform, but he didn’t care. “You’re okay. You’re okay now.”

She blinked up at him, dazed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You run like a duck,” she murmured, and then

Nothing.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Bob pressed his forehead to hers for a second before the medics arrived. “Don’t you dare check out on me now,” he whispered. “Not now.”

She’d been unconscious for three hours. Bob hadn’t moved from the chair beside her bed.

The others had checked in Phoenix, Payback, even Rooster, who’d muttered a hoarse “she saved my ass” but Bob never left. Not once. He held her hand loosely in his, thumb brushing over her knuckles as the machines beeped in steady rhythm.

Maverick stood at the doorway, arms crossed, watching them. Warlock joined him a moment later.

“She’ll pull through,” Warlock said quietly.

Maverick nodded once. “Yeah. She’s a Perez.”

They stood in silence for a moment longer before Maverick murmured, “Soon as she’s awake, her mother’s gonna kill me.”

Warlock snorted. “You think she’s scared of combat? Wait till Maria gets here.”

They both looked at Diana again bloodied, bruised, but alive.

Alive.

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The soft, persistent beep of the heart monitor kept time with the steady rise and fall of Diana’s chest. Bob had barely moved from his post, one hand gently holding hers, the other cradling a cup of now-cold coffee.

She stirred. A tiny shift at first then a groan, low and scratchy. Her fingers twitched.

“Diana?” Bob leaned forward, eyes wide and full of hope.

Her eyelids fluttered open, unfocused and glazed. She blinked, trying to process the white lights, the IV in her arm, the dull ache in her skull.

And then she saw him.

“Bobby…” Her voice was thick with sleep and anesthesia. “You’re so… symmetrical.”

Bob blinked. “What?”

She squinted, serious as sin. “Your face. Like a very hot calculator.”

Bob flushed instantly, lips twitching. “Uh… thank you?”

She giggled a sweet, dopey sound. “Did we kiss? ‘Cause if we didn’t, you owe me like… three.” Her finger lifted weakly to poke his chest. “Maybe four.”

Bob couldn’t help it. He leaned down and kissed her, soft and quick. “That count as one?”

Her grin turned crooked. “Nope. I was unconscious. Doesn’t count.”

From the doorway, Maverick cleared his throat loudly.

Bob straightened like he’d been caught sneaking cookies in the mess hall. Diana turned her head, eyes heavy-lidded, and beamed.

“Uncle Mav…” she slurred. “I fought a whole country and stole a plane. Can I get, like, an award? Or at least a donut?”

Maverick chuckled, raising his phone and snapping a picture before she could protest. “This is going in your file. Under ‘Wildcard: Certified Menace.’”

Bob muttered, “I should… I should give her some space,” and nearly tripped over the chair as he slipped out.

Diana smiled after him. “He’s so in love with me. It’s disgusting.”

Maverick walked to her bedside, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead like the uncle he’d always been. “Yeah, well… get some rest, Ace. You scared the hell out of us.”

Her eyes fluttered again. She mumbled, “You still owe Mom a visit,” before sleep pulled her under again.

Maverick sighed, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I know, kiddo. I know.”

Three days later she was called. The room was cold and formal, the kind of place where medals were handed out and futures were rewritten. Diana stood tall in her dress uniform, her hands behind her back, bruises still faintly visible under her collar and across her temple. Her flight jacket rested over the chair behind her, stained and scorched but still hers.

Warlock stood beside Admiral Simpson, both of them flanked by several other top brass. Cyclone’s expression was unreadable as always, but even he couldn’t hide the faint note of admiration in his voice.

“You disobeyed direct protocol,” he began. “You re-engaged with a damaged aircraft, infiltrated an enemy base alone, stole an antique jet ”

“And shot down two modern fighters with it,” Warlock added with a smirk, arms crossed.

Cyclone sighed through his nose. “Yes. That too.”

There was a long pause.

Then “Lieutenant Perez, we’ve reviewed your footage and the testimony of your squad. Your reckless bravery saved multiple lives including Lieutenant Bradshaw’s. You took a hit for your teammate, survived enemy territory, and completed the mission.”

Warlock stepped forward. “We’d like to offer you a promotion along with a position as tactical flight leader and instructor, should you accept it. Command is ready to fast-track you if you’re willing to put those crazy instincts of yours to work.”

Diana blinked once.

“Wait… you’re promoting me for nearly dying and stealing someone else’s jet?”

Cyclone gave a half-smile. “Call it… commendable stupidity.”

She grinned, snapping a clean salute. “Then I humbly accept. But I’m not staying grounded, sir. I belong in the sky.”

“Noted.”

She turned and left the room to the sound of her new title echoing behind her. Just outside, Maverick leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

She smirked, stepping right into his arms and hugging him tightly.

��I got a shiny new job and an official stamp of chaos.”

He laughed into her hair. “That’s my goddaughter.”

The squad was lounging near the jets, sipping coffee and pretending not to hover. The moment Diana walked through the hangar doors, cheers erupted.

Rooster whooped, clapping her on the back. “Wildcard returns!”

Phoenix smirked. “About damn time.”

Fanboy and Payback high-fived in sync. “Told you she’d get a promotion.”

“Probably got her own fleet,” Coyote added.

Bob stepped out from the group, looking at her like he’d never seen her before and yet had always known her. Diana, still riding high from the adrenaline of the last few days, walked straight into his arms.

And kissed him.

Not a shy peck, not a soft smile this was a “you almost lost me, and I’m not wasting another second” kind of kiss.

Cheers went up louder than before. Rooster groaned, “Finally!”

Phoenix elbowed him. “Took them long enough.”

Bob pulled back, blushing, but she didn’t let him go. She rested her forehead against his.

“Miss me, Bobby?”

“Like hell,” he whispered.

“Good,” she said, “because I’m not going anywhere.”

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Years passed, but the skies never lost their magic for Diana “Wildcard” perez. She had earned her place, not just as a legendary pilot, but as a respected leader in the program. No longer the reckless rookie who laughed in the face of death, she had become something more sharp, strategic, and fiercely loyal to her team and the life she’d built alongside Bob Floyd.

Bob, ever steady, ever hers, remained her quiet anchor. They found a rhythm, a life full of midnight flights, early morning coffees, soft kisses before briefings, and laughter echoing through the hallways of the base.

Diana took her new position with grace training the next generation of Top Gun pilots, crafting missions with the same precision she once flew with. She still flirted shamelessly with Bob, still called Maverick “old man” with that signature grin, and still kept a bottle of tequila hidden in her locker for celebration days.

One warm evening, as the sun dipped below the hangars and painted the tarmac in gold, Diana returned from a long day of meetings. Her uniform jacket was slung over one shoulder, hair pulled back loosely, eyes tired but alight.

Bob was already in their little shared place off base, music playing low, waiting with dinner and that smile that always made her heart trip.

They sat together under the fading sky, laughter bubbling between sips of wine and murmurs about work and old memories. Diana leaned her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing small circles on his wrist.

After a long pause, she asked, almost too casually, “Do you ever think about starting a family?”

Bob blinked, then gave her a soft, amused look. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Diana arched a brow. “Is that a yes?”

He reached for her hand. “That’s a hell yes.”

She smirked. “Good. Because I’m four weeks in.”

Bob just stared for a beat, lips parting in stunned silence. “You wait. You’re ?”

She laughed, her eyes glimmering with joy and mischief. “Pregnant, Bob. Knocked up. Bun in the oven. Choose your favorite euphemism.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Just stood, pulled her into a tight hug, and kissed her like it was the first time all over again. When they finally pulled apart, she whispered, “Still want to start that family?”

“With you? Always.”

And just like that, Wildcard was getting ready to fly through a whole new kind of mission motherhood with Bob right by her side.

Years rolled by like jetstreams fast, full of noise, light, and memory.

Diana perez never really slowed down. Even with medals, promotions, and the occasional bureaucratic award ceremony that made her want to jump out of a window, she kept moving forward until Bob Floyd became her anchor, and then, their little rascal became her gravity.

Their first child, a whirlwind with Diana’s eyes and Bob’s thoughtful gaze, was born under a sky streaked with jet smoke and celebration. They named him Rafa short for Rafael and from the moment he could walk, he ran. Into the hangar. Onto Bob’s lap. Into Maverick’s arms (usually with a plastic toy jet in hand). Diana called him her “cockpit gremlin.” Bob, who’d once flown into war without hesitation, nearly fainted the first time Rafa climbed up the wing of a grounded jet.

And just when they thought they had a handle on parenting, Diana came home one day, tossed Bob a sonogram, and said, “Better start saving for two more flight suits.”

Twins. One wild, sharp-tongued girl and one observant, quiet boy. Sol and Theo.

Life got louder. Mornings were spent stepping on toy jets and wrangling cereal-covered toddlers. Diana would kiss Bob goodbye with one kid on her hip and another clinging to her leg, only to return hours later to chaos and warmth. She still flew when she wanted still taught, still trained.

But her fiercest pride wasn’t in her call sign or her rank it was watching Bob read bedtime stories to all three of their kids, watching Rafa declare he wanted to be “just like Mom and Dad,” and listening to Sol tell everyone she was going to fly faster than Uncle Mav.

Maverick, of course, had already given them call signs.

Rafa was “Blaze”, always tearing across the ground like his feet were on fire. Sol became “Echo”, because she repeated everything, especially the cursing. And Theo, sweet Theo, was “Owl”, wide-eyed and quiet until he asked a question that stunned even Cyclone into silence.

Diana, standing at the edge of the tarmac one bright morning, watched them race around Maverick’s feet as he laughed and pretended to keep up. Bob stood behind her, arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder.

“You ever think we’d end up here?” she asked softly.

“No,” he murmured. “But I hoped.”

She turned into him, resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of a man who once flew silently behind her but now stood at her side her husband, the love of her life, the father of her impossible, perfect chaos.

“This is everything, Bobby,” she said, eyes tracking their kids. “Everything I never knew I wanted.”

And when Rafa nearly tackled Maverick trying to show off his model jet, Diana let out a laugh that echoed across the tarmac like thunder.

She had built her life in the sky but somehow, this?

This was where she truly soared.

The sound of laughter mixed with the clink of bottles and the distant zooming of little feet. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the perez-Floyd backyard. Smoke curled from the grill where Payback and Fanboy were arguing over the correct way to flip burgers, while Phoenix lounged in a deck chair, sunglasses on and a drink in hand, occasionally yelling, “Just don’t burn them, chefs!”

Hangman was dramatically losing a game of tag to Diana and Bob’s oldest, Rafa, who had clearly inherited every ounce of his mother’s speed and none of Bob’s quiet patience. Behind him, the twins, Sol and Theo, were making a game of tackling Rooster and shrieking with delight every time he let himself fall to the grass with exaggerated cries of defeat.

Bob stood near the patio table, drink in hand, watching it all unfold with the soft smile of a man who had everything he’d ever wanted—and still couldn’t believe it.

Diana walked out from the house in jean shorts and one of Bob’s old Navy shirts, laughing as she called, “Jake, if you lose to a seven-year-old one more time, I’m revoking your call sign.”

“Lady, this kid is half rocket and half chaos,” Jake said between gasps. “I was ambushed.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Phoenix quipped.

Maverick stood near the corner of the yard, arms crossed and grinning like a proud uncle, watching the squad banter, the kids run wild, and Diana teasing everyone with effortless charm.

“Hell of a crew,” he muttered to Bob.

Bob nodded, eyes warm. “Best damn chaos I’ve ever known.”

Diana flopped onto the blanket beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder, sandwich in one hand, stolen from the table. “How’d we get so lucky?” she asked, voice soft under the noise.

Bob kissed her temple. “You picked me. That’s how.”

She snorted. “Damn straight I did.”

As the stars started blinking to life overhead, and someone turned on music low in the background, the whole squad settled into easy conversation and laughter. The kids eventually curled up with blankets and half-eaten cookies, falling asleep as the adults shared stories from the sky and plans for tomorrow’s flights.

It wasn’t just a team. It was family.

And Diana and Bob?

They were the heart of it.

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There were days he still woke up thinking he’d dreamt her.

Diana perez Wildcard in the sky, unstoppable force on the ground. The first time he’d flown with her, he’d barely blinked the whole time, too focused on keeping up, too scared to speak over her fearless, crackling energy. Now she was asleep beside him, her hand resting on his chest, and their son’s small form curled against her side.

Bob exhaled quietly, adjusting his glasses as the sun crept through the window. It was quiet, for once. He could hear the whir of the baby monitor, the distant hum of the base beginning to stir but for this moment, all he felt was stillness. Peace.

He used to think life would always be flying fast and trying not to crash. But Diana changed that. She showed him that even in chaos, there could be rhythm. Even in the sky, there could be calm.

She was fire and hurricane, all sharp words and mischievous grins. She could command a squadron and still remember to pack extra snacks in his lunch bag because she knew he’d forget. She could take out two enemy jets and come home just in time to teach Rafa how to tie his shoes.

And she chose him.

He still didn’t know why. But every time she laughed at one of his awkward jokes, every time she kissed him before a mission, every time she pulled him in close like he was the only steady thing in her world he believed it a little more.

He thought of their twins Sol and Theo, wild and wonderful. Thought of how Maverick beamed when he held them, declaring, “I’m not biased, but these kids are definitely going to be pilots.” He thought of Diana’s grin when she told him she was pregnant again. “So…how do you feel about being outnumbered, Lieutenant Floyd?”

