#it is very inaccurate for most navy things but who really cares? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ronearoundblindly · 1 year

Note

If its ok what if

Lloyd hansen x reader x steve rogers

🥵 smutt

ya know, it took me a loooong time--this ask is from september--to come up with something, but today's the day apparently! And, AND! The lovely @darsynia made me an awesome graphic whilst I wrote all this filth! Thank you, bestie!!! WC 3.3k

Warnings for oh fuck these two are terrors, smut, goddamn fighting (obviously, bc they can't get along in any universe), possibly the worst fucking puns ever and I no longer care, terrible/inaccurate/but very mild dom/sub vibes, not much but knife play. Please note that this work does not involve the two men together. Alternate title: Ro is 1,000% [nope, better make it 1,000,000%] going to hell. MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you!

You can tell Steve is about to crawl out of his skin as the knife touches yours.

"You buy these pretty things for me?" Lloyd coos, tucking the point of his switchblade beneath a lacy seam. He knows damn well the navy set with bright red hearts is not for his enjoyment at all, so he turns his head to stare at your husband.

"Useless," Lloyd growls, flicking his wrist deftly.

The sliced fabric springs back to reveal your thatch of hair. You have no idea whether Lloyd was talking about your panties or Steve, and frankly, you're too turned on to care. There’s a certain amount of goading you expected aimed at the awkward hunk leaning on the far wall.

Steve clenches his arms tighter across his chest and sucks in a breath, eyes darting to your skin in case Lloyd drew blood, but his gaze lingers at your almost exposed core.

He hates this whole idea, but you have tried talking to him so many times about how to make sex more interesting. Steve can't stand to even listen to the words much less do what you want. This is the compromise.

Lloyd Hansen will do anyone for the right price, and sure, usually, that's killing, but who doesn't love a good fuck? Who wouldn't get half-hard just thinking about taking Captain America's wife to pound town right in front of the guy?

Lloyd simply smirks, returning his eyes to you and nudging the lace a little farther. The flat of the blade on your mound feels cold and so fucking dangerous that you shiver, neck tensing to throw your head back.

"How's that feel, pumpkin?"

"Golden," you whine, mewling when he nicks the other end and pulls your panties off. Lloyd doesn't like safe words and shit, but he agreed to a few check-ins, and you do have a way to stop him because, let's face it, the money is the real goal for him. The rest is gravy.

Lloyd stalks over to Steve's corner of the room, lifting the ruined garment for the other to take. "A souvenir--" he chuckles "--what's that smell like to you, huh, big man?"

Steve grimaces, unmoving, so Lloyd shoves your panties in his face.

"Smells like team spirit to me."

You should laugh. You really should. You should not fucking moan when you see Steve's chest expand and his eyes flutter shut briefly. You should not have such a surge of tingling heat race to your center that your thighs slam together.

But you do. And Lloyd notices.

"This is gonna be fun," he whispers, likely to himself, as he drops the fabric and walks over again.

His fingertips slide from your knee up your thigh, and Lloyd bends to nip at your neck.

"Lie back from me, sweetheart. Go on."

You have to cover a squeak while you flop onto the mattress. This sort of dominance is nothing like Steve Rogers even on his most confident day. Steve is always measured and a little tentative, his force reined in to the point of being boring after so many years. This is all flush and feral with the promise of oblivion, and in the strangest way, you still associate every second as with Steve, not Lloyd Hansen. The exercise in trust--the sheer fact that he was willing to entertain this idea, much less the practice--is a show of devotion from Steve you never thought possible.

And then Lloyd kneels down and pushes your legs apart. "Open up for me. That's it. Good girl."

"Ah fuck," you moan into your hand, and thank god if Steve does hear you, he doesn't say a thing.

Lloyd skips finesse and plunges into the dirty end of the pool by licking all the way up and down your cunt, hands spreading your ass to expose every bit of you to him, and he pauses to speak with his mouth against your clit.

"Do I need to give him a lesson or can I just fucking taste you?"

"I know how to--" but Steve's protest dies behind the noise Lloyd makes sloppily eating you out like a man starved.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, and your hips buck into the wild ride. His mustache burns in the best way. You gasp so much that your throat burns dry, too.

He says other things, things that rumble up your spine and settle deep in your brain, but you can't process what those words are until the white-hot lightning finally cracks your body apart.

Lloyd is shockingly soothing as you come back down from your high but unshockingly smug when he sweeps his face clean of your cum.

"You're doing star-spangled spectacularly for me, slut, now why don't--"

There's a thunderclap of noise that wrenches you out of your bliss. You’re knocked onto your side as Lloyd falls to the floor.

Steve raises his arm again but hesitates when you call his name.

"He doesn't...he doesn't do well with language like that," you manage to say, still fuzzy and out of breath.

Lloyd wipes blood from his nose. "Yeah, I picked up on that. Thanks,” he spits sarcastically, followed by a real spit to clear his mouth. “Down, boy. I'll play nice--" he winks at you as he rises "--but not too nice."

Lloyd climbs back to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand spreading over your throat gently. "Feels good, don't it? Feeling golden?"

You nod vigorously.

He licks more blood from his lip. “Yeah? Can we move on, pumpkin, or is your pussy still needy—“

Lloyd catches Steve's fist this time, jumping up to punch your husband square in the neck.

Steve, to his credit, doesn't even go down, but he drops his arm and steps back, rubbing the point of contact as he wheezes for a minute.

"Can I please continue?" Lloyd screams in annoyance. The man is not in any way used to sharing, or going slow, or giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room for that matter. However, Lloyd is a dedicated professional, so he’ll continue because he knows what’s in it for him. "God damn it,” he barks, spitting at Steve’s feet.

Lloyd takes a beat to compose himself and returns to your side, facing away now, his hand plunging between your legs.

"Time to earn participation points, Golden Boy." Two fingers breach your entrance without warning. "On your knees."

Lloyd snaps his other fingers and points to the ground like he's training a dog to heel.

Slowly, with wide eyes and hesitant steps, Steve places himself exactly as Lloyd did before. He strategically keeps his focus glued to yours until the squelching sound of Lloyd's fingers thrusting in and out of you becomes too loud to ignore.

That look--that fucking moment where your husband sees your core and hunger darkens his whole face--could send you back over the edge right here, but suddenly, Lloyd stops.

"Now we've got his attention," the cruel man laughs.

Like your panties before, there's no ceremony to Lloyd shoving his fingers into Steve's awe-parted lips, but the biggest shock is how your husband doesn't fight the intrusion. No. Steve grabs Lloyd's wrist to keep him there until Steve is done sucking your taste off another man's fingers.

You're pretty sure that's when your soul left your body, but it's a toss-up between that and every other moment tonight.

With more patience than you thought possible, Lloyd waits, comically making an “O” with his mouth and looking at you. “Someone’s eager for the beaver, I see.” He takes the same wet fingers and tucks them between your breasts, snapping the front of your bra sharply against your sternum.

“Finish unwrapping your present. I wanna see what you got—” and when Steve immediately reaches behind your back for the clasp, Lloyd’s eyebrows bob up and down “—and he’s good at following orders, too.”

Your husband plants a gentle kiss on the swell of one breast before Lloyd stops him, tutting while he holds a fucking knife against Captain America’s chest to sit him back on his heels.

He ticks the blade down. “That’s your half now. This is mine.”

You’re practically panting while Steve’s eyes go hard in possessiveness, locked onto Lloyd in a challenge you don’t quite understand until the fancy man flips the blade back into it’s handle.

“Fine,” Lloyd grouches, tossing the knife farther up the bed. He shuffles closer to face you, a warm hand cupping your breast before he tweaks the nipple harshly. “Why don’t you relax for us, huh, good girl?”

Lloyd coaxes you to lean back again, orders Steve to hold your legs open and tease you, buries painful fingers in your hair, and forces you to watch.

“That’s it. Don’t you want to hear her beg? Doesn’t she sound so sweet? Oh, I like her desperate…”

Not in years has Steve Rogers whispered anything so filthy as the shit that falls from Lloyd’s mouth, but goddamn, every word is like kindling stoking the vigor with which Steve consumes you. You lap up the praise while your husband gulps down every ounce created by every word.

Lloyd lowers to suck and bite all over your chest, marks blossoming across the tender skin as he takes a sort of sweet revenge for his bloody nose. A kink for a kink.

“You want to tell him what’s next,” Lloyd rasps, straining your neck back to look at him in the last few moments before you come again, “or should I?” His devilish smile is the last thing you see before he pushes you to meet Steve’s eyes, the perfect, final flick of tongue rolling over your clit.

Dutifully—sweetly almost—Steve lifts away from you as your legs shake, replacing his face with his fingers to gently bring you down, and Lloyd does not like that. He swats Steve’s hand off to slap your raw bundle of nerves and shove his fingers in again, brutally hitting that spongy spot until the dam of orgasm doesn’t just rupture, it explodes inside you.

You cry out and flail. Lloyd pins you down with a knee to your ribcage, and it hurts but not enough to give a shit over the rush of cum soaking his hand and the sheets below. Steve holds your ankles so you don’t kick him in the face while squirming, transfixed on every move Lloyd makes to milk you stupid.

With one last wet slap, Lloyd rests his hand on your belly and tosses a gelled lock of hair out of his face.

“Wifey here wants to suck you dry,” he boasts, and your hands fly to your face in hot embarrassment.

You confessed that after drinking quite a lot during the ‘negotiation’ of terms for this little arrangement, but only when Steve excused himself to the restroom. Lloyd wasn’t supposed to repeat your fantasy.

“That’s right, big guy. She’s gonna blow your—“ his eyes drop and raise “—mind,” he continues, unpinning you and pushing your arms to the side. He leans down to smear your own slick across your mouth messily, quietly adding, “he won’t even notice I’m right behind you.”

The air rushes out of your lungs before you can stop it, making a downright pathetic sound of anticipation.

“Strip,” Lloyd commands, waving a hand casually at Steve and sauntering over to a bottle of water on the dresser. “The…uh…lady should get on her knees.”

Steve turns to the other wall, unable to meet your eye, bright red blotches spotting his neck and cheeks. He’s embarrassed, too, but from the speed at which he unzips his jeans to relieve his still-straining erection and then pulls his shirt over his head, Steve is also painfully aroused. You even catch him rubbing his cock with each conceivable pass while disrobing. It reignites that weak fire between your tired legs.

“Face up, Captain. Give ‘er some room,” Lloyd snorts, capping his water.

Of course, Steve spreads his legs in front of you, and instead of acknowledging how fucking hard he is, he helps you balance into position.

You capture a quick kiss and smile as your husband blushes even more.

“Jesus, I’m gonna vomit,” Lloyd mutters behind you.

He’s just so, so fucking evil, but you admit the contrast has you drooling to get your mouth on Steve. You’re already planning on adding orders to your regular routine. You buzz with excitement at all this play implies, now and in the future.

Steve isn’t just letting this happen; he likes what’s happening.

Lloyd’s warm hand pets down your spine until it rests heavily on your lower back, the heel of it pressed against your spread ass, an encouragement and a threat.

“Take him how you want. Just like you told me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to Steve’s ragged breaths amidst Lloyd's criticism.

“You don’t just lick him, do you, kitten? You can do better than that. I thought you wanted to swallow him whole. Don’t disappoint me now. More. You can take it. More.”

Your nose nuzzles into Steve’s pelvis as you feel his cock jump in your throat. You swallow around him but force yourself up for air after.

“Is that the best you got?” Lloyd teases, his hand sliding tauntingly down your crack and through your folds before he’s gone.

You open your eyes when he grabs your wrist and presses the closed switchblade into your palm.

“Go on. Hold it, pumpkin. Right there.” Lloyd makes your hand rest on Steve’s thigh. For balance, you have to open your fist and press the metal to your husband’s skin as you take him back into your mouth.

Steve fucking groans, pinching his eyes shut and grabbing the sheets beneath him.

“Oh yeah,” Lloyd chirps, “he likes a bit of danger, huh?” A flat hand cracks against your ass, making you whine with your lips around Steve’s dick.

The sound of Steve whimpering is coupled with the snap of Lloyd's belt. His fingers return, and you just know he’s unabashedly staring at your pussy.

“Whoo-ee, if you weren’t already gaping for me, I’d think you weren’t into this. Put your back into it.” You hear the rip of a zipper only moments before the thick tip of him lines up.

You can’t help but moan low and long over Steve’s length.

“Baby?” Steve breathes above you.

“She’s fine,” Lloyd answers instead, pushing in. The head of him pops past the first ridge of your walls, and his hand clamps down on your hip, the other flat over the small of your back, guiding, controlling.

The spit of both men coats your core and inner thighs, you remember, and the slow swirl of ambient air proves it. That thought makes your eyes roll back as much as the glorious pressure of Lloyd’s cock filling you.

But Steve’s fingers find your chin and raise you to look at him, repeating his question until you let him fall heavy from your mouth and lick your swollen lips.

“Golden,” you say just as Lloyd bottoms out. “Fff-ahh.” You barely stop yourself from cursing when he thrusts forward and another SMACK hits your ass. “Golden,” you promise, because you know Steve is watching with extremely mixed feelings.

You return what attention you can to stuffing your mouth full. A rhythm progresses while you rock between them, but it’s too gentle for—of all people—Steve.

His hand knots through your hair to guide you faster. You have to plant yourself steady on the mattress, the knife digging into both your flesh, and hold your hips still.

Lloyd isn’t even fazed as he takes over his own selfish pace, his balls slapping so hard they sting your thighs. He keeps talking, too.

“See how much she likes that, buddy?”

Oh, that is not going to go over well with Steve.

“Bet she’d drop to her knees for you daily.”

He’s not wrong there…

“Damn, babygirl—“ Oh shit “—sometimes a bitch just needs fucked doggy-style.”

You can feel Steve’s chest fill to correct him, the deep v-line of his Adonis’ belt pressing against your nose to cut off your air, but Lloyd purposefully slams into you. You lurch forward to deep-throat Steve with a scream of alarm, and the constriction nearly topples Steve over the edge.

