#Helicopter operations training.

[lakecoded]

as a respected scholar on the subject what’s your top five mission impossible action setpieces 🤩

omg thank youuuuu for this. i love thinking about the action setpieces in the mission impossible movies 🥰 spoilers for the mission impossible movies below lol

it's simple compared to the other setpieces but i LOVE the prison breakout scene in ghost protocol. it has a fun dean martin song scoring it, there's a very fun ethan and benji interaction, ethan is at his most insane, the choreography is well shot. it's just a great opener for a movie!!

ROME FIAT 500 HANDCUFFED CAR CHASE YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS ‼️this is actually like 3 different car chases in one and has pom klementieff try to run them over in her massive armored truck and is the reason i want to see dead reckoning a third time in theatres <3 incredible slapstick premise taken seriously but still SO fun

another simple one but i love the footchase through london in fallout. its very fun seeing tom cruise sprinting as fast as he can on the roofs of london and cutting to henry cavill walking very calmly. the music does a lot for this scene. and i love tom cruise yelling that he's jumping out of a window in front of very confused office workers. also shockingly the setpiece that actually injured tom cruise (he broke his ankle jumping between 2 buildings)

another one from fallout and i think this is technically 2 different action setpieces but they blend together so well that i'm counting them as one. and it's the plot to break lane out of police custody + the motorcycle escape through paris. the planning scene for this is ALSO so good (again the music adds SO much to it) like i just love seeing a plan come together and then immediately fall apart. tom cruise driving against traffic at the arc de triomphe is so thrilling and the part where he crashes surprises me every single time. chef's kiss

tom cruise esai morales knife fight on top of a moving train + bridge explosion + hayley atwell and tom cruise running through vertical train cars before they collapse into the river. i don't know how to explain it any better. it absolutely rules

honorable mentions to the bathroom fight in fallout and the entire airport sequence in dead reckoning (i LOSE it every time shea wigham is like "where the fuck is HE" as you see tom cruise absolutely booking it behind him) and tom cruise hanging off the side of an airplane as it takes off in rogue nation and the OPERA SCENE and like every scene with phillip seymour hoffman in mi3 (not really action setpieces but he is SO GOOD in all of his scenes that it should count and the hospital escape in ghost protocol and and and

[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Chapter 1. Interview

Masterlist

SUMMARY: After Riley's injury on a mission, she can no longer be a part of the task force. Simon reluctantly starts looking for a dog-sitter to watch her while he's away for work, and that's when you show up on his doorstep.

Warnings: none

Simon Riley would have laughed if anyone had suggested that he needed a dog-sitter.

Riley, his eighty-pound German Shepherd and only family (outside of the 141, of course), went with him everywhere. Grocery store? There she was, K-9 vest on to avoid getting the stink eye from trouble-stirring strangers. Missions? She was there, working alongside Simon, and when she couldn't join, she was safe and tucked away on the animal unit back on base. At the small, one-story unit he called home? You'd better believe she's sitting on the couch next to him as he watches the telly, trying not to succumb to his daily nap. He never considered having a dog-walker care for her, since there was hardly a second where she wasn't walking right there with him.

But of course, as expected - life threw him a curveball.

The mission had gone well so far; everyone was booking it to exfil, hardly worrying about the few enemies left who could barely manage to fire their guns. Simon and Riley were sprinting to the heli, Simon already imagining how he was going to take a fat nap when he got back to base, when he heard it - amidst the sparce gunshots, Riley's pained yelp.

Simon had never shot someone so fast, but before he knew it, there was a bullet planted between the enemy soldier's eyes. Simon rushed to scoop Riley into his arms as she whined and howled - he loaded her onto the helicopter with Soap's help, hands shaking as he looked for the damage. Her right hind leg was bleeding, and every time he tried to look at it, she snapped her teeth in his direction with a shrill yap.

Simon couldn't hear Price as he promised to get her into surgery ASAP. He didn't register Gaz wrapping gauze around her leg as he carried her off the heli and into the medbay. He couldn't hear Johnny trying to comfort him as they stood in the hall, waiting for her to come out of the operating room so Simon could finally see her again. The only thing he could comprehend was her cries, her blood, and the fact that he was responsible for all this.

It wasn't a lethal injury, he knew that. But he assumed, and the vet later confirmed that she wouldn't be fit to continue working. And that terrified him. He had to continue working - what would happen to her? He wouldn't put her up for adoption, in fact, he'd nearly bit the head off the poor soldier who had suggested the idea. She'd be coming home with him, once she had fully healed, but then what? How would he take care of her when he had to go on missions?

He couldn't. Much to his chagrin, and as much as he hated the thought of her being under anyone else's responsibility, he was forced to hire a pet-sitter. He begrudgingly posted ads online, and even put his request up at the local doggie-daycare, despite having never sent Riley there. It didn't take long after bringing Riley home before people began to answer his ad, and he plucked a good handful of them to interview over the weekend.

So, there he was - sitting in the breakfast nook with Riley at his feet, silently judging each interviewee that had walked into his home. He was quite disappointed in the selection.

Simon had already decided 'no' to nearly every dog sitter that had answered his ad. He sat across from them as they described their skills and achievements, bored out of his mind as they treated the interview like it was a college application. He didn't want an egotistical, decorated twat caring for his dog... if Riley didn't care about this bloke being voted 'dog-walker of the month' by the doggie daycare, why should he?

He knew it came down to much more than that - but he was going by Riley's reaction, too. And so far, she was uninterested in all seven that he had interviewed thay day. She sat by Simon's feet, bum leg out and eyes zoning out on the stranger's shoes as they droned on. No one had actually paid much attention to her, instead focusing on impressing Simon.

He hated to admit it, but a boarding house for dogs might be the best option.

He had just scratched the second to last name off of his list of interviewees, pouring himself a cup of coffee at 4 pm, when a knock rapped at his door. He sighed, looking down at Riley; she was laying on her side, huffing at the fact that the random visits from random people was still going on.

"One more, eh?" Simon said, reaching down to ruffle her ears. She groaned through her nostrils in annoyance as he straightened out and walked towards the door.

He reluctantly opened it to find you standing there.

You, with nothing but your phone and keys, wearing a t shirt, oversized plaid, leggings, and sneakers. No folder full of resumes and reviews, no bone-shaped doggie bag holders... the only other thing you had was an apologetic look on your face.

"Hi." You said warily.

"Evenin'." Simon responded, leaning against the door.

You sighed. "I should let you know- well, aren't I being rude..." You rolled your eyes at yourself and stuck your hand out at him. You stated your name with a sheepish smile.

He stared at your hand for a second, before shaking it with his own. "Simon."

The way your eyes lingered on his hand after he had gripped it so firmly didn't go unnoticed by him - but you quickly regained focus. "Well - before you waste your time on me, I should explain: I didn't read the posting correctly, and I thought this was a house-sitting gig. Only just noticed when I checked the address before I left... figured I'd still stop by since I told you I would."

You were looking at the ground out of embarrassment at this point. Simon's brow furrowed as he observed you. House-sitting isn't horrendously different from pet-sitting... he thought. "Well-"

"But I love dogs!" You quickly interjected. "Had three of them growing up, two bullies and a golden! Loves of my life, they are- never a day I didn't walk them. Well, besides that one week for Becca's wedding- and when my Nan had that nasty virus and I had to check up... on her..."

Simon's raised brow must have made you realize the tangent you had embarked on, because you snapped your mouth shut. You cleared your throat nervously and shifted on your feet.

Simon was the tiniest bit entertained. "And how's your Nan now?" He asked.

"Oh, much better." You said with a smile. "'Course, that was four years ago... she- she's alive, I mean! God, that sounded morbid, didn't it?"

Simon huffed out a laugh, before he stepped to the side and nodded his head towards the inside. "C'mon in - you came out this way, might as well chat. Could maybe use a house-sitter, too."

You muttered a quick 'thanks' and stepped inside, immediately taking note of how pristine and bare the home was. No decorations, only dark grey furniture with darker accents... the closest thing to decor was probably the mauve throw blanket over the back of the sofa.

"You like cleaning?" You speculated, following Simon into the kitchen.

"Not home enough to get it dirty." He replied nonchalantly, seating himself at the breakfast nook. He took a sip from his mug as he shoved a hand in his sweatshirt pocket. "Coffee?"

"Oh, no thanks." You shook your head politely. "Not now, anyways. I'll be up all-"

You cut your reasoning short when you spotted Riley, sitting still by Simon's feet. "Oh, hello!" You chirped, lowering yourself down to your knees and reaching your knuckles towards her, palm-up. "You must be Riley!"

She hesitated, then sniffed your knuckles, huffed, sniffed again, and thumped her tail slowly. She tilted her head back and looked at Simon with a questioning glance.

He chuckled, rubbing between her ears. He watched as you fished a small baggie from your pocket, taking out one of the lumpy, golden balls from the contents. You held it up for Simon to see.

"Peanut butter bacon cookie." You said, and Riley sniffed the air between her and the treat. "No sugars, no preservatives. Picked some up from the daycare on the way here."

Simon nodded once. "You can give-"

Before he could finish, Riley flawlessly snatched the cookie from between your fingers, downing it in a few bites. She licked her lips and stared at you as you laughed.

"Where are your manners?!" You said, poking her side. She followed your finger with her nose, searching for another treat.

You looked back at Simon. "I hope that was alright."

Simon shrugged, though he silently scolded Riley for accepting something from a stranger so quickly. "She'll survive."