Bob chuckled under his breath, careful not to wake her. He was outnumbered and outmatched but he’d never been happier.

He didn’t need the medals, the ranks, or the recognition. Not really. All he needed was this Diana’s hand in his, his children’s laughter echoing down the hall, the quiet knowledge that against all odds, he’d found his home.

And that home?

Was wild, loud, brilliant and entirely hers.

#fanfiction #friends to lovers #strangers to friends #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick #robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bob x oc #bob top gun x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangman #phoenix #jake seresin

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toaarcan · 2 years ago

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One of my favourite spaceflight facts is that, due to some heavy technicalities on what the universally accepted definition of an astronaut is, and the intense secrecy surrounding the Soviet Union at the time, the entire Vostok program, AKA the thing that first took humans into space, technically doesn't count and everyone just agrees to ignore that.

Submitting my claim that Vostok is actually the cutest spacecraft ever, which is an entirely normal statement.

When they sat down and defined what counts as a successful manned flight, part of the requirements included the astronaut(s) landing in the vehicle. But Vostok didn't do that. Instead, the Vostok cosmonauts ejected from the vehicle after re-entry and parachuted to the ground separately. This continued until the later Voskhod missions, where they ripped out the ejector seat so they could fit more guys inside (and on the second one, one guy and an inflatable airlock so one of them could do the first spacewalk), and put in a rollcage so that landing inside the vehicle wouldn't turn them to goo.

But by the time Voskhod 1 blasted off from Baikonur, all of the Mercury flights had already been flown, so this means that, according to the rules, America technically completed the first manned space flights.

Another technicality was added to the list a couple of years back, when the guys that make the rules futzed with said rules in order to deny Jeff Bezos and Richard Branson astronaut status, because fuck 'em. Now, in order to be an astronaut, you have to actually do something on the flight, otherwise you're just a passenger. And many of the Vostok flights were indeed more like passengers than crew. The Vostok spacecraft is pretty much a big satellite with a passenger compartment and a re-entry module, and it's fully automated.

So why didn't these technicalities get called out? The USA and USSR were never shy about trying to embarrass each other, or make each other look foolish on the world stage. One of the biggest reasons why we know the Moon Landing Conspiracy Theory is total stupidity is that the USSR congratulated NASA on the successful landing, because if it had been recorded on a soundstage in Area 51, the Soviets would've been the first to call bullshit.

Well, part of it is just that the Americans didn't know about the specifics of the Vostok program at the time. Whereas the American space program was a very public affair with cheering crowds showing up to watch every launch, the Soviets were much, much more clandestine than that. Baikonur is in the middle of the Kazakh desert, and the Soviets were keen to lie about anything that went wrong.

When their attempt at a moon rocket, the N1, endured four successive failures on launch, mostly caused by the Soviets lacking the funding and the facilities to properly test the thing, and instead just had to launch fully built rockets and hope they worked, the Soviets simply scrapped the last two and declared that they'd never intended to go to the Moon and were all about Earth orbit instead.

The N1 was actually more powerful than the Saturn V, but because it never reached operational status and the Soviets preferred to pretend it didn't exist, the Saturn V remained the world's most powerful rocket until Artemis 1 flew last year. A similar situation is happening now, with SpaceX's Superheavy being more powerful than the SLS, but also being basically a giant bomb at the moment.

Most Americans had no idea how Vostok worked, and didn't even know what it looked like. They didn't get to see what a Soviet spacecraft actually looked like up close until the Apollo-Soyuz mission in 1975.

Behold, the setting for the most expensive handshake in history.

By the time the full details came out, the world had known that the Soviets did it first for decades, and challenging that doesn't really do much for anyone besides the people that want to go "Um, ackchully" about everything.

Additionally, the rules weren't even written yet at the time, so there's even less reason to start changing shit up now. Vostok might be technically breaking the rules, but nobody cares, and downplaying the immense technical achievements of Sergei Korolev, Yuri Gagarin, and everyone else that worked on the early Soviet spaceflights on account of a rules quirk that wasn't even written yet is just kinda dumb.

(Random sidenote, Korolev was the chief designer of much of the USSR's early spacecraft, including the R7 rocket that carried both Sputnik and Vostok into space, and still carries some of the Soyuz flights to this day. And, like pretty much every major achievement of the USSR, he wasn't Russian. He was, in fact, Ukrainian.)

#Vostok #Vostok 1 #Yuri Gagarin #Sergei Korolev #Apollo #Soyuz #Apollo-Soyuz #N1 Rocket #R7 Rocket #Voskhod #Space Flight #Space Travel #Space #History

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lonestarflight · 2 years ago

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The complete Shuttle Fleet AU

This is just my thoughts about how things might align for Enterprise to be refitted into an operational shuttle. This comes after reading a lot of the behind the scenes decisions and abandoned plans NASA had over the last 40 years. I only listed major events.

It wasn't meant to be this long but I hyperfocused too much on it one morning. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it.

• 1972: NASA started the Space Shuttle Program.

• OV-101 Enterprise: same rollout and testing as our timeline in 1976-77

•STA-099: delivered to Lockheed for structural load tests to simulate the launch and re-entry of an operational orbiter in February 1978.

• Point of divergent: The decision to use STA-099 instead of OV-101 as the second operational orbiter came too late as the frame was already tested to 90% stress load. At this point, it would be too costly to repair and bring it back inline. It was decided to continue testing to destruction (as was originally planned in our timeline), although some parts are removed to be refurbished for OV-103.

• OV-102 Columbia completed and rolled out in March 1980. (NASA doesn't relocate Columbia to KSC in March 1979 in an attempt to speed up her tile installation, which only delayed her completion).

•STS-1 is launched in December 1980 (instead of April 1981)

• NASA gives the go ahead to add Enterprise to the fleet and have her rebuilt after Congress increases their budget, but the work would start once OV-104 is completed.

• 1981: long led items for Enterprise's rebuild are started. This includes a new crew pressure vessel and a new aft-fuselage.

• OV-103, starts earlier and it's production is accelerated with parts salvaged from STA-099 (such as the forward fuselage upper section, elevons and vertical stabilizer). Construction completed in 1982 and christened Challenger.

source

• 1983: STS-7 is Challenger's maiden mission. Onboard is Sally Ride.

• 1983: OV-104 is competed and christened Discovery.

source

• STS-12 is Discovery's first mission.

Note: NASA never uses the STS-41-D format. Where the first digit indicating the federal fiscal year, second digit indicating the launch site (1 was Kennedy Space Center and 2 was Space Launch Complex 6 at Vandenberg Air Force Base), and the letter indicating scheduling sequence. This was due NASA Administrator James M. Beggs's triskaidekaphobia (fear of the number 13). In this timeline, the assistant admins were able to talk him out of it and simply skip STS-13.

• 1983: Enterprise is returned to Palmdale for her disassembled and rebuild. As a weight saving measure her mid-fuselage is returned to Convair for a complete rebuild to bring it inline with OV-103 and OV-104.

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• 1985: at long last, Enterprise is rolled out and joins the fleet. She weighs about the same as Columbia despite weight saving implemented during her rebuild.

• 1985: Columbia is returned to Palmdale for refurbishment and to remove testing equipment (most notable is the ejection seats). This sees her thermal protection system revised and her 32,000 tiles reduced to 24,300. Most are replaced by Advanced Flexible Reusable Surface Insulation blankets which was used on the other three orbiters.

• September 1985: STS-21 is Enterprise's first mission

• STS-25 (STS-51-L in our timeline) launches at a later date due to NASA management listening to the Engineers about icy conditions on January 26, 1986. NASA quietly orders the complete redesign of the Solid Rocket Boosters.

• May 1986: tragedy strikes OV-103 Challenger during STS-27, when the attempted launch of the Centaur carrying the Ulysses probe explodes killing all those onboard. (A real fear in our timeline.)

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• The Shuttle fleet is grounded for a year, during the investigation. Ultimately the Investigation board concluds NASA was trying to do too much with too limited a system/funding and is used by the administration to demand a bigger budget. (It has less of an impact on the American psyche since it wasn't televised).

• The USAF cancels all Shuttle missions from Vandeberg Air Force Base. (Same as our timeline)

• With an increased budget, NASA agrees to Rockwell's offer to build two new orbiters for the price of one offer.

• 1986: Columbia is returned to NASA after her refurbishment. However, he is placed into storage with the rest of the fleet.

• 1987: return to flight with STS-28 with Discovery. Also first launch with the redesigned SRBs.

• 1988: NASA launches the Shuttle-C program (or Cargo Transportation System), an expendable unmanned cargo pod, using the existing shuttle hardware. The goal is to increase the number of launches by augmenting the Orbiters and reduce the risks to human lives.

•1988: STS-29 Atlantis suffers a foam strike during launch. Post flight analysis determines the foam came from the bipod connected the ET near the top to the front underside of the orbiter. The orbiter was nearly lost during re-entry if it weren't for the fact the strike happened to a tile that was over less critical areas and the missing tile was over a steel patch for an antenna, which gave extra protection to the spacecraft structure. NASA removes the foam from the bipod connection on all missions going forward.

• OV-105 is built from spares from Challenger and Discovery. Completed in 1990 and christened Atlantis. Her design is the first to include a glass cockpit and other improvements.

• 1991: STS-45 is Atlantis's first mission

• OV-106 is a complete to an slightly improved design, making her lighter and stronger than her sisters. Externally she looks the same. Completed in 1992 and is christened Endeavour.

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- Structural spares are built to replace the ones used in Atlantis's construction and are designated OV-107.

• 1992: first launch of the Shuttle-C (CTS-1). Mission was a success, carrying a DoD payload.

Shuttle-C render by Nathan Koga for Space Flight Insider: link, link

• CTS-3: launches the Ulysses II probe

NASA image: link

• 1993: STS-59 is Endeavour's first mission

• Rockwell International merges with Lockheed to become Lockheed-Rockwell.

• December 1993: OV-101 Enterprise is retired due to being the oldest in the fleet. Endeavour takes her place in the fleet. Enterprise is given to the Smithsonian with the option of being recalled by NASA if needed.

• 1994: NASA launches the X-33 program to compliment the shuttle as an unmanned reusable launch vehicle (RLV) and replace the Shuttle-C.

• 1996: CTS-5 carries the first component of the International Space Station.

Artwork by okan170: link

•1996: the Shuttle-C program is cancelled to divert funds to the X-33 program.

• 1998: Lockheed-Rockwell design is selected over proposals from McDonnell-Douglas and Northrop-Grumman/Boeing

SDASM Archives: 08_00991

• 1998: NASA begins the X-38 CRV (Crew Return Vehicle) program. The CRV is designed to be a lifeboat for the ISS.

• 2001: X-33 RLV program is shelved due to technical challenges and budget cuts.

• 2003: STS-118, Columbia conducts her first (and only) mission to the International Space Station. While docked, it was discovered an ice strike damaged her reinforced carbon–carbon leading wing edge panel. The crew stays in the ISS a week while waiting for rescue from STS-119 Atlantis. NASA jerry-riggs an autopilot system to have Columbia re-enter the atmosphere unmanned after her leading edge was temporarily repaired. It was expected for her to burn up in the atmosphere and what remained to land in the Pacific Ocean near Hawaii. However, against all odds Columbia survives and lands at Edwards Air Force Base. Although her port land gear collapsed during breaking after tough down and caused additional damage to the batter shuttle.

• The crew of STS-118 ride back on STS-119 Atlantis and land in Kennedy Space Center.

• Unfortunately, the damage to Columbia is too extensive and she is retired. She is placed in storage at Palmdale, California.

• In the wake, NASA begins Project Constellation, with the goal being to complete the original space transportation system (STS) mission. Which was a reusable system to carry astronauts to the moon and beyond. NASA and the US calls on the international community to fund and build the components.

NASA ID: MSFC-70-PD-4085 B

• The ET is modified with a half shell to remove the risks of form/ice strikes and the Shuttle TPS is upgraded with the materials from the shelved X-33 program.

• OV-101 Enterprise is recalled by NASA to be the prototype of an unmanned shuttle and is given a thorough rebuild with newer and lighter wings and other components but entirely unmanned. Some joking refer to her as Enterprise-A, as a reference to Star Trek.

• NASA funds Lockheed-Rockwell to build OV-107, another uncrewed version, to augment Enterprise.

• The ISS construction continues but becomes a research/launching platform for missions to the moon and ultimately beyond

• 2004: the X-38 is launched on a liftover Shuttle-C, modified for lifting body, to the ISS (CTS-10).

source

Artwork by SpacePozzolo: link

• 2005: return to flight with STS-121 Discovery.

• 2008: first flight of Enterprise-A (CTS-11).

• 2008: the ISS is completed

Artwork by NanoRacks: link

• 2009: OV-107 construction is completed and christened Constitution. Her first flight happens later that year (CTS-16).

• 2009: NASA announces the rocket that will carry the components of the Constellation programs beyond Earth orbit will be called the SLS (Space Launch System). Boeing was selected to build the core stage. The SLS will used SSME at the end of their life's and newly constructed expendable versions. A third launch, pad 39C, will be constructed for the SLS.

