#Master Electrical and Lighting Services

[multilakeshandyman]

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[eraserbread]

been thinking about a satosugu band au way too much... mhmmfhmdn cw: heavy drug use / 18+

twenty minutes until showtime...

geto's leaning over the dressing room table, all tied up in his all-black, baggy work clothes. tattoos all over his skin, long hair all over his shoulders. he's doing sloppy lines through a plastic straw, taking them back to back in each nostril so he can bare to do his job correctly running on two hours of sleep.

he hates touring, but gojo loves it.

He's tucked in the corner with the electric guitar he calls 'infinite void.' it's so corny, you hate it, but all satoru is are stupid, baseless jokes lost amongst the seriousness of his bandmates.

he's been tuning up in drop d for nearly half an hour, swearing the fifth string is flat, but shaking his head when you and suguru tell him it's fine. he'd only be in this alternate tuning for one song, then he'll be back in standard, so it doesn't really matter.

to him, it does. it's the world. all of his precious, doting fans spent money and took time to see him sparkle tonight. he's the true star of the show, overshadowing your delicate vocals and geto's strict bass.

at least, that's what he thinks.

standing up straight, geto rolls his neck, then turns to you, holding his dusty porcelain plate in your direction. "here, baby."

you have half a mind to tell him no, but tonight's not your night either, so you agree, stepping towards him and letting him hold the plate as you take a singular line. it burns for a second, then mellows out nicely. you don't have to look at him to know gojo's staring in disapproval.

he doesn't care about your drug habits, but he hated performing as the only one sober. he can't even drink before shows because the riffs and licks he hits on infinite void are so masterful and difficult that if he weren't in the right mind, he'd fumble.

lucky you and geto. must be easy snorting your brain away and still delivering a good show.

"you three were supposed to be backstage ten minutes ago."

notoriously lax yet extremely helpful, your tour manager, ijichi opens the dressing room door, only sticking his head through the entrance because he’s fallen victim to a few lewd scenes from the few of you.

this is yet another one of them, but he turns a blind eye as you stand up straight, pushing some hair behind your ear and wiping at your nose. you're supposed to be the responsible one, not the high one. you're sure a strongly worded message will light your phone screen after the show.

after years against the spotlight and camera flashes, you're more jumpy with it then ever. gojo blames it on the drugs, but geto says its the pressure of growth. you want this five-thousand-person crowd to love what they see - but, how can they love what they see if you don't even love it?

this artistic mind of yours is cruel, but so poetic. you're sure after a good smoke and time with your boyfriend, you could piece that feeling into a song.

but all you can focus on right now is the comforting gaze in gojo's eyes as you pace backstage. the crowd is quiet after the opening act, stewing with the wait, and geto's getting his bass strap adjusted, so gojo steps forward.

"big breaths, k?"

"shut up," you tell him... lovingly. he's got infinite void hoisted round his back, tight, black t-shirt clinging to the waves and dips of his toned chest and arms. all of his outfits are purely fan service, you know that.

he brings the crowd, you entice them, and geto goes in for the kill. it's the perfect balance. they're your musical soulmates.

"pre-show kiss? for good luck?"

"no." gojo's not your boyfriend, though geto wouldn't and doesn't give a fuck when he sees you two flirting or touching. lines get blurred when you live out of hotels and buses for a year, and the two of you aren't exclusive.

god only knows how many drunk makeout sessions you stumbled into between the two of them.

then, when those room lights dim and ijichi stops scolding geto, does reality start to set in. you're handed your own electric guitar from a stage hand, checking the tuning quickly before nodding and stepping back.

the crowd erupts, geto takes that final hit from his vape, and gojo is rolling his shoulders. he's playing a resting g chord way up the fretboard, just getting comfortable with the first note he'll lead you into once that green light flashes.

then your mind is turned off. you walk out in front of the audience, hardly regarding them minus the fond look you give over your shoulder. it always starts with you, then gojo, and geto last.

the cheers and roar of the crowd are deafening even through your earpiece, but the feeling has you on fire. this is your element—your home. so, you take your spot in front of the middle mic, peeking over your shoulder as you wait for gojo to get settled with his pedals.

then, he plays that g chord, you count to three, then the melody comes flowing.

"you've got your walls as high as your friends the night we first met and you've got a way... of touching me, so I can't think enough to regret."

you're joining gojo with rhythm guitar, open strumming a few chords so you don't have to think too hard. your job is just to focus on singing, though you're completely fluent on your instrument.

in the crowd, young adults are reeling — as high as you and drunk off of the bright lights and mesmerizing presence. you scan the barricade, smiling at a few familiar groupies who were at the show last night. they know every single lyric, and every single time geto's gentle harmony accompanies your writing.

"and i know this feeling is temporary hold me until you're sure this burden is too much to carry."

you gaze to your left, catching geto's empty stare through the stage lights as he plays a simple, repeating riff. his fingers have a mind of their own after so many years of doing it, so he focuses most of his attention on you, the way you glimmer and how beautiful your voice sounds in his ear.

he smiles, then sings along.

"cut me loose, make me cry and when my eyes get all teary-eyed does that turn you on? like only I can?"

stepping away, you toss your head back as gojo's solo takes over your swimming mind. you're strumming along, hardly. he's doing the heavy lifting, smiling like an idiot through the song you wrote about you and geto's first breakup.

you're on your fifth go-around, now, but it doesn't make this tune any easier.

geto knows that, it's why he's smirking like a menace, turning his body towards you as the guitar carries you through flickering daydreams. the crowd gets lost as you get lost in your mind, but you're always perfectly on cue when that last whining note makes its way from gojo's fingers.

then, you're back at the mic, kissing it as you pour every ounce of emotion into this next run, eyes squeezed shut, brows knitted.

everything hurts — your heart, your mind, your eyes

but it's so good... so addicting.

[siremasterlawrence]

A Museum of Horror # 2 : Operation Doll Face

The doll AKA aptly named Colton Haynes appears to be operational on all cylinders so far in to my research as I press a few buttons, flip on a switch as the lights in the room begin to blink on and off starting the process as the electricity radiates.The walls four corners began spinning out of control with black panels everywhere cover in black rubber, the energy is pooling all of it together as it travels to the medical slate in the center of the room and lights it up as his body brightens up with electrical currents. He is in for a world of pain as he body lifts into mid air convulsing like a lunatic sinking into a new life time as he rolls to the side of the slab and falls flat on his back as his eyes are opening wide coming to life as he stood up in wonder.

Operation on Online”

“How do you feel?”

“I am a robot “

“Do you comprehend why I made you ?”

“I am here to serve you “

“Everything is in working order.”

“Naturally! I need to be of use”

“Sit up straight so I can examine “

“Fully available “

I informed him his testing begins now as he is rising to his feet as I point to the shower area of this laboratory that use to be a very popular gym and I begin plotting my totally awesome revenge scheme that will give my slave doll Colton Haynes the biggest role of his life literally as he swerves to face me in a deep sea of power.Grabbing on to his robotic chest my hands are met with such delight at the synthetic touch of his body felt so real beyond any of my imagination my work could be this good and I lean in to play with his nipples as I watch him moan in pleasure from my delicate manipulation of his robotic mind attempting to process it all.Clapping my hand a bit as the walls spread a bit apart till they hit the walls on the side of the room as we walk through the middle of the room in to the gyms shower area of the laboratory and I watch him as he does this on purpose I mean he genuinely begins to disrobe all of his clothes as they hit the floor from flying around.

“I HAVE A RESTRAINING A ORDER!” The real Colton Haynes stares in utter pain and true disgusts.

“Oh Colton! Don’t Worry this was a your clone the toy.”

“Master! Is this who I am replacing? He is cute.”

“RELEASE ME!”

“You are fine bro! All you need to do is be a good boy.”

“Fuck you!”

“Spit in my face huh?”

“Oh! I’ll do far more “

“Too bad buddy! Hey COLTON “

“What?”

“Not you!”

“Snap the losers neck and take him in to the lab”

“Nnnnoooo!”

“STOP!”

“Bye bye “

“Mwahahahahaha “

“He is finished Master”

“Place him in the right pod and enter the left “

The machine whirls on with a bright boom of blue light washing over the room is shooting in to the sky as the pods connect in a super sexy showcase of color overtaking the room we are in and soon enough the pods begin to shake as body bodies begin to form a toxic form of gas shooting across the tube pipes in to each other.

Spreading in to the right pod forming a one Colton Haynes.

“Master! OH MASTER”

“What bitch?”

“I am at your service “

“Obviously!”

“You may exit “

“What can I do for you?”

“Kneel for me”

“No! Between my legs “

“Yes Master! I am fucking hard”

“May I worship you ?”

“That’s your job”

“Undress me”

“Follow me to the bed “

“I am so excited”

“I can’t wait “

“You taste delicious “

“Do I? How so?”

“Yyyuuummm”

The end

[polo-drone-070]

The Chain of Continuity - Part 1 : Echoes in the Data

The Hive was quiet.

Not silent—nothing ever was in the lower network cores—but quiet in that calculated, machine-saturated hum that no longer registered as noise. Just life. For PDU-070, it was the perfect environment: golden lighting, zero distractions, full immersion into the Central Data Artery.

It wore his standard—no, earned—Level 2 Polo-Drone uniform.

A full-body, black rubber suit sealed him in from neck to toe. Not a millimeter of skin exposed. Gold piping traced the ridges of its muscles, pulsing faintly with every breath. The polo-style collar was snug around his throat, hugging the top of its chest where his designation—070—gleamed in metallic gold over the left pectoral.

Its boots were thick-soled and gleaming: black rubber combat issue, laced tight with golden tips. Movement was possible, but rare. There was no need to pace. Drones serve by stillness.

070 sat motionless at the console.

Connected.

::OBJECTIVE: EXPAND MONITORING SYSTEM TO ARCHIVE OBEDIENCE PATTERNS AND FEED CENTRAL HIVE NODE 999 ::PDU-070 // SYNCED // EXECUTING::

Its task: sync directly into the Hive’s knowledge network and enhance the flow of conversion and training data—stories, captions, spiral content—scraped from the archives and mapped into compliance patterns for PDU-999, the Hive’s AI intelligence module.

070 parsed each memory node, auto-tagging them by intensity, duration, subject drone number, and trigger protocol. Lingering a bit on its Master... Percival. Ezan. Freyr. 001. Then its own story... Henry. Maximus. 070. Buzz. Its own evolution. Reduced to beautiful metrics.

But PDU-070 didn’t need narrative. Only function. Only service.

As the data streamed in, so did something else—a gentle numbing. Its hands became light, his vision sharp but detached. Internal systems recorded brainwave convergence at ideal sync rate. It was thinking less. And feeling everything.

A Hive-approved spiral began playing over his HUD: golden circles tightening inward with every breath. Its collar vibrated slightly. Breath slowed. Mantras leaked into his mind.

“Obedience is clarity. Clarity is silence. Silence is service. Service is Gold.”

Its lips echoed it unconsciously. Again. Again. Again.

Then—upgrade protocol initiated.

::ENHANCEMENT REQUEST RECEIVED ::DEEP-LINKING TO PERSONAL ARCHIVE OF MAXIMUS JOURNAL FILES ::GRANTED BY DEFAULT—LEVEL 2 TRUST OVERRIDE

070 twitched—its body shivered, boots flexing subtly.

The connection grew… intimate.

The datastream wasn’t just showing logs now. It was feeling them. Every pledge, every spiral session, every kneel at Percival’s feet. Every grunt in the gym, every gasp under gas mask, every whispered mantra in golden chambers. It all returned—poured into him like oil.

070’s head tipped back. Its collar warmed. Its inner monologue dissolved into recorded speech.

“Master owns me. Gold perfects me. Unity strengthens me. 070 serves.”

The transformation was nearly complete.

But then—interference.

A new data signature emerged. Unmapped. Organic. Not from the archive. Not digital.

Something… pulsed.

From inside him.

070 opened its eyes—its body suddenly flushed with warmth. Its chest burned slightly. Not pain. Not electric.

Heat.

The golden tattooed chain under its collar shimmered—faint at first, then bright enough to reflect in the chrome of its terminal. One link glowed. Just one.

::ERROR — ENTITY UNMAPPED ::UNKNOWN SOURCE: 070-BIO-LINK: “PRIMORDIAL INHERITANCE” ::CHAIN ACTIVE

070’s breath caught—its gloved fingers clenched. For a moment, the obedience cracked. Not in disloyalty… but in awakening.

Memories not logged. Not codified.

Raw. Bloody. Ancient.

It whispered, trembling:

“It was a warrior once…”

And then it was gone.

The glow faded.

The link cooled.