Over the next hour - which was twice as long as he had entertained anyone that day - Simon listened to you ramble about your qualifications. Except, you didn't mention reviews, awards, or self achievements. You talked about your family dogs (the two pitbulls, Rowena and Charlemagne, and the golden retriever, Donald). You described the time you took care of your neighbor's schnauzer and home when she had to make a last minute trip to Berlin for two weeks. You talked about the best trails for dogs based on the texture of the ground and the environment (the younger dogs liked Swan's trail more, due to the thicker, woody area; older ones seemed to like Ellington park, where it was more of a suburban area with smoother paths). You rattled on about how that damn husky in the apartment across from you is always yelling, and how you really should invest in some noise-cancelling headphones.

Simon listened to every word you said. You seemed to know more than just how to walk a dog - it was almost as if you knew their language. You didn't just live with them, you cared about their personalities and preferences. He had a subconscious appreciation for how you regarded them - despite trying to keep up the act thay he was unhappy about needing a dog-sitter, he liked you.

And clearly, so did Riley. She was laying at Simon's feet, completely relaxed, eyes flitting between you and your hand movements as you spoke. You would occasionally look down to her, as if you were letting her know that she was also a part of the conversation, and she would lift her head ever so slightly and stare back - like she was listening.

"- and she decided that the day before my biochemistry exam, she was going to take her frustration out on my notes! Papers everywhere, even my sticky notes were torn up! You'd think she had a personal vendetta against me, wouldn't you?" You looked down at Riley for affirmation, and she looked back at you and slapped her tail against the floor a few times.

Simon chuckled, then sighed. "Well- I think you're more than qualified for this, and I think she likes you." He nudged Riley with his foot, who looked at him and huffed.

Your eyes widened. "Does that mean I got the job?"

He nodded. "Don't know when I'll be deployed next, but it should be soon. I'll send you an email with Riley's routine, and if you want to make some extra cash, I'll include some things you can do around the house."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" You exclaimed. You leaned down to Riley, who reached her head out and sniffed the air between your faces. "Ya hear that girl? You're stuck with me!"

Simon chuckled and stood up, followed by you and Riley. "You can expect to hear from me by Tuesday. I'll give you the spare key the morning I head out."

You followed him out of the kitchen and towards the front door. Riley pushed past you to stay close to Simon's side.

"That's fine. My schedule's flexible, I don't do much besides babysit. Also, let me know her preferences, like where she likes to walk, treats, toys, things like that."

Simon opened the door for you and you stepped outside, turning to face him on the landing. "Also - glad you didn't go with Mitchell. Bloke's a fraud."

Simon's brow raised as he leaned against the door. "S'cuse me?"

"Daniel Mitchell. Saw him on your piece of paper there." You replied, making Simon look down at the crumpled list of interviewees in his hand. "He was NOT dog-walker of the month - in fact, he was turned away when he applied to work at the daycare. He treated the dogs like they were cats, for gods sake! Said they don't actually need to be walked n' you can just let them in the backyard for a few minutes. He's out of his head!"

You sighed, tugging your keys out of your flannel pocket. "Anyways, I should get going. I'll look out for your email!" You turned and departed down the walkway, not sparing Simon a second glance as you left him in the doorway. "See you soon!"

He watched you climb into your small car, returning the wave you gave him before you pulled out of his driveway and disappeared down the street. Simon felt an odd stillness in his home - you had came and went like a storm, and the only evidence that you were ever here was the small baggie of peanut butter and bacon cookies on the kitchen table. He sighed, closing his front door and looking down at Riley.

"She's either gonna be the best, or the worst." He said, running a hand down his face.

Riley let out a groan, which turned into a high-pitched growl. She shifted her weight back and forth on each foot anxiously.

He raised an eyebrow. "Want t' go see Johnny?" He asked. She barked at the familiar name, running to where her leash hung in the closet.

He supposed it was about time. He hadn't seen his team since she was sent home. He knew she was probably aching to see someone other than him right now, and he was honestly going a little stir crazy himself, after spending so much time in the normal, civilian world.

He moved next to her, grabbing the leash and snapping it to her collar. She immediately ran back to the door and waited for him to open it, and he laughed.

"A'right, a'right... but no tackling Price this time. Nearly took out a few of his teeth last time, ya ninny."

Next ->

[midnightarcheress]

woke up wanting to write something with my pretty boy kyle and this was born.

cw: nsfw. f!reader. gaz obsessing over the pretty college girl by his side. implied future stalking ig? unedited. part one | part two

someone catches Kyle’s attention on the plane.

his legs are on the verge of cramping and his breath is ragged, running to board his connection flight at the last call. after falling off a helicopter twice in the last operations, he developed an uneasiness of flying, no matter the aircraft, preferring taking the train over being miles up in the air, even if it triples the travel. but this time, he just wanted to get home the fastest way possible for a much-needed night of sleep in his own bed, instead of the barely cushioned military-issued mattress.

he hopped on the plane and made his way through the corridor, gaze fixed on the numbers under the luggage rack, attentively looking for his spot. he stopped by row thirteen, eyes darting between the number and the woman on the window seat. i could’ve sworn i marked that one when i booked? Kyle checks the boarding ticket again – row 13, seat A. it’s the right seat, why is there someone on it? 

an annoyed sigh escapes his lips, gathering the energy to speak up and reclaim his rightfully bought seat. the problem is, he gets ultimately struck when the seat-thief notices him standing and turns to face him. wide eyes meet his brown ones, immediately softening at the sight of your tempting glossy lips and delicate fingers pushing a lock of hair behind your ear. pretty little thing.

“i’m sorry, is this your seat? it was empty on the first flight,” you say, an apologetic tone in your voice as you frantically close the book on your lap and shove it in a bag, “i’ll move back for you–”

“it’s alright, keep it.” he interrupts, throwing his carry-on in the rack and taking the empty middle spot beside you. he smirks at your appreciative nod and watches you settling again on the backrest, buckling the seatbelt at the shining signal hovering your heads and paying extra attention to the flight attendant announcements, even when no one around seems to care. sweet girl, so considerate to everyone.

the plane starts speeding on the runway, and from his peripheral he views your squeezed eyes and nearly white fingers gripping the armrest, breathing quickening during the gravity push of the take off. it takes a moment for you to release your tight grasp and exhale, making his hand twitch with an urge to soothe you, tell you that you’re safe.

he shakes the sensation and leans his head back, focusing on the one thing he can do to pass the time – sleep. but he can’t keep his gaze out of you, glancing to his left whenever you make a movement, no matter how small. the rapid keyboard tapping guides his irises to your laptop screen, catching a few words in a sea of what for him sounds like an alien language. DNA strand? allele? locus mutation?

he sneaks a look through your figure and his eyes land on the familiar blue logo on your hoodie, the same one he always sees on the walk from the market to his flat. uni a couple blocks from me. do you live on campus? or nearby? that neighborhood is awful at night, full of old blokes searching the pubs for a quick fuck with a naive college girl. but you seem smart, not the type to fall for their tricks, right?

the harder he tries to avoid your presence, the more you make yourself known, almost making him feel like it’s on purpose. the way your plump lips wrap on the water bottle, slight drop scaping on the corner and trailing down your neck, your flowery perfume filling his nostrils when you shift on your seat to remove the top layer of your clothing, exposing the low-cut blouse underneath and the soft roundness of your tits. is that for me, sweet girl? need a break from studying so hard? the sudden tightness of his trousers brings him back to his senses, stirring the thought out of his brain. 

keep it cool, Garrick, he repeats over and over in his mind, ignoring the tent forming on his lap and praying to whatever god is out there that you won’t see it, even while standing up and brushing your legs on his knees to get to the corridor due the cramped space. however, he doesn’t miss how the guy by his side shamelessly ogles your cleavage when you step past him, making his blood boil and his fists clench – like he wasn’t doing the same exact thing minutes before.

while you're away, he glances at your screen again, noticing the constant message notifications from the contact ‘Marcus - DO NOT ANSWER’. already looking bad for you, mate. curiosity takes hold of him and he starts reading the texts, silently chuckling at the guy’s pathetic attempts to get your attention. what did he do to earn a cold shoulder, sweetheart? did he hurt you? didn’t he pay enough attention to you? i bet he couldn’t even fuck you the way you deserve. 

he keeps skimming the messages until the grin tugging on the corners of his mouth fades into a frown when he reads ‘you’re gonna regret leaving me’. now, who’s this prick? think you’ll get away with threatening my girl?

his body stiffens when you come back, eyes darting back to the small telly in front of him when your hand brushes on his thigh while sitting once again. he hears your irritated huff when you skim through the messages, shutting the laptop with near violence. i can take care of him for you, love. you won’t have to deal with that by yourself anymore. 

the pilot’s muffled voice coming through the speakers and announcing the landing shortens his daydreams about getting rid of Marcus. it would be a great way to keep himself busy while on leave, making sure to do it fast and secretly, of course, just to protect his sweet little thing. poor guy wouldn’t even know what hit him.

the pressure change on his ear is the telltale sign of the aircraft lowering its altitude, landing gear out to hit the lane and brake the machine. he turns to the side, watching again your knitted eyebrows and how your nails dig into the seat. this time he doesn’t contain himself and his hand gently lingers over yours, the softness of it sending lightning strikes over his body and almost making him cum instantly. 

your glinting eyes find his face with a grateful gaze, lips mouthing a sugary thank you when the plane finally stops. he helps you take your handbag out of the rack with ease, using the situation to flaunt his muscles. i can even pick you up, darling. would love to feel your pretty thighs around my waist. you wouldn’t have to walk a day in your life. 

his eyes follow the sway of your hips through the airport, heart almost bursting when you wave goodbye and flash him a timid smile. you think that’s the last time you’ll see him, he thinks this is just the beginning. a name and university? he’s used to finding people with even less information. see you soon, sweet girl.

