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usafphantom2 · 9 days

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Celebrating 60 Years of the XB-70 Valkyrie Mach 3 Super Bomber

September 16, 2024 Military Aviation

XB-70 60th anniversary

The lone XB-70 Valkyrie is photographed as it is moved to a new building at the Museum of the United States Air Force located at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Ohio, on Oct. 27, 2015. Beginning in the late 1950s and continuing through the mid-1960s, tests were conducted at Arnold Air Force Base, Tenn., headquarters of Arnold Engineering Development Complex, in support of the XB-70 program. The now-retired aircraft made its first flight on Sept. 21, 1964. (U.S. Air Force photo by Will Haas)

The experimental legacy of the iconic XB-70 Valkyrie, which made its first flight on Sept. 21, 1964.

An article published on the U.S. Air Force website commemorates the 60th anniversary of the first flight of the legendary XB-70 Valkyrie, a supersonic bomber that captured the imagination of aviation enthusiasts and engineers alike. Known for its sleek and futuristic design, the XB-70 remains a symbol of the experimental and ambitious spirit of Cold War-era aircraft development. Despite only two prototypes ever being built, the aircraft has left an indelible mark on military aviation history.

The XB-70 Valkyrie was originally conceived in the 1950s as a high-speed, high-altitude bomber for the U.S. Air Force Strategic Air Command. At a time when technological advancements were rapidly accelerating, the U.S. Air Force sought a bomber capable of flying faster and higher than the B-52 Stratofortress, its workhorse of the era (as well as the backbone of the strategic bomber fleet today and for some more decades in the future…).

With a planned cruise speed of Mach 3 and an operating altitude of 70,000 feet, the XB-70 promised to outpace and outmaneuver Soviet defenses, which were a growing concern during the Cold War.

One of the most remarkable features of the XB-70 was its ability to “ride” its own shockwave, a design innovation that allowed it to maintain stability and performance at supersonic speeds. The Valkyrie’s iconic delta wing, combined with six powerful jet engines, gave it an exotic and striking appearance, making it one of the most visually distinctive aircraft ever built. Its outer wing panels were hinged, allowing them to be lowered during flight to optimize the aerodynamic performance at high speeds.

The XB-70 looks like an alien spacecraft from this angle. (Image credit: USAF)

The article highlights the crucial role played by Arnold Engineering Development Complex (AEDC) in the development of the XB-70.

The testing of the Valkyrie’s engines, aerodynamics, and other key components began at Arnold Air Force Base in the late 1950s, well before the first prototype took shape. The AEDC’s facilities were instrumental in pushing the boundaries of what was possible in aviation at the time. One of the earliest tests involved the air-breathing engine nozzles proposed for the XB-70 in March 1958. This was followed by extensive wind tunnel testing of scale models of the Valkyrie, where the aerodynamic characteristics of bombs dropped from the aircraft were also studied.

A technician makes adjustments to a scale model of the XB-70 Valkyrie before aerodynamic characteristics related to the aircraft are evaluated in Tunnel A of the von Kármán Gas Dynamics Facility at Arnold Air Force Base, Tenn., headquarters of Arnold Engineering Development Complex, in 1959. Beginning in the late 1950s and continuing through the mid-1960s, tests were conducted at Arnold Air Force Base, Tenn., headquarters of Arnold Engineering Development Complex, in support of the XB-70 program. Only two Valkyries were built, with only one of the pair remaining. The now-retired aircraft made its first flight on Sept. 21, 1964. (U.S. Air Force photo)

Development continued into the early 1960s, with the YJ93 turbojet engines, designed specifically for the XB-70, undergoing rigorous testing at AEDC. These engines were critical to the Valkyrie’s ability to reach and maintain supersonic speeds. However, in 1961, before the first prototype was even completed, the bomber program was canceled due to budget constraints and concerns over the bomber’s vulnerability to Soviet surface-to-air missiles, which had rapidly advanced in capability.

Although the XB-70 bomber program was terminated, the Valkyrie found new life as a research aircraft.

Three drag chutes were needed to slow down the landing roll of the XB-70. (Image credit: Reddit edit The Aviationist)

The U.S. Air Force recognized the potential of the aircraft to serve in aerodynamics and propulsion research, particularly in the study of large supersonic aircraft. Consequently, two XB-70 prototypes were completed, and testing continued, including at AEDC, where a scale version of the XB-70 inlet, paired with a full-scale YJ93 engine, was tested in August 1962.

XB-70A number 1 (62-001) made its first flight from Palmdale to Edwards Air Force Base, CA, on Sept. 21, 1964. The second XB-70A (62-207) made its first flight on Jul. 17, 1965. The latter differed from the first prototype for being built with an added 5 degrees of dihedral on the wings as suggested by the NASA Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA, wind-tunnel studies.

North American XB-70A Valkyrie on the taxiway with a cherry picker. Photo taken Sept. 21, 1964, the day of the first flight. Note: the left main landing gear brakes locked during the landing causing two tires to blow. (U.S. Air Force photo)

While the 62-001 made only one flight above Mach 3, because of poor directional stability experienced past Mach 2.5, the second XB-70, achieved Mach 3 for the first time on Jan. 3, 1966 and successfully completed a total of nine Mach 3 flights by June on the same year.

However, the Valkyrie program suffered a devastating setback in June 1966 when the second prototype was destroyed in a midair collision with an F-104N Starfighter during a photoshoot. This tragic accident resulted in the loss of key personnel and diminished the future prospects of the Valkyrie.

North American XB-70A Valkyrie just after collision. Note the F-104 is at the forward edge of the fireball and most of both XB-70A vertical stabilizers are gone. (U.S. Air Force photo)

Despite this setback, the remaining XB-70 continued to serve as a valuable research platform. In 1967, the U.S. Air Force transferred the aircraft to NASA, where it was used in support of the National Supersonic Transport (SST) program. NASA employed the XB-70 to investigate supersonic flight operations, but the SST program was eventually canceled in 1971, marking the end of America’s efforts to develop a commercial supersonic airliner.

The XB-70 Valkyrie’s final flight took place on Feb. 4, 1969, when it was flown to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. There, the aircraft was placed on display at what is now the National Museum of the United States Air Force, where it remains a testament to the audacious engineering and design of its era.

A view of the six massive afterburners on the XB-70 Valkyrie as the aircraft is towed out of its display hangar temporarily for museum maintenance. (Photo: National Museum of the U.S. Air Force via YouTube)

Though only two XB-70s were ever built, their legacy endures: the aircraft’s pioneering advancements in aerodynamics, engine performance, and high-speed flight helped shape the future of supersonic aviation.

Pilots who were to perform the first test flights for the XB-70 Valkyrie operate the YJ93 engine, the powerplant of the XB-70, while the engine is tested under simulated flight conditions in May 1964 in the Rocket Test Facility at Arnold Air Force Base, Tenn., headquarters of Arnold Engineering Development Complex. This was done to help the pilots familiarize themselves with the performance characteristics of the engine prior to the first XB-70 flight, which occurred on Sept. 21, 1964. Beginning in the late 1950s and continuing through the mid-1960s, tests were conducted at Arnold AFB in support of the XB-70 program. Only two Valkyries were built, with only one of the pair remaining. (U.S. Air Force photo)

The first prototype made a total of 83 flights, amassing 160 hours and 16 minutes of flight time, while the second prototype completed 46 flights, totaling 92 hours and 22 minutes.

The XB-70 Valkyrie, with its daring design and groundbreaking capabilities, continues to captivate aviation enthusiasts and engineers. Its story, though short-lived in terms of operational use, highlights the relentless pursuit of innovation that defines the U.S. Air Force and its engineering partners. Sixty years after its first flight, the Valkyrie remains an iconic symbol of the bold ambitions of Cold War-era aviation.

XB-70 Night Take-off. (Photo via Air Force Materiel Command History Office)

About David Cenciotti

David Cenciotti is a journalist based in Rome, Italy. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviationist”, one of the world’s most famous and read military aviation blogs. Since 1996, he has written for major worldwide magazines, including Air Forces Monthly, Combat Aircraft, and many others, covering aviation, defense, war, industry, intelligence, crime and cyberwar. He has reported from the U.S., Europe, Australia and Syria, and flown several combat planes with different air forces. He is a former 2nd Lt. of the Italian Air Force, a private pilot and a graduate in Computer Engineering. He has written five books and contributed to many more ones.

@TheAviationist.com

#xb 70 valkyrie #xb 70 #north american aviation #mach3+#aircraft #aviation #usaf #cold war aircraft

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entwinedmoon · 13 hours

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Cold Boys and Cannibalism

With today’s news concerning the identification of James Fitzjames’s remains—and the fact that those remains show signs of cannibalism—I have been thinking a lot about how those final, desperate days of the Franklin Expedition went down. But I’ve been thinking about those days in a particular light, one influenced by another special interest of mine: the Andes flight disaster.

The Andes flight disaster—aka the crash of the Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571, aka That Time In 1972 When A Uruguayan Rugby Team Was On A Plane That Crashed Into The Andes And They Had To Eat Their Dead Friends In Order To Survive—has long been a casual interest of mine. But earlier this year I watched the movie Society of the Snow, based on the book by the same name, and that kicked this interest into a full-blown hyper-fixation. I’ve been reading every book about it I can get my hands on, and I’m constantly trying to steer conversations towards mentioning it (“It’s a cold night tonight…but not nearly as cold as what the survivors of the Fairchild 571 had to endure on that mountain…”).

The Andes flight disaster has several similarities with the Franklin Expedition. They were stranded in the middle of nowhere, they had to endure freezing temperatures, and when the food ran out, they resorted to eating the flesh of their dead companions. There are also some major differences, of course, such as the Franklin Expedition being a purposeful exercise in exploration whereas the Andes flight disaster was an accident, and instead of highly trained members of the Royal Navy who followed a strict chain of command, the passengers on the F-571 were mostly pampered, upper-class, well-educated men in their late teens to mid-twenties, along with some friends and family, and there wasn’t an obvious leader or authority after the crash. But one of the main differences is that, unlike the Franklin Expedition, there were survivors of the Andes flight disaster.

