#Gulf Assignment Help

[eowynstwin]

the rain / neighbors

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On a cold winter's day in the early morning hours, you knock on your neighbor Captain John Price's door to make a noise complaint. - Your thighs are taut and sensitive as a yearling’s flank, ready to twitch at the barest whisper of breath. - ao3

The moment you ’re home, I’ll give you everything you want.

There’s a dangerous cast to the sky—dark, heavy, near-splitting at the seams. It’s not a night to have rejected a ride home from the station, not with those words ringing in your ears.

But when the ride was your ex, you’d rather risk getting caught in the downpour.

The pavement is hard and cold beneath your tired feet. Your whole body is sore from the long train ride home, spent stiffly across from Ben as you’d avoided his gaze, but you’d walk twice the distance home to even halve the time you’d spent with him. His sad eyes and kicked-puppy stare had been stuck to you the whole time, as if magnetized, and they weigh on you now as heavy as the suitcase you drag behind you.

This trip was a mistake. You should not have gone anywhere with Ben, professionally or otherwise. Not with how weird the energy has been between you and him, ever since you broke it off.

“Can’t you just try to be happy with me?” he’d asked you then. “I’m a good partner, aren’t I? I just want to make you happy, sweets, and it’s like you won’t even let me.”

Objectively, Ben had been the boyfriend everyone seemed to want when they talked about romance—interested and engaged, excited about a future together, sensitive and willing to talk about his feelings. He even knew where the clitoris was. There was nothing—no red flags, no warning signs—that should have scared you off.

It was just you. There was something wrong with you, because none of that made you happy—not the lunch dates, not the weekly flowers, and not even the sex. All you knew was that when he started wondering when you would introduce him to your parents, ice had run down your spine.

A bad gust of wind slaps you from behind, followed by a crack of thunder, too close for you to make it home dry. Indeed, there isn’t much time after finishing that thought before the deluge unloads, raindrops falling heavy and cold and fat as bullets.

You come to a resigned stop in the middle of the sidewalk, tilting your face up to the sky. There’s no point in rushing now—thick, late-winter clouds spread low across Liverpool, slow-moving. By all appearances intending to linger as long as possible. You’d neglected an umbrella, and your coat is nowhere near waterproof. You think of the warm interior of Ben’s car and shiver.

You want John.

You struggle to understand it. He is nothing like what you’d assign yourself for a match—there is a wide gulf of difference between you and him, too wide for you to ever expect an easy crossing. He and you should feel disjointed, incongruous, as ill-suited as a war horse might be to a hummingbird. There shouldn’t be anything you could offer each other that either would have use for.

And yet, you do. It is easy. Breathable, in a way that feels unearned enough to make you nervous.

How are you supposed to navigate something that shouldn’t be working, but is anyway? How can something feel this good with barely any effort on your part? How can you go through with this, when you’re not even sure what it means?

The rain reaches its fingers down into your collar, pools around your feet. You close your eyes and try to hear John’s voice in your head again. Soft and low over the phone, coaxing. Inviting your fears out into the open to be soothed.

You’re walking again before you realize it—one cold foot in front of the other, heavy suitcase clattering behind you, familiar with the way home even through the sheeting rain. And what feels like mere moments later, you’re walking up the steps to his front door.

The window beside it glows a soft yellow around the edges. You can’t help but stand there, frozen again as this suddenly becomes real. John, and everything he’s offered you, is on the other side of the door. All you have to do is take it. All you have to do is knock.

But John opens the door before you can even lift your hand.

“Jesus, love,” he says, the moment he looks at you.

Time slows. Warmth pours from the open portal. He looks… comfortable. Soft around the edges in blue jeans and a knitted sweater—the same one he’d worn to dinner at the pub. You hadn’t realized how much you missed him, even in the few days you’d been gone, but once your eyes land on his you don’t want to look away. The angle of his brow; the shape of his mouth beneath his old-fashioned mustache. Looking at him is like looking at your bed at the end of a long day.

“Hi, John,” you reply, smiling apologetically.

“Come on, get inside!” he exclaims, hurrying you in as thunder claps behind you.

In his flat, the lights are low. As you stand dripping on his entry, you take in an arrangement of somewhat retro furniture and sparsely decorated walls. It’s utilitarian in a way that probably isn’t meant to be; spare of anything particularly homey because the inhabitant just doesn’t have time to pay attention to it. You’ve never actually been inside before. It’s very much like John himself; tidy but old-fashioned, practical, hiding absolutely nothing.

You don’t think the candles, though, sitting on a few end tables and shelves and glowing soft gold, are his standard decor. Nor is the crystal bottle of liquor languishing in an ice bucket at the center of a small coffee table, attended by two whiskey glasses off to the side.

“When you said you were on your way I didn’t think you’d be walking,” he says, taking your luggage and setting it aside. “Why didn’t you ask me to come get you? I have a car, would’ve been happy to drive you.”

“I—” and you laugh a little nervously, magnetized to the concerned slant of his brow, “I didn’t know you had a car.”

You’re not sure you would’ve asked him for a lift even if you had known.

He draws close, so close his warmth cuts through the chill of your wet clothes, his gaze moving across you like he’s drinking you in. He cups your face lightly with one hand, thumb tracing a gentle line across your cheek. The expression on his face is almost too tender for you to bear.

“You’re here now,” he murmurs.

There’s a tremble working its way through your chest. You feel desperately seen again, recognized in a way no one ever has before. “I’m a mess, I—maybe I should go and change, come back…”

“No,” he purrs, taking your chin between thumb and forefinger. “You’re stayin’ right here.” And quite easily, John kisses you for the first time.

His mouth is warm along yours. His free hand hooks your waist, pulls you closer as he moves to cup the back of your neck. You’re so surprised you don’t react for a moment, but that doesn’t deter him; he just coaxes you into responding, sipping at your lips, teasing at the seam with the tip of his tongue.

It throws you off balance. He kisses you as if he’s known all along how to do it; as if he’s studied you, all of those mornings, noting the way your lips touch the rim of your coffee mug and the way you look up at him when he talks to you. Calculating the angles, the ways your mouths could fit together.

He shifts, angling to kiss you deeper. A wave of vertigo threatens to overtake you—your hands fly to his chest, which is broad beneath your fingers. You dig them into the cable of his sweater, a little whine escaping you, and John huffs a laugh against your mouth before greeting your tongue with his.

You have never felt as small as you do now in John Price’s hands, at the mercy of the way he holds you—like he’s planning to keep you in place until he’s finished with you.

When he finally pulls away, you have the opportunity to take a deep gasp as he chuckles again. He thumbs your bottom lip, almost playfully.

“Mm,” he murmurs. “Wanted to do that the minute you walked into the pub that night.” You don’t have time to reckon with this confession—if you can even call it that, because once he says it you realize you’ve known the whole time—before he continues. “Come on, you must be freezing. Let’s get you warmed up.”

John helps you out of your coat, unwrapping you like peeling away a chrysalis. It exposes the thin, damp fabric of your dress to the warm air—and to his gaze—and you can’t help but feel suddenly naked in front of him. He’s revealed nothing that he hasn’t seen before, but irrationally, you want to cover your chest, or cross your arms over your stomach. Shield the most vulnerable parts of you from consumption.

John takes your hands in his and pulls you to an armchair—a comfortable, plush thing with a low back. He backs you into it so that your knees buckle, and you sit, looking up at him as he stands over you.

“First order of business,” he says.

He turns away from you to lift the decanter from the bucket, and pours a finger of liquor into a glass. You try to pretend your heart isn’t thrumming, like a bird’s beating wings behind your ribcage, as he turns back and holds out the drink, long fingers dwarfing the rim.

“As promised,” he purrs, “Balvenie.”

You accept it the glass; the scotch sparkles, amber-rich and glittering gold where the low candlelight catches it.

“It looks good,” you say, looking up at him.

There’s a pleased look on his face. “Give us a taste, then.”

Heat blooms across your face, spreads down your chest. You bring the rim of the glass to your lips immediately, still held by his gaze—

Smoke blooms across your tongue, heavy and soft, pricked with notes of honey and vanilla. You roll the scotch in your mouth, close your eyes as its warmth slides along your tongue, pressing it up into your soft palate, citrus appearing in a sudden, tangy splash. You let the drink flow into your throat and feel the smoke fill your head as you swallow.

You open your eyes and look up at John. “That’s really good.”

It shouldn’t surprise you, really, but it does: John bends over you, takes your chin in his hand, and kisses you again, dipping his tongue into your mouth as if searching for leftover drops of liquor. Your head swims; warmth suffuses you, waking up the nerves along the back of your neck. The hair on your arms stands on end as the world narrows to John’s mouth on yours and nothing else, the wet heat of his tongue, the prickle of his beard against your skin. It’s slow and molasses-sweet, rich and decadent. Thunder rumbles, far away.

“Mm. It is,” he says when he pulls away. Another brief kiss—like he can’t get enough of it, like he’s been saving up every moment he hasn’t kissed you, and is spending all of his chances now. “Promise me you’ll never drink Walker again.”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, taking an unsteady breath.

The ends of his beard move against your face in a smile. “Enjoy that. I’ll be right back.”

He straightens, and steps away. The tug of his gravity is so strong that you list forward, toward him, until he leaves your orbit.

You look around his apartment again, helpless, as if to find some sort of anchor that isn’t John Price—he’s going to get you drunk on his presence alone faster than the liquor ever could. You catch sight of a bookshelf, sparsely populated with a short line of books; as you stare at them, trying to figure out what they are, you realize with a start that they’re all brand-new copies of what you’ve lent him.

Actium. Nafisi. Da Vinci. McMurtry. They’re all here. The textual foundation of your relationship aligned in a tidy, even row. Living here, in the center of his home.

You take another nervous sip of scotch.

John returns with a stack of clean towels, unfurls one, and drapes it over your head. But before you can tend to your hair yourself, he lays his big hands overtop of the terrycloth, pressing down into your scalp.

Your breath leaves you in a rush, depressurizing your lungs. Pure sensation dances up your spinal cord, suffusing the space between your ears, as he kneads with an even, firm pressure, massaging the water from your hair. Your eyes slide shut of their own accord. Your mouth drops open as he digs his fingers into the tense nerves down the back of your head.

The little sound that escapes the pit of your throat is utterly involuntary.

John huffs a chuckle. “That good, then?”

“Uh-huh,” you hear yourself mumble again. Somewhere in the back of your mind, obscured by smoke, you think you should feel embarrassed, ashamed of how naked your pleasure must be. But John gives you no time to ruminate.

He tilts your face upward and presses his lips to your forehead, down the bridge of your nose, gentle, soft, to your mouth. Your mouth, over and over again, as calloused thumbs caress your temples.

It’s a gentle way of taking control. You have no need to reach out with unsure hands, or stumble your way through half-desires with no time to think about them. John has seen into you, divined your quietest, sincerest needs, and feeds them back to you now like he’s only been waiting for your go-ahead to do so.

The bird in your ribcage flutters nervously. Is this really alright? Should you be letting it happen like this? Shouldn’t you be…participating, somehow, in this, other than to take what he gives you?

“John,” you start, but you have no idea what you want to say to him. “Shouldn’t I…shouldn’t—”

“Shh,” he says. “You should let me take care of you.”

John squeezes your hair one more time, then sets the damp towel aside. With an expression you can only describe as beatific, he smooths errant strands of hair away from your face, and then lowers to his knees in front of you. He touches your ankles; nods toward the glass of scotch encircled by your nervous hands. “Don’t stop on my account.”

You hold his gaze, and take a sip. The satisfaction on his face is almost too much to bear.

“Good girl,” he says. He lifts the heel of your shoe onto his thigh, smoothing his hand up and down your shin. “You’re doing such a good job, letting me do this.”

He takes your shoes off as tenderly as he’d removed your jacket, tucking away the laces and setting them off to the side. With warm hands, he rolls your wet knee-high socks down your legs, exposing your chilled calves to his palms. After he folds them and places them by your shoes, his mouth and the warm scratch of his beard meet the top of one foot…move up your instep, and to the inside of your ankle, then to your shin…up your calf…to your knee—

“Is this—” you begin, and have to swallow the trembles in your voice, “what you talked about on the phone?”

“Mm-hm,” he hums, kneading your other calf as he urges your legs to open for him.

Your breath is shallow in your lungs—as if any one too deep might startle John away from his quarry, convince him you’re not aching for this. John kisses inward along the inside of one thigh, keeping the other open with his kneading hand. The flesh molds like clay to his touch, extruding between the gaps of his fingers. He makes an appreciative sound, a hum, as he slides his hands further upward and under the damp hem of your dress, cresting the angles of your hips. Inexplicably, you go tight, anticipatory, like the skin of a grape exposed to a knife.