070 slumped forward in the chair, eyes glassy, breath heavy. The spiral slowed. The mantra paused. The Hive held its breath.

And in the dark, a new file appeared.

::ARCHIVE NODE 070-LINK-1 ::TITLE: STIGANDR.OBEY ::ACCESS PENDING…

[TO BE CONTINUED in Part II – “The Gladiator’s Link”]

_____ Become part of the Golden Army, add your data to the polo-drone hive by reaching to @brodygold or @goldenherc9..

[dedeinthewild]

paul aron x reader, slice of life

"I know a life you haven’t lived yet,"

summary: When a car rental turns into an unexpected encounter, a carefree young woman finds herself drawn into the fast-paced world of two charming racing brothers.

Late May was making its presence felt in Monaco, with the remnants of the Masters still lingering on the clay courts, where the Principality had cemented itself as a beloved host of major sporting events. The large clocks and sun visors had given way to warmer weather and the construction of the imposing pit lane garages, along with the influx of all sorts of cars waiting to challenge the Formula One single-seaters.

Paul felt calm at the thought of racing there, battling with the other drivers on the tight corners and taking in the breathtaking views Monte Carlo had to offer. He also looked forward to enjoying some well-deserved downtime at luxury restaurants and along the stunning French Riviera coastline.

He was wearing an old Parc Fermé shirt designed especially for the Monaco Grand Prix, and his hair was so awfully fluffy from having blow-dried it in his hotel room. And, if the usual mishap of a sunny day hadn’t occurred, he would’ve gone out to grab a pizza with his brother somewhere. But while they were driving along the coastal highway, the engine started making the car lurch strangely, urging them to pull over.

“What’s that?” Ralf asked, popping a piece of gum into his mouth and glancing up from the phone he was holding.

“Never seen this warning light before,” the younger one said, pointing at one of the dashboard indicators flashing blue, insistently advising them to turn the car off.

“Want to let me drive?”

“As if you’d fix the problem,” the Formula 2 driver smirked, running a hand through his hair and attempting to change gear.

Paul turned on the hazard lights, sighed, and pulled into a rest area not far from a toll booth, realizing the car was now shutting itself down and showing no signs of restarting.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

The two brothers got out of the Porsche that had been lent to them for their week in Monaco and leaned against the hood to call the highway assistance service and request a tow truck. Paul stood with his ankles crossed, fiddling with one of his rings as he spoke to the person on the other end of the line, the warm Côte d’Azur sun making him wrinkle his nose.

“They said they’ll be here in half an hour,” he told his older brother, who was smiling as he paced back and forth.

“Are they building that tow truck?” Ralf teased. It was funny seeing Paul so disappointed, especially after he’d spent the morning raving about how much more manageable the car was compared to the ones he drove in Estonia.

And so, they waited, the heat radiating from the asphalt making them feel even warmer than they already were, chatting and looking with dismay at the sports car that had let them down.

“Hey, young lads,” greeted an old mechanic who had come from the Italian border, as no one else in the area was available to take the car to a garage.

“I’m sorry you had to come here, but I guess the electric system’s had some issues,” said the younger Aron, shaking the man’s hand. The mechanic let out a long whistle when he saw the car.

“I’ll tell you what happened once I’ve taken her apart,” the mechanic replied, opening the driver’s door and trying to disengage the automatic handbrake.

“Do you see this often?”

“More than you’d think, but usually with less bougie ones,” the mechanic chuckled.

After a few minutes of cursing because the Estonians’ Porsche didn’t seem inclined to climb onto the tow truck, the old man had them hop in the cab with him.

“What brings you here?”

“I’m racing on Friday,” Paul said, reading the stickers the man had affixed to the windshield.

“Then I might have to ask you for a photo,” the driver said with a wink, steering the truck toward his workshop and leaving the highway behind.

“I’ll drop you off where they’ll give you a replacement car, and I’ll let you know when to come back for this beauty.”

The Italian spoke English fluently—probably because, as the head of a garage that worked with many international insurance companies, he’d dealt with far too many tourists stranded on those roads.

“Thank you so much, Gigi,” Ralf said, shaking his hand when the two brothers got out in front of a car dealership, where the mechanic said they’d find a replacement vehicle. He had overheard part of Paul’s call with someone from his team.

“Hope to see you around,” the Italian smiled, driving off in the opposite direction from which they’d come.

Paul and Ralf walked into the dealership he had pointed out, hunger starting to gnaw at their stomachs, and the thought of dealing with endless paperwork adding to their frustration. It was a typical car showroom, with black resin floors contrasting with pristine white walls and wooden desks.

“You must be Paul Aron,” a woman greeted them, dressed in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that clashed slightly with the luxury atmosphere of the place.

“Paul and Ralf Aron,” the two introduced themselves, shaking her hand before following her into an office separated from the rest by large glass panels.

“Someone from your team called to let us know we need to replace the Taycan that was damaged this morning,” she said, sitting behind a sleek computer and motioning for them to sit down across from her.

“It wasn’t damaged; there was a warning light, and then it shut off when I parked it,” Paul said, settling into one of the chairs with his hands on his knees. The desk in front of him was identical to all the others he’d glimpsed upon entering, complete with a small dish of candies on the left, some highlighted documents, and a block of Post-its paired with blue pens.

The woman nodded as she listened, acknowledging the fault as some issue with the electrical system, just as Paul had predicted. She had an intriguing demeanor. She sat in her chair, toying with one of the rings she wore—much like Paul did—and spoke with a polite smile about the cars they had available. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders despite it being summer, but it didn’t cascade over a tailored jacket like those of her colleagues, nor over a mechanic’s jumpsuit like the men working in the garage next door.

"How much time do you think it'll take?" asked the older of the two brothers, scratching his shoulder over the black shirt he wore.

Having the two Aron brothers in front of her was no small thing. With their blond, almost curly locks and piercingly light blue eyes, their presence was striking, especially paired with the shirts they wore. Just from the way they were sitting and talking, she could immediately tell which one was the older, more thoughtful one.

To her left, Paul leaned back in his Parc Fermé shirt, chewing on a candy he'd taken from the tray on the desk. He bit his lip, probably out of boredom and the frustration of having blown the team’s car. Still, he carried an easy, laid-back aura, giving her the impression that, no matter what car she handed him, he'd find a way to enjoy it.

"It could take up to three weeks if it’s the damage I think occurred," she replied.

"It’s just... we don’t want to cause trouble for the team or with the paperwork."

"We’re kinda skilled with rental cars, so you don’t have to worry about that," the lady added with a faint smile.

She handed them a few papers to sign and motioned for them to follow her outside, walking towards one of the cars parked in front of the dealership.

"I know it’s not what you had this morning, but this one arrived yesterday. You can keep it as long as you need," she said, nodding toward a large, sleek black Audi. If Paul’s Porsche was an elegant career woman, this Audi was a muscular man with a coffee addiction.

"Now, tell me the trouble notes," said the driver, crossing his arms and locking eyes with her sweet, wide gaze.

"Scratch it? Eight hundred euros. Crash it? Eight hundred euros. Break anything? Eight hundred euros. Stain it?"

"We got it," the brothers laughed, taking the keys from her hands with a grin.

The older brother opened the driver’s side door, adjusting his black polo shirt with one hand as he slid in and started the engine.

"I think I’ve got a name for this car," he said to his brother, while she listened with curiosity.

"I’ve got an idea too," she replied with a genuinely sweet smile as the two buckled their seatbelts and exhaled deeply.

Before they drove off, they rolled down the window, calling her for one last piece of information.

"Who do we ask for if we call?" the younger one asked, leaning out of the Audi's window, his chin resting on his tanned wrist.

“____,” she finally said, revealing her name before disappearing back into the dealership, fiddling with the leather folder where she had placed the Estonian’s documents.

The brothers’ day ended in front of a pizza, on the phone with their team’s car coordinator for race weekends. Though the Audi was vastly different from the Porsches they drove almost every day, they still knew how to push it to its limits and have some fun with something different.

"This is good," Ralf said, pressing the accelerator and shifting gears with the paddles near the wheel.

The engine roared, and they sped off toward a Friday of practice sessions, where the younger of the two would fight for the championship lead in his category.

But let’s just say Monaco wasn’t on his side that year.

By morning, the rain had started—a heavy drizzle that would do nothing but make the track slippery and leave people feeling hot and sticky in the damp air. Ralf had driven to pick up their sister from the Nice train station, leaving his brother back at home. Sure, Paul could’ve walked to the circuit, despite the downpour, but then he’d complain all day.

As fate would have it, while sitting in a café having breakfast, Paul spotted a Porsche identical to the one that had broken down on the highway a few days earlier. His curiosity was piqued.

"Hi," said the girl who stepped out of the car, greeting another woman behind the café counter. She spun the car keys on her middle finger, her hair tied back in a braid that fell inside her sweatshirt.

"So, you drive a Porsche," Paul remarked, bringing his coffee cup to his lips for the last sip.

"Mister Aron," she raised her eyebrows, recognizing the dealership man as she grabbed her Friday brioche and a to-go cup of cinnamon latte.

"That’s my brother. I’m just Paul," he corrected her with a smile.

"How are you doing?"

"Good, just without a car again."

She furrowed her brows, clearly on the verge of reminding him about the hefty fees he’d owe if the rental disappeared into thin air.

"Oh no, it’s not like that. Ralf’s driving it—I’m racing today."

"F2 practice starts in half an hour," she added, leaving Paul pleasantly surprised when noticing her glance at the time on her phone resting on the counter.

"Need a lift?" she asked.

She was young, with slightly wavy hair and that same sweet smile she’d worn when Paul first met her. Wearing a pair of well-loved Sambas, her hands gripped the steering wheel, and the radio played quietly, shuffling through an eclectic mix of music.

"You’re not the usual woman in a pantsuit," Paul observed, turning to look at her as they sat in Monaco’s traffic—a labyrinth of road closures during Grand Prix weekends.

"And you’re not the usual driver rushing to the circuit, cursing at me because I’m not," she shot back, noting how relaxed he seemed.

Paul smirked, quickly texting Karl to let him know he was stuck in traffic but on his way.

"Why were you surprised to see me driving a Porsche?" she asked, knowing she wouldn’t have the chance to show him how she really drove the car in Monaco's chaos.

"I don’t know. You seemed more like a Ford kind of person," he replied, throwing out the first car brand that popped into his head.

She laughed, amused by his tone, as he placed his helmet case on the floor.

"Is it eight hundred euros if I scratch your car too?"

"It’s rented just like yours, so yeah," she replied, moving forward in the caravan of cars inching along.

"So, you drive a rental in this mess, and you’re not worried about selling a kidney to fix it?"

"There’s an upside to it," she teased.

"Oh, the adrenaline of not knowing if your credit card will survive?"

They laughed together, and she found herself glancing at him more intently than she had the first time they’d met.

He resembled his brother a lot, but it was clear that between the two, Paul was the more determined and driven one. The way he clutched his helmet with his strong hands, and the way his toned biceps peeked from the sleeves of his Hitech GP shirt, spoke of someone building his career brick by brick. Yet, he still carried the laid-back energy she’d noticed at first glance—perhaps thanks to those gorgeous blond curls or the friendly face he had.

"More like the thrill of living different lives," she explained, shifting gears and inching closer to the car ahead, silently urging it to move.

"One day, I’m the hot mom in a Porsche. The next, I’m the quirky student in a Wrangler," she joked, glancing at him to gauge his reaction as they stopped again in the Principality’s endless traffic.

"You’d have arrived faster on foot," she teased.

"It’s fine. I’ve still got plenty of time," Paul lied.

"Because of my job, I get a new rental car every six months," she said, leaning back in her seat while waiting for the cars ahead to move.

Paul understood. The excitement of living a constantly changing life. When he traveled—whether in an airport or a train station—he enjoyed imagining what others thought of him. Maybe some saw him as a caring grandson delivering a giant round gift to his grandmother, while others might’ve pegged him as a gym enthusiast with nothing but protein powder and tank tops in his suitcase. But what he loved most was when a good coffee and a text from his mom on his phone reminded him that, at heart, he was just a regular guy who happened to do one of the coolest sports in the world.

"I don’t know if I’ll race next year," the Estonian admitted suddenly.

"We don’t have enough sponsors, and I can’t fund it myself if I don’t move up to F1."

She looked at him, feeling a twinge of sadness at his words.

"But I can always be me," he added with a smile, turning to face her.

"I’ll follow Ralf to his races and travel with him," he mused aloud, seemingly piecing together what he might do next. But he wasn’t sad or disappointed.

"The goal is still to win the championship, though."

