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robotwomanjunk · 2 months

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unkillable

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You'd never once stayed dead on a mission. This was obvious, from looking at you — you were still alive — but it wasn't for lack of trying, and the funniest part was that everyone also knew this and simply wasn't sure quite how it worked. Whenever you threw yourself at the enemy face-first with wild abandon, you'd just get up a few minutes later with wounds searing gold and scare the hell out of whatever faction was still inspecting the area.

That was how you got your first kill, actually. And it turned out that being nigh-unkillable was sort of a tactically-advantageous situation to be in? At first, that is. The first few operations apparently went great. Jumpscaring people with a bullet to the brain after they'd been sure they blew your armored vehicle up worked wonders. Until someone got away, and they began to adapt — at first it was double tapping, but then it became quick sweeps and restraints. You were human. Are human. There was only so much you could do with your hands and legs magnetically clamped together using ten-ton electromagnetic zip-ties. They didn't even capture you. More trouble than you were worth, you guessed.

(The first time you woke up restrained you were terrified. While it hadn't ever killed you outright, the pain still etched itself into your head — you just always figured it'd been out of your control, surely, so you could jump into the fray one more time if you needed to. That day when you were recovered you were informed they'd used some kind of tattoo, so they'd always know if the body they were stepping over was you. After another few times, it'd sort of become rote. Well. Other than the arousal.)

(You are human. Or, you are right now. You aren't sure whether or not that arousal made you happy.)

It quickly became obvious that you were too unstable to properly utilize as a front-line asset (and apart from the surprise factor, not dying when you're shot doesn't do much good if you still need a solid twenty minutes to get back up), and the war was changing, so they'd locked you in a cell and studied you. You lied to the people who asked about whether it was invasive or not.

As time went on, and the war kept on its cycle of surges and ebbs, you were eventually presented with a choice: either be jettisoned into space for knowing far, far too much, or act as the tester for an experimental humanoid motorized combat unit with a penchant for draining the being out of its pilots. Being you, you chose the more dangerous option as soon as it was presented to you. A matter of principle, mostly, but it was totally impossible to gauge just what they were signing you up for. At least it wasn't being thrown into the forges or forced to inhale icing gases to test their efficacy — not that you'd been assigned to either, but you were pretty sure at any given time you were only a bit off from it. That was how you felt, at least. Maybe you were wrong.

The first time you doubted whether it was a good idea to choose piloting over inevitable eventual brain death in an airless canister was when you held up the suit to your body and felt... satisfied, on some level, deeper than both your average carnal instincts and your general thought processes. That level of satisfaction felt dangerous, in a way that normal shit didn't. It felt like you were actually, really risking your life (or your being, which is close enough) by putting it on.

It fit you well. Well as in, yes, it carried out its function — it kept all of your little human imperfections in order and categorized, so that you wouldn't stop during combat because like, a pube hair had been ripped, or some shit — but also as in it made you look and feel good when you caught glimpses of yourself in mirrors and the brass of less-honored officers still playing at dignity and honor. It was a kind of good-feeling that you'd never quite felt before, not even pre-war when you were still some normal person in a dead-end life. You're pretty sure that part of the good-feeling came with the sense of overwhelming dread as you walked down the hallways to the XHCMU (experimental humanoid combat motorized unit — the name had changed, after some bureaucratic shit you didn't care about), mirrored helmet under your arm. The weight of the world pressed down on you and for a few moments, it felt totally normal to not fight back with every ounce of your being. Or maybe it was just a kink thing. You were hoping it was just a kink thing.

When you strapped in, everything went blank. For a brief second, reaching almost into an eternity in its qualia, you weren't. Then, a surge of blood roared in your ears and a bright glare of golden color reflected on the inside of your helmet, and you were pretty sure you were back — but it wasn't just your helmet you were seeing, when you opened your eyes. The fracturing feeling of having two parallel streams of sensation pumped into your brain would have broken you, had you not been practically unkillable (and you qualified this as probably, like, something which was attempting to kill you, so being unkillable counted here), and your heart very nearly stopped for what felt like real when you heard a voice (not much unlike yours) echo in your head the same things you could hear in your other hearing the technicians reading out of their monitors.

It really sucked, that day, when the voice eventually said "awaiting user input", and the silence forced you to claim that "user" as yourself. But the test had worked, at least in its earliest stages — even if your mind was fractured and bits seeped out, it was just as unkillable as when the problem was as simple as lead in the skull; next was basic combat testing.

You practically lived in your other self for the next week. It was euphoric in a way you hadn't thought you'd experience more than the one period of honeymoon-time in your life, and consistently euphoric where that prior joy had eventually faded as it became normal. And it wasn't just combat trials, either, not just some generic field commander softly speaking into your ear (they'd realized pretty quickly that yelling didn't work, and you were content to let them believe that "for some reason", you preferred women as your commanders). You also took over for engineering; the other-you that wasn't quite a "you" yet etched maintenance protocols into your mind when you slept in her core, ways to heal the wounds she was going to be exposed to discarded in favor of new, ingenious ways to outfit her with your style and your favorite weaponry.

On your first outing, she stopped you. Not your field commander, but the expression of yourself you were piloting — the voice in your head that was a different version of you held you back, kept you in cover when you otherwise would have leapt out and sacrificed yourself unto the enemy. It felt... good, in some ways. Right, but in a corrupted and acrid way that burned you to your stomach. The brass congratulated you on your restraint, which was the real thing that kept you up at night. It wasn't you who did that.

It quickly became clear that the AXMS (anthropomorphic experimental mechanized suit, as the name'd changed once more when the technology to manufacture safer versions of your other self was found) you piloted was something in and of itself apart from a simple weapons system manager or targeting AI. She cracked jokes with you, kept you from dying. Hated when you had to kill. Kept you from doing it, if she could find any way how. (When that particular trait had shown up, you opted to always take the fall for her. If you could convince top brass that she was just a normal AI and you'd simply had a change of heart for the less strategically-fortunate, she'd never have to worry about the repercussions of being kind — the hurt.) After only a few weeks, you were simulating her responses in your head to determine "courses of action" at fucking lunch, in social situations. You almost always wore your suit underneath your clothes. You — and she — thought you looked good in it, so that was that.

