#Flight Simulation Cockpit

[atom-aviation32]

Discover the Secrets of the Pilot Cockpit at First Cockpit

Introduction: The Pilot Cockpit – Your Gateway to the Skies

When aspiring pilots begin their journey, one of the first things they are introduced to is the pilot cockpit. This vital part of any aircraft is not only where the pilot controls the plane but also where critical decisions are made, ensuring safety and efficiency during every flight. At First Cockpit, we understand the immense responsibility of flying an aircraft, and our training programs focus on teaching you to master the pilot cockpit from day one.

In this blog, we’ll dive into what the pilot cockpit entails, why it’s so important, and how our First Cockpit training programs will help you gain the skills needed to navigate it confidently. Let’s take a look at the elements of the pilot cockpit and how they contribute to a successful flight experience.

What is a Pilot Cockpit?

A pilot cockpit is the area in an aircraft where the pilot controls the airplane. It houses the flight controls, navigation equipment, and instruments that allow the pilot to monitor the aircraft's performance and communicate with air traffic control. The cockpit is often referred to as the "command center" of the plane, as it is where all critical flight decisions are made.

At First Cockpit, we place a strong emphasis on training our students to become proficient in managing the cockpit. Whether you’re handling the controls or interpreting the readings from various instruments, understanding the pilot cockpit layout and its functions is a key element of your training.

The Key Components of a Pilot Cockpit

1. Flight Instruments in the Pilot Cockpit

The pilot cockpit is equipped with a variety of flight instruments that provide essential information during flight. These instruments include:

Altimeter: Measures the aircraft’s altitude.

Airspeed Indicator: Displays the speed of the aircraft.

Attitude Indicator: Shows the plane's orientation relative to the horizon.

Heading Indicator: Displays the aircraft’s direction in degrees.

Turn Coordinator: Indicates whether the aircraft is turning and the rate of turn.

At First Cockpit, our training ensures that you become adept at reading and interpreting these instruments, allowing you to make informed decisions while flying. Mastering the pilot cockpit instruments is critical for ensuring that the flight is safe and within legal flight parameters.

2. Flight Controls in the Pilot Cockpit

The pilot cockpit is where all the flight controls are located, enabling the pilot to maneuver the aircraft. The main controls include:

Yoke or Control Stick: Controls the pitch and roll of the aircraft.

Throttle: Manages engine power to control speed.

Rudder Pedals: Control yaw and assist in turning the plane.

Flaps: Used to increase lift and drag for takeoff and landing.

Effective use of these flight controls is a significant focus of our First Cockpit training programs. You will learn how to handle these controls under various conditions, which is essential for smooth flight operations.

3. Communication Systems in the Pilot Cockpit

Effective communication is a critical part of flying. The pilot cockpit includes communication systems that allow pilots to stay in contact with air traffic control (ATC) and other aircraft. These systems include:

Radio Transceivers: Used for communication with ATC and other aircraft.

Intercom Systems: Enable communication between the pilot and co-pilot or passengers.

Cockpit Voice Recorder (CVR): Records all cockpit conversations for safety and legal reasons.

At First Cockpit, we emphasize communication training. Effective communication from the pilot cockpit ensures that pilots follow proper procedures and are able to manage any situation that arises during the flight.

The Importance of Mastering the Pilot Cockpit

Understanding the pilot cockpit is essential for several reasons. First and foremost, a well-versed pilot knows how to operate the aircraft under various conditions. Mastery of the pilot cockpit allows pilots to make quick, informed decisions, ensuring smooth flights in both normal and emergency situations.

At First Cockpit, we believe that a strong understanding of the pilot cockpit is key to success. Our curriculum is designed to familiarize students with every aspect of the cockpit, from controlling the flight to interpreting instruments and making safety-critical decisions.

Training at First Cockpit: Preparing You for the Pilot Cockpit

At First Cockpit, we offer specialized training that prepares you to confidently enter the pilot cockpit. Our training programs are built around real-world scenarios that teach you how to handle the flight controls, interpret instruments, and communicate effectively in the cockpit. Here’s how our training program prepares you for success in the pilot cockpit:

1. Hands-on Flight Experience

We believe that the best way to learn is through practice. Our students spend a significant amount of time in the cockpit, learning how to operate the aircraft under various conditions. Whether it’s your first flight or you’re advancing to more complex maneuvers, we ensure that you gain plenty of flight time in the pilot cockpit.

2. Ground School Training

Ground school forms the foundation of your training, where you’ll learn about aviation theory, aircraft systems, weather, navigation, and communication protocols. Understanding these concepts ensures that you’ll have the knowledge to make informed decisions once you’re inside the pilot cockpit.

3. Advanced Simulators

We incorporate flight simulators into our training program to help you practice in a realistic but risk-free environment. These simulators mimic the pilot cockpit experience, allowing you to practice maneuvers, troubleshoot problems, and respond to emergencies, all while gaining valuable experience.

Why First Cockpit’s Pilot Cockpit Training Sets You Apart

Choosing First Cockpit for your pilot cockpit training provides several key benefits that set you up for a successful aviation career:

1. Experienced Instructors

Our instructors are seasoned pilots who bring years of experience in the aviation industry. They are dedicated to helping you become proficient in the pilot cockpit and providing you with the guidance needed to succeed.

2. State-of-the-Art Equipment

At First Cockpit, we use the latest aircraft and simulators to ensure you train with top-notch equipment. This helps you become familiar with modern cockpits and prepares you for real-world flying.

3. Career Support

We don’t just teach you to fly; we help you launch your aviation career. With job placement assistance and career counseling, First Cockpit ensures you’re ready to take off and succeed in the aviation industry.

Conclusion: Master the Pilot Cockpit with First Cockpit

The pilot cockpit is where your aviation journey truly begins. With the right training, you can gain the confidence and skills needed to control an aircraft and navigate the skies safely. At First Cockpit, we provide comprehensive training that covers every aspect of the pilot cockpit, from flight controls to communication systems, ensuring you are fully prepared for your career as a pilot.

Start your training today and discover how First Cockpit can help you master the pilot cockpit and take your first steps toward a rewarding aviation career.

[transhuman-priestess]

It's been a stressful week, so i'm cruising across the Atlantic to relax

[ladypilotuniform]

Flight simulation tests - adopt crash positions!

[trammellesstangent]

Just set up cat iii ILS are you stupid?

[networkthoughts]

Experiencing the Made in India flight simulator

“Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.” – Leonardo da Vinci This quote sums up what every aviation geek goes through during the phase from getting introduced to aviation to getting hooked to it completely. From seeing the plane in the sky to seeing the ground from the sky and…

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part II

You knew today was going to suck the second your alarm went off and you briefly, genuinely, considered faking your own death.

Not in a dramatic, movie-worthy kind of way. No, more like… vanish-into-a-data-breach, throw-your-phone-in-the-ocean, start-a-new-life-in-Finland sort of way.

But instead, you got up.

Because apparently, national security outranks your crippling fear of flight—not that it makes the simulator any less hellish, with its cold metal, stale coffee, and that faint chemical tang of fear.

You were strapped into the rear seat of a flight simulation pod, hands locked in your lap like they might betray you at any moment and start mashing random buttons. You exhaled slowly as your eyes flicked across the control panel. So many switches. So many lights. Half of them blinked like they were mocking you. The other half were labeled with words like “altitude” and “engine throttle” and “eject.”

Great.

You adjusted your headset as the technician’s voice crackled through. “Sim will start in thirty seconds, Doctor. We’ll be monitoring vitals and control input from the tower."

You forced a nod, even though your stomach was already trying to escape through your spine. Your breath fogged the inside of the visor. You clutched the tablet tethered to your vest like it was a stuffed animal and you were six years old again.

“Try not to scream this time,” came Cyclone’s voice through the comms, calm and flat like he was asking you to pass the salt.

You offered a shaky thumbs-up that somehow felt more like a surrender flag.

The sim operator spoke next, voice crackling through your headset once again. “Doctor, your objective is to remain conscious, keep your hands away from the panel, and activate the Ethera interface when prompted. We’ll simulate turbulence, evasive maneuvers, and mild G-force changes. Ready?”

No. Never.

“...Sure.”

The sim lurched forward with a roar, and your whole body snapped back into the seat. You let out a startled “whuff!”, eyes wide, heart in your throat. The room around you—walls disguised as sky—blurred as the machine banked hard to the left.

“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD—”

There was no gentle start. No soft acceleration to get your bearings. Just a violent jolt forward, and then you were climbing—straight up, like gravity had been turned into a weapon and pointed directly at your lungs.

Pressure slammed into your chest. The world outside the cockpit blurred. You couldn’t hear anything except your own heartbeat.

“WHY ARE WE TILTING—”

“Initiating evasive pattern,” came the tech’s voice, calm as ever.

The sim jerked again, this time into a sharp roll. The world flipped sideways. Your ears popped. Something primal in your brain screamed: This is how you die.

Your ears were ringing. Your pulse thundered against your ribs. Somewhere beneath the pressure and panic, you could hear the tech’s voice cutting in again—calm, detached, and utterly unhelpful.

“Doctor, you need to deploy the program,” he said. “Fifty seconds. Starting now.”

Oh, shit, you couldn’t even see straight.

Your breath came in short, shallow gasps as the simulated jet banked hard to the right, pressing your spine into the seat like it wanted to keep it. The G-forces made your vision tunnel, your stomach lurching somewhere around your throat.

Your hand fumbled toward the tablet mount, fingers shaking so hard they were basically useless. You tapped the corner of the screen. Missed. Tapped again. The jet jolted. The tablet shifted. Your palm slammed into the side instead of the input.

Forty seconds.

The Ethera prompt blinked up at you—green, glowing, go—but it may as well have been a mirage. You squinted through the dizziness, swore under your breath in three languages, and tried again.

Thirty-five.

The turbulence kicked again, harder. Your chest seized. The tablet slipped slightly in its latch. You tapped the input.

Too late.

“Simulation failed,” the system announced flatly. “Target missed.”

Everything halted—the motion, the noise—everything except your pulse, which pounded on like it hadn't gotten the memo.

The sim pod cracked open with a sharp hiss, releasing a rush of cool air that hit your sweat-slicked skin like a slap to the face. You didn’t move. For a second too long, you just sat there, fingers clenched around the armrests like they were the only things keeping you from unraveling completely. The silence pressed in, thick with the weight of your own embarrassment, humiliation settling low and heavy in your gut like a stone.