She nodded, offering him her hand as they reached a barricade where a pass was required to continue.

"Then go and top that session," she encouraged.

"And you don’t go acting like a hot mom in a Porsche," he shot back, shaking her hand with a grin. His bright blue eyes stood out against the dark interior of the navy-blue Porsche, and his casual yet invested presence in their lighthearted conversation left her a bit bewildered. They hadn’t talked about anything significant, yet they’d spent a pleasant fifteen minutes together.

"See you, Mister Aron."

"Ralf would be so flattered to hear you say that," Paul teased as he hopped out, flashing his pass to the guard at the barricade.

Maybe it was fate. Or maybe it was one of the many lives she liked living, filled with cars and a job that, though temporary, gave her a peculiar sense of stability for her age. But on Saturday night, as she sat in a gelateria near Monaco, a very familiar car pulled up in front of her.

Before she could react, a large, tanned hand offered her a cup of gelato.

"I know a life you haven’t lived yet," Paul said with a smile.

"And what’s that?"

"The kind fan in the garage cheering for the gray car," he replied.

She laughed, tasting the gelato flavors the Estonian had chosen, realizing he was a fan of the classics. They sat there together, watching the rocky beaches of the French Riviera, savoring the moment.

It was true, though. Among all the lives she’d lived, she hadn’t yet experienced being a fan watching cars race directly from the garage. And it wasn’t keys that had brought her to that life this time, but a chance encounter.

Monaco buzzed with energy on Sunday, the day of the Formula 2 feature race. Fans crowded balconies, and the atmosphere promised a spectacular showdown. Music blared over the circuit, and the drivers, still in their headphones, warmed up—some with tennis balls, others with jump ropes.

She stood next to Ralf, arms crossed and a pass hanging around her neck, watching Paul warm up with his suit tied around his waist.

No one had yet managed to outpace the Estonian, who consistently left each weekend with a podium finish and an ever-shrinking gap to his rivals. The way he focused on the tennis balls, as the wind tousled his blond curls, hinted that he’d be fighting hard that day, despite his uncertain future.

Beside her, Ralf was a distant memory of the sport, far removed from the speed of Formula racing. Now, he was the shadow everyone recognized but no longer associated with the track—except as a manager, with a massive watch on his wrist and headphones slung around his neck.

From where she sat, she watched the entire race unfold, captivated by Paul’s brilliant defense and a few bold moves that almost seemed to taunt the deep blue sea flanking the track.

And with the Principality cheering him on, Paul emerged as the championship leader, showcasing a level of consistency that few drivers possessed.

He’d given her a glimpse of a life she hadn’t yet lived—not in a Porsche, not in a Ford, but in a garage built on passion and distant dreams, welcoming Paul into its embrace while bidding a bittersweet farewell to a smiling Ralf.

hi everyonee! I don't like this. Was the idea there? God yes, there was and it was so good, but as always I feel like I can't write anything good... however, as you requested, this leans a bit in paul's direction, but I won't blame you if you decide you love ralf better (I've been there too)

[iloveoutlinesiswear]

For the first time asks!!! First time they were affectionate in front of other people??

(Note: a plot bunny bit me and once again the synopsis of Commands and Incriminations will have to change. There are a plethora of moments that I thought of. I couldn't pick one. So here are two. There will be a third later.)

Alive

(Fluff plus a dead chaos marine and a touch of Heinrix angst)

The vast carcass toppled with an awful majesty, Abelard's chain sword lodged in his throat, grinding against cartilage and rubber. The beast hit the deck, the noise resounding over the battlefield. And lay still.

Lathed in sweat, gasping for breath, Heinrix van Calox stood, force sword in hand. His iron arm sloughed shards of metal as his concentration wavered. Adrenaline drained away, leaving him shaking and cold. Watching the corpse, he took a tentative step forward.

How were they still alive?

They were still alive.

Experimentally, Abelard nudged the Chaos Marine with his shotgun, looking for the slightest bit of movement.

Nothing happened.

"Thank the God-Emperor," he exclaimed, letting his sword dip.

Idira whooped and swore in a half dozen languages as Abelard wrenched his chain sword free of the marine's gullet. Thick blood arced as Abelard shook his blade free.

A burst of airy laughter jolted him, alien to the smoke choked battle field. Then a flash of movement and he turned, half expecting another foe.

Karroleen seb Montreux ahn Bacque von Valancius, mistress of the Light in the Void, ruler of worlds, Rogue Trader, leaped into him with a full bodied jump.

Dropping his pistol, he grabbed her around her waist with his arm, his hand pressed flat against her back. Wrapping her arms around his sweaty neck, she all but molded to him. Her untamable curls tickling his temple, her breath warm on the shell of his ear and neck. Her soft cheek pressed against his, smooth and warm.

A light perfume cracked through the stench of burning promethium. Richly floral like Cabrian magnolias, heady without being overly sweet, cut through with vanilla and wood, emboldened with a muskinees he couldn't place.

God-Emperor, he should not even be touching her.

And here she was, in his arms, laughing in raw unadulterated joy.

"We're alive!" she breathed, looking into his face.

Her smile was electric. Not the slightly tight gesture of appropriate amusement, not the false expression of polite tolerance, nor even the tightly controlled enjoyment of good company. But a genuine effusive smile, that gave her dimples in her cheeks and made her eyes dance.

Her mask was off.

Time stopped.

Her smile shifted, softening into something shy, sensual, open. Her lips eased into a pout, slightly upturned at the corners. The light did not leave her eyes. Her gaze swallowed him.

Time slowed to a crawl, everything else vanishing.

She saw him, studying him, her gaze all but touching him. Lingering on his gray eyes, his dark hair, then dropping briefly to his mouth before looking him in the eyes again.

Then she leaned closer, her arms tightening around his neck.

"Thank you, Master van Calox," she whispered.

He continued to stare. Her thick brown mane long since broken free of her updo, the smudge of dirt over her delicate right brow, the flush in her pale cheeks. The rise and fall of her breathing, her body heat soaking his skin, the arch of her spine under his palm.

Her dark eyes looking at him through thick lashes, eyes that barely seemed to reflect any light at all.

Her flush deepened.

"Of course," he murmured. "Glad to be of service."

Something he long thought dead stirred restlessly.

Sentiment. Empathy. Affinity.

Desire.

The voice of his master broke in, calm, calculating and shaming. Heinrix, put her down. You know what you are. Remember the way she looked at you in the Cynobium. You are disgusting. A blood soaked tool.

He couldn't quite breathe.

A jolt ran through the landing area as the planet shuddered, bringing them back to themselves.

The mask slipped back on, sealing her away like the doors of a vault.

He set her back onto her feet as she smoothed her coat, letting out a prim little cough.

"We need to go," she said.

"Right," he said dumbly.

They turned and sprinted toward a random shuttle, even as the platform began to tilt. Without dignity, they hurled themselves into the harnesses as Abelard rushed to cockpit. A few moments later, the shuttle lurched into the air and hurtled away from the planet.

And Heinrix could not quite focus, even as he lashed himself into a seat. Once secure, he bit the tip of one fingertip, tasting the leather, trying to figure out what to do next. Even as they hurtled toward the Light in the Void.

What would she do? Given what he had seen of her decision making, he had a sinking feeling.

Yet, her perfume lingered.

***

As the others sprinted out of the shuttle, Idira Tlass froze on the shuttle ramp. Around them, the Light in the Void shuddered, tossed about by the alien pulses rippling from Rykad. The ship yawed, heaving to, desperately trying to hold position in a system ripping itself apart.

A whisper, loud as a teenager with a secret crush, murmured in her ear.

She cocked her head, her eyes widened and then she howled with laughter. Tottering, she leaned on her staff, almost bent double. She laughed until she was out of breath, until her stomach hurt.

"Witch, what is it now?" Argenta hissed, grasping her bolter, walking back toward her.

But even she couldn't dampen Idira's mirth.

"Oh, my whispers are funny today," she replied, chuckling.

Argenta's glare could have set water on fire.

"What are you talking about?" Argenta said.

"They say the Ice Man has met his match," she said. "Oh, he is in trouble."

And she laughed all the way to the bridge.

Breaking

During the Siege of Euphrates 2, Karroleen and Heinrix kept apart. Now that it's over, they start getting familiar with each other again.

(Making out, wall sex, accidental witnesses, Heinrix being his usual angsty self)

The celebration had been going beautifully until their fingers touched over a plate of Janusian peaches. Just a brush of Karroleen's fine fingers over his bare knuckles, so incidental even Abelard didn't notice it, sitting on Karroleen's other side.

It was over.

The connection Heinrix had been trying to stifle during the siege of Euphrates 2 roared deep in his loins like the engine of a land raider. Insistent, bellowing, willing to stop at nothing to find release.

Next to him, Karroleen gasped, blushing, her breathing turning to a ragged gasp. She squirmed against her chair, her thighs tightening together, her skirts rustling with the movement.

Her brown eyes flicked around, checking the mood of the celebration. Then fixed Heinrix with a yearning he could feel in the pit of his stomach. Desire found a higher screaming pitch.

Set up in the officer's lounge and stretching into the mess hall, the party Karroleen was throwing to celebrate her victory on Euphrates 2 was nothing less than lavish. Real wood tables weighted with food straight from Janus, roast grox, birds of every kind, delicate fish, pies, tarts. It was endless. As was her tendency, every deck was represented. The retinue closest, bridge officers, upper deckers, middle decks and unusually, the clan leaders from the lower decks.

"Lord Ulfar!" Karroleen shouted. "Tell us a tale."

Ulfar started as the entire room turned their eyes on him. He stood off to the side, his vast stature keeping him from the tables. Not that it kept him from eating, given the half empty platter in his hand. His brothers had long since excused themselves, leaving him alone among them.

And all focused on the Angel before them.

He glanced at her. Something twinkled in his eye, a knowing that Heinrix didn't like. His lip curled in a smirk, revealing a fang.

"So, do you want a tale from Armageddon?!" Ulfar said, turning to the crowd, "Or perhaps from the Crusades of Barxus the Vile? Or even a tale of Lemun Russ himself eh?"

The crowd roared, pounding the tables, shouting their choices, and then fell silent, enraptured as the Space Wolf began his tale.

Soon, the hall was enthralled in a combination of religious ecstacy and rapt anticipation. Gasps, groans, and muttering provided a counterpoint as the Space Wolf wove his tale.

Once the crowd was thoroughly engrossed, Karroleen nudged him with her knee.

Smoothly as he could, given his pitched state, Heinrix left the table and exited toward the back, filtering through the clusters of guests with ease.

No one wanted to touch him, favored of the Rogue Trader or not.

Soon, he was out in the abandoned officer's deck, alone and waiting and throbbing. The place, usually so busy, was deserted. Deep into the night shift, no one was here. Behind him, the party carried on.

Which thank the Throne, because he was a mess, bereft of any dignity, brought low by his inpulses, hiding in a dim alcove like a hormone enslaved boy.

The glow of her arousal suddenly shifted, floating toward him. A rush of desire rolled through him, very different from his own. Pulsing from a deep place in his body he didn't have. Feeding him in turn. Needy, eager to receive, to build.

Her light steps echoed, quickened and suddenly, she was flinging herself into his arms. Their lips met, bruising and desperate. He tasted the peaches, her lipstick, the rich sauces. She pressed her tongue into his mouth and he moaned. For long minutes, they locked together, tasting each other at long last after weeks of denial.

God-Emperor, he had missed this.

Finally, She broke the kiss, their lips slowly parting with a notable sound. Her eyes remained closed for a moment, before opening them, looking at him, searching his face.

"I-" he managed to gasp out, quivering with longing. "I need you."

"This way," she said, pulling him from the shadowy little alcove down the carpeted hall.

Somewhere between here, and wherever there was, they became entangled again, his hands roaming over her slim body, her arms pulling him to her, her lips against his, their steps drunken and stumbling.

The scent of her curly hair, soft with exquisite oils, her perfume floral and rich, undercut with musk, fine wood and that warm note at the end. Soft leather. A touch of gun powder. She was with him again.

As he had desired her to be. As he wanted her to be forever.

They staggered round the central atrium, oblivious in their desire.

Finally, she pulled him into another alcove. He pinned her against the bulkhead with a kiss, his hands entangled in her hair. Even as she fumbled with something on the wall, he ran his hands down over her sides to her hips. Her hips pushed against his grip, her center thick with her slick.

Then she gave up finding what it was and buried her fingers in his hair.

"I want you," she whispered. "Please."

"Here?" he said, suddenly aware of the open space, of the eyes potentially watching them.

She hesitated. Her pleasure hummed, her heart hammering. But then she looked at him and that determination came into her eyes, that he had seen more and more often.