Sixteen men survived 72 days on top of a mountain in the Andes, suffering through brutal temperatures, altitude sickness, starvation, an avalanche, and watching their close friends—and sometimes even their family—die. They were only saved when two of those survivors—Nando Parrado and Roberto Canessa—hiked ten days through the Andes to get help. When they were found, no one could believe it. These men had been written off as dead shortly after the crash. Despite only 16 out of 45 people making it out alive, their survival was hailed as a miracle. When they returned to Uruguay, they were treated like heroes.

Unfortunately, some members of the press were far more interested in painting these survivors as deranged savages. The rescue team had leaked photographs showing partially eaten body parts strewn around the wrecked airplane where the men had taken shelter. However, during a press conference on their return home, the survivors did not shy away from the truth. They admitted that they had only survived thanks to eating the flesh of those who had died. One of the survivors, Pancho Delgado, compared their eating of human flesh for physical salvation to the eating of Christ’s body for spiritual salvation. The largely Catholic country of Uruguay embraced this comparison.

The book Alive, written by Piers Paul Read using extensive interviews with the survivors taken shortly after their rescue, goes into some detail about the cannibalism that took place. It is not a book for the faint of heart. But even though the survivors have been very open about what they did, they still have attempted to distance themselves from this ultimate taboo by insisting that what they did wasn’t technically cannibalism but “anthropophagy.” Anthropophagy is the eating of human flesh, which the Andes survivors certainly did engage in, but they also very much did cannibalism. Survival cannibalism is the consumption of a member of your own species in order to survive, which is exactly what happened in the Andes—and what happened in the Arctic with the Franklin Expedition.

Every book about the Andes flight disaster—Alive, Society of the Snow, and the several memoirs written by the survivors (14 of whom are still alive today)—all tell of the moment when the survivors decided they would eat the dead in order to live. Around the tenth day, after an agonizing and disappointing wait for someone to find them, several of the survivors spoke up. They had all been holding out hope that they would be rescued—their small food supply, mostly made up of snacks, candy, and alcohol, dwindling rapidly despite strict rationing—but it had become painfully clear that there would be no rescuers. No one was coming for them. And they had no food. They could only survive if they walked out, but they could only do that if they had the strength to do so. They needed to eat. There was only one way.

Some of the people who had survived the crash resisted the idea, while others fully supported it. Many put forth arguments for or against. Some said that they had a moral obligation to stay alive, and letting themselves die was wrong. Roberto Canessa, one of the two men who would later walk through the mountains to find help, was a nineteen-year-old medical student, and he emphasized the scientific side of things, explaining how they needed proteins to survive or their bodies would begin to break down. The religious explanation later used by Pancho Delgado at the press conference was actually first mentioned by one of the other survivors on that fateful day, Pedro Algorta.

I’m currently reading Algorta’s memoir, Into the Mountains. Early on in the book he too discusses that meeting of the survivors wherein they made the decision to eat the dead. He mentions the religious argument he had used. But he goes on to say that argument was merely an excuse and not the true reason he had supported cannibalizing the victims of the crash. He said that it was the emptiness of his stomach that had persuaded him. As he put it, “I was hungry and I wanted to live.”

When I read that line, my mind immediately went to the scene in AMC’s The Terror, where Lt. Hodgson spoke to Goodsir, telling him a story from his childhood about how he had once taken communion with his Catholic aunts, connecting it with the cannibalism Hodgson and Hickey’s mutineers had committed. He ended his speech with almost the exact same words used by Pedro Algorta, “I’m hungry and I want to live.”

I’m not sure if the Andes flight disaster influenced any aspect of this scene or not, but that sentiment shared by both the real-life Pedro Algorta and the fictionalized version of Lt. Hodgson is something vital to note when it comes to thinking about the cannibalism committed both by the Andes survivors and the Franklin Expedition.

Sure, it was around the tenth day in the Andes that they first cut into the body of someone they had once called a friend. But many of the survivors had already been thinking about eating the bodies for days. Nando Parrado, after waking up from a three-day coma to discover his mother had died in the crash and his sister was dying from severe internal injuries, was determined to walk out of the mountains to see his father again, even if it was the last thing he did. One day he was talking to fellow survivor Carlitos Páez about how they had run out of food. Nando told him he would not give in without a fight, and that if he had to, he would eat the pilot. Many others had similar thoughts, some keeping it to themselves while others discussed it among small groups of trusted friends. That conversation on the tenth day was merely a formality—they had already realized there was only one way to survive.

When it comes to the Franklin Expedition, we don’t know how that decision was made. When Fitzjames died, how long had the men around him been starving, their stomachs aching with hunger? Did the fading vestiges of the Royal Navy chain of command hold them back at all before they finally gave in to their bodies’ demands? Fitzjames was captain of the Erebus and third in command of the expedition. When Franklin died, he became second in command. There may very well have been an instance in which he became the leader of the expedition itself, depending on when Captain Crozier succumbed to the inevitable. Did his men see him as their captain still, or as merely a body, the man he was long gone and his flesh nothing more than something that could be used to prolong their own lives, same as how the Andes survivors saw the bodies of their dead friends?

As I mentioned before, the Andes survivors didn’t really have a firm authority figure. The pilot and co-pilot of the plane died in the crash, and none of them had really known those men, so they held no feelings of friendship or kind sentiment towards them. However, the rugby players did have a team captain, Marcelo Pérez del Castillo. Not everyone on board the flight was a rugby player—some were just friends or relatives of the players, others were only distantly connected and had just wanted a cheap ticket to visit Chile for a few days—but those who knew Marcelo respected him. Marcelo survived the crash but died in an avalanche that occurred sixteen days afterwards, killing eight of the survivors. The avalanche buried the plane, and the survivors were stuck inside for three days before they dug their way out. During those three days, they were cut off from the bodies of those who had died in the crash. With no other option, they were forced to feed on the eight who had died in the avalanche.

The survivors don’t like to specify which bodies they ate, out of respect for the families of those who died, but we know at least some of those who died in the avalanche were consumed. Marcelo may have been one of them. Even though he had once been the leader of the team and a friend of many of the survivors, his friends had no choice but to do what they needed to survive. And during that conversation on the tenth day, those who were still alive had vowed that their bodies could be used by the others for food if they passed away first. Marcelo had known what his body would be used for, and he had offered it up so that his friends could live.

Had Fitzjames done something similar? In AMC’s The Terror, there is a scene where he tells Crozier to give his body to the men, but that’s a fictional version of what happened. We don’t know what really happened to him, or to most of the Franklin Expedition. But it’s possible he did offer himself up, that he knew he could still be of some use even after his death. The Andes flight disaster shows us the extremes people will go to in order to survive—but also, it shows us the compassion and selflessness that can occur in those extreme situations as well. We think of cannibalism as a terrible act, but the Andes survivors also viewed it as an act of love on their parts, to have offered themselves to each other, willing to have their bodies be cut open and eaten to save their friends.

We think of what happened to Fitzjames as brutal, especially considering the cut marks on his face suggest a particularly sad desperation as the remaining men ate whatever last bits of flesh they could find. And since there were no survivors, there is no happy ending where the men came home, haunted but alive. Looking at other instances of survival cannibalism, however, what those men did is understandable. Cannibalism is seen as uncivilized—the first reports of cannibalism among the Franklin Expedition were dismissed as ludicrous and obscene by Victorian society—but in times of desperation, even the most civilized of men know that it is the only practical recourse. Fitzjames may or may not have known that his body would be used for food, but he probably would not have faulted his men for what they did. They were hungry and they wanted to live.

#franklin expedition #james fitzjames #the terror #andes flight disaster #society of the snow #cannibalism #cold boys in cold places

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blurredcolour · 3 months

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What If We Just Fall?

Oh my goodness @supervalcsi this has been the hardest secret to keep! 'Tis I, your summer exchange gift writer! Thank you for all your hard work as the moderator of HBO War Daily, we deeply appreciate you!! It's been a pleasure getting to know you and I hope you enjoy your summer as well as this lovely interlude with sweet Rosie!!!

Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal x ATA!Female Reader

Flying with the Air Transport Auxiliary has taught you many lessons – including the importance of guarding your heart carefully. It seems fate, however, has much more to teach you when you are forced to make an emergency landing in East Anglia.

Warnings: Language, Era Typical Sexism, Fear, Crying, Kissing, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - T.

Author's note: No descriptions of reader other than the fact that she is not British. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5729

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October 1944

Meeting a man like Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal was not something you had expected when you volunteered for the Air Transport Auxiliary. In fact, you were not even supposed to land at Thorpe Abbotts Airfield until fate, or more accurately faulty wiring, intervened. Ferrying a Wellington bomber from its repair depot back to the RAF in Norfolk for use in their nighttime bombing runs, you were piloting the five-man aircraft alone – standard practice in the ATA. There was no radio, no navigator, and most definitely no guns. You were a civilian non-combatant and if any Luftwaffe fighter pilots happened to get onto your tail, you simply had to outfly them.

This was not your first Wellington, not by a long stretch, and while you preferred Spitfires for their speed and manoeuverability, these mid-sized bombers were usually fairly docile once they got off the ground. This particular aircraft, however, had been displaying a bad attitude from the moment it took to the air. How it had passed quality control inspection was beyond you. The wonders the mechanics were able to work in short turn arounds were usually feats of precision and skill, but almost immediately you noticed the rudder seemed reluctant to obey your steering commands.

A cascade of instrumentation issues followed before the left engine quit. There was a reason, however, that the ‘Wimpy’ as it was affectionately called by the boys who took the aircraft into combat, was still relied upon by the RAF despite the arrival of four-engine heavies like the Halifax and Lancaster. The Wellington could take a great deal of punishment; lose great chunks of its aluminium and linen airframe, be down one engine, and still get the crew to its destination. It was this reputation you were banking on as you pressed forward to your assigned airfield, hoping the ground crew there would treat this plane better than whomever had done it such a disservice at the repair depot.

You were, by your best guess of the landscape and quick glance at your maps, roughly twenty minutes out when the right engine began to choke and sputter.