Just for a moment, his hand holds you down, choking you. It’s Steve choking you on his dick, and your nails happily dig into his meaty thighs. You’ve dreamed of this day.

With a strangled sound, Steve pulls you off him, strings of spit drip from your abused mouth. You’re gasping for air but also not done enjoying yourself, so you lick and kiss up Steve’s length until ready to take him again.

All the while, Lloyd darkly chuckles and kneads at your ass.

When one spanking lands so hard that you cry out, Steve bucks down your throat and punches the bed, clearly torn between sensation and situation.

“Such an asshole,” he grits through clenched teeth.

“Oh,” Lloyd tuts, “she wants it in the ass? Well, when in Rome…” He swipes his thumb over the cream pooling at the base of his cock and shoves his thumb hard against your puckered hole.

Honestly, you have no idea if it even breached because you scream and fall forward on Steve's dick. This time, Steve comes with a roar, a raging, animalistic thing you have never heard before, but you’re pulled away just as fast.

Lloyd hauls you up to his chest, telling you to look at what a fucking mess your husband is for you. Steve desperately grips himself until it’s over, half his spend glistening on his abs, half rolling down your chin while Lloyd continues to thrust into your sweet spot.

He’s given up controlling his language entirely.

“Fuck, she’s close. Come on, big guy—“ he pinches your nipple and bites at your neck “—finish her off.”

Lloyd drops you like a stone into Steve’s waiting arms, and Steve wastes no time slamming his mouth to yours and furiously rubbing your clit. You’re so stretched out that three of his thick fingers feel like nothing until they curl.

This time you can’t help but shout your own curse. Steve just keeps kissing you, holding you two together as you writhe. You hardly notice Lloyd painting his cum across your back and ass but neither does Steve, it seems, because the next thing you know you’re laying beside your husband in bed while your guest grins in triumph.

“I’ll just take this,” Lloyd drawls, reaching beneath Steve’s bare leg to retrieve his knife. He slaps Steve’s ass, too. It’s as if Lloyd knows Steve will let him get away with just about anything in the post-coital fog. “Don’t want you to feel left out, buddy.”

Your husband makes no move at all except to kiss your forehead.

“How are you?” He smooths your wrecked hair out of your face.

“Oh wow,” you say with a rough voice and runaway breaths, “I’m golden, just golden.”

Lloyd grabs his water bottle, joking. “My work here is done, and you two—“ he swigs and swallows dramatically “—I don't mind repeat business from. Anytime. Fuck.”

He struts to the bathroom, pants still undone and hanging open, uncaring. With a shout, he slaps the top of the door frame.

“That’s America’s Cunt!”

Steve’s whole body tenses. “I hate that guy,” he grumbles into your sweaty skin.

You snuggle closer, surrounded by familiar body heat and musk. “I know. Isn't it great?”

Because it’s so, so true. There is nothing about Lloyd Hansen you actually want for one second longer than necessary. That's the beauty of teamwork: everyone serves their purpose.

Honorable mention to the line I promised but ultimately couldn't fit in (that's what she said):

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#steve rogers fanfiction #lloyd hansen fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #steve rogers smut #lloyd hansen smut #steve rogers fanfic #steve x reader #18+ fanfic #ro answers

281 notes · View notes

t-nd-rfoot · 1 year

Note

love the fun headcanon idea, and i’d love for you to do 🤠 for bob!

💌 laracrofted

REACH FOR THE SKY aka Bob loving Toy Story Headcanons

Bob’s favorite Pixar movie is Toy Story, and for very good reason.

Theme Fluff

Warnings One mention of animal birth but no details...maybe some inaccurate Navy/wizzo info sprinkled in there (?)

Word Count 826

Note @laracrofted oh my honey, thank you so much for being patient with this! I also apologize for two things: 1. for making this not a Bob x reader thing if you were expecting it 😭 and 2. for going overboard...like, extremely overboard... 🫣 thank you so much again for requesting and waiting, I hope you enjoy it!

If you enjoyed this, please reblog! Reblogs are the best way to support creators (writers, artists, gif makers, everyone!) on this platform. Share the content, share the love!

When Bob was 6 years old, he was convinced that Toy Story was based on him

Not so much because he thought his toys came to life when he wasn’t looking (but that didn’t stop him from trying to see if they did) but because like Andy, his two main interests were cowboys and aerospace

He came to the realization when he watched the movie for the first time on VHS a few days before watching Toy Story 2 in the theater (his first theater movie)

Since he spent many summer and winter vacations on his uncle’s ranch, he grew up wanting to be a cowboy after watching his dad and other relatives work with the cattle

Every themed birthday, preschool dress up day, and halloween were spent in a cowboy costume since he already owned a Stetson and boots

Mama Floyd was actually thankful for that since she didn’t always have the time to make or look for costumes every year

There was also no use suggesting anything else since he wasn’t interested in anything else

In fact, working on the ranch was his original childhood dream before he wanted to be a pilot

He also has a severely cute home video and several pictures of the first time he rode a horse…well, more like sat on a horse

The horse’s reins were tied to a fence, and toddler Bob was sat on the saddle, his dad’s hands holding him tightly

“Look, Momma! I’m just like Daddy!”

And then it was time to fly back home, so he traded horses for airplanes, especially after the first plane ride he remembered taking

Bob was also definitely that kid that was practically glued to the window at an airport, watching the planes taxi, take off, and land

He also refused to sleep on a plane ride, fighting off a nap for as long as he could so he could look out the window to look down at the land below, while singing The Airplane Song from Barney

After watching Toy Story, he would pretend that the plane was a spaceship and that he was Buzz Lightyear

Right before the plane would take off down the runway, he’d say, “To infinity and beyond!”

To this day, one of Papa Floyd’s most embarrassing moments was when Bob was able to get his seatbelt off, stood up on his seat, and kept pressing the flight attendant call button to “report his mission log”

As he grew up and grew out of his Toy Story obsession, he never really grew out of his love for the movie (who wouldn’t? Toy Story is an animated classic!) and part of him still carried his inner Andy

When he was 12, he volunteered around the ranch whenever he visited

One of the first things he had to do was assist his uncle in helping one of the mares give birth, and when his uncle asked what the should name the foal, he chose the name Bullseye

Once Bullseye was big enough to ride, he became Bob’s horse, and when Bob wasn’t around, he trusted his uncle and cousins to take care of Bullseye until he came back

He kept his collection of books and pictures of aviation in his bedroom back home

When he was 16, he decided to join the Navy so he could fly as much as he could

(He remembers that conversation with his parents perfectly)

“Does it have to be the Navy, though? Why not fly commercial planes? Or why not just be an engineer?”

“I wanna be in the sky, Ma. And it’s more than just flying or being a co-pilot. There’s tactics, weapons, navigation…if I’m going to be on a plane, might as well go all the way. And I want to feel the physics behind it too, not just study it.”

“And here we were thinking you were gonna be an astronaut! Especially with all those space shows and books of yours, not to mention all those NASA posters.”

“That would be pretty cool too, Pa, but at least you guys would probably get to visit me wherever I’m based. I don’t think it would be that easy for you guys to go up to the International Space Station.”

“Well, we still love you to the moon and back, honey. We’re so proud of you!”

The night before he left, his parents gave him an envelope, telling him to open it after he left

It contained a letter from them saying how much they’ll miss him and how they’re so proud of him

His dad inserted an old polaroid of toddler Bob wearing his cowboy outfit while sitting on a horse, his penmanship spelling out in the space below ‘Reach for the sky!’

And his mom made and added to the envelope three patches: a sheriff’s star, a space ranger badge, and a blue square patch with a distinctive cloud, reminiscent of his favorite childhood movie.

Tag List @roostersrooster @rosesvioletshardy @bonitanightmxres @avaleineandafryingpan @bradshawseresinbabe @hangmanbrainrot @babyonboardfloyd @demxters @bradshawseresinbabe @footprintsinthesxnd

Add yourself to my tag list!

Disclaimer I do not own Top Gun: Maverick or any of its characters. Please do not copy my work or translate without my permission.

45 notes · View notes

bard-llama · 3 years

Note

Ciri contemplating on the Geopolitical chessboard that has formed: "Let's see, we have Meve in Lyria and Rivia, Anais could take up Free... Well, whatever... Temeria, Adda has a strong claim in Redenia, Skellige seems fine under Cerys, the Free Pontar Valley has Saskia, Kaedwen is leaderless, we don't care about Dol Blathanna... Stennis in Aedirn is a problem, but I'll find some way to get rid of him." Vooris is confused on why she would like to get rid of such a sycophant.

Ooooh, I like that! Like, politically, I think Ciri has to marry Morvran Voorhis, because we know that the Nilfgaardian nobles are displeased with the war and how much Emhyr has committed to it. So bringing in a daughter no one has ever heard of? Yeah, she would have to marry someone that appeases the noble families or she would face civil war.

Morvran was groomed by Emhyr as a potential successor (+ his dad was part of a plot to remove Emhyr and place Morvran on the throne, but he wasn't involved in it. Still, I might be a lil pissed if my mentor hanged my dad, even if my dad betrayed me). But we know that Ciri will be a very different ruler from Emhyr. She takes the throne wanting to make real change the way a lone witcher cannot, which likely means she'd enact a number of social reforms, even if she has to fight the nobility to get it through.

But all that is to say, Morvran's expectations of what his Empress will be like are probably wildly inaccurate at first, so he'd be very confused why she would get rid of someone who can so clearly easily be controlled.

But she doesn't want tools, she wants people. She wants to be able to make life better for peasants and nonhumans and other such marginalized groups. She wants to see leaders of other kingdoms that care about their people. That are reasonable and can be worked with. (That they all happen to be women is a happy 'coincidence'. But uh... turns out that in patriarchial societies, women tend to do a better job of not thinking with their cocks).

So there's the Free Pontar Valley with Saskia. There's Enid an Gleanna/Francesca Findabair in Dol Blathanna, Meve in Lyria and Rivia, and Adda the White in Redania/Kaedwen (Redania invaded Kaedwen and took over under Radovid). That's a lot of the North's real estate. All that's really left is Aedirn, like you said. And Stennis would be a problem, but it kinda depends on what state Aedirn is in. By which I mean, if Nilfgaard took over Aedirn after Demavend's death, even if Stennis was left alive (the coward probably ran from battle), then Aedirn would just need to be governed locally by someone loyal to Nilfgaard. Which some could maybe argue Stennis is, but uh... yeah, we know better. Also, he's a shit leader and if he was governor, then Aedirn is falling into ruin, esp after the invasion. So getting rid of him would be more like getting rid of an irritating beaurocrat. She could probably even do it without killing him, but where's the fun in that? Or maybe she extradites Stennis to Saskia and they put him on trial for the attempted assassination?

On the other hand, if Stennis takes over the throne after his father dies in W2 and somehow manages to not get taken over by Nilfgaard (which actually is possible, but only if we ignore the probable canon that Nilfgaard takes Lyria and Rivia too). Then you've got several strong (potentially) rulers and one weak link in the chain. But if Ciri wants to conquer Aedirn, then her army has to get there. Which is important for several reasons.

1) After the Nilfgaardian War + the White Frost, her army is... probably not in the best state. And Nilfgaard enlists their infantry, meaning if you're a farmer or whatever of eligible age and fitness, you are now fighting on the front for Nilfgaard. But a lot of their infantry dies (because they're inexperienced and not soldiers), which means suddenly her realm doesn't have enough farmers to bring in the crops or to sow new ones for next year. That's likely part of why Nilfgaard was demanding grain as tribute from conquered villages. But locally, they probably destroyed most of the crops ('cause walking an army over a farm will do that), so there's already gonnna be (already are) issues with famine in her empire.

2) If Ciri did somehow put together the fighting force to take Aedirn, she has to get there. This is getting super long, so I'll put the map under a cut, but the only direct way from her territory (i.e. all of Nilfgaard below the Yaruga + Temeria and Temeria's protectorates (Brugge, Sodden, etc.)) into Aedirn is north of the Mahakaman Mountains, through Iorveth's forest. Which means she's have to march her army all the way to the northern tip of her territory and then establish supply lines through a forest that is filled with monsters and murdrous squirrels (well, maybe).

Okay, I guess technically a second way to get to Aedirn would be to go by sea and then sail up the Pontar. But transporting infantry by sea is a huge undertaking, so it's still not terribly practical.

And, frankly, their ability to sail up the Pontar could be limited. Because they probably lost a lot of their navy during the White Frost thing, but also, it's in Redania's best interests to prevent Nilfgaard from accessing the Pontar. Even if it means blockading the busiest trade route in the north. Which doesn't exactly help with the famines.

Besides, even if Ciri's army could make land on the Aedirnian shore of the Pontar. That is a very narrow strip of land. Dol Blathanna is kind of on Nilfgaard's side, so they might agree (or not be asked) to letting an army travel over their land.

There is a river off the Pontar that goes to Vengerberg, so potentially she could make land there. But once again, that means supply lines dependent on waterways that she doesn't control.

So how does Ciri take Aedirn? Well, I'd say 2 ways, maybe 3:

1) Send in a covert strike team to assassinate Stennis and sweep in during the chaos. Which is good in that the strike team could probably get to Aedirn easily enough. But if she's going to occupy territory, she needs her army. Which leads to:

2) Try to encourage Meve to take over Aedirn, maybe even promise trade agreements and/or support to make it happen. The bright side: all that extra territory is not Ciri's problem and Stennis is still gone. The downside: well, if Meve is the expansionist sort (i don't know her well enough to say one way or another), then potentially Meve might try to conquer Dol Blanthanna (bad for northern stability and geopolitics, but not that big of a deal to Ciri personally) and might try to push Nilfgaard's border further south, because she knows that having an expansionist on your border signals future fighting.