• 2009: Lunar Transfer Vehicle (LTV, later renamed Orion) is used to transfer crews from LEO to Lunar orbit. Two components make up the vehicle. The crew section is to be built by NASA/CSA and the fuel/propulsion section built by the ESA. The SLS will be used to launch the fuel/propulsion section of the LTV.

- OV-101 and OV-107 are used to launch the crew section of the LTV. Which will rendezvous with the ISS.

- SLS Block II, an upgraded version, is use to launch the Gateway components. Gateway components will be built in the ESA and Japan.

- A Lunar space station, Gateway, launched and constructed in lunar orbit for Orion to rendezvous and house the Altair lunar lander. Three Orions are kept in orbit, one at each station in case of an emergency and a third in use.

• The first is find locations with abundant raw materials for fuel the future moonbase.

• 2010: NASA announces the X-50 SSTO Program and the Commercial Crew Program, with the goal of replacing the Shuttle (including the Enterprise and Constitution). The X-50 is the successor to the X-33.

• 2012: Lockheed-Rockwell is selected to build the X-50

• 2014: SpaceX Dragon and Sierra Space Dreamchaser are selected as part of the Commercial Crew Program.

• 2017: OV-104, OV-105 & OV-106 are retired when th Dreamchaser and SpaceX Dragon are brought online. List of each shuttle's last mission:

- STS-203 Discovery

- STS-204 Endeavour

- STS-205 Atlantis

• 2018: the maiden flight (CTS-70) of the X-50 Starlight (OV-201 Constellation)

• 2019: OV-101 is retired for the final time when the X-50 Starlight shuttles are brought online. OV-107 is kept in standby but eventually is turned over to a museum. List of their missions:

- CTS-74 Enterprise

- CTS-75 Constitution

• NASA has three operational Starlights. Spares are construction, OV-204.

-OV-201 Constellation

-OV-202 Columbia II

-OV-203 Adventure

• 2019: the first launch of the SLS was a success

Artwork by okan170: link

• 2020: the Space Shuttles are displayed in the following cities:

- OV-101 Enterprise: Space Center Houston

- OV-102 Columbia: California Science Center in Los Angeles, California (volunteers at Lockheed-Rockwell repair her enough to be put on display)

- OV-104 Discovery: Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center, Smithsonian, in Washington DC

- OV-105 Atlantis: Kennedy Space Center, Florida

- OV-106 Endeavour: Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum in New York City, New York

- OV-107 Constitution: National Museum of the US Air Force in Riverside, Ohio

• 2022: the first Orion (LTV-101: Pathfinder) is launched into orbital aboard SLS-2. It conducts tests over several orbits and docks with the ISS.

• 2023: OV-202 Columbia II launches and fuels up the Pathfinder. Four crewmen board the spacecraft and depart for the moon...

Artwork by Seth Pritchard: link

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alex99achapterthree · 1 year ago

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Phantom Friday

"Problem? Why, no, no problem here. Why do you ask?"

Actually a big problem and a near thing. This VF-92 Silver Kings F-4 is hanging off the edge of the flight deck with the tail in the catwalk. Look closely and you'll see the cockpits are empty. The canopies are gone and so are the ejection seats, with the rim of the cockpits scorched by the rockets under the seats. The left horizontal stab is gone with a big chunk bitten off of the vertical stabilizer. In fact, I'd say the tail in that catwalk is all that stopped it from going over the side altogether.

Exactly what happened I do not know. There are several possibilities. Engine or brake problems could cause the pilot to lose control, a pitching deck could cause an aircraft to start sliding toward the edge, a cold cat shot could leave an aircraft with not enough speed to fly yet too much to stop, or some mishap on landing could send an aircraft on a trip over the side. Whatever the cause the crew got out, and I hope they made it.

#aircraft #airplane #phantom friday

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rainofdauwuand0w0 · 6 months ago

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Love the idea first off, but now, i shall dive into my mind for the idea to put upon ya and anyone else who will listen

Joker here, instead of robins, he has “aces” (example line with them “ah but you forgot, I always have my ace up my sleeve!”) and when a ace grows up, they instead take up a different suit of the deck of cards.

Jokers gadgets of course are mirrors of course of normal batman, they look like toys but function well (like one badnoodle shows, instead of batarangs, cards).

The cards function differs depending on the suit and color of said suit. Grappling hook? A cartoon glove gun that instead functions like one, a full hand grab for full support and to pull evil doers in. Smoke bombs? Paint bombs (that his suit never gets coated in due to how he made it), serves same function. His suit doesn’t blend in the dark, but rather blends in with every street light, every bit of light that shines on him, the next moment he could be gone, fading away in the color of lights, having lots of his own original gadgets aswell to offer alternatives to other stuff batman has.

Vehicles wise, he has of course the Condensed Level Warping Notional Car, the CLWN Car for short, the way it’s designed, is it looks smaller then it actually is, and of course, has alot of its own gadgets at that, bouncy ball canon that then said bouncy balls deflates into a tire popping spike trap, pie launcher that harmlessly sends someone to sleep after getting pie’d, punching glove barrager. But it does also have the “joker in a ejection seat”, which doesn’t eject him, instead it causes his car to bounce upward suddenly, like a jack in the box, the “say aaaaah!” and the car splits in half, protective walling going up to protect those sitting within each side of the car, also keeping them in their side safely, no middle seats in this car. Then for the next Vehicle, he has the “Card collector” , a four-wheeler covered in a card symbols, the symbols change depending on a button press, for example, diamonds are hovercraft mode, red diamond is for swampy hovercraft mode, while black diamond is for literally mk8 levels of hovercraft. His true flying transport? Its one of those toy rocket rides for little kids, but adult sized and actually functioning, it even has minature rockets with lil characters in them for stability and restabilization, thanks to its size, it helps keep up in the air, even allowing for more shortcuts thanks to its size and shape. He would have one more vehicle for big villain mischief, The Tanky Railless Locomotive Ment for Krucial Readiness, or the TRLMKR, each train car has its own weapory to a specific theme, for example, one car is poker themed, mini-gun that fires poker chips, another is like a ice cream theme, burst canon that fires still edible, but heavy ice cream that sticks and weighs you down, the train cars can be swapped out, but the main locomotive itself looks like a big top, the “exhaust” is just a giant canon that fires colorful spotted dodgeballs at high speeds.

His civilian counterpart is the most serious person in the world, his local business is (despite his demeanor during the day) an actual lovely place to work, and he has a year round carnival near by, so while he himself may not smile or talk a lot, its evident in his actions that he wants people to feel welcomed near his business and place. Also his house is right next to his business, and a door upstairs connects directly to his office in his business.

His hideout entrance and hideout itself by extension is hidden in a jack-in-the-box, that needs the correct code put into a hidden code numpad, that can only pop out when a face scan is done, his hidden base is a unused bigtop that sits in the sky instead of a cave, giving him an overview of the city,

And then there is Madbat

Madbat still glides around….but it feels…wrong. The glide is too long, or too smooth for someone of his stature, his weight, he should be coming down faster and yet…he creepily glides, sometimes flapping what should be just a normal cape like a bat and it actually lifts him back upwards again. A dive bomb that feels inhumanly fast and strategic, and he launches right back into the night just as fast.

Madbat fades into shadows, but instead his eyes are the first thing to disappear, but his silhouette takes a long while to do the same,even if he is no longer there already, his silhouette still may stand for a moment longer

His arsenal is still bat themed of course…but more twisted.

Batwing themed knives, one part good for stabbing, the other part good for a nice chop to a cut of meat or a nasty disobedient henchmen arm. Sleeping bat mines, robotic fake bats that let go like bombs falling down from the skies. Screech alarm bots that can detect anything in the dark, but is mainly set for humans. Vampire bat dna/blood extracter, you can get the picture. But he also has a bat themed twinbaralled revolver to note

he has bat and cave themed and just bat themed vehicles. His typical vehicle is the “cavan of bat”, which has a horrifying bat design up front, and a cave cloaked in shadow till its time for reveal in the back, the mini-guns fire bat-shaped bullets, meant to tear through skin harshly, leaving a shape like his mask in the victims bodies, his other custom guns do similar things on varying scales. Another vehicle he has is for when he goes solo, the Chiroptercycle, a motorcycle that looks like a amalgamation of a bat and motorcycle, it fires guano shrapnel bombs out the back, that break off and blast into hard rock damaging. He also just has the golden crowned mecha, a mech suit designed after a giant golden-crowned flying fox, though features of vampire bats also snuck in aswell, it can fly, it can hover, it can shoot missles that act as its claws, it moves like wyvern, noise based attacks aswell, based upon echolocation.

Any place he takes over as a temporary hideout, instantly seems to have more bats then usual, could some of those glowing red eyes be cameras designed to look like bats? Or is it actual bats? Or is it mixed of real and fake bats? Anyhow, you’ll have an idea of what place is currently taken over by madbat due to this, but also the building will seem to have gotten…replaced by caves in some areas, but always, there is also the old bat shaped cave, behind the abandoned mansion that burnt down years ago.

If he has a civilian identity, it isn’t one that even interacts with the typical world, he ONLY exists during the night seemingly.

Henchmen wear varying different bat masks depending on their rank, highest rank is of course vampire bat masks, they are the ones who get to handle the specialist of weaponry, because even if they might look “silly” or more often, just creepy and more like a prop upon first glance, they quickly see how much punch it has upon hitting the training range.

Madbat is oddly the best paying of the criminal underworld, even somehow has benefits if you get beat up by the joker, you are an asset if you survive and obviously the more longer you stay, the more likely to become a vampire bat. Henchmen may mention this, bantering about being more likely to be punched on by the joker but “hey atleast we’ll be insured” or weighing options due to this fact.

some other tidbits:

-joker is whimsical and uplifting, doing his best to seem welcoming to children he may have to help. While madbat is cold, calculative, and standoffish, like a boogeyman to both children and adults.

-sometimes a detective-like clothed figure will be seen, looking over the space of the madbats latest hideout, seemingly overlooking the space of the fight, analyzing the stuff that happened there, collecting tapes from the bat cameras all around the space, even from the back of his head…he looks old, older then Madbat, and like time has caught up with him, sometimes he is seen taking all this info and laying it outside the cave behind the mansion, the second its cloudy or nightfall hits, the tapes and whatever else info gathered, is gone

-while canon batman(from my knowledge) is literal anti-magic incarnate as a person due to his belief, this version of hero joker is 110% at the ready to add magic and good vibes to his arsenal.

-Madbat, seems like he is always trying to deduce what the logical reason is behind helping all the people is, what true contrived and selfish reason does this joker actual do all this good for? When in reality he is just genuinely liking people feeling happy and safe.

🃏 hero villain 🦇

#character design #dc #batman #joker #just something i thought was funny and needed to draw #prev tags #ideas #story ideas

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okasuka · 5 months ago

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Peter quill x my oc 😸

The Milano was unusually loud, even for the Guardians of the Galaxy. Rocket was sprawled across the couch with half-disassembled weapons and tools littering the floor around him. Every few seconds, a metallic clang punctuated his muttered curses. Drax, meanwhile, had decided it was the perfect time to do sit-ups in the middle of the common room, grunting with exaggerated enthusiasm. Gamora sat nearby, her posture straight and composed, watching the chaos with thinly veiled irritation.

Mari stood leaning against the far wall, her short black hair falling just above her sharp, scarred features. Her red eyes flicked between her teammates, but she remained silent, sharpening her dagger with precise, methodical strokes. She tolerated Gamora well enough, but the rest? They were lucky she hadn’t tossed them out the airlock yet.

“Hey, Mari.”

She didn’t bother looking up. Peter Quill’s voice carried a familiar teasing lilt that grated on her nerves, but she knew better than to take the bait.

“What?” she replied flatly, her tone as sharp as the blade in her hand.

Quill leaned against the console, arms crossed, smirking. “You wanna admit it yet?”

Mari finally glanced at him, one brow arched. “Admit what?”

“That you secretly love hanging out with us,” he said, grinning like he’d just made a profound discovery. “I mean, come on—who wouldn’t? We’re like the galaxy’s most dysfunctional, yet lovable family.”

Rocket snorted from the couch, not even glancing up from his tools. “Speak for yourself, Quill. Some of us don’t need constant validation to survive.”

“Exactly!” Drax boomed from the floor, pausing mid-sit-up to point at Peter. “It is unbecoming of a leader to fish for compliments. You should focus on physical improvement instead.”

Peter straightened up, offended. “Okay, first of all, I am not fishing for compliments. And second, I happen to be in peak physical condition, thank you very much.”

Gamora sighed, exchanging a brief look with Mari. “This is what I deal with every day,” she muttered, her voice dripping with exasperation.

Mari smirked faintly, though it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Sounds exhausting,” she replied, her tone as deadpan as ever.

Peter turned back to Mari, ignoring the peanut gallery. “See? She gets it. You’re starting to warm up to us. First, you tolerate us, then BAM—you’re begging me to play your favorite song.”

That earned a dry laugh from Mari. She finally sheathed her dagger and met his gaze. “Quill, I’d rather eject myself into space than admit to liking your music.”

Rocket burst into laughter, almost toppling off the couch. “HA! Burned again, Star-Dunce!”

“Ouch,” Peter said, clutching his chest dramatically like he’d been shot. “Mari, that hurt. You can’t just stab a guy’s pride like that. I thought we had a connection.”