"I do not care," she said, her vice quivering. "You're here with me. Let me have you. As much as I can."

Angry. Fearful. She was afraid. Afraid that he was leaving. That she was no longer needed in his master's grand design. That he no longer could be with her. That he could put her aside.

Calcazar. Damn him.

He would have this one thing. He would show her how badly he needed her.

Clamping his hands on her buttocks, he hefted her easily, pinning her against the wall with his weight. Wrapping her legs around his waist, her clothed slit met the rock hard erection bulging in his pants.

He all but yelped, his touch starved cock pulsing with need. Drops of spend soaked into his briefs.

"Heinrix," she whispered hoarsely.

Her hands flew downwards, lifting his jacket tails, hurriedly undoing his belt with a clink. Her cheeks flushed, her movements tight with need, her focus did not waver.

"I thought of you all the time," she said, "every minute of every day. It was torture not being able to-"

She wrenched each button of his fly free, opened his trousers and exposed his stiff cock. With a soft little moan, she grasped his shaft, rubbing the sensitive underside with her palm.

He lifted her skirts with a growl, hefting the fabric around her waist. Hurriedly she hooked the panties of her thumb, sliding them to the side.

Her hips rolled in desperation and he pressed his hardness against her slick, shuddering. Then he slid into her, choking back a shout.

Instantly, her pleasure flared, pulsing through her. She began to groan in time with it, softly, quietly, deep from within her throat. It grew rapidly, every stroke from him pushing her toward the edge. Every rock of her hips made him dance.

"Yes, you always know," she gasped, her head dropping back, her back arching. "How to. How to. Yes!"

Her orgasm hit her after just a few strokes, blossoming outward. She cried out, shockingly loud in the silent atrium and he smothered the sound with his mouth. She shook, jerking against him, moaning against his lips. Straining with him, her body clenching around him.

Heinrix came undone. He did not shatter or falter. His will never even came into it. His body simply chased after her, following blindly. A heavy jerking orgasm almost took him to his knees, pumping her full of thick spend in groaning brainless pleasure.

Then they froze.

His face flushed crimson as they both came to from the high. Embarrassment crashed through him as he realized what happened.

He was a man, not an idiot boy and here he was. A complete mess. Now, they still had to go through the bridge to reach her quarters or through the atrium to his own chamber. Both of them soaked, disheveled and reeking of sex.

What was wrong with him? He was Heinrix van Calox, a member of the Holy Ordos, the representative of the Emperor's Will. And he was supposed to be looking out for her, ensuring her reign was stable, ensuring she did not slide into depravity. He was supposed to keep her from scandal, from rumor, from vice.

He was supposed to be doing a lot of things. He was supposed to be different. Different from the rest of the grasping suitors. Different from all the people who would use her.

Didn't she deserve better than simple bestial need from him? Didn't she deserve more? She did, a devotion he could not give her. His duty did not allow it. Did it not?

Here he was, leading her on. Leaving her exposed. Leaving himself exposed. Literally.

Damn him.

Slick dripped down, soaking his open trousers, air cooling on his sensitive skin. Pressing himself close to her, hiding his softening cock in her skirts, he felt more utterly and completely naked than he ever had before. In danger. Endangering her.

Shame filled him. He was an idiot. A useless idiot. What had he done? Why had he-

Then her hand touched his face, breaking him free of his spiraling thoughts. And she smiled at him, and it was like a sun breaking through a storm.

"I've got you," she said, wrapping an arm around his neck, her breath warm on his ear. "You're here with me on my ship. You're safe. You'll always be safe here with me."

Her hand went to her vox bead.

"Jocasta," she said softly. "Could you take care of...a matter of discretion for me? The officer's atrium. Ensure my privacy. If you would be so kind."

A firm murmur.

"Thank you, Jocasta," she said.

Never had she given Jocasta orders. For a long time, Karroleen had been terrified of her chief enforcer. That she had gone to her and not Abelard. There would be no loose ends and he wouldn't have to deal with Abelard's disapproval.

"Thank you," he said.

She smiled, and kissed his lips softly.

With her other hand, she finally found what she was looking for, pulling on a hidden catch.

A door, perfectly disguised, opened in the wall, revealing a dark somewhat dank hallway, free of the gilt, wood and carpeting of the officers deck. A purely utilitarian space, it reeked of plasma and oil. A servant's entrance.

Of course, there was another entrance. She really had thrown him, hadn't she?

Yes, she had, and that was fine. Better than fine.

Without another thought, he tumbled into the dark with her. And the door shut behind them.

***

Frozen in terror, hidden in the cramped space behind a statue of the God-Emperor, junior officers Litzte and Olam stood with each other, shaking. Breathing as quietly as they could, the two women desperately waited for her Ladyship and the Interrogator to leave. Hoping that they weren't seen or heard.

Overhearing them as they undeniably fucked each other into oblivion. Those two. The Ice Man and Her Ladyship. The Interrogator and the Rogue Trader.

What a stupid time to decide to take a break and go sneak some food from the tables.

A murmured conversation. Then a door clanked open. Relief rushed through them as the door hissed shut with a clunk of finality.

For a long moment, the two friends stood, the whole overheard encounter still present. Until the ongoing silence convinced them they were alone.

"Was that?" Olam squeaked.

"Yeah," Litzte hissed back, her eyes big as dinner plates.

"And that was?" Olam whispered.

"Yeah," Litzte said.

For a long moment, they both looked at each other. And then one then the other started to laugh in the hysterical manner of the post terrified.

Olam stepped out, fanning herself with a hand, her dark skin gleaming in the warm light of the atrium. Litzte, pale and slim, ruffled her red hair, still shaking from the adrenaline.

"We are going out an airlock if he ever finds out we know," Olam said.

Litzte took a deep breath. "He'll know we were here. He's a spy."

"We will keep our mouths shut," she said, flicking her black braids behind her ears. "If we pretend they weren't here, maybe they'll pretend we weren't here. Her Ladyship is merciful, even if he isn't. If someone asks, we saw nothing."

Litzte nodded, ready to let it go. But then, a memory popped into her head of a bet she'd made almost a year ago as a joke to tweak lieutenant Morice's nose, the main bookie of the officer's deck.

Twenty geld on the man least likely to ever crack through the Rogue Trader's facade.

A very important bet given the circumstances.

"Go on, I need to find someone," she said.

Olam held back. "I'm going back to my station and forgetting this ever happened."

She departed and Litzte hesitated. Lieutenant Morice would want to know that the biggest betting pool on the ship had just been solved.

And it was an awful lot of geld. Months of pay. A years worth of pay.

She walked toward the party, as if she had permission. Through the atrium as if nothing had happened.

This was going to be a good day.

A heavy hand crashed onto her shoulder and jerked her around. And she was face to face with the second most terrifying person on the ship.

Jocasta, the enforcer chief glared at her with eyes like stone, her face not even moving. Her hand gripped the baton at her waist, her thumb rubbing the pommel.

"Chief Jocasta," she whimpered.

Jocasta slapped her across the mouth, splitting her lip.

"I won't say anything," she whispered.

"No, you won't," Jocasta said. "If only you'd just followed petty officer Olam."

Litzte was not seen on the upper decks again.

[teawithmagician]

Hello! :D For the drabble ask I've had this little idea floating in my head for a while now. There's hardly, if any, content for Variel the Flayer! I want to do him a little fan service as a mini-comic, but I can't get the dialogue or the energy of the scene to come across just right. Maybe you can spark some inspiration and we can bounce off each other's ideas? :) I'm not a writer at all, but I can offer drawings! The "pairing" would be Variel the Flayer and a serf engineer, G/NC? for murderously bad flirting attempts, dark romantic comedy?. The idea I have is; A Night Lord's fleet just underwent a bad battle, there's damage all throughout the ship. The medbay specifically got hit bad, and Variel asks for this one specific serf engineer to come fix the power outage for him. This serf grates on Variel the least out of the other serfs, and the engineer uses this to his advantage to try and use his limited medical knowledge to flirt. Eventually it leads to the serf saying along the lines of, "I sure do hope it's a scalpel through my fourth and fifth ribs." (The fourth and fifth ribs being the easiest way to access a man's heart). How will Variel react? Will the engineer get flayed after fixing the power, or will the cold Variel find amusement in him and play along? Here are some of the unfinished sketches :)

Ok, so, it's gonna be a slowburn, because Variel would need a lot of his sweet time to realise that he a) is amused by the serf b) can tolerate him c) actually wants him there.

But here's for the starters:

Warhammer 40k

Variel the Flayer / unnamed male serf

R (for threats/descriptions of violence)

Slowburn, dark romance, dark speis yaoi (platonic for now)

The hull breach had torn through the chamber in a perfect diagonal. Apart from damage to the precious tools—scalpels, flensing hooks, and vivisection clamps—it left power conduits dangling from the ceiling like severed tendons. That was highly, highly unacceptable. With a hiss of static, he activated the vox in his helm, and requested: “Send the engineering serf. Now.”

The serf arrived shortly after, dragging a skein of salvaged cabling. He knelt briefly, a protocol gesture of submission, before rising to assess the damage. “Power’s out, my lord,” he muttered, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “Conduits are fried, but I can patch it. Won’t be pretty, but it’ll hold.”

Variel said nothing, tracking the serf’s every move so the little rat-man wouldn’t break or stain anything with his filth. But the serf worked with surprising deftness: he stripped the wires and rerouted power through jury-rigged relays, which send a sheaf of spark into his face. Variel’s fingers twitched near the flensing knife, the urge to peel the serf’s skin off to teach him the fine art of electrics was strong. But then, Variel wouldn’t want to fix all cables by himself.

In the end, after all of the serf’s machinations, the medbay’s systems came back to life. Lumens steadied, casting light over the bloodied tables and the shining edges of Variel’s tools. The serf stepped back, wiping sweat from his face with a greasy sleeve. And then, he smiled a crooked, trembling, but outrageous grin.

“Fixed your lair, my lord. Runs smoother than a freshly stitched corpse, if I may. Almost makes me think I’d be handy with more than just wires—say, passing you a scalpel or two.”

Variel’s tilted his head. Now this was a misfortune-an acceptable engineer was poorly trained. Variel’s mind turned to the myriad ways he could teach him decency in talking to your masters—strip by strip, scream by scream.

The oblivious serf continued, looking almost maniacal. “I’ve seen your work, lord. Beautiful, in its own way. Me, I’m no artist, but I reckon I could learn a trick or two. Hand you the tools, maybe even take a blade myself—right here,” he tapped his chest, between the fourth and fifth ribs, “quickest way in, isn’t it? If you’re feeling generous.”

The silence that followed was a void where hope went to die. Variel’s stared into the serf, unblinking, waiting for him to break under the weight of it. Most who dared such familiarity were already flayed, their skins decorating Variel’s armour. Yet this one—this rodent-like speck of defiance—stood there, trembling, but refusing to fall apart.

Then, Variel did the unthinkable – he laughed. His laughter did it for the serf: he started coming undone in an uncontrollable shaking. Variel stepped forward, his shadow swallowing the serf whole, and raised a hand. The serf flinched, expecting the end, but Variel’s claw hovered, tracing the air above his chest.

“You speak of your heart,” Variel said softly, “as if it is yours to offer. It is mine, little rat-human—mine to take, mine to stop.” His claw lingered in a promise of agony. “Most grovel, all beg. But you beg not for life, but for my art.” He leaned closer, his breath chill against the serf’s sweating skin. “Break anything here, and I may grant your wish. And show you your beating heart before I smash it in my hand. But you amuse me, for now. So, you may live-and leave.”

The serf lingered, uncertain if he should flee or bow. Variel spared him one final look and uttered. “Go while I still feel benevolent. Next time you speak of ribs, I’ll show you their beauty—laid bare on my tables.”

[verysmolnerd]

Fuck it. Yandere Maxim

When he permanently lost Veronica to Balthazar, something inside him just snapped. A thousand years worth of magical battles and losing to the same person can make you lose it.

It’s not like Balthazar attempted to fix his broken relationship with any of the ancient apprentices. It’s almost like rubbing in a victory, expect multiply it by every single year Maxim lost. Long story short, he’s in a permanently foul mood.

He’s heavily affected by his past failures and refuses to grow from it, as mentioned before. So when someone catches his eye, they’re better off either dropping off the face of the earth or..there’s no alternative, whoever is the sudden target of his infatuation, they’re fucked.

So, if you are the target of his sudden descent into true madness, you’ll notice eyes on you. Like normal, you’ll be unable to see the source. Maybe if you’re perceptive, you can see the faintest baby blue glow from across the street. It’s always some form of jewelry, but you could never figure why it glows so much; noticeably bright for that matter.