Your fingers fumbled at the release on your helmet, hands still trembling from the G-forces and adrenaline. The inside of your mouth tasted like copper and failure. You tugged off the headset next, wires dragging like they were reluctant to let go. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.

Your boots scraped against the cold floor as you shakily swung your legs out, and there he was, Vice Admiral Beau Simpson, standing with arms crossed, expression carved from steel.

You wanted to disappear into the floor.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at you. Not angry. Not even disappointed. Just… calculating. Like he was already assessing the cost of putting you on a real jet.

“I missed the mark,” you said first, because silence felt worse. “I know.”

Cyclone gave a short nod, like that much at least didn’t need explaining. “You froze.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop trying to beat its way out of your ribs. “Yeah.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “You had a job. Not to fly. Not to fight. Just to stay calm. Deploy your program.”

“I know.”

“And you failed.”

You stood on legs that didn’t feel like they belonged to you, one hand gripping the edge of the simulator for balance, the other still clutching the edge of the tablet even though the prompt had long since vanished.

“If this had been real,” he continued, “that satellite would still be feeding your government false intelligence. That jet would’ve been intercepted. And you, Doctor, would’ve been dead, and so would've your pilot.”

You flinched. Not visibly—hopefully—but the words hit harder than they should have. You stared at the scuffed metal floor, heart thudding against your ribs.

“You’re not a soldier,” he said. “And you’re not trained for this. That’s clear.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to defend yourself—but he raised a hand, cutting you off with one sharp motion.

“That’s not an excuse,” he added, voice sharp. “It’s a reality. One you’ll have to overcome, and fast. I don’t expect perfection but I do expect progress. And I expect you to walk into that sim tomorrow knowing what you did wrong—and ready to fix it.”

You blinked hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Yes, sir.”

Cyclone gave you one last look—disappointed, but not hopeless—and then turned, then paused, glancing back.

“And see medical,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “You’re pale as hell.”

Then he walked away, boots echoing down the corridor, leaving you standing there with a spinning head, a shattered ego and the feeling of wanting to curl up and cry.

As you moved to make your way toward medical—because yes, apparently nausea, disorientation, and a near-death experience weren’t enough on their own— you skidded to a stop just short of slamming into a very broad chest.

Of course. Of course, it was him.

The handsome, mustached pilot. The one who’d handed you your tablet like it was a glass slipper, back in the briefing room. The one who hadn’t laughed when you dropped it, but definitely thought about it.

His hair was slightly mussed, curls pushed back from his forehead like he’d run a hand through them one too many times. He held two water bottles, one in each hand, like he wasn’t sure if he meant to stay—or if he’d just pretend this was a casual “what a surprise” moment if anyone asked.

You froze. He straightened.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you expected. A lot softer than earlier. Less smirk, more... sincerity.

“Uh… hi,” you said finally. Nailed it. Pure elegance.

His expression didn’t change much, maybe just a flicker of amusement at the corners of his mouth. He held out one of the bottles. “You looked like you could use this.”

You hesitated—more from surprise than anything else—then took it. You took it, fingers brushing his as you did. His skin was warm—too warm for how cold you felt. You tried not to notice.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unscrewing the cap with hands that still trembled, ever so slightly. The water was blissfully cold against your throat, but it did nothing for the embarrassment still curdling in your stomach.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentler than you expected.

You hesitated, then tilted your head in a noncommittal shrug. “Define okay.”

A ghost of a smile touched his face. “Not crying, not puking, not passed out? That’s the general baseline.”

You cracked a reluctant laugh. “Oh, sure, I’m totally thriving.”

He nodded once, and the silence settled again—less awkward now, more… charged. The kind of quiet that hummed between words. The kind that made your skin feel too tight.

He looked like he might leave, but then he didn’t.

Instead, he shifted his weight, adjusting his grip on the second water bottle like it was some kind of anchor or maybe just something to do with his hands while he said, “You weren’t terrible in there.”

Your stomach jolted—sharp, unexpected. Like missing a step on the stairs. Heat bloomed beneath your collar, crawling up your throat as your fingers tightened around the plastic water bottle.

“You…” Your voice cracked a little, and you cleared your throat. “You were watching?”

God. No.

Why did you ask that? Why would you ever want confirmation?

His expression shifted—just slightly. Not quite sheepish, not quite smug. Just something in the middle.

“I was passing by,” he said, entirely too casual.

You groaned softly, dragging a hand over your face. “Fantastic. I didn’t just humiliate myself in front of the brass. I also had an audience.”

“Don’t take it personally,” he said, his voice laced with something between amusement and sincerity. “We’ve all been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “In a classified sim seat with national security riding on your ability to not pass out?”

He grinned wider. “Well. Maybe not exactly there.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you take another sip of the water.

“You’re not supposed to get it right the first time." He said, "No one does. You think the rest of us were born knowing how to pull 7 Gs without losing our lunch?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t believe him—maybe part of you even did—but because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if it would come out as a laugh or a cry.

He noticed.

“You know, most people don’t get in the backseat of a fighter jet without years of prep. You? You've got a couple of days, a tech background, and a pulse. That’s it and you still got in. That counts for something.”

You stared at him. “Why do you even care if I mess this up?”

He looked at you then, long and quiet.

“You built something that could change the world,” he said with an easy shrug. “That kind of genius doesn’t come with an eject handle. So yeah. I care.”

You looked away fast, suddenly too aware of how warm your cheeks were.

He leaned back again, casual as ever. “Besides, if I'm the one you are gonna fly into enemy territory, I’d rather know you’re not gonna scream the whole time.”

You snorted. “I’ll scream quietly. Into my elbow. Like an adult.”

He chuckles and you looked at him. Really looked at him. Still in partial uniform, flight suit unzipped to the waist, sleeves tied and hanging loose around his hips. His shirt clung to his chest, slightly sweat-damp at the collar, and that damn mustache made him look both out-of-place and weirdly grounded at the same time.

He wasn’t just handsome. He was kind of infuriatingly steady.

“Can I—” You paused, surprised by your own voice. “Can I ask your name?”

His brows lifted, just slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. But then he shifted forward and extended a hand—open, easy, completely steady in a way that you most definitely weren’t.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” he said. “But most people around here call me Rooster.”

You blinked. “Rooster?”

A grin tugged at his mouth, soft and lopsided. “My call sign. It’s a long story.”

You hesitated for a beat, then reached out and slid your hand into his.

His palm was warm—really warm—and calloused in a way that made you feel every inch of the difference between your worlds. His grip was firm but not overwhelming, grounding. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to apply without overdoing it. His fingers curled around yours with quiet confidence, like this was nothing, like it didn’t send an unexpected little jolt of awareness all the way up your arm.

Your hand was smaller than his, your skin cooler, trembling just enough that you hoped he didn’t notice—but something in the way his thumb shifted, just the tiniest bit, made you think maybe he did.

You weren’t sure how long you held on. Long enough to register the strength in his hand, the steadiness, the solidness of someone who lived in the sky but was somehow more grounded than anyone you knew.

“Y/N L/N,” you said finally, your voice softer now. "But I guess you already knew that.”

He gave a small nod, his eyes not leaving yours. "You're hard to forget,"

You didn’t let go right away.

Neither did he.

Then, as if realizing the moment was hanging just a second too long, you both released at the same time—too quickly. Like a secret exchanged and immediately tucked away.

You took a half step back, pulse thrumming in your throat, fingers still tingling from the contact.

Bradley, however, didn’t step away immediately instead, he lingered for just a second longer, watching you with a look that wasn’t teasing or cocky or smug. Just something quiet and steady, then he smiled—small, crooked, the kind that didn’t feel all that teasing but still carried that glint of mischief behind it. The kind of smile that said he saw more than he let on.

“You’ll get it,” he said, voice softer now. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and something about the way he looked at you—like he meant it, like he believed it, made your chest tighten.

“But you will.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what you were about to say—maybe thank you, maybe don’t say that unless you mean it—but the words never quite made it past your lips.

Because Bradley gave you one last look, a flick of something unreadable in his eyes, then turned down the corridor, water bottle still swinging lazily from his fingers while you stood there for a moment, then finally exhaled. “Okay,”

Days went faster than you were ready for.

You hadn’t slept much. Not from fear exactly, though there was plenty of that still hanging around like a ghost in your chest—but more from the afterglow of adrenaline. The kind that leaves your body tired but your mind racing.

You’d replayed Bradley's words a dozen times. You’ll get it. You weren’t sure if they’d stuck because you believed them… or because you wanted to.

But when you arrived at the simulator bay, you were expecting to meet with Cyclone, just like every other day, but he wasn't there waiting for you.

It was a new pilot.

She stood near the simulator controls, arms crossed loosely over her chest, already in her flight suit, her expression somewhere between mildly unimpressed and genuinely curious.

“You’re my new project, huh?” she said as you approached.

You blinked. “Um. I—guess so?”

“I’m your point of contact now,” Phoenix said, nodding toward the simulator. “Cyclone thought a different approach might help. And I volunteered.”

You tried not to look too relieved. But you were. God, you were. Cyclone, well, he was rough, for lack of better words, Rooster had been kind, yes, but his presence was a lot. Intense. Distracting.

Phoenix, on the other hand, had that kind of practical, no-nonsense confidence you could actually lean on. She didn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen. She felt like structure.

“I’m Lieutenant Natasha Trace,” she said, extending her hand. “Call sign’s Phoenix.”

You shook her hand, your grip steadier than yesterday—though your palm was still a little clammy, and you were pretty sure she noticed.

“Y/N,” you said, then added with a tired smile, “Doctor. Uh, the nervous one.”

Phoenix huffed out a short laugh, a glint of something sharp but not unkind in her eyes. “I read your file.”

She stepped back, folding her arms as she leaned one hip against the edge of the sim console. Her stance was relaxed, confident, comfortable in her own skin in the way only someone who’d already proven themselves a hundred times could be.

“I also watched your sims,” she added, voice casual.

You winced, your smile turning into a grimace. “Oof. That bad?”

She tilted her head, as if considering how honest she wanted to be. Then gave a light shrug, eyes steady on yours. “I’ve seen worse. A lot worse.”

You let out a low hum, arms crossing loosely over your chest in mock thought. “That’s… reassuring.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, with just enough of a smirk to make you feel like she was on your side. “You hadn't passed out nor puked. You followed instructions until your brain short-circuited. Classic first-timer move.”