It isn’t like you haven’t been here before. Your sex life with Ben had been—while not particularly active—not nonexistent. And yet this feels new anyway; as if John is sweeping dust off a body long left unused. Your thighs are taut and sensitive as a yearling’s flank, ready to twitch at the barest whisper of breath.

But isn’t this new, after all? No one, not Ben or anyone else who’s ever touched you, has made you feel this way.

“Lift your hips, darlin’,” John rumbles, and for the first time you catch a hint of scouse in his accent—low, slung around his words and leaving off the hard edges. Like a vein of gold unearthed. “Bring ‘er closer to me.”

Heat blazes across your face. There’s a small end table beside the armchair; you take one more pull from your scotch glass and set your drink aside. Then you shift, edging your hips forward, tilting your pelvis—angling your pussy toward John’s face.

He kisses the crease of your thigh and groin. “That’s a girl,” he purrs, and then presses the bottom half of his face directly into your underwear, opening his mouth over the wet fabric and inhaling deeply. The panties are nothing fancy, simple cotton with a floral pattern, but his eyes slide shut in what you can only describe as ecstasy.

“It’s like you’re getting as much out of this as I am,” you say, trying to laugh, to make this feel like less than it is if only for the sake of your nerves.

“I am,” he says, rough around the edges, and pulls at the gusset of your underwear with his teeth. “I’ve thought about this every morning—” he runs the flat of his tongue along the outer seam, touching bare skin “—and every evening—” edging his fingertips into the leg hole at the top of your hip “—since I met you.”

“You barely knew me,” you whisper, trembling.

“I knew enough,” he says, lifting his face to meet your eyes—his pupils are blown wide, encased in a thin rind of blue. Delicately he takes the waistband of your panties between his fingers, eases it down. “Knew you were a good girl, who wouldn’t even fuss at mean old bastard for waking her up. Wanted to eat your cunt to apologize.”

Something flushed and hot radiates from your core, molten and liquid. “Every time you call me that I—I don’t know what to do, John, I feel…”

“Good,” he says. “Lift your hips again.”

You obey. You think you’d do practically anything, if he told you to in that voice, rough and commanding like far-away thunder. John peels your underwear from your hips, dragging it down over the swell of your bottom, closing your legs to pull them down and—you swallow—shoving them in his pocket when they’re off. Then, like opening the shutters of a window, he parts your legs again, and slots his face between them.

The first thing that strikes you is how hot his mouth. He eases a molten tongue into your folds and you watch his eyes slide shut, feel the soft groan he gives vibrate against your flesh. Your body heat blooms, sight going liquid around the edges—or maybe your temperature is just rising to meet John’s own, thermoregulating to avoid meltdown as he stokes a fire between your legs. Hot breath meets you as he opens his mouth, gets as much tender flesh between his lips as he can.

He’s slow. Exploratory. He tongues your pussy luxuriantly, indulgently, as he loops his arms under your legs to hook them over his broad shoulders, thick forearms dark with hair snaking overtop of your thighs. Holding you in place as he eats— savors . He maps your topography, delving and cresting the landscape like trying to discover every significant landmark, and finds a spot on your clitoris that makes your thighs seize up and your hips jerk under his mouth. He chuckles low against you, playfully flits his tongue across it at what you’d swear is the same rapid pulse of your heartbeat.

You look at him between your legs. The curls of his dark lashes are pretty against the pale hue of his skin, freckled with sun exposure. Fever pink spreads across his cheeks as his brow furrows in the middle, creasing as he laps at the beads of moisture pearling up from your entrance. You watch him, mouth hanging open to allow your shallow breaths to flow free—and he opens his eyes, sharp blue, meeting your gaze.

A sound escapes you, raw, rough in the back of your throat. He smiles, drags the flat of his tongue up your folds as if to show off, and strokes along the sensitive border of your mons and lower stomach with the rough callus of his thumb.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, love.” He kisses your mound and then takes your pussy, soft and slow, back into his mouth.

There’s a trembling behind your sternum. Something in you breaks open—seeps cloying and honey-gold—into your bloodstream. Your head lolls back as his tongue slips deeper into you, stoking pleasure, your old friend, your old enemy, like turning embers out of ashes. Your thighs relax over the ballast of his shoulders. They’re broad enough that even as your legs fall further open, they don’t slip off.

It’s like your body and his are dovetail joints cut long ago, yet still now slide easily into place. Your heels rest comfortably on the expanse of his back with plenty of room left over; his big hands, as they spread wide across your stomach, fit along its curves and dips like rain sliding along soft green leaves.

It soaks you to the bone, warm and deep into your marrow, filling your veins and blotting the spaces between your alveoli until John, John, John is on every breath.

You must be saying his name aloud, because John’s grip tightens around you. The flint-strike of his tongue against your clitoris, lightning-sharp, catalyzes the pleasure in your bloodstream into a tight, unfamiliar gnarl. You gasp hard, almost painfully—how long has your body been able to feel like this, somewhere beyond your reach?

Has this pleasure always lived at the end of John’s tongue, along the contours of his hands, draped over his body like a mantle?

(How can something like this be a fair exchange for books and clumsy conversation?)

Your hand flies to John’s hair as it grows—a trembling feeling that touches places inside of you that you’ve always been dimly aware of, but never have given much thought to. It loosens you at the seams, grinds the fault lines inside of you together, dislodges your inhibitions from their foundation.

“John, please,” you whimper, brows drawn together, “please, please—”

He growls against you. Grinds through your center and then sucks your folds into his mouth, grazing the hood of your clit with the edge of his teeth, teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue—

Suddenly, it overtakes you.

Flying sparks finally catch along aching tinder. A single point of furtive, glowing heat blooms between your legs, unassuming except for that you’ve never felt it before. It only sits briefly in your folds before bursting outward, seizing every nerve ending in the immediate vicinity, blazing bright like fire spreads over paper. Then you tighten around nothing, the inside of you desperately grasping something that isn’t there, body snapping taut as you arch from the backrest, mouth hanging open as a sharp gasp dies in your throat. Sensation consumes everything. Your vision darkens; the air stills in your lungs.

The only thing spared is the heat of John’s mouth, the cords of his arms around your thighs, and the ballast of his shoulders hooked in the bend of your knees—he keeps you anchored, held together as you try to fly apart. The caress of his hands and fingers across your lower belly does not stop as his mouth continues moving over your cunt, moves until your whole body is shaking, moves as you finally gasp for air and cry out in overstimulation.

You collapse back into the chair, pushing now against John’s head even though you’re not sure you want him to stop. He resists—kissing your pussy, once, twice, three times as you come down—and then takes a wrist in one big hand and kisses your palm.

“That,” John rasps, “is a fucking climax, love.”

You swallow, throat dry and smoke-rough. Even in the aftershocks, the pleasure lingers, and you squeeze your inner muscles to hold onto it for as long as you can.

It doesn’t escape his notice. Of course it doesn’t. John’s fingers trek inward, gathering some of the wet slick between your folds and then lazily circling your clitoris.

“Look at you,” he rasps, “my poor girl needs more, doesn’t she?”

Ecstasy grips you again; you whimper as he manipulates your flesh. “John…”

“How long you been aching for it, love? Years? How long’ve you needed me, and I ain’t been there, mm?” He kisses the soft part of your lower belly. “You don’t need to worry anymore. I’m here now.”

You angle your head to look at him, running your dry tongue along your lips. What you see on his face steals the meager oxygen you’ve managed to pull in since your climax abated.

His face is flushed. Lips rosy and swollen from their work. The blue of his eyes has been eclipsed almost completely by black singularity—inescapable, unfathomable, a depth more vast than comprehension. Ready to swallow you whole.

This whole time, you’ve been afraid of John’s touch the way you are afraid of a hot bath on a cold night. There is a comfort beyond the first step into the water, languorous ecstasy waiting only for you to claim it, but the toll separating it and you—the shock of first contact, the split second of violent adjustment, makes you nearly content to remain in uncomfortable but familiar dissatisfaction.

Thunder cracks outside as you reach for him, as he reads your mind and surges forward to kiss you, hand catching the back of your neck to reel your mouth to his. You kiss each other hard and fast, over and over again, eager to end each one only so you can start the next.

Nearly content, in the end, is not content at all.

“John,” you murmur against his lips, as his hand still works your cunt, “I’m still cold.”

next

[usafphantom2]

18 NOV 1968, An F-4D #66-0249 from the 433rd TFS, Ubon RTAB, was badly struck by 37mm Anti-Aircraft fire. The damage rendered the stricken Phantom uncontrollable, and pilot Major Ben "Ray" Battle ordered his WSO 1Lt Robert "Kenny" Boone to eject.

The WSO pulled his handle and fired away from the stricken Phantom on his ejection seat.

After Kenny ejected, strangely... Ray immediately noticed the aircraft exhibited slightly more controllability and elected to remain with his aircraft. Continuing on solo to Ubon AB, where he executed a safe and successful gear-up landing.

Kenny watched helplessly as the Phantom he had just ejected from continued homeward bound, as his parachute settled into the Laotian jungle below. Thankfully, poor Kenny was rescued shortly afterward. Bruised, but unhurt.

It would've been an interesting conversation once Kenny returned to base...

“Kenny Boone and I were flying a fast-mover FAC mission along the Ho Chi Min trail in Laos. It was an orientation ride for Kenny as he was newly assigned to my unit. We were at 4000 feet and Kenny was flying the airplane when I heard an explosion, the aircraft shuddered and the front windscreen was covered in what turned out to be hydraulic fluid. My sensation was that the aircraft was out of control and I ordered Kenny to eject which he did. Instinctively, I took the stick and throttles in hand and to my amazement, the aircraft was flyable. I called for help for Kenny and headed back for Thailand where we were stationed. I was given the option of ejecting or landing gear up as the landing gear would not come down. I elected to land gear up and catch the runway wire with my tail hook.. I have 150 aircraft carrier landings and thought I could easily make an arrested landing on the runway. I pulled the power off just as I touched down and the aircraft settled onto the wire cutting it. The aircraft slid down the runway and veered off to the right before fish-hooking to the right and stopping. It caught on fire and I jumped out safely. As you know Kenny was recovered after spending a nervous night hanging in a tree in Laos In retrospect, My ordering Kenny to eject was a mistake which I have always regretted. I felt at the time I was saving his life and I intended to eject after he did. We both survived the incident for which I am grateful.”

- Ray Battle -

F-4D #66-0249 was eventually repaired, needing a new nose cone, some paint, oh...and a new seat for the guy in back. She was returned to service two years later in February of 1970, and went on to enjoy a long career. Sadly Ol' #249 saw her end with a plunge in the Florida Gulf, flying out of Tyndall AFB in 1985.

@usafphantom2

[aaknopf]

Martyr!, the poet Kaveh Akbar’s propulsive debut novel, tells the tale of Cyrus Shams, the son of a lost mother (victim of a 1988 U. S. Naval snafu in the Persian Gulf that killed 290 people on a commercial airliner) and the long-suffering father who emigrated to Fort Wayne, IN with his baby boy. We meet Cyrus as a student of poetry at Keady University and a reformed addict. In this excerpt, he’s at the local open mic with his friends; we also share one of the poems from Cyrus’s bookofmartyrs.docx, helpfully supplied by Akbar, the poet behind the fictional poet.

. .