“Shit.” You hissed under your breath, pleased no one could overhear you, and dropped your altitude to scan for a safe place to land.

During your pre-flight preparations, you had noted this area was dotted with American airfields as well as RAF; surely you could find a stretch of tarmac to keep both you and this precious piece of war material in one piece. The telltale ‘V’ of concrete, surrounded by still-lush grass waving in the autumn breeze, could not have come into view at a better time. Exhaling in relief as the indicator lights confirmed the wheels had descended at your command, you checked visually that the left was down and had to trust the right and rear were also – with no co-pilot to look for you, there was most definitely no way you could release the yoke and glance out the window yourself.

Hoping the allies would recognize you for a friendly, you lined up to make your landing, the right engine quitting on you as you decreased your speed. Holding your eyes open wide with focus, you leaned forward in your seat, gripping the yoke almost painfully, willing the aircraft to stay aloft to meet the first few inches of runway. The silence in the cockpit was agonizing, a tense ringing in your ears replacing the normal, companionable thrum of the engines, sweat stinging at your eyes and prickling in your armpits. Seconds drew out into hours until at last your tires – all three of them – bumped down to land on the runway.

With a sigh of relief, you quickly pulled up on the flaps, frowning deeply as, with no engines to throw into reverse, the large object in motion seemed reluctant to come to a stop. Mortifyingly, you overshot the end of the runway, skidding to a halt some one hundred meters in the grass like a wet-behind-the-ears trainee, and yet…and yet both you and the plane that you had been charged with delivering were still in one piece. Not at all where you were intended to be, but landed safely, for now.

The sound of several vehicles approaching from down the runway refocused your attention and you pulled off your leather flying helmet, smoothing your hair before gathering your things into your flight bag. Climbing from the dead aircraft, you were greeted by a host of astonished male faces.

“Jesus Christ, she’s a dame!” One of the younger men exclaimed, not so quietly, from the back of the crowd and you did your best to keep a straight face.

“I’m so sorry to intrude on your airfield, gentlemen, ran into a little trouble during my flight. I appreciated the safe place to land.”

Several eyebrows shot up at your distinct lack of British accent, at least one astute gaze dropping to the gold wire weave badge bearing the name of your home country just below your shoulders.

“Well, we’re just glad you’re alright, ma’am. We got very nervous when we couldn’t raise you on the radio.” The owner of said astute, piercing blue gaze spoke, a hint of…New York, was it?...colouring his tone.

“Ah, of course, we aren’t connected to radio in the Air Transport Auxiliary, sorry for the confusion that must have caused.” Stepping forward you offered your hand as you introduced yourself. “Second Officer, ATA.”

“Robert Rosental, Major, United States Army Air Force. What happened up there?”

It took a moment to register that he had asked you a question, the feel of his palm pressing against yours as he shook your hand in greeting more than a little distracting. Inhaling sharply, you turned back to look at the troublesome aircraft.

“Rudder was slow to respond, then I started losing my instruments one-by-one before the left engine cut out. I was hoping to make it on the right, but when it started to go, I knew I had no choice to put it down as soon as possible.”

“You flew that all by yourself?” Another member of the crowd piped up and you nodded patiently.

“Standard practice in the ATA, just me.”

“Maybe that was the real problem.” It was hard to tell where exactly the snide comment, spoken under some ignorant boy’s breath, had originated from.

You noted a flash of anger in Major Rosenthal’s eyes before he started to scan the crowd for the source of it, but this sort of response was something you had certainly encountered before.

“I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that, could whoever said that please repeat it? I’d really appreciate the opportunity to improve on the over seven hundred ferry flights I’ve made since 1941, including one hundred with this very type of plane, so please, speak up.” A sort of stunned silence overtook the group, several of the men wearing bemused smiles, others a look of shock, while the rest shuffled their feet awkwardly in the grass. “Hn. My loss, I suppose.”

“I’m assuming you’re a long ways from where you ought to be?” Major Rosenthal chimed in, the luscious thatch of hair of his upper lip highlighting the way his mouth hitched up at the corner in amusement.

“You would be correct, Major, might I impose upon you for the use of a telephone?”

Some directions were shouted to tow your aircraft to a spare hardstand as it seemed there were replacements planes of their own expected in a few hours and you turned to address the same man Rosenthal was giving orders to – Lemmons, you believed.

“Please be careful, its not a metal skin, it’s linen.”

The look of shock on the boy’s cherubic face framed by copious curls spilling from beneath his knit cap finally broke your control, a small grin sneaking onto your lips as Major Rosenthal led you over to his jeep. Unclipping your parachute from your waist, you tossed it and your flight bag into the back, sliding into your passenger’s seat and finally feeling the ability to relax somewhat.

“Over seven hundred flights?” He glanced at you as he drove, and you nodded softly.

“There are a lot of planes needing to be moved around this island.”

“And here I thought my boys had it rough needing to hit thirty…” He shook his head, driving past the control toward a sea of the all-too-familiar Nissen huts that populated every airfield you had ever visited.

“Ferry flights and combat missions are in no way comparable, Major, the worst thing I face up there is usually English weather.”

The pair of you shared a laugh as he pulled up in front of a long row of buildings. “My CO will want to talk with you, unexpected guest and all.”

“Of course, caused quite the ruckus didn’t I.” You laughed ruefully, sliding from the jeep to collect your gear, startled as he beat you to it.

“Follow me.” He nodded warmly, holding open the door to lead you inside.

After a brief meeting with a very busy Colonel Jeffrey where he put ‘Rosie’ at your disposal, you were ushered into an empty office to use the telephone and contact your superiors. Providing a detailed report of your flight, you were instructed to sit tight pending further directions – most likely an RAF repair crew would be dispatched to try and get the plane operational, but they were also loathe to keep you grounded and out of the rotation for too long. Providing them with Jeffrey’s secretary’s number as the point of contact, you stepped out of the office to find Major Rosenthal waiting patiently in the hallway.

“You must be starving…”

“I would not say no to some food, by any means.” You smirked and followed him back out to the jeep for the short drive to the officer’s mess. “You sure its alright for me to eat in here? RAF doesn’t usually…”

“I insist.” He nodded and opened the door for you once more.

With a grateful nod, you stepped into the space flooded with natural light where row on row of tables covered in crisp white linens stood empty. Given that it was an odd hour for a meal, somewhere between breakfast and lunch, it was no surprise that you were practically alone in there. A server in a white coat quickly approached and Major Rosenthal looked to you to place your order from the choices on offer before requesting just a coffee for himself, pulling out a chair for you to sit before setting your kit in the empty chair beside you.

“This is really quite civilized, thank you again. I apologize that I’m not really dressed for the occasion…”

He chuckled warmly and shook his head. “You look prettier than me after I fly, though I’m quite confident you start out that way, too.” He winked and you smiled shyly, busying yourself with laying your napkin across your lap.

Major Rosenthal was not the first handsome airman to cross your path in your line of work, there had been countless men who had either jeered or flattered you. But after opening your heart to several early on and promptly losing them to a ruthless enemy, you had learned better than to let yourself fall for such girlish stupidity again.

“Having a second breakfast Rosie? Oh…oh I’m sorry I didn’t see you were entertaining…”

“No apologies Croz, one of the lovely ladies of the Air Transport Auxiliary dropped in for a visit.” He grinned and introduced you properly to his friend and Group Navigator Harry Crosby who was apparently only finishing his breakfast now.

“A pleasure, well I’ll leave you two to it. Make sure Rosie tells you about his love of jazz.” His knowing grin at his friend drew an exasperated exhale from Rosenthal, but before he could protest, the server was returning with food and hot beverages that were fit to make your mouth water and Crosby had disappeared.

“I don’t think I realized quite how hungry I was…” You murmured, fixing your drink to your liking before seizing your utensils to dive in.

“Well then, please, enjoy.” He leaned back, cradling his cup in his hands to allow you to enjoy your meal.

After a few bites, once you were feeling somewhat less ravenous, you tilted your head. “Artie Shaw or Benny Goodman?”

He raised an eyebrow slowly before huffing an incredulous laugh. “Artie Shaw, if I must.”

You nodded thoughtfully as you took a deep sip of your beverage.

“What other planes have you flown in your seven hundred ferry flights?” He parried with a question of his own.

“Oh, all sorts - Tiger Moths, Hurricanes, Mosquitos, Spitfires.”

He nodded thoughtfully, smoothing the edge of his moustache with his forefinger. “Favorite plane to fly?” He inquired.

“To fly? Spitfire, without a doubt.” You answered easily, licking a bit of food from your upper lip. “That plane knows what I want it to do before I even think it. Landing however…one the test pilots famously said, ‘she’s a lady in the air but a bi–’” you quickly cut yourself off with a rueful twist of your lips “she’s something else ‘on the ground.’” You finished the quote with more appropriate language inserted.

Rosenthal’s eyes danced with mirth as he enjoyed a hearty laugh at that and you could not help but notice the reddish hue to the whiskers on his upper lip, highlighted by the sunlight streaming in the windows. You wondered if that was where he had gotten the nickname ‘Rosie.’ Jarring yourself from such dangerous thoughts, you quickly turned back to your meal and peppered him with more questions about American jazz greats, enjoying the way he enthusiastically and engagingly spoke about the various band leaders he preferred and why before turning back to you with further questions about your service in the ATA and life before that. Conversation came dangerously easy between the two of you, an undeniable overlap of interests and motivation to contribute.

You were admittedly attracted to the man as well, but for the sake of your sanity, that was something you were going to have to set aside for as long as he continued his brave yet perilous missions over enemy territory. The mess gradually began to fill as true lunch time arrived, your meal and his coffee long finished, and you were about to get up and find somewhere else to wait out the repair crew when one of the servers approached with a message that they had already arrived and were looking for you.

A short drive to the hardstand revealed the four RAF men hard at work on the Wellington under the curious eye of Lemmons and others who were occasionally drifting by.