You laughed under your breath, surprised at how easily it came.

She finally looked at you then—steady, knowing. “We’re not here to make you into a pilot, Doc. We just need you ready for the mission. The rest? We’ll cover you.”

Something in your chest loosened at that.

Support. No condescension. No sharp edges. Just a quiet kind of strength you could lean against.

“Thanks,” you said. “Really.”

Phoenix nodded once. “Let’s get you in the seat.”

Inside the simulator, everything felt smaller than you remembered.

Not physically—just heavier. Like the air had thickened, like the walls had learned your fears from yesterday and decided to lean in a little closer.

You sat in the back seat again, the tablet already secured to its mount beside your right leg. Your fingers hovered near it, not quite touching, like it might bite. You could already feel your heartbeat in your palms.

“Straps secured?” Phoenix’s voice crackled through the headset. Her tone was crisp, even, the kind that didn’t rise to meet panic—it smothered it before it started.

You exhaled and gave a tight nod, forgetting she couldn’t see it. “Y-Yeah. Good to go.”

“All right,” she said. “We’re starting slow. Just basic turbulence patterns. No evasive maneuvers, no tricks. You’re not here to impress anyone. You’re here to breathe, and press a single button when I tell you.”

You nodded again, this time speaking aloud. “Sure.”

The sim hummed to life around you, and your body tensed automatically—like it remembered what came next, even if you swore it wouldn’t be that bad.

“Relax your shoulders,” Phoenix said, as if she felt the stiffness from her end. “You’re holding tension like you’re about to punch the air.”

The screen in front of you blinked to life. The sim took you airborne, but the motion was slow this time—steady, like a calm climb on a commercial flight.

You forced yourself to breathe out slowly and unclenched your jaw, trying to follow her lead. The shaking wasn’t nearly as bad as the previous day's simulated madness. No rolls. No sharp drops. Just steady pressure. Unnerving, but survivable.

Your eyes flicked to the screen.

The prompt glowed softly. Ethera. Standing by. Timer: 02:00

“This is just a systems check,” Phoenix said. “You don’t have to engage. Just keep your eyes on it. Notice the screen, your pulse, your breath. You’ve got time."

The pod dipped gently into a banking curve. You swayed, stomach flipping. "Keep breathing, Doc."

You gripped the edge of the seat, fingers twitching. “This still counts as breathing, right?”

“As long as you’re not blue in the face, yeah.”

You smiled—barely—but it helped.

The Ethera interface activated on the mounted tablet in front of you. The same prompt, The countdown. You glanced at it and your heart gave one uneasy thud.

“Don’t rush,” Phoenix reminded you, voice even. “One thing at a time. Don’t try to win. Just try to finish.”

You nodded again, reaching out slowly—deliberately—and tapped the screen to begin the simulated deployment sequence. The code began to unfold, and the sim didn’t break into loops or chaos. It kept going. And you were still breathing.

Your hand trembled slightly, but you stayed focused, eyes on the sequence as it loaded in steady green waves. The turbulence passed. The sim steadied.

“Ten seconds,” Phoenix said. “You’ve got it. Keep it locked.”

You kept your hand on the panel. You didn’t blink. The screen counted down.

3… 2… 1…

Deployment successful.

The soft chime of success echoed in your headset.

“Target received,” the system confirmed.

You blinked, then blinked again. “I… I got it?”

“You got it,” Phoenix said, the faintest edge of pride in her voice. “Nice and clean.”

You slumped back in the seat, suddenly aware of just how hard your heart had been working. Your eyes stung—not from panic this time, but from sheer relief.

“Doctor,” Phoenix said after a beat. “That was not bad.”

You couldn’t help the grin that broke across your face, exhausted but real.

And when the pod finally powered down with a gentle thunk, and the hatch hissed open, you realized you’d done the whole thing without white-knuckling the seat.

You’d finally made it through.

Phoenix was waiting for you, arms crossed, leaning one hip against the console like she’d known all along you’d handle it.

You stepped out, legs a still stiff, but your head was clear.

“Not bad,” she said, and this time her smile wasn’t just professional. It was small, but real. “No ejections. No nausea. No hysterics.”

You let out a dry laugh, breath catching on the edge of it. “Just mild existential dread.”

She shrugged, cool as ever. “That’s standard issue.”

Then smiled—really smiled—for the first time since this whole classified, terrifying, completely-out-of-your-depth mission had begun. The kind of smile that pulled dimples you hadn’t felt in days.

“Thanks,” you said again, quieter this time. Not just for the training, but for not making you feel like a burden.

Phoenix nodded once, like she already understood all of that.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “We need to move faster. Real evasive sequences. Simulated pressure. Maybe even some yelling.”

“Yours or mine?”

She smirked. “We’ll see who breaks first.”

You laughed again—easier this time—and for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were pretending.

By the time the week came to an end, you and Phoenix had become friends.

Not in the polite, nod-in-the-hallway kind of way—but the real kind. The kind built through shared silence in the simulator bay, through low chuckles after a successful run, through Phoenix’s calm voice in your headset, cutting through the static and the fear. She never coddled you. Never sugarcoated anything but she never made you feel less, either.

There were moments where fear absolutely took over—where your breath hitched too high in your chest or your fingers trembled too much to find the prompt in time and there were other moments, rarer but growing, where you managed. Where you pressed the button, where you kept your head above water.

Phoenix never made a spectacle of either.

When you panicked, she talked you down, when you succeeded, she just clapped you on the shoulder, tossed you a bottle of water, and said, “Told you. You’re getting it.”

And somehow, that meant more than any standing ovation ever could.

By Friday evening, you had survived four more simulations, logged two successful Ethera deployments, and stopped referring to the ejection lever as “that red death stick.”

Progress.

“You coming to the Hard Deck tonight?” Phoenix said casually, already slinging her duffel over one shoulder as you both headed toward the lockers.

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

She paused mid-step, turning just enough to glance back at you with that crooked grin she reserved for moments like this—half dare, half invitation.

“The Hard Deck,” she repeated, now walking backward toward the hangar doors. “Bar. Pool tables. Bad decisions. You in?”

You stared for a beat too long, processing.

The Hard Deck.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. You’d heard about the place in passing—mostly through muttered comments and laughing threats. It had sounded like a local haunt. Loud. Messy. Full of people who knew exactly what they were doing and didn’t care that you didn’t.

“Wait, is that—like, is that a thing?” you asked, trailing after her. “Do people… actually go?”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow like she wasn’t sure if you were messing with her. “Only the ones worth talking to.”

You hesitated.

She paused at the doorway and tossed the final hook. “You’ve survived a week of sims, didn’t puke on anyone, and haven’t cried once. That makes you officially less pathetic than half the new guys. You’ve earned a drink... So?

Your brain, naturally, tried to stall. A bar? With actual people? And more pilots? But your mouth moved faster.

“Uh—yeah, sure,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before your usual social panic could hit. “I could go for a drink.”

Phoenix gave a little nod, like she’d already known your answer. Like this was the inevitable next step in whatever strange, reluctant journey you’d found yourself on.

Then she jerked her chin toward the exit, already on the move.

You hesitated. “What now?”

She didn’t stop walking.

“You go back to wherever you’ve been hiding, put on something that doesn’t scream ‘high-stress lab goblin,’ and I’ll swing by in an hour.”

You blinked. “That specific, huh?”

Phoenix half-turned, walking backward again like she had a personal vendetta against stationary conversations. “It’s a bar, not a Senate hearing. No briefing, no simulations, no threat of fiery death. Just drinks. Loud music. Maybe pool. Probably bad flirting.”

And with that, she was gone—leaving you standing in the middle of the hangar, sweaty, slightly stunned, and suddenly very aware that you owned exactly one outfit that wasn’t issued or work-adjacent.

Oh no. Now you actually had to get ready.

A/N:

Heyyyyy, OMG the support for this story is wild, thank you all so so muchhh!! I honestly did not think it would get this much attention, my first draft was actually a Charlie's Angel reader lol, but I'm so happy you all enjoy this version. I did try to make it as realistic as possible, after all reader does not like to fly I can only imagine being put in her position, so she being frozen out of fear and not completing the mission feels real, at least to me.

And my apologies it took me so long to put it out. Part III is already in the works, so I think it will be out soon.

Thank you all so so much for the support and the comments and reblogs, really.

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[flight-sim-world]

Flight Simulator 2020 - City Update IV, Geneva from cockpit

[missdc10-avgeek]

V1, Rotate!!!

This is my secondary blog dedicated to all things Aviation.

My interest in Planes has been relatively recent, before 2020 I was terrified of flying!! After spending most of the Pandemic Lockdowns watching Aircrash Investigation, my fear of flying was cured and I became an Aviation Geek and hopeless lover of the Macdonnell Douglas DC-10

I am making this blog a space to share my Plane Spotting, Flight Experiences, bothering cockpits of all kinds and making a disaster of playing Microsoft Flight Sim 2020

As well as the history and aesthetic of Commercial Aviation, the Air Disasters that grabbed my fascination and of course...

Just how much I love the DC-10 😁

Seat belts on, seats in the upright position and tray-tables stowed, get ready for Takeoff 🛫

[kxsagi]

hiii! how r you? i like your writings so much<3 can you do this one where the reader is the pilot/captain of the plane the bllk boys are flying on?

“𝟏𝟎-𝟒, 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭”

a/n: i'm good and i hope you are too! thank you so much!!!

ngl this request idea reminded me of that one caleb tik tok edit audio where he’s like “10-4, captain caleb out” with take my breath away playing (hence the titel)

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, hyoma chigiri, kaiser michael, bachira meguru, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei

itoshi rin

he’s dead silent the entire boarding process. headphones in. hoodie up. classic. 

until he hears the pilot’s voice over the intercom and thinks: that sounds familiar… 

then you say your name and he just… freezes mid-scroll. no music. no breathing. no way. 

stares at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him. 

you’re flying this plane? oh gosh. he’s proud of you, of course, you’re amazing, he just didn’t mentally prepare for this. 

texts you: “we're not gonna die right” “i trust you but also i’m scared” “i love you btw” 

won’t admit he was nervous until like a week later. 

makes you a bento the day after to “thank you for keeping his ass alive.” 

isagi yoichi

literally gasps when he hears your voice on the speaker. 

beaming like a proud dad. keeps telling the flight attendants “that’s my girlfriend!!” like a loser. 

opens flight radar just to stare at the little plane icon and pretend he understands what’s going on. 

tries to peek into the cockpit before takeoff. gets caught. blushes. 

will not shut up about how ✨cool✨ and ✨smart✨ you are. 