3) Or, Ciri could negotiate with Meve, get permission to bring her army through Rivia to get to Aedirn. Some problems with this: Meve really kinda hates Nilfgaard, so is not likely to be inclined to agree. Ciri would have to establish supply lines through Rivia, which would at any time be subject to Meve's whims, plus probably attacks from the locals, who both hate Nilfgaard and might be short on food.

Hahaha, this is a very long and political answer, so sorry about that, but theorizing like this is really fun!

Maps:

Here’s the best map we have for the continent:

And here’s a map with some very messy political territories highlighted.

Okay, sorry it’s horribly messy, but essentially what we can see is that Nilfgaard owns the western side of the continent all the way up to the Pontar. Above the Pontar, Redania owns a HUGE chunk of land spanning east beyond Nilfgaard’s reach. Nilgaard owns everything south of the Yaruga and the territory west of the Mahakaman Mountains below the Pontar. (Just an interesting note: Mahakam was a Temerian protectorate, so technically Nilfgaard owns them. But having a city inside a mountain is not the same as getting an army across said mountains.) On the eastern side of the Mahakaman Mountains, we have the main territories that Nilfgaard doesn’t own. First, the northern border of Nilfgaard in the east is with Lyria and Rivia. Then there’s the huge chunk of land that belongs to Aedirn, except Aedirn might not have an heir to rule. And above that (previously a protectorate of Aedirn) is Dol Blathanna aka the elven state that Scoia’tael aren’t allowed in. Then, on the other side of a mountain range, the Free Pontar Valley lies between the Pontar and Dol Blathanna.

Which is all to say: Aedirn’s fate is very questionable, but they’re actually in a pretty good location to avoid being conquered by Nilfgaard.

#empress ciri #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #saskia #queen meve #adda the white #francesca findabair #the witcher #geopolitics #politics #fic planning #ask

37 notes · View notes

pickalilywrites · 4 years

Text

a little smth for halloween ~ smth for the playlist

----------

Heart Skips a Beat

Rivetra. College/University AU.

10012 words.

Read on AO3!

“We should get back to the dorms.”

“Why? I’m completely sober,” Petra says. Slowly. Carefully. Her words are perfectly coherent the way any sober person’s would be. If you ask her, it’s pretty impressive after downing half a dozen shots of very disgusting (but very invigorating) vodka. She can still feel the burn of it going down her throat even though it must have been half an hour ago since she actually drank it. She feels like she could breathe fire if she tried. “You’re just jealous because my alcohol tolerance is amazing.”

A rock appears under Petra’s foot and she stumbles over it, nearly falling flat on her face.

“Right,” Rico scoffs. “Because a completely drunk person wouldn’t have been able to avoid a rock.”

Petra huffs, straightening out the nurse’s cap on top of her head. “If anything, this just proves how right I am. A drunk person would have totally tripped and ate shit, which I didn’t do, if you hadn’t noticed.” She gestures at herself - her completely inaccurate nurse costume that shows off far more than it covers with white fishnet stockings and red heels, nurse’s cap sitting lopsided on her head - smiling proudly. “The people at the party back there were super wasted in comparison.”

They hadn’t gone to very many parties during their previous years - just the occasional ones that were thrown by their class when they were awkward freshmen and sophomores - and Hanji had just decided to drag them to the annual Halloween party thrown by a fraternity a few streets off the main campus. (The school claims that they’re not affiliated with the fraternity, but they’re not fooling anyone. Their campus revolves around Greek life.) Fraternity parties were on an entirely different level than other parties Petra had been to. For one thing, everyone was a lot more obnoxious, but that was forgivable a few drinks in. Before she knew it, she was laughing in the bathroom with a bunch of girls from the rowing team that she swore she couldn’t stand at the beginning of the year. They even let her take their pulses as if she was a real nurse. Maybe Petra’s costume was more convincing than she had thought.

Overall, it was a good experience. Petra now has new numbers in her phone from contacts that she won’t remember the next morning, Rico bobbed for apples with a tall, handsome stranger in a Batman costume with cheekbones so sharp they could probably cut diamonds, and Hanji has enough donations from kind, drunk strangers to fund the chemistry club for the rest of the academic year. Really, it was a win for all of them.

“You’re going to wake up with a wicked hangover,” Hanji says with a roll of their eyes, but they smile at Petra fondly (albeit a bit awkwardly because of the plastic vampire teeth that sit crookedly in their mouth). They wrap an arm around Petra, long black cloak covering the pre-law student-turned-nurse for the night. “Come on, Nurse Petra. Let’s sleep off the alcohol and I’ll get you an ibuprofen in the morning. I’ll even let you cuddle with Rico.”

“What?” Rico squawks indignantly. She waves her broom about as if to ward Hanji and Petra away. “I didn’t agree to this! Don’t crawl in my bed. I don’t want you to get sick all over the sheets.”

Petra sticks her lower lip out in a pout. “That was only one time! And it was an accident. I didn’t drink nearly as much this time!” She unlatches herself from Hanji’s side and stumbles over to Rico, looping her arm around the witch’s. Even as Rico leans away, Petra tries to plant kisses on her friend’s cheek. “You’re so cold now, Rico. If you’re not going to cuddle with me, who is? Do you want me to go to sleep cold and alone?”

Rico brings a hand to Petra’s face for an affectionate pat. “Yes,” the witch replies with a wicked smile. She wrestles her arm away, leaving Petra to stand by herself as she and Hanji walk away.

Petra has never felt such cold-hearted rejection in her life. Her skin is prickling with gooseflesh just at the memory of Rico’s heartless smile as she left Petra to fend for herself. Or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s nearly midnight and freezing and the skirt of her nurse outfit barely covers her ass.

“You’re the worst!” she howls with a stomp of her foot. Tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. She’s absolutely heartbroken and all Rico can do is roll her eyes. Petra expects Hanji to embrace her or at least give her some sympathy, but all the vampire does is snicker behind their elbow as Petra’s bottom lip wobbles and tears trickle down her face.

“I’d offer to let you sleep with me, Pet, but my bed’s a mess,” laughs Hanji. They cock their head to the side, an impish smile on their face. Perhaps Petra would have noticed how mischievous her friend’s grin was if she weren’t so distraught over the thought of not having anyone to cuddle with tonight. Hanji crooks a finger over for Petra to come closer, which the nurse does after much pouting and sniffling. They throw an arm around Petra once more. “Why don’t you try asking someone?”

“I don’t …,” Rico begins with a frown, but Hanji quickly hushes her.

“You made a lot of friends, didn’t you? Why don’t you ask one of them?” Hanji says. Behind them, Rico begins to protest once more but Hanji just waves her away with a hand. The sight makes Petra feel a little giddy. Rico absolutely deserves to be brushed off the same way she brushed off Petra just a few minutes ago. It’s what she gets for being so cold-hearted.

“Mm, alright! That’s a good idea,” Petra hums happily. She looks through her phone, her smile quickly transforming into a frown when she realizes that she doesn’t recognize any of these names. Some of them aren’t even names but descriptions of people’s costumes - wolf, firefighter, fairy - many of which are terribly misspelled. That’s only if they were lucky enough to have a description. There’s a surprising number of entries that are just random key smashes that definitely don’t make up any known words in the English language. The depressing sight of her phone contacts is starting to make Petra tear up again. “I don’t know any of these people.”

“Oh jeez, you’re a lot more far gone than I thought you were,” Hanji says with a little bit of a giggle. “Well, you must have talked to them at some point, or how else would you have their numbers in your phone?”

Offended, Petra hiccups. “Don’t blame it on me! Rico probably bewitched my phone or something,” she sniffs as if this a more plausible explanation. She’s too drunk to remember that Rico isn’t really a witch and that they’re only wearing costumes. In her defense, Rico’s witch costume is really good. Even her eyeglasses are spooky tonight with little bats dangling on some kind of chain. “I don’t want to just cuddle with any random person. I want to have some kind of connection with that person. We have to have had at least one conversation.”

“This is ridiculous,” Rico mutters. She snatches Petra’s phone and waggles it in the nurse’s face. “You talked with them enough to get their phone numbers. Isn’t that conversation enough?”

“I haven’t talked to any of them before!” Petra insists. She looks over at Hanji for help, but they’re looking pensively in the distance at something Petra can’t see. Wanting attention, Petra shuffles over and tugs on the vampire’s cape. “Hanji, back me up!”

“How would you like to talk to someone that might cuddle with you, Petra?” Hanji asks. They tug their cape from Petra’s hands. Normally, this would have offended Petra but she’s too busy staring wide-eyed at Hanji after hearing their suggestion.

“Talk to someone?” Petra repeats. She looks at Hanji eagerly, eyes growing wide. “Who?”

“Hanji, you can’t just have her talk to a random stranger!” Rico hisses, but Hanji ignores her.

“Shh, it’s fine,” Hanji assures her. They turn to Petra, patting her lovingly atop her nurse’s cap. “You see those guys over there? They’re dressed like EMTs. Very thoughtful, caring guys who want to look out for people. Maybe you should ask one of them if they’re interested.”

Petra looks to where Hanji is pointing and sees four guys dressed like EMTs sitting on one of those carts student EMTs ride around to (almost) run over other students when getting from place to place. She can’t really tell if they’re good-looking from where she is even when she squints, but the fact that they’re dressed as EMTs is pretty attractive already. Most guys go for a police outfit, but that’s a little overrated now. Firemen are an improvement, but the costumes tonight were bulky unless they were going as a sexy fireman, which was a bit of an overkill. Even drunk, Petra’s brain couldn’t fathom why a fireman would be shirtless to fight fires. It just seems dangerous. But an EMT. Their uniforms are plain but still fitted enough to be attractive, navy blue over taut arms that probably gave the best hugs. EMTs aren’t nearly as recognized as firemen and policemen and they save so many lives, which is incredibly sexy.

“Which one should I talk to?” Petra asks Hanji, tears gone. She’s too distracted to remember what she was crying about just moments ago.

“Maybe the short one,” Hanji suggests, pointing at the one sitting in the back of the cart. He’s flipping through his phone, the screen lighting up his face.

“The cute one,” Petra agrees even though that’s not what Hanji had said at all.

“Hey, don’t you know him?” Rico asks Hanji.

Hanji nods, but Petra doesn’t notice. She’s too busy tugging on the skirt of her dress and wondering if the amount of cleavage she’s currently showing off is a turn-off. Is there really such a thing as too much cleavage?

Petra pulls her stocking up over her knees and stands up proudly. “How do I look?” she asks. She does a little twirl so that her friends can properly inspect her. She’s a little disappointed when neither Rico nor Hanji cheer, but she’s not too surprised. Maybe if they had drank more vodka like she had, then they would have a little more energy.

“Wait, let me just,” Rico mumbles before reaching into her black clutch and pulling out some tissues. She dabs a little bit at Petra’s face, wiping away the nurse’s snot and tears. She holds another tissue to Petra’s nose. “Blow,” she commands.

Petra obeys. Even as Rico grimaces, Petra feels a great appreciation for her friend. She even begins to tear up again. “I didn’t know you cared so much about me, Rico,” she pouts. “You’re usually always so cold.”

“I’m always a good friend, you’re just drunk,” Rico replies. “And stop crying. You’ll ruin your makeup and nobody will want to cuddle with you.”

“You look perfect, Pet,” Hanji assures her. They whirl Petra around and give her an encouraging smack on the butt. “Go get ‘em!”

Fueled by her friends’ encouragement (well, Hanji’s encouragement, really) Petra begins to skip over to the EMT cart parked on the grass. She would have happily skipped over the entire way if she hadn’t tripped over her foot and almost face-planted on the cement. She doesn’t want to fall on her face in front of the cute EMT guy. She wants to make a good impression. So a little less happily, Petra walks with one foot in front of the other until she makes her way to the EMT cart. It takes a lot longer than she would have thought. The route was more of a strange, loopy path than it was a straight line, but Petra’s feet aren’t entirely cooperating with her at this point. It doesn’t matter though, she thinks, as long as she makes it to her destination, which she absolutely does.

They’re murmuring to themselves, casting curious side glances at her when she approaches. Petra finds the attention flattering, although she does notice that the EMT that she had set her eyes on doesn’t look up from his phone even when she stands right in front of him. The rest of his party looks over at her though, watching and waiting to see what will happen.

Maybe he has an important message to take, Petra thinks as she waits patiently for him to look up, but he continues to scroll mindlessly through his phone. Impatient, Petra coughs to catch his attention but he still ignores her. It’s rude, she thinks, to ignore someone as pretty as her. She stomps her foot, thinking that it’ll be enough to get the guy to look at her but he doesn’t even flinch even as the rest of his friends jump. It’s twice as frustrating once Petra realizes her heel is stuck in the grass and no amount of yanking will get it out. Humiliated, she steps barefoot on the grass, staring at her toes and wishing she had painted her toenails even though she’s never painted her toenails in her life. Maybe she should start.

This is all the stupid EMT’s fault, Petra thinks. Stupid EMT and his stupidly attractive ability to ignore her. Or maybe he’s just playing hard to get. Is he?

Petra puts a finger on his phone and pushes it down. The interruption finally gets a reaction out of the EMT, but it’s not exactly the one Petra wants. He doesn’t look intrigued or even a little bit curious as he lifts his head. He looks bored. Maybe even a little bit annoyed. Why is that so sexy to her?

“Pay attention to me,” Petra tells him, but he just looks from side to side as if she’s speaking to someone else.

“Uh, Levi, I think she’s talking to you,” says the EMT in the driver’s seat while the rest of their friends gawk at Petra.

“Your name’s Levi?” Petra asks. It’s not a lot of information, but she’ll take what she can get. She takes a seat next to him behind the EMT cart, snuggling up a little too closely to him so that their thighs touch.

He finally puts his phone down, but he doesn’t check her out the way most people did at the party. He looks first at the little white cap on her head and then at her face, staring as if looking for something. “Do I know you?” he finally asks when he doesn’t recognize her.