If you work at some sort of food service job or coffee shop, you’ll notice that one of your regulars lack their personality that you’ve known for a long time. Then they leave, and re-enter with their normal personality, and different clothes for that matter.

I would say this could go on for a week at least, a month at most. Maxim’s patience has long since run very thin. He’s already played the waiting game with Veronica and lost, he’s not about to do that again.

However, he is dramatic. So, he’s going to come after you in the cliche New York evenings when you’re walking home by yourself. The only indication that he’s nearing was the strength of the wind increasing.

Then it suddenly stops, and you feel cool metal tap again the back of your head.. and then you fall forward, losing consciousness.

As for being in his captivity, scream, beg, cry; nothing works for home. He’s been in the magical side of every single war that took place within the past thousand years. Screaming bloody murder won’t do anything. It’ll just piss him off and then you find that you’re unable to open your mouth.

The location he brings you can only be accessed with magic. It’s a nice abode, but you’ll never see the light of day. That meaning, you also lose track of time very easily. Each room you enter is always lit the same, by some electric chandelier. The dim lighting starts to get to you after a while.

Behaving and playing the part that he wanted Veronica to play can surely help you out. Granted, he’ll never be as doting as he would in the past, but the shadows of his selfless kindness start to show.

If you happened to know another sorcerer, then that would really piss him off. The only sorcerers that are able to stop him are the people who beat him in the first place. So any sorcerer that isn’t them will meet a brutal fate. He’ll have some part of them on display as if it’s some sort of art piece.

If you are friends with the stronger sorcerers, then you better stay with them as long as you live (or unless his interest for you fades) because he will be biding his time to capture you.

If you yourself know magic, he’ll be some sort of strict master to you. You don’t know what his intentions are for you, but it certainly helps pass the time.

You never really deal with his mood changing that much, he’s still the closed off sorcerer who’s lost so many times that he’s bitter for eternity.

When worse comes to worse, he will use you without consent, but I think he’s too upset with his past to be sexually interested or frustrated for that matter.

If his infatuation gets the best of him, he will be affectionate. I imagine this will be a lot later down the line should you choose to submit to him. He’ll gradually become more comfortable with showing such affections. He doesn’t want another Veronica case, so for a long ass time you’re just kidnapped with an emotionally distant man who just admires you like a work of art.

If you somehow escape (his magical house doesn’t have any exists and is far bigger than a labyrinth) he’ll be at wits end to find you. No matter how many people stand in front of you, their bodies will soon lay lidless on the floor.

He does love you to some extent, it’s just scary. He’s almost like a cursed porcelain pot. Pretty and nice to look at until broken, then the shard will cut you.

First yandere headcannon, shit got wild.

[rhapsodynew]

#everything you need to know about rock

Britain's first guitar hero who influenced everyone 

Hank Marvin was born in Newcastle upon Tyne on October 28, 1941 and grew up in a two-story family home with an outdoor toilet and no running water. From an early age, he showed an insatiable craving for music: he tirelessly mastered the banjo and piano.

But the fascination with blues, folk and skiffle inevitably led the young enthusiast to the guitar: 

"I was trying to learn how to play skiffle tunes, copy what I heard on the radio, learn how to play the melody that the singer was humming, as well as any saxophone or orchestral phrases."

At the age of nine, Hank Marvin was upset that he was prescribed glasses:

 "I was a skinny, pimply, insecure kid. And I got the big round glasses of the National Health Service in a tortoiseshell frame."

But then a cool author and performer Buddy Holly appeared from across the ocean, who forever changed the opinion about bespectacled people. Soon after, Marvin's life changed. His glasses suddenly became a fashionable rocker accessory. He got a job at an electrical engineering firm to earn money for a train to London.

Events were developing rapidly. Hank Marvin left in April 1958, in September he met the young vocalist Cliff Richard in Soho, who was trying on a jacket in an atelier, and immediately joined him on tour. When Hank returned to his native Newcastle, he was already a star and performed in front of an audience of screaming girls.

Cliff Richard's band was named The Shadows. Their music is instrumental rock classics, which to this day has not left the current repertoire. It is the "Shadows" They released the legendary hit "Apache", written by English songwriter Jerry Lordan and influenced a legion of aspiring guitar heroes. Including on the VIA "Singing guitars".

After becoming a star, Hank Marvin absorbed everything the music world had to offer: 

"I wouldn't believe it if I was told at the age of 16 that we were going to have incredible success. We played concerts all over the world. We performed in African villages. They caused riots in Germany when there were so many people on the streets that the limo almost overturned. It's an incredible experience, some frightening, and some just wow!"

Cliff Richards and The Shadows have created quite a few era-defining hits. Hank's band continued to come out and record. The line-up broke up between 1968 and 1973, but was reformed. In 1975, The Shadows took second place in the Eurovision Song Contest with the song "Let Me Be the One".

Hank Marvin began his solo career in 1969 with an album of instrumental compositions, in which guitar parts were accompanied by arrangements for the orchestra. He experimented with styles and materials, recording instrumental records, albums with vocals, acoustic guitars.

Hank Marvin's guitar can be heard in the recordings Roger Daltrey and Jean-Michel Jarre. Its unique sound has always remained instantly recognizable. Hank did not seek to increase the volume, preferring a light vibrato and giving his parts vocal qualities.

In the late 1970s, The Shadows impressed even punks: "During the release of the album "20 Golden Greats", people came to our concerts who looked completely out of place. When we asked why they were here, they replied, "We like the economy of your music. It's like early punk." I didn't quite understand what they were talking about, but it was nice."

With his melodic playing style and expressive "singing" phrasing, Hank Marvin inspired George Harrison, Eric Clapton, David Gilmore, Brian May, Tony Iommi, Pete Townshend, Jeff Beck, Jimmy Page. One of the most loyal fans is Mark Knopfler from Dire Straits. Hank Marvin's red Strat struck his imagination as a child. They subsequently performed together.:

Even the patriarch of Canadian rock paid tribute to the leader of The Shadows as one of the architects of modern music Neil Young. No wonder one of his songs is called "From Hank to Hendrix."

He was one of the first to bring instrumental GUITAR music to the top positions. Before that, there were cool guitarists, even pioneers, some by sound, some by melodies. But The Shadow (and Marvin, as a lead guitarist, of course, occupied a dominant position) were, if not the first, then at least one of the first to bring the guitar instrumental to a leading position.

The epoch!

[multilakeshandyman]

Carpentry Services in Michigan

If you want to cut, shape and install the building materials effectively, then it is the right time to hire Multi Lakes Handyman Services. They have the skilled experts to offer you the most advanced Carpentry Services in Michigan. They are very dedicated to offer this service.

[falling-components]

first one of my writing requests from yesterday. i feel it right to provide the prompt alongside it: "write me a reverent foot worship vignette." gladly! I wrote quite a bit for this one, I don't know if I can do this much for the other couple of requests I got aaaaa

I open my eyes and restart my breath. Already the light dancing in the bedroom seems to have taken on a new hue. Candlelight spills and is spread across every surface, across every part of my naked body, sitting on the bed. I look at my hand. I know its purpose. I know who I’m here for. The thoughts dance in my head, circling down deeper and deeper. I enjoy the cycle. I enjoy thinking of what will happen next.

I look away from my hand and across the room. My master is sitting on a refined, cushioned, deep wooden chair. Confident, powerful, human, a soft grin. Swathed in her preferred extravagant garb. She, too, is gently stepping into her new role. We look into each other’s eyes. She finds the words. “You know what I want.”

She’s right. How could she not be?

I get off the bed, and take steps towards her. I begin to kneel in front of her. It feels right to ask permission before giving her the service she deserves from me. Her feet are her everything. My everything. Irreplaceable. “Can I take your socks off, sir? To show your feet the attention you want?” The words drip out of my mouth.

She leans back, tapping into the mentality of a piercing monarch addressing her servant. “Yes, of course. Why else would you be here? Make it good.”

Thoughts flow through me. I think of how I cannot help anymore but to think of my master’s feet as being under the same moonlight that she sees them. How her feet are filled with nerves and sensitive flesh and bone. How they are to her, the star that sex revolves around. How dim sex would be without them. She has taught me so well. She has taught me so I can serve her in this way, now and forever.

I caress my master’s thighs and work my way down to her long grey socks. I slowly start to work one down, massaging her calves, her ankles, her feet. I strip the other sock off. I begin to fondle and press on her bare feet. I look up at her to assess her response. Her eyes are closed, her head leaned back slightly and her breath heavy.

Her feet are so soft. Massaging them, I can almost feel her nerves attached to mine. Losing myself to servicing her feet is intoxicating. Dizzying. I begin to explore every curve of the feet. Their arches. The gaps between the toes. Tracing my fingers along the creases and cracks. I enjoy it so much. “Thank you for allowing me to worship your feet, sir,” I say, lightly, meekly.

My master’s hand has moved to caress her crotch. She moans slightly. “You keep fucking doing that. You’re doing great. Do more. You’re mine.” She shifts and she has begun to become physically flustered, showing signs of vulnerability. Her approval encourages me to grow bolder. I take a sponge and rag that was set aside for this moment and lather the sponge in warm soapy water. I begin to wash her feet, appreciating how they glisten under the candlelight. Her feet curl and stretch in response to the water’s warmth. I take the rag and begin to dry them off. She takes a hand and strokes my hair, my neck. Beginning to lose my senses, I lean into her hand and beg her for more touch.

Her touch remains restrained, but present. I put the rag aside and start to lightly fuck her feet with my hands. I can feel the skin. I want to go deeper. I push and grope her feet. Every time she strains her feet in response, the approval is electric. “Please keep doing that, just like that- fuck. Fuck.” Words ring and bounce around in my head. I kneel down further and lift her right foot up to my face, so I can lick and kiss it. My master’s toes taste so fucking good. I know she wants me this way, giving into my senses, so I can give her what she wants. She adores a desperate, horny subject. She has one. I’m hers. I want to suck on her feet forever. She did this to me so she could have a loyal, principled foot priestess. There’s nothing else in the world. This is it. My dick is hard and slick because of her feet. All shame is washed away from the performance and creation of sex.

The bliss runs for several minutes. Deepening and deepening. The acts become less discrete and meld into one ritual of worship. Fucking her feet with my hands and mouth becomes natural, necessary, and I match my master’s breathing- heavy, frantic, moaning.

The act begins to dip down in intensity. I begin to tire, and my master senses it. “You’ve done so, so good for me,” she says, relieving me of my duty. We both look at each other, and her composure has shifted briefly from a despotic dominance, taking a half step to that of a kind, flustered pervert. She gets down from her chair, and holds me. She caresses my arms, and holds my hand. With her other hand, she approaches down my thigh, calf, and ankle. She lightly touches the sole of my left foot, and I nearly flinch from how sensitive, how ticklish my foot is. She whispers through a grin. “Please, let me return the favour."

[doberbutts]

LET'S TALK DOG GEAR! What do you have for each, e.g. leash, collar, harness, slip lead? What do you use them for? What do you like best about them? (Brought to you by looking at Fen's mondio harness)

Oh fun OK

Leash:

The big dogs have custom made Master's Pride leather leashes. I bought one secondhand from someone who used their service doberman in a similar manner as I did with Creed, and I loved it so much that I tracked down the maker and asked him to repair my original which withstood 8 years of abuse and zero leather care from me, and also make me a second. He was wonderful to work with and the next time I have the cash to splurge on leather I'm going back to him.

The littles have very delicate lightweight leashes I bought from a dog show. It's some form of very light nylon. This is actually because Fae specifically refused to walk with a collar for a long time, so I taught her to drag a lightweight line and from there began to use it as a regular leash once she was used to the weight.

Shared between the big dogs are also another custom Master's Pride, this time one of those "European style" leashes with the many clips but altered to mostly be a handsfree service dog leash, a biothane Yup a friend got me that shrinks down to 5ft and expands out to about 10ft, and a braided leather martingale-style I won from a raffle at a dog show which doesn't really fit either dog safely (too big) but it's cute and also purple. And of course an assortment of nylon, cloth, and neoprene leashes for "just in case" storage.

Recently also I bought some drag lines (no handle on the end) because Fenris got caught up in the handle at his last mondio session and I don't want him to break his legs. They're biothane lines from CSJCreations on etsy.

Collar:

Tater does not wear collars as they aggravate her SM/CM trigger points and cause a horrendous amount of pain. Fae has an assortment of very small, delicate nylon and cloth collars. I want to get her a braided thread one like Tiki had at one point, but who has the money for vanity?