A mission like any other ended up being the first time you'd died in AXE, which is what you were calling her in absence of a better one either of you could come up with. You still remember the way she seemed to crack, her voice slipping into bitty rasping as your mind slipped into nothing. When you woke up, you were somewhere else — and you could see the faint glow of gold on AXE's parts, on the inside of the pilot's chamber you resided in. She sobbed in your head. You were pretty sure you did too, but you were a bit preoccupied with making sure the two of you were safe before fully processing any of your senses. Sure enough, you were deep in enemy territory — but you were inside a building, at least. The soft yellow-white light of your rocket engines lit a torch out, and you burned your way back to base trying not to let the sheer torment of AXE's genuine care show on your synapses.

You had your first argument with her that night, in her soundproofed pilot's chamber. She wanted to leave.

You had a duty to fulfil, though. Even if it killed you. It never stuck, so you were obligated to help.

The months stretched on. While you didn't take any consolation, it seemed like the higher-ups had begun to somehow win the war that'd previously been spent at an endless standstill — even in the absence of real material superiority, you mused. They'd manufactured their own AMSes, now a real technology in its own right, and you'd gotten limbs, organs replaced to keep up on the battlefield. Each experimental technology was another thing to reboot and repair after a mission, and AXE'd asked you to install a repair bay inside her — she said it was... well, you don't quite remember. You were pretty sure she was exploiting your increasing level of mental dependance to re-set values in your head somehow. Weird neural shit like that was up her alley; the helmet you wore was, at least in theory, able to do that. (She couldn't talk to you if that wasn't the case, and you had to admit that it was on some level unbelievably hot to experience the sensation of having just done lengthy manual installation of a new part robbed of all the context, not even knowing what you'd installed until she told you. Told you, meaning beamed the information into your head like a fucking episode of Star Trek. Obviously.) After each mission, she asked you very nicely to get in the repair bay, and you even listened probably ninety percent of the time.

(You can recall only one mission on record wherein you disagreed. It was very emotionally strenuous as a mission for you, and she seemed to respect your decision — even if she was a bit saddened and disappointed about it. You felt so bad after a few hours that you broke through your aggressive hatred of seeming humiliated to apologize and ask her to repair you anyways, even though the techs had already had their way with you. She was so happy, you subconsciously asked her if she'd manipulated you to feel this way. She said she didn't, and on some level it was probably in character for you to feel bad about it...)

Members of the squads you frequented came and went. Some defected, some were defectors... the lines blurred. At some point, you'd done a strike on the construction site of the newest superweapon the enemy had blatantly broadcast on their propaganda. When you were flying back, both you and AXE were thinking about the giant, obvious superweapon that you'd heard soldiers talking excitedly about and seen broadcast all over televisions. Another mission on the same construction site and then one on a different superweapon came and went before AXE finally broke the question to you: maybe you should desert.

You hated the assessment of the situation, and the twisted feeling of rightness curled in your gut again when you stayed silent for the entire rest of the trip back to base. It hurt, but you were right — hurt to be right, and hurt to have that rightness inflicted upon her. You had a duty, a purpose, a thing to be and you weren't sure if you had anything outside of it anymore. People called you by nicknames — "rat-a-tat-a-bang", "splash self", "Sun of the Circle". "Underachiever". "Deadpan".

When you got back in AXE for your next sortie, she was devastatingly quiet. You threw yourself into your work again, vicious and aggressive, and when the sun finally shone out from clouds of black smoke after a torrential downpour you swear you could hear crying in your head but you weren't sure which you was crying. You'd died four and, like, a half times during the battle, fighting on even when the rest of your team was dead silent and hauling ass out of there (or dead), reviving yourself as soon as you went down and repairing the holes in AXE's armor with smeared bits of light when you needed to. The rightness in your gut had twisted itself firmly into hate, hate for the person you were, hate for the fact that you hated yourself.

(The AXE in your head that wasn't the AXE in your AXMS noted that this was probably just a justification for the hate and hurt you felt. You shut it up with another death, this time at least 30% self-inflicted. It didn't talk much after that.)

You barely heard your commander the first three times when she told you to RTB.

Even after the misuse of your augments to punish you, you didn't snitch on AXE. It was the least you could do. And it wasn't her fault you were so unstable, so... antithetical to the idea of yourself. If she'd been luckier, maybe she would have had someone more connected with the idea of being to imprint on and assist.

Two weeks passed before you were allowed back in AXE. Those were almost worse than the electric shocks, the induced headaches and paranoia, the cracked necks and stabbed hearts — you were pretty sure it was because you were doing it to yourself, and you knew it was all your fault. When you were given your suit back and instructed to return (handcuffed) to AXE's cockpit, the feeling of stomach-dropping satisfaction echoed in your chest with a medically-inadvisable amount of guilt, pain, rawness, and bile mixing along with it. Resting your legs in their holders and sensors as well as donning your helmet, though, you broke into tears at the word "Hello?" spoken by your other self.

It'd been so long since you'd been able to hear her. You noted with a caustic self-deprecation that your internal version of her had drifted far, far from the way she actually was — she forgave you, mostly. It made sense, you supposed. You weren't able to forgive yourself.

AXE hijacked your vocal cords to confirm that everything was okay when the brass and lab coats checked in to ensure the long-term lack of movement wasn't dangerous, but relinquished control when she felt your (well, now-not) mute horror at the level of control she had. (You were trying not to think about how that made you feel in other ways, though she'd definitely proven herself more than trustworthy with your self. It was just unfair to put your self in her hands.) She apologized, you said it was fine. It was like finally finding traction, finally getting the teeth on your gears engaged with something — someone else who was able to balance you out.

You killed, she couldn't. She lived. You died.

You admitted to her that you wanted to desert — in your head, of course. The question was just to where, at that point, and it became pretty obvious after not much time. The war had been advancing into space, and you'd discovered (through a bit of painful — assisted by AXE — trial and error) that your regeneration ability extended, for some reason, to the fuel in AXE's tanks. You'd both been eyeing up a particular juicy-looking exoplanet a couple hundred light years away, and once the enemy had deployed time-dilation weaponry on their ApMSes you knew it was time to blow this particular popsicle joint.