“babe, you flew the plane! like? the actual PLANE???” 

asks you a million questions afterward like you’re a celebrity. 

makes it his phone wallpaper: you in your pilot uniform, looking all hot and composed. 

mikage reo

his reaction is immediate and dramatic: “no. way.” 

claps like he’s in the front row of a runway show. 

“i knew you were talented but babe this is HOT.” 

keeps bragging to everyone nearby. “i invested in this airline. emotionally, too.” 

calls his family during boarding just to say, “guess who’s flying my plane? MY GIRLFRIEND.” 

asks if he can get cockpit selfies with you after the flight. 

will try to buy the whole airline just to rename it after you. 

nagi seishiro

half asleep when you announce your name over the intercom. 

slowly opens one eye. stares at the speaker. groans. “so loud...” 

texts you: “you’re the pilot? that’s kinda sick” “wake me up if we crash” 

immediately falls back asleep. 

wakes up halfway through the flight, checks the sky outside the window and shrugs. “guess she’s good at this too.” 

kisses your cheek after landing and says, “good game.” 

gets weirdly obsessed with flight simulators after this. 

hyoma chigiri

jaw hits the floor. you’re the pilot? 

he’s in awe the whole time, even while trying to stay calm and collected. 

heart flutters when you say “this is your captain speaking.” 

he clutches his seat during turbulence but tells himself, “no, she’s got this. she’s amazing. she’s got this.” 

definitely brings you flowers the next time he sees you. 

insists on taking cute post-landing photos with you and says, “i want to show our future kids how badass their mom is.” 

kaiser michael

smirking immediately. 

“ah, so i am in good hands.” 

texts you: “i think i’m in love with my captain” “take me to the mile high club”

acts chill but is actually so turned on by how powerful and composed you sound. 

gets way too into the captain/flight attendant roleplay ideas afterward. 

flirts with the flight attendant just to make you jealous, until you purposely hit turbulence for one second and he shuts up. 

bachira meguru

screams. “THAT’S MY BABY!” 

literally runs down the aisle (the flight attendant has to stop him). 

flirty text: “can i press buttons in the cockpit? pretty please?” 

asks if he can wear your hat. 

draws you in a superhero cape later with the caption “CAPTAIN CUTIE” in all caps. 

you catch him narrating the flight to his seatmate like it’s a magical journey: “and now my beautiful girlfriend is taking us over the clouds…” 

itoshi sae

he does not react externally. at all. like he hears your voice and just blinks slowly. 

the most emotion he shows is a very subtle smirk and maybe a nose exhale. 

he already knew you were a pilot but didn’t expect to be on your flight. 

checks the flight info and texts you: “you better not crash. i have a commercial to film tomorrow.” then a second text: “jk” “don’t get distracted thinking about me.” 

wears a sleeping mask the whole time. 

but after landing, he purposely waits at the gate for you just to say in that dry, quiet voice: “smooth landing. you looked hot up there.” 

gives you a lil side hug like he’s not absolutely obsessed with you. 

shidou ryusei

deadass gets turned on the moment you say “this is your captain speaking.” 

full-on puts his hands over his mouth like he just saw a hot celebrity walk by. 

“no fucking way. MY GIRLFRIEND? THE PILOT? OH, I’M GONNA DIE SEXY.” 

immediately presses the call button and tries to bribe a flight attendant to let him in the cockpit. 

texts you: “hey baby wanna join me in the air tonight 🤭” “you can land on me later” 

gets way too excited during turbulence. “IS SHE TESTING ME?” 

when the plane lands smoothly he claps obnoxiously and yells “THAT’S MY GIRL!!” from row 12A. 

calls you “captain mommy” for the next week and you have to threaten to ground him. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[2stepadmiral]

After the reconstruction of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Han Solo's constant presence at the Temple begins to confuse the younger knights and apprentices.

At first, it makes some degree of sense. He usually shows up with Leia or one of his kids, and he is well-known as a friend and ally of the Order, so it makes sense for him to eat meals with Jaina, or attend meetings with the Masters, or assist Corran Horn in overseeing pilot training, or walk little Ben around the Stealth-X hangar. Plus, Lando Calrissian, Wedge Antilles, Booster Terrik, and Talon Karrde, also prominent allies and friends, are frequent visitors as well, so it makes sense.

But one day, some of the apprentices start noticing that Han is around a little bit more often than a non-member really should be. Maybe its been a while since he came for a briefing or training exercise, and maybe his reasons to visit lately have become a little too casual. Now, he's showing up alone just to try out the flight simulators new Chiss clawcraft program, or because it's nerf sausage day in the cafeteria, and more often than not, its on days where his kids are off on missions and Luke and Mara are tied up in council business.

It reaches a whole new level during a pilot exercise led by Corran, Kyp, and Jaina, when one of the apprentices ask who's the best pilot they know, and three of the Order's premiere pilots, two of whom are Rogue Squadron veterans and all three of whom spent most of the Yuuzhan Vong war in a cockpit, unanimously agree on Han Solo.

Then, two months later, when the Temple's security system is being updated and Master Kyle Katarn gives strict orders that no one is to enter or exit the temple until the update is completed, Han casually walks right up to the two senior apprentices guarding the temple entrance. When told that there's a security lockdown due to system updates, Han doesn't "want to hear about security updates, I want to know where my wife is. It's our wedding anniversary and I'm taking her someplace nice in the Falcon, now tell me where she is so we can get going." After several minutes of arguing, a visibly frustrated Han decides to just go get her himself, and when one of the apprentices tries to stop him, Han somehow disarms him of his lightsaber and throws it outside of his telekinetic range, leaving him chasing after his weapon and his partner following Han, trying to talk him into stopping. All while Jaden Korr is watching, shaking his head, and mouthing, "You'll be sorry."

Han quickly finds Jedi Knight and former New Republic Chief of Staff, and SHOCKS the two apprentices with his absolute immunity to her infamous and feared anger before sweet talking the lifelong diplomat into leaving the temple in the middle of the lockdown for an anniversary escapade. Then, he casually walks out of the Jedi Temple in the middle of a security lockdown like it's kriffing nothing with one of the most prominent Knights in the Order. And when the two apprentices finally get a hold of Master Katarn to advise that Han Solo just infiltrated the Temple and absconded with Jedi Organa-Solo, his reaction is something like "<pause> and you idiots actually tried to stop him?" "Well, yes, Master, you said no one comes in or out." "<pause> Yes, but what in the Sithspit made you think that you should try to stop Han Solo from getting to his wife on their anniversary?"

A month after that, he walks up to the High Council chambers right in the middle of a serious meeting. The apprentices standing watch outside (one of the same from the security incident) assume that he's been summoned to answer to the rumors that he started hosting a weekly Sabaac tournament in one of the temple classrooms (the rumor is completely true, just last week Kenth Hamner nearly ragequit after Han cleaned him out for the fifth consecutive week) and assure him that the Masters will call him when they're ready for him. Han ignores this and walks right in, right as the masters are in the middle of a discussion about potential Dark Jedi sightings on Corellia, to demand that Mara make good on all the lost bets she owes from the previous few Sabaac nights. After several minutes heated discussion (the Dark Jedi are almost forgotten at this point), the entire council comes out, and Master Cilghal informs the incredulous apprentices that Mara owes Han so many lunches from the Sabaac nights that it was agreed that she would just treat the entire council, as well as Han, to clear her tab. Mara is semi-sternly lecturing Han about interrupting council meetings for something so trivial, while Han is good-naturedly wondering if she's been deliberately scheduling meetings at lunchtime to avoid paying up, causing her to go curiously quiet (the apprentices are FLOORED that the infamously terrifying Mara Jade Skywalker isn't plugging him full of laser bolts for this whole interaction).

As the last one to leave, Luke stops to ask the apprentices if they're okay, having sensed their immense confusion.

"Well, Grand Master, it's just... it seems like Captain Solo gets away with whatever he wants. It's like the rules don't apply to him, and some of us have been wondering..." she gulps before continuing. "If it's maybe possible that Captain Solo is secretly not only a Jedi, but more powerful than you, and secretly the real Grand Master of the Order."

Grand Master Luke Skywalker, completely unable to resist this particular urge, rubs his chin thoughtfully, pretends to carefully consider the question for a moment, and then, with a small grin, responds: "That's a interesting question, Apprentice. Perhaps he is," before walking away, grinning like mad, while the apprentices stare incredulously at his back.

[atom-aviation32]

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[incorrectclassicbookquotes]

"Some teachers express concern that giving students a second chance might be unfair and that “life isn’t like that.” They point out that that a surgeon doesn’t get a second chance to perform an operation successfully and a pilot doesn’t get a second chance to land a jumbo jet safely. Because of the very high stakes involved, each must get it right the first time."

"But how did these highly skilled professionals learn their craft? The first operation performed by that surgeon was on a cadaver—a situation that allows a lot of latitude for mistakes. Similarly, the pilot spent many hours in a flight simulator before ever attempting a landing from the cockpit. Such experiences allowed them to learn from their mistakes and to improve their performance. Similar instructional techniques are used in nearly every professional endeavor. Only in schools do student face the prospect of one-shot, door-die assessments, with no chance to demonstrate what they learned from previous mistakes."

These are two paragraphs in one of my papers and it's so true. These old-fashioned teachers try to use the "surgeons and pilots can't try again excuse" but forget that surgeons and pilots don't go into it doing it the first time. In fact, I'd be very afraid if I was getting surgery and the surgeon had never practiced once or if I was on a plane where the pilot had never once practiced.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty Two - Soldier Executioner

Part Forty One

———

Flight simulation was initially used in Europe, though not as it is today, during the years before and leading up to the First World War the precursors to flight simulation were coming about. With ground training for air assaults and sky shooting taking place. 

The first proper flight simulator was used in Binghamton, New York starting in 1927. Creating an airplane-like shell that sat atop a device that would offer some similar cues to actual air flight. Becoming known as the Link Trainer. 

Starting in World War Two, over five hundred thousand new pilots from the allied nations were trained using the Link Trainer, for both major fronts. 

In 1954, United Airlines purchased four flight simulators to start the modern era of simulations. Everything from airplanes, to helicopters, race cars and now mech suits. 