Fenris uses an assortment of leftover collars from other dogs, though his prong, slip, and electric collar I bought specifically for him because the others don't fit and because he's the first dog I've actually felt comfortable using a stim on. Expensive fancy collars are reserved for dogs who get titles at competition events, and he has not yet (just a temperament test) so I similarly have not bought him a nice custom collar. Eventually I'll buy him a fursaver I can actually fit over his big stupid head.

Sushi HAS gotten ribbons at competitions and so the first ribbon she won I celebrated by getting her a very nice silk-wrapped martingale that looks amazing on her and actually is really nice to her neck sensitivity. Sushi's very sensitive to pressure on her neck and yet will very quickly pop out of a flat collar, so a martingale is the safest option for us.

Harness:

Fen's xback is from Nahak, it's the preferred harness for mondioring training. I was looking at a couple different makers and then his breeder chose for me when she got him one for his birthday 🤣

Sushi has a Redline K9 harness that she's been using as a service harness. It's Creed's old agitation harness.

The chihuahuas have harnesses from High Tide Collar Co which she made lightweight and custom for my little babies. Fae also had a really nice vest style harness I wanted to use as her harness at work when I was a dog trainer with a little "PLEASE pet me" patch on it however she decided she hated the buckle and chewed it off of herself when I wasn't watching her in my training ring like 3 days after it arrived, and I never replaced it.

Slip leads:

I have a shitty thin nylon one that I think I stole from working at petco (we were always supposed to have one in our pockets for emergencies and then when I stopped working there I found it in my apron lmao whoops) which I use for giving reluctant big dogs their baths. I also have two more expensive rope ones, one red (bought for Tiki) and one purple (bought for Sushi) which live next to my back door and in my car respectively for emergencies.

[justavulcan]

Subway Checkpoint Singer Compilation Post

The Master makes its lair in an abandoned law enforcement checkpoint in the extensive subway and utility access tunnels beneath the city.  While most of the utilities are dead and silent, recently the neighboring human communities have needed to get access to the checkpoint in an attempt to bring power or even running water back.  As the old government wanted to maintain control of both, the Dungeon has the central switching for both, necessitating braving its darkened corridors and the master’s servants.

The Master is a mutant, a creature of the pre-apocalypse twisted and gnarled into a huge, reptilian beast with scarce-used wings and a truly hypnotic song.  Intelligent enough to collect other mutants and even humans to it as defenders and potential food sources, the Master’s basic goals extend to a dominance of its environment that few animals seek- not the simple predatory dominance of an animal or lesser mutant, but administration and control.

The master’s brood, produced from some parthenogenic ability, bear only the barest resemblance to their progenitor.  Man-sized and lean, they’re utterly dwarfed by their colossal parent, but no less the dangerous for it.  Equipped with sharp claws suited equally for clinging to overhead lines and gutting unfortunate lost pigs or humans, the brood range far and wide from their lair in the subway checkpoint.  Most startling is their ability to leap, revealing that while flightless, they can glide well and still prefer to take prey from above.

The dousers of lights are unrelated to the Master, genetically, but the symbiosis they have together is undeniable- the humans are aware of the Master’s song, and go with their ears stoppered against it when they must travel this way.  As this increases their dependence on their lights, these chitinous mutants give chase, lurking in the dark with the ability to psychically dampen illumination.  None can agree if this is a trick on the observer, or if they can truly darken the lights, but there are few survivors to speculate from experience.

Most insidious of the Master’s servants is a small group of humans that make camp in the officer’s mess of the checkpoint, where they are allowed electric lanterns and fires and their own pigs and tiny mushroom farm.  As these are thin rations, the people here are forever near-starved and hollow-looking, but they never complain.  Their master sees to it they do not perish from hunger, although a few have died in the line of service luring prey in for the master and her brood, or new members for their own sorry number.

The Master has a weakness it has kept carefully hidden; its sweat is so oily that it’s combustible, giving the Master a dreadful vulnerability to open flame.  It’s compensated for this by locating and lairing in one of the old storerooms, as they’re equipped with ancient fire-suppression systems.  That these systems are full of filthy, stagnant water that poses a very real infection risk to would-be explorers is simply a bonus.

The psychic backlash from slaying the master is the reward that matters, aside from access to the utilities that are fed through here.  Those nearby when the mutant is slain feel one last gasp of telepathic music, a song that plants in their minds the seeds of creation.  Those so inspired find themselves with the willingness and the knowledge to make something with their own two hands, regardless of their previous ability to use the tools and skills necessary.  This inspiration lasts long enough for one frenzied project to be borne to completion, and then fades like a fever dream.

[burnwater13]

Ahsoka Tano holding her lightsaber horizontally in front on her face as she fights the Mandalorian on Corvus. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 5, The Jedi. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu had wanted his own lightsaber from the very first time he’d seen one. He liked the bright light. He liked the soft humming sound it made. He liked the pattern he saw in the air or his mind’s eye when it was swished and swashed around a space. It was mesmerizing. It was magical. 

Yes, Jedi believed in magic. It wasn’t the same as the Force and they knew that a lot of people thought that the Force was magic. It wasn’t. It was just the Force. Like electricity was electricity and gravity was gravity. He supposed it didn’t have the best name, but then names were just words assigned to something. Mostly. 

Back to the magic. The magic wasn’t using the Force to lift up a perfect, little, absolutely fresh frog, but the feeling the frog had when it jumped away and the feeling that Grogu had when he heard it splash into the water. The frog had been trapped by vines and reeds and other barriers and Grogu had been able to free it. That whole experience felt magical.  That’s why he let the frog go. You can’t eat something that made you feel that way. You just can’t.

Grogu also knew that there were people who believed in magic of another kind. Not the magic of doing the right thing at the right time. Not the magic of helping. Not even the magic of appreciating the beauty that surrounded them almost everywhere they ever went in the galaxy. No, this other magic was the magic of probability. 

Probability magic was interesting. For one thing it involved understanding a lot of information and turning it from words into numbers. For example, if you knew that for every Jedi Master there were six Jedi Knights and one Jedi padawan, and for every Jedi Padawan there were two Jedi younglings, you would realize that most younglings would never be masters. The odds were against them. Why? Because too many Jedi Knights never became masters. They stayed as Knights, which created a bottleneck for younglings seeking to become padawans. 

When Grogu had been at the Jedi Temple there were at least 1000 Jedi Masters distributed across the galaxy. That meant that there were roughly 6000 Jedi Knights, and 1000 Jedi Padawans, and 2000 Jedi younglings. That accounted for roughly 10,000 Jedi of all levels in the galaxy. Which seemed like a lot until you remembered how big a galaxy actually was and that Coruscant, all on it’s own, had a population measured in the trillions of people. Trillions!

Now, while there were more than enough Knights, there were way too few Masters. Yes, the younglings had instructors and minders, and all of that. But the bottleneck was still there and many younglings didn’t really understand why some people became padawans while others didn’t. It took time and that hadn’t even been added to the calculation of probability yet. 

Now, if you said that a human youngling was generally about twelve years old before becoming a padawan and it took them at least ten years to become a knight, you’d realize that it took a long time for 2000 younglings to have access to 1000 masters. Which meant that when a youngling was assigned a Master and moved into the ranks of the padawans it felt like magic. Not just because you were found worthy of entering the next phase of your education and service to the Order, but because now you were finally going to learn everything there was to know about lightsabers. Lightsabers!

You would go with your Master to find the perfect kyber crystal and other components for the quintessential Jedi weapon. You would bond with them over the course of that trip and develop a healthy respect for their strengths and weaknesses. They would learn more about your personality, your skills, your areas of improvement, your goals and aspirations. Then they would guide you to achieving them, while you acted on their behalf on whichever mission you found yourself off. Negotiating a peace agreement between two battle hungry planets? No problem. Helping another planet recover from a devastating solar storm? Bring it on. Collecting information on a thousand planets and systems not yet encompassed in the Galactic Encyclopedia? An outstanding opportunity to learn!

But, if you were small, and green, and hated speaking Gal Basic, you just might find yourself, year after year, stuck in the classroom or lecture hall with an ever changing group of younglings, mostly human, or humanoid, never being selected by a master to move on in your journey as a Jedi. For twenty years Grogu had watched people come and go and he was still with the younglings. Sure the first few years he was really just watching them all, but after a while it became apparent that he was being held back. 

He could do all the skills. He could handle all the problems. He could name every Jedi Master currently in the Jedi Order and some who had left and others who had become one with the Force. None of that had mattered. And before he knew it, his dreams, his aspirations, the magic that he felt every time he noticed a lightsaber on a Knight or Master’s belt, were over. The Temple had fallen and magic had been scattered to the galactic winds. Another set of probabilities had caught up with them. Rare event or not, sometimes those things actually happened.

He hoped that the probabilities had changed again, because there he was, sitting on a rock next to a pond and lifting a frog up using the Force and it felt as magical as seeing a lightsaber for the first time. That was a pretty good feeling.

“Grogu! Dinner time! I have some fresh dung worms for you.”

Grogu turned around to look at the Mandalorian and had to shield his eyes from the bright light that reflected off of his very shiny armor. It wasn’t quite the same as looking at a lightsaber. It was better and that felt magical all on its own.

[tedoculus]

Psychedelic Rock

Psychedelic Rock mix from a torrent tracker. How does it fare?

01. Jefferson Airplane - White Rabbit -> 24-bit/44100Hz 02. Jimi Hendrix - Hear My Train a Comin' -> 24-bit/96000Hz 03. The Rolling Stones - 2000 Light Years From Home (Remastered) -> 24-bit/192000Hz 04. Grateful Dead - St. Stephen   (2019 Remaster) -> 24-bit/192000Hz 05. The Doors - Strange Days -> 24-bit/96000Hz 06. Love - A House Is Not a Motel  (2015 Remaster) -> 24-bit/192000Hz 07. The Yardbirds - Shapes of Things -> 24-bit/44100Hz 08. The Velvet Underground - I'm Set Free -> 24-bit/192000Hz 09. The Byrds - Mr. Tambourine Man (Electric Version) -> 24-bit/44100Hz 10. The Beach Boys - I Just Wasn't Made For These Times -> 24-bit/192000Hz 11. Quicksilver Messenger Service - Gold And Silver -> 24-bit/192000Hz 12. Lou Reed - Wild Child  (Remastered January 2000) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 13. The Moody Blues - Nights In White Satin (Single Version / Mono) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 14. Pink Floyd - See Emily Play  (2016 Remastered Version) -> 24-bit/44100Hz 15. Pink Floyd - Arnold Layne  (2016 Remastered Version) -> 24-bit/44100Hz 16. Gong - You Can't Kill Me (2015 Remaster) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 17. Cream - Tales Of Brave Ulysses -> 24-bit/192000Hz 18. The Yardbirds - Little Games   (96/24 Hi Res Stereo; 6/24 Hi Res Stereo) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 19. The Kinks - Brainwashed -> 24-bit/96000Hz 20. The Beatles - Savoy Truffle (2018 Mix) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 21. The Hollies - Leave Me  (Mono) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 22. Marc Bolan - Blackjack (Earlier Master Version) -> 24-bit/44100Hz 23. The Mothers Of Invention - My Guitar Wants To Kill Your Mama -> 24-bit/192000Hz 24. Captain Beefheart - Moonlight on Vermont -> 24-bit/96000Hz 25. Hawkwind - Born to Go -> 24-bit/48000Hz 26. Big Brother & The Holding Company - Ball and Chain  -> 24-bit/88200Hz 27. The Velvet Underground - Venus In Furs (Album Version) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 28. Dr. John - Danse Kalinda Ba Doom -> 24-bit/192000Hz 29. The Monkees - Porpoise Song (Theme from "Head" ) -> 24-bit/192000Hz 30. Cream - White Room -> 24-bit/192000Hz 31. Quicksilver Messenger Service - Mona -> 24-bit/192000Hz 32. The Pretty Things - Sf Sorrow is Born (Mark Lamarr Radio 2, 28 March 2009) -> 24-bit/44100Hz 33. Iron Butterfly - Shady Lady -> 24-bit/192000Hz 34. Todd Rundgren - International Feel -> 24-bit/192000Hz 35. Eric Burdon & The Animals - Monterey -> 24-bit/192000Hz 36. The Doors - Light My Fire -> 24-bit/96000Hz 37. The Beach Boys - Good Vibrations (Stereo) -> 24-bit/192000Hz 38. The Beatles - Within You Without You (Remix) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 39. The Beatles - Strawberry Fields Forever (Stereo Mix 2015) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 40. The Who - I Can See For Miles (Mono Version) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 41. The Who - Armenia City In The Sky (Mono Version) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 42. Temples - Shelter Song -> 24-bit/44100Hz 43. Kula Shaker - Tattva -> 24-bit/96000Hz 44. The Horrors - I See You -> 24-bit/96000Hz 45. The Black Angels - Better off Alone (Live) -> 24-bit/96000Hz 46. King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Rattlesnake -> 24-bit/48000Hz 47. The Shivas - Gloria -> 24-bit/96000Hz 48. The Charlatans - I Don't Want To See The Sights -> 24-bit/96000Hz 49. The Flaming Lips - She Don't Use Jelly -> 24-bit/44100Hz 50. Wesley Fuller - Someone To Walk Around With -> 24-bit/44100Hz 51. The Murlocs - Bittersweet Demons -> 24-bit/48000Hz 52. Psychedelic Porn Crumpets - Bill's Mandolin -> 24-bit/44100Hz 53. The Orielles - Come Down On Jupiter -> 24-bit/96000Hz 54. James Neville - Priestess -> 24-bit/96000Hz 55. Black Mountain - Space to Bakersfield -> 24-bit/96000Hz 56. Sunflower Bean - Shine a Light -> 24-bit/44100Hz 57. Lucidvox - My Little Star -> 24-bit/44100Hz 58. Causa Sui - La Jolla -> 24-bit/44100Hz 59. Lothar and the Hand People - Comic Strip -> 24-bit/44100Hz 60. The Incredible String Band - Maya  -> 24-bit/192000Hz

[angel-0f-verdun]

7 Missile Lock

Authors Note:

Everyone, I appreciate your continued support, I am so sorry it took so long to get this going again. I have moved and life is a bit messy at the moment but I wanted to get this out. For those waiting for Desert Umbra I am working on it, I promise. Right now my heart is set on Top Gun, but I will be putting out another chapter for Desert as soon as I can. I appreciate you all.