“When I get my hands on whatever git did this to this poor Wimpy…” You could hear the threats and grumblings emanating from inside the fuselage and pressed your lips together, hoping it was the previous repairperson they had it out for and not you.

“Gentlemen?” You popped your head into the bomber and were greeted by several flustered men.

“Ah there you are Ma’am, how on earth did you keep this lobotomized plane in the air for so long?!”

“Well you know, a good old Wimpy can always get you home…or at least a friendly field.”

“We’ve got…a good few hours ahead of us but then I think you’ll be able to finish the last leg of the journey.”

“Thank you very much, I’m sorry to take you away from your more pressing work. Can I get you anything?”

“Crew Chief Lemmons has been very helpful, Ma’am, but thank you.”

You offered the young man a smile of thanks over your shoulder before shuffling over to set your belongings on the grass. The afternoon was fair, the weather still warm, so you figured it was as good a place as any to wait it out. To your surprise and pleasure, Rosenthal settled onto the ground beside you, picking up your conversation right where you left off as you listened to the men work through the thin skin of the aircraft, watching the sun make its way to the western sky to sink toward the horizon.

“You know, Major, you really ought to come visit London some time. We may not have Artie Shaw or Benny Goodman live in concert but there’s still a great deal of jazz to be enjoyed.”

“Please, you can call me Rosie if you’d like.” He smiled softly and you nodded in response, not wanting to have been so bold without his permission. “You stationed that close that you can just pop into the jazz clubs?”

You nodded quickly. “White Waltham, near Windsor Castle. Very short train ride. Used to fly with the Spitfire girls out of Southampton but I wanted a chance to fly the twin engines…maybe even someday I’ll get inside a Halifax or a Lanc…but that was definitely not going to happen in a ferry pool right next to the Spitfire factory flying only short-range flights.”

“These four engine beasts are definitely a whole other ball game,” He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder towards a B-17 looming behind him, dwarfing the Wellington with is height and breadth “would you still be alone?”

“ATA sends a flight engineer on four engine flights, but no co-pilot.”

He nodded thoughtfully, looking about to add something when the RAF repair crew suddenly emerged, grinning in satisfaction.

“Should be all set Ma’am, care to give it a whirl?”

Nodding quickly, you looked to your companion softly. “Thank you very much for an unexpectedly pleasant standby, Rosie.”

“My pleasure.” He responded with a grin, sliding to his feet and holding out his hand to pull you to yours.

Clipping your parachute in place on the back of your thighs, you slid on your helmet before climbing into the aircraft to try starting the engines. Running through an extended pre-flight check with one of the maintenance crew, they cleared you for take off, Rosie waving to you before driving off in the direction of the control tower. Beginning to taxi out, you could not help the grin as he returned to guide you down the runway, pulling off into the grass and waving once again from where he stood in the driver’s seat of his jeep.

Opening the cockpit window you shouted down to him, “See you in London, Rosie!” before taking off to the sound of his laughter.

To your delight, Rosie heeded your suggestion and made the trip to London – several times in fact, over the course of the winter, otherwise keeping in touch with you via letter. Despite the logical, cautious part of your brain demanding that you keep your feelings for him at bay, feelings that constantly threatened to swell and overwhelm you with each passing meeting and letter, you still found yourself constantly fretting for his safety. Awaiting his next contact, the next proof of life, with bated breath and firmly denied distraction whenever a friend or colleague would tease you about it.

How utterly rude it was of fate to throw such a perfect specimen in your path. Particularly one that could so very easily be taken away with the same rapidity. For not only was he breathtakingly handsome, but his understated confidence and capability in all things so far encountered simply made you yearn to discover his more hidden talents. To have survived so long in an occupation where the life expectancy was six-weeks, just forty-two days, and then sign up for a second tour after meeting his mission quota – yes, he’d had luck on his side thus far, but you had seen luck abandon far too many in the last few years.

The driving pace of your own worked helped distract you, undertaking training in the four engine Halifax bomber in December before the calendar turned to January 1945, and then onto February. Your commanding officer soon indicated you had nearly accumulated enough hours to begin flying Lancasters – much to your delight and eager anticipation. The pace of the production and demand on the frontlines required more ferry pilots for the British answer to the B-17 and you were more than ready to meet the challenge head on.

Not far into the month, however, you found yourself stranded near Diss on a weather delay, unable to fly back to White Waltham. With no trains until the next morning, you decided to hitch a ride to Thorpe Abbotts to take Rosie up on his standing offer to ‘drop by anytime.’ What greeted you, however, was a very concerned looking Crosby and no Rosie in sight. Sitting you down in the same spare office you had used to call in your emergency landing last October, the obviously under-slept man seemed to be having some difficulty getting down to the point.

“Major Crosby, I can assure you I am no stranger to the variety of outcomes of aerial combat, would you mind telling me as much as you are able before you asphyxiate from lack of oxygen?” You coaxed firmly, quite certain he had not taken a breath in over a minute as he paced anxiously in front of you.

His head jerked up at the sound of your voice and he nodded once before sinking heavily into the chair opposite you before taking a deep breath, to your minor relief, and beginning to speak.

“Rosie went up on a mission on the 3rd and we’ve had no news of him since he dropped out of formation.”

Your spine went completely rigid, snapping you almost painfully upright in your chair as you nodded in a cool, detached manner at the news. This. This was precisely the reason why you had been guarding your heart and fighting your feelings and putting every moment of wonderment and each smile of adoration you felt for the man in a small internal box for safe keeping. Because this very situation had seemed so very inevitable.

So why did it still hurt so damn much.

“No news is, is usually good news in these cases but it takes a while for us to hear…. well anything.”

You gulped once, twice in rapid succession as you nodded again before clearing your throat forcefully. “Well, Major, I have to go but,” grabbing a piece of paper from the desk, you scrawled the contact number for Ferry Pool No. 1, rapidly blinking as your eyes threatened to cloud over with tears “will you call if you hear anything? That you can share of course.”

“Of course I will, did you need a ride somewhere?”

You shook your head almost violently, looking forward to the walk to the pub in Diss, a good roadside cry would fix everything surely, before you had to show your face in public. Practically dashing out of there and off the base, you barely made it out of earshot of the gatehouse before your tears bubbled over. Fine lot of good all your cautious and careful planning had done you – you had been half a person in Rosie’s presence only to have the very emotions you willfully denied snap back at you tenfold now that he might very well be…and you never once got to see how his eyes might light up if you had told him how you really felt. Feel.

All the logic in the world could not save you now as you blindly sobbed your way towards town, stubbornly wiping at your nose with your handkerchief. If you had really lost him, a very real possibility that twisted your gut painfully and drew an extremely dramatic series of hitching sobs from your breast, he had deserved better. He had deserved to know that he was cherished and admired rather than just a friend to you, and on that front, you had failed so miserably you just might never forgive yourself.

The weeks of watchful waiting were long and painful. No news came, no messages awaited you at Pool Headquarters, no gossip on the bases you visited. Until the morning of the 26th when, to your great relief, and amusement, you learned that the man was alive and well, enjoying a hero’s stay in Moscow, of all places. The newspaper article quoting the absurd volume of vodka he had endured consuming brought a long-absent smile to your face and lightness to your chest, the news beating Major Crosby’s phone call by, at most, thirty minutes. All as you were on your way with your flight engineer to your first routine Lancaster ferry flight.

Climbing into the cockpit, you took the brief moment of solitude to close your eyes, inhaling deeply as you whispered words of gratitude to whatever higher entities had clearly been watching over him. Perhaps luck was never going to run out for Robert Rosenthal. Clearly you were a fool for thinking that was the eventuality here.

“Ma’am?” The timid voice of your flight engineer, Naylor – though everyone called him Tiny Tim for the young man hardly ever spoke above a whisper, pierced through your thoughts and you jolted back to reality quickly, offering him a reassuring smile.

“Let’s pop over to Wales and deliver this bird, shall we?” You did your best to display nothing but confidence in the task before you.

He smiled back with a nod, just as eager as you to get this great beast of a plane into the air. To say that heavies became the primary planes on your delivery roster would have been an overstatement, but they were most definitely a constant. As was the ever-present thought that someday soon you would find yourself face-to-face with Rosie once again and just how to handle that day of reckoning was certainly something you found impossible to decide upon.

Should you confess and apologize on sight? Wait for a few weeks for him to settle back into life on base before unloading your feelings onto him? Or continue on as you had before? The way your stomach plummeted like a wounded bird at the last option was a clear illustration of how impossible it would be to pretend you simply regarded him as a friend. But there was a growing fear as well. For all of your focus on concealing and compartmentalizing your own feelings, you had not once allowed yourself to consider how he might feel for you. Aside from some flattering comments that may have been construed as flirtatious, he had never displayed anything but the highest calibre of warmth and social graces towards you. But you found yourself constantly pondering just how Rosie might react to a confession of what had flickered into an irrepressible blaze in your chest.

In the end, you spent more time sitting with those concerns than those for his very well being, the unseasonable warmth of February continuing on into March, with more sunny days than you had grown accustomed to after living in England for so long. April was only a few days away on the calendar when your next ferry run took to you St. Mawgan to deliver a Lancaster to the RAF Overseas Aircraft Despatch Unit. Where exactly the aircraft’s journey would end was a point of mystery and you were admittedly envious of the pilot who would sit in the lefthand seat next and take it beyond the relative safety of England’s shores – territory that was strictly off limits to you as both a civilian and especially as a woman.

Parting with your flight Engineer Martens in the all-female WAAF mess, the girl avidly ensconced in a conversation comparing beaus with the girls stationed in Cornwall, you headed back out to pick up a damaged Spitfire that had just arrived from France, desperately in need of a visit to the repair depot. In the process of inspecting the aircraft, to ensure you knew precisely what damage you would be needing to overcome, a remarkably familiar voice broke through your concentration.

“She certainly still looks like a lady on the ground…rather mistreated, but definitely a lady nonetheless.”

Straightening and turning far too quickly, you cracked your head on the underside of the fuselage, earning a look of sympathy as his hands cupped your shoulders to pull you closer, out of danger of inflicting further harm to yourself.