“No, but I want to get to know you,” Petra replies. She thought the answer would impress him - it’s cute, flirty, and earnest - but his lips just curl in a sneer and she almost wants to scream at him.

“You’re one of Hanji’s friends, aren’t you?” asked another EMT, the one sitting directly behind Petra and Levi. He has curly, sandy hair and a long face that Petra doesn’t think suits his EMT costume. He would have been better off dressed as an elf from the Lord of the Rings or maybe a wizard.

Petra doesn’t know if she should confirm or deny it. The EMT guys might run off with one of her friends instead. It would be unfair for Rico to run off with the EMTs and the sexy Batman with the amazing cheekbones. Petra would be fine with Hanji running off with one of the EMTs (and maybe even the other ones), but she wants to make sure she gets her first pick. She decides to play coy instead.

“Maybe.”

Levi looks over in the distance where Hanji and Rico are watching, Hanji barely containing their giggles. “That makes more sense,” he says. He turns to Petra again, his expression a little less cold. “Did they tell you to talk to me?”

“No,” Petra huffs. “I wanted to talk to you myself. Because you’re cute and I want someone to sleep with.”

Someone behind them chokes.

“We’ll just … leave you two alone,” says the driver, shuffling out of the car. The others follow, the sandy-haired one a little more reluctantly than the others.

“We’re still on our shift,” Levi calls back.

“It’s fine,” the driver says, waving his hand awkwardly as he leads his team far enough away to not overhear the conversation. Petra should thank him sometime for being so sweet and thoughtful. She half-regrets not chasing after him first, but maybe she’ll think about asking him if this guy rejects her. Which won’t happen, of course. It’s just safe to have a backup plan.

Petra returns her attention to the first cute EMT she had laid eyes on. “Let’s sleep together,” she says.

“You should at least buy me dinner first,” Levi tells her.

Petra frowns. She hadn’t anticipated this being a serious courtship, but if he wanted dinner, then she would have to get him dinner. She reaches into her bra and pulls out a five-dollar bill, some candy corn, and a Kit Kat bar that’s probably melting in its wrapper. She probably would have had more money if she actually had pockets, but her slutty nurse costume would not allow it. Then again, women’s clothing rarely had pockets anyway. It probably would have been smarter to bring a purse like Rico, but she didn’t have one that matched her costume.

“I have five dollars,” she informs the EMT. It’s probably not enough to buy dinner, but her drunken mind is hopeful. Maybe he’ll take pity on her and cuddle with her for a bag of chips from a nearby vending machine. She holds out the money and candy to the EMT.

“That’s …” Levi looks as if he’s at a loss for words. He pauses for a moment before closing his hands over Petra’s. His hands are unexpectedly large for his short stature, his palms are calloused but his touch is gentle. “It’s okay, you don’t have to buy me dinner.”

“So you’ll sleep with me?” she asks hopefully.

“Why do you want to sleep with me anyway?” asks Levi.

“Because you’re cute and we’re, like, matching,” she tells him, pointing at her costume and then at his EMT uniform. “It’s like fate or something.”

He blinks at her. “Do you think I’m wearing a costume?” he asks. He frowns when he sees Petra nod at him eagerly. “This isn’t a costume. I’m actually a student EMT. Look, I have my … stuff.” He pats at his pockets as he tries to find a tool on his person that will prove his profession. His hand finds the radio strapped to his belt and he unhooks it, holding it up so that Petra can see the initials of their college printed on the side as well as the words Student EMT.

Petra gazes at the radio and then nods seriously. “You did really well with your costume. I have props too!” She grabs at the stethoscope hanging around her neck, yanking it off and handing it over to Levi. She doesn’t remember having the stethoscope at the beginning of the night - she’s not even sure if one came with her costume or if someone dressed as a doctor gave it to her - but she’s glad she has it now. Maybe Levi will be more impressed once he sees how realistic her nurse costume is, even if she’s wearing fishnets and high heels that would definitely not be allowed in any type of hospital environment.

The EMT looks at the fake stethoscope warily, but he takes it anyway. “You know I’m a premed, right?” he asks as he turns the prop in his hands. He raises an eyebrow at Petra. “I’m really a student EMT.”

“Yeah, and I’m pre-law,” she replies. She pauses, thinking for a moment. “Wait, I mean I’m a nursing student,” she backtracks.

“Sure,” says Levi in a tone that says he doesn’t believe her at all.

Beside him, Petra pouts, her cheeks puffing out. What does she have to do to get this guy to sleep with her? “Look,” she says. “It’s just a one-night thing. Don’t overthink it. It’s just …” Petra waves her hand and looks up at the sky as if the stars have the words she’s looking for. When she finally remembers what she’s going to say, she points a finger at the EMT, poking him in the chest. “A night of companionship. I don’t know why you’re playing so hard to get. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“If it’s not a big deal, then you can ask anyone else, can’t you?” Levi asks, swatting her hand away although he doesn’t do it with malice. He sounds a little annoyed, but he doesn’t make an effort to tell Petra to get lost. She takes it as a sign that he likes her, even if it’s just a little bit.

Petra lets out a high-pitched whine because she’s far too drunk and upset to come up with any words right now.

“Stop, stop, stop making that noise!” Levi hisses, panicking because the noise is attracting the attention of tipsy passersby that are stumbling home from other Halloween parties. His request is only met with an even louder high-pitched noise from Petra, forcing him to clamp his hands over her mouth.

In the distance, Hanji and Rico watch, the vampire barely able to contain their laughter.

Petra blinks at the EMT. It might be because she’s drunk or maybe it’s because she’s in love, but he looks very pretty up close. Even if he glares at her like he’s about to kill her, she can’t help but notice what a clear crystal blue his eyes are and how nicely they contrast with his jet-black hair. She reaches up, trying to pry his hand off her mouth so she can tell him just exactly how attractive he is, but the guy is crazy strong. Who knew EMTs could be so jacked?

“If I take my hand off your mouth, will you promise to be quiet?” he asks.

She nods.

Levi removes his hand and Petra takes a deep breath of the night air, cold as it hits her lungs. He watches her cautiously as if he’s afraid she’ll let out another piercing whine, but she doesn’t. He relaxes beside her.

They sit like that for a while, Levi watching Petra as she sits sullenly beside him, just breathing deeply and glaring at him every once in a while.

The EMT leans forward, elbow resting on his knee and chin in his hand. He prods Petra with her foot, the touch making her jump. “Hey, you’re awfully quiet now.”

“You told me to be quiet,” Petra mumbles.

He rolls his eyes. “Just don’t make that noise again.”

“Okay,” she agrees brightly. She scoots over, her thigh against his again, and beams at his tired expression. “Does that mean—?”

“You’re very drunk,” he replies.

Petra makes an offended noise. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m perfectly sober,” she tells him. She starts to stand up, wobbling at the end of the EMT vehicle. She’s not sure what she’s going to do, but she wants it to be impressive. Maybe a cartwheel or something amazing. “Would a drunk person be able to do this—?” Before she can do anything, Levi yanks her back down.

“You’re at that level of drunk where you could probably do anything if you really wanted to. But you don’t have to prove any of it to me,” Levi says. His hand is still firmly around her wrist in case she tries to do something dangerous. “But you did just stumble over here - in a very crooked line, I might add - and propositioned me, a complete stranger, for sex.”

“I did what? No, I didn’t.” Petra wrinkles her nose. She has no idea how he got that idea. Maybe it’s her dress? But he didn’t seem very judgemental about it before. Maybe he was a lot more attracted to her than she had thought. “I just asked you to sleep with me. Like …” Petra wrestles her hand away from Levi so she can tangle her index fingers and wiggle them together, a gesture that does absolutely nothing to clarify what she means to Levi. “You know, like cuddling.”

Levi just stares.

“You can’t really be a pre-med if you couldn’t even figure that out,” Petra snorts.

Exasperated, the EMT runs his hands through his hair. When he looks back up, his hair is sexily tousled back away from his forehead. Petra’s not sure if it was intentional or not, but it’s a good look on him.

“And you couldn’t ask your roommates?”

“They said no,” Petra whines. Her bottom lip is sticking out again, but he seems impervious to any kind of pouting.

“You can’t just, I don’t know, hug a teddy bear?” he asks.

“Stuffed animals lack the warmth and affection humans do,” Petra replies. She clings to Levi’s arm, blinking up at him through mascaraed eyelashes. “Please?”

He opens his mouth and Petra is almost certain that he’s about to refuse her again but she bats her lashes at him and the EMT almost chokes. He coughs, pounding a fist against his chest while Petra rubs his back sympathetically. When he’s finally caught his breath, he looks at her and says, very calmly, “I don’t think you understand. You’re very, very drunk.”

The fact that they’re still playing this game makes Petra want to scream in frustration, but she doesn��t want another hand clamped over her mouth. Instead, she smiles very sweetly at the EMT and repeats, “Yes. I’m very, very, very, very, very drunk.”

“And even if I wanted to sleep with you, I’m still on my shift,” Levi says, gesturing towards his getup.

Geez, he’s so dedicated to his costume. Petra’s not sure whether she should be impressed or annoyed. She decides to just go along with it and nods. “You can just wear the costume then. I won’t mind.” She doesn’t really make a habit of asking complete strangers to spoon with her in bed, but she’s not opposed to them wanting to roleplay in bed as long as they don't make it weird. And at least Levi looks hot in his EMT outfit. It might be kind of hot, actually.

“This isn’t … nevermind,” Levi says with a frustrated sigh. He rubs his face in his hands and then looks at Petra, who’s still looking at him with the same hopeful expression she’s been looking at him with all night. “What if I just gave you my phone number?”

“Your phone number?” she repeats. A new phone contact means a new friend, which means someone new to distract her from reading case files. It sounds like a good idea, but then … “Does this mean you won’t sleep with me?”

“If you ask me again when you’re sober, I might consider it,” he tells her. He holds out his hand.

Petra looks Levi up and down. “Will you still be wearing your costume?” she asks curiously.

“I …” Levi looks down at himself and sighs again. “Most likely. Now hand over your phone. I’ll give you my number.” He gestures for Petra to give him her phone.

“Okay,” Petra says happily. She fishes her phone out of her bra, ignoring the scandalized look on Levi’s face, and plops it into the EMT’s hands. Her head rests on his shoulder as she watches him put in his contact information.

“You can only call me from here,” he tells her as he finishes inputting his name. “I don’t have text at this number.”

It’s awfully inconvenient, but Petra won’t complain. It was such a struggle just to get anything out of him tonight. Maybe he’ll be friendlier tomorrow when she calls. When Levi hands her back her phone, Petra looks at her screen and frowns at her new contact.

“Why did you put your name as EMT?” she asks.

“Those are my initials,” he replies.

“Ah,” Petra nods as if this makes perfect sense and, really, it does when you’re drunk enough. “Is that why you dressed up as an EMT?”

“Sure,” he says amusedly. He gets off the back of the cart and pulls Petra’s heels from out of the grass. Petra is about to reach for them and put them on herself, but Levi is already kneeling down and helping her into them. The experience makes her feel a little bit like Cinderella. “Call me if you’re having trouble getting home or something.”

“Shouldn’t I be calling you when I make it home okay?” she wonders.

“No,” Levi says. He holds out a hand to help her up. He looks at her for a moment before shrugging off his EMT windbreaker and wrapping it around her. “It’s cold tonight. Can you make it over to your friends okay or do you want me to walk you over?”

Petra doesn’t respond. The only thing she can think about right now is how unexpectedly gentlemanly he was with his jacket. She doesn’t really know what to do with the windbreaker so Levi helps her put her arms through it so she can wear it properly, her heart skipping a beat when he zips it up and she realizes just how warm she is now that she has the jacket.

“I think my heart just stopped,” she tells him.

“Really?” Levi asks with an eyebrow raised. He pauses for a moment and, when he makes sure Petra hasn’t fallen over from cardiac arrest, he pats her on the head. She almost whines from how gently he does it. “You’re fine. Go to your friends. And remember to call if you need help.”

“Okay,” Petra says, a little dazed even as Levi turns her around and she begins to stumble back to her friends. She would have skipped, but she almost broke her ankle after taking the first step and the EMT seemed very concerned about her safety. Petra didn’t want to make him worry.

“You’re back,” Hanji says, holding out their arms for Petra to run into.

“I’m back~” Petra sings as she throws her arms around Hanji.

“What about your cuddle buddy?” asks Rico.

Petra goes limp, Hanji being the only thing to hold her up. The tips of her shoes drag as Hanji carries the nurse awkwardly back towards their dorm. “He said I was too drunk to sleep with, so he gave me his number,” Petra mumbles into the soft silky-fabric of Hanji’s cape. The more she thinks about Levi and his gentle EMT hands, the more teary-eyed she gets. Her nose starts to run and tears prickle the corner of her eyes. “But I think he ran away with my heart.”

“Aw,” Hanji says sympathetically as they pat Petra on the head. “You’ll get him next time, Pet.”

Petra falls asleep with her head on Hanji’s shoulder and dreams of a raven-haired EMT with careful hands and pretty blue eyes.

----------

Petra wakes up with a pounding headache that starts at the back of her eyes and only gets worse from there. She squints, covering her eyes from the little light that streams in from the curtains in her bedroom. Her eyes feel swollen, like she had been crying all night. Her throat is unbearably dry, but her mouth tastes oddly of mint instead of the gross morning breath that usually follows after a night of reckless drinking. Rico probably brushed her teeth for her last night and, Petra thinks as she takes a glance at her person, dressed her in her pajamas too.

With a moan, Petra rolls off her bed, her blankets wrapped around her to cushion her fall as she crashes onto the ground. She’d groan at the pain, but everything hurts and a fall doesn’t make much of a difference at this point. She sits up, shaking her head so that her hair isn’t all over her face anymore, and scoots on her butt, only getting up once on her knees to pull open the door before continuing her scooting until she finds herself in the living room. Rico and Hanji are sitting at the dining table watching her with amused expressions on their faces.