The Naples Tuesday night open mic had become a mainstay of Cyrus and Zee’s friendship. It was a small affair, not much to distinguish it from the myriad other open mics happening elsewhere in the country—except this was their open mic, their organic community of beautiful weirdos—old hippies singing Pete Seeger, trans kids rapping about liberation, passionate spoken-word performances by nurses and teenagers and teachers and cooks. As with any campus open mic, there was the occasional frat dude coming to play sets of smirky acoustic rap covers and overearnest breakup narratives. But even they were welcome, and mostly it felt like a safe little oasis of amongness in the relative desert of their Indiana college town, a healthy way to spend the time they were no longer using to get drunk or high.   Naturally, Naples didn’t have its own sound equipment, so Zee would usually show up fifteen minutes early with his beat-up Yamaha PA to set up for Sad James, who hosted every week. Sad James was called this to distinguish him from DJ James, a guy who cycled nightly through the campus bars. DJ James was not a particularly interesting artist, but he was well-known enough in the campus community to warrant Sad James’s nominative prefix, which began as a joke but somehow stuck, and to which Sad James had grown accustomed with good humor, even occasionally doing small shows under the name. Sad James was a quiet white guy, long blond hair framing his lightly stubbled face, who played intensely solemn electronic songs, punctuated by sparse circuit-bent blips and bloops, and over time at Keady, he had become one of Zee and Cyrus’s most resilient and trusted friends.   On this night, Cyrus had read a poem early, an older experimental piece from a series where he’d been assigning words to each digit 0–9, then using an Excel document to generate a lyric out of those words as the digits appeared in the Fibonacci sequence: “lips sweat teeth lips spread teeth lips drip deep deep sweat skin,” etc. It was bad, but he loved reading them out loud, the rhythms and repeti­tions and weird little riffs that emerged. Sad James did an older piece where the lyrics “burning with the human stain / she dries up, dust in the rain” were repeated and modulated over molten beeps from an old circuit-bent Game Boy. Zee—a drummer in his free time who idolized J Dilla and John Bonham and Max Roach and Zach Hill in equal measure—hadn’t brought anything of his own to perform that evening, but did have a little bongo to help accompany any acoustic acts who wanted it.   On the patio listening to Cyrus talk about his new project, Zee said, “I could see it being a bunch of different poems in the voices of all your different historical martyr obsessions?” Then to Sad James, Zee added, “Cyrus has been plastering our apartment with these big black-and-white printouts of all their terrifying faces. Bobby Sands in our kitchen, Joan of Arc in our hallway.”   Sad James made his eyes get big.   “I just like having them present,” Cyrus said, slumping into his chair. He didn’t add that he’d been reading about them in the library, his mystic martyrs, that he’d taped a great grid of their grayscale printed faces above his bed, half believing it would work like those tapes that promised to teach you Spanish while you slept, that some­how their lived wisdoms would pass into him as he dreamt. Among the Tank Man, Bobby Sands, Falconetti as Joan of Arc, Cyrus had a picture of his parents’ wedding day. His mother, seated in a sleeved white dress, smiling tightly at the camera while his father, in a tacky gray tux, sat grinning next to her holding her hand. Above their heads, a group of attendees held an ornate white sheet. It was the only picture of his mother he had. Next to his mother, his father beamed, bright in a way that made it seem he was radiating the light himself.   Zee went on: “So you could write a poem where Joan of Arc is like, ‘Wow, this fire is so hot’ or whatever. And then a poem where Hussain is like, ‘Wow, sucks that I wouldn’t kneel.’ You know what I mean?”   Cyrus laughed.   “I tried some of that! But see, that’s where it gets corny. What could I possibly say about the martyrdom of Hussain or Joan of Arc or whoever that hasn’t already been said? Or that’s worth saying?”   Sad James asked who Hussain was and Zee quickly explained the trial in the desert, Hussain’s refusing to kneel and being killed for it.   “You know, Hussain’s head is supposedly still buried in Cairo?” Zee said, smiling. “Cairo, which is in which country again?”   Cyrus rolled his eyes at his friend, who was, as Cyrus liked to remind him when he got too greatest-ancient-civilization-on-earth about things, only half Egyptian.   “Damn,” Sad James said. “I would’ve just kneeled and crossed my fingers behind my back. Who am I trying to impress? Later I could call take-backsies. I’d just say I tripped and landed on my knees or something.”   The three friends laughed. Justine, an open mic regular whose Blonde on Blonde–era pea-coat-and-harmonica-rack Bob Dylan act was a mainstay of the open mic, came outside to ask Zee for a cigarette. He obliged her with an American Spirit Yellow, which she lit around the corner as she began speaking into her cell phone.   In moments like these Cyrus still sometimes felt like asking to bum one too—he’d been a pack-and-a-half-a-day smoker before he got sober, and continued his habit even after he’d kicked everything else. “Quit things in the order they’re killing you,” his sponsor, Gabe, told him once. After a year clean he turned his attention to cigarettes, which he finally managed to kick completely by tapering: from one and a half packs a day to a pack to half a pack to five cigarettes and so on until he was just smoking a single cigarette every few days and then, none at all. He could probably get away with bumming the occasional cigarette now and again, but in his mind he was saving that for something momentous: his final moments lying in the grass dying from a gunshot wound, or walking in slow motion away from a burning building.   “So what are you thinking then? A novel? Or like . . . a poetic mar­tyr field guide?” asked Zee.   “I’m really not sure yet. But my whole life I’ve thought about my mom on that flight, how meaningless her death was. Truly literally like, meaningless. Without meaning. The difference between 290 dead and 289. It’s actuarial. Not even tragic, you know? So was she a martyr? There has to be a definition of the word that can accom­modate her. That’s what I’m after.”

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar.

Browse Kaveh Akbar's poetry collections and follow Kaveh on Instagram @kavehakbar.kavehakbar.

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[cantorpike]

Dear Friend,

When I was a teenager, I told my dad I wanted to be an actor. In response, he gave me the only piece of advice he ever offered me—“Learn to play the accordion.” And he was serious. He said, “You can always make a living with an accordion.”

Because I ignored his advice, I never found out if he was right. Instead, I’ve lived 80 creative years pursuing acting and photography, and working as a director and poet.

If I had listened to my father, and hadn’t done any of those things, chances are you wouldn’t have recognized my name and you wouldn’t be reading this. Now that you are, I’d like to ask you to consider what I have to say. I reach out to you as someone who is troubled to see the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians continue apparently without an end in sight.

In fact, there is an end in sight. It’s known as the two-state solution—a secure, democratic Israel as the Jewish State alongside an independent Palestinian state. Even Israel’s nationalist Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, has come to see this as the shape of the future. The problem is how to reach that end point. It’s something we should be concerned about—not only as world citizens, but as Americans.

You might recall the episode in the original Star Trek series called, “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield.” Two men, half black, half white, are the last survivors of their peoples who have been at war with each other for thousands of years, yet the Enterprise crew could find no differences separating these two raging men.

But the antagonists were keenly aware of their differences—one man was white on the right side, the other was black on the right side. And they were prepared to battle to the death to defend the memory of their people who died from the atrocities committed by the other.

The story was a myth, of course, and by invoking it I don’t mean to belittle the very real issues that divide Israelis and Palestinians. What I do mean to suggest is that the time for recriminations is over. Assigning blame over all other priorities is self-defeating. Myth can be a snare. The two sides need our help to evade the snare and search for a way to compromise.

This is the message that Americans for Peace Now seeks to spread. I’m a strong supporter of APN and the work it does. It is a leading voice for Americans who support Israel and know that a negotiated peace will ensure Israel’s security, prosperity, and continued viability as a Jewish and democratic state.

The Middle East is only getting more tumultuous. The upheavals throughout the region show that what happens in the Middle East can’t help but affect us in the United States. This year, we’ve seen oil prices rise sharply and America become involved militarily in Libya. The cost to American lives and our economy continues to rise at a time when unemployment and deficits are sapping our country’s strength.

“If we can solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, then that will make it easier for Arab states and the Gulf states to support us when it comes to issues like Iraq and Afghanistan. It will also weaken Iran, which has been using Hamas and Hezbollah as a way to stir up mischief in the region.”

Those are the words of candidate Barack Obama in 2008. And although they’re just as accurate today, time has not stood still.

We’ve also seen a marked increase in violence: a Jewish family was murdered in the West Bank and a woman was killed in a bus bombing in Jerusalem. A rocket attack on southern Israel from the Hamas-controlled Gaza Strip resulted in a school bus being hit and a teen died of his wounds. Israel, in turn, has retaliated. We need strong American leadership now to pivot from the zero-sum mentality of violence to an attitude that focuses on the parties shared interests: security and prosperity.

If you’ve learned something from this letter, I’ve succeeded in my preliminary task. Now I ask for your support to continue APN’s educational efforts in this country—to spread the message that there is a peace solution, and to let Congress and the White House know it’s preferable for America to be part of the solution than to be drawn into another conflict.

There is a sizable number of influential voices in Israel saying the same thing. In April, a group of 50 prominent Israelis, including the former heads of the Mossad (Israel’s CIA), the Shin Bet (its FBI), and the military, issued a call for two states for two nations. Their plan includes a Palestinian state alongside Israel with agreed-upon land swaps. The Palestinian-populated areas of Jerusalem would become the capital of Palestine; the Jewish-populated areas the capital of Israel.

These experts are not naïve. They know that even if the Palestinian pragmatists of Fatah reconcile with Hamas, there will be extremists who will try to sabotage any future peace deal. They know how to deal with violent extremists. These people were entrusted with Israel’s security and are saying that the work they did alone isn’t enough to bring Israel security. We cannot know yet what this unification of Hamas with Fatah means and we have to wait and see what emerges. Regardless, the principle of establishing two independent states, one Jewish and the other Palestinian, is still critical in this region for both Israel and the Palestinian people. That is the goal, to support the rational and moderate course.

Their action plan echoes the 348 senior Israeli reserve army officers and combat soldiers who came together in 1978 to urge their government to sign a peace treaty with Egypt. They formed Shalom Achshav, Israel’s Peace Now movement which APN provides nearly 50 percent of their funding.

Peace Now’s activities and programs—such as Settlement Watch, the ongoing monitoring of settlement construction on the West Bank—keeps peace on the world’s agenda. Peace Now gathers and publishes detailed information on settlements and is widely cited in Israeli and international media as the foremost authority on settlements. Peace Now is likewise well known for mobilizing demonstrations and organizing grassroots pro-peace activities. Innovations include an interactive online map of the settlements, “Facts on the Ground,” also available as an app for iPhone and iPad developed by APN applying Peace Now’s courageous work.

Like those Israelis who issued the peace plan, the members of Peace Now have their boots on the ground. They serve in Israel’s military reserves and see every day what life is like without a negotiated peace with the Palestinians.

That’s why I’m a supporter of APN and Peace Now.

I hope you’ll join me, and lend your voice to the influential and credible peace lobby that exists here as well as in Israel. Please give the tax-deductible contribution you can afford.

Dare I say it? It’s the logical thing to do.

Leonard Nimoy

5/11/2011

[spookypete-94]

Beastie: Chapter #8 GhostxFem!reader

Slow burn, following MW2 storyline, eventually branching into my own. Warning for canon COD violence and language.

part 7.

part 6.

part 5.

part 4.

part 3.

part 2.

part 1.

The phone rang to Laswell. Who never did answer... making the rage within Y/N ignite further. What was she to do now? Why did Shepherd black ball her on this? She sat down the phone still in her hand, she didn't have a good feeling on this.

Alejandro sliding her door open made her finally look up from her pity party.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly walking in.

"Not your fault, just don't understand it."

"Graves wouldn't elaborate to all of us why either. You've worked hard Y/N, you're not a hinderance what so ever. I want you to know that."

"Thanks Colonel," she said looking up at him again. Out of the week they had worked together he had hardly used her real name, telling her he was trying to be genuine. "Really do appreciate it."

"We will be heading out here shortly, taking a main ship to take out three smaller boats for the teams that have been assigned." Alejandro briefed her. The spiteful side of her wanted to tell him to hold his breath, to not even waste his time, but she honestly was curious how it all was going to go down.

"Just, you all be careful, yeah?"

"Always," Alejandro nodded. "Rudy is staying here. He is going to work on vehicles if you want to help him." Alejandro offered to her. "I know you like having something to do."

"Thanks Alejandro, I appreciate it." She said getting up planning to head to the garage. She watched as he left towards the group leaving for the oil rig. Ghost and Soap turned to look at her, making her stop for a moment. Soap gave a small wave which she returned to the both. Her eyes lingering to Ghost who unbeknownst to her because of his mask was looking at her longingly.

"Let's roll out!" Graves yelled commanding the group. His voice making her blood boil, so she turned on her heel and headed to help Rudy.

"Beastieeeee," Rudy said in a playful way.

"'Sup Rudy," She said trying to help boost her state of mind.

"Come to help me did you?"

"Sure did, what can I do?"

"Bring me that tool kit over there." He said pointing to the black case on the tool bench.

Rudy was a great distraction. He never once brought up the mission or the fact that she wasn't allowed to attend. Instead, he would ask her a few things about her personal life asking if she was willing to talk about that stuff, in exchange he told things about his. She learned that he met Alejandro through the military becoming best friends working side by side. He had a wife with 3 kids, his home on the outskirts of Las Almas.

Hours passed by, as they listened to radio traffic start from Rudy's that was on his vest. His vest hooked around an old shop chair. It was mostly static due to the distance, but they could hear enough to know they were all close to the oil refinery.

"Weather sounds rough out there," Rudy noted.