Generally, simulators are used as a training tool to familiarize the user with the cockpit they will be attending, the procedures they will be following and emergency situational response.

Like flight simulators, mech suit simulators are not much different. A connecting point between the experienced pilots and the rookies, the recently compatible, the constant need to learn and adapt to the new scenarios they would be facing. 

Unlike flight simulators, the only way to use a simulator effectively is once the connection system, known as the implants, has been placed within the pilot. A proper connection is necessary for a comprehensive understanding of the system, emergency codes, and errors that every pilot will face in the field.

Not that they might face, but that they will face. 

Simulators are key to all pilots' experiences, whether in flight or the fight. 

It just so happens that learning to fly a plane is only slightly different from learning to operate a mech unit. All stepping from the same idea of teaching soldiers how to kill moving targets. 

—

The further in he got, the worse he felt, this horrible feeling of homesickness which he’d been able to kick pretty early on was hitting him like a truck now. Deep in the depths of the enemy spaceship reminded him of the pilot simulators back home, being strapped in and having everything thrown at you. 

Down to one arm and a prayer, Hound kept moving slowly, gun raised and ready. Finger never leaving the trigger. 

All the walls were oozing and suddenly he was grateful to be breathing from oxygen tanks rather than the air around him. Who knew what sort of undiscovered toxins were aboard.

Slowly turning down a different path, his gun comes up and fires upon a Quintesson. The thing shrieks more out of rage than pain which was never a good sign, “Come on then!” Running forward, Hound slams into the enemy face first. Lodging his gun up close, he fires point blank into the alien.

His visor tunneled and swearing, he fired quickly, slamming his empty shoulder into the side of the thing as pain shot through his implants.

The voices in his ears weren’t real, at least not in the context that he was currently hearing them but they were louder than the current noise around him. Even the roar of the Quintesson. 

“God damnit Hound, your scores just aren’t good enough!” Kup’s voice was always painfully loud and demanding, he was a great commander but it sucked when you were the one being yelled at, “I know that! I know,” He sighed shakily, staying in the sim, kicking the Quintesson on its beak.

In the rig, he was thankful Kup couldn’t rest a hand on his shoulder, eyes flicking around urgently. Even just starting out, being a hunter took a lot more focus than being a striker did. They could stumble around blindly in the dark without reprimand, the hunter class had to be precise and know their next move before it was possible to.

Even at this point, Kup had been an old school pilot, multi-class before that had been thought possible, the man was ancient in Hound’s eyes. It was late 2002, if he could recall it right, he’d been twenty then and Kup had felt older than dirt. 

The banging on the sim door did not help as he tore open a Quintesson, data running through the corner of his vision at the sim picked up data, “You need to focus on the fight! Not the simulation, you need to trick your mind into thinking you’re actually out on that field!” Growling, Hound’s gun fired into the carcass on the floor of the ship before running forward.

His mentor saw more potential in him than he even saw in himself, one of his many mentors, just another ex-military pilot that tried pulling at his heart strings. Hound’s focus was deadlier than any other standing hunter class, the most kills within the same amount of time and holding the record for the moment.

Simulation hours were near triple of the next closest pilot, he stunk of desperation. This was beyond a calling, this was his life.

Swearing, Hound shoots as another Quintesson appears from around the corner, the ship is a maze. He wasn’t sure if that was the reality or the simulation of it all, “Focus Hound! You can’t let another pilot die under your watch, striker or not!” His gun attached itself to his wrist, just as his fist collided with the Quintesson, bare foot slamming down on a pair of tentacles. 

“Shut up!” His gun slid back into place and he fired until the barrel was red hot. Splattered with green, he was heaving for breath, “That’s better Hound, much better.” Kup’s voice seemed to wander away, fading as his vision became clear again. No longer the artificial view from the simulator. 

No, he was just standing in a hall on the Quintesson ship, alone except for the corpses he was leaving in his wake. 

Trying to shake off the feeling of the hallucination, he took slow and deep breaths. Unstrapping his mask while closing his eyes, grabbing up his water, his gun sliding back to his wrist. His other arm effectively dead to the world and to his current use, it was numb too. 

He drank deeply, eyes closed and trying to breath, his skin crawled. He hadn’t thought of the old man in ages, he’d love to be on an alien planet fighting Quintessons. More than anything. Smiling a bit, Hound opens his eyes and swears as a Quintesson helps him to the floor.

Help he did not want.

Digging his fingers into the tentacles trying to wrap themselves around him, Hound grit his teeth, “You know, I am sick and tired of you.” And he pulled the tentacles free from the alien’s body, quickly whipping them back at it. It shrieked from pain and Hound grinned wolfishly. 

—

His back hit the ship hard, as his leg caught one of the tentacles whipping around towards him and Jazz, “Fuck you!” Pulling his leg down and twisting it, he pulls the tentacles trying to pin him to the ship free.

The Quintesson shrieks never got any less painful on the ears, even Jazz’s slightly manic laughter was easier on the ears. Talk about a pilot who lived and breathed for this stuff, even without bracers or a gun, he was a natural at taking these things apart. Piece by piece if he had to. 

Bringing his arms up, the next hit split open the attacking Quintesson, splattering him green, “We have a real shitty job, you know that?” He glances over his shoulder, able to lumber up while wailing on the Quintesson, “You either love it or hate it, live or die, it’s still your choice Sides.” Jazz’s response was cool, followed by another wicked laugh.

He had a hard time plating the feet of his suit, the ship a weird mix of metal and flesh, something that made his skin crawl. Getting upright with a yell, he throws himself at another Quintesson. Bracers coming down hard against its shell-like exterior.

It cracked open with his hit, splatting more of his suit in green and he couldn’t help but grin. Maybe this isn’t the career he would have chosen for himself, but he was thrilled to be here.

After a moment, his comm began to ping again, answering, he grunts and swings around, “Yell-o.” He was breathing heavily, “Is there any update?” His heart almost stopped, swinging around, he gasped. The panic tried to grab at his throat again, “Elita, uh, no.” Turning back he yells and collides with the next Quintesson, shoving it hard as Jazz jumps over head, grappling one above him.

“I can’t get through to Optimus or anyone right now, other than you. So what’s going on?” He swings back out and nearly falls, shaking again, staring at the comm-line for a moment before disconnecting it, “I can’t focus on you right now, I’m sorry.” The weakness in his voice almost shattered him.

Tearing at his heart strings, he kept going, tearing apart the Quintessons he could get his hands on. Pushing down the panic and fear and sadness as much as he possibly could. It was right there, bubbling under the surface, collapsed buildings and calm voices trying to reassure him as if he were the one who needed it.

No, not again, he wouldn’t fail like that again.

Yelling, he grabs two Quints by their tentacles and starts to whip them around, “This planet is under our protection!” He slams them into the side of the ship as Jazz falls back into his back, holding off another Quint, he glanced over, “And we’re not going down without a fight, right Sides?” Nodding, he yelled again as he ripped the limbs from them.

With a kick, they flew right into Breakdown’s booming blasts.

”This is for our bar, damn you!” Him and Jazz moved in near sync, turning together and striking the approaching enemy.

They were everywhere. They were surrounded.

On the highest point in the area, the one place they shouldn’t be.

Why was that so familiar?

His bracers were normally blue and nearly glowing, a special alloy from home made of iron and the metal off of Quintesson ships. His plating was normally red, like the car his father had driven around for the better part of their childhoods. Both were covered in green gore, blocking out the familiar and comforting colors.

Jazz was in no better state, the white and blue were also soaked green but the tint to his visor, that paired with the laughter, this was serious. More than he had thought originally.

Fuck.

—

Even from a distance, he could tell things weren’t going well. Holy shit, things were honestly going very badly. The longer Jazz and Sideswipe were on the ship, the more Quintessons seemed to pull themselves from the wreckage. 

Strapping his oxygen mask back on, Sunny tried his hardest not to gag again or worse, he’d have to deep-clean his suit when all of this was said and done. They were terrible about holding onto stains and things. He could remember having to learn how to clean a cockpit on one coated in blood.

It was how he learned he was squeamish. 

With slow and deep breaths, he brings his helmet's additional hud display up, bringing focus back to the outside and not the inside. Iacon came back into clear view and it still looked horrible. 

Keeping his back to Breakdown’s, he couldn’t help looking back over his shoulder, wincing when the cannon got too loud, “BD, is there any sign of Hound yet?” He was still somewhere inside the ship, “No, nothing but static still.” Sighing, Sunstreaker looks around, “Still no sign of our backup either.” His hands were still shaking.

Honestly, his whole suit was still shaking, the panic was sitting below the surface and bursting out every few seconds. He wasn’t very useful at the moment, god, he felt pathetic. Without Blue at his own back he was panicking like a rookie, glancing back towards the ship he could see the shake in Sideswipe’s suit too.

They were all panicking.

That was so much worse. 

Swearing quietly, he took slow breaths again, “God damnit.” Shaking his head a bit, he looks back at Breakdown. 

Breakdown’s stance was steady, feet planted and cannon booming every few seconds, the barrel was starting to glow red which means he’d have to fall back soon. They’d have to fall back soon, which would either mean they’d be leaving Jazz and Sideswipe alone or they’d all leave Hound alone if backup didn’t show up.

Bad news, very bad news.

“Sunstreaker, we need to fall back.” Breakdown’s voice was heavy with grief, shifting his stance slightly, “As soon as my cannon overheats, we’ll be overrun and no help to Jazz and Sideswipe. Do you think they would fall back?” Taking a breath, he shakes his head, “No, they’ll want to wait for Hound, won’t they?” 

He turns and his eyes widen, grabbing Breakdown around the middle and pulling him back as Seeker fire sprays across the ground between them and the fallen ship, “Fuck!” They both stumble and fall with a loud crash.

Breakdown’s suit was so much heavier than his, the crush alerts popping back up for the second time that day. His head slammed into the side of his piloting chair, knocking around in the helmet. Now he really wasn’t going to be able to fight, his vision swimming again.

Groaning painfully, he tries to get his weight back under him, “Breakdown, you’re crushing me.” Their suits groaned and scraped. Metal screeching loudly against their ears as they tried to get up.

More blaster fire rained down on the ship and they scrambled for the alleyway, his back hit the wall while trying to refocus his cameras back towards the ship. Jazz and Sideswipe were still fighting, shouting at each other and likely on comms with the seekers above. 