Petra rolls over onto her face so that she doesn’t have to look at the lighting in the kitchen. Everything is so fucking bright.

“How are you feeling, Pet?” Hanji asks as they munch on a sandwich that Petra was pretty sure was hers.

“I feel like shit,” Petra mumbles into the carpet. The nylon on the floor scratches against her cheek, but it feels strangely pleasant rubbing against her skin. She nuzzles her face harder against it before she realizes that it’s been a while since any of them vacuumed. Maybe the alcohol isn’t entirely out of her system yet. Petra rolls over. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost 2,” Rico replies, nibbling on a cracker. The soup she’s eating smells incredibly enticing, but Petra doesn’t think she can stomach food at the moment. “You’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours.”

Petra groans again, pulling the blankets over her head. “Why did you guys let me drink that much?”

“Well, we tried to stop you, but you’re awfully convincing,” Hanji says. A piece of lettuce hangs from their mouth. “Your law career is looking promising.”

“Thanks,” Petra grumbles. She lays on the carpet for a few more moments before she decides she should try to become a decent human being again. With an unholy moan, she manages to stand upright and hop over to the kitchen table, her blankets still wrapped around her.

“Eat something,” Rico says. She pushes the rest of her chicken soup towards Petra, but her roommate only shakes her head.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to eat anytime soon,” Petra mumbles, resting her head on the table. The surface is nice and cool against her skin.

“Just drink the broth then,” Rico tells her, pushing the soup even closer.

Petra lifts her head and takes a sniff. The smell of chicken soup - a mixture of hearty broth, succulent chunks of chicken, diced carrots and celery, and sweet kernels of corn - is incredibly enticing even as her stomach churns uneasily. It couldn’t hurt to just take a sip of the soup, Petra decides.

“Fine.” She leans over and laps up some of the broth like a dog. Warmth fills her mouth, slips down her throat, and fills her belly. It’s so good that she lets out a whimper.

Her roommates watch her - Rico with an expression close to disgust while Hanji’s is closer to fascination. Petra ignores the both of them and continues to lap up the broth, sometimes managing to get in a kernel of corn or two too. She hopes she’ll be able to keep this down because it tastes so damn good.

“So are you going to call that guy?” Hanji asks.

Petra looks up from her soup and only blinks at Hanji in confusion. “What guy?”

“The one from yesterday,” Hanji reminds her. Their chin rests in their hand as they watch Petra. “You know. The EMT.”

She does vaguely recall talking with someone dressed as an EMT yesterday, although she doesn’t remember much of their conversation. Petra takes a pause on drinking her soup and tries to remember the rest of their conversation, only coming up with bits and pieces. He had friends that left them alone for a bit. She talked with him and she remembers him having very gentle hands. And she does remember that he gave her his number … so that she could ask him to sleep with him another time.

“Oh my god,” Petra moans as the bits and pieces of last night begin to fall into place. Her head falls and it probably would have hit the table if Hanji hadn’t reached out to act as a cushion. She doesn’t know why her head feels impossibly heavy this morning when it was clearly empty of any thought last night. “I asked him to sleep with me, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Rico confirms.

“And I didn’t specify …?” She looks up at Hanji, who only snickers at her. With a groan, she lets her head fall again, forehead falling so hard against Hanji’s hand that they pull it back with a yelp.

She doesn’t know why she’s so mortified. She’ll probably never see the guy again seeing as last night was the first time they’ve ever interacted in all the years that Petra’s attended the university. Even if she does see him again, she can just pretend she was too drunk that night to really remember anything, and maybe he’ll be kind enough to play along with it. After all, he was considerate enough to decline her offer to sleep with her, although she doesn’t know if she should be grateful or slightly offended since she looked great last night. But he was very sweet last night and he was very good-looking and Petra thinks that it wouldn’t be too terrible if she saw him again. Maybe she should give him a call to apologize at least.

“Where’s my phone?” Petra asks suddenly.

“Oh, I’ll get it,” Hanji says, jumping up from their seat. They walk over to the counter and pull out Petra’s phone from the fruit basket, buried under some bananas and oranges. They plop the phone into Petra’s hand and shrug at their roommate’s puzzled expression. “You kept calling his number and we had to take your phone away from you.”

“I kept calling him?” Petra repeats. She doesn’t remember that at all. With a frown, she unlocks her phone and scrolls through her call history to find over a dozen calls to the same number - EMT. “How many times did I call him?”

“Too many,” Rico replies.

Petra doesn’t remember any conversation with the EMT after he gave her his number. She looks suspiciously at the number, thinking that it looks awfully familiar. “This isn’t his number, is it?” she says, somehow already knowing the answer.

“It’s the school’s Emergency Medical Service,” Hanji snickers. Halloween is over, but they look incredibly wicked with that grin on their face. “You kept telling them that some guy named Levi broke your heart and they said they didn’t provide any medical services for heartbreak.”

Ugh. That name does sound familiar. As does that conversation. And the EMS. She had really thought that it was a costume, but suddenly all his “props” and the EMT cart and all of his EMT friends made sense. She really was an idiot last night. Petra lays her head on the table again and wonders if the school EMS does euthanasia procedures. She wouldn’t mind dying right now.

“I was so annoying that he gave me their number instead,” Petra sniffles.

“Do you want ice cream?” Hanji asks sympathetically.

Ice cream does sound good right now, but Petra’s not sure if she should eat that. Even if she could keep it down, she doesn’t deserve it. Ice cream isn’t for hungover people that made fools out of themselves in front of handsome strangers.

“I’m not sure that he thought you were entirely annoying. If that were true, he wouldn’t have talked to you for so long. Or given you the number to EMS in case you needed help. Or lent you his jacket,” Rico points out.

Petra perks up at the last one. “I have his jacket?”

“Yeah,” Hanji nods. “You said you would use it to find him. Like Prince Charming and Cinderella’s shoe.”

That … absolutely sounds like something a drunk Petra would say.

“Okay, well, I don’t have his number so it’s not like I can find him,” Petra sighs. She sits up. “But maybe I can ask EMS …?”

Rico shakes her head. “You tried that at least half a dozen times. They said they don’t give out private information. You even cried because you told us they wouldn’t even confirm if Levi was actually a part of their service.”

She doesn’t blame them. She probably wouldn’t give drunk Petra her number either. “Then how am I going to find him?” Petra whines.

“Ask Hanji.”

Petra whips her head around, forgetting about her hangover for a second until she’s hit with another migraine. She tries to glare at Hanji, but she has to wince through the pain so it probably just looks like a very unflattering squint. “You know him?”

“Yup,” Hanji hums, but they don’t offer Petra his number.

“You’re not giving me his number, are you?”

Hanji grins. “Nope,” they say, popping the “p.” Their grin grows wider. “You gotta earn that shit, Pet. If you want your Prince Charming, you’ll have to do it on your own.”

Petra pouts, but Hanji doesn’t budge. She turns to Rico instead, putting on her biggest puppy eyes. “Ricooo~” she whines, but Rico only shakes her head.

“No, you’re not dragging me into this. It was bad enough just having to deal with you last night. You know I brushed your teeth last night?” Rico asks. “It’s a lot more difficult than brushing your own teeth, especially when the other person is trying to bite you.”

“And I am very grateful,” Petra says, leaning across the table so that Rico can get the full effect of her puppy eyes. Unfortunately, Rico is now an ExpertTM at dealing with Petra and looks away, getting up to disappear into her room. Petra stumbles after her, almost tripping over her blankets.

“You’re on your own,” Rico says, shutting the door in Petra’s face without even looking behind her. Petra doesn’t know when Rico became so heartless.

“I can’t believe you guys are just leaving me to find the EMT guy on my own with only my drunken memories and hangover migraine to help me,” Petra wails. She leans against the door to Rico’s room and slides down against it like a tragic heroine in a Victorian novel.

“Rico has her own love life to attend to, so don’t be too hard on her,” Hanji says from the table. They get up to place their plate in the sink, rinsing the crumbs off with water. “She’s going on a date with Batman.”

“Oh, Batman?” Petra says with a wistful sigh, a little envious that Rico can snag a date with her own handsome stranger. Then again, he probably isn’t that much of a stranger if Rico can get a hold of him. Petra can’t even contact her stranger.

Rico’s door opens and Petra falls on her back. She looks up and sees her roommate dressed out of her pajamas and into a plaid dress thrown over a cream-colored blouse and black tights - very appropriate for the autumnal weather.

“You dressed really quickly,” Petra says, sitting up as Rico steps around her. “Batman must be just as handsome with his mask off as he is with his mask on.”

Rico only rolls her eyes. “He has a name, you know.”

“Bruce Wayne?” Hanji asks.

“Cheekbones?” Petra suggests cheekily.

“You guys are so …” Rico’s voice trails off without filling in the blank, her roommates giggling childishly. She slips on her flats and fixes her purse strap over her shoulder. She pauses to take a look at Petra, who’s still sitting on the floor sulking. She reaches for the door, thinks for a moment, and then says with a sigh, “There’s an event EMS is holding next week. They’re offering a CPR class. Your Prince Charming might be there.”

“Really?” Petra asks, sitting up straighter. She frowns. “This isn’t a true love thing. I just want to return his jacket. And, like, maybe apologize for being a creep.”

“Right,” Rico says, unconvinced. “I’ll text you the details in a little bit.”

“How did you even find out about that anyway?” Petra asks curiously.

“I literally just looked at the EMS website. It took me five seconds,” Rico snorts. They’re all roommates, but Rico is the only one with any brain cells. Petra isn’t sure what they’d do without her. Rico pulls the door open and gives her roommates a wave. “I’ll see you guys later. Don’t let Petra do anything stupid. I think she might still be a little …” She makes a loopy motion with her hand.

“Bye~! Have fun on your date,” Hanji sings as Rico shuts the door behind her. They toss a grin over at Petra who’s still sitting on the floor. “Aren’t you lucky? You might be able to get your EMT to give you mouth-to-mouth.”

“Shut up,” Petra mumbles, but the thought of the EMT’s lips pressed against hers does make her heart flutter. He looked like he had nice lips. Pretty and pink. Good for kissing.

She flops back on the floor and pulls her blankets over her head. She can’t deal with anymore teasing. She’s been humiliated enough and she’s only been awake for half an hour. Petra sleeps there until Rico comes home and drags her to her bed.

----------

The EMS class began at 5 PM. Petra knew that - had written it in her calendar and set about five alarms on her phone in case she forgot - and yet she still finds herself frantically running around the STEM building an hour after the class began because she doesn’t know where any of the rooms are except for the chemistry labs. The fact that she took far too long getting ready even though all she was doing was dropping off a jacket is probably also a major factor of her tardiness. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have the talent of getting ready in under five minutes like Rico does.

“All of these rooms look the same,” Petra mutters as she wanders around the basement of the STEM building. They’re all cold-looking with speckled tiles and off-white walls. Some of these rooms still even have chalkboards, which Petra finds ridiculous because the law building transferred to smart boards by the time she was a freshman. The school really needs to funnel more of their funds into the STEM department, she thinks with a frown.

She notices a classroom that people are slowly filtering out of. A few people wear the same EMT getup that she remembers seeing a few nights ago. Before they can disappear down the hall, Petra begins running down the hall, her heels clicking against the tiles.

“Hey, excuse me!” she says, waving her hand to flag them down. “I need to talk to you guys!”

The group of EMTs turns around, some confused and others surprised. She doesn’t really recognize any of them, but it’s not like she remembers too much about that night. The details are all fuzzy.

“Hey, do you guys know someone named Levi?” Petra pants when she finally stops in front of them. She puts a hand against her chest and can feel her heart thudding against her rib cage.

“Do you know him?” asks one of them, a tall blond with his hair tied up messily in a bun. Something about him is familiar, but Petra can’t say for sure.

“I think I remember her,” someone murmurs behind him.

Petra glances at the other EMT - someone with his brown hair cut short and his bangs neatly trimmed. She can’t remember him either. “I borrowed his jacket the other night. I came to return it to him,” she explains.

“Ah!” says another man, one with sandy hair in curls. He points at Petra, probably not realizing how rude it is even when Petra wrinkles her nose at him. “That’s the girl from Halloween. She was a nurse last time.” He pauses. “You look really different.”

“Yeah, believe it or not, I don’t usually dress like that,” Petra replies. She clears her throat and tosses her head. “So can you tell me where he is? I kind of want to give his jacket back to him today.”

The EMTs all glance at each other before looking back at Petra. The first one that spoke raises his eyebrow at Petra. “Is that … all you’re going to do?” he asks.

“Yeah, what else would I …?” Even if she can’t remember them, it comes to her realization that they do remember her as well as what she said last night. She really didn’t think she was stupid enough to proposition a stranger in front of a bunch of other people, but it seems that drunk Petra will continuously find new ways to embarrass her. Her cheeks flush as she tries to form coherent words. “I … am … I’m only interested in returning this. I promise.”

They study her for a minute and, after deciding she’s harmless, visibly relax. Their reaction is a bit insulting. She doesn’t look that threatening, does she? Then again, maybe she should appreciate the fact that they care enough about their friend to protect him from harassment.

“He’s in the room still,” the brunet answers, gesturing towards the room they had just left. “He’s packing up.”

“Thanks,” Petra says. She’s about to take off but hangs back for a minute. “And sorry if I was, you know, weird the other night. I had a little bit too much to drink.”

The tall blond nods understandingly. “So did a lot of people. After you showed up, we had to attend a call at a nearby party because way too many people got alcohol poisoning.” He shrugs. “Some people just don’t know their limit.”

Petra nods in agreement even though she’s 95 percent certain that she was at that same party the other night. But they don’t have to know that. “Thanks again,” she says, waving awkwardly at them before disappearing into the classroom to find Levi.

There aren’t very many people in the room aside from a few stragglers, the instructor, and a lone EMT who’s kneeling on the ground and packing up his things. He’s incredibly meticulous about packing, Petra notices. He makes sure his instruments are the right way, taking the time to inspect every tool before placing it back in his kit. When Petra approaches, he doesn’t look up even when she stands right in front of him. This situation seems awfully familiar.