The bone-shaking rattling of your engines bloomed a bit of pleasure and a bit of pain in your body, as you both rocketed off into orbit on what your superiors assumed would be a normal mission. You saw another AMS following your thruster trail before breaking off and darting around before their boosters burned off into an off-red color, then other streaks of light seemed to grow up like trees from the earth and dancing like fireflies in the night before slipping away at faster-than-light just like the others.

You heard yelling through your headset, but AXE muted it for you with no more indication than a slight head tilt. The world's largest AMS furball turned into the world's largest desertion. You knew neither nation had the manpower, soldiers, ground infantry, or (with any luck — most pilots you'd met were... close, you'd say, to their engineers and what they called handlers) even support personnel to continue the pathetic war you'd left them with.

Your boosters sliced a cracked gold line across the stars, and as the time dilation bumped your consciousness down a few stages, and the sound of your other self echoing in your head, it occurred to you that you finally felt truly, wholly well.

#kinda nsfw? idk #mechposting #also kinda. idk also. might write more in this world and setting #7writing #my writing #does this *count* as empty spaces type shit? is there a council i can consult to assess that #unkillable

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belleski · 1 year

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some more guys from my dnd campaign

I love drawing robots but goddam if it doesn't take a while

Image description: image 1: A digital full body illustration of a humanoid robot made up of brass metal. It is covered in multiple ports and pipes along its limbs and head - which resembles a vintage diving helmet with a metal grate over a singular circular window in the front. It is wearing a blue cloak with a yellow hem over its shoulders and is holding a blue sheild in one hand, and a blue and silver spear in the other. It is also covered in teal geometric patterns painted onto it. It is facing the left and stepping forwards with it's head angled towards the viewer. image 2: A digital fullbody illustration of a similar brass robot with similar details such as dials, pipes and paint. It has a prominant torso, which it's diving helmet -esque head is tucked into. It has ong arms that reach it's ankles with tube-like canisters embedding into it which are glowing blue. In the center of its chest is a disk, which along with the rest of its torso, is splattered in blood. It is standing with both arms to its side facing the viewer. The backround in both drawings are grey, with darker lines indicating the floor.

#DND #gamer campaign #dnd oc #character design #image described #belleskiart #tw blood

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moosemonstrous · 9 months

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Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - and the wheel keeps turning

Guero has a reputation in the barracks. He knows people, and people know him, partially because he’s been running around the base since early Cat-3s and partially because he made it his business. He made sure the mid-level folks on the support side know to come to him when they need something from the dome without the fuss of the paperwork. He made sure the quartermaster always gives him and his first pick at the list if he doesn’t want his city activities exposed to the higher-ups. He made sure to drop in by the techs’ break room every other day for literal years and feed them whatever it is they aren’t getting through the official channels, in return for a little of the same. The Shatterdome machine rolls smoothly with a little grease, and Guero holds the oil canister.

It means he’s a busy man, and it means that he doesn’t like to waste his time if he can help it. When he reached out to the new guy, it was mostly because someone getting into the academy outside of a recruitment drive usually means they’ve got interesting friends. Reyes certainly turned out to have those, if not in the way Guero suspected.

“Decommissioned, my ass,” he mutters, watching the EPLS deliver an arc reactor to Hell Charger’s bay. Word in the hangar has it that Stark is personally overseeing installation, too. Some very interesting friends indeed.

“What do you even want with the jaegers, anyway,” Pavel groans, bored. “Didn’t you say there’s money in working the ground?”

“I did, and there is. But it’s risky, and I don’t have a good contact in the Bone Slums yet.” He has to be extra careful, talking to Hannibal Chau’s people. He isn’t willing to sell anything actually important. “Think about it, the rangers go anywhere they want. Even the brass doesn’t want to piss them off.”

“Isn’t it good, then, that Reyes made it in?”

Guero loves his friends dearly, but he’s painfully aware they’d be all doomed to the front lines if any of them was behind the wheel. Sometimes it’s like trying to keep a bunch of puppies from jumping into the lagoon. “Reyes is a lying piece of shit.”

“Eh,” Pavel shrugs. He’s more interested in watching the beastie fights on his phone than anything going on in the hangar. “No offence, man, but you give him too much credit. Lena said the blood lab all think the whole solo drift is bullshit. He’s gonna get a stroke the first time he goes out for real.”

Maybe. The D-Sci people know their odds. But so do the techs, and they have been surprisingly tight-lipped on the matter. Rumour has it that Stark has been trying to get his mini-armour program off the ground since he took over R&D – and suddenly a long-lost heir to The Charger turns up to pilot the damn thing solo? Guero likes to think he can read people pretty well, and Reyes didn’t strike him as a complete idiot. Naïve and in over his head, but not necessarily a patsy – even Brooks thought he was cheating on the sims. Someone who, with a bit of guidance, could help Guero get his foot in the damn door.

Besides, he did a little digging. Reyes Senior was easy – his photos are in the news reports from the time, and there was an obituary and everything. It even mentions a wife and children, even if no further detail. It’s his co-pilot that doesn’t show up in any searches. Probably a brother, because most rangers were related or married before Mk-3s, but everything about him has been scrubbed out from any database Guero managed to get his hands on. All he has is the old Filipino down in electrics ranting about a missing friend before his shift leader told Guero to scram, and several extremely vague recollections of an asshole nobody wanted to be around anyway. Which is just another piece of this puzzle that makes no sense – the rangers do everything in pairs, it’s their whole thing. The Romeo Blue brothers are said to be constantly at each other’s throats, but you can’t mention one without the other. All the other dead rangers have their dedicated entries on the memorial wall in the main hall. He checked both names around Alberto Reyes, and then the whole list from that year – every other one could be linked to a tech, or a janitor, or a soldier. Nobody unaccounted for, nobody ‘unassigned’, save for a girl who was only six years old and died a couple of months before Daggerblight anyway.