A hand came down on his shoulder, “We need to fall back, try to get a different vantage point.” Nodding a bit, he pings Sideswipe, it pings three times before his voice comes through, “I’m a bit busy to talk Sonny!” Sighing a bit, Sunny stared towards his brother, “Breakdown and I are having to fall back, his cannon is overheated.” 

“Jazz and I aren’t going to leave Hound behind, you two need to get clear. There’s so many of them around for you both to be unarmed.” His mouth was dry, but he nodded, “We’re going to intercept the backup and get them here, just, hold them off.” Sideswipe looked towards him, saluting lightly. 

Sighing, Sunny looked to Breakdown, “Come on, we’ve gotta hurry.” Helping the bigger mech back up, they started down the alley at as close to a run as a tanker could go.

His gut twisted again painfully, this day was getting worse the longer it dragged on, and they were losing light. 

Seekers screamed overhead while they rushed between buildings.

—

There was something deeply morbid about this but what else was he supposed to do, leave it behind? Sunny couldn’t exactly fight Quintessons while carrying around his arm and Knockout would kill him if it got any further damage. It was bad enough he was the one carrying it.

No, now he was holding the arm of Sunstreaker’s suit, yellow paint scraped off, and dripping what he thought was oil. His digits were brushing over the back of the severed servo, lost in thought.

It was beyond morbid, the only amount of peace that he had with it was the fact that he knew Sunny wore the suit for these moments, to not blow off his own little limbs. His tanks rolled unpleasantly, continuing to brush his digits over the servo with his optics watering. 

This was the first time in ages, since the last war he was pretty sure, that he recognized the stench of fear. It hit him like a metal beam falling on his head, which had happened more than he’d like to admit with the day he was having, but it had been almost a thousand stellar cycles since he smelt this. This was Iacon under attack and they were hiding under the ground.

It was horrible. 

Humans were bags of organic squish and yet they were the ones up on the surface, fighting their shared enemy like it was no big deal. As if a building hadn’t fallen on their heads and they just got back up to fight again while the rest of them came to cover their wounds. 

The arm continued to drip oil onto the unfinished floor.

Hanging his helm and venting slowly, he tried to stop the rapid spinning of his spark, the roiling of his tanks, the anxiety was going to dismantle him. 

Prowl’s voice was the only thing keeping him calm, low and nearly unregistered in his audials, optics flickering as he was running the number along with the logistics. Their backup should be arriving soon, but there were delays. There were always delays in Iacon now.

“Prowl, is there an update?” His voice was quiet, not wanting to disturb the others. Whether Mirage who looked like he was dealing with some processor damage, or Optimus who was holding lightly to Megatron’s unconscious helm, or Knockout who was still working on the Lord Protector. 

He vented slowly and shook his helm, and Blue clutched tighter at the servo, “No, Soundwave is having an issue getting nearby commands in place. Same with Blaster. There are a few other scouting ships on planet.” Nodding slowly, Bluestreak looks up at the ceiling above them.

Every few seconds they could hear the distant booms of Breakdown’s cannon.

It was so familiar to them now, quartex or two of battle together had put that back into his processor. 

Venting, he offlines his optics for a long time, just clutching Sunstreaker’s servos, those servos and Prowl’s voice were grounding to him.

When the booming stopped, it was hard to register but his optics shot immediately to the ceiling, “Something is wrong.” His voice was quiet and Prowl nodded slowly, “Breakdown and Sunstreaker are falling back according to the Seekers, Jazz and Sideswipe are fighting on top of the crash, Hound is not visible on the battlefield.” They briefly shared a look.

That was not good, Hound would do anything for his crew and had done so in the past, the fact he was missing from the field either meant he was down or he was doing something incredibly stupid.

”Scrap.”

—

He felt like hell but was still grinning, nearly evilly. The silence was a lot and it was tearing at his mind, but he kept moving, gun back up and scanning for the enemy.

The disconnect from the outside was bad, he had no idea what was going on outside, but he kept coming across patrols in the halls and handled them with the practiced ease of a tenured pilot. One on an alien planet, but still.

Turning down yet another hallway, Hound takes a breath, two Quints at the end of the hall and what appeared to be a door. First one he’d see in the whole ship, he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing but for the moment they didn’t see him.

Every instinct he’d gotten from being in the military said to shoot them as much and often as he could, being a striker class said the same, but neither were as strong as his old unlocked coding. It was showing him each subtle movement he could make to get closer before attacking and his gun slid back to place against his arm. 

Drawing the barrel of his gun from his leg, he shifts the grip and starts stalking down the hall, moving far too quietly for a suit as big as his. It wasn’t until he was about half way down did they notice him, snapping the barrel to the other side of his wrist, his gun came back forward and he fired four shots, two into each Quintesson in rapid succession. 

The reverberation was killer even in his suit but it didn’t matter, what did was the lack of green splatter. In all the months he’d been using this gun, it had never not pierced the skin of a Quintesson. Now was not the moment to dwell on that though, rushing forward, his gun pressed to the beak of one and fired as many times as he could pull the trigger while kicking the other across its face.

It was the second that snagged his leg while the first shirked from the burns and gun fire, only oozing the familiar green gore. Sliding the gun back to his magnets, he digs into the hole he’d created and pulls hard.

With a Quintesson shrieking in his ear, he lets go and grabs up the one holding his leg, pulling it towards him with a shout of his own, hurling it into the wall. Turning back to the one who was now bleeding again, he adjusts his stance, “I don’t have all day, we do this now or never.” With a shriek it lunged for him.

His fist connected with its eye first, which honestly made his skin crawl. It was one of the few places pilots had the hardest time with, the typical gore they could handle but this was always a last resort. 

Fluorescent gore splattered out, across his plating and the walls as Hound grabbed the edge of the now bare eye socket before bringing his foot up to cave in the rest of its face. It takes three more firm kicks than it typically did to do so, Hound grunting with the effort.

”What the hell are you things?” The first one crumbled to the floor and he spun back around to the second, now being the one slammed into the wall instead of the Quintesson. It shrieked painfully loudly, especially when he stopped on one of it’s tentacles, throwing his empty shoulder into its face. 

They were denser than the typical Quintesson, heavier, as Hound throws the weight of his suit into it and nearly falls on his face. 

Swearing, he draws his gun and fires up under its jaw, “Damnit, you're strong. Megatron would have loved to kill you.” He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, he sure as hell didn’t want to be fighting these things on his own. Green splattered over his arm which he lodged the gun further up the hole he was making.

It was a rather disgusting job they had. 

Only when his gunfire was going straight through did he stop and pull back, panting from the effort. The fight had started only a meter or two from the doors, they were almost back where he started when he’d turned down the hall.

”What the hell.” This was turning bad news to worse, starting back down the hall as a few pieces of plating fell away from his leg, pausing, he bent to pick them back up. Holding them, he goes to the doors and smiles a bit, knocking, “Knock knock, anyone home?” Chucking a bit, he deactivates the door lock with a switch kick to the panel.

The main cabin was small, very small compared to everything else he had been through. Monitors all around showed the area around the ship and a few views of Iacon from above. He stopped to stare for a while, and worse turned into doomsday.

There was a Quintesson in there, of course, which he quickled used the dislodged leg plating in his lands to cut the tentacles, flying towards him, off. Running forward, pushing his suit hard, his gun slides back into place and he fires. Splattering the console green.

Taking slow and deep breaths, Hound heaves, bending and pressing his hands to his knees, “Oh god.” He breathes slowly, pushing himself back upright and going to the console. Trying to wipe off the gore from the dead alien, he had no idea what to do except pull the main disk and shoot the console.

It was a better solution than nothing. 

After a minute, he finds the main part of the console and dislodges it. His comms screamed back to laugh and he yelled, “Ow! Fuck,” turning it down, he presses his hand to the side of his head even as voices crackle back to life, “Hound! Are you in the control room?” Sideswipe’s voice was painful after the silence.

Rubbing his helmet, he swore again, “Yes, I am, has backup showed up yet?” Dragging the console piece away, he pulls free some wires and the closest thing that would resemble a computer.

”No, not yet, we’re still fighting out here and they just keep coming out.” Sighing, Hound shook his head and looked to the monitors again which were filled with static, “Wonderful.” Opening his cockpit, he sets the hard drive inside carefully, followed by the pieces of his leg plating that would fit. 

He got slammed back into the console as the cockpit closed, turning, he kicked out against whatever was attacking him.

It didn’t look like any type of Quintesson he’d ever seen, then again, they didn’t typically carry weapons or stand on two feet, “Fuck.” And it grinned.

———

A/N

Oh my god, this chapter took me a week to write. My life has been nuts and this took so long.

(It honestly probably took the normal time, but I never had a spare minute this week)

So. I’ll explain some of what’s going on in my life, then what happens with Hound in this chapter. :)

Last Thursday/Friday, I found out I got into my local Law School, so I am finally on the path to becoming a lawyer. Saturday, I went to see Thunderbolts* which has been eating my brain ever since and I have had to fight tooth and nail to not write Marvel fanfic. Sunday, was not a great day I had to deal with a bunch of paperwork stuff. Monday, my sister was home all day so I was spending most of the day with her. Tuesday, had to catch up on what I hadn’t done around the house on Monday. Wednesday, just didn’t write and was in a funk. Yesterday, I had a job interview and my sister was home again. Then today I finished the chapter.

So… yeah.

Now, Hound and the pilots have spent their careers fighting Quintesson Scouts. The big flying light weight aliens who survey. They are fighting a mix of Scouts and Soldier's in this moment, like the ones Hound fought outside the command room. And the last one is an executioner, who they have never seen before. So next chapter might be a bit of fun.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[umlewis]

From the Racetrack To Space: IWC Schaffhausen and the Polaris Program Give Lewis Hamilton Astronaut Flight Training

Schaffhausen/Qatar, 26th November 2024: In a compelling new short movie produced by IWC Schaffhausen, Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team driver Lewis Hamilton embarks on a flight training for astronauts. The same training was used to prepare the crews of the Inspiration 4 and Polaris Dawn commercial human spaceflight missions. During the training day, the seven-time Formula 1 world champion and IWC brand ambassador was accompanied by students from Dibia DREAM, a non-profit organisation fostering STEM education. Their presence is also a reminder of Lewis Hamilton's own incredible career journey spanning more than three decades and sends an inspiring message: you can be anything you want in life – a pilot on the racetrack, in the air or even in space.