“Rosie…” You whispered, staring at him, unable to stop your fingers from reaching out to brush his cheek, to confirm he was real.

The muscles of his face crinkled beneath your touch as he broke out into a smile, an expression you immediately echoed despite the unbidden prick of tears in the corners of your eyes.

“Hi there.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed sharply, face growing slightly solemn as he lay his hand atop yours, pressing your palm fully against his warm skin. “I’ve been a complete fool, and I’m not sure if you can forgive me.” You tilted your head, brows furrowing in bewilderment. “The world out there is dead set on tearing itself apart and I…” His tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously, an emotion you were quite confident you had never seen overcome him before. “The entire time I was struggling to get back here just to tell you. To tell you how much I care for you. You are much more than just a friend to me, and I was an idiot to think I was okay with putting this off until the war was over.”

Eyes widening as the man seemed to be stealing the very thoughts from your head and putting them into words before you even had the chance, you sniffled playful and wiped at a stray tear that had managed to sneak down your cheek. “Don’t you go taking all the credit now, Robert.” You chided warmly, earning a stunned look from him in return. “It has taken two complete fools to deny what we’ve become, wouldn’t you say?”

Huffing a soft laugh, Rosie conceded your point with a nod as he grasped the unbuckled ends of your leather flying helmet, tugging your face closer. “I love you, you incredible woman.”

Taking a notably shaky inhale, you nodded quickly, a few more tears spilling over. “I love you, too, Rosie.” You struggled to speak around the knot of emotions in your throat, fully intending to reciprocate with some sweet term of endearment, not quite certain you could manage.

Mercifully, his lips had the grace to press against yours and save you from trying to say anything more. Grasping the fleece collar of his bomber jacket, you pressed closer in the shadow of the plane you ought to be inspecting, but the Spitfire was doing a fine job of shielding you from prying eyes and five more minutes in the arms of the man you loved – yes, it was love – and had been separated from could easily be made up courtesy of the stiff tail wind you expected on your flight to Southampton.

The rasp of his facial hair made you shiver at the slightly ticklish sensation as he maintained a firm grip on your straps, delivering kiss after kiss as if to make up for lost time. An uncontrollable grin stretched across your lips, making it nearly impossible for him to continue and so he shifted to focus on erasing any trace of tears from your cheeks, only encouraging your grin to curl wider until you were simultaneously giggling and trembling at the feel of his moustache against your jaw.

“Someday, we’ll have a lot more time, and I’m going to spend every second of it kissing you…” His eyes were filled with a fiery intensity that made it awfully difficult to draw breath and you shifted forward to press your lips to his flushed cheek in turn.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Robert Rosenthal.” You nodded firmly as you pulled back, arching sharply as his hands slid to rest against your shoulder blades, his mouth landing on yours fiercely.

“First Officer, are you quite ready?!” The shrill bark of an encroaching member of St. Mawgan’s ground crew wrenched the pair of you apart as effectively as a physical intervention, a shared look of reluctance passing between you as you quickly straightened your clothing.

You noticed his eyes flick to your shoulders to admire your new rank badges.

“You’ve been busy.” He murmured and you smiled with quiet pride.

“Fly Lancasters now, too.” You nodded and pointed over his shoulder to the plane you had flown in that morning before turning to address your intruder as he called your name once more. “Nearly ready, thank you so much for your patience!” You poured on the sweetness in your tone, noting the way Rosie’s eyes narrowed slightly as they returned to your face.

Biting back a giggle you blew him a kiss before emerging around the nose to greet the harried RAF man. “Major Rosenthal of the USAAF has never seen a Spitfire before, he asked me to show him around.”

“Thank you again for your indulgence, Ma’am, they are definitely fine planes. But I will let you get on with it.” Rosie played his part admirably, the set of the intruder’s shoulders easing somewhat.

“Yes, yes, well we need you out of here in five.” He turned to look at the clipboard in his hand and your gaze met Rosie’s once more.

“It was my pleasure, Major. I’d best be off.”

“Of course.” He nodded firmly, eyes remaining locked on yours as he mouthed ‘love you’ making your heart lurch erratically for a few beats as you mouthed it back. “Safe flight.” You spoke aloud.

“You as well.”

Noting the RAF man was once again paying attention to his surroundings, you turned to finish your quick once over of the plane before stepping up onto the wing and slotting into the narrow cockpit before pulling the side flap closed and starting the engine. Once the coast was clear, you blew one last kiss to Rosie, laughing brightly as he made quite a show of catching it and tucking it into his pocket.

“Until next time!” He shouted and you nodded brightly, pulling the canopy closed.

Because there most definitely would be a next time for you and your man of endless luck, and that was something that you no longer wished to deny.

-------------------------

Masters of the Air Masterlist

Postscript - thank you ever so much to @precious-little-scoundrel for proofreading this for me!!

#hbowarsummer24 #rosie rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal x you #robert rosenthal x reader #robert rosenthal x you #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #mastersoftheair

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suppermariobroth · 1 year

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In Donkey Kong 64, a glitch exists that allows Diddy Kong to reach extremely high altitudes as long as he is next to a wall or an invisible wall.

During Diddy's Chimpy Charge move, there is a 1-frame window where he can jump if he is about to hit a wall. During this jump, there is again a 1-frame window where he can perform another Chimpy Charge. This can be chained together to make him climb in mid-air, as shown in the footage.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: youtube.com user "TJ Blakely"

#donkey kong 64 #nintendo

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 4 months

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S/O drags skeleton into a hot-air balloon. It's his very first time. How does he react?

Undertale Sans - He takes it surprisingly well, to the point he surprises himself. Sans hates heights, but after the instructor what was going to happen, he's a lot more comfortable. Sans likes to know when he's going. He still tries to not look down, but it's actually pretty fun. He can't believe people can literally fly sometimes, he loves technology.

Undertale Papyrus - He's definitely cool with it. Well, he's trying to convince himself he's definitely cool with it. In reality, his knees are shaking uncontrollably and you can hear all of his bones rattling, even though he's trying really hard to hide it. He only relaxes once the balloon stops moving, and that he realizes he's actually fine. He's even having fun after some time!

Underswap Sans - He's overexcited and keeps jumping in the basket, asking to go higher. You're having a lot less fun as the basket is pitching more and more and you're kinda scared your skeleton is going to kill you both.

Underswap Papyrus - He was very fine the first two minutes. Until his mind brutally realized he was really high in the sky right now and that falling this high would surely kill him. He can't get rid of the thought, has a panic attack, and his brain stops working soon after. Honey faints in your arms and refuses to regain consciousness before you're on the ground again lol.

Underfell Sans - He was playing the big guy and all but he still tried to change your mind a dozen of times before you got in the thing. Now that you're in the air, Red is really not feeling well. He's sitting in the basket, both arms spread and clinging to the wall behind him, and he's breathing heavily, refusing to stand up or look outside. Please, he's begging you. Let's go back on the ground.

Underfell Papyrus - He was really fine with the whole thing until the instructor thought it would be funny to scare them by suddenly saying the balloon is losing altitude and to throw his S/O outside to lose weight. You then had to convince Edge to not throw the man out of the basket as he threatened the poor instructor and asks him to say that again to his face.

Horrortale Sans - He didn't understand you wanted to go in the sky. He was fine just going inside the thing for one or two photos, but clearly not for the thing to suddenly move and fly. Oak is completely freaking out and eventually jumps mid-air. He hurts himself badly as he slams into the floor, and it gets worse as people actually try to help him, he immediately attacks, defensive, before running away to hide in the woods. You're going to search for him for long hours after this...

Horrortale Papyrus - He's very uncomfortable but he trusts you when you say it's safe. He doesn't have any other choice anyway now that he is so high in the sky. He's still holding to one of the ropes and refuses to let go. He knows that won't save him if the thing suddenly pops or worse, but it helps him mentally. He has enough after the first time though. Next time you want to do that, he will decline politely.

Swapfell Sans - He's not that impressed. He expected to be more scared than that. He looks disappointed during the whole trip and actually even gets bored of the view after a while and simply decides to sit in the basket to keep reading his book. The only one who gets hurt in this story is your wallet, and the 300 gold you spent on the trip.

Swapfell Papyrus - Wow, that's the first time you see him silent for more than two minutes. And that pale as well. Rus didn't know he was terrified of heights before that precise moment. He doesn't look fine, and he swears he's going to be sick if this thing keeps pitching so much. As soon as you land, he faceplants into the floor and then refuses to move for an entire hour, so happy he's back on the ground.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He tells you that someday, all of these lands will be his. He then doesn't understand why you call him nothing but Mufasa for an entire week. It's not funny. Who's Mufasa? He doesn't know that guy but he wants to kill him so bad for ruining his life now. Somehow, it makes you laugh even more. Now he's giving you the judgemental stare. Your intelligence is questioning him.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He's on your back, holding to you for dear life, his face buried deep into your hoodie. And he keeps begging you to go down, more and more distressed. He misses his room, his wardrobe, and his art supplies. Why did he accept to leave the house again? This is the worst day of his life, and he's going to die, and oh my god do something! Even after you land, he refuses to let go and keeps whining for you to get him home. He didn't like that lol.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

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beautifulmars · 5 months

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HiPOD: Slope and Gully Monitoring

Our science goal with this target is to monitor frost in active gullies in Moni Crater. Additionally, we want to observe lineae associated with sand dunes on the eastern rim of the crater and seen to be active in the Martian winter. Moni is an approximately 5-km diameter crater in the southern mid-latitude highlands of Noachis Terra, on the inner ring of the larger Kaiser Crater.

ID: ESP_075233_1325 date: 14 August 2022 altitude: 252 km

https://uahirise.org/hipod/ESP_075233_1325 NASA/JPL-Caltech/UArizona #Mars #science #NASA

#mars #nasa #science #geology #landscape #astronomy #uarizona

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tgmsunmontue · 7 months

Text

Team Player 1/7

Hangster. Jake's cousin plays for the Sydney Roosters and gifts him with merchandise regularly. Bradley has an unexpected realization.

Jake opens the gift from his cousin and snorts. He can never wear this.