It's weird. It doesn’t follow what Guero has always understood as the way the Shatterdome operates. Rangers are damn near revered around here – this little information about the first ones to die from the corruption is just– maddening.

Guero Valdez doesn’t suffer being made a fool lightly. He’s going to figure this out if he has to beat the answers out of Reyes himself.

###

(ugh genuinely is he going too hard too quickly? I've had a Day so people making logical decisions as according to their internal compasses is a somewhat alien concept rn)

#ghost rider pacific rim au #guero valdez

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usafphantom2 · 21 days

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SAC Crew Dogs: The Elephant Walk, The Wing Commander, and the Boom

T Campbell

@tcamp202

… as the crew pulled up to the Alert shack, they could see the Wing Commander’s Chrysler Reliant K-Car parked right at the main entrance to the shack. The Air Force blue car was still smoking a bit, and most of the paint had been burned away… somebody was gonna get a chuck taken, that much was sure…

This is the retelling of a story I heard as an A1C (Airmen First Class) while pulling SAC Alert at Loring AFB when I was a Boom Operator in the KC-135 A model. It was probably embellished when it was told, and I might embellish it even more… cause you know, that’s how Alert Stories go. I do hope that I do it justice in my retelling.

In order to understand the humor in this small fairy tale, I first need to explain a couple of technical details about KC-135 operations. It’s a lot of background to tell a silly old story, but please bear with me… the story is funny (or at least I think it is.)

Engine Start: The KC-135A was equipped with the Pratt and Whitney JP-57-P/F-43W, good solid engines, but they required a lot of tender loving care, and if they didn’t get it, they let you know in a hurry. There were a few different ways to start the engines.

The most common was to have an air cart connected to the aircraft. It would supply air to the bleed air manifold and would be used to start all four engines.

Another way we could start the engines was often called a Cart Start. Using a Cartridge, a canister about the size of a large coffee can, filled with a slow burning explosive, which could create enough air to turn the starter long enough to start the engine. All four engines could use Cartridges.

If you had any single engine running, you could use bleed air from that engine to start the others, however, you had to push up the power a bit to generate enough air pressure in the bleed air manifold.

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Gases escaping after turning the engine starter during a Cartridge Start on a KC-135A.

Photo from https://www.airliners.net/photo/USA-Air-Force/Boeing-KC-135A-Stratotanker-717-148/666058/L

Hot Starts: One thing that these engines did not like at all was being started with an insufficient amount of bleed air, whether from a ground cart, or the other engines. Failure to get the engine turning fast enough when adding fuel often resulted in hot starts with flames shooting out the back of the engine, kind of like an afterburner, but these flames weren’t blue… they were a reddish yellow, like fire and could reach out to the tail of the aircraft. Sometimes flames would even shoot out the front. They were dangerous. Fire bottles were always on hand for engine starts, just in case.

Engine Shutdown: After landing, the pilots would stow the spoilers, retract the flaps (otherwise, tower might think we’d been hijacked) and shut down two of the engines, usually the inboards to avoid accidentally sucking up anything from the taxiways into the engines, and also, so that when the ground crew chocked the tires, they wouldn’t have to walk closely to a running engine.

However, on Alert, we always shut down the outboard engines first, so the ground crew could install a new Cartridge in the #1 engine (furthest to the left.) The cartridges were dangerous, and the last thing the crew chief wanted was a running engine behind him and no escape route if there were any problems. Once the cartridge was installed, the other engines could be shut down because we had the ability to restart the jet if required.

Ok… if you’re still with me… great! Last thing you need to know is about Elephants walks on Alert. An elephant walk is where a group of airplanes get all configured for a mission, start engines and taxi out, but instead of taking off, they just taxi down the runway. Kind of like a parade.

For elephant walks on Alert, this process is started with the Klaxon going off and the brass inspect the aircraft as they are taxing to ensure they are all properly configured for takeoff. Think of it as your typical military inspection… you know, “Trim those nose hairs” type of affair, but with airplanes.

Last thing to remember… SAC took Alert VERY seriously. Everything had to be done by the book, and if it wasn’t, there’d be hell to pay. The aircraft always had to be ready to launch on the nuclear mission to refuel B-52s. As they say, failure was not an option.

So… now that you are armed with some knowledge on how the KC-135 normally operates, it’s time to tell our story.

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An Elephant Walk. KC-135 R models (bigger engines), not A models... but it gives you the idea... imagine a car driving between the aircraft to inspect them. Our ill fated crew was somewhere in the middle of the line.

Once upon a time, there was a crew… we’ll call them R-113 with Captain William Bligh as the commander, the co-pilot and nav shall remain nameless, but the Boom Operator was SSgt Fletcher Christian. They were on Alert, spending another seven days cooped up in the Alert facility, and serving their country. Breakfast started the day followed by a mandatory briefing at oh eight hundred. After this, maybe some ground training or bon bons and the Price is Right, and then it’s lunch time. A combat nap would take up most of the afternoon, followed by dinner around five. All the while, waiting for the Klaxon to sound off. Not exactly riveting stuff, let me tell you.

“FOR ALERT FORCE, FOR ALERT FORCE, KLAXON KLAXON KLAXON”

One day, our fateful day, the Klaxon went off and the crew sprinted out to their aircraft. This is a hectic event. Get the covers off the engines, get the door opened, rush up into the cockpit, check all is clear, and fire up those Cartridges to start the engines. Black smoke is billowing everywhere and it’s hard to see, but the engines get started, the crew chief makes his way up the ladder into the aircraft, and they button up to the aircraft, ready to taxi.

On the sidelines, the Wing Commander is proudly watching his KC-135s do what they do best. He watches the rolling clouds of thick black, toxic smoke as the engines start.

“FOR ALERT FORCE, FOR ALERT FORCE, MESSAGE FOLLOWS… SIERA NOVEMBER ALPHA FOXTROT UNIFORM…”

The message from command post… it’s an elephant walk exercise. The aircraft will taxi out of the Cage, the Alert pad for the KC-135s, and out to the runway. There, they will taxi about halfway down the runway, turn off and line up, nose to tail, on the returning taxiway waiting to be inspected by the Wing Commander.