“I’ll be leaving now, Levi,” the instructor calls as they usher the other students out of the room. “I’ll see you next week, yeah?”

“See you,” Levi grunts, still packing things back in his kit. He doesn’t pay any mind to Petra.

Petra waits a minute, thinking that it might be because he’s one of those people that likes to finish what they’re doing before they move onto another task. It only takes five seconds before she begins to lose patience. It doesn’t matter if he’s trying not to get distracted, she thinks. Ignoring people is rude. He should at least acknowledge her.

She stomps her foot, hoping that will be enough to get him to look up, but he doesn’t. Frustrated, she lets out a whine but that doesn’t prompt the EMT to pay her any mind either. Finally, she kneels down across from him and puts a hand on top of his kit so that he can’t ignore her even if he wanted to.

He looks up, his eyes the same cool blue they were the other night. They’re impossibly pretty. It should be a crime to have eyes that shade of blue, Petra thinks.

“Hi,” she manages to stammer. It isn’t the introduction she was hoping for. Or re-introduction, really. Not that a re-introduction would help after the first impression she gave him on Halloween.

“Hi,” he replies. He removes her hand from his kit and continues to pack. Petra shouldn’t find his standoffishness so attractive, but she does, frustratingly enough. She thinks he’s going to continue ignoring her but he suddenly says, “Class is over. You’re late.”

“I’m not here for the class,” she begins.

“Oh, right.” His eyes flicker upward as he shuts the kit closed. “Because you’re a nurse. You probably already know CPR.”

“It was just a costume,” Petra mumbles, feeling her cheek heat up again. She’s beginning to think that meeting up with him again was a mistake. Clearly, he just thinks she’s an idiot. He’s probably not wrong though. “I’m pre-law.”

“Makes sense,” he says with a nod. He picks up his kit and stands up, brushing off his pants. To Petra’s surprise, he offers her a hand. His hand is just as nice and gentle as she remembers; calloused palms but a sweet touch. “You made a very compelling argument about how you were a nurse.”

“Okay, you don’t have to keep reminding me. I’m embarrassed enough as it is,” she says. Her head hangs, eyes looking at the tip of her heels. She doesn’t think she can look him in the eye right now. Or maybe even ever. “I’m sorry if I was acting creepy the other night. I was just … super drunk.”

He shrugs and turns towards the door. He doesn’t exactly make a gesture for Petra to follow him, but she can’t exactly stay here so she trails after him. She also notices that his shoulders are very broad. Were student EMTs always this attractive? She never hung out in the STEM building enough to notice.

“It’s fine,” he tells her. “At least you didn’t throw up on me.”

Even if it’s true, Petra isn’t sure this is a good thing. Did his job require him to encounter a lot of drunk people? “Do lots of people throw up on you?” she asks curiously.

“You’d be surprised how many,” Levi replies. He stops so suddenly that Petra almost crashes into his broad and manly back. She kind of wishes she had. He turns around, head tilted. “If you didn’t come for CPR lessons, why did you come?”

“Oh!” She had almost forgotten. Petra reaches into her bag and pulls out his windbreaker. She kind of regrets just shoving it into her bag and getting it all wrinkled. Maybe she should have ironed it and brought it on a coat hanger as if she had just brought it from the dry cleaners. Do people dry clean windbreakers? Or even iron them? Petra frowns as she offers the jacket to Levi. “I came to bring this back. Thanks for letting me borrow it the other night. Even though I was kind of being a weird creep.”

“Oh.” Levi takes the windbreaker. “Thanks.”

“I washed it,” Petra tells him. She doesn’t know why she needs to tell him this. It’s a given that she would wash someone’s clothes before returning them, but she doesn’t want Levi to think she isn’t. She just needs to make sure so that he doesn’t get the wrong idea about her again.

He blinks at her but doesn’t say anything. After a moment, he says, “Is that it?”

Is there supposed to be more? Petra isn’t sure what else there’s supposed to be. She thought he would have wanted her to leave as soon as possible. The possibility that Levi isn’t merely just tolerating her - that he might actually find her cute - isn’t something that she’s anticipated.

“Do you want there to be more?” Petra asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

Levi doesn’t blush. It figures that he’s the type not to blush. He has to be so goddamn cool all the way until the end. He does, however, avoid making eye contact Petra, which she finds incredibly suspicious. Suspicious and very cute.

“Maybe … you thought I was cute that night and you wanted to see me again?” Petra asks, a sly grin growing on her face. She points a finger at him, poking him in the chest. “And you were hoping I’d return your jacket so you could talk to me again?”

He doesn’t confirm or deny any of her statements. He just reaches back to scratch his neck, probably unintentionally flexing his bicep in front of her but Petra is definitely Looking and he is definitely a lot buffer than any EMT needs to be. He could probably throw her over his shoulder easily and carry her like a potato sack.

“Aw, are you upset that I missed the CPR class?” she teases. She pokes him in the arm and, yes, his bicep is very firm and toned and muscular. “Maybe you were hoping to teach me how to do mouth-to-mouth?”

Levi sighs tiredly before walking away, but Petra eagerly follows behind him. “You know that’s not what we teach in CPR classes, right? It’s only really necessary to learn how to administer chest compressions unless you’re an EMT yourself.”

“Oh,” Petra frowns. She was starting to think she was getting the upper hand in this conversation, but she’s sorely lacking in knowledge on lifesaving techniques. This is what she gets for missing the CPR class.

“I, however,” Levi says, turning around to face Petra, “am certified to give mouth-to-mouth.” He takes a step towards her and Petra finds herself standing very, very close to the hot EMT guy.

Levi was gorgeous when Petra was drunk out of her mind and he’s gorgeous now standing inches in front of her and completely sober. He might be even more gorgeous now that she’s sober and able to take in every detail about him. Like how dark his lashes look against the pretty blue of his eyes. Or the way the look in his eyes grows slightly darker when he approaches her. Or the way he parts his lips - slightly chapped but an intriguing shade of pink - just the tiniest bit. He’s the perfect height for kissing, Petra thinks. She could easily take a step and press her lips against his without having to stand on her tiptoes. The thought of it causes an awkward thud in her chest.

“I think my heart just stopped,” she blurts.

Levi raises his eyebrow. “You’re going to have to see an actual doctor for that then,” he tells her, but he continues to stand insufferably close to her with no indication that he’s going to move anytime soon. Maybe he just likes to make her heart suffer.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asks. Her voice sounds a lot more breathless than she’d like it to be, but between her almost suffering another cardiac arrest under the hands of Levi and the fact that she can’t quite breathe because of the lack of distance between them, she supposes she could sound worse.

He looks at her, head tilted, and the cockiest grin Petra has ever seen begins to grow on his face. “I should at least buy you dinner first,” he replies. Levi turns and continues down the hall without her.

The sight of the EMT’s broad back brings Petra a lot less joy than it did ten minutes ago. She stares at him and his wide shoulders wistfully until she realizes what he had just said. That wasn’t actually a rejection, right?

“Hey, are you buying me dinner?” Petra asks, chasing after him.

Of course, he doesn’t slow down for him, the bastard. He grins when she catches up to him, giving her a cheeky side glance. “Do you like Korean food? There’s a place nearby. They have good hangover soup.”

“I haven’t even drank anything since last week!” she protests. She pouts, her cheeks puffing up like a chipmunk’s. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

His grin grows wider. “No.”

Seeing his smile makes Petra’s heart do that weird thing where it skips a beat again, or maybe it just stopped entirely. It’s a strange feeling that doesn’t exactly hurt, but it’s certainly new. Maybe she’ll get used to it. It’s probably not serious anyway. And, well, even if it is, she’s sure Levi can help.

#rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #hanji zoe #rico brzenska #college au #university au #this is probably like the 4th college/uni au i've written for them sigh pie

54 notes · View notes

g-r-a-g · 4 years

Text

On Tentative Mother 3 Naming

Note: this was originally written some years back, then pulled for Unspecified Reasons.1

First and foremost, you should probably read Tomato's official MOTHER 3 translation notes, because he is a consummate professional. This also, unfortunately, means that he is often too busy being professional to do write-ups on personal side projects, especially ones that are finished. I myself would love to see notes covering beyond the beginning of the game. On the other hand, his site is still awesome overall. Gotta love stuff like the Super Mario Bros. manual write-up. Fascinating stuff.

So yeah. Please allow me to lay my credentials on the table. I was the translation guy for the now-long-since-defunct mother3.org translation, which got started a good bit before Starmen.net decided to enter the game and essentially blow us the hell out of the water. Long story short, most of our team was frankly not ready for the project, though the hacking talent (Jeffman, if memory serves) turned out to be super awesome at things. I emailed the project leader at the time, volunteering "I'm majoring in Japanese here in college," with all the linguistic skill level that that level of confidence would imply, and that was essentially enough for the project at the time. It wasn't an especially fancy group at the time, and they were looking for pretty much any talent that could conceivably help out on basically any level.

A word of caution: none of this is organized in any meaningful way, and my memory of a project that was now about half a decade ago3 is gradually fading, so I may have some factual errors or conflations. There are almost certainly cases where I take credit for something that wasn't, strictly speaking, me, but I'm not in contact with any member of either translation team at this point, and much of the pre-merger stuff was pretty much just me translating and/or tossing out ideas to the rest of the team. I do apologize in advance if anyone else from either team sees something I inaccurately take credit for. Furthermore, I think that it's been long enough since the release that I can probably safely talk about What Could Have Been without having to worry about sparking any alternate-continuity concerns, given that the Starmen.net translation patch is very nearly official canon at this point, at least among the people who actually care about the series in non-Japanese-speaking countries.

Also, I make no guarantees that any of this will be even remotely interesting.

So here we go.

Enemy names

A lot of people seem fond of a lot of the enemy name translations, and they're generally among the things I'm proudest of. A lot of them were just plain tough to translate, because, despite the overblown stuff you've no doubt read by Tim "I'm in love with my own importance for Living In Japan" Rogers and decided to think better of,4 Itoi really is a pretty good writer and likes to play with portmanteaus and other wordplay.

These aren't in any real order other than when my memory gets jogged. It's also partially that I'm looking at them in the order they're stored in the game data, which is all jumbly.

Mr. Generator was, at one point, going to be called Gene Rator. This was kind of a tough one for us5, as the name in Japanese, Jenetta-kun (ジェネッタくん) was kind of a play on words inasmuch as it was a modification of "generator" but done so as to sound like a name or something.

The Oh-so-Snake was going to be the Vanelizard early on. This requires a bit of explanation: there was never any real clear indication of what "Osohe" (オソヘ) in the original was intended to mean, so we interpreted it as a sort of inversion of "navel" (おへそ), and wound up with "Vanel." This also worked nicely, because the boss enemy was named the Osohebi (オソヘビ), with "hebi" meaning "snake" in Japanese. In the end, though, "Vanel" was nixed and it's unclear whether that's even a bad thing. Granted, this is all what-could-have-been stuff, since a large part of this stuff has essentially become canon by this point.

While everyone seems to love the name "Navy SQUEAL," the fact is that the Pigmasks don't really have special names at all in the original Japanese. This guy was originally just something along the lines of "Submarine Pigmask," which obviously isn't memorable or delightful at all. In the mother3.org days, we were going to use "Pork Trooper" (you know, like storm troopers) instead of the more literal "Pigmask" (ブタマスク) and have different names for the different ranks rather than the eventual, more direct translation. The change back to "Pigmask" was probably for the best in the end, though I'm really glad they kept "Navy SQUEAL," since that was one of my favorite name change ideas in the whole project.6

A lot of the enemy name translations were just things that fell into place. There's nothing in the Japanese that would suggest "Top Dogfish" ("Nushi Wanwan"/ヌシワンワン) for the tougher version of the Dogfish ("Wanwan Fish"/ワンワンフィッシュ), but a bit of knowledge of common (if slightly outmoded) English expressions leads that sort of thing to seem a natural fit.

Another one that seemed only natural was the Beaten Drum, which (if memory serves) translates more accurately as "punctured drum." On the other hand, I was too enamored with my own cleverness to realize that my original "Wailing Guitar" was nowhere near as good as "Gently Weeping Guitar," given Itoi's fondness for the Beatles. Tomato definitely made the right call on that one, unambiguously.

One enemy that I'm not really satisfied with the name of, in either my own stuff or the final translation patch, was the Bitey Snake ("Kamu toki wa kamu hebi"/かむときはかむヘビ), which I'd translated as "Snake that Might Bite." Both of these have issues in terms of accuracy of the translation, though given the actual picture of the Bitey Snake, that seems almost fine. The issue is that the name translates most accurately to something like "a snake that will bite when it's time to bite" or "that bites when the situation calls for it" or something equally unwieldy to express in English. That one was frankly a mess and I can't really think of anything that would have actually worked better than Tomato's "Bitey Snake."

One that I still actually prefer my original name for is the Ten-Yeti, which I'd originally translated the name of as "Cowabungable Snowman." Yes, the word is kind of dated (to say the least) but I'm apparently not the only one to have missed the intended wordplay involving "ten-eighty" (which, to be fair, works better in Japanese: compare テンエイティ and テンイエティ, though that didn't stop me from missing it entirely in Japanese too). Maybe it was meant as a nod to Nintendo's now-essentially-defunct snowboarding game series.

Speaking of silly and awkward puns, the Boa Transistor is victim to those on both ends. Obviously the English name is a play on "boa constrictor," but for the longest time it was just such a challenge to think of a decent translation for the Japanese "Hebii Metaru" (ヘビーメタル), a play on "hebi" (snake) and "heavy metal." Eventually I decided to pull the trigger and write in "Boa Transistor," which I'd thought was just unforgivably contrived, and it was received way better than I'd expected by basically everyone.