One of the most successful racing drivers of all time, Lewis Hamilton is a multifaceted personality whose interests and ambitions extend far beyond his sport. The seven-time Formula 1 world champion is deeply fascinated by space and human space exploration. He has visited renowned space training facilities and repeatedly expressed his desire to take part in a space mission in the future if it serves a purpose and contributes to the betterment of all humanity. IWC Schaffhausen now teamed up with the Polaris Program and its Philanthropy Director and instructor pilot, John "Slick" Baum, to offer Lewis Hamilton an opportunity to experience the flight training that is part of the organization's programme of preparing astronauts for space. The Polaris Program, which is supported by IWC, recently completed the first of three human spaceflight missions. During their five days in orbit, the Polaris Dawn crew wrote history by successfully performing the first commercial spacewalk.

FLIGHT TRAINING IS ESSENTIAL FOR ASTRONAUTS

Fighter jet training has been at the heart of human spaceflight since the beginning. All early astronauts were fighter jet pilots, and experience in piloting a jet was an essential requirement for going to space. Flight training was also a key pillar in the preparation of the Inspiration 4 and Polaris Dawn crews for their missions. While the g-loads experienced in a jet or a rocket cannot be directly compared, as they affect the body in different ways, jet training still offers compelling benefits for astronauts. Most importantly, it allows the crew members to familiarise themselves with operating in a high-risk and high-consequence environment, similar to what they would experience during launch. While they are pressed down into their seats by several times their own body weight, they have to communicate with each other, go through extensive technical checklists, and monitor critical flight parameters – all while being mentally aware of their surroundings and prepared to act in case something unexpected should happen.

A COMPLETE SEQUENCE OF TRAINING MANOEUVRES

Lewis Hamilton's space training kicked off with an extensive briefing and inspection of the L-39 Albatros jet. John "Slick" Baum gave Hamilton a detailed overview of the manoeuvres they would fly and how they simulate different situations an astronaut experiences during a spaceflight. During their subsequent discovery flight lasting almost one hour, Hamilton and his instructor performed a series of manoeuvres. They practiced accelerations and decelerations to experience lateral g-forces, simulating the ascent of a rocket. They also practiced higher g-loads by banking or pitching the aircraft hard. A highlight was flying a parabola figure for a zero-g demonstration, during which Hamilton briefly experienced the feeling of weightlessness. A racing glove, which eventually began to float freely in the cockpit, was used as a zero-g indicator. In flight, the F1 pilot pulled a maximum of 7.5 g, which is more than astronauts typically experience on ascent. Hamilton wore a dedicated race suit featuring a "space mission" patch with his car number 44. He will wear the same suit during this weekend's race at the Lusail International Circuit in Qatar.

DIBIA DREAM STUDENTS SEND A POWERFUL MESSAGE

The training was also attended by a group of students from Dibia DREAM. This nonprofit organisation sparks social change through STEM education and recreational activities for underserved youth and has impacted the lives of 40,000 students across 32 states and twelve countries. The students spent the entire day engaging in a variety of activities related to space exploration. They also got a chance to meet with Hamilton and ask him questions prior to take-off. Their presence served as a powerful reminder of Hamilton's incredible journey, from his humble beginnings in karting at the age of eight to becoming one of the most acclaimed drivers in the history of motorsport. As the students cheered alongside the runway, they sent an uplifting message to youths around the world: you can be anything you want in life – whether it is a racing driver, a pilot, or even an astronaut.

[secret-agents-found-my-diary]

Top Gun x Reader — “Crash and Burn” (Maverick x Injured!Reader)

Set during the original Top Gun timeline (1986)

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

You weren’t supposed to get hurt. It was just a routine dogfight exercise. Simulated, safe, controlled. But “safe” didn’t always mean flawless, especially not when Hollywood decided to showboat and pull a risky maneuver—right in your flight path.

You’d tried to veer off, tried to avoid him mid-roll, but the sudden shift had thrown your jet into a sharp stall. The emergency eject triggered—more instinct than thought—and the explosion had torn through the sky, hurling you into open air before your chute deployed.

You hit the sand hard. Pain shot down your left side instantly, sharp and fiery, and when you looked—you saw it. A gash. Starting from your shoulder, running jagged and angry all the way down to your forearm. The torn metal of your own cockpit had sliced you open on the way out.

By the time the medevac came, you were conscious, cursing like a sailor, and refusing to let anyone touch you.

Anyone but Maverick.

⭒

Back at base, you sat on the edge of the sink counter in the med bay, scowling through the sting as Maverick crouched in front of you, focused and quiet.

The top half of your flight suit hung around your waist, arms limp in the sleeves. All you had left on was your regulation bra, white and soaked in sweat and grime, but you didn’t care. Not now. The blood mattered more.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asked lowly, unwrapping another roll of gauze. “The corpsman’s outside. They can—”

“No.” Your voice came firm. Strained. “I trust you, Pete.”

His jaw clenched at your use of his real name. He nodded once. Wordlessly.

You hissed as he began to dab antiseptic across the open wound. The cut ran long and raw, barely missing muscle. Angry red and already swelling around the edges. It was a miracle it hadn’t hit an artery.

“Hold still, baby,” he muttered, voice quieter now. “I got you.”

You bit your bottom lip to stay silent, trying not to wince, but his fingers—usually featherlight and teasing—were now careful, precise. Confident in a different way. His hands were warm as they worked, and even though the pain made your eyes sting, you watched him instead of looking away.

“Hollywood’s getting benched for this,” Maverick said, the calm tone barely masking the rage simmering underneath.

“He didn’t mean to,” you murmured.

“He was reckless. And it could’ve been worse. You—” He paused, fingers slowing as he ran the gauze down your forearm, pressing gently. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.” You touched his wrist with your good hand, blood-smeared fingers brushing the cuff of his sleeve. “I’m still here.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked up at you with those piercing eyes, filled with a thousand things he wouldn’t say—not here, not now. Then he leaned in slowly, pressing his forehead against yours for a second.

“You scared the hell outta me.”

You closed your eyes, letting your breath steady.

“I’m sorry.”

He stayed like that for a beat longer before pulling back, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize it.

He kissed your shoulder, right above the top of the bandage, and whispered, “Next time you get thrown out of a plane, make sure you land on me.”

“You’d break my fall?”

He looked up and grinned. “I’d break anything for you.”

And you believed him. Every word.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

[thegingerwrites]

i'd wanna be next to you

obikin, pre-relationship flying lessons, lots of fluff,

This is a warm up that has been sitting in my drafts for a while, slowly getting out of hand 😅 Here is Obi-Wan and Anakin learning to fly together just before the start of the Clone Wars. Obi-Wan is learning to see Anakin as a partner and a friend and Anakin learns that his former master cares more for him than he realized.

Also on AO3 here.

"Wait, you want to fly? With me?" Anakin asks.

"Essentially, yes."

"The Council's asking you to fly with me?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "Not exactly. We skipped over most of the flight exercises in your training because you had already proven your proficiency. With the coming war, the Council has asked both of us to put some time in on the new fighters. I thought we could go together."

"Even though you're not technically my master anymore."

Anakin doesn't mean the words to hurt, it's more of an observation than anything. A reminder, to both of them, that things have changed.

"Perhaps you can teach me a thing or two.”

Anakin grins.

After obtaining the proper clearances, Obi-Wan and Anakin head up into Coruscant's upper atmo in the new Aethersprite starfighters. Anakin has flown ships during his training, he has flown nearly every mission he and Obi-Wan have been on over the course of his training, but it has been a long time since he's flown something like this. The Aethersprite is sleek, streamlined. It isn't built for cargo or long-haul trips. It is made for speed, stealth, precision. The craft fits around him like it was made for him and Anakin can't wait to see what makes it tick.

"I thought we could run some simulations, work on some new formations," suggests Obi-Wan. "Eventually, we might be able to teach them to the clones."

His voice comes through Anakin's headset slightly tinny and distorted but Anakin can hear him almost amplified through the Force. It's like Obi-Wan is here in the cockpit with him.

"Sounds like a plan, Master," Anakin agrees. "But let's put these fighters through their paces first."

With those words as the barest of warnings, Anakin gives the signal to Artoo and they press the engines as hard as they can go. He leaves Obi-Wan in less than a second, quickly disappearing from view. They're too close to Coruscant to fly near anything interesting. No Beggars Canyon and the like to test the craft's maneuverability but there are ships out here, star destroyers awaiting orders and crew members. They're stationed too far above the surface of the planet to be seen. On the streets of Coruscant, you could almost forget that the Republic has just entered a war.

Anakin heads for one of them. So what if there are likely new regulations about airspace? This is a new galaxy. Anakin is a general. Surely he can still fly wherever he wants so long as he is too fast to be caught. And in this baby? He isn't sure anyone can catch him.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says over their comms. "Are you quite finished messing around yet?"

He can't see Obi-Wan, wonders if his master can see him or at least track his general direction using his scanners or the Force. Anakin flies in close to the viewports on the stern of the star destroyer, so close he thinks he can see clone troopers marching inside.

"I haven't even started."

He loops around the ship. Artoo picks up a couple of nasty comms but quickly dismisses them, sending their clearance codes and little else, before heading off on their way. They pass a squadron of fighters sent out on a training bout, the same thing that Anakin and Obi-Wan are out here doing really, only far less amused by pilots going rogue.

Eventually, Obi-Wan finds him and they circle up on each other, flying a steady path in orbit around Coruscant.

"Why did you want to fly anyway?" Anakin asks over the comms. He's grinning and breathless, just from the sheer exhilaration of being in the cockpit of something so fast again. He has done some podracing on the lower levels in his time as a padawan, but while the narrow streets provide a heady rush of excitement and danger, there's something about being able to fully turn the engines loose in the wide expanse of space. "You hate flying."

"I wanted to test out the new Aethersprites, get a sense of their capabilities before they become the standard ship for Jedi in this war."

Anakin runs his hands over the steering controls of his ship. "You mean we're going to be assigned these ships?"

"The Council signed off on the decision a few days ago."

Obi-Wan has them make several passes in tandem. They fly near the star destroyers, as it's easier to perform maneuvers with a point of reference in common. They work on flying as close together as possible, wings mere inches from each other. When Anakin pushes his fighter harder, Obi-Wan does the same, feeling the instincts of the other through the Force.

They work on fighter passes, running drills as though they are enemy combatants. From parsecs apart, they come at each other and separate in the blink of an eye with a hairsbreadth between them. The precision and timing, the anticipation of it, lights something up inside Anakin.