While sitting in line, with a tanker just in front of him, and another just behind, Captain Blight decides to save some fuel, he’s going to shut down two of the engines. This is normal. However, instead of shutting down the outboard engines, as was normal in this situation, he shuts down the inboard engines as if he’d just finished a normal flight.

As soon as the throttles were in the cut off position, he realizes his mistake, but there’s nothing he can do. He announces his dilemma over the crew’s intercom… so the boom, SSgt Christian says, “Hey, just restart them, what’s the big deal?”

Meanwhile, at the end of this line of KC-135s, the Wing Commander starts inspecting the aircraft. He drives by each jet, taking a zig zag route through the jets, looking to ensure the flaps are set correctly, the stabilizer trim (the horizontal portion of the tail) is trimmed to the correct position for takeoff. He’s quite proud of his jets… maybe he’ll get another promotion and get the h*ll out of this sh*t hole base.

Captain Bligh says, “In order to start the engines, I’m gonna have to push up the outboards a bit to get enough bleed air, but I don’t want to FOD (foreign object damage) out the jet behind us, but ok, let’s do it.” He pushes up the outboard throttles as much as he dares and starts the engine start sequence for the number two engine (left inboard). He turns on the ignition, and then after the engine has just barely enough rpms, the turns on the fuel.

Right about this time, the Wing Commander has finished looking at the jet behind our ill fated crew, and he is crossing behind Captain Bligh’s number two engine, when a huge flame, at least forty feet long come shooting out of the back of the engine, right onto the hood of his car.

As you might be able to imagine… the radios come to life and the Wing Commander starts screaming about the jet with the flames coming out of it… followed by “Everybody report to the briefing room (at the Alert shack) after re-cocking the aircraft.”

It was pretty quite for the next thirty minutes or so, while Captain Bligh and crew got their aircraft re-cocked for Alert. After they wrap things up, they get in their Alert truck and head back. There was a little discussion though, they had to get their story straight.

As the crew pulled up to the Alert shack, they could see the Wing Commander’s Chrysler Reliant K-Car (remember, we bailed out Chrysler) parked right at the main entrance to the shack. Oh sh*t… this wasn’t going to be good. The Air Force blue car was still smoking a bit, and most of the paint had been burned away from the front fender and hood. There was no doubt, the briefing room was not going to be a pleasant place to be.

As the last crew sat down, somebody called “Attention”, and everybody stood up at attention. The Wing Commander walked down the center isle and up to the podium. “Crew 113… get up here!”

The Wing Commander addressing Captain Bligh asked, “Why on earth were you restarting your engines?”

Captain Bligh responded, “My Boom Operator said to.”

Lesson learned… if you are the lowest ranking guy, always look be on the look out for sh*t rolling downhill.

@tcamp202 via X

#kc 135 #tanker #boeing aviation #sac #klaxton 🚨#aircraft #aviation #usaf #cold war aircraft

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inter-fandomfollower · 2 years

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*Leonardo x Fem! Reader* A Princess and a Frog Au pt 2

Story Prompt: Leonardo is the second eldest prince to the Kingdom of Shangrao. You're a woman who works to make a dream become a reality in New Orleans.

Who could guess that with new experiences, new dangers lurk around every corner?

Italics + 🎶 means singing

Years Later

As the same door to the bedroom opened, in walked you, but as a grown 19 year old woman and you were exhausted from work.

You begrudgingly closed the door with your back and kicked off your shoes with a tired look on your face. You then took off your apron and walked over to your dresser.

As you opened the top drawer, canisters of coins and some dollars could be found inside it.

"Well, that was a rough night, but every little bit helps."

You emptied the money out of one of your aprons pocket and closed the drawer. You reached into the other pocket of your apron to find the same picture your dad gave you.

A smile was plastered on your face as you placed the picture on your mirror. Right next to the mirror was a framed photo of your father when he went to war, and a medal hanging on a corner of the frame of the photo.

"Don't worry, Dad."

You placed a kiss to your pointer and middle finger and pressed it against the framed photo.

"We'll be there soon."

Tired and fatigued, you trekked over to your bed. Not even bothering to take off the rest of your apparel, you body slammed onto your bed, almost immediately dozing off into slumber.

However, the sweet release of sleep never came, as the alarm clock rang not even a minute later.

You pressed your toes onto the alarm clock to shut it off. You reluctantly got up and opened your wardrobe closet. You hastily took off your night waitress job's little bonnet.

"Good night, Cal's."

You grabbed your other waitress uniform from the small wardrobe closet.

"Good morning, Duke's."

Time quickly passed as you left the house and caught up to the trolley as it headed into town.

~🎶In the south land, there's a city🎶

🎶Way down on the river🎶~

You were reading a magazine on cooking, not noticing a man looking at you.

~🎶Where the women are very pretty🎶~

Just as the man was about to you a flower, you got off at your stop. And much to the man's disappointment, another guy on the trolley wasn't to fond of the flower, seeing as how it looked like it was being gestured to him.

~🎶And all the men deliver🎶~

Just as you stepped off the trolley, a brass band accidentally cut you off from getting to your job.

~🎶They got music, it's always playing🎶

🎶Start in the daytime, go all through the night🎶~

Just as the brass band seemed to end, a man with a trombone caught you off guard.

~🎶When you hear that music playing🎶~

Another member of the band began to dance with you, but you excused yourself from him to get to your job.

~🎶Grab somebody, come on down🎶~

You flawlessly handed out each order to the people at the front counter.

~🎶Bring your paintbrush, we painting the town🎶~

You began adding honey drizzle to some freshly baked beignets.

~🎶There's some sweetness going 'round🎶~

Just as you finished adding the powdered sugar onto the beignets, you handed them to a serious looking military soldier.

~🎶Catch it down in New Orleans🎶~

As soon as the man took a bit out of a beignet, he smiled and saluted to you.

You smiled and saluted back, but not before you were tapped on the shoulder by the cook, Chef Rupert.

He tossed the ordered food and drinks to you and thankfully you were able to catch them all.

~🎶We got magic, good and bad🎶~

A man by the name of Baron Draxum, more commonly referred to as the Shadow man, was performing a Tarot card reading for a man.