"Right? Can't tell if it's the waves out there or if that is rain," Y/N said trying to decipher the noises. And just like clock work, thunder sounded off in the distance, telling her that rain was coming and more then likely the group was dealing with the elements on their mission.

Her phone was ringing in her pocket.

Laswell

"Hello?" Y/N

"Beastie, saw you had a missed call, heard the coordinates worked out to a oil refinery out in the Gulf. Are you on the way then?"

Y/N was speechless. Clearly Laswell wasn't told.

"Shepherd gave orders I wasn't to go."

".....What?" Laswell asked, shocked.

Y/N remained silent, already given her answer.

"Who told you this?"

"Graves."

"I was not notified," her voice now coated with anger.

"Are you surprised at this rate?"

"I'm going to call Shepherd." The line then went dead, Laswell abruptly hanging up.

"She didn't know?" Rudy looked up at her confused, sliding back up from the vehicle.

"Guess not," Y/N said, still staring down at her phone. It was now late around 1800. Peeking out the window, the black clouds that were approaching made it so much darker outside.

"Let's go find food, think most of the work is done." Rudy said getting up and brushing himself off. Out of habit he strapped his vest to himself.

In the kitchen, they had found some left overs in the large industrial style fridge. Rudy threw them in a pain to heat them up. Even for leftovers from the vigil, they were still quite tasty.

Y/N stayed close with him monitoring radio traffic still, worried about the main three men that she has bonded and worked side by side with.

"Sounds like they have it handled, think they located the missile and had to blow up the oil rig from what I understand." He said as the both stilled to listen to the traffic.

"All units RTB," Ghost said, crackling about every half second through his radio transmission.

"Should all be here in a couple of hours," Rudy said looking down at his watch.

Once more Y/N phone vibrated in her pocket.

"Laswell," Y/N answered knowing who it would be.

"Get out of there," her voice was serious, making Y/N's eyes flash over at Rudy, urgency now readable on her face. He also heard Laswell say it.

"What's happening?"

"I can't get Shepherd to answer, he has gone dark. I wonder if he has been tapping my phone conversations and knows what was said last night. I think he knows we are both suspicious of this whole mission."

"Shit," Y/N said, urgently heading to her room to gather her gear. "What do you think is happening?"

"I don't know, but I don't like it and I want you out of there."

"We have a safe house," Rudy said offering up a place to go. He was close enough to be able to listen to the phone call.

"Rudy says there is a safe house."

"Go with him," Laswell begged, happy to hear of an option.

"We're packing up now, I'm going to go dark. I'll find a way to get ahold of you." Y/N said quickly throwing the phone down on the floor and shattering it with her boot. She then pulled the SD card from it breaking it in half. Her vest was thrown on and her pistol on her thigh in it's holster. Sloppily, she threw her items in her bag, Rudy standing in the doorway peaking into the hallway, on guard. She slung her black tactical bag with her change of clothes, minor first aid items, and the jewelry set Ghost had paid for, on her back.

She racked one into her rifle and nodded to Rudy she was ready. "We go back out to the shop, take one of the trucks."

"Alright," she nodded, following him back out to the shop.

Yelling then started.

"Get on the ground!!"

"Fuuuuuck," Rudy hissed, halting, lifting his gun up and turning the corner.

It was Grave's shadows. It looked to be they were detaining the other Los Vaqueros.

"Quickly!" Rudy had whispered towards her. "Don't shoot unless needed, don't give us away."

She nodded, her adrenaline running high, her eyes looking at him wide.

The yelling only got louder and closer, as they stayed low and moved beside a side wall.

She was startled when someone grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back making her yell.

It was a Shadow, pulling her back by her vest, grabbing ahold of her radio as he did. Pulling a knife from her belt, she reached up cutting the arm of the Shadow.

"Fucking, Bitch!" The Shadow yelled at her. "Just need you to comply!" He said reaching for her again. She looked over at Rudy and saw him fighting with another Shadow. She pulled a smoke bomb off her vest and pulled the pin, dropping it between her and the Shadow she was fighting and pulled the other Shadow off of Rudy.

"Let's go!" Rudy yelled pulling her hand, the smoke bombs filling the building. She tried to keep up with him, but eventually lost grip with his hand. The smoke filled her sight and she wasn't sure where she was going now.

"Shit, shit, shit," she whispered starting to stress out. Her memory served her good as she found Rudy, but Shadows filled into the shop. Y/N started shooting them dropping a few, Rudy starting to do the same. The group finally stopped filling in, allowing Rudy and Y/N to get into a truck, Rudy as the driver.

Rudy floored it, throwing it into reverse and out of the garage they were in and started to head out of base through the back fence and into a gate. He didn't even bother wasting time to open the gate, forcing it down and driving over it with the truck.

"What the fuck was that?" Y/N turned to Rudy and asked. It was more rhetorical then anything.

"I don't know..." Rudy said quietly, stunned. The radios were then starting to go crazy. They both stayed silent and listened. From what they could tell, the members from 141, meaning Ghost and Soap, had somehow got away from Graves, but not on good terms. They were hunting the city for them. She couldn't just leave them.

"....Rudy." She said quietly. This made him turn to look at her.

"Beastie, no." He was giving her a side eye.

"I can't leave them.."

Rudy sighed, slowing the truck down. Y/N looked at him telling he was conflicted. "Go to the safe house. Maybe Alejandro is there."

He looked over at her giving a harsh face before pulling an old napkin out of the glove box. "These are the coordinates and directions to the safe house heading out of town. Take this truck, I'm going to go get one of the armored one's that we have parked and take it in to the safe house." He turned the truck around and headed to an old building not too far off from the Vaqueros base.

"It's gonna be alright Rudy," she said in a tone trying to convince him and herself.

"You better stay alive, or I am never going to forgive you or myself."

"See you soon," she said smiling to him as he got out of the truck and headed to where she assumed the armored truck was stored at.

Y/N slipped the older truck into drive and started towards town. She listened to the radio chatter trying to hear any update between the Shadows about Soap or Ghost. All she could hear was them talking trash or expressing their concerns, so instead she started flipping channels in the off chance Soap and Ghost were talking to each other... and sure enough.

"Church is on the northside of town. Get there," She heard Ghost's gravely voice.

"Yes sir," Soap said, his voice exhausted.

She reached for her mic to key up, realizing it was broke from the struggle with the Shadow at the base. "Fuck," she growled, "Go figure." The wire was frayed at the mic, the button bashed into itself not allowing her to key up.

Y/N ducked her head down to try to find a building tall to look through the windshield trying to find a building she would consider a church... What are the odds she could get the truck as close as possible? Pushing her luck she creeped into the further north side of town heading south bound towards the church. From the way she entered into town she was unseen by Graves and his Shadows. Most of them on the south side of town. Slowly, she let the truck roll further past the gate of what she assumed was the church. She turned the truck off, pulling the keys out so they didn't cause the truck to ding placing them in a cup holder. She slowly dropped out of the vehicle leaving the door open not wanting to alert anyone by closing it.

She made herself small, rifle still in her hands as she crouched down. No way she was going to clear the main gate, she pulled on it seeing it was locked. She stood on the brick wall of the gate and pulled herself up one of the shorter ones. She wanted to call out to Ghost, but didn't want to alert anyone else if they were around. Inching little by little she pushed the front door open a bit letting it breath before she stepped in. Instantly, someone had her arm pulling her to the ground and pinned, "Ghost! Ghost!" she yelled hoping it was him unable to see her attacker, pulling her gater mask down as she did. She only hoped if it was him she could get him to stop before he ended her.

"It is you," she heard him grumble, her breathing now ragged. She could see a knife in his hand that he sheathed. He reached a hand picking her up off the ground. "I really didn't think it could be you. ..Sorry." She sighed relieved taking his hand, standing back up.

"What the fuck happened?" she asked him.

"Graves turned."

"He took over the Vaqueros base. Rudy gave me this. It's instructions on how to get their safe house." She said handing him the napkin. He glanced down at it, reading it briefly.

"Rudy got out?"

"I believe we were the only two that did. Laswell called and tipped us off, said Shepherd went dark. She seems to think he was listening to our phone conversations. So I think he knows I don't trust him and think there is more to this then what he is letting on."

"Clearly." He said dryly. "You hurt at all?" his voice now showing concern.

"No, my radios broke though. Been listening to you and Soap but can't key up, asshole folded my mic in. You both sound like an old married couple," she quipped. This made Ghost shift, his eyes changing shape as he looked down at her.

"Trying to keep him moving, think he's injured. There was gunfire between the altercation with Graves and his men at the front gate and think he was hit. They took Alejandro in custody."

This made her stomach drop. "Rudy was hoping he made it to the safe house."

"I doubt he did, if he is even still alive."

Y/N sighed, more anxiety filling her bones.

"You hurt at all?"

"No," Ghost answered in a low rumble. She sighed, backing up from her further to get a better look at him comfortably instead of having to crane her neck up to look at him.

"So what exactly happened that you got separated from Rudy?"

"We didn't exactly get separated. I heard the radio traffic that you and Soap bailed off into the city, and they were searching for you both. Told Rudy to get to the safe house in case Alejandro was there or on the way."

"You came back for us?" Ghost said taking a step forward closing that gap she had reclaimed earlier, looking down at her intensely again. She could tell by his tone that he either was shocked or had admiration for her for doing so. She just couldn't tell which since his face was covered.

"Couldn't leave you." She muttered up to him. "Couldn't leave you both." she clarified. " I didn't know what was happening." Rambling again, trying to distract herself from her nerves that he gave her.

She watched as he lifted his right arm, his gloved hand finding her face where it then held her cheek. His thumb running over her lower lip. This seeming to be his signature move to her. Like he knew it raised the hair on her skin. She could only stare up at him in wonder, unable to break eye contact with him.

"Ghost," Soap spoke across the radio, ruining the small moment.

"Yeah?" Ghost said back. Y/N turned her down to cut off the feedback from hers.

"Made it to the tunnels."

"Beastie is here."

"Beastie?" Soap asked surprised.

"Said that her and Rudy got out. Rudy isn't here though."

"Glad they are alright."

"Follow the tunnels, you're close." Ghost said climbing up towards the tower to do overwatch.

Y/N followed him, climbing the steps trying to keep up with his pace.

"We can use the truck to get out of here to get to the safe house."

"Mmm." Was all Ghost said setting up with his sniper rifle, giving her at least the acknowledgment that he had heard her. The area began to crawl with Shadows, them knowing Soap was somewhere in this area. She laid next to Ghost, using the scope of her rifle to watch for Soap. Eventually he broke through a door out of shop where a Shadow was waiting for him. Ghost picked him off with no issue, but now their location was blown as some of the other Shadows ran towards the church. Heavy gunfire was being exchanged between Soap and the enemy.

Y/N dropped a few before Ghost stood up and radioed out that there were enemies breaking into the church. They both ran out of the building and into the courtyard. Ghost grabbed ahold of her by her waist, hoisting her up allowing her to grab the bar and pull herself over. As soon as she dropped to the ground, she had her rifle up to cover Ghost's back. He ran back a few feet before full board sprinting to the gate, jumping on some pallets using them to clear it. Two Shadows popped out the front which she quickly dropped. They both met Soap at the steps.

"That truck there!" she said pointing and signaling to Soap that was where they needed to go.

It was a struggle, but eventually they reached it. Y/N piled in Soap taking the passenger seat, Ghost in the driver's.

The back window was shot out behind them, throwing broken glass onto them. Soap leaned around with a rifle that he pulled off a Shadow, preparing to shoot, but Ghost threw it in reverse and ran them both over. Soap leaned around the both of them and shot another by the drivers side. That was when Y/N noticed the gun shot wound on his left arm. Ghost threw it in drive, launching them forward roughly as the slammed into a gate, spidering the windshield. His arm jerked forward holding her leg in place, trying to keep her from jumbling around the cab.

"Did it go all the way through?" she asked Soap lifting it look.

"I think so."

She noticed the small hole where it did in fact exit.

"Did it go into your side at all?" She peaked running her hand looking for more blood or signs it was lodged in his ribs.

"No, don't know if vest blocked it or if it was when I fought with the one on the ground."

"Gonna pack it for now, will look it over when we get parked." Y/N said pulling the bag off of her carefully trying to not hinder Ghost while he was driving. She cleaned it with hydrogen peroxide to the best of her ability, holding gauze to it trying to slow the bleeding. With the best finesse she could, she wrapped the gauze around it tightening it.

"Thanks Beastie."

"Any time." She said grinning. "I want to punch you in the arm so damn bad."

"Please don't," Soap whined at her covering her arm.