“We don’t,” she said simply, brushing past him to grab a drink from the console. “If by ‘connection,’ you mean you talk and I try not to throttle you, then sure. That’s a connection.”

Gamora smirked as she rose from her seat. “She’s got you there,” she said, heading for the cockpit before the argument could spiral further.

Peter stayed rooted in place, watching Mari with a mix of disbelief and amusement. Then, as if deciding he hadn’t embarrassed himself enough, he moved to sit beside her. Too close.

Mari shot him a warning glance, but he ignored it, leaning back with a casual grin. “Okay, okay. You’re tough. I get it. But deep down, there’s a soft, cuddly side of you that loves—”

She cut him off, her red eyes narrowing dangerously. “Finish that sentence, and I will throttle you.”

Peter held up his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t waver. “Message received, loud and clear. But you know, scars and all, you’re still pretty badass. Just saying.”

For a moment, there was no response. Mari’s fingers tightened slightly on the rim of her drink, and her jaw clenched. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, though no less sharp.

“Don’t get sappy, Quill.”

“Too late.” Peter leaned back, smirking to himself. “I’m all about sappy. You’ll see.”

Mari didn’t answer, but for the briefest moment, there was the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes before she turned her attention elsewhere.

Rocket’s tinkering sparked loudly, and the raccoon let out a string of curses as smoke rose from one of his devices. Drax proudly declared his sit-up routine complete, flexing his abs in triumph. Through it all, Peter sneaked one last glance at Mari, his grin softening. She didn’t notice—or maybe she did and simply chose not to acknowledge it.

The chaos on the Milano continued, but for Peter, the day was looking up.

The Milano touched down on the outskirts of a bustling alien bazaar. Neon signs buzzed above crowded stalls, casting strange, shifting lights over the streets. The smell of exotic food and the chatter of a dozen languages filled the air. Rocket had insisted on stopping for supplies, declaring half the ship’s systems “held together by duct tape and spite.”

“We’ll make this quick,” Gamora had said before disappearing into the crowd with Drax and Rocket in tow, leaving Peter and Mari behind to “watch the ship.”

That lasted all of five minutes.

“C’mon, Mari,” Peter said, practically bouncing at the thought of leaving. “You can’t just sit on the ship sharpening daggers all day. Live a little. Let’s grab some food.”

Mari glanced at him, unimpressed. “And leave the ship unattended? Great plan.”

“Exactly,” Peter said, ignoring the sarcasm entirely. “Nobody’s dumb enough to mess with us anyway. Look at us—we scream, ‘Don’t even think about it.’”

Mari sighed. She knew he wouldn’t shut up until she agreed. “Fine. But I’m not paying for your snacks, Quill.”

“You wound me,” he said, clutching his chest as he followed her out of the ship.

The bazaar was as chaotic as the Milano. Crowds surged past the stalls, sellers shouting over each other to hawk their wares. Peter led Mari to a quieter corner where a small food stand offered skewers of roasted alien meat and bowls of glowing soup. The pair grabbed their food and found a spot to sit on a low wall overlooking the bazaar.

Mari took a bite, watching the crowd below with her usual stoic expression. Peter, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with energy, babbling about the music he’d overheard at one of the stalls.

“—and it was almost as good as ‘Come and Get Your Love,’ but, y’know, nothing really tops—”

He trailed off as a tall, neon-skinned alien sauntered over, her shimmering gown catching the light. Her voice was smooth and sultry, her eyes fixed on Peter.

“Hey there, handsome,” she purred, leaning toward him. “Looking for some company? I can show you a good time—for the right price.”

Peter blinked, taken aback, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Uh, I’m flattered, but—”

Mari cut in before he could finish. She leaned forward, her red eyes cold and cutting as she sized up the alien. “He’s not interested.”

The alien raised an eyebrow, ignoring Mari completely as she ran a hand down Peter’s arm. “I wasn’t talking to you, sweetheart.”

Mari’s expression didn’t change, but her tone dropped an octave, dangerous and sharp. “It’s a waste of money and a distraction. Move along.”

The alien scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “He can speak for himself.”

Mari’s lip curled ever so slightly. She stood, stepping between the alien and Peter, forcing the other woman to take a step back. “You’re not his type,” Mari said flatly, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. “Now go.”

The alien hesitated, her confidence faltering under Mari’s unwavering glare. After a tense moment, she huffed and spun on her heel, disappearing into the crowd.

Peter stared after her, then turned to Mari, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. “Wow. That was… intense. You didn’t have to scare her off, y’know.”

Mari sat back down, picking up her skewer like nothing had happened. “She was wasting her time. And yours.”

Peter tilted his head, studying her. “You jealous or something?”

She shot him a sharp look. “Don’t flatter yourself, Quill.”

He grinned, leaning closer. “You sure? ‘Cause I’m getting a vibe here. Like, maybe you don’t want me distracted by anyone but—”

Her dagger thunked into the wooden table between them, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Peter leaned back, raising his hands defensively but still grinning like a fool. “Okay, okay. Message received. No distractions.”

Mari smirked faintly, pulling the dagger free and returning to her food.

For a while, they ate in silence, the noise of the bazaar swirling around them. Peter couldn’t help glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of admiration softening his usual teasing grin.

“Thanks, though,” he said quietly.

“For what?” she asked, not looking up.

Peter shrugged, his tone lighter now. “For, y’know, watching my back. Even if you’re a little scary about it.”

Mari’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

Peter chuckled, letting the silence settle between them again. For once, it wasn’t awkward.

The bazaar’s winding streets seemed endless, lined with stalls and shops crammed full of oddities from every corner of the galaxy. Peter, still riding high from their earlier exchange, followed Mari as she moved with purpose through the crowd. Her sharp eyes darted across displays of strange artifacts, weapons, and gadgets. Peter, meanwhile, was more interested in the food stalls and the occasional shiny trinket that caught his eye.

They turned a corner and stepped into a shop filled with shelves overflowing with old parts and forgotten relics. The air smelled faintly of rust and engine grease, and dim light flickered from overhead panels. Mari’s expression remained stoic, but Peter could tell she was intrigued.

“Man, this place has got everything,” Peter said, picking up a strange orb that immediately began humming ominously. “Uh… maybe not this.” He set it back down.

Mari ignored him, her attention caught by a dusty shelf in the back of the shop. Among the tangled wires and broken devices sat a battered old MP3 player, its casing cracked but intact. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands.

“That thing’s ancient,” Peter said, appearing over her shoulder. “Looks like it hasn’t worked in decades.”

Mari didn’t respond, carrying the MP3 player to the counter. The shopkeeper—a squat alien with too many arms—looked at her like she was crazy but named a price anyway. She handed over a few credits, slipping the device into her jacket.

Peter watched the whole exchange with growing curiosity. “You just bought a broken MP3 player? We’ve got a perfectly good cassette player on the Milano, y’know.”

“Don’t care,” Mari said, already heading for the exit.

Peter hurried to catch up, grinning as he fell into step beside her. “You realize this means I’m gonna have to introduce you to all my favorite tunes now, right? Starting with—”

“Don’t push your luck, Quill.”

As they made their way back to the Milano, the crowds in the bazaar thickened. A sudden rush of people surged around them, and Peter struggled to keep up with Mari as she pushed forward, unbothered by the chaos.

“Wait up!” Peter called, stumbling as someone bumped into him. He reached out instinctively to steady himself, his hand landing—unfortunately—on Mari’s rear.

Mari froze mid-step.

“Oh—uh—” Peter stammered, pulling his hand back like it had been burned. “Totally accidental! I swear!”

She turned to him slowly, her red eyes narrowing. Peter braced himself for an explosion, but instead, she grabbed his wrist in a firm grip and yanked him through the crowd without a word.

“Okay, cool, we’re walking now,” Peter said, his voice higher than usual.

Mari didn’t let go until they broke free of the crowd and reached the quieter outskirts of the bazaar. She released his wrist and strode ahead toward the Milano, leaving Peter rubbing his wrist and muttering something about how she could give Gamora a run for her money in the death-glare department.

Back on the Milano, the rest of the crew was still nowhere to be seen. Mari immediately took a seat at one of the ship’s workbenches, pulling out the broken MP3 player and setting to work. Tools appeared in her hands like magic, and she began disassembling the device with practiced precision.

Peter leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before speaking. “So, you gonna tell me what that thing’s about, or am I just supposed to keep guessing?”

Mari didn’t look up, her focus on the delicate circuit board in front of her. “It reminds me of one I used to have. Back when I was bounty hunting.”

Peter’s curiosity deepened. “What happened to it?”

She paused, her gaze flicking up to meet his briefly. “Got smashed in a fight. Never found another one like it.”

Peter nodded, surprisingly quiet for once. He walked over and pulled up a chair beside her, resting his chin in his hand as he watched her work. “So, what kind of music were you into? Please tell me it was something cool, like classic rock, or—”

Mari smirked faintly, her hands still moving with practiced ease. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Oh, I definitely would,” Peter said, leaning closer. “C’mon, give me something. A name, a genre—anything. I promise I won’t judge. Much.”

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Keep pestering me, and I’ll make sure this MP3 player only plays your least favorite songs. On repeat.”

Peter held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Fine, fine. But when it’s fixed, I get to be the first one to hear it. Deal?”

Mari didn’t answer, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward ever so slightly as she returned to her work. Peter leaned back, crossing his arms and watching her with a soft smile. For once, he stayed quiet, content to let the moment linger.

Mari was deep in concentration, hunched over the workbench as she carefully soldered a frayed wire inside the MP3 player. Her scarred hands moved with precision, every movement measured and deliberate. Peter had leaned in closer over the past few minutes, practically hovering at her side. His face was so close to hers now that she could feel the warmth of his breath.

She didn’t say anything—too focused on the delicate task at hand.

Peter, on the other hand, wasn’t focused at all. His eyes drifted between the MP3 player and Mari’s determined expression. A soft smirk tugged at his lips as he noted the little crease in her brow and the faint smudge of grease on her cheek.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low so as not to startle her, “you’re kinda amazing at this.”

“Shut up, Quill,” she muttered, not even looking up.

“Noted,” Peter said, his grin widening.

The sound of the ship’s ramp lowering broke the quiet moment. Mari didn’t react, but Peter glanced over his shoulder to see Drax and Rocket returning. Rocket was balancing a precarious stack of supplies in his small arms while Drax trailed behind, his expression as stoic as ever.

“Quill,” Rocket said, huffing as he dumped his load onto the table. “I swear, if you didn’t leave any snacks for me, I’m gonna—”

Rocket froze mid-sentence, his sharp eyes darting between Peter and Mari. A mischievous grin spread across his face.

Drax, however, had no such subtlety. His deep voice boomed through the room as he pointed directly at Peter. “Ah! There he is. Sitting far too close to Mari, as always.”

Peter stiffened, his face going red. “I’m not sitting that close.”

Drax tilted his head, a slow, thoughtful expression crossing his face. “I have long suspected you have feelings for her, Peter.”

“What?!” Peter’s voice cracked as he shot upright, waving his hands wildly. “That’s—no! I mean—what are you even talking about?”

Mari, still focused on her work, muttered, “Will you all shut up? I’m trying to concentrate.”

Drax ignored her, his attention locked on Peter. “It is obvious. You hover around her constantly. You speak to her with an odd, breathless voice. And now, you are leaning so close, you might as well be sitting in her lap.”

“Okay, that’s not what’s happening!” Peter protested, his face growing redder by the second.

Drax’s gaze shifted to Rocket, who was now cackling quietly to himself. A slow, mischievous smile spread across Drax’s face. “Perhaps I should help you confess your feelings.”

Before Peter could react, Drax extended one massive hand and gave him a none-too-gentle nudge.

The result was immediate chaos.

Peter stumbled forward, arms flailing as he lost his balance. The chair Mari was sitting in tipped backward with a loud crash, and Peter’s momentum carried him down with it—straight into Mari.

Specifically, into her chest.

Mari froze, her eyes wide with shock as Peter’s face collided with her. A deep silence fell over the room for a split second, broken only by Rocket’s howling laughter.

“Wow, Quill!” Rocket choked out between gasps. “Didn’t think you had the guts to make a move like that!”

Peter scrambled back, his face an alarming shade of red. “I—I didn’t—Drax pushed me!”

Mari stood slowly, her gaze locking onto Drax with a glare that could have burned through steel. Her knuckles cracked ominously.

“Wait, Mari,” Peter said, holding up his hands. “It wasn’t my fault, I swear—”

She ignored him, stalking toward Drax.

“I did you a favor,” Drax said matter-of-factly, entirely unbothered by her deadly expression. “You were too cowardly to act on your feelings, so I gave you a push. Literally.”

Mari didn’t say a word. She grabbed Drax’s outstretched hand with terrifying speed and twisted.

Snap.

Drax blinked, his face showing mild surprise as he inspected his now crooked finger. “Ah. I see. You are angry.”

“You think?” Mari growled, shoving his hand back at him.

Rocket, still doubled over with laughter, gasped, “That’s what you get, big guy!”

Drax flexed his hand experimentally. “This is nothing. I once lost my entire arm in battle. However, I acknowledge your displeasure.”

Peter, still flustered, hovered near Mari. “Uh, Mari? You okay? I—uh—didn’t mean for that to happen.”