[bekolxeram]

Regarding the mess that is Tommy's career timeline:

Mandatory not a pilot or firefighter or American, but it makes sense that Tommy started working at Harbor 5 years ago, despite leaving the 118 7 years ago.

The description Tommy gives Buck in 7x04 is lifted verbatim from the real LAFD Air Ops website, so it's safe to say its 9-1-1 universe counterpart pretty much operates the same way, other than the location, station number and the types of helicopters they own.

To become a firefighting pilot with the LAFD, you need: 1: 4 years experience as a firefighter with the LAFD 2: a private helicopter pilot license 3: a minimum of 100 flight hours in a rotary aircraft

You have to get all these with your own time and money before even applying for the training program, but it's not a problem for Tommy, who had plenty of experience in the army.

Once accepted into the pilot training program, pilots are put into intensive specified training for aerial firefighting, operating an aircraft in cramped urban space, flying in mountain terrain, and all sorts of aircraft emergencies. At the same time, they work on getting their commercial rotary pilot license, a flight instructor rating, and obviously a type rating for the helicopters they operate at Air Ops. This takes around 2 years, and it's tough, a good percentage of pilots drop out at this stage.

After finishing the program, pilots are assigned to Air Ops as trainees, and they will continue their training on the job, for another 2 years. Most of them end up getting an instrument license, which allows you to operate an aircraft in low visibility conditions, and even an airline transportation pilot license, which is the highest level of pilot certificate.

So Tommy was in flight school the 2 years between Buck's arrival at the 118 and Tommy's official transfer to the 217.

[andavs]

It seems like there's some common misconceptions about Eddie's time in the army, which is understandable because the show is very vague about it. And I think there’s still a bit of this outdated idea of the pregnant wife waving her handkerchief from the porch as her husband goes off to the front lines, and then he comes back years later to their six year old child he’s never met.

Which is very much not the case.

So some quick definitions: Enlistment is not the same as deployment.

Enlistment: The eight year contract during which a person is employed as a servicemember of the armed forces. The clock starts after basic training. The minimum is two years active duty, followed by six as a reservist. Four years active would be followed by four years as a reservist, six active would mean two in the reserves.

Deployment (tour): a time period where personnel are sent from the base where they’re stationed to a theater of operations (not always warzones). Most deployments in the US Army are about a year or less, with time at home between to decompress and reintegrate into everyday life.

Not everyone who enlists gets deployed or even leaves the US. Even fewer see combat. This depends entirely on what’s needed and also on units; individual soldiers don’t get deployed, their units do.

Now, Eddie.

The show tends to make it sound like Eddie was in Afghanistan for like five years straight, but he was not. There's a minimum period of time between deployments during which he would’ve been working regular hours at the base where he was stationed, presumably in El Paso. It’s possible he was stationed outside of Texas while Shannon stayed behind with his parents, but he’s never mentioned living anywhere else.

Eddie was enlisted active duty from at least 2011 (possibly 2010) until sometime in 2015 when he was injured and discharged. During that time period, he did "multiple" tours—the exact number is never said, but presumably more than two.

Eddie enlisted when they found out Shannon was pregnant. He went off to basic training (10 weeks) and then additional medic training (16 weeks) after that, and then he was deployed to Afghanistan for his first tour very shortly after. He was home on leave when Chris was born; Shannon said he was going back the following week.

After his first tour ended, he would’ve returned to his home base. If he was stationed at Fort Bliss in El Paso (again, he’s never mentioned living elsewhere), he would’ve been working fairly regular hours on base and going home to Shannon and Chris every night. 

The reenlistment argument is hard to pin down, timeline-wise. Eddie said he reenlisted at the end of a tour, and the argument we see says it was in 2015. That would mean Eddie signed up for four years of active duty and probably did two or three shorter tours in that time, but Chris doesn’t look like a three or four year old, and they have a different and much older kid playing him later that same year..

If it was supposed to be around 2013 and he only signed up for two years active duty, that would mean he probably did a couple shorter tours.

Reenlisting wouldn’t guarantee he’d be deployed again, but the uncertainty and not knowing how long he’d be home would put a ton of strain and stress on his family, especially with Chris having recently been diagnosed with CP. Long term planning is especially difficult.

He got deployed again in 2015, which is when the helicopter went down. I tend to think this was his third deployment, but it could’ve been his fourth. His welcome home party is three months after the crash, and Shannon seems to leave very shortly after.

[world-of-wales]

HAPPY 42ND BIRTHDAY TO HRH THE PRINCE OF WALES, WILLIAM ARTHUR PHILIP LOUIS ♡

On 21 June 1982, Prince William was born to Diana and Charles, then known as Prince and Princess of Wales in St Mary's Hospital, London, at at 21:03 BST. He was born during the reign of his paternal grandmother Elizabeth II and was the first child born to a Prince and Princess of Wales since Prince John's birth in July 1905.

The little prince's name was announced on 28 June as William Arthur Philip Louis. Wills was christened in the Music Room of Buckingham Palace by the then Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Runcie, on 4 August.

William studied at Jane Mynors' nursery school and Wetherby School in London before joining Ludgrove. He was subsequently admitted to Eton College, studying geography, biology, and history at the A-level.

The Prince undertook a gap year taking part in British Army training exercises in Belize, working on English dairy farms, and as part of the Raleigh International programme in southern Chile, William worked for ten weeks on local construction projects and taught English.

In 2001, William enrolled at the University of St Andrews, initially to study Art History but then changed his field of study to Geography with the support of the love of his life Catherine Elizabeth Middleton who he met while at school.

Will and Cat fell in love during their time at uni, and married at Westminster Abbey on 29 April 2011. The couple have three adorable cupcakes Prince George (b.2013), Princess Charlotte (b.2015) and Prince Louis (b.2018). The family of five divide time between their official residence, Kensington Palace and their two private residences - Amner Hall & Adelaide Cottage.

After university, William trained at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst. In 2008, he graduated from the Royal Air Force College Cranwell and joined the RAF Search and Rescue Force in early 2009. He transferred to RAF Valley, Anglesey, to receive training on the Sea King search and rescue helicopter, which made him the first member of the British royal family since Henry VII to live in Wales.

During his active career as a Search and Rescue Pilot, William conducted 156 search and rescue operations, which resulted in 149 people being rescued. He then served as a full-time pilot with the East Anglian Air Ambulance starting in July 2015, donating his full salary to the EAAA charity.

Working with all branches of the military, he holds the ranks of Lieutenant Colonel in the Army, Commander in the Navy and Wing Commander in the Air-Force

Upon their wedding, WillCat became HRH The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, The Earl and Countess of Strathearn and Baron and Lady Carrickfergus. He became the heir apparent on 8 September 2022, receiving the titles of the Duke of Cornwall & The Duke of Rothesay. William & Catherine were made The Prince and Princess of Wales by Kimg Charles on 9 September 2022. Additionally, William also became the Prince & High Steward of Scotland, Earl of Chester, Earl of Carrick, Lord of the Isles, and Baron Renfrew.

As well as undertaking royal duties in support of The King, both in the UK and overseas, The Prince devotes his time supporting a number of charitable causes and organisations with some of his key areas of interest being Mental health, Conservation, Homelessness, Sports and Emergency Workers.

He has undertaken several overseas trips representing the monarch, covering a wide array of countries like Australia, Canada, Namibia, Malaysia, South Africa, Tanzania, Pakistan Italy, Jordan, Kuwait, France, India, The Bahamas, Belize, Afghanistan etc ; He is also is also a founder of various initiatives like United For Wildlife, Heads Together, Earthshot and Homewards.

[b1rds3ye]

Hellooo‼️‼️I just stumbled in your blog and I saw the LED mask request thing and I suddenly have brainrot😭😭 it's such a idea idfk i just love it‼️‼️

ANYWAY🤯 reader comes back from a mission, solo or not! Is up to you :] and then they just have a bullet stuck in their mask. Just straight up a bullet stuck, very big cracks on their mask. It can still kind of work, only one side so when they see them reader simply waves while the other half of their LED mask just shows: ':D' as if there wasn't a bullet in their mask.

That's all! I hope you are having a good day, afternoon, or night‼️‼️make sure to stay hydrated because I'm a walking desert☺

THATS SUCH A BITTERSWEET IMAGE THOUGH, I LOVE YOUR BRAIN ANON!!

A part of the operation had to be done solo by you - it needed your specialised skill set and it was too risky sending others with you because stealth was crucial. You succeeded in distracting the enemy. That transmission was half an hour ago.

The 141 never leave their own behind, the extraction point is far enough from enemy territory that they can spare some time to wait for you. Price and Ghost are going through extra logistics, Soap is distracting himself by disassembling and reassembling gear and Gaz is just... watching. Watching for a sign that you are there. And soon enough, amongst the fog of dust kicked up by fallen buildings and bodies, is the silhouette of you. The faint LEDs emanate a light that refract off the dust, creating a halo-like glow where your head should be.

As you approach closer, it is silent. There are no light-hearted quips from you, just the audible crunch of your combat boots against the dry earth. If it weren't for your unmistakable stature and gait, the rest of the 141 would have thought it was an imposter who had stolen your mask.

Johnny only utters a quiet "Jesus..." as the details of your mask come into view. A bullet was now embedded in your mask where the side of your temple would be, a chilling reminder of the clutches of death you narrowly escaped from for now. It shone maliciously against your darkened mask that could only let out the occasional spark and whir of short circuiting.