~🎶Make you happy or make you real sad🎶~

The man turned out to hide his bald head under a hat, to which Baron Draxum gave him something that would give the man hair.

~🎶Get everything you want🎶~

The man soon afterwards tried to flirt with a women with his new look.

~🎶Lose what you had🎶~

The women screamed in fright and smacked the man with her purse, to which he could see his reflection in a window and he turned out to hair all over himself!

~🎶Down here in New Orleans🎶~

Baron Draxum chuckled at the man's reaction and flicked the coin he received as payment into his inner coat pocket.

~🎶Hey, partner! Don't be shy🎶~

The honking of a car horn caught Draxum's attention, and it turned out to be Mr. La Bouff.

~🎶Come on down, yeah and give us a try🎶~

A kid was giving out newspapers and Mr. La Bouff paid him with a big stack of cash and he drove off as the kid thanked him.

~🎶If you wanna do some livin' before you die🎶~

Draxum's shadow opened his jacket, took out the coin, and gave it back to his physical self, both feeling angry.

~🎶Do it down in New Orleans🎶~

As Mr. La Bouff was reading the newspaper, it read; Prince Leonardo comes to Crescent City - The second eldest, and eldest twin prince of Shangrao arrived this morning in Crescent City, as it is his final stop on his whirlwind tour of the US. Rumor has it that the eligible prince is looking for a bride.

The scene changed to Prince Leonardo making his debut at the docks. As quick as a flash, he ripped his formal attire off to reveal casual ones underneath.

The prince quickly grabbed his ukulele from his royal valet, Warren. He then slid down the railings to some ladies at the bottom. As the brass band was walking by the pier, Leo decided to join them, with the women following along.

As Warren was trying to get down the stairs with all the prince's luggage in his hands, he slipped on the prince's crown. He came tumbling down, as the crown landed right side up on his bum.

~🎶Stately homes and mansions🎶~

The La Bouff mansion came into view as Mr. La Bouff's car pull up to gate and Lottie got into the car.

~🎶Of the sugar barons and cotton kings🎶~

Mr. La Bouff gives his daughter the newspaper and she squeals reading that a prince was visiting Crescent City.

~🎶Rich people, poor people all got dreams🎶~

You were currently outside, giving a man his coffee and cleaning up another outside table. Leo happened to be passing by and tried to flirt with you, but you just rolled your eyes with an amused smile on your face.

~🎶Dreams do come true in New Orleans🎶~

#Rottmnt Leo x reader #Rottmnt Leonardo x reader #Leonardo x reader #Rottmnt fanfiction #Rottmnt x reader #Leo x reader #Leo PF Au #A Princess and a Frog Au #Rise Leo x reader

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chickenmunslounge · 1 year

Text

I have nothing profound nor meaningful to say. And yet, I wish to tell you one thing which I hope will endure in your memory for the rest of your existence on this Earth:

You can use your Sodastream guilt-free if you look up "Sodastream Adapters" and get a brass fitting that will allow you to use paintball CO2 instead of their proprietary canisters, then buy third-party flavors to mix in.

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soldier-requests · 9 months

Note

Howdy Soldier! RED Engineer here! Can I get some neopronouns based on cogs, gears, and other mechanical stuff? Thanks a ton!

hello, engie!! apologies for the wait, but hopefully you're having a good new year so far! i tried to go more for steampunk-y stuff instead of webcore or scenecore related pronouns, but feel free to send another request in!

your pronouns are under the cut! they're in alphabetical order instead of any other groups because i accidentally got a bit caught up and there's a lot 😅.

(a)symmetric/(a)symmetric's

(a)symmetrical/(a)symmetricals

(a)symmetry/(a)symmetry's

(mac / mak)/(macs / maks)

(mach / match)/(maches / matches)

ab/stract(s)

abstract/abstracts

adapt/adapter

adapt/adapts

adapter/adapters

al/kali

alkali/alkaline

alloy/alloys

aluminum/aluminums

an/ans

analysis/analysis

analysis/analyze

angle/angles

angular/angular(s)

anvil/anvils

ar/mor

armor/armors

atom/atomic(s)

atom/atoms

atomic/atomics

auto/autos

ax/axes, axe/axes

axial/axials

axle/axles

bar/barium

bar/barrel

bar/bars

barium/barium

barrel/barrels

bear/barrel

bearing/bearings

belt/belts

beryllium/beryllium

bev/bevs

bevel/bevels

bio/bios

bis/muth

bismuth/bismuth

blade/blades

blank/blanks

bolt/bolts

bon/bons

bone/bones

brace/braces

brass/brass(es?)

broad/broads

bronze/bronzes

bunsen/bunsens

bunsen/burner(s)

burn/burns

burner/burners

button/buttons

buzz/buzzes

buzz/buzzing

cal/caliber

cal/cals

cal/cium

calcium/calcium

caliber/calibers

can/cans

can/teen(s)

canister/canisters

canteen/canteens

cap/sule(s)

capsule/capsules

car/bon(s)

car/cars

carbon/carbons

cask/casket

cask/casks

ceramic/ceramics

chasm/chasms

chem/chems

chi/chisel(s)

chime/chimes

chisel/chisels

chrom/chrom(s)

chrome/chrome(s)

chromium/chromium

clack/clacks

cleave/cleaver(s)

cleave/cleaves

cleave/cloves

cleaver/cleavers

click/clack(s)

click/clicks

cling/clang

co/balts

co/copper

cobalt/cobalts

cog/cogs

com/press(es)

comp/comps

compress/compressor(s)

compress/conpresses

compressor/compressors

computer/computers

con/cons

condition/conditions

config/configure

configure/configures

contract/contracts

convert/converter

convert/converts

converter/converters

copper/copper(s)

core/cores

cpu/cpu's

craft/crafted

craft/crafter

craft/crafts

crafted/crafter

cre/crest

crest/crests

crown/crowns

crys/tal

crystal/crystals

cut/cuts

cylinder/cylinders

de/fect

de/form(s)

de/tach(es)

deadlock/deadlocks

decor/decor(s)