She whirled on him, her red eyes blazing. For a moment, Peter thought she might deck him too. But instead, she sighed heavily, her shoulders relaxing as she turned back to her workbench.

“Just… stay out of my way, Quill,” she muttered, sitting back down and grabbing her tools.

Peter nodded quickly, retreating to the other side of the room. As Rocket and Drax continued to argue about the “incident,” he couldn’t help but glance at Mari, his heart still pounding.

She didn’t look up, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

After a few hours of tinkering in the Milano’s living quarters, Mari finally managed to get the old MP3 player to power on. The faint glow of its screen flickered to life, and she let out a quiet sound of satisfaction. Peter, sitting cross-legged on the couch across from her, perked up immediately.

“Wait—you actually got it working?” he asked, leaning forward like an excited kid.

“Obviously,” Mari muttered, not looking up as she began downloading a few tracks from the ship’s digital library onto the device. Her fingers moved quickly, and she seemed completely absorbed in her work.

Peter scooted closer, peeking over her shoulder. “What’re you putting on there? Something cool, I hope.”

“Tame Impala,” she said simply.

Peter frowned, racking his brain. “That’s… like a solo guy pretending to be a band, right? What’s the vibe? Spacey? Psychedelic?”

Mari arched an eyebrow at him. “You don’t know Tame Impala?”

“Hey, don’t look at me like that! I grew up with real music,” Peter retorted, gesturing dramatically. “You know—Fleetwood Mac, Bowie, Marvin Gaye. Timeless classics. I’m just saying, you’ve got access to my playlist right there, and you’re going for… space synth?”

“Not everything has to be your taste, Quill,” Mari said, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Some of us like a little variety.”

Before Peter could fire back, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. Both of them looked up as Drax entered the room, his presence as imposing as ever. He crossed his arms over his chest, standing stiffly in front of Mari.

“MI-1,” he said, his voice deep and serious.

Mari glanced up, frowning slightly. “What?”

“I have come to offer my apologies,” Drax continued, bowing his head slightly. “It was not my intention to dishonor your strength or reputation by pushing Peter Quill into you earlier. I acted out of amusement, not malice.”

Peter blinked, his confusion written all over his face. “Hold on. MI-1? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Drax ignored him, focusing entirely on Mari. “Your skills as a bounty hunter are legendary, MI-1. You deserve respect, and I failed to show it.”

Mari sighed, rubbing her temple. “Drax, it’s fine. Just… don’t do it again.”

Peter waved his hands, still completely baffled. “Wait, wait, wait. Time out. MI-1? Is that, like, some secret codename or something? Why haven’t I heard about this?”

Mari shot him a dry look. “You’ve never asked.”

“Okay, well, I’m asking now,” Peter said, sitting up straighter. “What gives? Is it, like, a cool spy thing? A robot thing? Please tell me you weren’t, like, some weird assassin cyborg.”

“It’s nothing that dramatic,” Mari said, turning back to her MP3 player as if the conversation didn’t matter. But after a moment, she sighed and set the device down. “MI-1 was my bounty hunter name. It stood for ‘Merciless One.’”

Peter blinked. “Wait. You’re telling me people used to call you Merciless One? Like… as in terrifying and brutal?”

“Obviously,” Drax interjected. “She is strong, ruthless, and commands fear. The name suits her.”

Peter leaned back, his mind clearly racing. “Man… and here I was thinking you were just the quiet, brooding mechanic type. How’d you even get a name like that?”

Mari’s red eyes flicked to Peter, her expression unreadable. “You don’t get a name like that by being nice.”

The room fell silent for a beat.

“Well,” Peter said, leaning closer with a grin, “I think it’s a terrible nickname.”

Mari raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone teasing. “Because if I were handing out nicknames, I’d go with something like… I don’t know… Red Scowl, or maybe Blade Babe.”

Mari smirked faintly, picking up the MP3 player again. “Keep talking, Quill, and you’ll find out just how merciless I can be.”

Peter held up his hands in surrender, though his grin didn’t falter. Drax, satisfied that his apology had been accepted, gave Mari a respectful nod and exited the room, leaving Peter and Mari alone again.

“So,” Peter said after a moment, leaning back on the couch. “You’re a bounty-hunting badass with a cool nickname, and you like weird synth music. You keep surprising me, Mari.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said, her tone dry as she plugged in the MP3 player to charge.

Peter’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m definitely getting used to it.”

Mari walked out of the living quarters, MP3 player in hand, and headed to the main deck. The low hum of the ship’s systems filled the air, but it was quickly drowned out by Rocket’s unmistakable snickering as she entered the room.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the lovebirds,” Rocket said, his voice dripping with mockery. He was perched on the pilot’s chair, his feet kicked up on the console as he grinned at her. “So, how’d it go, MI-1? Did you and Quill finally lock lips back there? Or was it more of a fall into his arms kinda thing?”

Mari froze mid-step, her red eyes narrowing dangerously. “What are you talking about?”

Rocket cackled, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, don’t play dumb. Word’s already out about what happened earlier. Drax said Peter’s face was, and I quote, ‘buried in the valleys of your chest.’”

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she clenched her fists at her sides. “That was Drax’s fault,” she growled through gritted teeth.

“Sure it was,” Rocket said, winking. “But hey, no judgment! You and Quill would make a cute couple. All that brooding you do could use some of his goofy charm.”

Mari took a step forward, her expression darkening. “Rocket, I swear—”

“Enough,” Gamora cut in, her voice sharp and commanding. She stood near the weapons rack, arms crossed, her expression a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Rocket, shut up before you get yourself hurt.”

Rocket raised his hands in mock surrender, though he was still grinning. “Alright, alright. No need to get violent. Geez.”

Mari exhaled sharply, forcing herself to unclench her fists. Without another word, she turned and walked toward Gamora, hoping for a reprieve from Rocket’s teasing.

In the relative quiet of the weapons locker, Mari leaned against the wall while Gamora gave her a knowing look.

“You okay?” Gamora asked, her voice softer than usual.

Mari sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m fine. Just Rocket being Rocket.”

Gamora nodded, leaning against the rack. “You don’t have to let him get to you, you know. He’ll lose interest faster if you don’t react.”

“Easier said than done,” Mari muttered, folding her arms. She hesitated before speaking again. “Does… everyone think there’s something going on with me and Quill?”

Gamora tilted her head slightly, considering her words. “It’s not that they think there’s something going on. But it’s obvious he likes you.”

Mari’s eyes widened slightly. “What?”

“You didn’t notice?” Gamora asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I just thought he was… annoying,” Mari said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Gamora gave her a small, amused smile. “He’s definitely that. But he’s also… persistent. And he’s been paying you a lot of attention lately. More than usual.”

Mari frowned, her gaze drifting to the floor. “I don’t get why.”

“Maybe he sees something in you that you don’t,” Gamora said simply.

Mari looked up at her, unsure how to respond. After a moment, she changed the subject. “How do you deal with this crew? All the chaos, the noise… the questions?”

Gamora smirked faintly. “It takes patience. And sometimes, tuning them out entirely.”

Mari let out a dry laugh. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“You get used to it,” Gamora said. “And for what it’s worth, you’re doing fine. This group can be… overwhelming, but they mean well.”

Mari nodded slowly, letting Gamora’s words sink in. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

Gamora gave her a small nod in return before straightening and heading for the door. “Don’t let Rocket push your buttons too much. And if Peter bothers you… well, you know how to handle that.”

Mari smirked faintly, her confidence returning. “Yeah, I do.”

As Gamora left the room, Mari stayed behind for a moment, her thoughts swirling. It was strange to think about Peter’s attention in a new light, but she couldn’t deny Gamora’s words. Shaking her head, she pushed the thought aside and headed back to the main deck, ready to face whatever chaos awaited her next.

The soft sound of tools clicking and the hum of the ship’s systems filled the air as Mari knelt on the floor near one of the Milano’s wall panels. She had pried the panel open and was halfway through replacing a worn-out wiring harness. Her focus was razor-sharp, her hands steady despite the cramped space she was working in.

She didn’t hear the quiet footsteps behind her.

Peter Quill, ever the troublemaker, smirked as he crept closer. He wasn’t even sure why he was sneaking up on her—probably boredom, maybe curiosity, or maybe it was just the excuse to see her reaction. He crouched slightly, leaning forward until he was right behind her.

“Boo,” he whispered.

Before Peter even had time to blink, Mari had whirled around. In one smooth, terrifyingly fast motion, she grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him against the wall with a thud.

Peter let out a startled yelp as his back hit the cold metal, and Mari’s other hand came up to his collar, pinning him in place. Her red eyes burned with intensity as she glared at him, her breathing slightly heavier from the adrenaline.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Peter’s eyes widened as he realized just how close her face was to his—mere inches apart. Her sharp gaze flicked over his face, taking in the realization dawning on him.

“Mari,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft for someone who had just been manhandled.

Her expression shifted. The initial fierceness faded into something more restrained as she finally registered who she was holding against the wall. Her grip on his arm loosened slightly, and she pulled back just a fraction.

“Quill,” she muttered, her voice low and steady.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Peter said, his lips curving into a nervous grin. “No need to, uh, kill me or anything.”

Mari’s red eyes narrowed, but there was no malice in her gaze now—just irritation. She sighed, letting go of his arm entirely, though she didn’t step back.

“What the hell were you thinking, sneaking up on me like that?” she asked, her tone sharp but not harsh.

Peter shrugged, leaning casually against the wall now that he was no longer being restrained. “What can I say? I’m a thrill-seeker.”

Mari rolled her eyes and shook her head, finally taking a step back. “Next time, don’t. My reflexes aren’t exactly forgiving.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Peter said, rubbing his arm where she’d twisted it. His grin, however, didn’t falter. “But, uh, not gonna lie—kind of impressive how fast you moved. Do you always slam people into walls, or am I just special?”

Mari crossed her arms, her expression softening ever so slightly. “Don’t push your luck, Quill.”

“Noted,” Peter said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

For a moment, they just stood there, the air between them still charged from the sudden encounter. Peter’s grin slowly faded, replaced by something quieter as he looked at her. Mari, for her part, didn’t move, her red eyes studying him carefully.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” Peter said after a beat.

Mari’s lips twitched faintly, almost forming a smirk. “You’ve mentioned that before.”

“Just saying,” Peter replied with a shrug. “Makes it kind of hard to look away sometimes.”

Mari’s gaze flickered, a brief flash of uncertainty crossing her face before she turned back to her work. “I have things to fix, Quill. Go bother someone else.”

Peter chuckled, stepping away but not before throwing her a playful wink. “Sure thing, Merciless One.”

Mari groaned softly, muttering under her breath as Peter sauntered off. She shook her head, trying to ignore the way her pulse still hadn’t quite settled.

Peter paced the Milano’s common area, his arms flailing dramatically as he vented to Gamora, who sat nearby cleaning one of her knives. She barely looked up, letting Peter ramble as she sharpened the blade with a practiced rhythm.

“She’s impossible!” Peter exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “One second, she’s all stoic and cool, like she doesn’t care about anything, and the next, she’s slamming me into walls! I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?”

Gamora finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “You could try being honest with her.”

Peter stopped mid-pace, blinking. “Honest? About what?”

Gamora set the knife down and gave him a pointed look. “About how you feel, obviously. Everyone knows you like her, Peter. Even Rocket knows, and he doesn’t pay attention to anything unless it’s shiny or explodes.”

Peter froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I—I don’t—I mean, I—”

“Just tell her,” Gamora interrupted, her tone exasperated. “What’s the worst that could happen? She throws you out the airlock?”

“That’s not funny,” Peter muttered, his shoulders slumping.

Gamora sighed, picking her knife back up. “Look, either tell her how you feel, or stop whining about it. But if I hear you complain one more time, I might throw you out the airlock.”

Peter stood there for a moment, her words sinking in. Finally, he straightened, his expression resolute. “You know what? You’re right. I am going to tell her.”

Gamora smirked faintly. “Good luck.”

Peter found Mari in the engine room, crouched over a piece of equipment with her ever-present tool kit. She looked focused as always, her red eyes fixed on the task at hand. For a moment, Peter hesitated, his confidence faltering.

But then Gamora’s words echoed in his head: What’s the worst that could happen?

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward.

“Hey, Mari,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Mari glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowing. “What do you want, Quill?”

Peter swallowed hard, his palms suddenly sweaty. “I, uh… I need to talk to you. About something important.”

Mari straightened, turning to face him fully. “Okay…”

Peter fidgeted, scratching the back of his neck. “So, uh… you know how I’m always, uh, joking around and stuff? Being, like, super charming and funny?”

Her eyebrow arched. “Is there a point to this?”

“Yes!” Peter blurted out, his face turning red. “The point is, I like you, okay? Like, really like you. Not just in a ‘hey, you’re cool’ kind of way, but in a ‘wow, you’re amazing and scary and beautiful and I can’t stop thinking about you’ kind of way.”

Mari blinked, caught completely off guard. Her expression softened, her usual guarded demeanor cracking just a little. “Peter, I…”

Peter panicked, words tumbling out in a rush. “I get it if you don’t feel the same way, and I know I’m probably making this weird, but I couldn’t, like, not say something, you know? Because you’re—you’re just—”

Before he could finish, Mari stepped forward, grabbed the collar of his jacket, and yanked him down.