“You like it? It’s for the team I just signed with…”

Of course it is. Fuck.

“Congrats man, really happy for you. Thanks.”

“You’ll have to watch a game when you come visit. Wait, do they show footy matches on TV here?”

“Footy? Jake asks, eyebrow raised, because he thought is was rugby that Josh played.

“Rugby league. Footy. And we don’t wear all those pads and helmets like you lot do over here.”

Jake ducks his head to hide a smile, his younger cousin immensely proud of his own country and national sport. Not something Jake will ever understand, but he does understand passion and loyalty.

… … …

“The Hard Deck, what’s that mean?”

“Well, the way you say it makes it sound like something far filthier than what I think it should mean…”

“Still doesn’t tell me what it means… Hard Deck Hard Deck Hard Deck…”

“Oh my god, can you stop with sayin’ that! Sound like you’re sayin’ you’ve got a hard dick…”

His other cousins snort and he wonders why he thought it would be a good idea to agree showing them around San Diego. Of course, three people in their early to mid-twenties versus their parents who are all in their mid-sixties to seventies he’d felt that maybe they’d want a break from one another. He can’t imagine going on a four-week vacation with his parents. Ever. Let alone as a fully-grown adult. A couple of weeks visiting home is his limit, and even then he has to spend most of the time out of the house and helping out around outside to get away from the oppressive expectation of how he hasn’t brought anyone home. Again.

“Tell me what it means!”

“It’s slang for altitude you idiot, now stop being a dick!” Emma says, slapping at her younger brother’s head and Jake wishes he had a closer relationship with his own sister.

“Well that’s just boring! Hard Dick sounds like we’re going somewhere interesting!”

“It’s a Navy bar, just… thought I’d introduce you to a couple of my friends.”

“You have friends?” Isabella asks, and Jake pulls a face. Maybe he’s glad he doesn’t have a close relationship after all.

“Jake!”

“Javy, hey. Man it’s good to see you.”

“You too… these your cousins? Can definitely see they got the better deal in the gene pool…” Javy says, smiling over Jake’s should and he glances back and he guesses his cousins are attractive, except they’re his cousins and he’s seen them grow up through regular photos exchanged via their parents, and this is only the third time in his life that he’s spent any significant chunk of time with them. And of course Javy is already getting flirty with them. Halo and Fritz are there, he can see Bob and Phoenix at the bar.

“Yeah. Everyone, these are my cousins Isabella, Emma and Josh. They’re currently visiting because of my dad’s seventieth birthday. And don’t let him drink,” Jake says, pointing at Josh. “He’s not legal.”

“Hey! It’s legal back home.”

“And Penny here could be fined for serving minors. So no.”

“Also you’re meant to be preparing for camp, which means no empty calories.”

“Ugh. You guys are the worst.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet your trainers, because what we put you through will seem like child’s play…”

It falls into easy banter, his cousins asking dozens of questions and his squadron humoring them and he takes a sip of beer from the bottle Phoenix hands him.

Life is good.

… … …

“You want to tell us something there Bagman?”

“What?”

She tugs at his top and he glances down, realizes he’s wearing the tank that Josh sent him for working out in. He apparently gets a lot of merchandise and Jake seems to be the person he wants to send it to. Apparently he has a case of hero worship. However this particular top is damned comfortable and perfect for working out in, almost as good as wearing nothing, which isn’t an option at the on-base gymnasium, but he’d just grabbed it subconsciously.

“Uh, it’s the team my cousin plays for.”

“And you’re wearing it why?”

“I like it,” he says, and he mentally hits himself in the forehead with his palm. What the fuck is he thinking. He could have said it’s comfortable, or it’s washing day, only clean thing I had, not… I like it.

“Really? Interesting. Wait, was this your male cousin? Josh?”

“Yeah. It’s a rugby team.”

“Mmm. Rugby is a game to enjoy watching…”

“What?”

“No covering up of those athletic bodies, all out on show… Strike a pose Seresin, I’ll send it to you so you can send it to your cousin and show your appreciation.”

He frowns, because Josh would probably like that, but he’s pretty sure Trace is up to something because she never calls him Seresin. He stands and lets her take the photo though, giving her a grin and a wink, because why the hell not?

… … …

Bradley stares at his phone.

Stares some more until the screen goes black and he unlocks it and the photo is back.

Jake Seresin wearing a basketball top, sweat-shiny and winking at the camera, hair dark, damp and mussed from working out. He looks good. That’s all his brain can process.

Natasha��s message telling him he really missed a good workout at the gym.

Bradley’s never thought about his callsign as a thing before, as a name that might brand someone as his. He’s never been a particularly possessive boyfriend. Seeing Hangman wear a top with Roosters across the front makes his fingers itch, and not only because he wants to go and add an apostrophe, but because he wants to touch. He’s wanted to touch Hangman before, sometimes to punch him in the face, but mostly to rough him up a little bit… he’s always resisted though, aware he’s got to keep sharp control of his temper.

Right now it’s not his temper he has to keep control of.

To be continued? 🤷‍♀️

PART TWO

(Obviously the answer to it being continued was 'yes!!!')

#Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun Maverick #rooster x hangman #and they don't even interact in this #Team Player

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totallyunidentified · 4 months

Text

Auntie Omega

A/n This is dedicated to my best friend who gave me this idea and let me run with it.

Omega lives to see the fall of the Empire and the rise of the First Order. She joins Leia and helps train pilots for the resistance.

This is a part one of what I’m hoping to make a longer series

I hope you enjoy!!

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Leia, I'm just about done.”

Omega looks at her old friend who she had been fighting alongside since the early days of the Rebellion. In the years between the Empire’s fall and the first order’s rise the two had always been friends. Wrinkles had started to show on her face as much as they did on her own.Growing up and old together. Leia had accompanied Omega to visit Pabu many times, and was with Omega when she returned home the three times when it was the hardest. She had held her as she cried and reminded her that, though her brothers were gone, she was not alone. She would always have her fellow Rebels and she’d always have Leia.

“I don’t know why you would think that, You know as well as I do these pilots aren’t gonna train themselves. I need you here, Mega.”

“I know, I know,” Omega chuckles. “I just want to retire to Pabu, like my brothers did. I’ve had twice as many years as they got, I want to be able to put fresh flowers on their markers and watch Batcher’s great grand pups play on the beach. Wrecker’s kids aren’t getting any younger, I want to see them grow.”

They’d had this conversation before, sitting at this very briefing table. Omega felt done. The First Order was relentless and she didn’t want to lose any more people she loved. She fiddles with the necklace around her neck as Leia speaks.

“How ‘bout this? I’ve got this one kid — huge pain in my ass,you’ll love him — he needs training. He’s already good but you can make him great.”

“You are trying to appeal to my ego,”

“Is it working?”

“….yes,” Omega grumbles as Leia laughs

“Listen Megs, this kid is crazy. You were trained by crazy.”

“Hey!”

“You said that yourself! Crazy knows crazy so I need you to train him. You’ll like him, I promise. You’ve trained all my best pilots. Who was that last girl? Hillary? Holland? Oh, Holly! That’s it. You made her one of our best. She’s just about as good as Luke was, you know.”

Omega sighs, leaning more onto the table.

“Fine. But if he's a little shit then you owe me dinner.”

“Add it to my tab,” Leia laughs and stands up, motioning for Omega to follow her. They walk out of the briefing room and down the hall to the hangar, passing many who either greet or salute them as they pass. Both women smile and salute in return. Everyone on base had almost grown up with Aunt Omega and General Leia. If they hadn’t then they were surprised to find that Omega would adopt them eventually.

If Omega didn’t personally adopt you then she found you others who would be your family. She knew what it felt like to be isolated while surrounded by people. If she saw you sitting by yourself then she made sure to send someone else over and would make you start talking to each other. Omega always had an uncanny ability to bring people together exactly how they needed it.

As they walk into the hangar they squint as the bright sun comes through the open hangar doors.They hear it before they see it. Two figures, one man and one woman, both human,both in flight suits. Pilots. The space between them narrows as their voices get louder.

“You can’t shut off the karking engine mid-flight!” the woman yells up at the man in front of her.

“With enough altitude and, oh I dunno, life and death, then yes! I can!” the man yells back.

The pair is nearly nose-to-nose by the time Omega steps in.

“You two! Holly, you’ve got a cooler head than this.Tell me what's going on.”

“This nerfherder thinks that shutting the engines off would make for an effective escape strategy.”

“In the sky, or out in space?”

“In the sky, Aunt Mega. He’s got a kriffing death wish.”

Omega looks at the young man,standing there with his arms crossed and chest heaving. He’s ready for a fight.

“Well? In the sky would you turn your engine off?”

“He said tha—”

Omega holds up her hand, quietening Holly immediately.

“No. I want to hear this from him. It is his idea after all. So Mr. Trouble-maker…”

“Poe.”

“Gesundheit. Mr. Trouble-maker, care to explain why you think killing your engines in the middle of a battle would help you in any way?” Omega questions.

Poe thinks over his answer before beginning what she knew would be a long-winded speech bloated with chest-puffing and exaggeration. She knew both well.

“Well, as I was saying to my lovely acquaintance — Holly, was it —,if you’re skilled enough, a pilot could kill your engines only halfway and dropped behind enemy fighters and become the one doing the chasing.”

He finishes his explanation with a nod to a glowering Holly and turns his gaze back to the woman in front of him.

Poe had heard of the “Aunt Omega” of base camp. In her eyes there was a sparkle that spoke of wisdom, kindness, and love. Her hair is white as Hoth, held back by a red bandana,her face covered in laugh-lines that were evidence of a good life full of happiness. Everyone said that she was kind, loving, caring, and more. They also said she was hard-headed, extremely quick, and took no bullshit from anyone.

“Your response, Holly?” Omega turns to Holly looking to create a discussion instead of an argument.

“I said bullshit because your engines wouldn’t be able to turn off and then back on quickly enough to escape.”

“Half off,” Poe snaps back.

“Oh yeah well I’m gonna cut half your—“

Holly isn’t able to finish her sentence before Omega stops her once again.