Barrel Man ("Taruman"/タルマン) was originally going to be "Casked Man," because, once again, I was a little too in love with my own cleverness. You see, because it is a play on "masked man," and there's a masked man in the story, and oh I'll just show myself out

The Pseudoor basically named itself — the Japanese name ("Tobira-modoki"/トビラモドキ) basically translates to "pseudo-door" and it was only a small jump from there.

The Sara-Sara-Sahara was frustrating, because it was clearly meant to resemble plates ("sara"/サラ) but the silliness of the name was just lost in English. The mother3.org translation had been using "Desert Plate" but that name is arguably hard enough to catch at a glance that it probably wouldn't have been much better in the end.

The Artsy Ghost was originally going to be the Abstract Ghost. The name ("Geijutsu na obake"/げいじゅつなオバケ) really does translate to "Artistic Ghost," so "Artsy Ghost" is a more accurate name overall, but I just liked the ring of "Abstract Ghost."

The Whatever was originally going to be called the Halfhearted Attempt. Probably a better translation of the original "Tekitou" (テキトウ) in the end anyway.

The Really Flying Mouse is worth noting just because of the Japanese name, which took a minor liberty with grammar to be pretty clever ("tobimasu tobi-mausu"/トビマストビマウス — literally it means "flying flying-mouse" but it's fun to say).

The Return of Octobot was one of my favorites (and I was glad that it got kept for the final). The Octobots all have weird names in the original Japanese, and the Japanese name in MOTHER 3 ("Tako Fu Tatabi"/タコ・フ・タタビ) basically translates to "Octopus Again," though with needlessly weird spacing to make it look/sound unnatural or foreign or something. I figured that "The Return of Octobot" was sufficiently cool-sounding, and I guess other folks agreed.

I'm ambivalent whether the change from our "Loose Screw" to "Screwloose" even makes much of a difference. In the original Japanese, there wasn't any pun of the sort involved, so it's not like either one is more accurate.

On the other hand, the Punk Rock Lobster became the Rock Lobster, making the clearly intended pun more obvious, though I still think those sunglasses are less rock 'n' roll and more punk rock.

Items

The Pasta with a Past is just about the only food name worth mentioning, really.7 The original Japanese "Wake-ari Pasta"/わけありパスタ wasn't really a joke in the name: the phrase "wake-ari"/わけあり refers mainly to the sort of mildly damaged goods you'd find at a store with a handwritten price tag and a minor discount. It literally means, essentially, "there's something about this item." On the other hand, the item's description is where it becomes a joke, stating that an "unspeakable circumstance" surrounds the pasta, rather than the usual meaning. While the innocuous name couldn't be translated while keeping the joke, a bit of wordplay was entirely within the bounds of possibility for the English version.

The Bufferizer and Defense Spray were originally named the Beefener and the Turtler, mostly because the actual items were named like energy drinks and there's no clear right choice. "Turtler," incidentally, was derived from fighting game terminology (e.g. to turtle, being the action of playing very defensively). On the other hand, the final version's Defense Spray is a neat call-back to EarthBound/MOTHER 2.

Characters

First and foremost, the mother3.org team had noticed that the game, much like EarthBound/MOTHER 2, allowed for a substantial number of "Don't Care" names to be stored. In the final game, this was only used for favorite food and your special PK power's name, but all of the characters had the same number of slots available for "Don't Care" names; they were each simply filled with a bunch of copies of the official name. We basically tried to take advantage of this as a sort of personalized easter egg, with each member of the team basically getting their own "set" of names to assign. These were generally named after friends and family, though I tried in vain to use my own set to follow a clever theme of some sort. Naturally, I never thought of anything particularly good.

Hinawa is named after a type of gun, along with Flint (Flint being named for flintlock guns, and Hinawa being named for matchlock guns, in Japanese). Obviously, while Flint is a nice, manly-sounding name in English, Hinawa is simply a no-go. Until the translation patch projects merged, the plan was very definitely to rename Hinawa to Amber, in order to provide a name that was actually a name in English, as well as keeping to a motif of some sort (in this case, types of stones). Un(?)fortunately, in the end the official translation wound up being Hinawa, though this was, in fairness, because the Starmen.net translation team preferred, whenever possible, to keep the names accurate to Nintendo's official translations they'd made public at various points.8

Ocho the octopus was originally Hachi (ハチ) in the Japanese. While the story of Hachiko is famous enough (and was even made into an American remake-of-a-movie movie starring Richard Gere), we9 figured we could do better for the English release. For one thing, the pun between the name "Hachi" and the fact that it means "eight" would be lost. For a while we just sort of hoped that maybe "Octo" would be an acceptable name, but it was pretty obvious it was kind of lazy and didn't have much cleverness or even giving-a-crap to it. As luck would have it, I stumbled upon an Addams Family retrospective around this point, and found out that, at least at some point, Pugsley had a pet octopus named Ocho. Perfect!

Following this "replace one old pop-culture reference with another" pattern, a lot of people have noticed that Achato and Entotsu (アチャト and エントツ, with the latter literally meaning "chimney") were renamed Bud and Lou, after Abbott and Costello. Incidentally, the original characters were also named after comedians from the early to mid 20th century: Achako and Entatsu.

Fassad's English name has a surprisingly unexciting origin. The Japanese name Yokuba/ヨクバ is basically derived from the word for "ambition" or "greed" ("yokubari"/欲張り), and that just didn't work in English. So I asked a friend of mine, one night, to help bounce ideas back and forth. I figured he was studying Arabic in college and could help out, so I asked him what various words were when translated into Arabic. After a couple of nonstarters, I tried, "What's 'corruption' in Arabic?" and his answer, "fassad," sounded sufficiently Arabian-y (given the character's appearance), as well as just being ever so perfect on multiple levels (given its Arabic meaning as well as the fact that it sounds a whole lot like "façade," which is ridiculously appropriate on, itself, at least two different levels). And that's why Ben Cocchiaro is credited under "Special Thanks." Thanks, Ben.

Frankly, we never had anything good lined up for Kumatora. We had her name as "Jackie" for a while, since it kinda sorta sounded like maybe it could also be a guy's name (c.f. Jackie Gleason), but we never felt particularly confident in it. "Violet," though, was picked for her cover identity later on, because we figured it had a "good, diner-y sounding" ring to it. We kept that in the end.

Salsa's name was kept, though the pun on "saru" ("monkey") was lost, so we figured that we should probably keep to some sort of name motif for his girlfriend-monkey too. "Saruko" just didn't work, so I wound up suggesting "Samba" for her name, partially inspired by Samba de Amigo. This is another case where one motif was switched out for another with the translation, though this one was kept in the end by the post-merger team.

There was a brief time when we considered changing Lighter's name to "Bic" or "Vic," but we eventually thought better of the idea. It's not as though EarthBound/MOTHER 2 wasn't full of silly names like Mr. Spoon, either.

Places

For the longest time, the Sunshine Forest was just called the Terry or Telly Forest, because of the way the Japanese name was written ("Teri-no-mori"/テリのモリ). At some point along the way, I got bored and looked up whether "teri" was even a word, and it turned out that it meant "sunshine" or "clear/dry weather," and there was a sort of collective OHHHHHHH among the team. Given the idyllic setting of the prologue, it seems only natural that that was the intended meaning. Tomato initially opposed it, but eventually relented, since it did make more sense as the name of a place.10

A lot of the other place names were way more contentious, though. The name of the town was the source of some reasonably substantial debate within the post-merger team, since the mother3.org team had been using "Dragonstep" for its translation of the admittedly fairly ambiguous "Tatsumairi"/タツマイリ. Tomato vetoed it based on the fact that the Japanese is far from 100% clear on what the name's derivation would be, and looking back the "Tatsu"="dragon" thing really only applies to very limited contexts in Japanese. Still, between that and the money being called DP (for "Dragon Points") Tomato thought it was just too blatant as dragon-related foreshadowing, and I eventually conceded the point, since he was the guy with professional experience and who could actually, you know, speak Japanese fluently at the time.11

Most of the place names were, at one point or another, going to be translated into at least some semblance of English. Tanetane Island ("Tanehineri"/タネヒネリ) was going to be something like "Twisttrick Island," given that "tane" can mean "a secret" or "a trick," and "hineru" can mean "to twist," or "to puzzle over something." On the other hand, Twisttrick kind of sucked as a name, so the Starmen.net team rightly chose to discard it. Plus, in the debug menus it was already referred to as Tanetane anyway — the final Japanese name appeared to be a fairly late change.

The Sunset Graveyard was, in the mother3.org translation, going to be the Chowding Graveyard, because of the original name "Misoshire" being an apparent play on "miso-shiru" (miso soup), treating it as a verb instead of a noun. If memory serves, this is another case where we wound up going with an internal debug name instead in the end. "Chowding" wasn't very good anyway.

Looking back at the notes, it's clear that we just didn't have any good ideas for a lot of the places in the game, though we probably would have worked something out in the end. Honestly, though, the Starmen.net team's approach of leaving all but the most egregious obviously-meant-as-wordplay names intact was probably the best option in the end.

So that's about it, really.

I just want to finish this up with a big ol' THANK YOU to everyone who did the real work and heavy lifting on the patch, especially Tomato for his insanely great translation work, and the hackers who found a problem that we thought at first would be literally impossible, and then fixed it, to a degree that their fix went beyond the impossible. Thanks again to Ben Cocchiaro, all-around swell guy and owner of an Arabic-English dictionary, for helping to provide the ridiculously appropriate name of a major character in a cult hit, and thanks to @gigideegee, whom I promised via Twitter that I would actually write all this stuff up, and that gave me the motivation to do it because TWITTER PROMISES are SERIOUS BUSINESS. I also highly recommend her great webcomic, Cucumber Quest, especially if you liked her older "Let's Destroy Metal Gear!" and the like.

Thanks for reading.

I applied for a job at Nintendo of America, and hoped that they wouldn't find out about my Sordid Fan Translation Past, so I pulled the page. Given that they just sort of suddenly stopped responding to emails at one point in the application process, TECHNICALLY they have not turned me down for the position. ↩︎

"Localization" is a fancy term that means changing a name or a joke so that it makes sense in the target language, especially when it comes to wordplay in the source language. Sometimes the changes are also just kind of arbitrary, though that can at times be in order to avoid potential lawsuits and the like. ↩︎

!!!. Actually, looking at the files I still have on my computer, they generally show a "last modified" date in April of 2007, so that'd be about five years ago now. Dang. ↩︎

Factual errors I can think of off the top of my head in his EarthBound/MOTHER 2 article alone: the phone call asking for your name happens on a specific tile in Summers, not "at a number of steps that's about halfway through the game," and there's no obscene pre-set name set. The guy's a prolific writer but he needs an editor and a fact-checker, because the editor will already be busy enough trying to cut 60–70% of the length of any given article he writes. TAKE THAT, FAMOUS PERSON! SAYS RELATIVE NOBODY ↩︎

By which I mean, over the course of this write-up, primarily me, because after the projects merged Tomato basically took over all translation duties, and before the merge I was basically the guy doing all of the translation stuff for the mother3.org project, if memory serves. ↩︎

Your run-of-the-mill, never-studied-Japanese anime fan will probably pitch a fit for my suggesting this, but English is a WAY richer language for nuance, wordplay, and just generally enjoying words. Japanese nuance can be hard to translate in certain circumstances, but 90% of English-language movies are subtitled into Japanese with what are basically just factual translations of the content of what each character said, with virtually no effort taken to preserve nuance and color. In other words, you're damn right I'm proud that I made a pun that was impossible in the native language, but that works perfectly. ↩︎

With the possible exception of the Fizzy Soda, which was called the Extreme Soda in the mother3.org translation at the time. There, now you know the entire story of that one. ↩︎

This includes places like Nintendo Power previews of the then-not-yet-canceled 64DD release, as well as the bits and pieces of text in Smash Bros. Brawl for the Wii. ↩︎

See footnote 4. ↩︎

Have I mentioned what a consummate professional and just generally swell guy he is? ↩︎

Whereas now I look back on my attempts at translation in the various files I still have stored on my hard drive, wondering what on earth was I even thinking? at roughly one in three lines. Funny thing, language acquisition. ↩︎

#mother 3 #mother3 #translation #fan translation #EarthBound

43 notes · View notes

temilyrights · 4 years

Text

the case of us (chapter ten)

Jack Sloane x Reader

A/N: Is this slightly OOC? Yes. Am I too tired to care? Also, yes. Am I going to regret posting this? Almost certainly but I also don't know how to make it better and people want another update so, here you go. This is the second to last chapter by the way (Can’t believe this is all nearly over!). Although, I've hardly started the next chapter so it will most probably be at least a couple of weeks until I post it. Anyway, as always, feedback is welcome and very much appreciated :)

Read on AO3

Chapter Nine Chapter Eleven

You drag your feet as you head up the steps to Jack’s office. You hadn’t exactly been avoiding her since your conversation yesterday, but you hadn’t put any effort in to go visit her either. It wasn’t obvious, luckily, because you’d been called to a case within an hour of getting into work this morning and hadn’t gotten back to the Navy Yard till gone midday. You were only going to visit her now though because Gibbs had told you to give her a stack of files of possible suspects.

She doesn’t notice you straight away, too absorbed in whatever she was doing on her laptop. You take a moment to take in the scene, a small smile on your face as you admire her. She’s sitting crossed-legged on the couch, laptop resting in her lap and glasses falling down the bridge of her nose, brows furrowed in concentration.

You knock lightly on the door and Jack looks up. Her face lighting up into a bright smile that has your heart thumping in your chest. And god she was so beautiful. You clear your throat. “Gibbs wanted me to bring you these files.” You hold up the stack in your hand and Jack groans.

“Oh, that’s a lot.”