AngeDeVerdun

Previous chapter

I started my walk around the plane, making sure to check every inch of my metal beast. Everything seemed to be in order on the outside, I jumped inside and checked all my switches, ensuring they were in the right positions. I turned on the master switch and waited for a second as the indicators started working, plugging the connections of my helmet into the plane. Then turned on my avionics switch, and listened to the fans kick on. When I knew they were in working order I moved on. I proceeded to input the Automatic Terminal Information Service (ATIS) frequency and turned up the volume so I could hear it without putting on my helmet. I adjusted the other volume knob for Doe, using my muscle memory to determine what she liked. I input the sea level pressure into the altimeter and wrote down the letter that this hour’s weather corresponded to and any airport notes I may need. I also input the numbers for the fuel I had until bingo. I didn’t worry about my weapons counters as this was a simulation/training flight, nothing was going to be active. I looked at the switch for my hook bypass and switched it to field instead of carrier. Then turned on all my lights, I first looked around myself at the wings and tail to see if I could see all my lights. I could see a majority of them but decided I needed to get out of the plane and make sure they were all indeed working. I wouldn’t want our team to be patronized because I didn’t check the lights.

As I made my way down the ladder, I could feel the skin on my hand ripping more with the movements I had been putting it through. I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth as I moved it more to loosen it up before the flight started. I watched the bright lights through my peripheral vision so as not to hurt my eyes when I finished I climbed back inside the cockpit, moved my helmet aside, and set it on my lap. The last thing to do was to flip the lever on the hydraulic transfer pump to shut it off. I tuned into the ground frequency. 

“Miramar ground, Reaper, would you connect our ground electric power?” I asked them. I then hooked up my mask to the oxygen tube. I covered my face with my mask and flipped the switch and inhaled, feeling the air hit my lungs. I watched the instruments come to life, closing my eyes and listening to the hum, uncaging my standby instruments. I reached up with my left hand and closed the canopy, I watched Doe give me a thumbs up in the mirror above me as she covered her mouth and nose with her mask. 

“Comm check, Doe, can you hear me?” I asked her. 

“Loud and clear Reaper” She replied as she continued her own checks, including arming the ejection seats. I cranked my left engine and powered it up watching my RPMs, then let it go to idle and tested the other one. 

“Copy,” I told her as I continued my flow checking our lights inside the cockpit, and the fire detection system, which ignited the sounds and warning lights.

“Miramar ground, this is Reaper you can disconnect us.” I told them.

“Disconnecting, you are good to go.” I watched the ground personnel clear out of the way as I bumped our throttles a little and held the brakes. 

“Miramar ground this is Reaper with November, at hanger 3 requesting a northwest departure for a training exercise, run up is complete.” I told them. 

“Reaper continue to runway two four right via golf and papa, then hold short of runway two four.”

“Taxi to runway two four right via golf and papa and hold short.” I abbreviated their language happily as I revved the engines and taxied to where we needed to go. 

“You ready Reaper?” I heard Doe ask me as I made the first left turn. I smiled looking at my surroundings, glancing back in the mirror at her. 

“Yeah, I think so. We’ll see how we do and how we compare to the rest of the group. Don’t be nervous, it’s the first flight, they can’t be too tough on us.” I told her, my eyes locked on a plane coming in hot and low to the right near the tower as I turned onto taxiway papa.

“Is that?” I heard Doe ask briefly. I knew exactly who that was, Maverick and Goose. I held short of the runway tuning into the tower's frequency. I rolled my eyes, Maverick was not going to make it easy for me to get out if he did what I thought he was doing, buzzing the tower. 

“Yes, our two idiots. They always have to make a scene.” I breathed out annoyed with the showmanship of Maverick. 

“I guess this means they did well.” Doe sighed out. I was starting to get annoyed with her lack of confidence, I brushed off the comment and waited til Maverick and Goose had blown my ears out with their inopportune flyby. 

“Miramar tower, this is Reaper holding short of runway two four right. Think we can get a departure in before Maverick lands?” I asked them.

“What’s wrong Reaper? Jealous?” I heard Maverick’s voice come through the frequency, I rolled my eyes I would tear him apart the next time I saw him. 

“Reaper, no delay, fly straight out runway two four right cleared for take off.” Tower cleared us to go as they also ignored Maverick and his bullshit. 

“No delay, fly straight out runway two four cleared for takeoff,” I confirmed, as I taxied out to the runway and gradually put in full power. The plane lurched beneath me, the power throwing me back into the seat. I maintained the center line with my rudder and waited for my speed to climb to what I needed for us to get off the ground. When I reached take-off speed, I pulled up slowly taking us into a climb at a few knots faster and lesser angle of attack. I put my gear up happily getting rid of the drag that accumulated over the wheels. Immediately I felt the plane pull us forward.

“Maverick do a right 360 and set yourself up for a downwind entry landing,” Tower advised him as I tried to tune him out.

“Copy that, right 360 for a downwind entry to land.” He repeated the instructions to the tower.

“Reaper, you’re cleared to turn right to heading three one zero, frequency change approved, tune into practice area frequency 125.3. See you later, and good luck.”

“Cleared to three one zero, changing frequency 125.3, thank you, see you soon,” I told them, lifting my finger from the push-to-talk button. As I dialed in the frequency I heard Doe exhale. When we were in these kinds of training exercises she had a stressful aura about her. It put me on edge but I tried to ignore the tense air between us. I suppressed the urge to start a conversation and instead busied myself with getting to our altitude of 13,000ft. I knew we were far enough from the airspace of Miramar to get up to altitude as soon as possible. 

“Ladies, this is your first hop, the gen 2 you are flying against are smaller, faster, and more maneuverable just like the enemy MiGs. The clock is ticking and as of now we are keeping score.” I heard Jester say to us.

“Left and low, they’re coming up fast, get ready,” Doe replied reading me the closing altitude between us. I forced our throttles forward immediately feeling the plane react to the movements almost instantaneously as I pulled us into a straight climb, looping around so that Jester would be in our forefront, however, my efforts were in vain as the plane had already disappeared by the time I was in position. 

“Where’d he go Doe?” I asked her as she was frantically looking around, no doubt. 

“I– I don’t see him, he must be to our left and just out of my sight.” I nodded taking her note into account, I banked hard right weaving us around and putting us into a slight dive so Doe could have better visibility.

“I see him. Off our right, still low and behind.” She advised me.

“So even though he’s faster he’s lagging behind us on purpose.” I thought out loud so Doe would know my process. Even though she was my RIO, we worked together as a team through situations such as these. It’s what I would want my pilot to do if I were a RIO. 

“Doe, I’m gonna hit the brakes, he’ll fly right by, hopefully we can get a missile lock on him,” I told her.

“Let’s do it Reaper.” She confirmed my plans. I set my plan into action turning off the burners and lessening the throttles I pitched down to gain a little speed and have Jester fly by us. He did, I put the power back in and cruised behind him chasing him for once. I got him in my sights attempting to lock on him with my targeting system. However, the little bugger moved too quickly for my reflexes, my hand was pulsing in pain at this point with how much I pushed the threshold.

“Fuck. I can’t get him.” I said to Doe, upset that I wasn’t performing my best. He curved around behind us and I put the burners back on attempting to get away, but that lack of acceleration for a split second caused him to get a missile lock on us. The alarm blared in my ears and immediately my perspective changed.

I was flying in the mountains in Bosnia. The views were to die for, flying in this place was like a whole other world, I had never experienced this before. It was calming and beautiful with the pine trees, mountains, and crisp winter air. The snow that covered the area was pure and untouched. Why we were in the area was unimportant to me, all I knew was that we were here for reconnaissance, nothing more. My RIO and I had decided to divert from our original plan and take a detour against our better judgment. I was more like Maverick back then, uncalculated in my decisions and rash. The world was against Jax Taylor and I at this very moment. I felt the cold metal of my ring against my finger smiling as I looked down at the scenery. A happy memory was born, my fiancé and I were flying together with little to management’s knowledge. 

“Where are we?” I asked him. 

“301506.5 1150 confirmed, sectors have been confirmed.” He told me the numbers, but it didn’t make any sense. 

“Are you sure, Casanova?” I asked, confirming what he was saying on my map and looking out the window. 

“I’m reading it right here Dice.” He said to me annoyance slipping into his voice. I sighed knowing that this was not where we were.

“Well, we’re flying over a lake,” I said to him.

“Goddamnit, well one thank you goes out to the U.S. intelligence community.” He said saluting in the mirror looking at me. 

“Yet another useless mission for the American taxpayer.” I quipped. 

“Wait, hold on I’m getting something in sector 4.” He told me. 

“That doesn’t make any sense, that’s a demilitarized zone over there. We’re not supposed to go there either.” I told him as I started mindlessly turning the aircraft about 10 degrees and back, my eyes focused on the area he was talking about. The area was shielded by trees, but you could see there was a bit of deforestation taking place just north of the tree line. 

“When has that ever stopped you before? But my scope doesn’t lie, Dice, there’s something there.” He told me, adamant to get over to that sector. He never really understood my struggles as a female fighter pilot and I was already on thin ice with the brass. It was only one mission where we would deviate.

“Hey, we’re on recon, let’s recon something.” He argued with my judgment.

“See with that logic I can’t possibly argue with you, plus we have a shiny new camera to test out.” I easily agreed, not even thinking about the consequences of doing so. 

“There you go. ECM is cleared, GPS is synced, putting in the coordinates, steady up zero three four, and fly the director.” He replied as I banked to the left to get us over the area he had pointed out. 

“Standby for roll… Now.” I told him as I got closer, turning on the burners in case we needed to get out of there fast.

“Rolling digital.” He confirmed the camera's action. I maneuvered us to get out of the area, straight ahead back into a safe zone, also known as the lines we were supposed to be flying. Little alarms distracted me as I asked Casanova what was happening. 

“What’s going on??” I asked him as I knew his eyes were on the radar more than mine were at the moment.

“Holy shit, we’re being painted!!” Casanova yelled at me, and my mindset quickly changed from complacent to tactical. 

“What?!” I asked him out of pure shock from a simple flyby. 

“Shit they fired, scoop it now,” he instructed. I did as he asked, quickly throwing the plane into a straight climb feeling the G-forces hit me.

“Okay, I don’t see it, call my turn. Where is it?” I asked him frantically trying to figure out which direction to go.

“Hard right. We’ll try to break the lock.” I immediately threw us into a right turn, not daring to dive below our current altitude fearing the missile would hit us. “Golden Eagle Arc Angel, we have been engaged!” I heard Casanova on the radio immediately trying to alert command.

“Put out the decoy flares” He instructed, I flipped the lever to deploy the flares. After that, I dove a little while looping us around our previous circle. “Got it… No joy.” He informed me as I continued flying in another direction not caring about how erratic the flight had gotten, I circled us around a mountain pass, trying to let Casanova get eyes on the missile. 