“Thrusters.”

“Pardon?” Poe looks at Omega incredulously

“Not the engine but the thrusters. You have to lower the thrusters and pull back if you even hope to dream of finishing that tight of a turn.Technically, it could be possible if you lowered your thrusters to slow down already but kept the engines primed when you shut them off. And then turned them back on and immediately throttled all the way up.” Omega says, rubbing her chin in thought, though she already knows the answer. Her brother had taught her this years ago.

Poe turns to Holly and very maturely sticks his tongue out. She flips him off in return.

“All right, all right. Since you two have decided to be as immature as possible, why don't you test this out?”

“Mega, I don't know if that's a good idea,” Leia tries to start before Omega shoots her a trust me look.

“Those two x-wings have your names on them. Troublemaker, you get to test your theory and if you’re wrong, Holly you get to take out your frustrations in a game of tag,”

“Tag? What are we, twelve?”

“Did you play tag in x-wings at twelve years old?”

“Wouldn't you like to know, flyboy”

“Real mature.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Leia and Omega watch the two bicker before looking at each other and laughing, grinning at the next generation of youngsters who would be taking their places.

“If you two are done, I want to see what you’re made of. Go.”

The pilots shoot one last glare at each other before racing to their x-wings,throwing on their helmets, each one trying to beat the other to their ship. They carefully race through their pre-flight checks obviously safety is a large concern when playing tag with an X-wing.

“I’ll give you a couple seconds head start, Troublemaker.” Holly can be heard throughout the hangar, Omega turns and sees that there is a group starting to form around a radio connected to the com systems.

“The name’s Poe.”

“Is it?”

“Fifty credits the new kid eats it, Holly’s got this,” one mechanic says as he and another pull up crates for the growing crowd to sit on.

As Holly takes off she makes eye contact with Omega, giving her a two fingered salute.

“See? Crazy needs crazy,” Leia comments as they turn their attention to Poe who had been doing some tricks to warm up.

“You said he could fly, what is it that he's doing now? That's just fancy flippage and twirling.”

“Meh, he's got the foundation. I need you to help build the rest.”

They both practice for several minutes, getting comfortable in their fighters before hearing Omega’s voice through the speakers.

“Alright, I want a nice clean game. The guns are set to simulation so you can shoot as normal without messing up those beautiful paint jobs. Three tags and you're out. Got it?”

“Affirmative Auntie.”

Silence…

“Troublemaker?”

“It's not— ugh! Nevermind, yeah got it,”

The two fighters swing away from each other. The crowd on the ground cheers as Holly spins and hits the accelerator immediately closing in on Poe,

“Tag! You’re it!” Her joyous shout can be heard over the coms. The responding muttered string of curses isn't heard as clearly over the audience’s cheers for their friend.

“That’s one for Holly! Troublemaker, I’m still waiting to see that fancy trick of yours.”

The two fighters round back at each other, playing a game of chicken before they pull away and turn in opposite directions. This time it’s Poe chasing Holly as they zoom through the sky. She manages to evade him for a while as the sun gets lower and lower.

Leia and Omega sit by the radio as more people drop off, leaving to go finish work or rest in their quarters. Finally, after ages of cat and mouse, Holly makes a mistake and Poe lands a tag on her.

“Ha! Tag! How's that feel?

Holly scoffs in frustration as they return to the starting points.

“Alright kids this is taking a while. Next point wins, free for all. Go!”

At first Holly has the upper hand and chases Poe across the sky. Both pilots maneuver their fighters through tight turns and large loops, trying to get the other in their sight.

Eventually Poe gets tired of being chased. It’s time to test his theory.

He makes sure Holly is still behind him before opening a private com channel to her.

“Ready for that special move?”

“Never gonna work, I’m gonna have to fish you out of the jungle after this,” she says confidently as she narrows in on him.

Poe grins under his helmet as he locks the brakes slamming the throttle back, cutting the thrusters off, killing the engine, and spinning around full force before tagging Holly and slamming the thrusters back on and shooting right past her. Spinning around 180 degrees and tagging her before she can even turn her head.

Holly’s frustrated yell can be heard as Poe whoops in celebration.

“Great flying kids, come back in for a landing. We need to talk,” Omega says into the coms.

“That's totally not the scariest phrase in the galaxy.”

“I’m sure you hear it a lot, Troublemaker,.”

“You know what, I'm gonna come up with a name for you and you are not gonna like it.”

“I'd love to see you try.”

The two continue to bicker as they come in for a landing, parking side by side.

Holly jumps out of the x-wing and holds her helmet to her side. She walks towards the two older women still sitting on crates, now the only spectators left.

“Ho-ly shit,” is all she can say as she shakes her hair out and joins Omega and Leia as the sun starts to envelope the room in a golden glow.

“I have to admit Aunt Mega, he is pretty good.You could make him great though,” Holly admits, grinning and giving Omega a hug.

“Not you too! Leia put you up to this didn't she?” Omega realizes she walked straight into a trap as Leia and Holly exchange a knowing look.

“Who, me? Conspire with our favorite General to make sure my Auntie stays here for a little while longer? I would never.” Holly keeps her eyes wide and pouty for Omega who can't help but laugh.

“You little shit, you lost on purpose didn't you?” Omega shakes her head as Poe lands and hops out of his own X-wing. He saunters over, helmet on his hip, winking at Holly as he joins the group.

“Seeing as I won and my nerfherder theory was correct, what’s my prize?”

Holly looks from the General to Poe smirking.

“Lessons with the best.”

“If the lessons are with you, Pretty girl I will never be late to class.”

“Pretty Girl. That's all you got?”

“You don't like it? How about—smart girl?”

“Funny, the lessons are with Auntie Mega. She’s the best around here.” Holly informs Poe who spins to look at a smug Omega who simply waves at him. Holly waves goodbye to the small group as she runs to escape Omega’s glare.

“Alright then, what kind of lessons are we having? You gonna teach me any more tricks? I like that spin, you got a name for it?” Poe questions Omega, rapid fire.

“First you are gonna go get cleaned up, then you are gonna meet me up on that cliff in 15 minutes. I need to destress after dealing with you children.”

With these words Omega turns headed towards the end of the hangar, ready to go to her special place. Her shadow long behind her as the sun continues its descent into the horizon.

#the bad batch #star wars #bad batch #omega #tbb #poe dameron #leia organa #Auntie Mega #Omega adopts an entire rebel base #I don’t really know much about this time in star wars but bear with me #the bad batch fic #Omega Bad Batch

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pricegouge · 6 months

Text

Fatted Rabbit Part Three on AO3

Contents

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

It wasn't supposed to be like this, of course. You could blame poor planning, a shit build, worse luck, but the fact of the matter remains that you're just not supposed to be here yet. Hard to plan for a winter you weren't supposed to see.

If there's one thing you've come to firmly believe over the last few months, it's that if you frown too long at a forecast, the forecast eventually frowns back. Another fucking night below freezing. It's not the biggest deal - at this point you can even manage it without a heat source - but your joints already ache at the thought. Something about the high altitude, cold temps, and humidity that gets trapped in the Wrangler after a full night with the windows up is the perfect storm to have you hobbling around the next day like your dear departed Gran.

The plan had been to stay put until May, head north when you were well and truly sure the biting cold had been chased off. You should have known your fucking ex would ruin even the relative safety of that plan - had in fact resolved yourself to weather whatever storm he threw at you without complaint as you got your ducks in a row - but after the shit show he'd pulled on his birthday, you'd known staying with him another couple of months was more likely to land you in a grave than successfully escaping in the dead of night as per your perfectly laid plan.

So you'd run. And you'd run fucking hard. It was tempting to stop off somewhere in the Midwest, but ultimately you'd scared yourself off settling for longer than a night anywhere within a two state radius of Phil. And once you were north of the fortieth, the siren song of national forests and undisturbed parking kept drawing you up and up until you were finally at your original destination anyway.

Impatient, stupid. You know winter doesn't relent its stranglehold overnight.

You sigh, weighing your options, limited though they were. John had been kind enough to let you belly up to his bar for most of the evening (and that was… something you were going to have to address in the cold light of day) but the worst was yet to come and you needed a game plan. You could drive out to the closest twenty four hour superstore and wander around until they realized you weren't going to purchase anything more than peanut butter. You could save gas by going to the gym, which had the added benefit of a hot shower. The night clerk there had definitely figured out you were homeless by now. It was fine, she was chill, but you suspected she may have blabbed. Ideally, you'd sleep in the Jeep for the first leg of the night, spend the coldest hours on the treadmill, then return to the Jeep and sleep on through until mid-morning. However, the gym manager had been keeping watch lately to make sure you didn't loiter in the parking lot for too long. You never thought you'd miss the craziness of the city, but you can't deny the anonymity had its appeal. Back in Dallas, you could park for any number of hours and the only person whose business it was was the meter maid. Here, streets and parking lots were mostly deserted, and a Jeep with a privacy screen was pretty inconspicuous. It made it difficult on nights like this, when you wanted to be close to some sort of twenty four hour shop when the coldest hours of the night came around.

You decide on the superstore, given you'd gotten ready at the gym earlier. It was unlikely the same employees were there, but that owner could take a gander at your check in times if he wanted and you'd like to deny him the satisfaction of spotting you there twice in one day.

You head west along the main drag, sighing in longing at all the help wanted signs. Some seasonal work is exactly what you need, but jobs require background checks, and background checks set off pings around all your former domiciles, and Phil has his dirty little fingers in all sorts of dirty little pies. You just need time for it all to blow over. Eventually he'd get sick of the hunt - or find a new victim, more like - and then you'd be free. The thought made you a little sick. Not for the first time, you wished you'd found a charge that stuck to him, or maybe a bullet to lodge in his skull; but Phil made friends with cops like it was his job (it kind of was), and ultimately, you just weren't built right for murder. So instead, you'd scrimped and saved over the course of three years, slowly reorganizing your life to exclude him. You weren't well off by any means, and you'd intended to be able to save for a few months longer, but provided you don't blow your fuel budget in the first few months because you're the idiot who decided to test a Montana spring, you should be set 'til the end of the year. And that's with the move down south come fall.