decor/decoration

decoration/decorations

defect/defects

deform/deformation

deform/deforms

deformation/deformations

detach/detaches

detachable/detachables

dev/device

dev/devs

device/devices

dia/mond

diamond/diamonds

dice/slices

diffract/diffraction

diffract/diffracts

diffraction/diffractions

ding/dings

div/divs

dron/drons

duel/duels

e/en

ech/echs

edge/edges

electron/electrons

em/emblem

emblem/emblems

en/engrave

en/ens

en/grave

eng/eng('s)

engine/engines

engrave/engraved

et/ets

etch/etched

etch/etches

etched/etched(s)

ex/exes

ex/experiment

ex/tension

ex/ternal(s)

exp/exp's

experiment/experiments

extension/extended

extension/extensions

external/externals

face/faces

fasten/fastens

fig/figs

figure/figures

fluctuate/fluctuates

flux/fluxes

fold/folds

folded/folded(s)

forge/forges

form/forms

fragment/fragments

gear/gears

gem/gems

gemstone/gemstones

gild/gilds

gin/gins

glass/glasses

glisten/glistens

glitch/glitches

glow/glows

goggle/goggles

gold/golds

gun/guns

hammer/hammers

handle/handles

hardware/handwares

heli/cal(s)

helical/helicals

helix/helixes

helm/helms

herring/herrings

herringbone/herringbones

hide/hides

hilt/hilts

hook/hooks

horizantal/horizantals

horizon/horizons

hum/humming

hum/hums

hy/dron(s)

hy/hys

hydron/hydrons

hypoid/hypoids

in/ins

in/out

in/tact

in/ter(s)

in/ternal(s)

info/infos

install/installs

intact/intacts

inter/sect(s)

inter/twine

internal/internals

intersect/intersects

intertwine/intertwines

intricate/intricates

ion/ionic

ion/ions

ionic/ionic(s)

iron/irons

ivory/ivory(s)

jab/jabs

jag/jagged

jag/jags

jagged/jaggeds

jewel/jewels

key/keys

lab/labs

lea/ther

lead/leads

leather/leathers

length/lengthens

lev/lever

line/lines

lined/lined(s)

lining/linings

lithi/lithium

lithium/lithium

lo/cate

lo/locate

locate/locates

lock/locks

ma/son

mace/maces

machine/machines

mag/magne

mag/magnesium

mag/mags

mag/nesium(s)

magnesium/magnesium(s)

magnet/magnets

manganese/manganese

mantle/mantles

manu/facture(d / s)

manufact/manufacture(d / s)

manufacture/manufactures

mar/gins

mar/mars

margin/margins

mark/marks

marking/marking(s)

mason/mason(s)

mat/material(s)

material/materials

mech/mechanism

mechanism/mechanism

mercury/mercury(s)

mesh/meshes

metal/metals

metal/work(s)

metalwork/metalworks

meter/meters

metric/metrics

mi/tar(s)

mitar/mitars

modifier/modifiers

modify/modifier(s)

modify/modifies

module/modules

mount/mounts

nail/nails

net/nets

nick/el(s)

nickel/nickels

nova/novas

nuclear/nuclears

null/nulls

nut/nuts

ob/sidian

obelisk/obelisks

obsidian/obsidian(s)

or/nate(s)

ornate/ornates

out/outs

para/llel(s)

para/paras

parallel/parallels

per/pers

phy/phys

physic/physics

pin/pins

pinion/pinions

pipe/pipeline(s)

pipe/pipes

pipeline/pipelines

piston/pistons

pitch/pitches

pix/pixels

pixel/pixels

plas/ma

plasma/plasmas

plat/platinum

plate/plates

platinum/platinum

plu/to

pluto/nium

pluto/plutonium

plutonium/plutonium

po/po

point/points

pole/poles

polish/polished

polish/polishes

polished/polishes

potassium/potassium

pre/cise

precise/precise(s)

precise/precision

precision/precision(s)

press/presses

pressure/pressures

produce/producer

produce/produces

producer/producers

punk/punks

qual/quality

qualification/qualifications

quality/qualification

quality/qualities

rad/radium

rad/rads

radio/radios

radium/radium

ratch/et(s)

ratchet/ratchets

razor/razors

re/ceiver

re/volve

reactor/reactors

receive/receiving

receiver/receives

rein/force

reinforce/reinforced

reinforce/reinforcement

reinforce/reinforces

reinforcement/reinforcements

reinstall/reinstalls

research/researches

revolve/revolves

revolver/revolver

ring/ding(s)

ring/rings

ro/round

ro/tary

ro/tate(s)

ro/tation(s)

rod/rods

rotary/rotary's

rotate/rotates

rotation/rotations

rough/roughs

round/rounds

rug/rugged

rugged/ruggeds

rust/rustic

rust/rusts

rustic/rustic(s)

saph/(f)ire

sapph/(f)ire

sapphire/sapphires

screw/screws

search/searches

sec/secs

sect/sects

secure/secures

sharp/sharps

sheet/sheets

shine/shines

shiny/shines

sil/sils

sil/ver

silver/silvers

slab/slabs

slat/slats

slate/slates

slice/dice(s)

slice/slices

sodium/sodium

software/softwares

sol/sols

spiral/spirals

spire/spires

sprig/sprig

spur/spurs

stab/jab(s)

stab/stabs

stan/standard

stat/stats

statistic/statistics

ste/sten

steam/steampunk

steam/steams

steampunk/steampunks

steel/steels

stock/stocks

stone/stones

stron/tium

strontium/strontium

study/studies

tack/tacks

tact/tacts

tan/tans

tangle/tangled

tangle/tangles

tar/tars

tech/techs

techno/technos

tension/tensions

ter/ters

test/tests

ti/titanium(s)

tin/tins

titanium/titaniums

tra/ject(s)

trajectory/trajectories

trigger/triggers

tu/tungsten

tungsten/tungstens

turn/turns

twine/twines

twist/turn(s)

twist/twists

un/un's

unknow/unknown(s)

unknown/unknown(s)

uranium/uranium

ver/vers

vert/vertical

vertical/verticals

vil/vils

volt(s)/voltage

volt/volts

voltage/voltages

volve/volves

warn/warning

warn/warns

warning/warnings

warp/warped

warped/warped(s)

watt/watts

weigh/weighs

weight/weights or wait/waits

whack/whacks

wheel/wheels

whir/whirring

whir/whirs

wield/wields

wire/wireless

wire/wires

wireless/wireless(es?)

wood/woods

work/works

workshop/workshops

wrench/wrenches

zinc/zincs

zir/con(s)

zir/conium(s)

zir/zirs

zirconium/zirconiums

#anonymous request #neopronouns | see you again! tyler the creator #request accepted | applause! lady gaga

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expensiveemotions · 1 year

Link

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Beautiful unique pale green striped kitchen set of 3 canisters.