Every few seconds, there would be a flicker of the LEDs working. It was hard to distinguish with the cracks that splayed across the mask like a web, all stemming from the bullet that had made itself at home millimeters away from your head. An eye was missing, that section of your mask completely disconnected from the software. Broken circuitry had the odd pixel flickering in a false positive in various colours before dying.

But despite the stakes, your mask was smiling.

"You broken?" Gaz asked tentatively.

You pause in comtemplation, perhaps the voice amplifier in your mask was fried or you're just too tired to speak - none of the 141 would blame you for either. Instead, you offer a thumbs up before trudging over to Ghost, his eyes trained on you. You rest your forehead against his shoulder and he responds with a slight grunt, but he surrenders to your tired antics. Tilting your head to the rest of the 141, your broken mask flits to a "z_z".

There's a pat on your back from John, both to comfort and to also make sure you don't fall asleep. His hand settles on your shoulder, strong and ready to haul you to the helicopter.

"Good to have you back, Sergeant. Let's get you - and your mask - patched up."

With some encouragement from Johnny and Kyle, you're coaxed to extraction. As you sit on the ride back on base, you bring a hand to probe the damage of the bullet. The metal is colder than death, so smooth it slipped from your grip like your own life had you conducted in the mission any differently. It seems the rest of the 141 knew exactly what you were thinking as your fingers traced every crack of your visor.

But before they can question you, you retract your hand and sit up straight. You're here and you're alive. Granted a little cracked, your soul a little more jaded than in the few hours prior, but for now the legend of the mask lives on.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[osakanone]

"How realistic are mecha, really?": They aren't, but not for the reason you're thinking of or the one adjacent to it. Trust me.

Crossposted from reddit, since people seemed to like it. Like in the thread, I am very happy to answer questions about any esoteric weirdness.

Hold my beer. Again

They're not becoming a possibility. Yes. I know. This sucks. But stick around. Its not for the reasons you think. Well it is, but it also isn't. You'll see.

The robot needs the technology more than the technology needs a robot.

the technologies which the robot needs will improve and alter the doctrine of every other platform

This creates a doctrinal lock-in where the potential functional space for them to exist is unmet -- that they are so far ahead, that nothing new can emerge that isn't just other platforms becoming more generalized (eg, a post-stall recovery aircraft, or a helicopter with high impact landing-gear and a rigid rotor/jet engine design to act as a surface-fighter -- a tank which walks or manoeuvres like a robot is just flat out of the question: Tanks are made to be simple-as-fuck boxes which tank hits, and shoot and acquire asap and rumours of their deaths as a doctrinal weapon are exaggerated by recent events where obsolete weapons which aren't maintained properly who's crews aren't adequately trained were fighting very clever civilians with drones)

What you consider "realistic" (5th/6th) is just as if not more unrealistic than other gens purely because of their smaller size and very bizarre relationship with the environment -- they're just both too big, and too small to make sense, sitting in a size niche which is just very weird

If such a vehicle does exist, its going to be defined by its functions rather than a humanoid appearance

we know this because specialized platforms tend to beat specialized platforms historically until specialized platforms mature and become generalized

thus, the closest you're probably going to get is some weird variation of DARPA's Ground X Vehicle Project meeting with Gravity Industry' style mobility in limited cases, hybridized with smaller robots and wingsuits, which mix manoeuvring operation styles, with some rocker-boogie mechanism elements for terrain handling: It won't be humanoid, whatever it is.

This is assuming you can magically solve the square-cube law of volume-mass which is partially negatable with certain custom topologies exceeding graphene but actually manufacturing them would be miserable work probably not even be something you can make without microgravity

Energy flat out isn't solvable with what we know about right now. Nothing with that energy density can exist that isn't going to simultaneously make for an incredible fragile, dangerous and problematic source of power given the forces involved. Cooling is also a horrifyingly unsolvable problem on this scale, as is radiation management: You can't just dump molten tungsten in emergency cooling mode - you'll not only proceed to alert everybody who has even the vaguest IRST capacity to your position, but you'll also probably set fire to the environment and cook off your own ammunition. *

Motors aren't well suited to the tasks of such bodies (its like trying to make a slingshot out of dental floss), and we don't have an effective way to turn electricity into a form of motion which corresponds with the shock absorbing and motion control qualities which are actually desirable yet

Even if we did, the actual means of ensuring it doesn't fragment every time it moves don't exist. Every time an A10C fires its main gun, the fuel lines micro-fracture and have to be replaced after it lands. Metal, when you subject it to high physical forces ends up feeling and behaving closer to how you would think of glass. You'd need a material capable of repairing itself too, atop the quasicrystalline property which again, just isn't doable, let alone simultaneously.

So in terms of our mindset going into this?

Its... Probably not happening barring a very, VERY extreme change to how we understand physics to function, or some really kick ass (and actually entirely possible) changes in how engineering achieves outcomes (which could happen if the greatest threat to the mecha didn't exist)

Combat is moving towards information dominance. 

That's drone swarms, and role modularized long range travel, and the idea of fighter beyond-visual-range combat extending out to infared search and track systems which are networked to one another, which we're already seeing in singleton weapons and their mounting strategies even on the personal scale, which DARPA is currently investigating which everybody wants to mate with the gravity industries gear for boarding ops so the most likely avenue is to scale up from people, rather than scale down from vehicles as the development pathway -- but there's probably going to be multiple pathways with competing niches once the technology becomes cheap enough.

Costing

Ultimately its down to "how much money do I have to spend to defeat something more expensive than myself?" -- because our current structure of war is defined by cost, and by making the other guys surrender by using economic, and military violence (private, and publicly funded) instead of convincing them that we (NATO members, etc) have good opinions purely because of the natural benefits of "doing as we say" (which we see with basically any conflict in the last 70 years, which are usually feigned as ideological but pretty much always about disrupting market competition, dominating markets, or controlling a pressure position in another country to achieve those two things).

This isn't because they're particularly excellent weapons, but because they're cheap relative to the strength they offer, and how we define cheap is very different to how we defined cheap 100 years ago -- both in good, and terrible ways (such is the way of history).

Mecha are kinda the ultimate boondoggle. They are very very expensive, and just don't make sense.

They're cool as hell, yes.

But they don't make sense.

DISCLAIMER: If you're prone to depression, are dealing with a lot right now, or don't want your day ruining, you should stop reading NOW. What comes next is a psychosocial hazard and could be very bad for your mental health. LAST CHANCE . . .

The "real" reasons

If conflict some how became a meritocracy of leading by excellence rather than intimidation, and about human outcomes instead of cost outcomes, then things could change, but we don't live in that world.

Remember, violence exists to end human conflict (not to be confused with military conflict, which violence is the primary instrument of): Human conflict is when two parties oppose one another and communicate about what their goals and intentions are. Violence happens when communication stops. Communication stops, because parties cannot come to terms, or because nobody wants to be reasonable because the inherent request is unreasonable to the interests of the other party.

I'd love to say physics is the greatest threat, or maybe our concept of conflict but its not: * Its economics.

The concept of private-equity (not to be confused with venture-capital investment) is kiiiind of the dominant economic system on the face of the planet which dictates the interest of every nuclear power's actions against every non-nuclear power) is functionally dissolved, and investment models as we know them magically become better regulated OR a better economic system comes along which totally undermines private equity.

Its an economic finger-trap where most of the money that would be reinvested into people and technologies to push the world forward ends up getting swallowed up.

It also has private armies) and simulates the economy and political events in order to control them for maximum profitability. Yeah.)

We already live in Armored Core, folks.

And that economic system knows that if it gave free agents like ravens any kind of military power, it would functionally undermine itself, which is why it will never happen.

Private equity benefits from not having technology change, because its primary goal is wealth extraction. It leads to the collapse of every business you've ever seen go under, its why products undergo enshittification, which is coming for everything.

Its why the housing crisis happened, why the banking collapse happened, and its why there's an incentive to continue industrializing diseases like insulin instead of curing them.

tl;dr:

The one thing AC gets super wrong is you can either have the depressing relatable low-saturation late-stage hyper-capitalist dystopia where life is cheap on planet earth and everything terrible about South Korea times a thousand covers the whole world, and you need to have your own organs brought from you and leased back to you to lock you in to a lifetime of debt the same way everything else works...

OR

you can have the robot;

You can't have both.

e: I'd pick the robot any day

--

Apologies for any inaccuracies, I haven't edited this and I threw the original together in the space of around 40 minutes. Questions very welcome: I enjoy giving long detailed and substantiated answers.

If you enjoyed this, please consider reading my other work on the theoretical design factors of mecha, their control systems, and my fictional writing in mechposting.

[writeforfandoms]

State of My Head 3

Find the series masterlist

Here we are folks! The final chapter! There will be a bonus scene soonish, so keep an eye out for that. But this is the last actual chapter, with the promised happy ending. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, injury, death of a minor character, swearing, shifter behavior, cat behavior, Gaz finally realizes he was an idiot.

Word count: 4.7k

You still hated the helicopter rides. Even though they were necessary. But you still huddled into your seat, holding tight to the grips. At least Gaz and Soap had stopped teasing you, most of the time. 

This op was a little less straightforward. They didn’t have as much intel on this location, which was why Price was sending you in first. There were supposed to be weapons, but there was no clear intel on how many weapons or exactly which kind.

That was part of your job. To find the weapons and report back. 

The heli landed and you hopped out, taking a moment to look around. You’d been dropped off away from the objective - there was a bit of a hike to the buildings. Apparently this was normal for them. 

You were just looking forward to shifting so you could run ahead. 