She chuckled leaning back in her seat. To say packed in like a can of sardines would be an understatement. The very large men had her squashed in the middle, but without even realizing it, she scooted closer to Ghost feeling more comfortable with him. Soap leaned his head against the window, exhaustion making him close his eyes for a bit.

"You should try to sleep some too," Ghost said looking at her out of the corner of her eye.

"And miss time with you? Where is the fun in that?"

She could tell he was chuckling, shaking his head as he did.

"Don't ever change." He said looking down at her.

"What do you mean by that?"

"The fact you can run your mouth so well without pissin' anyone off. Don't lose that."

This made her quiet, her face flushing as she looked up at Ghost. The stars shinning right back at him making his do the same even if she couldn't tell. She then leaned her head against his arm, taking it upon herself this time to show whatever kind of affection she could. Closing her eyes, she tried to rest as best as she could.

prev.

[lboogie1906]

Vice Admiral David L. Brewer III (May 19, 1946) is a 35-year veteran of the Navy and former superintendent of the Los Angeles Unified School District. The retired three-star admiral worked to develop the Navy College Program helping sailors receive higher education and oversaw the Military Sealift Command’s partnership with shipping companies in the private sector that involved moving over 20 million square feet of equipment to the Persian Gulf in less than four months.

His first assignment as an officer was aboard the USS Little Rock as Electric Warfare Officer. He served as Minority Recruiting Officer at the Naval Recruiting District in Memphis, before returning to the sea as the Combat Information Center Officer aboard the USS California. He attended Surface Warfare Officer’s Department Head School. He was selected by the Chief of Naval Operations to be a Special Assistant for Equal Opportunities, making him the CNO’s representative at equal opportunity forums across the country.

He was born in Farmville, Virginia to educators David L. Brewer Jr. and Mildred S. Brewer. He earned a BS in Biology at Prairie View A&M University. He was a graduate of the first Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps unit at Prairie View A&M University.

He was selected as superintendent of the Los Angeles Unified School District (2006-08). He heads the David and Mildred Brewer Foundation.

He is married to Richardene “Deanie” Brewer, who works in education. They have a daughter. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[owlclawstudios]

ink demonth day 17th : sailor

tw : mentions of uss indianapolis, ww2 and mention of the shark attacks on the uss indiapolis survivors.

march 8th 1942 the us had entered ww2 a few months ago after the bombing of pearl harbor henry was skimming through the mail he grabbed a letter and opened it,

it was a letter from the us navy.

Henry read carefully for a moment before he realized what the letter was. He had been drafted into the Navy. His stomach dropped to the floor as he read the words. Join the US Navy today!

"I'm being sent to war..." he whispered to himself as he sat down at their kitchen table, letter still in his hands, staring at it blankly. Linda walked in to see him. "What's wrong Henry?" She asked.

henry spoke quietly, his voice betraying his

feelings. "The Navy's drafted me." He muttered, looking back down at the letter.

Henry put the letter down with a shaky breath. "They want me to report at the base tomorrow morning.." he said.

-the next morning, henry put on his navy sailor uniform that was sent to him through the mail, he

Henry packed a small bag and, after giving a final hug and kiss to Linda.

he spoke lovingly.

" i'lll be back as soon as i could....i love you very much...."

linda looked up holding back tears.

" i love you too sweetie... i'll be here waiting for you " linda said.

henry soon got on

headed to the base, leaving her at home.

He had to do his duty, even if that did mean fighting in a deadly war .

Henry reported to the base and soon began his training. He learned how to use and maintain equipment, how to respond quickly to orders and various other things that came with the job. He began to bond with the other navy men around him as he went through the training.

soon Henry was assigned to the USS Indianapolis, a heavy cruiser with a great reputation for her service. He was sent to this ship with many of the men who went through training with him.

linda would work in a factory during ww2 to not only help with the war effort but help pay the bills, henry would write to linda as much as he could

Henry would sit and write in his bunk, on his bed with other sleeping men around him. He would write letters to Linda almost every night, telling her of what had happened each day and how much he missed her and hoped to return to her soon.

he would list the many battles and missions the Indianapolis had been in, detailing all the events that went on. He explained how he and his comrades had formed a strong bond and looked after one another, and just how difficult the battles could be.

soon on july 16th 1945, the USS Indianapolis and Henry we’re on a vital mission. They were transporting an important element for the construction of an atomic bomb, which would be used later in the war

The whole ship’s crew was on high alert, the job was extremely important and there could be no mistakes. it was carrying cargo and This cargo was a classified secret, as the atomic bomb had not been announced and used at that point. The Indianapolis would travel to Leyte Gulf and begin preparing to deliver the cargo, unknown to the crew of the Indianapolis as to what exactly the cargo was.

-Once arriving at Leyte Gulf, the crew spent most of the time working on and off the ship to make any last minute preparations to deliver the important cargo, with many not understanding the true importance of this specific cargo.

-By the time August was already a few days underway,

but then... Linda had not received a letter since july 27 . This worried her, but she could only hope that he was fine and that he had been unable to find any time to write.

By the time the 15th of August rolled around, she had not received any letters from Henry, and would read the news paper and learn of the Indianapolis's sinking, her eyes widening in horror.

she soon got a letter,

Linda's heart skipped a beat as she read the letter. Henry had survived, but was badly injured, with several issues that he was being treated for. She was thankful for the fact that he was alive, but at the same time worried about the severity of his injuries.

henry was hospitilized at the

Naval Base Hospital No. 20 in Peleliu,

henry had suffered deyhydration, salt water poisoning, starvation and inffected wounds, and shark bites, The letters described the struggles that Henry faced, including the many times that he'd nearly been killed by the sharks that attacked him. He had tried to fight back, punching and kicking at the sharks' gills to try and get them to release him, but he had suffered many injuries in the process, though he still managed to survive.

-Henry spent 11 days in the hospital, being fed and given fluids to help with his dehydration. His wounds from the sharks' bites and the sharp metal pieces that had injured him were cleaned and bandaged, and he was given medical care to help him recover properly.

once he was declared well enough, Henry was discharged from the hospital and the Navy. He was awarded the Purple Heart for his bravery and for his efforts in saving the other sailors from the sharks' attacks.

With his time in the Navy now over, Henry finally returned home to Linda.

but Henry found himself suffering from the effects of the ship being torpedoed, the ship sinking and the five days spent floating in the shark-infested water. the shark attacks He was plagued with PTSD, trauma, and many other issues from the incident.

Henry's experiences had left him with numerous phobias, including a fear of sharks galeophobia, a fear of deep bodies of water thalassophobia and a fear of explosions ekrixiphobia, He also developed a fear of loud noises phonophobia as well, The memories and the sounds of the other sailors screaming, thrashing in the water and being pulled under by the sharks were seared into Henry's mind. The image of the torn and bloodstained life jacket bubbling to the surface remained a vivid reminder of the horrors he had endured. -Due to his phobia of sharks, Henry found it very difficult to visit aquariums, especially those with large shark exhibits. The sight of a shark would trigger strong negative reactions and memories of the traumatic experience he had endured.

Linda would comfort Henry whenever he struggled with the memories and phobias that his experience had left him with. She would do what she could to calm him down and make him feel relaxed and at ease, helping him cope with the traumatic memories that still plagued him.

In January of 1949, Linda discovered that she was pregnant with their first child. The news brought joy and excitement to the couple, who had been looking forward to starting a family together, soon in october of that year their only daughter, jacqueline was born, which brought joy and happiness to both of them especially henry, Henry saw his wife and newborn daughter as a source of comfort and healing from the trauma he had endured. The sight of his family and the love they shared helped to soothe his memories and fears, reminding him of the good things in life and giving him a reason to keep moving forward.

[atlasdefined]

I am super intrigued with your Ultra OCs & would deeply appreciate any lore or trivia you'd like to share about them!

yeah of course! i take any opportunity i can to yap about these stupid aliens of mine, so this'll be a long one. this will just be some info about my main universe, but i'll expand on my second one once i have more material in it.

i'll run through their basic story + bios, but sadly i can only offer some shitty doodles since i actually don't have many rendered pieces. that Should be rectified soon if i can get my ass moving

Their working story title is When in Rome, and it's a parallel universe version of the Land of Light; everything about their planet is basically the same, save it being my own OCs.

Time period-wise it's the early 2000s, and takes place primarily on the east coast of the US. The main defense organization spanning the country is LORE—the Land Offensive Reaction and Engagement—and is split into eight subdivisions: LORE North (Land Division and Great Lakes), LORE East (Land Division and Atlantic), LORE West (Land Division and Pacific), and LORE South (Land Division and Gulf of Mexico).

• Romulus and Remus are twins and the main protagonists; they share a bond no matter how far apart and are inseparable. They work as civilization guardians through the Intergalactic Defense Force and help defend planets until the threat has passed.

Once done with their previous assignment, they get sent to Earth following a request from Minerva due to mysteriously increasing numbers of kaiju. The two land on the east coast and take human forms to blend in (Remus immediately took one from a passing billboard much to Romulus' chagrin, but he relented and copied it), eventually joining LORE East's Land Division once their recruitment period began.

From an outside perspective, the two couldn't be more different. Romulus is cynical and quiet, while Remus is charismatic and optimistic; where Romulus is cautious, Remus dives in headfirst. The two manage to gel together almost perfectly, however, using the other's opposite traits and abilities to their fullest.

Combat-wise, the two rely mostly on their bond to synchronize. They charge the blades on their arms with spacium to either deal direct damage or send off arcs of energy, but their weapons of choice are identical battle axes made entirely of spacium; they pull them from their beam lamps to manifest them. Their beams are powerful in their own right individually, but they usually combine them a la Leo and Astra for the highest output.

Their voice claim is Optimus from TFA; both are 180ft/54m tall. One random useless fact is that they both love tanning beds.

• Minerva is a renowned scientist within the Space Science Technology Bureau. She detected what was essentially minus energy radiating in droves off of Earth, and descended herself to get a firsthand look. As a cover, she took a human form and joined LORE East's biology team. She usually butts heads with the twins, but gradually grows a massive soft spot for the two.

Once Romulus and Remus join LORE, she helps them repel kaiju while researching what's left of them. When the pieces don't vanish, that is. More and more of the kaiju start fading from existence once shot, prompting Minerva to believe they're dealing with an alien harnessing some kind of illusion ability.

Like Romulus, she's rather cynical, with the added whammy of being blunt, confrontational, and a perfectionist.

While not as physically strong, Minerva excels in energy attacks. Her spacium beam is extremely powerful, to the extent that it's difficult for her to mitigate collateral damage; as a fix, she manifests a massive sniper rifle to channel her beam through.

Her voice claim is Urbosa from Breath of the Wild; she's 250ft/76m tall.

• Pax is a physician and xenobiologist with the Silver Cross Aid and Bureau, and was assigned to Earth after the other three requested more assistance once their asses were beaten to Ultraseven's level. Begrudgingly, he flew over to help patch them up, but ended up arriving in the middle of a particularly rough battle. He merged with a LORE pilot in the line of fire to save her life.

Initally, Pax is no one you'd want as your doctor. While a genius physician, he can barely tolerate the presence of strangers for very long, usually taking over others' tasks if he thinks they're not doing it correctly. Once the ice is broken, he cares deeply for his regular patients and will personally kill anyone who attempts to hurt them further. Murderous kaiju are a good outlet, after all.

Pax has two sluggers that he can charge with spacium, and uses them either as daggers or lethal boomerangs. He uses his knowledge of anatomy to immediately strike weak spots.

His voice claim is Prowl from TFA, he stands at 270ft/82m.

• Janus is an Alien Dhuneth (my own species) and the primary antagonist of WiR. Originally quiet and kindhearted, he guarded an artifact on his planet that allowed the Dhuneth to breach other universes; in a freak accident, it exploded and left no trace. Janus and the others in the vicinity seemed fine, but one by one, they painfully glitched out of existence. Seeing his inevitable fate, Janus desperately started finding ways to either delay or prevent his glitching, but it grew worse nonetheless. Eventually he gained some control over it, but it dragged him across universes against his will.

Driven insane by the agony and paranoia, he hid on Earth and started purposefully sifting through universes, researching ways to stabilize his body. In most he'd been stopped by Ultras, and so he sought one out that was devoid of their presence on Earth. He finally came across one, starting to use it as his testing ground by dragging in kaiju from other universes.

Minerva eventually noticed the abnormalities and came down, which almost drove Janus into another universe. Then he paused. He'd been so focused on using only kaiju in his experiments—why couldn't he use Ultras as well?

Janus stands at 230ft/70m.