Her lips crashed into his, silencing him completely.

For a moment, Peter froze, his mind going blank. Then he melted into the kiss, his hands hesitantly finding her waist. It was brief but intense, and when she pulled away, she looked up at him with a faint smirk.

“Don’t let this go to your head, Quill,” she said, her voice low and firm.

Peter stared at her, wide-eyed and slightly dazed. “So… does this mean you like me too, or—”

“Don’t push it,” Mari interrupted, but there was a small, rare smile tugging at her lips.

Peter grinned, his heart pounding. “Noted.”

The Milano was quiet for once, the crew scattered across the ship, each preoccupied with their own activities. Mari had taken the rare moment of peace to shower, opting for the main bathroom instead of her private one. The hot water there was gentler on her skin—less irritating against the myriad scars that crossed her body.

She stood under the spray, letting the warm water cascade over her shoulders as she relaxed for what felt like the first time in days.

Meanwhile, Peter was wandering the halls, humming a tune to himself as he looked for the bathroom. After hours of tinkering with the ship’s navigation systems, he was desperate to relieve himself. Without thinking much of it, he pushed the door open, stepped inside, and headed toward the toilet.

As he unzipped his pants, he heard the sound of running water. He froze, his hands still on the zipper.

“Oh, come on, Rocket!” he groaned, assuming the raccoon had left the shower running again to be obnoxious.

But then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye—a towel neatly folded on the counter, and a set of clothes stacked on top of it. Clothes that definitely weren’t Rocket’s.

Peter’s stomach sank. Slowly, he turned his head toward the shower.

The frosted glass didn’t conceal much. He could see Mari’s silhouette, her back to him, steam curling around her as she reached up to run her fingers through her short, wet hair.

His face turned bright red.

“Oh crap,” Peter whispered, panicking.

Mari, sensing movement, stiffened. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice sharp and cutting through the sound of the water.

Peter’s heart stopped. “Uh… it’s… me?”

The water shut off abruptly, and the shower door cracked open just enough for Mari’s head to peek out, her wet hair sticking to her face. Her red eyes were blazing, her expression a mixture of confusion and fury.

“What the hell are you doing in here, Quill?” she snapped.

Peter raised his hands in surrender, his face so red it practically glowed. “I didn’t know you were in here! I just—I had to pee! I swear, I didn’t see anything!”

Mari glared at him, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve got three seconds to leave before I throw this shampoo bottle at your head.”

Peter didn’t need to be told twice. “Okay! Got it! I’m leaving!”

He bolted for the door, nearly tripping over himself in his haste. As he left, he heard Mari muttering something under her breath, followed by the sound of the water turning back on.

Later, in the common area, Peter sat on the couch, still mortified. He buried his face in his hands, groaning to himself.

Rocket, lounging on the armrest, smirked. “What’s got you all worked up, Star-Loser? Did you embarrass yourself again?”

Peter peeked through his fingers at him. “Let’s just say I made a huge mistake and leave it at that.”

Rocket’s smirk widened. “Oh, this I gotta hear.”

Peter shook his head, refusing to elaborate. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Mari’s face—or the fact that he’d probably never live this down.

Peter had barely managed to calm down from his awkward bathroom mishap when Drax, ever the oblivious one, walked into the common area with his usual serious expression.

“Peter,” Drax said, sitting down next to him with a slight grunt. “I was just wondering… was Mari’s body nice?”

Peter’s eyes widened in absolute horror. His face flushed bright red again, his hands flying up as if trying to shield himself from the question. “What?!”

“Her body,” Drax repeated, utterly confused. “Was it pleasing to the eye? You are always in her presence. Surely you’ve noticed her physical appearance.”

Peter stammered, unable to get words out fast enough. “D-Drax, that’s… that’s not something you ask someone! It’s—it’s inappropriate!”

Drax, utterly unphased, blinked. “I merely seek knowledge. It is normal to be curious about such things.”

From across the room, Gamora, who had been quietly cleaning her weapons, rolled her eyes before standing up and walking over to them. Her voice was calm but filled with clear irritation. “Drax, you can’t just ask people that!”

Peter covered his face with his hands, wishing for the ground to swallow him up. “Please don’t make this worse…”

But it was too late. Rocket, ever the opportunist, was already chuckling from his spot on the couch. “Oh man, this is gonna be good.”

Gamora shot a look at Rocket before turning her attention back to Peter, her eyebrow raised. “And, Peter, what did Mari say when you confessed your feelings?”

Peter froze. His hands fell away from his face, and he stared at her like she’d just asked him to solve quantum physics.

“Wait—what?!” Peter blurted, eyes wide. “Confessed my feelings? To her? I didn’t—I—”

“Didn’t you?” Gamora asked, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve been going on and on about her, so I figured you actually told her how you feel.”

Peter’s flustered state only deepened as he leaned back in his seat, trying to recover from both the previous humiliation and the sudden shift in conversation. “I… I might’ve, kind of, accidentally told her, but—” He paused, glancing around at the rest of the crew. “It didn’t go how I planned!”

“Wait, wait,” Rocket interjected, now fully invested. “So, you confessed to her, and she didn’t say anything?”

Peter groaned, sinking into the couch. “It was a mess. I tried to be all smooth and then I, like, rushed it, and—” He threw his hands up. “I might’ve been a little overdramatic, and she didn’t exactly… respond the way I thought she would.”

Gamora folded her arms, clearly amused. “So what happened?”

Peter hesitated. “Well… she, uh, kissed me. But then she told me not to let it go to my head!”

Rocket’s eyes went wide. “She kissed you?! And you’re still acting like a big baby?!”

Peter’s face was on fire as he buried his face in his hands again. “I didn’t know what to do! It was all so fast and unexpected, and now I feel like a total idiot for not knowing what to say next!”

Drax, still looking very confused but a little more enlightened, nodded. “I see. So, her body was nice, then?”

Peter let out a strangled laugh, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Drax, please just stop!”

Gamora shook her head, clearly trying to hold back laughter. “Honestly, Peter, you really need to take a hint. It sounds like she’s interested.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to do this!” Peter groaned. “I’m terrible at relationships! The last time I had to figure this stuff out, it was with—ugh—Tasha, and that ended horribly.”

Rocket leaned back, tossing his feet up onto the table. “Just relax, man. You’ve got this. If you can’t figure it out, just ask her again. I bet she’ll let you off the hook.”

Peter turned to Gamora for support, but she only shrugged, as if the whole situation was typical for him. “I’m not helping you with this. But I will tell you, if you want to make this work, you need to stop overthinking it. You’re lucky she even kissed you in the first place.”

Peter sighed deeply, leaning back into the couch. “Yeah, I guess I am lucky.”

“And that,” Gamora said, smirking, “is why you should never ask Drax about anyone’s body. Now I’m going to go meditate before I lose my patience with you two.”

With that, Gamora walked off, leaving Peter and Rocket to recover from yet another embarrassing moment. Drax, still in his own world, looked at Rocket. “So, what’s the next step in this process?”

Rocket, his grin widening, couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, Drax, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

The Milano cruised through space, the hum of the engines comforting yet constant. The crew was going about their usual routine when Rocket stormed into the common area, his expression grim and serious.

“Alright, everyone,” Rocket started, gaining everyone’s attention. “We need to park the ship and stay at a motel for the night. The ship’s in desperate need of refueling and some mild repairs. The outside’s looking worse than Peter’s hair on a bad day.”

Peter shot Rocket a glare, but it was quickly replaced by his usual charm. “Hey, my hair is fine, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, fine like a rat’s nest,” Rocket shot back, not missing a beat. “Anyway, there’s a planet nearby with a decent enough place, so get ready to land.”

When the Milano touched down, the crew made their way off the ship, following Rocket as he led them through a bustling, colorful street that reeked of cheap perfume, neon lights, and a general sense of… questionable life choices. The atmosphere wasn’t exactly welcoming, but it was enough to put the ship back in working order.

As they walked, Peter couldn’t help but glance at Mari, who was walking slightly ahead of him. The way her red eyes scanned their surroundings, the confident way she carried herself—it was impossible not to look. He tried to stay cool, but he couldn’t help the flush creeping up his neck.

“Do you think we’ll get any weird looks in a place like this?” Gamora asked, her brow furrowing as she surveyed the neon-lit signs overhead.

Rocket glanced up at the neon signs. “There’s a motel here, yeah, but it’s got some… interesting clientele.” He pointed ahead to a garishly lit building with the words “Silver Lotus Motel” emblazoned on the marquee, with a bouncer standing at the door. Peter didn’t miss the large flashing neon “LIVE SHOWS” sign above the door either.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Uhh, this doesn’t look like a regular motel.”

“It’s not,” Rocket said, grinning. “It’s a strip club that moonlights as a motel. Trust me, it’s functional enough. I’ve stayed here a few times.”

Gamora looked disgusted. “A strip club? As a motel?”

Peter, trying to keep his cool, cleared his throat. “Well, I mean, if it’s good enough for Rocket…” He shot a glance at Mari, who seemed completely unfazed by the situation.

Mari didn’t even flinch, her arms crossed, eyes narrowing as she watched the people milling around in the streets. She wasn’t here for the spectacle, just the task at hand.

They walked through the doors of the Silver Lotus Motel, and immediately, the vibe was… less than professional. The interior was just as flashy, with a heavy scent of alcohol and sweat wafting through the air. A few neon lights flickered above, casting strange glows across the patrons sitting at the bar. The reception desk was situated in a corner near a stage with poles, and the bouncer gave them a quick nod as they entered.

Peter’s eyes flicked around nervously, his discomfort growing by the second. He knew he had to be on his best behavior, especially with Mari around, but it was so hard to not feel awkward. He caught himself staring at her for a moment longer than he should have, and when she glanced at him, he quickly looked away, his face red.

Mari raised an eyebrow at him, clearly noticing his unease. “You good, Quill?”

“Yeah, totally,” Peter stammered, trying his best to sound confident, but it came out as more of a squeak than anything else.

Gamora, walking ahead, raised an eyebrow at the scene. “This place is… not what I expected.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Rocket said, his grin widening as he approached the counter. “I’ll handle the rooms. Just don’t let any of the dancers get too close, Peter.”

Peter’s face turned a darker shade of red, while Drax and Rocket chuckled. Gamora shot them both a look of disapproval but said nothing.

When they finally got to the front desk, the clerk—a scruffy-looking alien with a bright purple mohawk—grinned at them. “Welcome to the Silver Lotus Motel! You here for a room, or… are you looking for something more… entertaining?” His eyes lingered a little too long on Mari, clearly taking in her posture and demeanor. Then, his gaze flicked to Peter, and his smirk widened.

Peter felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “Uh, just a room,” he said, his voice a bit too high-pitched. “For us… uh, two.”

Mari stepped forward, her eyes narrowing slightly at the alien’s obvious assumption. “I’ll take a room,” she said coolly, completely unphased by the atmosphere around her. She didn’t let the clerk’s lecherous grin faze her for even a second.

But the clerk, still smiling with that ridiculous assumption, raised an eyebrow. “Sure thing, sweetheart. You and your… partner, here, ready to get a little—”

Before he could finish, Peter stepped in, his flustered state now turning into full-on awkwardness. “No! No, no! We’re just, uh—just here for the room, that’s it! Just a regular room, nothing else!” His hands were up, waving in a frantic attempt to end the misunderstanding.

Mari raised a brow, giving Peter an odd look. “You’re making this weird, Quill.”

Peter closed his eyes and let out a groan, his face now a full tomato-red. He couldn’t even look at her anymore. “I swear, I didn’t mean it like that!”

The clerk smirked, clearly entertained. “Whatever you say, buddy. I’m just doing my job.” He slid the key across the counter. “Room 12. Enjoy your stay.”

As they walked away, Peter kept his eyes fixed on the floor, still mortified. Rocket and Drax, on the other hand, were laughing behind him, while Gamora shot him an exasperated look.

Mari, walking beside him, just shook her head, though a faint smile played at her lips. “You really need to learn how to handle yourself, Quill.”

Peter sighed deeply. “I’ll try. But this… this whole thing is just… too much.”

The room they were given was… not what Peter had expected. The neon lights outside cast an eerie glow through the cheap curtains, and the bed in the center of the room was huge—too huge for just one person, which was the unfortunate detail that hit Peter as soon as he entered.

Peter stood awkwardly by the door, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, as he glanced over at Mari, who had already made herself comfortable by the bed.

“Uh, so…” Peter scratched the back of his head, feeling the familiar awkwardness settle in. “Guess we’re sharing the bed, huh?”

Mari, who had already kicked off her boots and removed her jacket, was now unbuckling her belt with an almost casual indifference. She didn’t even spare him a second glance. “Looks like it, Quill.” She tossed her belt aside, her movements smooth and fluid as she went about removing her gear. Her tank top hugged her frame, her pants sitting low on her hips, and Peter, feeling his face heat up, quickly averted his eyes.

“Right. I’m just gonna—uh—get changed, too,” he stammered, heading towards the small bathroom area. “Just, you know, a second here.”

Mari barely acknowledged him, her attention already on other things as she unzipped her jacket and threw it onto a chair in the corner. Peter, feeling self-conscious, quickly pulled off his shirt and grabbed a pair of boxers from his bag, slipping them on with as much speed as he could muster. He couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable—he’d never liked sharing rooms, let alone beds—but he was really not used to this kind of situation, especially not with Mari.