Price motioned for you to follow him, which you did. By now, this was routine. You weren’t combat trained, so you stayed in the middle of the group. This time, Gaz covered your back. 

Price halted in a good cover spot, and you immediately shifted. 

“Straight back here,” Price reminded you as you crawled out of your clothes, though he didn’t need to and you both knew it. By now, it was just habit.

You meowed softly at him and lifted one paw, tapping his boot twice. And then you trotted off towards your destination. 

The set of three warehouses were a bit removed from the road, big parking lots nearly empty. They had that dilapidated look about them, run down and tagged with spraypaint. They were set outside of town, far enough away that you doubted anyone would be able to hear things going on here. Good for the people of the town, at least. The route from Price’s chosen spot to the parking lots was covered in vegetation, trees growing tall and wild, bushes providing plenty of cover spots. A series of hills rose behind the warehouse, providing further cover. 

It wasn’t a bad location for a secret weapons cache, really. Unremarkable. Isolated enough to operate without suspicion, but still with easy access to a major road. Not bad at all. 

The chain link fencing around the area was new. Still easy enough to squeeze under. Sometimes you were glad you weren’t any bigger. 

The lack of outside lights worked in your favor, allowing you to get close. You paused outside to listen. 

Definite movement inside. Footsteps. Murmuring. The click of a lighter. A side door opened several feet from your hiding spot, letting out a guard, and you held very still.

“Think they’re gonna show?” The guard had an accent, sounded Russian to your ears.

“Boss thinks they will.” A second guard stepped out of the building, lighting a cigarette. This one sounded American. 

“What makes him so sure?” The Russian didn’t sound disbelieving, just bored. 

“Eh, who knows?” The American blew out smoke, rolling his shoulders. “Not like I’m the boss’s right hand man.”

The two both laughed at that, and you tensed. There was something wrong here, very wrong. Who were they expecting? 

A radio crackled on the Russian’s hip. “Got movement from the northwest,” someone reported in, muffled but audible. Also American. Northwest. You froze, not quite sure which direction you’d come from. 

“Guess the boss is right.” The American grinned, teeth very white in the darkness. “We better finish up if we wanna get in on the fun.”

“Assuming the snipers don’t get the bastards first,” the Russian agreed. “But who knows? They are supposed to be very good.”

“It’s the same assholes that blew up the cache two weeks ago. They’re good.” The American sounded almost eager, thirsty for bloodshed in a way that made all your fur stand on end. He put out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, free hand reaching over to smack his companion in the shoulder. “C’mon, man, hurry up.” 

You’d heard enough. You remembered the cache two weeks ago - Soap had come back exhilarated and smelling of smoke. 

They were expecting your guys. Somehow, they knew. 

This was a trap.

You bolted, running as fast as you could, no longer quite so worried about stealth. 

But you did pause outside the fence, because they’d mentioned snipers. Okay. Think like Ghost. Where would you set up if you were a sniper? 

A quick look found at least four spots you could check. After you warned the team. 

It took a lot less time to get back to them, since you were less concerned about stealth and more concerned about speed. Consequently, when you arrived in front of Price, you were panting. Shifting took only a moment, leaving you crouched in front of them. 

“They know,” you gasped, not giving them time to ask you questions. “Expecting you. Snipers, guards.” You waved back at the building.

Price’s eyes narrowed. “You sure?”

You nodded rapidly. “Heard two of them talking.” You swallowed against your dry throat, ignoring the chill of the night air against your skin. 

Price blew out a slow breath, gaze flitting between you and the buildings in the distance. The other three all stood still and silent, waiting on his orders. 

“Right. No use walkin’ in to a trap. Get back to exfil.” 

There was a ripple through the group, the tension of a thwarted op paired with the knowledge that they’d been given bad intel. You, at least, couldn’t think for a moment of anything other than the fact that if you hadn’t gone first, they’d have walked blindly into that trap.

You swallowed, glancing between them. Gaz was already reaching for your clothes, Soap and Ghost on alert. Price was not going to like what you did next. 

So you just wouldn’t give him a chance to yell at you.

“Meet you back there,” you said, and shifted. You were gone again before any of them could try to grab you, and you knew they couldn’t risk shouting after you. 

You ran ahead of them and veered off course. It was dark, but your eyesight was better in the dark than any human’s, especially shifted. So you saw the movement of a sniper, likely scanning for your guys. 

You launched yourself at the sniper, yowling. You were no bigger than the average housecat, but you had surprise on your side, and claws. He yelped as your claws dug into his shoulders and arms around his tac vest. A gunshot briefly deafened you, but rather than run off, you lunged for his hand, biting down as hard as you could. He dropped the rifle, swearing, trying to shake you off. 

You let go of him and ran again. You doubted he’d go after you, and you were too small a target to shoot at with any accuracy. Especially as you zigzagged away.

So you went on, following the sounds of a radio and check in calls. Your ears flickered, pinpointing the source of the noise, before you crept up. 

This one was a woman, tense and alert, scanning for enemies. Your tail flicked back and forth as you debated your approach. You could get to her hands first, incapacitate her. But you’d have to move fast, both to catch up with your guys and to not get shot. 

Her radio crackled again and she turned towards the sniper you’d already attacked. 

You leapt at her hands, scratching and biting. You thought it would work.

It sort of did.

She yelled and swore and swung away from you. But she didn’t drop the gun. 

Instead she swung it at the same time you jumped for her.

Pain burst in your side, sharp and sudden. You tumbled out of the air, landing on your feet and howling. For a moment you wondered if you’d be able to move, if you’d even be able to make it back to exfil–

“Fucking animal,” the woman spat, and aimed the rifle at you. You scrambled for cover, the shot so loud it hurt your ears. Warmth slid down into your left ear, muffling your hearing. Another shot and your back right leg buckled under a line of searing heat. 

A third shot. For a moment you expected to feel pain, to keel over. 

Instead the sniper went down, blood and brain matter sprayed across the ground behind her.

One of your guys must have shot her. Which meant they were still here.

Running was immediately out of the question. Your ribs shifted, and that crunching feeling should probably be very concerning. Your injured leg didn’t want to hold your weight. 

Leaving you to limp along on three legs, woozy, struggling a bit to breathe. There was no way this was going to end well for you. 

A soft call of your name had you jerk, swaying a little on your feet, before you looked up at Gaz. He hissed out a soft curse, scooping you into his arms. You did your best to not make pained sounds, and failed. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, holding you securely even as he ran back to join the others. “You could have been killed!” 

“You’re explaining that later,” Price growled, ushering Gaz into the heli before him. “Damned foolish.” 

You managed a weak meow, shaking your head, trying to unblock your ear. Blood spattered across Gaz’s front and the seat, but you could hear better at least. 

“Fuck,” Gaz breathed, buckling in quickly. “Cap, should we–?” 

“I don’t know.” Price sat next to him, also buckled in. A moment later the heli was lifting up, the faint lighting inside allowing you to see the captain’s jaw clench tight. “Not a damn vet.” 

The motors were so much louder as a cat, and you pinned your ears back, still sensitive from the gunshots. And then meowed pitifully at the sharp pain from your left ear. 

Price called your name, and you jerked your gaze to him. Your jaws had parted so you could pant, trying to get more air. 

“Shift back,” Price demanded, firm tone mostly masking his concern. “We can’t help you like this.”

You thought about that for a moment. Shifting was going to suck. Your ribs were almost definitely broken, and would not magically be fixed. Not to mention the sheer strain of shifting that much - coupled with the blood you’d already lost, there was a good chance you wouldn’t be able to stay conscious.

Then again, if you didn’t shift, there was no vet on staff. And it was a lot easier to bleed out as a cat than as a human. 

So you shifted, immediately gasping in pain at the jostling on your ribs, tears springing to your eyes.

“Easy, love,” Gaz soothed, shifting his grip on you to keep you securely against his chest. “What hurts?”

“Ribs,” you gritted out, shutting your eyes. “Ear. Thigh.” Your heartbeat pounded in your head and at your throat, far too fast. It was getting hard to focus. 

“Thigh is still bleeding,” Soap pointed out from across the way, frowning. 

“Yeah, spotted that,” Gaz gritted out. One big hand pressed a cloth down onto the seeping wound on your thigh, hard. You whined, hands scrambling for something to help anchor you. The heli jolted, not a lot, but enough to make you bite your tongue to hold back a shriek. 

It was too much - the burning in your ribs, the ache in your thigh, the pounding of your pulse. Your eyelids fluttered - you knew you should stay conscious. 

But it hurt, and it was hard, and you were less inclined to fight as the adrenaline left you. Shivering hurt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Hey, hey, don’t you dare fall asleep on me.” Gaz sounded more panicked than angry. Someone wrapped a blanket around you, and you blinked slowly. 

Price nodded once to you, though he didn’t speak, since he was on the phone with someone else. Of course he was on your left - you couldn’t hear him quite right, things still muffled on that side. 

Trying to focus was way too much effort anyway. You just wanted to sleep. 

Vaguely, you could hear Gaz behind you, chanting, “No no no–” But it was too much to keep your eyes open, to ask him what was wrong.

Your eyes closed as everything faded. 

Soft, rhythmic beeping drew you out of sleep. Opening your eyes was a monumental task, one you accomplished in increments until you could see the boring white ceiling above you. 

Didn’t look like your room, though.

Huh.

You felt like you should be freaked out about that, but you felt too weighted down to get freaked out about anything. You blinked slowly, trying to remember what happened. 

The soft breathing in the room finally registered, and you blinked again and lifted your head. 

Gaz was asleep next to you, head pillowed on his arms at the edge of your bed. That looked uncomfortable. No way he should sleep like that.