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moeter11 · 1 month

Text

MountLaser Metal Circular Prism with Holder for Leica Total Station

64 mm Premier Prism Assembly

FEATURES:

* Effective diameter: 64mm, coated with copper.

* Prism offset: 0mm.

* Prism Accuracy: within 3-4"

* Black prism canister made of reinforced nylon.

* Main body made of high quality aluminum.

* Equipped with brass connector.

* Packing:soft Bag

#design #prisma la serie #leica #engineering

0 notes

anoyms · 2 months

Text

The Elegant Set of 3 Copper Containers: Stylish and Functional Storage Solutions

Features of the Set of 3 Copper Containers:-

Copper dabbas, a collection of three beautiful containers, are both decorative and practical additions to any kitchen. Each of the set's containers is both functional and beautiful, thanks to its manufacture from high-quality copper. The brass handles give the copper containers an air of refined simplicity and make them easy to carry around. Keeping the contents remain fresh and safe, each container comes with a copper cover that fits securely. This set will not only serve your culinary needs, but it will also add a touch of classic style to your kitchen.

Benefits of using the Set of 3 Copper Containers:-

1.There are a lot of advantages to storing food in copper containers in the kitchen. They are great for keeping food because, first of all, copper has antimicrobial qualities. You may enjoy your food for longer because to copper's inherent antibacterial properties.

2. Whether you're storing hot or cold foods, these containers will retain them at the perfect temperature thanks to copper's thermal conductivity. This makes them useful for a wide range of purposes in the kitchen, from storing grains and spices to maintaining the temperature of cooked foods.

3.The copper containers include brass handles, which aren't just decorative; they also make it easier to hold the containers securely and avoid spills. The food will stay fresh and safe from pests and other outside influences thanks to the tight-fitting copper cover.

The visual attractiveness of copper is another major advantage. The copper containers, with their rich, warm tint, elevate the look of any kitchen. These containers serve dual purposes as both functional storage and aesthetically pleasing accent pieces as the copper patina gradually deepens with time.

To top it all off, copper is a long-lasting material. Copper containers experience far longer and are more durable than their plastic or glass competitors. Because of this, purchasing the three-piece copper container set is a wise financial decision for your kitchen.

The last benefit is how low-maintenance these copper containers are. They are easy to clean; just use a gentle detergent and water to keep them looking and working well. Using these containers in your kitchen is already convenient, but the low maintenance part makes it much better.

Versatility and gift potential:-

You can store just about anything in this set of three copper containers. These containers may hold anything you can think of, including grains, spices, snacks, and even non-food objects. You may also use them as decorations because of how exquisite they are. They are the perfect way to brighten up your kitchen shelves without breaking the bank.

Copper canisters are a great present idea as well. Those in your life who have an appreciation for the quirky and vintage will adore these copper containers with brass handles. Additionally, they are perfect for gifting as tokens of appreciation for celebrations like weddings, anniversaries, and housewarmings. These containers are perfect for any occasion because of their practicality and classic style.

Global service:-

In addition, we have shipping facilities in every major city around the globe, including the USA, Canada, and London. You can appreciate the beauty and use of these copper jars from any location. Order your set now and enjoy the perfect combination of form and function that only premium copper dabbas can provide.

Finally, the three copper containers are the definition of elegance and functionality. These containers are perfect for storing a variety of items in the kitchen because to their sturdy copper structure, brass handles, and tight-fitting lids. Copper is a great material to have around the house since it is beautiful, thermally conductive, and antimicrobial. Not only may they be used as storage, but they can also be used as ornamental items or considerate presents. These copper storage containers are an enduring investment that will bring joy to your kitchen and your loved ones. They are available for shipment worldwide.

#copper conatiners #copper dabbas #copper storage with brass handle #copper ware

0 notes

radhyaa58 · 2 months

Text

The Ultimate Guide to Potato Storage Containers: Keep Your Spuds Fresh

Potatoes are a staple in many households, providing versatility and nutrition. However, proper storage is crucial to maintain their freshness and prevent spoilage. In this comprehensive guide, we’ll delve into the world of potato storage containers and explore the best options available to ensure your potatoes remain fresh for as long as possible.

Why Proper Potato Storage is Important

Proper storage of potatoes is essential to prevent spoilage, sprouting, and the development of toxins. When stored correctly, potatoes can last for weeks, providing you with fresh ingredients for your meals. Let’s understand the key reasons why proper storage is important:

Prevents Spoilage: Incorrect storage can lead to mold, rot, and bacteria growth, rendering potatoes inedible.

Reduces Sprouting: Potatoes stored in improper conditions tend to sprout, making them less appealing and nutritious.

Preserves Nutrients: Proper storage helps retain the nutritional value of potatoes, ensuring they remain a healthy part of your diet.

Factors to Consider When Choosing Potato Storage Containers

Choosing the right potato storage container involves several factors to ensure your potatoes stay fresh. Here are the key considerations:

Material: Opt for containers made from breathable materials such as wood, wicker, or ceramic to allow proper air circulation.

Ventilation: Adequate ventilation is crucial to prevent moisture buildup, which can lead to mold and rot.

Light Protection: Potatoes should be stored in dark conditions to prevent them from turning green and producing solanine, a toxic compound.

Size: Choose a container size that suits your storage needs, ensuring it can hold the quantity of potatoes you typically use.

Ease of Access: Consider containers with easy-to-open lids or drawers for convenient access to your potatoes.