He stepped out of the bathroom, hoping the darkness of the room would hide his embarrassment, and saw Mari already lying on her side of the bed. She was already facing away from him, seemingly indifferent to the situation, her body relaxed and calm.

Peter, however, was still standing awkwardly by the side of the bed. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of his usual confidence. “So, uh, are we…?”

Mari turned her head slightly, her eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “What?” she asked, her tone amused.

Peter, stammering, motioned to the bed. “Do we—do you need the blanket or…?”

Mari rolled her eyes, the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips. “Just get in, Quill. You’re being weird.”

Peter quickly climbed in on the other side, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. But it didn’t help. The bed was just too small for the both of them to maintain any significant distance.

Mari shifted slightly, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You know,” she teased, “it’s not like we’ve never been close before.”

Peter’s face turned beet red. “Uh, yeah… but, this is different, okay?” His voice was almost a squeak. “I mean… you’re, uh…” He swallowed hard, his thoughts completely scattered.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mari interrupted, her voice low and teasing. “It’s awkward. But don’t worry, Quill. I’m not gonna bite.”

She leaned closer, her body now pressed against his in the bed. Peter could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin sheets, and it made his stomach twist with nervousness. But then, in a surprising move, Mari reached over and rested her head against his chest, her body fitting perfectly against his.

Peter was too flustered to protest. He couldn’t think straight, especially when she was this close. He stiffened for a second, then his body relaxed, unable to resist the comfort of having her this close.

“I can’t believe you’re this uncomfortable just from being near me,” she said, her voice quiet and almost teasing. “You’re a mess, Quill.”

Peter, still not sure what to say, just let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not uncomfortable! I just… don’t know what to do when I’m—uh—this close to you.”

Mari hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t move, and slowly, Peter’s awkwardness began to fade. Despite everything, her presence was oddly calming. Her warmth against him, the soft sound of her breathing—it felt… familiar, in a way.

Before long, Peter’s arm, almost without thinking, moved across her waist, draping over her as he fell into a deeper state of sleep. Mari didn’t react, instead allowing him to fall asleep in this awkward, yet comforting position.

As his breathing evened out and his body relaxed, Mari couldn’t help but smile to herself. She was used to being on her own, but something about Peter’s clumsy, vulnerable side made her feel… oddly comfortable.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The morning light filtered softly through the window, casting a faint glow across the room. Mari stirred, groggily pulling herself out of a deep sleep, her body still tangled in the sheets. She stretched, feeling the slight stiffness in her limbs from the awkward position she had slept in. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, flickered over to Peter, who was up and moving around, his back turned to her as he rummaged through his bag.

For a moment, Mari just watched him—he was standing there in nothing but his boxers, clearly focused on getting dressed. His toned back and shoulders were visible, and though she wasn’t the type to ogle, she couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

Peter, sensing her gaze, casually glanced over his shoulder with that signature cocky grin plastered on his face. “I know, I know. You’re checking me out,” he teased, clearly not bothered by the fact that he was practically naked. “But hey, who could blame you?”

Mari’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she shot him a look of mock annoyance. “You’re an idiot, Quill,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Peter, now fully facing her, dropped his shirt dramatically and flashed her a smug grin. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he said, his voice full of confidence. “You can’t deny it.”

At that moment, for the first time since she’d known him, Mari couldn’t help but laugh. The sound was unexpected, and it startled even her, but it felt oddly light and freeing. Her usual stoic demeanor slipped for just a second as she sat up and looked at Peter with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t get too cocky,” she said, her voice still warm with the remnants of her laughter. “You might be my idiot, but you’re still an idiot.”

Peter shrugged, not the least bit fazed. “Hey, being an idiot is a full-time job, and I’m really good at it.”

Mari shook her head, a small smile still tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable.”

“I prefer irresistible,” Peter shot back, pulling on his shirt with a flourish. His grin was wide, and there was that mischievous glint in his eyes, the one that made it impossible for her to stay annoyed at him for too long.

“You’re lucky I like you, Quill,” Mari said, her smile softening just slightly as she got up to start putting her own gear back on.

Peter waggled his eyebrows at her, clearly enjoying the banter. “Oh, I know. It’s hard to resist me.” He paused dramatically, waiting for her to roll her eyes. “It’s okay. I’m a great catch.”

“Yeah, sure you are, Captain Ego,” Mari replied, though she didn’t seem as cold or guarded as usual. Her tone was a little lighter, and her eyes softened ever so slightly.

Peter, for all his cocky bravado, couldn’t help but feel a little warmer inside at the sight of her smile. Even if it was just a small one, it was rare for her to let her guard down like that.

He finished getting dressed and turned toward the door. “Well, if you’re done checking me out, I think we should get out of here. Rocket’s probably already plotting something, and you know how that goes.”

Mari raised an eyebrow, a small, amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s up to no good.”

Peter grinned. “You coming, or do I need to carry you out of here?”

Mari scoffed, slipping on her boots. “I’m perfectly capable of walking, Quill. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Peter chuckled. “Alright, alright. But just know I’m your idiot whenever you need me.”

And with that, they both left the room—Peter’s cocky grin still in place, and Mari’s usual stoic expression hiding the hint of amusement she felt toward him. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

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laurazukerman-blog · 8 months ago

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Ejection Seats

Ejection seats are crucial safety systems in aircraft, designed to rescue pilots during emergencies by propelling them out of the aircraft with explosive charges or rocket motors[2]. These seats can exert forces up to 12 Gs, which can be physically taxing on pilots[1]. Modern ejection seats, like the ACES 5, include advanced features such as passive head and neck protection, and are compatible…

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usafphantom2 · 9 months ago

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HOW A CATHOLIC PRIEST GOT CLOSER TO HEAVEN

Recently, I was told by Bill Kraus that his father a SR 71 navigator and RSO and a SR-71 Pilot, Tony Bevacqua and four or five other crewmembers would go to the chapel and pray every day they were blessed and protected by God because no Air Force officer was killed in the line of duty flying the SR 71

The actual unofficial top speed of the SR 71 is 3.52. This happened because of the urgings of a Catholic priest!

SR-71 pilot Tom Alison said, “My God, Padre, what more do you want?

I came within 5degrees of burning up this entire airplane! “What more do you want? The Father wanted to make sure that he broke the official record of the fastest speed in the SR 71 that’s what he wanted. Father Hesburgh was used to asking for a lot and getting it. Father Theodore Hesburgh, President of Notre Dame, was an aviation buff. He was hooked after a flight in a barnstormer’s stunt plane at the age of 10 that his Dad paid five dollars for. In his autobiography, he wrote that He has logged nearly three million miles in the air, flying in exotic aircraft such as an F14-Tomcat, a Torpedo Bomber, a Weather Plane, and many more. He also broke the sound barrier several times, flew into a volcanic crater, and piloted a naval bomber over the Pacific despite having no formal flight training. But he wanted more. The ultimate prize would be to fly in the world's fastest airplane and break the current record. That record was set in 1976 at 2193 mph.

President Carter was thanking the Roman Catholic priest for his Goodwill accomplishments; he asked Hesburgh is there anything I could do for you? President Carter recalled the moment Hesburgh asked for the favor: “I said, ‘Fr. Hesburgh, it’s not customary for civilians to ride on a top-secret airplane.’

He said, ‘That’s all right. I thought you were Commander-in-Chief.’”

Two days later, Hesburgh got a call from the Air Force’s chief of staff. He was to report to the Beale Air Force Base, CA, to undergo a training regimen and series of rigorous tests. After passing the physical and psychological examinations administered to astronauts, Hesburgh had to learn how to operate every instrument in the back seat: navigational equipment, radios, and dozens of gauges and meters. He was then put through situational training for various emergency scenarios, including ejection and equipment failure. Father Hesburgh was possibly the oldest VIP to get a ride in the SR 71. He was 61. A close rival for this title would be Senator Barry Goldwater. He was 60 when he got his VIP ride in 1969.

On February 28, 1979, Hesburgh and the pilot, Major Tom Alison, prepared for their attempt to break the Blackbird’s speed record. The priest wanted to push it to the limit..

After cruising at 30,000 feet just under the speed of sound, Allison and Hesburgh dove 5,000 feet and broke the sound barrier. They then turned their nose upwards and rocketed past 80,000 feet, accelerating through Mach 3. As Hesburgh watched the speedometer, the Blackbird pushed past 2,200 miles per hour, breaking the plane’s speed record.

In his autobiography, Hesburgh said that when he’d landed, he “asked Tom if he had pushed the plane as fast as it would go.” Allison responded, “My God, Padre, I went within five degrees of burning us up. What more do you want?”

Hesburgh fulfilled a lifelong dream — he set an unofficial airspeed record in the world’s fastest airplane, an SR-71 Blackbird. This became the Father's proudest accomplishment, a story that he told over and over again to his friends. This is a truly remarkable story about a man who asked for an almost impossible task and received it!

Written by Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

#sr71 #sr 71 #sr 71 blackbird #aircraft #usaf #lockheed aviation #skunkworks #mach3+#habu #aviation #reconnaissance #cold war aircraft

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softmoxymuffin · 2 years ago

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This is one of the funniest podcast episode's I have ever listened to. And yes I am incredibly biased for Brennan Lee Mulligan, the chemistry with Eric and Adal is also incredibly infectious and so fun. Also included my favorite part where Brennan explains what he loves so much about Dungeons and Dragons and it is beautiful.

Please enjoy!

***

Eric Silver: What is a perfect encapsulation of dungeons in dragons if someone asks you; "Well what's an example of why you love this thing so much?” What would you say?

Brennan Lee Mulligan: Within the game Dungeons and Dragons there is a marriage of three things going on; There is a dungeon master who has a world and a setting that they've populated with challenges and characters and some kind of plot line. There are players playing these heroic characters and then there are the dice and the dice are a neutral emotionless arbiter of random chance.

And especially for people like myself an adult who has a background in improv we're used to not having those things be adjudicated, right? It's just due to the collaboration ‘-and yes-ending’ of the partners on stage and that's beautiful. I love improv and I will always love improv and that perfect free form role playing.

What is beautiful about the dice is it means you are improvising with someone that you know doesn't care about you and it makes risk and heartbreak and danger…

Adal Rifai: I'm sorry. I'm crying. You, I never realized DnD is unrequited love. Unrequited love with the dice that don't care about you.

Brennan Lee Mulligan: In a moment where you're in an improv scene and something has the emotional resonance of hanging in the balance. You know that it's not really hanging in the balance because there's a human being across the stage from you who you trust who also wants the show to be as good as possible so it's never hanging in the balance. It's just the illusion of it hanging in the balance.

But there's a moment at a gaming table where everyone looks around and they all want the characters to survive. And instead of allowing any of the human beings who have invested months or years into the survival of that character to have a say in their ultimate fate, that fate is handed over to the inscrutable faceless prognostications of small plastic polyhedral dice-

Adal Rifai: Have that sewn into a pillow Eric! I want that I want that in a pillow by tomorrow.

Eric Silver: I'm flipping it (the pillow) over.

Brennan Lee Mulligan: -and as the dice rises into the air there is a moment of surrender to whatever is to come and the emotional resonance of being forced in a story of your own telling. To be ejected from the seat of the ‘storyteller’ and rocketed into the seat of audience member. To a tale of your own devising and to watch that plinkety-planking little D20 roll around. And in the moment of your most dire need you see two numbers; a two and a zero and when that Nat 20 comes up when, it was the only number that could save you the entire table erupts in a moment of triumph and joy and sweet relief. There is no high I have experienced in life like when the whole table knows it's what they need and somehow with only a five percent chance you all get it. Sweet, sweet joy.

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Tell me about it Podcast (background)

Adal Rifai is an eccentric billionaire who forces someone new every episode to share, argue, and defend the thing they love the most. He’s wrangled his audio butler Eric Silver to lead the contestant through a series of absurd challenges and games, all to gain points and get on the Most Interesting Thing High Score Board. Tell Me About It: the most fun podcast run by a multibillionaire.

#tell me about it podcast #adal rifai #eric silver #brennan lee mulligan #dungeons and dragons #dnd #d20 #passions

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bookloversofbath · 3 years ago

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The Man in the Hot Seat :: Doddy Hay

View On WordPress

#aircraft operations #american test pilots #aviation events #aviation histories #aviation history #aviation safety #books by doddy hay #ejection seat #ejection trajectories #english electric lightning #first edition books #martin baker mk 6ha ejector seat #pilot ejection seats #rocket ejection seat #zero zero test

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lonestarflight · 3 years ago

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The Gemini capsule differed from other space capsules like Mercury and Apollo in that it had erector seats rather than a rocket tower.

"Gemini Project Office (GPO) decided that seat ejection was to be initiated manually, with the proviso that the design must allow for the addition of automatic initiation if this should later become a requirement. Both seats had to eject simultaneously if either seat ejection system was energized.

The ejection seat was to provide the crew a means of escaping from the Gemini spacecraft in an emergency while the launch vehicle was still on the launch pad, during the initial phase of powered flight (to about 60,000 feet), or in case of paraglider failure after reentry.