But parting your lips to try to call to him just made you cough, your throat dry and scratchy as sandpaper. Coughing jostled your ribs, pain flaring bright and sudden, clearing the last of the cobwebs from your brain. With the side effect of tears leaking from your eyes as you tried to calm down. 

Big, warm hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your skin. “Easy, love, easy does it,” Gaz murmured, gaze flitting over you, as if he could do anything to help. “Best thing to do is to breathe normally, yeah?” 

You stuttered through the first few breaths, slowly calming down until you were relaxed again, Gaz still leaning over you. You blinked slowly up at him, lifting one shaky hand to cover his. 

“What happened?” You barely got the words out as a whisper, but you managed. 

“Water first.” Gaz released you with one hand, slowly, as if he was reluctant, and pushed a button to lever the bed more upright. He held the water for you, making it easy for you to just drink through the straw. 

You slow-blinked at him again when he set the water aside. That was better. Not great, but better. You tapped the back of his hand gently. 

“Right.” Gaz blew out a slow breath, gaze darting from you to the side table to the machines next to you. “You’re in a hospital, Price is wrangling the doctor. You remember getting shot, yeah?” 

“Thigh,” you agreed. 

“And the tip of your ear.” His fingers strayed, brushing against the left side of your head, which did feel thick and muffled. Huh. 

“Damn.” You huffed. “Gonna look like I got caught in a spay and release program.” 

His snort was surprised and a tiny bit wet. “That’s what you’re worried about?” 

“Still got my pride,” you mumbled, tipping your head a little to nuzzle into his palm. 

“Yeah, well.” Gaz cleared his throat. “You… almost didn’t make it, love.”

You blinked at him, feeling incredibly slow. “How?” 

“Not sure.” Gaz scrubbed his free hand over his face. “Guess you lost more blood than we thought, or something. But you were struggling by the time we got you here.” He swallowed hard, looking haunted. 

“Too many shifts,” you muttered, trying to grab him with your free hand, and then glowering at the tug and pinch of the IV there. “Must’ve drained me more than I thought.” 

“Have you been hurting yourself to help us?” Gaz sounded a little appalled, his gaze somehow more frantic as he looked you over.

You shook your head a little. “Doesn’t hurt,” you reassured him. “Normally not a problem. Just… takes energy.” You hummed softly, nestling your cheek further into the warmth of his hand, nose near his wrist. He smelled much better than the hospital room. 

Gaz huffed softly, shoulders relaxing again. “You’ve got stitches in your leg,” he murmured. “And a few broken ribs.”

“Called that one.” You fought to keep your eyes open. You didn’t want to go back to sleep, didn’t want to lose the warmth of his gaze, the feel of his skin on yours. Didn’t want to go back to the distance he held you at. 

“It’s okay if you wanna sleep more,” he murmured, leaning in closer. “You need to heal.” 

“Don’t wanna sleep.” You nuzzled into his palm again even as your eyes closed against your will. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gaz murmured, low and solemn, like a promise. “Just rest, love.” 

As stubborn as you wanted to be, you obeyed, his scent soothing you back to sleep. 

He was still there when you woke next, as was Price. This time, you felt less groggy, but definitely still not normal. 

“We will have a conversation about that stunt,” Price said as soon as your gaze focused on him. “When you’re not stuck in bed.”

“Joy,” you drawled, though you relaxed a little at the knowledge that you weren’t about to be reamed. Not yet, anyway. 

“Another few days here and you should be fine to come back to base.” Price tipped his head, watching you carefully. 

“‘Kay.” You grimaced as you tried to breathe deeper, the ache in your ribs reminding you why that was not a good idea. 

“That’ll take a while,” Gaz murmured sympathetically. “Ribs are the worst.”

“Be easier as a cat.” But you just made a face, displeased with the prospect of months of recovery. 

“After the stitches come out,” Price interrupted, giving you a stern look. “Not before.”

“I know.” You couldn’t help but pout a little. 

Price snorted. “Get some rest,” he ordered, taking a single step forward to pat the top of your feet. He shot a look at Gaz that you couldn’t decipher before he turned and left.

Leaving you with Gaz again. 

“How’re you doing?” Gaz shifted closer to you, his knees knocking into the side of the bed. 

“Okay,” you said slowly, watching him. Now that you were less out of it, the sudden closeness and concern were… odd. You knew it was him, you knew his scent anywhere. Even in your sleep. Had he hit his head at some point? No, Price wouldn’t let him get away with not getting that treated. 

“What?” Gaz blinked at you, gently curling his hand over your free hand. 

“You’re… different.” You stopped yourself from saying more. Kinder. Softer. More like you remembered from the beginning, when you’d decided he was your person. 

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and looked down at your linked hands. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I, uh. I’m sorry. Been a real ass.” He rubbed the back of his neck, managing to look up at you from under his lashes. 

You slow-blinked at him again, resisting the urge to headbutt him. For multiple reasons. Not least of which because it would hurt to move. “Coulda been worse.”

“You’re not supposed to excuse my shitty behavior.” Gaz frowned disapprovingly. 

You shrugged and then hissed as your ribs reminded you that yes they were still broken. “It didn’t change anything.” 

Gaz looked at you like you were a little crazy. “What do you mean?” 

“Well.” You licked your lips and swallowed. Your turn to be nervous. “I wouldn’t have… I mean, I still… Hm.” You pursed your lips. Damn humans for being so insistent on words. Any cat would have known by now! 

“You still… what?” Gaz leaned closer, eyes focused on you. 

Soap saved you from having to explain, waltzing into your room with water and pudding. “Price mentioned ye were finally up! How ye feel, hen?” 

“Alive,” you grumbled, tilting your head to look at him. “You brought food?”

“Just some pudding.” He offered it up and even opened it for you. Because he was a good friend. 

“When are these bandages coming off?” you asked in a grumble, already annoyed at the reduced hearing in your left ear. 

Soap shrugged. “Couple more days. Leg will take longer.” He tipped his head. “Why?”

“Wanna see how bad it looks.” You grimaced. You were a cat, after all. You had some vanity. 

“Badass, more like.” Soap reached over to touch you, paused, and redirected his hand to very gently pat the top of your head instead. 

“Not made of glass.” You looked down at your lap, scowling a little.

“Hen. Broken ribs suck. Ah ken.” Soap crouched so he could catch your gaze. “Ye’ll hurt for months. No need to go lookin’ for more hurt.”

You blew out a breath and then winced. Okay. Right. “Good point,” you admitted. 

Soap grinned. “Has this dafty even tried t’ keep ye entertained?” 

You blinked at Soap. “Uh. Define entertained.”

“Means no.” Soap reached over you to swat Gaz’s shoulder. You half-expected them to devolve into tussling - you’d seen it happen before. But they didn’t, this time. Instead Soap snagged another chair, pulling it up to your bedside with a flourish. “Right! Have I told ye ‘bout my sisters?” 

The days passed slowly, but they passed. The hospital was boring. But you did rest, because you were forced to. Gaz was there every time you woke up, even in the middle of the night. Trying to get him to go had earned you the most pathetic puppy eyes you’d ever seen, and you were a bit ashamed of how quickly you caved to him. 

Which was part of the whole problem, really. He was still your person, even if you weren’t his. 

Gaz was the one who helped you from the bed to a wheelchair to make it out of the hospital. Gaz was the one who sat in the backseat with you, helping brace you and talking you through the pain of every bump in the road. Gaz was the one who brought you back to your room, who sat with you and insisted you boss him around telling him what you needed. 

Honestly, it was baffling. Completely baffling. It still felt a bit like he’d been replaced with a pod person, or something. (Except your nose would’ve picked that up.) 

The bandages around your head finally came off, and you examined the rough half-circle taken out of the top of your ear, completely silent, while Gaz hovered over your shoulder. 

“It’s not bad,” you grumbled at last. “Still looks like I got caught by a spay and release program.” 

“Have you ever?” Gaz held your gaze in the mirror.

“No one ever caught me,” you said with a haughty sniff, lifting your chin. “Until you. All. You all.” 

Gaz drew in a deep breath, his hands settling very carefully on your shoulders. “We never finished our conversation.”

“Which one?” You didn’t quite have to feign ignorance - you’d fallen asleep talking to him more than once, recently. 

“About what a shit I was.” He paused. “And why you’re so eager to sweep it under the rug.”

“Oh. That.” You swallowed, gaze skittering away from him. 

“Yeah, that.” He shifted closer to you. 

You hummed a soft note, not quite sure how to get out of this conversation, not sure if you should. Then you sighed softly. “For the record. You are an idiot.” You clenched your jaw and then released it. “If you were anyone else, I’d hold that against you for a long time.”

“What about Price and Ghost?” 

“Trust me, I’ll be reminding them that they hated me and use it to my advantage.” You smirked. “Cats have long memories when we want.” 

“So why aren’t you holding it against me?” 

And therein lay the problem. You fidgeted, making a face. “Alright. So. There is one major way we differ from, say, house cats.”

“Okay…?” Gaz looked bewildered but rolled with the apparent change of topic. 

“We choose one mate for life. Usually the female chooses. ‘S why Mama’s the matriarch.” 

Gaz blinked and then his eyes blew wide as he breathed out your name. 

“I made my choice three days into my stay here.” You forced yourself to hold still, to hold his gaze. 

“You… But… Even when I…?” He looked… a little devastated, a little hopeful. Pained, definitely.

“Yes.” You shrugged carefully. “The whole damn time.” 