"Okay," Anakin says, coming back around again. "Let's form up and try something like this."

He doesn't have the words for it, just projects a mental image of the maneuver he has in mind to Obi-Wan. Anakin is good at this, exceptional and he knows it, but Obi-Wan is right, he doesn't have the formal training some of the other Jedi and the clones will have. It isn't either of their faults really. Anakin's skills were going to be more than good enough for the life of a Jedi. No one anticipated the need to learn military flight maneuvers.

"Why would we ever need to do something like that?" Obi-Wan asks, joining Anakin off of his port side, close enough that without the void of space, Anakin could probably hear his voice in the cockpit.

Anakin shrugs. "Spinning's a good trick."

In his mind’s eye, he can see Obi-Wan shaking his head. There's a smile on his face though. It's a foregone conclusion that they'll at least give Anakin's idea a try.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan concedes. The line their two ships up on each other’s wings, Anakin on the left and Obi-Wan on the right. The wingtips are mere inches apart, so close it sends a thrill through Anakin even though flying in a straight line is something a droid can do. “On my mark. Three…two…”

At the signal, Anakin maneuvers his ship into a roll at speed in time with Obi-Wan. The feeling of perfect synchronicity sings through him in the Force. The durasteel bodies of their ships nearly kiss with how close they are but because Anakin can feel Obi-Wan—so connected to him even with space and speed and transparisteel to separate them—it’s like Anakin can hear Obi-Wan’s heart beating in his chest. Amplified, perhaps, because it beats in time with his own.

They ease out of the movement together, their ships once again aligned wing to wing. “Woohoo!” Anakin shouts and Obi-Wan’s laugh crackles over the headset.

“Again?” Obi-Wan asks and with that they are off, tumbling through space in a series of spirals and turns, ever increasing in their difficulty and flamboyancy. There is no reason anyone would ever need to fly like this. Anakin and Obi-Wan race past each other and past the fleet ships stationed in orbit around Coruscant at breakneck speeds, pushing their ships to their utter limits and getting a feel for what they can really do. Anakin’s Aethersprite feels like an extension of his body, in a way that he has ached for, for years.

They race to a planet not far from Coruscant where the Grand Army of the Republic has established their barracks and dockyards. Coruscant itself is far too populated to accommodate the airspace and acreage on the ground for an army base and so the GAR has had to spread out into the system.

The two of them dip their fighters into atmo and Anakin feels his ship automatically adjust to the planet’s gravity. The transition is almost seamless but the new weight gives him a greater sense of his speed.

Flying like this gets Anakin’s heart racing. While he loves the acrobatics of space flight, nothing beats the adrenaline rush that comes from navigating tougher conditions. Here when they fly wing to wing, they have to account for wind and weather. When they bank their turns or maneuver their ships into a dive or a climb, they have to fight the pull of gravity that wants to knock them off course.

At first, Obi-Wan is more hesitant, using his skill to face off against the unseen and as yet unknown enemy of g-force, but he gets his bearings soon enough. He calls out formations and positions, getting them both used to the kinds of call signs they are going to need to communicate with their men. Some of it is familiar, from basic flight training, but the rest of it is new. Anakin struggles to imagine a scenario in which he is going to need to execute a “hesitation roll” or a “tuck-over roll” but he learns them anyway. He and Obi-Wan begin building longer maneuvers out of those composite positions and a thread of amusement sparks across their bond as they begin calling out commands and positions, testing their reaction time and synchronicity.

When their Aethersprites line up wing-to-wing, the Force sings with how right it feels.

They fly for hours, feeding off of each other’s energy—Anakin, almost dizzy with the sheer delight of speed and swiftness after going so long without, and Obi-Wan, flush with the challenge of keeping up with him, the puzzle of figuring out just how far and fast these machines can go.

When they finally touch back down at the Temple, Anakin leaps from his cockpit breathless and grinning. The longer bangs of his grown-out padawan cut stick to his forehead a little with sweat. He is there on the ground waiting when Obi-Wan climbs out of his starfighter.

“That was incredible,” Anakin says, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. “It’s been ages since I’ve flown like that and you—”

Anakin has flown with Obi-Wan before, watched him navigate strange planets and asteroid fields and Coruscanti traffic. He has never seen Obi-Wan fly like that before.

“You were amazing,” Anakin continues. “Where did—how did you—?”

The questions cling to his tongue but he has no way of asking them. No way of reconciling the exhilaration of flying with his master only moments ago with the person who tries to obey speed limits even when running for their lives.

But when he looks at his master, senses what little he allows to escape his shields, Anakin sees that he is just as exhilarated. Just as breathless and excited as Anakin, though he wears it beneath a calmer exterior.

“You loved that, didn’t you?” he asks his master instead.

“Excuse me?”

“Flying. You always get so bent out of shape whenever we fly anywhere. I thought you hated it but that’s not true, is it?”

In answer, Obi-Wan looks down and away. “I don’t hate flying, no.”

“Then why—”

“It’s easier when I do it myself. I don’t get nauseous or uneasy. Piloting the ship and knowing what is going to happen next lessens those effects somehow.”

“Oh.”

Now it’s Anakin’s turn to look somewhere else. Because if that’s the case, then why didn’t Obi-Wan ever say anything? Why let Anakin fly every mission while sitting there beside him in obvious discomfort when there was clearly a simple fix?

Anakin is about to ask—he has to know. Because he can’t come up with an explanation that makes sense. His master loves to fly. Clearly does. And yet he takes the co-pilot’s seat every mission without fail. They move into position without thinking. The roles natural to them after years of being at each other’s sides.

Obi-Wan claps Anakin on the shoulder before they make their way out of the hangar. His hand solid and steady as though to wrest control over the flight of Anakin’s emotions. “It isn’t a big deal. I manage just fine in the copilot’s seat, as you well know.”

“But you love it,” Anakin says. Perhaps the part that is most difficult for him to understand. He can’t imagine giving up flying for anyone. If he had to sit quiet in the copilot’s seat watching someone else move too slowly or treat the ship poorly, Anakin would mutiny.

“I do,” Obi-Wan admits, something Anakin never thought he would hear and yet undeniable after the flying they just did. “But not as much as I know you do.”

Anakin’s face colors and when Obi-Wan moves to leave the hangar, it takes him a second to follow.

Obi-Wan says that like it isn’t a big deal. Like it means little to him that he chooses to suffer from flight sickness even though there is an extremely simple solution, all because Anakin likes flying. Like that is the natural thing for him to do when it is anything but.

Anakin jogs a little to catch up to his old master and forces himself to let it go. Not forget—no, Anakin will think about this conversation and its repercussions for many nights to come—but move on. Because it is clear that Obi-Wan thinks there is nothing more to be said, like this should be obvious to him, and Anakin is eager to get more out of him by any means necessary. Obi-Wan has just admitted to something like caring for him, wanting to see him happy, and perhaps that should be obvious to Anakin, but he has never felt so much like he had the evidence of it there in his hands, something that he could point to until now.

The thought warms him from the inside out, makes him want to do something reckless like try to hug Obi-Wan even as it makes him want to keep his distance. Because the idea of his master being fond of him is so fragile and tenuous a concept that Anakin needs to be careful or else it might break.

Anakin and Obi-Wan walk in step, side by side, and Anakin lets their shoulders brush every now and again. When Obi-Wan doesn’t pull away, he preens and decides to change the subject.

“They fly like a dream. I mean, there are a few things I could see myself changing. The thermal oscillator would run more efficiently if the fuel cell could redirect power intermittently rather than automatically. You would get a smoother ride out of it if you never had to fully wait for it to recharge—”

Obi-Wan laughs. “You can take that up with the technicians if you like but I’m sure you’d be much happier to make the changes yourself. For all intents and purposes, she’s all yours.”

“Wait, mine?”

“The starfighter will be stored onboard your star destroyer. You will have full discretion over its use.”

Anakin lets out a long, slow breath, forcing himself to slow down. The child in him has latched on tight to the idea of a starfighter of his very own while the adult—the <i>knight</i>—that he is falls sober at the reminder of the war ahead and all that it means for them. His blood sings at the thought of action, of taking to the skies and righting wrongs across the galaxy. At relaxing some of the strictures of the Jedi Code for the sake of saving lives.

He looks to his Master, with his eyes a little too wide, feeling for a moment like he is back in anti-gravity. Obi-Wan offers him a small close-mouthed smile and reaches out to link their hands as they walk. Even a few months ago, Anakin might have refused, might have shaken him off and insisted he no longer needed the kind of coddling he did as a youngling. But Geonosis changed everything. The galaxy is a new and terrifying place. Everything is different now. Anakin is different now.

“We have some time before all of that comes to pass. The Council wants to send us out on our first mission in a week’s time, hence the starfighter training.”

There are a number of things Anakin could latch onto in that sentence: the fact that he is going to war in a week, the fact that their hours of joyriding in new starfighters was somehow meant to be combat training. Instead, Anakin’s head rings with, “Us?”

For once, Obi-Wan looks…well, he looks a little embarrassed if Anakin had to guess at what that expression might look like on his normally composed Master. “Well, yes. Though I suppose if you want to be assigned separate missions, especially on our first time out, I could go and speak to the Council. The Force knows that there are countless battles to be fought—”

Anakin lets him keep going, staring at him like he has encountered a new kind of droid and can’t seem to figure out how it works just yet.

“But all of this is entirely foreign to both of us so I thought, at least for the first mission, it might be…beneficial to have each other close by. A team, if you will.”

Not Master and Padawan, but equals. Fellow commanders, each in charge of their own battalion of soldiers. Obi-Wan’s concern for how such a plan might be received is well-founded, so much so that even Anakin can spot from a distance just how poorly he might have taken the idea if it were presented any other way.

Except Obi-Wan has presented it to him like this, like Anakin has a choice. Like he wants this but is afraid there is a chance Anakin will turn him down. After a day spent practically inside each other’s heads and after finding out that Obi-Wan has essentially been torturing himself every time they have ever flown together all to make Anakin happy… No. There is no way that Anakin could refuse him.

But it isn’t as though Anakin is going to confess to the soft, molten feeling in his chest. “You’re just saying that because you know you’ll need me there to save your ass.”

“Just as you’ll need me there to save yours.”

Partners. Generals. Maybe even friends. Anakin could get used to this.

He grins. “Alright, old man. You’re on.”