In addition to the seat, the escape system included a hatch actuation system to open the hatches before ejection, a rocket catapult to propel the seat from the spacecraft, a personnel parachute system to sustain the astronaut after his separation from the seat, and survival equipment for the astronaut's use after landing.

At a meeting on March 29, representatives of McDonnell, GPO, Life Systems Division, and Flight Crew Operations Division agreed that a group of specialists should get together periodically to monitor the development of the ejection seat, its related components, and the attendant testing. Although ejection seats had been widely used in military aircraft for years, Gemini requirements, notably for off-the-pad abort capability, were beyond the capabilities of existing flight-qualified systems.

McDonnell awarded a $1.8 million subcontract to Weber Aircraft at Burbank, California, a division of Walter Kidde and Company, Inc, for the Gemini ejection seats on April 9; a $741,000 subcontract went to Rocker Power, Inc., Mesa, Arizona, on May 15 for the escape system rocket catapult."

Date: March 14, 1962

NASA ID: link

#Gemini #Gemini Titan #Rocket #Titan II #Titan II GLV #NASA #Gemini Program #Project Gemini #Development #Ejection Seats #Ejection Seat #Abort #March #1962 #my post

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the-technicolor-whiscash · 6 months ago

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In early missions the shuttle also had ejection seats which, while it is a logistical nightmare should the canopy fail to open before you slam against it (as it frequently did during Gemini ejection tests - "a bad headache, but a quick one"), keeping ejection seats would have allowed for a modicum of extra safety in a ship that the crew otherwise could not escape from. Mercury and Apollo both had escape towers. Gemini had those trustworthy ejection seats. Modern systems have escape thrusters. On Soyuz they've used their escape rockets to save the lives of crew in launch vehicle accidents. Shuttle didn't have that. And so we lost Challenger.

This book talks about possible abort programs for shuttle and the return to launch site abort sounds literally horrendous bc you're already hauling ass towards space with your wheels aimed towards the sky and your back towards the ground, still with your external fuel tanks full of explosion risks, and you have to in midair pitch the nose in the right direction to turn yourself towards the launch site, lose the fuel tank and hope it doesn't drop on anything important, and try to still land safely as a glider

#the whiscash administration

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tongue-like-a-razor · 3 years ago

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Tailspin | Chapter 10

Maverick x Fem!Reader

Summary: Pete “Maverick” Mitchell falls in love with his number one rival’s girlfriend.

CW: love triangle, angst, elements of infidelity, slow burn, you're going to feel so bad for Ice, I apologize in advance <3

Start from the beginning: Chapter 1

"Cut the crap, Maverick," Tom says, shaking his head.

Goose makes a face at Tom as if he's offended him rather than Maverick.

"What would you do, Kazansky? Pray the ground away?" Maverick eyes him moodily and takes a swig of his drink.

"I would punch out obviously." Tom sneers, looking over at Ron who nods in agreement.

"And there goes your plane." Maverick holds up his glass and then brings it down slowly to demonstrate a crash landing.

"It's the plane or us, asshat," Ron retorts. "Hypothetically."

"But it isn't!" Maverick exclaims passionately, leaning into the table. "That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

Tom watches him irritably; it's obvious that Maverick infuriates him with his mere presence. He moves forward so that he's facing Maverick directly. "It's called an unrecoverable flat spin for a reason."

You sigh, bringing your hand up to your face and rubbing your forehead. They've been going at it for nearly two hours and you're about ready to get up and leave. You see Goose watching you sympathetically from across the table.

"You're not walking away from that," Tom snarls, shaking his head. "You eject, or you die."

Maverick leans back into his seat and smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. "Have you heard of the plane that brought itself out of a spin after the pilots ejected?"

Tom watches him coldly but doesn't respond.

"It's true," Maverick says with conviction. "And do you know why it's true?"

"I have a feeling we're about to," Ron says flatly.

"Look at that, you got one right, Slider!" Goose pipes in.

Ron gives Goose a cross look.

Tom is glaring at Maverick. Neither one of them has looked at you all evening and you're starting to wonder if perhaps it's better this way. Let them argue about planes, as long as they leave you out of it.

"Ejecting out of the cockpit tipped the plane's center of gravity, you see," Maverick says with a smile.

"Rockets will do that," Tom says sourly.

Maverick ignores him and continues, "Disrupting the gyroscope effect and bringing it out of the spin."

"Of course, the plane crashed anyway," Tom says. "Pilot was gone."

Maverick nods. "But," he says excitedly. "Think about what this means, Ice." He's smiling widely and you can't help admiring how handsome he looks when he's trying to prove a point.

Tom sighs skeptically. "What does it mean, Mav?"

"It means," Maverick says with a broad grin. "That all you have to do to bring the plane out of a flat spin is shift its center of gravity."

"Oh, is that all?" Ron quips.

Tom gives Ron an approving smirk, then turns back to Maverick. "How would you do that without ejecting, genius?"

Maverick tightens his mouth, pausing for effect. "I'd climb onto the glare shield."

Tom stares at him like he's crazy. "You would fucking not."

"If that doesn't work, maybe shimmy down the nose until it drops," Maverick adds.

Ron is watching him in disgust. "You're full of shit."

Maverick laughs. "It would work!"

Tom shakes his head. "Your recommendation to a pilot who's lost control of his aircraft is to unstrap and leave the cockpit in midair?"

Maverick shrugs. "You're dead anyway."

"No, I'm not!" Ron yells. "I'm ejecting! I've already ejected!"

Maverick rolls his eyes at him. He looks back at Tom. "You know as well as I do what ejecting can do to your body. Twelve, fourteen G's in milliseconds. Months of rehab. Possible spinal cord damage. You may never fly a Tomcat again."

Tom runs a hand over his mouth. "You're insane." He rubs his eyes tiredly. "For the love of god, Maverick, don't test this theory."

Maverick looks at him with a grin. "Ejecting isn't always foolproof, Kazansky."

"I can attest to that," Goose mutters. Then, he stands. "Amelia," he says, "walk with me. I think we might have another couple of hours before they decide to call it a night."

You chuckle, rising to follow Goose to the bar. You glance back to see both Tom and Maverick watching you go, and Ron glancing between the two of them with a puzzled expression.

"How are they not tired of arguing?" you say, shaking your head.

Goose laughs. "That right there is progress," he notes, pointing at the two men and giving them a nod when they look back at him in confusion. "They barely spoke to each other before you showed up. This," he adds, giving the two of them a thumbs up, "this is a budding friendship. Friendly rivalry. All in good fun."

You make a face. "You call this fun?"

Goose shrugs. "Not so much for you and me." He turns toward the bar and taps on the counter. Then he calls over the bartender. "What'll you have?" he asks.

"Vodka," you respond without a second thought.

Goose widens his eyes and then nods at the bartender. "Two, please," he requests.

You sigh, sliding onto the barstool beside him.

He looks over at you. "Rough day?"

You glance up at him, wondering how much he knows. By the gentle smile he gives you, you assume that it's probably everything. "I ran into Maverick today," you say.

"Oh?" he replies, his eyebrows quirking upward as though he's surprised. "Where?"

You narrow your eyes at him just as the shots arrive. "You haven't heard?" you ask.

Goose grins widely. "Oh, I heard, alright."

You giggle. "Your enthusiasm worries me."

He laughs, lifting his shot glass. "I can see why he likes you," he says.

You hold up your glass. "Other than the fact that he can't have me?"

Goose clinks his glass with yours, watching you carefully. "You're a cynic just like he is." After a moment, he adds, "Do me a favor. Don't break his heart."

You glance up at him guiltily. Then, you look over at the heated discourse still in progress at the table. "Somebody's heart is going to break."

"Well," Goose says. "I may be biased but –" he stops talking and you look over to see him take his shot.

You follow suit, cringing as the alcohol burns your throat. "I should never have come," you say quietly.

"You really think so?" Goose swivels in his barstool and waves over the bartender. "Two more," he says, holding up two fingers.

"I think that, if I stay, I'm going to ruin their budding friendship."

Goose turns to look at you. "Wait, you're not thinking of leaving, are you?"

You hesitate, not sure how to respond. "I don't know what to do, Goose," you whisper.

The bartender brings another set of shots and Goose holds one out for you. "Can I make a suggestion?" he says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes. "You're biased, remember?"

He nods. "He's really into you," he says. "Like, he won't stop talking about you, I'm tired of hearing about you, kind of into you."

You laugh.

"It's true, I think I know more about you than your own mother does."

You put your hand to your face because you're turning red, but you can't stop smiling.

"But if he knew I was telling you this, he'd kill me. So, I'm swearing you to secrecy."

You look at him in surprise. "You're betraying his trust."

Goose shrugs. "It's for his own good. I feel like perhaps you think he might have an ulterior motive."

You eye him skeptically. "How do I know you're not lying?"

He furrows his eyebrows. "Why would I lie? Besides, I'd say it's more than evident," he says, nodding toward Maverick, who's still demonstrating a series of rolls and dives with his exaggerated hand movements. "Even Ice sees it."

You sigh, bringing your glass over to Goose's to clink them together. "That's the problem," you mutter before downing your shot.

"Yeah," Goose agrees. "Ice is a problem, alright."

You shake your head, making a face. "I like my boyfriend, Goose. He's a really great guy."

"Wait, I thought Iceman was your boyfriend."

You give him a flat look. "Very funny. Listen, he might be a dick to the rest of you, but deep down, he's very sweet."

Goose grimaces. "How deep are we talking?"

You roll your eyes. "My parents love him. He's extremely polite and proper. He's a gentleman."

Goose furrows his eyebrows. "Iceman?"

You laugh. "He's actually perfect in every way."

Goose nods unenthusiastically. "Except in one," he says.

You raise your eyebrows questioningly. The bartender brings you another couple of drinks and you wonder when Goose had the chance to order more.

"Well," he says. "You're not in love with him. That much is obvious."

You shrug. "It doesn't happen instantly."

Goose eyes you knowingly. "Doesn't it?" he asks.

You let your gaze slip back to the table and smile as Maverick's graceful hand motions provoke cries of outrage from both Tom and Ron. Whenever you look at Maverick, everything else in the room blurs into the background and, with a jolt, you realize that it's been that way from the moment you saw him. You sigh. "Only in fairy tales," you respond finally, giving Goose a forced smile.

...

You shut your eyes, cringing after your fifth shot.

"Are we drinking?" You hear Maverick's voice nearby and your eyes fly open.

You place your empty shot glass on the counter. "We are drinking," you say, indicating yourself and Goose. "You" – you point at Maverick, Tom, and Ron, who have just approached the bar – "are not invited unless you find another topic of conversation. Any other topic of conversation." You feel the room start to drift slightly and realize that the last shot of alcohol might have been one too many.

"How about we get you home?" Tom walks up to you with a smirk and places his hands on your hips, pulling you toward him off the stool.

You stand up, putting your hands on his chest for support. "Sure," you say.

Maverick gives you a tight smile as the two of you say goodbye and head for the door. As soon as you step outside, however, Goose comes hurtling after you.

"Hey, Ice!" he exclaims.

Tom looks over at him with a cocked eyebrow.

"Look!" he points up to the sky. "A shooting star!"

"What?" Tom's expression is a healthy mix of confusion and aversion.

"No." Goose shakes his head. "No, that's not what I wanted to say."

Tom puts an arm around you and pulls you closer. "We'll see you tomorrow, Bradshaw." He turns to walk away.

"No!" Goose yells, making Tom turn back. "I mean, yes, you will. But also, I have something for you."

Tom narrows his eyes. "What are you on about?"

Goose takes a step forward and pulls on Tom's arm. "It's in my car."

"Bradshaw, what the fuck?" Tom jerks his arm out of Goose's grasp.

"You'll like it!" Goose insists, ushering him across the parking lot, leaving you standing alone outside the bar.

A moment later, you feel a subtle touch on the small of your back that begins to travel slowly upward as you rotate.

You see Maverick's sheepish grin and shake your head. "Poor Goose," you say.

He chuckles. "I agree."

You look down. "We can't keep doing this," you say quietly.

"I agree," he responds.

You glance up at him, disappointed in his answer even though it was your idea.

Then, he adds, "We can stop tomorrow."

You let out a small laugh.

Maverick holds your gaze for a long moment, as if he means to communicate something he can't quite speak aloud. Finally, he says, "What are you doing tonight?"

You raise your eyebrows. "I'm going home," you say. "With Tom."

He nods impatiently. "And after that?" he asks.

You blink. "After that, I'm sleeping."

He shakes his head. "Not tonight, you're not."

"Excuse me?"

He lifts his eyes to look over your shoulder and you have a feeling that Goose and Tom are already on their way back. "Meet me at the hangar at midnight," he says.

You stare at him, speechless for several seconds. Then, you say, "Absolutely not."

The left side of his mouth curls upward. "See you there," he mutters just before turning to head back inside.

"Maverick, no!" you call after him, grabbing his arm as he's about to pull open the door. "I'm not coming. I can't."

He looks down at your hand on his bicep and then he lifts his eyes to look at you. "It'll be like nothing you've ever experienced," he says in a low voice.

Of that you have no doubt; with him, that tends to be the case. "We can't," you breathe.

You feel the muscles in his arm contract under your grasp as he tugs on the door, and you let your hand fall away. "I'll be there if you change your mind," he says. Then he disappears into the crowd.

Read Chapter 11

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