Somehow, you weren’t quite sure how, Gaz managed to move around you, getting to your front and kissing you, soft and sweet. His fingers trembled against your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, moving back just enough so he could speak. “I’m such a damn fool. You nearly died and I–” His breathing hitched. 

“Easy,” you murmured, lifting one hand to cover his. “I’m okay.” You paused. “Well. I will be okay.” 

“Made me realize what an idiot I’d been,” he continued, pressing his forehead to yours. “Made me realize I love you.” 

Your breath caught, your eyes going wide. “You… do?” 

“I do.” He huffed, breath warm against your lips. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

“Already forgiven.” You smiled slowly, carefully nuzzling his cheek. “Told you. Can’t hold a grudge against my person.” 

Gaz smiled. "Feel like I should scold you for being so forgiving about this, but it works to my advantage." 

You chuckled and then winced. Right. Ribs. "I'll be happy when those stitches come out," you grumbled, glowering down at your leg. 

"Just a few more days," Gaz soothed. "Are they bothering you? Itching?"

"No. I just want to shift." You made a face. 

"You don't like being stuck, do you?"

You swallowed hard, because that was… a little too accurate. "Right." 

Gaz kissed you again soft and slow and sweet. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, you'll give me a complex." But you smiled, leaning in very carefully to nuzzle his cheek. "Just don't do it again. My forgiveness has its limits."

"Promise I won't." He kissed you again, apparently unable to help himself. 

Not that you were complaining. 

Your only real complaint was that anything more was out of the question. For the moment. 

Gaz held your hand as the stitches were removed. The on-base medic gave you some advice (that you didn't actually pay attention to) before leaving. 

You waited until the door was shut to shift. It hurt. It hurt more than you expected, left you panting softly. 

But you were once again on four paws. Much better. 

"You alright?" Gaz crouched down to be on your level, concern clear in his eyes. 

You chirped and licked the tip of his nose, smug. This felt much better. 

He chuckled quietly. "Can I pick you up?" 

You chirped again, walking carefully closer to him. Walking hurt, but not as badly as when you were human. 

It took a little figuring out, but Gaz picked you up and cradled you against his chest, one arm securely under your paws. You started purring immediately, rubbing your cheek against his chest. 

The only times he put you down the rest of the day were when he absolutely had to.

Best of all? He went back to hand feeding you, grinning through the teasing from Soap. 

You purred the entire meal. 

Finally, he headed back towards your room for the night. "You ready for bed?" He asked softly. 

You mrrped at him and tapped his hand. He blinked down at you. You looked very carefully down the hall, towards his room. 

"You… want to stay with me?" 

You chirped an affirmative. 

"Well… alright. Just for tonight." He continued down to his room, setting you gently on the bed. 

You gave him privacy to change for bed, padding up to his pillow to lay down next to it. Curling up was a no-go, so you laid carefully on your uninjured side. 

Gaz settled down with you, kissing the top of your head. "Sleep well, love."

You closed your eyes, purring gently. There was no way you were just staying in here tonight. If you had your way, you'd never go back to your room. 

You could be very persuasive when you wanted.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Kunikida smiled in relief as Katai walked over. "I'm glad you're here" he said with a smile. But Katai wasn't looking at him. In fact Kunikida couldn't see his facial expression at all.

Kunikida frowned.

"Katai? What's wrong?" The second the words left his mouth, a slap rang through the novel world. His cheek stung and he could only stare at his friend in shock.

"Katai..?"

"What's wrong?!" Yelled Katai, his meek demeanor vanishing entirely. "I don't kn-" Kunikida was cut off by a punch to the chest, than another and another.

"Bullshit! Don't pretend that you don't know! Or are you so accustomed to blowing yourself up these days that it doesn't even cross your mind anymore!"

Katai breathed in deeply. Letting his fist fall to his side. "Do you know what it's like to wake up to your house being raided?"

He wasn't even looking at him now.

"I didn't believe them, even when they made me watch the execution tape."

"Katai"

"But than I heard them, laughing about how one of those Agency terrorists jumped out a helicopter and blew himself up along with a Hunting Dog."

Katai looked up at Kunikida, anger didn't even begin to cover how he felt. But what made Kunikida pause were the tears welling up in Katai's eyes.

"I knew it was you before they said your name."

"I'm sorry you had to find out like that" said Kunikida. Katai shook his head "of course that's what you're sorry about. Not hey maybe I shouldn't have done that." Said Katai bitterly.

"Would you prefer I just stand there and do nothing?!" Asked Kunikida, baffled at what Katai was suggesting. "We were in danger, Kenji was injured and we had that damn dog on our heels about to destroy the helicopter." He explained.

Katai listened and than asked "so why did it have to be you?"

"I... What?" Kunikida felt like the rug was being pulled under him. As if the world itself was being thrown off his axis. In comparison Katai seemed as calm as ever. His anger seeming to drain out of him, now he just looked tired.

"Yosano's handled worse and we both know it. Junichiro was trained by yourself, Kenji's the strongest in the Agency for a reason. Chuuya Nakahara, from Dazai's numerous rants doesn't seem like the type to half ass a mission from his boss. Even if it meant rescuing the enemy." Explained Katai.

"You had all these people there willing and ready to fight. But it had to be you, because one of the Hunting Dogs belittled your ideals earlier so you dove out to prove him wrong."

"I-"

"So you couldn't just knock his friend off, no you had to blow him up along with yourself to prove your ideals were more than words." Finished Katai and Kunikida couldn't even argue because he was right.

"I've always admired you for your passion. I've never really had that kind of drive for anything. So seeing you focus on making the world a better a place, I thought it was cool." Admitted Katai, looking at where Kunikida's hands should be.

"Now I just wish you cared about yourself even half as much as you did your ideals. This isn't even the first time you've treated your life so carelessly. Fuck!" Katai punched the wall beside him in anger.

"You died! You died! I had to hear them brag about how you were bought back twice on the operating table! You don't even have any hands, and you ask me what's wrong?!" Tears more and more welled up in his eyes and began to fall.

"Yosano isn't a cure all, you can't keep throwing your life away and expecting everything will be fine! You died I lost you and there was nothing I could do and you ask me what's wrong?!"

In an instant arms wrapped around Katai, he buried his head into Kunikida's shoulder and sobbed. Kunikida didn't regret his actions, he hadn't than and not now. But he never wanted to see Katai like this again.

[kineticpenguin]

Every time some Tesla fanboy talks about how Tesla doors have an emergency release lever and ignore people's response that it's hard to find and difficult to operate in a panic, I just wish I could shove them in the dunk tank the military uses to train its troops on escaping from a helicopter in a water crash

This is probably the safest and most controlled way you could experience something like this and pretty much everyone who's gone through it is like "absolutely do not recommend"

And you want just randos to suddenly figure out how to disassemble their flooding car in the dark? All right, that's it, get in the helo dunker

[sgt-tombstone]

Alright the last post was canceled, sorry y’all, here’s round two (if you saw the last one, no you didn’t, just vote in this one again lmao)

Context: His name is Dex Murtagh and he’s an American Air Force Special Warfare Pararescue operator who works closely with the 141 whenever they need a medic team in emergencies. He’s trained in parachuting, helicopter flight, diving, rock climbing, first aid and emergency field medicine, and survival in all climates.

He’s American by birth but Irish by blood and he carries both of those very strongly, so he and Soap often gang up on Ghost, Gaz, and Price (a natural hatred for Englishmen, even if he’s also fiercely protective of them). He was raised in the Appalachian mountains and fully believes in all of the local cryptids. He died and was revived three times in diving training, nearly fell to his death during a static line jump, and he’s a southern boy through and through. He’s fucking crazy (affectionate), will go feral if anyone on his team or any of his patients are threatened, and can’t sit still to save his life (sometimes literally). He’s always the first to volunteer for any op, even those that seem like lost causes, and he’d willingly bleed out to keep one of his teammates alive for just a minute longer.

[bekolxeram]

7x03 analysis part 1 — Everything Air Ops

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

Location

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

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

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

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

Helicopters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

911!Air Ops

Helinet hangar Street View

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pilots

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

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

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

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

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

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

Melton

I have no idea who he is.

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

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

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

[blingblong55]

She's my Collar- Simon "Ghost" Riley nsfw

F!reader, nsfw, Stalker!Ghost, Military!reader

This is based on a request.

But first, let me give you a little back story:

You are a highly trained sniper, and expert in hostage situations. And for obvious reasons, you keep yourself off the radar when off duty. Your age is redacted mainly for your own privacy. The nickname came around your first deployment, and everything went south real quick. Your team for hours looked for your body. Soon they heard a bullet pass through them, your third kill, and from the stinking dirt you rose. (referenced Ghuleh/Zombie Queen-Ghost).

----

"Ghuleh!" your captain called out. You looked up. "sir?"

He showed you the file, a reassignment. "Good luck." your teammate spoke. You stood up and went into the office. "What's the occasion sir." your monotone voice vibrating on the walls. "A captain requested you, congrats Ghuleh, you have been reassigned to Task Force 141, give 'em hell." he placed the file on the desk and patted your shoulder as he exited the room.

On the other side of the world, Brazil. The team was in need of a sniper, and after much searching, Price found you.

----

Full name: r/l/n, r/n

Age: [REDACTED]

Alias: Ghuleh

Rank: Sergeant First Class (SFC), ACTIVE DUTY

Sgt. R/l/n, who was involved in Operation: SEVEN JAWS, was among the five only survivors from a team, of 17.

She is a highly trained soldier, by far one of the toughest I've worked with. No matter the time, day, week, she's there. She's fast, silent, no remorse. Loyal and highly deadly.

Combat ready.