If it comes to that. You're still hoping to try your luck in a few months, put feelers out to see if Phil is still actively searching for you. You'd rather stay up north if possible. You've had enough southern summers to last you a lifetime, and while you'd talked a big game to John, this nomad lifestyle you've found yourself stuck in isn't feasible.

Fuckin' John. You feel for the coaster surreptitiously as you pull into a parking space in a quiet far corner of the lot. All your planning and you hadn't accounted for John. Really, you hadn't accounted for any love interests. When you'd left Dallas, the possibility of what you'd do if someone had caught your fancy had been so fucking far from your mind it would have been laughable if it wasn't so fucking sad. After a man like Phil, there was no 'rebound' phase, no 'get back on the horse' phase, no 'someday, two and a half kids from now, this'll just be another shitty ex' phase. There was just run, survive, and heal; and then maybe someday, years and years down the road, some better version of you could maybe consider getting fitted for a proper saddle.

So why, then, did the massive, intimidatingly handsome (and generally slightly intimidating) man refuse to leave your mind?

When you'd first run into him on the trail he'd scared the piss out of you. You'd become rather timid over the years and didn't appreciate being snuck up on - not that he'd been trying, mind, but a deep gruff voice calling out to you in the woods was probably enough to set anyone on edge, let alone someone with your history. When you realized the stranger was some ridiculously attractive Englishman, you'd been even more wary. Men with pretty blue eyes and good, straight noses had never in your life bode well, a lesson you'd made an exception for exactly once and it had blown up in your face.

But when he came close, you saw nothing but warmth in his eyes and kindness in his smile. He was quick, funny in a slightly (but not annoyingly overt) self-deprecating way you didn't usually expect from people who looked like him.

He also smelled absurdly, disarmingly, distractingly good.

You couldn't even really pinpoint what it was. There was pine and loam, which shouldn't have been considering the sad, wet state of things; a dark, smokey scent like expensive tobacco; something toasty and rich which you've since realized is probably the smell of his distillery; and above all that, or perhaps the sum of all those parts, a homey scent you wanted to bury your face in - like a well-loved quilt.

In the days that followed your little run-in, you'd tried to convince yourself John had only been so charming because he was trying to drum up some business. You reminded yourself that you couldn't really afford a fancy stiff drink right now anyway. And more importantly, you scolded yourself to just leave it the hell alone. What was your end goal here? A quick romp? What are you gonna do, take him back to the Jeep? A spring fling? You could barely stand to touch yourself right now, how were you going to casually tell someone why you need a joint to loosen up and no sudden moves every time you fuck?

A real relationship? Christ.

Still, John was on your mind like an early aughts summer bop. You'd even tried hoofing it a little further north just to avoid the temptation but the area up there was less developed, which made your life far too difficult, needing access to amenities like 'roofs' and 'running water'. Besides, you didn't really want to leave Columbia Falls. After driving all over God's green earth, this was the first place you could see spending a good, happy summer. And you'd even seen a bear! You loved bears. It was kinda scary, sure, but it was also a hell of a motivator to secure your food properly and remember to carry your damn bear spray when you went hiking, damnit.

So, you'd made your way back, and you'd told yourself to just cool it already, and everything had been fine for a few days until you'd parked the Jeep in Columbia Falls, a hair downwind of some fancy whiskey bar and you'd smelled it like some sort of frickin' bloodhound and suddenly you remembered there was a charming man in there who made for decent company and also it was a bit cold out on the street.

John's overt flirting had been unexpected. You'd figured he was just angling for a good tip and had been willing to let him, but when he caught you stealing food off his plate like a fucking Disneyland squirrel and only responded by helping you take more, you'd started to doubt your initial assessment a bit.

The coaster itself is pale, a classic design with high contrast. John's blocky lettering follows the outer edge. You'd thought the woman next to you was going to clap and cheer when he'd handed it off. You shouldn't even be considering texting him. Part of you thinks this is some school girl's crush on the first exceedingly handsome man to ever look your way (not that Phil was unattractive, just not really your type) - that months from now you'll pull your head out of your ass and realize you were blind sided by handsome, masculine eyebrows and basic human decency and you'll be embarrassed to admit you'd fallen for it. Fresh off an abusive relationship, no less.

But a larger, perhaps much more desperate part of you was convinced this was a route worth exploring.

You sigh and tuck the coaster into your visor for now, start busying yourself with the privacy screens. However you decide to proceed, it would be buck-wild to do it right this moment anyway. You may be a notoriously impulsive person, but this could be one of them there baby steps to betterment you're always hearing about.

There's never much sleep to be had in parking lots. The privacy screens help to block out the bright lamps, sure, but they combine to create a perfect IMAX shadow theater where any movement outside projects onto the screens around you. You're in a quiet corner of the lot, but it's not exactly deserted. Occasionally people shuffle past and it always raises your hackles to see a perfectly human silhouette standing right next to you. As long as you keep your lights out, they can't see you - but you also can't really see them and it usually makes your breathing run shallow until they clear out. Still, you manage to catch a fitful few hours before the humidity and cold combine to make your chest hurt too much to stay put so you pack an inconspicuous purse with some dirty dishes and washing supplies and head inside.

The bathroom is cold, and the water is scalding as you try to maneuver a bowl around the tiny sink. It feels good on your joints but leaves your skin feeling too tight, so you make sure to sample some lotion as you wander around. Godbless underpaid retail workers, who do not seem to give a singular fuck what their frequent homeless shopper does while trying to dodge the cold. You stay respectful, stick to sampling designated tester bottles and dishes, and never leave a mess for them and they strike up friendly conversation if they're not otherwise occupied. No such luck tonight which is a bummer because you could use some incentive to stay on your feet, but that's okay. You spend some time tidying a particularly messy T-shirt display, grab your peanut butter, and go.

You charge your phone on the drive back to West Glacier. You don't really need to, as it's only been turned on maybe twice in the last week, but it's probably best to be safe. You refuse to acknowledge the coaster tucked neatly into the visor above your head.

***

There is a grunting noise coming from the passenger side of the Jeep. It's still a little early. Around nine AM if the light spilling through the privacy screen can be believed. You're not certain because you don't want to crawl around in search of your phone and alert whoever or whatever is outside to your presence in the process. It's been about ten minutes of this - small snuffling, grunting sounds moving back and forth on the wooded side of the car. As you've laid there, you've managed to convince yourself by turns that it was one, just a raccoon; two, your actual imagination; three, Phill in the flesh come to torment you; and four, just some other campers stretching their legs. You're debating the benefits of taking a small peek around the screen to soothe your mind when a deep, animalistic groan is the only warning you receive before the whole cab is rocked on its shocks in a way you've definitely experienced before.

"No fucking way!" You exclaim and tear your blind back only to be greeted by the massive, furry chest of a frankly unreasonably large grizzly.

You should be fucking terrified. You're definitely not.

"You again!?" You ask, a laugh bubbling in your chest.

The bear backs up enough that it can duck its head toward your window, its huge golden eye gleaming as it looks directly at you. It huffs, quiet now that it's been caught, and lowers itself back to the ground, head bobbing as it sways in place a bit.

"This your favorite parking lot or something, big guy?" It's the same spot where you first saw it. Maybe the bins aren't cleaned out often enough?

Of course, the bear does not respond. It sits on the ground with a low cow like sound and just looks at you for a moment. This is probably the right time for panic to set in, seeing as this very large predator with zero natural aversion to humans has approached your car twice now, but you suppose begging sweetly for scraps is better than outright attacking your car. Besides, it's so fucking cool.

You lower the screens, trying to get an unobstructed view. The bear watches you curiously but makes no move other than an idle scratch of its own belly. Not for the first time in your life, you find it massively unfair that evolution designed something so goddamn hug shaped and then gave it the approachability of Charles Manson.

It belatedly occurs to you that you may want to remember this and you scramble to the console to grab your phone. It takes a minute to power on, but the bear just continues to sit and watch you, almost expectantly. It cocks its head and huffs when you finally snap your pic, then stands and lumbers in a big circle when you snap a few more. It's huffing becomes slightly agitated and you can't help but tease it rhetorically:

"What? Prefer your solitude?" The bear moos. "Well don't worry, I don't have anyone to show anyway." A small huff, breath steaming in the morning air. It continues to move in a slow circle. You watch it for a little bit but your body is quickly catching up with the fact that you've slept in a cold, cramped space for a few hours and nature is calling. "Don't suppose you're gonna clear out so I can pee, eh?"

The bear takes a step back, cocks its head as if inviting you to try your luck.

You chuckle as you climb into the driver's seat, ferreting your keys out of the hideaway within the seat cushion. "No thanks, big guy. Not quite that stupid. Also, you should know I'm not gonna feed you. So, much as I enjoy your company, maybe find a new Jeep to frisk down?"

Of course, it only continues to stare at you. As you pull out and drive off, it stands to watch you leave and you're struck again by how fucking huge it is. You've never seen a grizzly in person so you guess it's like seeing a moose for the first time. One thing to hear about how massive they are, another to see it in the flesh and realize your imagination is quite limited.

After finding a good place to do your morning ablutions without the threat of mauling, you climb back into the Jeep and take a minute to flip through the photos you took. You want to share them with someone because it's so fucking cool that you shared a morning with a bear, but you hadn't been lying when you'd said you didn't have anyone to send it to, anyway. No social media for obvious reasons, no real friends because Phil had driven wedges between you and all your loved ones long ago. You kept meaning to reach out, but shame and fear of Phil having done so first keeps you away. Your mom, maybe, but you and her had never been close, and randomly sending her cool pictures in an effort to share your life with her would probably make her more concerned for your safety than finding out you'd been in an abusive relationship and were resorting to homelessness had seemed to.

In the visor above you, the coaster hangs like the least assuming sword of Damocles imaginable. And you've got a feelin' someone's gonna be cuttin' the thread.

Next>>

#bearshifter!price #captain john price x you #john price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #fatted rabbit #💷🔪

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