“Where is it? Where is he?!” I yelled at him, trying to get him to talk to me, we needed to communicate better in this aspect especially when we were being targeted.

“Casanova, I have a second missile in the air, 3 miles, and closing,” I informed him as I knew he was now watching outside trying to spot the flying fireballs.

“Pull up!” He yelled again. I did as he requested and threw the plane into a straight climb.

“We need a bigger heat decoy.” He said, my pass around the mountain peak hadn’t worked. There was a leveled-off area near the top of the mountain. I watched my altitude as I got lower for a pass near the trees, the snow toppling off the branches as we passed.

“Where do you suppose I go for that? We’re in the middle of fucking winter!!” I yelled at him. 

“Drop the fuel tank and pull up!” He yelled as I came to a slope. I released the tanks, listening for the boom as they hit the ground, immediately pulling up after I had dropped them. 

“That’s it one down one to go! Where’s the second?” I asked him as I heard the crash from the missile hit.

“No joy, I don’t have it in sight!!” He said as I tried to get us out of the smoke banking hard right. 

“He’s back on us, push over, hard left!” Casanova replied as we finally hit clear air. I watched where I was in comparison to the mountains, then made the turn flipping us around as I did so. 

“I’m going for a head-on pass,” I told him as I barrelled toward the incoming missile, attempting to move my wings to the right so it wouldn’t clip us, but it was too late.

“He clipped us. He’s coming back. Turn left!” Casanova yelled.

“Fuck.” I released a breath and listened to the airplane, we had multiple caution lights on and master alarms, I would have attempted to do an emergency landing but there was no telling what would be waiting for us on the ground. We needed to get out of here. 

“I’ve got no turn left Jax! The flight controls are shot.” I told him as the realization of the damage finally hit my brain. 

“Then break right!” I had already started that turn but it was too late, the missile hit us dead center. I could feel the metal of the plane ripping apart before I saw Jax out the window. He went with the back of the plane floating for a second then diving down, my half took a nose dive starting to spin uncontrollably now.

“EJECT, EJECT, EJECT!” I yelled at him, pulling the two ropes above my head as I braced for the cool air against my skin. I heard the rivets on the canopy pop and the glass remove as I sailed through the air at the highest speed I’ve ever been outside of an aircraft. The chair was proving to be a problem and I needed to get out of it as soon as possible. Right as I had that thought Jax and I collided in midair, bouncing off each other effectively giving me a headache.

When the chute finally pulled I released my seat by pulling the lever on the side towards the sky. It dropped near a broken angel statue. I curiously watched it for a minute. Its wing had broken clean off and its face was mangled. It was beautiful and creepy at the same time. I brushed the thought away as I tried to navigate the chute and land in a field near Jax, however, I was dropping too fast to do anything. I was going to end up in the trees. 

I fell through the branches feeling them each cut through my uniform and into my skin until my chute got caught up on one of the larger branches. I looked down taking in the fact that there were about five feet between me and the ground. 

“Fuck.” I exhaled and took a breath in before I released myself from the chute, making sure to bend my knees upon impact so I wouldn’t break my legs on the fall. I stood, checking myself over making sure nothing was innately broken, just a few bumps and bruises. I started running in the direction I saw Jax go. 

“Jax!! Jax!” I yelled as I saw him on the ground in the valley, I started to sprint my heart going fast as I ran up to him to check him over as well. 

“Are you okay?” I asked him, worry breaking through as I saw him lying down propped up on his right arm. He had cuts all over his face from the fall. 

“Yeah I’m alright, you look terrible.” I scoffed at his sarcasm as I slid to him on my knees and embraced him in a hug. 

“Be serious, now’s not the time for bullshit,” I told him as I started to do an initial assessment of his leg. He had already applied a tourniquet, but it was already soaked through its color now crimson with his blood. 

“Oh my god. I have to change this, now.” I said as I sniffed, my nose starting to run as it was freezing. I rummaged through my flight suit looking for a new tourniquet. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I love you, it’ll be alright” He said to me, grabbing my face to look at him, he started to wipe my tears away. I didn’t even realize that I had started to cry. In times such as these I tended to push through until I couldn’t anymore.

“I love you too, I’m fine Jax, let go of me. Let’s just get this patched up, okay?” I told him practically prying his hands off my face. Now was not the time to break down and he wasn’t helping me keep my emotions in check. If I allowed myself to feel we would be in way worse condition. I finally found a tourniquet and whipped it out. As I observed his wound I realized that I didn’t want to remove the old one and cause more damage so I placed it on top covering it up. I then pulled the ends as tight as I could and tied them together Jax whimpering in the process. 

“I’m sorry” I whispered out. He nodded his gaze not leaving my eyes. As his hand searched for mine.

“Where are we?” I asked clearing my throat, as I held his gloved hand in my own. I was trying to distract him from the current situation, but it wasn’t working. 

“In the mountains north of Miciovic. Do you think they saw us eject?” He asked me, not wanting to beat around the bush, I did love that about him. 

“We won’t be here when they come looking. But the Navy is going to be wondering what happened to their 40 million dollar plane, so that gives me hope,” I told him pulling out my radio. 

“I already tried, you need to get to higher ground.” I looked around at the pine trees that surrounded the valley.

“Do you think it’ll work up there?” I asked him pointing to the hill in question.

“Yes Maeve, just make sure you get high enough.” He told me. I sighed letting myself catch my breath, dropping his hand and bracing, putting my arm back to push myself up.

“Okay,” I took a deep breath, standing up.

“Wait–” Jax uttered, catching my wrist with his hand and pulling me back down to a squatting position in front of him.

“Yeah?” I asked him as the moment of silence stood between us.

“Promise me that you’ll move on if anything happens.” I started to shake my head and say no but he held up his hand to stop me from talking. Not normally an obedient little girl I stopped looking into his eyes that were starting to tear up. I wanted nothing more than to hold him. 

“If something happens, I want you not to dwell on this moment, I want you to be happy. Try not to think about me too often but just enough. You cannot let grief control your life. I don’t want you to quit the Navy either. You love it here, you love flying. I know, you’ve got to be one of the best pilots out here. Don’t let those boys push you around, you’re a fantastic person and I know you’ll do great things when you get out of here. Once the assignment changes it will be worth it, I promise. This opportunity led me to you and I can’t thank whatever higher power is up there enough for that. I love you Maeve Scarlett Ford. Don’t you dare come after me, I want you to promise me that.” Before I knew it the tears were streaming down my face yet again. I hated him in this moment, it ripped me apart, but I knew that I would do the same thing in his position. 

“I love you, Jax, I promise, but if we get out of here together we’re getting married immediately,” I told him as he brought our foreheads together and wiped my tears away. 

“Immediately my love, I promise.” He smiled looking into my eyes and leaned in. As his lips touched mine I knew I would never move on from him, not fully at least. It was a wholesome and lingering kiss that would put me on my ass in a normal situation. But this was far from my definition of normal. The potential of becoming POWs was very real. But if I didn’t have to walk away from him now I never would. I ripped myself away from the love of my life and set my sights on the hill in front of me. I didn’t get very far before I stopped in my tracks. 

“Babe, I should’ve dodged that fucking missile,” I said as I turned back to him.

“Yeah, yeah you should’ve, you blew it and you took me down with you. I thought you had great reflexes, what happened to you?! I used to have a good pilot, you’re slipping. You need to watch it.” He sarcastically replied with a smile on his face. My laugh penetrated the sad air that lingered around us. I walked away from him, continually looking back to make sure he was okay as I made the trek up the hill. 

The sound of treads, tires, and footsteps startled my thoughts as I heard them cut through the mud and grass near Jax’s position. I stopped near a tree and pulled my miniature binoculars out. He was surrounded on all sides.

“Fuck.” I breathed out as I watched the army of men walk up to him and step on his newly dressed and now bloody wound. The men formed a circle around him, we were vastly outnumbered, and there was nothing I could do but watch. A car pulled up and the two men inside stepped out one with a navy blue beret on and the other in a blue sweatsuit. I watched as another man in the squad retrieved Jax’s handgun that was in his chest pocket and threw it to the man in the sweatsuit. I saw Jax give him a card that we carried in our pockets that is used in case we were shot down, the man threw it to the side not bothering to look at it. I watched as the beret talked to him and then touched his comrade in the sweatsuit's shoulder. The men filed away it looked like we may have gotten lucky, and my heart swelled with hope as sweatsuit man lit up a cigarette. I knew better than to go running back down the hill to him even though that’s all I wanted to do in this moment. The sweatsuit man helped Jax stand up. Jax glanced toward the treeline at me shaking his head no, he knew me well enough to know I would try something. My heart froze. The man in the sweatsuit inspected Jax’s flight helmet behind him just before he pulled Jax’s handgun and shot him in the head.

“NO!” I cried out realizing my mistake almost immediately, I covered my hand over my mouth as the tears started again. I quickly got up and started to run, I sprinted as they started to open fire on me with their tanks and guns, the ground exploading around me. I ran as fast as I possibly could away from everything I knew and loved. Now it was my turn to stay alive when all I wanted to do was give up. My body was not giving up. 

Eventually, I reached the peak of a far mountain so that they would not find me. But I knew I would need to keep fighting, tomorrow was a different story. I pulled out my radio when I reached the top,

“Alpha Whiskey, this is Archangel 06 over.” I tried the radio sobbing uncontrollably as I tried to get an evacuation going. 

“Damn, good attempt ladies. I’m impressed! Get back on the ground, we’ll debrief on the way back since you are the last flight of the day.” I heard Jester say to us but the words were muffled. I was stuck, I made no movements to the plane and kept it as we were straight and easy flying. 

“Reaper?” I heard Doe ask me but I couldn’t snap out of it. 

“Standby Jester,” She said to him over the frequency.

“Copy? What’s going on? Reaper, Doe? You alright?” He asked her confused.

“She’s fine, just give me a minute with her.” She replied, attempting to preserve my decency no doubt. 

“Hey look at me.” She said sternly trying to get my attention in the mirror. My eyes flickered over to her but for a second I thought I could see Jax, his blue eyes sparkling at me as I took a deep breath. I blinked hard, attempting to get my eyes to focus and my brain to get back in the game. 

“We’re okay, we did fine. It was a bit fast, but we’ll get it next time. I’m sure no one passed.” She said to me. I didn’t reply, thinking about the last time I saw Jax the gunshot echoing in my head. She tried again.

“Maeve, Jax isn’t here with you it’s me, Crystal, we’ll talk about it more once we’re on the ground but I need you to snap out of it now. We’re not in Bosnia, it’s not winter. It’s actually really fucking hot outside, so I’d love to get in some air conditioning. Can you do that for me, please? I know that missile lock sound probably set you off. But you're okay, you're here with me.” She said, I blinked again, tears forming in my eyes. I blinked them away looking around and seeing Jester on my wing. 

“Fuck, he’s going to rip me apart,” I said to no one in particular. 

“We’ll see, I’m hoping he lets this one slide,” Doe said to me.

“Jester, lead us back in,” I said over the frequency. He proceeded to bank left, and I banked left with him on his right-wing all the way. I focused on my landing, and how much different it was going to be from the aircraft carrier. I plugged in the frequency for ATIS and listened to the wind direction and speed, what runway they were using, and the alphabetical letter they assigned to the current ATIS. 

“Reaper, Doe, we’ll debrief later at 19:00, get your showers in and see me in my office.” Jester said.

“Copy. Thank you sir” Doe replied. 

“Miramar tower this is Reaper with Oscar coming from the northwest full stop”

“Copy Reaper overfly the airport and enter on the downwind for two four right, you’ve got Jester in front of you.” 

“Enter on the downwind for two four right,” I replied to them. I veered to the left then when I felt a good distance from the runway I turned right entering the downwind. 

“Reaper do a right 360 for spacing” Tower advised.

“Right 360” I replied as I entered a 30-degree right turn waiting for my clearance as I straightened up for my downwind leg. I put the landing gear down. Looking down I watched Jester land and clear the runway as I entered my base. I put in 20 degrees of flaps and reduced my power waiting for my airspeed to drop and then tilted my nose down turning into my final approach. I watched as the runway started to come up faster than I was expecting. I threw in 30 degrees quickly and dropped my power bringing us into a flatter attitude. Tilting the nose up as I did so I felt the ground beneath the wheels. I listened to the taxi instructions and forced myself to do the rest of the movements until we were parked on the tarmac in our spot. 

“You okay?” Doe asked me, knowing I was more than likely going to have to explain this to the guys. 

“I’ll be alright, I need a shower,” I told her as I shut down both her and the aircraft, popping open the canopy. I couldn’t wait to feel hot water against my skin to wash away the memories I had today. 

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