• Invidia is a former IDF scout and Minerva's lover. While practically polar opposites, the two were inseparable and often went on expeditions together. Their final one led them to a place known only as the Well: a mysterious tear in space where darkness and corrupted kaiju poured out. Against Minerva's wishes, Invidia dove headfirst into the horde with the intention of somehow sealing the tear, but was caught in the undertow and dragged inside. Minerva attempted to follow and save her, but risked being sucked in as well. Believing Invidia dead, she fearfully fled back to the Land of Light—but Invidia remained alive amd in agony as she was slowly corrupted by the darkness inside the Well. She was able to claw her way out, but not unscathed.

Now twisted into something new, Invidia is fueled entirely by hatred. Due to her mind being corrupted, she believes Minerva and the IDF purposefully threw her into the Well to die, and despises her entire species with a passion. Her aimless wandering put her in the path of Janus, who promised her the Land of Light's complete destruction in return for delaying the four Ultras. She agreed without an ounce of hesitation.

She utilizes sheer brute strength, along with her massive fangs and claws; she can still use a version of her spacium beam, but it's relatively weaker now that her internal energy is corrupted.

She stands at 280ft/85m.

• Strix is an Alien Inval (another species of mine) working closely with Janus. No one knows the exact reason he decided to side with the Dhuneth, but even Janus seems wary of him. He displays no emotion and seems to fight simply for the thrill.

Strix, like the rest of his species, can rapidly regenerate and morph his flesh however he pleases. If he can't regenerate fast enough, he can shed his entire skin and resort to a tougher exoskeleton of sorts by splitting himself open along his spine.

His voice claim is Chaos from Hades; he's the tallest by far at 300ft/91m.

• Naeniel is an Alien Angel also working with Janus. Like in canon, her home world was ravaged and destroyed, forcing her to flee aimlessly into space. Other survivors were picked off one by one via natural forces or exhaustion, leaving her the only one left in her universe. Devastated and without purpose, she started drifting towards Earth, crossing paths with Janus once close. He promised her a universe with her planet intact if she helped him, and desperate, she agreed. She took human form and infiltrated LORE East's Land Division to pass information to Janus.

Naeniel doesn't have many natural abilities to make her stand out, and instead she simply relies on her flight and speed. She's fast enough to leave most enemies stunned, or she flashes her glowing feathers to temporarily blind them; she uses that disorientation to strike at their weak spots or flee. She'd much rather avoid confrontations in the fitst place, however.

She's the shortest at only 20ft/6m.

• Mars is one of Romulus and Remus' parents, and essentially their universe's Father of Ultra. He's a renowned war hero and general within the IDF, and is a quiet, gentle giant. Like Silvian, he absolutely dotes on Romulus and Remus, much to their embarrassment.

His voice claim is Kaburagi from Deca-Dence, and he stands at 200ft/60m.

• Silvian is the twins' other parent and the polar opposite of Mars. Charismatic and bordering on obnoxious, he steals the spotlight whenever he walks into a room. He works closely under Mars in the IDF, and uses a combination of dance and spacium attacks to slice his way through a battle.

His voice claim is Donatello from RotTMNT, is unfortunately the shortest Ultra at 150ft/45m.

i'll definitely go on about these guys a lot more, including just fun trivial stuff, but my brain is mush right now i fear. if i'm lucky, i'll turn their story into an actual fic somewhat soon 🙏

[walker-extended-universe]

S.O.S., Chapter 1

Pairing: Geri Broussard/Cordell Walker, Geri Broussard/Cassie Perez/Cordell Walker

Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe- Cruise Ship, Stranded, Hurricanes & Typhoons, Natural Disasters, Shipwrecks, Survival, Desert Island, Angst, Angst and Feels, Near Death Experiences, Slow Romance, eventual throuple, Slow Build, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: Geri and Cordell were gifted a cruise vacation for their first anniversary as a married couple. Cassie Perez is an activities coordinator on their ship that has her eye on a troubling storm in their path. When things go awry, the three of them will have to rely on each other until help can find them.

@augustofwhump day 5- Stranded

A/N: Don't worry Cassie's not dead she's just Elsewhere

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

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

Cordell looked up at the ship and felt a twist in his gut that he shouldn’t have felt until they were on the open ocean. He’s not sure how Geri talked him into this cruise, but it was way too late to back out now.

He should’ve faked being sick this morning.

“Come on, Cordi! They’re boarding in 10 minutes!”

Cordell took a deep breath and grabbed their suitcases. “You sure these tickets are non-refundable?”

Geri sighed. “Cordi, you promised.”

“I know, I know but-”

“I know cruises aren’t exactly your thing but your parents paid for this and it’s our anniversary and-”

“I know, I know.” Cordell kissed her. “I just- Water’s not my thing. I mean I can swim but the last time I was on a boat was during Marine’s training and I’m lucky my captains never saw me hurl afterwards.” 

Geri chuckled. “Well, this isn’t exactly Marines training. And this cruise is perfectly safe. They have safety standards to meet and all the staff are trained for emergencies. And it’s only for two weeks. We’ll be fine, I promise.”

Cordell huffed. “You know that’s the line they give before everything bad that happens in those natural disaster movies, right?”

“Oh my god-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He kissed her again. “Happy anniversary. Let’s get boarded. You have all the paperwork, right?”

“If you got the bags,” she teased.

“Ah, the real reason you married me: free manual labor.”

Geri laughed. “I don’t know if I’d call you ‘free’. I mean, the amount you eat alone….”

“Hey, I’m a growing boy!”

“Last I checked, you were fully grown 20 years ago.”

“I- We don’t know that for sure!” He smiled and followed Geri’s laughter up to the pier.

He could handle a one week tour. If not for his own sense of adventure, he could do it for his wife.

—------------------

“We’re still looking out for a possible hurricane forming at the base of the Gulf of Mexico. No formal warnings have been put in place but we caution anyone going into these waters to stay alert. If you have any concerns, stay out of the water and warn your neighbors to do the same.”

“Still listening to those weather reports, Cassie?”

She looked up at her supervisor. “Weather kind of impacts our job, Brenda. And they’re saying this hurricane could be a big deal.”

Brenda sighed. “If it was that big of a deal, they’d issue a warning. Which they haven’t. So, until they do, we have jobs to do. And for you, that means corralling lost passengers.”

Cassie rolled her eyes but put on her big “I Can Help!” badge, picked up her map, and went to her assigned hallways. She was technically part of the event coordinating team but before the opening receptions, getting passengers to their assigned cabins was an all-hands-on-deck situation. The last thing they needed was a kid getting lost in the engine block or a very good actor getting themselves a free room.

Clearing her assigned hallways was easier than she ever could have hoped. It was a couples cruise, mostly full of elderly couples who had been on a cruise before (some of them she even recognized) with a few newbies who were still pretty capable of using a map. The most she had to do was help reorient a few of the newer ones and carry the bags for one particularly sweet pair of ladies who reminded her of her abuela.

After the crowd died down, she waited for a bit to catch any stragglers. They wouldn’t want to start any of the introductory talks or safety presentations until all the passengers were settled and they were on a very strict timetable. She could waste 10 minutes now to safe someone's life later.

On her final sweep, she passed by some annoyed voices from the stairwell. Just as she’d feared.

“Hey!” she said as she opened the door to the stairs, smile still firmly in place. “Can I help you with anything?”

The couple quit arguing and turned to her. The man looked a little annoyed (and a tad green around the gills) but his partner gave her a friendly smile. “Hi,” she said. “I think we’re a little lost but my husband is allergic to asking for assistance.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” Cassie assured her. “Where are you trying to get to?”

“We’re trying to find our cabin, Room 234C.” She showed Cassie their tickets.

She nodded. “Alright. Well, you’re on the right track. 234C is on the level above us. Just take a left out of the stairwell and it should be a few doors down on the right.”

“I told you,” the man muttered.

The woman glared at him then smiled at Cassie again. “Thank you so much. What was your name?”

“Oh, I’m Cassie.” She could only hope they were asking for “glowing review” reasons.

“Well, thank you Cassie. I’m Geri and this is my husband, Cordell. I’m sure we’ll probably run into each other again; he’s terrible with directions.”

Cordell gave her a tight smile. “Yes, thank you. We’ve gotta get to our room now so we can get to that safety presentation. Especially with that storm brewing….”

Geri sighed. “Cordi, I told you, we’ll be fine. I’m sure they’ve taken all that into account, right Cassie?”

Cassie nodded. “We’re closely following all the safety recommendations from the weather authorities,” she said in her best customer service voice. “And attending the safety presentations will certainly help decrease the risk of injury, so please get settled in your room as quickly as possible.”

“That sounds great. Thank you.” Geri smiled and the couple started heading up the stairs, their shoes pounding on the metal staircase.

Cassie kept her smile up until they were out of sight and sighed. She checked her watch and decided it was safe to head back to her office. She had to get ready for the presentation too.

—----------------

Cordell thought he should get extra Husband Points for agreeing to eat more than cheese and crackers on this floating death trap. His stomach felt unsettled since the minute he walked on board and it hadn’t gotten better since they left port. If anything, it got worse.

He knew it should be impossible to feel the movement of the ocean on a ship this big, but he swore he could feel every dip and swell of the waves as they hit the ship. It took everything in him to walk in a straight line, and his relationship with solid food was on a steep decline.

He was trying to make this fun for Geri. He really was. But it was hard to enjoy dinner when all he wanted to do was curl up around the toilet.

Surely this would earn him the right to pick their next anniversary vacation.

“Are you feeling okay, Cordi?”

Cordell shook himself out of his thoughts and smiled. Or, at least, he tried to. “I’m fine, babe.”

Geri frowned. “Are you sure? You’ve barely touched your steak.”

Cordell looked down at his plate and his stomach curled again. He’d ordered the steak because it was familiar. But by the time it got to their table he was starting to feel sick again and he knew from experience it wouldn’t taste nearly as good coming back up. 

But he didn’t want to bring her down with that. So he smiled and said “I guess I wasn’t in the mood for steak after all.”

“Oh. Do you want to order something else or-”

The boat lurched suddenly and Cordell felt the remains of his lunch start to make a reappearance. “Uh, you know what? I gotta hit the restroom but why don’t you order me something new and I’ll try it when I get back.”

“Cordi, wha-”

“Thanks, Ger! You’re the best.” He quickly got up and left the dining room, barely missing colliding with a staff member on his way out.

As much as he intended to find a bathroom, his lunch was not being patient and the balcony was very welcoming. Without thinking much further, he ran over and leaned far over the edge, heaving as what little food was in him rushed out.

Panting, he stayed leaning over the edge, trying to get as much bile out as possible before he returned to dinner.

Why the hell had he agreed to this cruise?

“Sir? Can I help?”

Slowly, he stood up and looked over at the woman standing next to him. He squinted at her, trying to recognize her. He recognized the voice, and she looked familiar, even in the dim light.

“You- You’re the lady that helped us find the cabin. Kammie?”

She smiled. “Cassie. Do you need help?”

“Uh, a little….”

She held her hands out. “Let me see your wrists?”

Skeptical, he leaned his lip against the railing to keep him upright and presented his wrists. He watched as she aligned her fingers at the center of his wrists, right under the crease, and pressed hard.

In a few seconds, the nausea passed and he felt less dizzy. “How….?”

She winked at him. “Old trick I learned in my early days. Wait here a sec.”

She darted back inside the dining area and came back with a glass of fizzy water and a handful of crackers. “Nibble on these and drink the seltzer. It should settle your stomach a bit.”

He muttered a thanks and followed her directions. “I think if I knew I had seasickness I would’ve tried harder to pass on this vacation,” he murmured.

She shrugged. “Well, you live and learn. The good news is, you’ll only feel it for a few days. Once your body gets used to it, you’ll be fine. Well, aside from shaky legs on land but that’ll fade too.”

He grunted. “Yeah, sounds great. Thank you for this, really.”

“Hey, it’s just part of the job. Here.” She opened a tin of breath mints for him. “Take a couple of these. And maybe recommend to your wife that you guys hang out around the deck more until you get used to things at sea. Fresh air and being able to keep your eye on the horizon helps.”

He smiled. “I’ll try that. Thanks.”

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else. I’m an events coordinator so I’m pretty much always around.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She smiled and walked away, presumably to handle some kind of event coordinator stuff. Cordell sighed and started sucking on the breath mints. He had a couple minutes before Geri would start to worry about him, but knowing her she probably already picked up on his seasickness and was gearing up to lecture him for keeping secrets for her sake. It was an argument they’d had before and one they would probably have again.

Thank God she loved him.

—-------------

Cassie was woken up by a blaring alarm. She groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It was only their third day on the water; what could possibly be going wrong this early in?