Skills: Sniper, infantry, insertion specialists.

----

Price hands Ghost your file. He scans through some pages. "Don't think she's ready for us." he tosses your file on the table. Your file sits high on the pile of many other operators. "Laswell says she's more than good enough, other teams even the enemy have asked for her. She's been bribed before. Think we aren't the ready ones." He stands up and makes the call.

13 hours later, you arrived at the base, Price, Soap, and Gaz, waiting there as you got out of the helicopter. You walked to them, you sniper and bag in hand. A smile plastered on your face. "Sergeant." his hand reached out. "Captain." you shook his hand. For the next three hours, you started to talk to your new teammates. "Ghost is busy at the moment, but he will meet with you later. Now what's with the name?"

"Classified." You looked up, your hands cleaning the snipe. He chuckled.

And for two weeks, you only saw Ghost passing by, then after hours on the shooting range, he was there. "Nice shot." his remark made you turn. "You must be Ghost." You returned back to your position. "What gave me away." his voice hinting at a slight chuckle.

Headshot.

You left your gun and turned to him. "So what can you bring to us? Just snipe?" "No, but I'll definitely surprise you, sir."

"Mind sparing with me?" he broke the awkward silence that fell upon the room. "How 'bout a no for now. But whoever can give the poor wall the most headshots gets a sparring match after the mission?" You loved playing around with your old teammates. And knew that soap and Gaz were already welcoming of you. He took out a knife and threw it at the target, headshot. You wiped out a pistol from your belt, headshot.

"Why the nickname?" he asked, he pulled a gun from his boot, another headshot. "Why the mask?" you look away from the wall, headshot. "Shit face." he answered, this time he missed his shot. "tsk tsk. s'no good," you shook your head. "Rose from the death, allegedly," you added, another headshot.

And for about an hour, you and him asked and answered. For about an hour, this man was looking at you. Studying your face, trying to read any emotions. He liked the games you played. How you dodged certain questions by shooting at his target. When he ran out of bullets, there you stood, smiling, "Guess no sparring for you sir." You walked away, content with your actions.

----

Three weeks after that day at the shooting range, he followed you closely and noted any quirk of yours. When you and the team were training, Ghost would watch from afar. He had a notebook of all you liked and disliked, and when he passed through the small gym of the base, he'd write down the music you listed. (For personal reasons: you listened to the band Ghost. Ironic ik). At times he would try and sneak behind you, trying to see if you were texting someone. To his luck, you weren't.

After week four, he, although perceived as cold and heartless, had slowly fallen for you. It was obvious you tried to be on his good side. And it was clear you were in the team for a reason.

Mere infatuation, he would tell himself. But when you consumed his last thoughts before he slept, when he imagined times when he was inside of you, pleasuring you, making you his, it was more than infatuation. He wanted others to understand, you were his. His special soldier, only his.

"r/n, time to train." He approached you, taking your scent in. "Be my partner?" your voice rang through his ears. He looked down. "hm?" "You want to train with me sir?" your innocent eyes staring at his. He nodded and followed along.

He started to think of how you'd look. Completely naked, crying for mercy as he penetrated every inch of you. How your whimpers would fill the room around. How he would part your legs, eating you out, making you scream his name.

But soon that picture faded, and he felt his bulge growing tighter around his pants. You stood at the mat, waiting for him. "Scared you'll lose?" your smirk laying high on your lips.

God those lips, the same ones he imagined would eventually be wrapped around his throbbing cock. How you would be on your knees, taking all of him in that small mouth of yours.

"Got a death wish?"

"Maybe I do."

He soon took his gear off. His muscle shirt revealed the tattoos. "Need a picture?" his ego speaking before he could form any other word. "Perhaps I do." You tried to make him nervous, just so the match could end soon. It was something you tried with Gaz, which worked perfectly, he was so nervous around you, that he couldn't think straight.

"Ladies, when in doubt, use your femininity, men will go crazy, military men are dogs when it comes to us. They get nervous, so use that against them. R/n, you have a good shot at getting the enemy on his or her knees."

You struggled to keep him down. His body weight was more than yours, but you were much faster. Soon his body lay under yours. He tried to bring you down, or at least to flip you both. "So what did I win?" you joked. "Me." uttered. Thankfully no one was around, your eyes looking for some lie. "Pfft, good one sir." now it was you that was nervous.

You had found him attractive, but geez was that a comment. "M'serious." his voice softened. Your grip on him loosened. And that was your mistake. He flipped you both over, now he was on top, your bottom with your chest rising and falling rapidly. "What d'ya say? let's get out of here and go to yours?"

It was a dangerous play if he said his.

In his room, pictures of you sat on his bedside table. A sweatshirt you left on the bench hung on a rack. The notebook he dedicated to you lay on his bed. And the small shrine he had of you in his closet, exposed if you opened it.

"Wouldn't this be inappropriate?" you asked, he got up, extending his hand for you. "Just frowned upon," he answered. Your hand on his, he lifted you up with no hesitation. And you both made your way to your room.

----

He looked around. Taking the details in. But soon, small kisses on his neck made him lose all concentration. He lifted his mask, just enough for his lips to be exposed. He grabbed you by the neck and guided your lips to his. You smiled once your lips met. Melting under the kiss, he knew it was time to make all his dreams come true.

He travelled down to your neck, his hands meeting the ends of your shirt, he lifted it up, your arms raised and felt as the clothing left your skin. He laid you on your bed. His hands hungry, traveled around your now exposed skin. You tasted better than he imagined. Your soft moans leave your lips. With one hand on your back, he unclipped your bra and threw it across the room. Your nipple piercings looking back at him, he smirked.

Fuck, the things he was about to do to you. He kissed and softly bit your nipples. This made you moan even more. He flicked your now-hardened nipples with his tongue, his eyes never leaving your face. He loved to see your reaction.

You giggled. In a matter of seconds, his shirt came off, and he trailed down your pants, impatiently trying to take them off. "Take off yours, I'll do mine," you said, and he did as told. When you two stood there, somewhat naked, you laughed.

Sex can make humans crazy. You two back in bed, and he played with your throbbing cunt. "s'ready for me. Like a good whore." he said, your lips never leaving his. "S'mine."

Moans filled the room as he rubbed your now wet panties. He lifted your legs up, taking your panties off, he liked the view. Looked down and smiled. Desire mixed in between touch.

He got on his knees and he dragged you to the end of the bed. His hands parted your thighs. He was leaving wet kisses as he went closer and closer to your throbbing parts. "please" you moaned, wanting him to stop the teasing and just finger you. "please what love?" he eyes looking at yours, a smirk planted on his lips. "please, just fuck me" you let out as frustration left your voice. "Jus'because you asked kindly." he chuckled against your now sensitive skin.

His tongue pumped in and out of you. Your hands made their way to his head, and you pushed him more in. His fingers made their way in. He fingers you so much that you start squirting. He licked the liquid that was leaking. "Taste s'good" he complimented. "Fuck!" your hands burying more deeply on his mask-covered hair.

When he knew you were ready for him, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it under you, he rested your legs on his sides. His hands touch your face. His thumb made its way to your mouth, and he made you suck it. "Spit on it," he said as his palm opened. You obeyed, he rubbed his hand on his already hard cock. And when you least knew, he went inside you.

In response to him, you moaned loudly. He rapidly covered your mouth. "Don't want them to listen just yet," he said and he deeply thrusted inside you. Your walls gripping on him. He moaned and soon he got desperate for the speed. "Can I?" he asked,

"Can I fuck you harder now?"

"Yes, please."

You grabbed the nearest sheets and covered your mouth, your moans still loud although muffled. "Now they're ready," he said as he moved the sheet from your mouth, you gripped the sheets, feeling your climax come. And once it did you grew more sensitive, your legs started to shake, but the noise and cries of pleasure fed him more.

"Please sir, I can't...I-cant take it any longer." you cried, your back arching and your nails digging deep on his arms. He liked how you were slowly leaving your mark on him.

It drew him wild. "You can take one more can't you?"

And with tears slowly falling down, you nodded. "Good," he said. He was rougher, his fingers went back down. He loved how you came on him. His fingers rubbing your now dripping wet cunt. He licked his fingers, and he dove back in. Only to come back with more of you on him.

"Taste yourself, love," he ordered.

You opened your mouth and licked around his fingers, he moaned. "obedient little whore"

And as your tears made your mascara melt, he was more than full. This was the image he needed for today. You a wreck, wrapped around his massive cock. Your body is all marked by his hands.

He came, very deep inside you. He pulled himself out and gave you a deep passionate kiss. "You did so well." Now his voice was low. A smile from both of you grew bigger the more the kiss deepened.

"Can we go again?" your voice still filled with lust. "Maybe later, don't want the others to ask why you can't do drills tomorrow" he laughed a little.

He walked to your closet, grabbed the nearest towels and started to clean you and his mess that still dripped from between your thighs.

"Don't worry, I'm on the pill," you said panic settled in his eyes. "Wise choice." he soon finished cleaning, he even wiped the now dry dark tears from your face. He grabbed one of your water bottles and handed it to you, his hands covering you and him, who now lay on your bed. His arms around you, holding you close. You two passed the water to one another.

"Next time I won't be so kind."

"don't want you to be."

----

A/N: I had a lot of fun doing this one, took shorter than I expected. also tell me why as I was writing this and a old lady walked up behind me and legitimately said "she needs some piercings like yours." MA'AMMMM HOW TF DID YOU EVEN TELL I HAD SOME!!! so shoutout to someones nan , she deserves an award for the piercing part of this story.

<333 Thank you anon!

Tags: @lialacleaf

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