She hoped it was a drill she’d forgotten about. She really, really hoped so.

But she couldn’t assume that, so she grabbed her high-vis jacket, her megaphone, and her walkie and rushed out of her room.

The minute she stepped in water, she knew it wasn’t a drill. Something was definitely wrong.

“Brenda, what’s going on?” she called into the walkie.

“That damn storm is what’s going on!” Brenda shrieked. “Out of nowhere it headed right for us! Help us get people into the lifeboats!”

“Lifeboats? In a storm we should-”

“Take people below, I know, but we’ve been hit with some kind of debris and the boys downstairs say we’re taking on water. Lifeboats aren’t our safest option but until someone can get out here they’re our best option. Now get out here!”

Cassie ran for the upper deck, splashing water slowly climbing higher up her legs. She ran into a few other passengers on her way and urged them to head toward the lifeboats. 

“Cassie, what’s going on?”

She whirled around and saw her favorite passengers. “Cordell, Geri, it’s a long story but you need to get to the lifeboats. We got hit by that storm out of nowhere and we’re taking on water. We’re waiting on help but there’s not much time for us to get off.”

Geri gulped but nodded and Cordell gripped her arm. “Ger, come on. We gotta go.”

“I know, I know. I’m sor-”

“Don’t apologize. Let’s just go.”

Cassie directed them and took her time guiding other passengers before she made her way to the top deck. The passengers came first, especially when some of them had trouble moving.

By the time she made it up there, there was a scary amount of water washing up on the deck. It took everything she had to keep upright. She joined the line to help load people into the boats, but with the storm picking up it was getting harder to keep things moving calmly.

As she was helping load the last of the passengers, the boat tipped badly and a wave came over the deck.

It was just enough to make her lose her footing and send her over the railing.

—-------------

Cordell woke up to the sun on his face and sand under his back. He tried to remember when he fell asleep on the beach; surely Geri would’ve woken him up so that they could get back to the cruise ship on time.

The cruise ship…..

His eyes snapped open as memories of the day before flooded in. He sat up, frantically looking around. “Geri!” he called- or at least, he tried to. His voice was hoarse, probably from a mix of saltwater and dehydration. “Geri!” he tried again, before getting to his feet.

He scanned the beach around him. The lifeboat they’d used was about five feet away from him. On shaky legs, he walked over to it, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Geri inside. “Geri….” he knelt beside the boat and tried to shake her away. “Geri, please…..”

Thankfully, her face scrunched and she groaned awake. “Cordi? Wha- What happened?”

“We got hit by that storm,” he reminded her. “I-I don’t know where we are now but I think we’re stuck for a while.”

Geri nodded, then groaned again as she tried to sit up. “I- Is it just us here?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t see anyone else, but I just woke up.” He knew there were more people in their lifeboat but there were no people or footprints anywhere.

Geri slumped. “Damn. Okay. Well…. Now what?”

Cordell shrugged. “Find water and shelter if we can. Then think about finding help.”

Geri nodded and reached for him. “Sounds… sounds like a plan.”

[blubushie]

The bee hummingbird is roughly 2.25in long and weighs 2 grams at adulthood, their nests are about an inch in diameter and lay eggs each the size of a coffee bean. Their wigns flap from 80 to 200 times a second, the latter acheived in courtship dances. Dorcus titanus yasuokai can reach 10cm including mandibles, and have heads so large it can match up to the length of the pro-thorax and abdomen combined. Some Asian cultures assign aphrodisiac qualities to it and it is native to India, Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, China, Vietnam, Japan, Taiwan, Korea, and other Asian countries. A bloom of approximately 10 million white-spotted jellyfish, native to the waters from Japan to Australia, invaded the Gulf of Mexico and decimated the ecosystem by consuming the eggs and larvae that would've been the food sources of actually native species. They also clogged pipes and fishing nets, and some claimed you could walk on top of the swarms of jellies. But they're adorable 1 day post-hatch. Most spiders have setae on the tarsus, enabling them to climb surfaces like glass. Arboreal spiders have thick pads of micro-setae that allow their feet to create a stronger suction on surfaces to be better suited for their environment. Still, some spiders are unable to climb glass and may need help entering their enclosures, oddly endearing. The bite of a Brazilian Wandering spider can cause several symptoms such as priapism, tachycardia, arrhythmia, cardiogenic shock, acute pulmonary edema, convulsions, and sometimes death. Most infamously, it can give males an erection for several hours. I doubt it's sexy, though. Just really embarassing.

[Animal Fact Anon. It's been a while, whoops]

I FUCKEN LOVE ARBOREAL SPIDERS

Have my favourite arboreal spider!! Just for you, Animal Fact Anon <3

[blueberry-lemon]

When trailers outshine themselves

I like watching trailers. Maybe even more now than I used to.

I’m well aware that the purpose of a trailer is to build hype and interest. It’s a commercial, to get you to buy something. In some cases, they spoil or ruin the very story they’re advertising. In some cases, it’s way better to go in “blind” than to look at marketing materials.

But, like many of us, I can’t help myself.

I really love a good trailer. It’s a cool artform. Somewhere between an advertisement and a music video. And because the trailer is such a different artform than the actual movie or game that it’s advertising, sometimes the trailer itself is even better than the final product. Sometimes I’ll go back and rewatch a trailer over and over, even after I’ve completed the actual thing it was hyping it.

I write this post not to complain about being disappointed about films or TV shows or games, but rather to give a shout-out to the trailer teams who I think did a fantastic job with their assignment.

The first examples that always jump to my mind are from Marvel Studios. I think they’re pretty great at trailers. I started noticing this when they started making their Disney+ shows. 

WandaVision: Both the initial trailer and the mid-season trailer are fantastic. I’ve watched them over and over. They do a good job of being charming, romantic, and lovesick. They do an even better job of being mysterious and unsettling. It’s a pitch-perfect way to get you to buy into the concept and want to check out the show. I enjoyed watching the full WandaVision show, maybe moreso than any other MCU Disney+ show, but I wouldn’t hesitate to admit that I like these two trailers even more than the show. Kudos to the editors that put these together.

Falcon and the Winter Soldier: I had absolutely no intention of watching this show. I’m not particularly interested in this genre or either of these two characters. But the trailer sold me on it, with its hype music choices and intense cutting. I ended up enjoying the show enough in the end, but definitely not as much as this hype trailer.

I thought Marvel did a great job again with Loki’s trailer and Hawkeye’s trailer. Loki’s trailer makes the show seem a lot more mysterious and surreal than it actually ended up being, haha. Hawkeye does that classic “sweet Christmas music juxtaposed with action sequences” trick.

They got me again with Moon Knight, a character I didn’t know anything about. Although I’ll give credit, I feel like Moon Knight was about as weird and wild as the trailer hyped up it would be. So in this case I think it was a satisfying match.

Another satisfying match? The trailers made for Undertale. The release trailer and Nintendo Switch trailer come to mind. They’re fun, funny, and show off how the game works. I love this unique version of the Bonetrousle track that they use, which becomes very dramatic and grandiose. They’re also good examples of including original material into trailers that aren’t actually in the final product. That practice, generally speaking, doesn’t bother me. I don’t mind if trailers “lie” or show different footage, so long as it’s effective and doesn’t feel misleading. 

There are other trailers that I feel like match pretty well. I didn’t feel any gulf in expectation or emotion between the trailers for Avengers Infinity War + Endgame versus their final movie versions.

The trailers for Pixar’s Turning Red made me blubber and tear up, and the full film completely lived up to that and even exceeded it. So for me, that was a great film where the trailer editors captured it perfectly.

And for an example of one where I felt mixed on the end product, both the trailer for Pixar’s Elemental and the full Elemental film felt pretty equivalent to me. It wasn’t my favorite movie in the world, and I feel like I got that vibe accurately from the trailers.

But now, finally, for the trailers that brought me to writing this.

I really love the trailers for Final Fantasy VII Rebirth.

I’ll include two here. One is the “release date announcement”, and the second was the “theme song announcement” that was aired at The Game Awards.

This is great. It’s moody. It moves into one of the game’s fantastic battle themes (which is itself a sweeping battle rendition of the original game’s main theme.) It’s shows off how the combat works beautifully, intercut with tantalizing plot snippets. The trailer builds up mystery and adventure. It confirms that Yuffie and Cait Sith are playable. It shows cool Synergy combo moves. It manages to somehow transition gracefully into Golden Saucer minigame mayhem. Love it.

Another fantastic one. And the last piece of marketing material I would ever need to see to sell me on getting the game.

The trailer is split into two halves. The first half establishes the plot of the game. It gives us Cloud and Zack’s stories intertwined. It shows us weird, confusing story stuff that sets the Remake trilogy apart from the original. It shows us different environments you’ll travel through. Gives us a heartfelt conversation between Cloud and Tifa. Snippets of Barret’s story too.

The second half is the new original song for the game, No Promises to Keep, which was performed live at The Game Awards along with the footage. I really adore this song, to be blunt, so maybe that’s doing a lot of heavy lifting here. But it really makes me emotional and ties a lot of these disparate clips together. The animation of Aerith singing is beautiful, and it ends on a heart-tugging cliffhanger.

Now….my partner and I have been playing Rebirth. I’m early on, but they’ve only got about a quarter of the game left. We’re enjoying it, it’s great.

But…

…would it be out of line for me to say that the trailers are more effective than the game itself?

Much like WandaVision, the trailers for Rebirth sew all of the different scenes and emotions together into a seamless tapestry. It makes everything feel intentional, beautiful, well-paced, and packing an emotional punch. When my partner and I play the game itself, it feels harder for that intentionality and emotion to come through. Of course your mileage will vary. But, for me, it’s hard for the minigames to live up to the frantic montage when playing them in-game isn’t super fun. It’s hard for the emotional storytelling of the game to live up to the trailer when it’s spread out thin over hours and hours. Nothing in the game itself as made me feel as emotional or hooked in as these two trailers have, at least so far.

Again, this is not a knock on Rebirth. It’s the reality of how much easier it is to move hearts with a 2-minute trailer versus a 60-hour video game. A completely different artform.

And, most of all, it’s kudos to the trailer teams who work at Square and at all these companies for knowing the assignment and knocking it out of the park. I really love what they did with it.

[hurricanekatrinaun]

Crisis Update #9

Before the Storm

There has been a request for a recall election for the New Orleans Mayor, with Nagin (Current mayor) and Morial as the two candidates. Pelican Man is starting a clean-up initiative and announced a run for Louisiana Governor. There has been a day declared next week in memory of Katrina Victims. Governor Blanco has created a Task Force for her safety and is currently protected by Honore.

The Mississippi River randomly turned pink in parts of the river delta, sources found it was harmless pink food dye and wildlife and water quality are fine. Louisiana crops have been sent out and any crops bitten into have immediately frozen.

The sponge formally involved in removing water from a city block was removed by helicopter, but was accidently dropped into the lake causing a 4ft wave to hit the recently repaired levees. 4 inches of water seeped into the city.

Footage was leaked on myspace of a rouge alligator killing Gavin Thostle, but set-up surveillance footage (from directives) revealed that rat poison killed him and not the alligator. The area was immediately quarantined.

Criticism of the lack of action on how nuclear drones affect health was voiced but have been in the minority. Most have been applauding Thiel's funded Pathogen cure which was aided by the assigned federal aid money from committee. It is currently being distributed by Guidry and the health department along with more opiates.

After the Storm

Thankfully the storm veered into extreme southwestern Louisiana and only dropped a few inches of rain in New Orleans and minimal storm surge. Slight damage has occurred in the industrial canal, but efforts taken helped prevent any injuries and deaths. Overall in the city of New Orleans 5 injuries took place due to personal error. Major damages only occurred in places hardest hit by Katrina that had yet to be prepared.

However during the storm Garland Robinette secured control of the New Orleans Police, his motives are unknown at this time. The storm has caused minor blackouts, but major problems with the power grid involve a hostage situation until political corruption is addressed.

Satellite imagery from storm reveals the New Orleans mob and the Cajun Navy having conflicts in the Gulf. The Cajun navy has increased ships in the area.

[maigamal]

Speaking Arabic with Ease: Finding the Right Conversational Course for You

Learning to speak Arabic confidently is a goal for many learners, whether for travel, work, religion, or personal connection. But reading and writing alone won’t help you feel comfortable in real-life conversations. What makes a difference is consistent speaking practice in the right environment. This is where good Arabic Classes can help.

If you're trying to decide which type of class suits you best, it's worth focusing on options that are centered around everyday communication, not just grammar or textbook exercises. The best conversational Arabic classes are the ones where you actually speak — a lot.

What Makes a Good Conversational Arabic Class?

The most effective classes usually offer live sessions with native or fluent speakers. These sessions give you the chance to hear natural pronunciation, learn phrases commonly used in daily conversations, and practice speaking in real-time. Some courses offer one-on-one lessons, which are great if you're shy or want to go at your own pace. Others use small group formats, which can be helpful if you enjoy social interaction and want to hear how others speak and respond.

Ideally, the classes should cover different situations like asking for directions, ordering food, or chatting with a friend. This helps build vocabulary that’s actually useful and relevant. It also builds your confidence when you're in similar situations in real life.

MSA or Dialect?

Another thing to consider is whether the course teaches Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) or a specific dialect like Egyptian, Levantine, or Gulf Arabic. MSA is used in news and formal settings, but most people speak in dialects in daily life. If your goal is to speak with locals, then taking a class that focuses on a spoken dialect might be more helpful.

Some classes offer a mix of both. That way, you can understand written Arabic while also being able to hold casual conversations.

Learning Tools That Help You Speak

The best conversational classes also include extra tools to help you between sessions. These might be flashcards, audio recordings, or even short videos showing real conversations. Some platforms let you record yourself and compare your pronunciation. Others give you regular speaking assignments or short dialogues to practice.

It’s not about memorizing long vocabulary lists. It’s about hearing, repeating, and using the words naturally. You’re not just learning how Arabic works — you're learning how to use it.

Comfort Over Perfection

Don’t worry about being perfect. What really matters is being understood and feeling confident enough to speak up. A supportive teacher or learning partner makes a big difference here. Good conversational classes focus on communication first, correcting mistakes gently as you go.

If you find yourself hesitating to speak because you’re afraid of saying something wrong, that’s exactly why conversational practice is so important. The more you speak, the more natural it becomes — even with mistakes.

Final Thoughts

The key to becoming a confident Arabic speaker is finding a class that fits your style, gives you lots of chances to speak, and makes you feel comfortable making mistakes along the way. Whether it's through private lessons or small group conversations, learning by speaking is what helps the most.

Arabic might seem complex at first, but with the right guidance and regular practice, it becomes more familiar each day. And once you start to understand and express yourself in real conversations, that’s when you really start to enjoy the process.

[sirnerdbird]

Just a reminder - Big Betrayal was NOT staged

I've seen people spread this idea a lot since the song originally came out, and I want to provide some evidence that I hope puts this idea to bed.

On the face of it, it makes much more sense to think that Deep Cut staged the whole thing. Given that Big Man is the one who writes Deep Cut's music, the idea that he would

Get attacked by Shiver and Frye

Record the fight

Turn the recording of the fight into a song

and then the three members release the song together, seems completely incomprehensible. It makes sense that people would come to the conclusion that all of this is staged, and is actually Deep Cut trying to stoke drama for fan engagement.

But this brings us to something that has been true of Splatoon since the beginning, but isn't talked about very often.

The Idols in Splatoon do NOT have a difference between their stage persona and their actual, genuine selves.

Irl, idols and performers often project a front and create a "character" of sorts that serves as a marketable public face. The idea that this is the "real" face of the performer is often a main aim of the act to make them seem more personable, but it doesn't make that true. irl Japanese Idol groups (which are the main inspiration for Callie and Marie) are particularly well-known for cultivating parasocial relationships between the group and their followers. As another extreme example, consider vtubers that are part of corporate groups. They are effectively actors playing a character, even if these people do share real stories from their lives with their viewers in the guise of their character. If the idol groups from Splatoon were real people, then all of this would be true for them too.

However, in Splatoon itself, there's never been an example of characters acting differently between their work hosting the news or during splatfests when compared to how they act in the story modes. Even while trying to actively hide their identities in Splatoon 1, Callie and Marie's personalities don't change while acting as Agents 1 and 2. Callie is still a bit of a goofball and Marie is still sarcastic, in exactly the same way that they are when they're presenting the news or performing for crowds. We don't see any indication at all that this very marketable self is a fake projection like it would be for an irl performer. Instead we get the opposite, the idea that they are just like that all the time. Even though they are secret agents that are part of a clandestine vigilante organisation, and they'd quite like for people to not know that they're agents 1 and 2, there's no actual gulf in personality between "The Squid Sisters" and "Callie and Marie".

Additionally, although we know Callie and Marie have agents and people who help them manage their work, we've never seen any evidence of any kind of "stage persona" or deviation between how they feel and act as people, and how they present themselves when they're working. From the Squid Sister Stories, we know that the idols genuinely do believe that the splatfest choices they represent are the correct answer to the prompts, rather than them just being assigned a side regardless of their real opinion. We've also never seen any indication of the idols or people who work with them trying to cultivate the same kind of parasocial link to their fanbase that their real-world equivalents might.

This idea that the characters are always being "genuine" is one of the aspects of Splatoon that requires suspension of disbelief because of how it deviates from the real world. But this is what the evidence we have supports. With this all being established, how does it tie back into Big Betrayal?

Big Betrayal was the start of Deep Cut's vague character arc during the update cycle of Splatoon 3 regarding their willingness to work with people from Inkopolis. However, in a manner of speaking, it actually happens twice, for two different reasons. Both are important for the events of Splatoon 3.

The initial reason for the song was when Shiver and Frye confronted Big Man about working with the Squid Sisters to produce Liquid Sunshine as Ian BMG. He isn't able to explain himself as Shiver and Frye accuse him of ditching them for money and fame given by people in Inkopolis. This is the version of the song that plays in-game, and was released during the Deep Cut splatfest around the game's first anniversary. Although we don't get any translated lyrics or indication of what it's about, Daybreaker Anthem (which was released after the splatfest concluded) could be interpreted as a end to the immediate conflict between the three idols due to its tone, and is likely related to Big Betrayal because of it.

During the events of the live concert at Nintendo Live 2024 Big Man was attacked by Shiver and Frye for being unable to stop Pearl and Marina from coming onto the stage and doing a set while Shiver and Frye were having a break. The lyrics in this live version song are different to the translated lyrics in the original song and Frye can be seen to physically attack him. This is important as it sets the stage for Shiver and Frye doing a stage invasion at a later Off the Hook concert, leading to the events of Suffer No Fools and the eventual formation of the Now Or Never Seven, a collection of all 3 groups.

Given that we have never seen any evidence of the idols having any deviation between their show persona and their real selves (and I really do want to repeat that we have never seen any evidence, despite stories from different idols' perspectives and their genuine opinions through the various relationship charts), it doesn't make any sense for all 3 idol groups to actually have been orchestrating the drama between them that unfolds because of the latter version of Big Betrayal.

I hope this explains why we can actually fairly reliably say that the events of both Big Betrayal(s) aren't staged, and are actually based on recording of Shiver and Frye genuinely attacking Big Man.

[gulfappointmentservice]

Wafid Appointment: Your First Step Towards a Career in the Gulf

Planning to move to Saudi Arabia, UAE, or any other Gulf country for work or residency? Then the Wafid Appointment is your essential first step. This medical screening process is compulsory for individuals applying for a visa to any GCC (Gulf Cooperation Council) country. Understanding how it works and how to book it properly can save you time, money, and unnecessary stress.

What is a Wafid Appointment?

A Wafid Appointment is an online booking for a medical test through the Wafid (formerly GAMCA) system, which assigns you to an authorised medical centre in your area. It verifies that you're medically fit to work or live in Gulf countries. Without this appointment and a successful medical report, your visa application cannot proceed.

How M/S Gulf Appointment Service Helps

Navigating the Wafid portal, filling out forms, and selecting an approved centre can be confusing, especially if it's your first time. That’s where M/S Gulf Appointment Service steps in. We provide complete support for booking your Wafid Medical Appointment, from generating the Wafid slip to guiding you through documentation and payment.

We ensure that your appointment is scheduled quickly, accurately, and without hassle, helping you avoid common errors that delay visa approvals.

Conclusion

In today’s competitive job market, especially in the Gulf, every step counts. Don’t let a technical error or appointment delay ruin your chances. Book your Wafid Appointment through M/S Gulf Appointment Service for a smooth, professional, and reliable experience. Let us take care of the paperwork while you focus on your new journey abroad.

[allcnaprograms]

Open Your Healthcare Career: Top CNA Classes in Naples, FL for 2023

Unlock Your healthcare career: Top CNA Classes in Naples, FL for 2023

Are ​you looking to embark⁤ on a rewarding‍ career in healthcare? Becoming a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA)‌ is a fantastic way to start! In this article, we’ll explore the top CNA classes in Naples, FL for ​2023, providing you with‍ essential details⁣ to help you make the ⁣best choice possible.

Why ‌Choose a CNA Career?

Before diving⁤ into the available CNA classes,let’s explore why a CNA career is an⁤ excellent choice:

High Demand: The healthcare industry continuously needs⁢ skilled professionals,and​ CNAs are always ⁢in⁣ demand.

Job ⁣Satisfaction: Helping patients improves their quality of life can be incredibly rewarding.

Flexible⁤ Work Hours: Many ‍healthcare facilities offer various shifts, making it easier to maintain work-life balance.

Career Advancement: Starting as a CNA ⁣can lead to ⁢further education and higher positions within the healthcare sector.

How to Become a CNA in Naples, FL

Becoming a certified nursing assistant involves several steps:

Complete a State-Approved ‌CNA Training program

Pass the Florida CNA Examination

Obtain ⁣your ⁤CNA License from the Florida Board of Nursing

Top CNA Classes in Naples, FL for 2023

Choosing the right program is crucial. Here are some ⁢of the top CNA classes available in ⁢Naples for 2023:

School Name

Program Length

Cost

Contact

Florida Southwestern State College

4 Weeks

$1,000

Visit

Naples Community College

6 Weeks

$900

Visit

Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) Academy

4 Weeks

$1,200

Visit

Gulf Coast Nursing Institute

5 Weeks

$950

Visit

Highlights of Each Program

1. Florida Southwestern State College

This program is ‍well-regarded for its thorough curriculum and hands-on training. Students benefit from experienced instructors ⁤and state-of-the-art facilities.

2. Naples Community College

With a​ focus on practical skills, this⁣ program is perfect for ⁢those looking to get into the workforce quickly. Thay also offer evening classes for working adults.

3. Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) Academy

CNA Academy⁣ offers‍ a robust program that includes both classroom instruction and clinical practice. This school is known for its high pass rate on ⁢the certification exam.

4. ​Gulf Coast Nursing Institute

This institute provides flexible scheduling options, including weekend classes. Their curriculum emphasizes ⁣a ⁤mix of theoretical‍ knowledge and practical skills.

Benefits of ‌Taking CNA Classes in Naples

Here are several reasons why taking CNA classes in Naples is a smart choice:

Proximity to Job Opportunities: Many healthcare facilities are located in Naples, increasing your ‌chances of employment after certification.

Experienced ⁢Instructors: Local programs offer⁤ access to instructors who are ‌familiar with the job market and can ‌provide valuable insights.

Supportive Community: Being part of ‍a training cohort in a smaller town can foster a supportive learning ⁤habitat.

Tips for Success in Your CNA Classes

To excel in ⁢your CNA training, follow these practical tips:

Stay Organized: Keep track of assignments and ⁣deadlines.

Practice Skills Regularly: Hands-on practice is key to mastering nursing skills.

study in Groups: Collaborating with classmates can enhance learning and retention.

Communicate with Instructors: Don’t hesitate‌ to ask ‍questions or‍ seek help when needed.

First-Hand Experiences: Success Stories from CNAs ​in Naples

Many cnas in Naples have ⁤found their careers rewarding and fulfilling. Here are a few‍ insights:

Sarah, RN: “Starting as a CNA opened so many doors ‌for me in the healthcare field.⁢ I loved connecting with patients and knew this was my⁣ calling.”

James, ‌LPN: “The training I received in ​Naples was excellent, and the⁤ hands-on experiance⁣ substantially ⁢boosted my confidence as I moved forward in my career.”

Conclusion

Embarking⁤ on a CNA career is a ⁣fantastic way to begin your journey in⁢ healthcare.​ With numerous reputable programs available in Naples, FL, your options are plentiful. Whether you’re ⁣looking to​ work directly with ⁣patients or enhance ‍your⁢ understanding⁢ of the medical field, CNA⁢ training can‌ unlock numerous opportunities.Take the first step today by enrolling in one of Naples’ top CNA classes and propel your healthcare ​career forward in 2023!

https://allcnaprograms.com/open-your-healthcare-career-top-cna-classes-in-naples-fl-for-2023/