Chuckling, you make your way across her office to place the stack on the coffee table. “Yeah, Petty Officer Malden wasn’t exactly popular. He did not play well with others.” Jack places her laptop next to her on the couch before grabbing the first case file and begins to flick through it. You stand awkwardly, leaning on one of her chairs that sat opposite the couch. This was the first time you’d been alone with her since you’d run out of her office yesterday, and you were doing an awful job of hiding your nerves. She could read you too well, whether that be because of you two being close, or because she was a psychologist or both, you didn’t know. You did know however that if she detected how you were feeling she’d try to push the conversation again, and you couldn’t blame her. You’d snapped at her and then proceeded to be tense and uncomfortable when you’d apologised. She knew something was wrong and was just trying to help but all you wanted to do was forget about it and work through the way your heart ached every time you saw her.

“Of course.” Jack rolls her eyes, dropping the case file, along with her glasses, back onto the table with a smirk. “They never want to make my job easy, do they?”

“Where would the fun be in that?” Jack’s huffs a laugh and you swing on your heels, your heart and brain fighting between staying in or fleeing the room. You decide to listen to your brain for once and signal to her office door. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.”

Jack jumps up from the couch as you turn to leave, quickly sliding in front of you and cutting off your exit. “Not so fast.” She smirks, keeping you in place with a hand on your hip. “We never finished our conversation yesterday.”

You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to meet her inquisitive gaze. “I think you’ll find we did.”

“You running from the room-”

“I didn’t run from the room. I had work to do like I do now, so if you’ll excuse me.” Your voice is too defensive, your desperation to flee clear, and Jack’s eyes flash with hurt. You try to step around her, but she just follows, stopping you with a hand against your stomach. Your eyes close at the contact, butterflies coursing through you at the pressure of her warm hands and the softness of her touch. With the hand still resting on your hip, her thumb rubs soothing circles.

“Hey.” Your eyes flutter open at the softness in Jack’s voice. Her hand drops from your stomach but the other doesn’t leave your hip. “Please talk to me.”

“Jack, I told you. I’m fine.” You whine. The concern in her eyes has guilt churning in your stomach. You really didn’t want to hurt her. She couldn’t find out about how upset you are about Izzy and she wouldn’t if she allowed the conversation to drop, but you knew that would take a miracle, especially when she could tell you were hurting. Jack was nothing if not persistent.

She releases a sigh, finally removing her other hand from you as she runs it through her hair, her frustration seeping into her voice. “No, you aren’t, and you haven’t been since you arrived at the office yesterday.”

“I’m fine!”

“What happened Y/N? You went to Amour’s in the morning which means you weren’t only okay, but you were in a good mood. So, you must have received this bad news sometime between ordering your coffee and when I arrived in the bullpen.” You step away from her, feet shifting as your arms wrap around your stomach to protect yourself from her words.

“Don’t profile me, Jack.”

The warning in your voice is clear masking the panic you felt at the idea of her finding out the truth. She doesn’t listen, just continues talking. “Considering you’d already drunk the majority of your coffee and eaten the pastry, I’d say it wasn’t until you got to the office because if it was before then you would have lost your appetite and never touched either.”

“Stop it!” Your hands tighten into fists to hide the fact they were beginning to shake. Eyes leaving hers so she couldn’t see the frustrated tears building behind them.

“And because you haven’t been off with the rest of the team that would lead me to believe this ‘bad news’ of yours has something to do with me.” Hurt seeps into Jack’s voice. “Especially because you couldn’t look me in the eye yesterday and you can’t now either.”

You roll your eyes using every ounce of self-control you had to not run to the other side of the room to escape her piercing stare. You couldn’t let her think she was right. “This has nothing to do with you, Jack. Please just drop it.”

“People stop talking when I enter a room. Something is happening, and I’m sure I can find out whatever it is from someone else, but I’d rather you just told me.” You hate the amount people gossip in this place. Jack was going to find out, there was no way she wouldn’t because even if you didn’t tell her she’d eventually overhear someone talking about it, it was inevitable.

“Well, maybe people stop talking because you’re a psychologist who never knows when to butt the hell out.” You know it’s the wrong thing to say before the words even leave your mouth, but they escape anyway. Jack rears back, scoffing.

“Oh, that’s how you want to play it huh?”

You groan, hand rubbing your face as you shake your head. “No Jack. It isn’t, but you can’t seem to get the message that I don’t want to talk.”

“I’ll go ask Ellie then, or Gibbs or, hell, even the agent down the hall because they all seem to know!” Jack stares at you, lips pressed tightly together as she waits for you to speak. You don’t say anything, just hold her glare until she sighs, stepping back. “Fine.”

She spins around, hair nearly slapping you in the face, and begins to make her way to her office door. Panic and fear surge through you. The tears you’d been holding back spilling out as your breath quickens. The idea of her finding out from someone else somehow a lot worse. “Wait!” Your voice catches and Jack instantly stills. Her face drops when she turns back to see you, any anger fading away when she sees the tears rolling down your cheeks. “Jack.” You beg one last time. “Please, just drop it.”

She comes back to stand in front of you, hand cupping your cheek to wipe away the wetness. You resist the urge to lean into the touch. “What could possibly be so bad to make you close off like this? Do you not trust me?”

“Of course, I trust you.” The idea of not was almost laughable.

“Then talk to me,” Jack begs, tears shining in her own eyes. Her hand drops from your cheek, but she doesn’t step back. “I don’t know if you’ve been off with me because you knew I would be able to tell something was wrong or because whatever happened is to do with me but I can’t help if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“It’s not something I need your help with.” You sniff.

“Then what do you need?”

To not have feelings for you. The words sit on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say them. You were going to have to tell her, but you couldn’t do it now. It’s selfish but you weren’t ready for the way everything would be different. She’ll pull away from you when she finds out because even if she says it doesn’t change anything, that you can both still be friends, it will. It will because you’ll have to watch the woman you care about fall in love with someone else and pretend it won’t tear you apart. You just needed one more day where she still looked at you with the softness and warmth you were used to. You take a deep breath, blinking away tears. “Can you give me a day? Just to sort my head out. I don’t want you finding out through gossip.” You chuff, bitterness seeping into your tone as you think about yesterday morning. “It’s never fun.”

Jack frowns. “You know that the majority of gossip that goes around this place is widely inaccurate right? I mean the other day I heard a rumour that Jimmy and Gibbs had hooked up in the elevator.”

“What?” Your face scrunches up in disgust as images that have you shuddering flash through your head.

Jack chuckles. “Yep. Apparently, Jimmy looked sweaty when they got off the elevator together-”

You roll your eyes. “Jimmy’s nervous around Gibbs, of course, he was sweaty.”

“Exactly, but with Gibbs’ track record of locking everyone in the elevator at some point well, the rumours took off.”

“Let’s just hope Gibbs never finds out.” Jack hums in agreement. You smirk, tipping your head slightly. “Although, maybe it would stop him from doing it.”

“I doubt it. There have been rumours about him and that elevator before. I think the whole team has apparently hooked up with him at some point including Leon and Me.” Jack smirks and you try very hard not to think about a particular fantasy of shoving Jack against the elevator wall and ravishing her. You duck your head, clearing your throat, missing the way Jack’s eyes flash and she smirks as if knowing where your mind had gone. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a rumour that’s even close to the truth.”

“Doesn’t mean some of them aren’t. Rumours usually have at least some truth to them.”

Jack frowns. “Is this what this is all about? A rumour?”

Looking back to Jack, you sigh. “It’s not just a rumour.” Jack’s confusion only grows as you squirm slightly. You’d gotten proof that it wasn’t just a rumour.

Last night, when you’d been leaving for work, you’d ended up in the same elevator as Agent Gomez, the source of the gossip. You’d both smiled at each other as you had moved to stand next to the other woman. You could feel her shooting looks at you and you itched to ask her questions about the coffee date she’d witnessed.

“I’m sorry-”

“Did she-” You both cut off, chuckling awkwardly. “Sorry, go ahead.”

“I just wanted to apologise. I didn’t know about you and her, so I didn’t expect the news to take off like that.”

“We’re just friends. There’s never been...She wouldn’t...not like that.” You shrug awkwardly, clearing your throat and avoiding Gomez’s eyes.

She nods, offering a sympathetic smile. “Well, still, I’m sorry.”

Digging your phone out of your pocket you turn to Gomez. “Uh,” You bite your lip, trying to decide if it’s worth the gossip that could spread. You needed to be sure though. “Was this the woman she was with?”

Gomez eyes you before looking at the phone. A picture of Izzy you’d found on her Facebook page staring back at her (you may have done some light stalking earlier to see if you could find anything about the two of them - you hadn’t). Gomez nods, a sad smile on her face when she meets your eyes again. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” You sigh, putting the phone back into your pocket. “Anyway, I’ll see you around.” You offer a half-smile, exiting the elevator the second the doors start to open, holding back the tears threatening to break free now you’d confirmed your suspicions.

“Look, can we have this conversation later? I promise we’ll have it, but can you just give me some time.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Jack tangles her fingers with yours, rubbing circles into your palm causing your heart to flutter. You were really going to miss this. She taps your temple lightly with her free hand. “Just promise you won’t run away from me.”

“I promise.”

Jack stares at you for another moment, sussing out your serenity and when she’s convinced you’re being truthful, she nods. “Okay.” She drops her hands from you, stepping back and you try not to miss her touch.

----

You head to the shooting range straight after work. It was the place you always went to clear your head when you weren’t feeling up to a workout. It helped you to feel in control as you let the rest of the world fade away and focused on nothing but the target in front of you. It felt good to clear your head to not have to think about work or responsibilities and of course, Jack. You could just breathe.

You empty 2 clips into the target. Proud of yourself due to the accuracy of your shots. You hadn’t been to the shooting range in months, so it was nice to see you still had it. You reload the clip. Rolling your shoulders back you take a deep breath. You aim the gun, letting your thoughts fade away as you take the shot.

When you get back into your car it’s with the intention of going home but as you’re driving you think about the last couple of days and without planning it, you’re pulling up outside Jack’s house less than 30 minutes later.

The lights are on, so you know she’s home. It’s just after eight which means it’s not too late for you to turn up at her house unannounced. To be honest, turning up at each other's houses’ unannounced was kind of your speciality.

You turn the engine off and get out of the car. You had to do this and this definitely wasn’t a conversation for the office. As you walk up the pathway to her house you suddenly realise it’s possible Izzy could be there and you almost turn right back around but if she was you’d just go home. Jack wouldn’t want the intrusion anyway so it would be easy to get out of without raising suspicion. Ringing the doorbell, you listen as you hear Jack shuffling around her house. You hold your breath as her footsteps get closer, swallowing roughly when she opens the door with an unsurprised smile.

“I thought I’d see you tonight,” Jack says in a way of greeting. She steps aside allowing you to pass her. You take your jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack and flick off your shoes. When you turn back to face her you finally take in what she's wearing and a smile tugs at your lips.

“Is that my t-shirt?” It’s the one you lent her after the whole nightmare ordeal, you’d honestly forgotten she’d worn it home and the fact she was wearing it now, out of choice and not because you’d blubbered on her shirt, has your heart fluttering.

Jack shrugs, a light blush tingeing her cheeks. “I keep meaning to give it back but it’s really comfortable.”

“Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.” You turn away, already regretting your word choice as your cheeks heat up. You can feel Jack’s smirk as she follows you into her living room. She sits down on the couch, feet crossed underneath her as she stares up at you waiting patiently for you to speak.

You shuffle, contemplating whether to stay standing where you were, a safe distance from Jack and within sight of the door for an easy flee or to take the seat next to her on the couch. “Please sit, you’re making me nervous with the shuffling.” Well, that takes the decision from your hands. You make your way over, taking the seat but making sure to leave more distance than normal between the two of you. Ok, here goes nothing.

“I just want to start by saying that you’re really important to me and to be honest, if I had the choice I’d probably choose not to tell you so that nothing changes because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or awkward around me, but NCIS is like a fucking rumour mill and I don’t want you to find out second-hand because that’s worse and would suck and nobody deserves to find out that way. Not that I’m saying I’m upset that I found out that way because It was really none of my business and if you wanted to tell me you would have but-”

“Y/N, Okay. Breathe.” Jack cuts off your tangent, hand reaching for your knee. Her mouth is hanging open slightly, brows furrowed as she watches you. You take a deep breath. “Okay, you good?”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat and look back to Jack. “I know about you and Izzy. Agent Gomez saw you getting coffee together.”

“Ok, let me explain-”

“No, no. It’s fine, you don’t need to. I want you to be happy Jack.” You sigh, looking up to the ceiling as tears fill your eyes. “I just...In the last couple of months, I realised I have these feelings...for you.” Jack’s hand tightens on your knee but you can’t look at her as you continue, instead focusing on your hands as you twiddle with them anxiously. “And that’s totally on me because I should have pulled away or tried to get over them, but I didn’t, because I fell into some delusional fantasy where I thought you liked me back and was actually about to ask you out on a date when I found out about you and Izzy.” You chuckle self-deprecatingly, quickly wiping away a couple of tears that had managed to escape. “So, I got upset and was embarrassed and there you were, being amazing and kind, like always, and it all just got a little overwhelming and I snapped at you and I am really sorry about that.”

“Y/N,” Jack breathes, eyes filled with tears. “Izzy had been flirty with me in San Diego, but that’s just how she is so I didn’t think anything of it. We’d made plans to see each other when we got back to DC but you know how busy work got-”

“Jack, you really don’t need to explain. Actually, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Just listen.” Jack chastised, and you sigh, leaning back into the couch still unable to look at Jack properly. “We continued texting and eventually made plans for what I thought was just coffee like we used to do.” Jack chuckles sadly. “Turns out it wasn’t. She kissed me. It caught me off guard, but I pulled away.”

The urgency in her last few words has you sneaking a glance at her, your brows furrowed slightly in confusion. Jack’s got a soft smile on her face and she reaches out, grabbing your hand causing your breath to catch. “I’m not dating Izzy, Y/N.” Your head spins as you look at Jack, the words not fully comprehending. “And I don’t want to date her either because there’s this amazing woman I work with who I can’t seem to stop thinking about.”

“Ellie, right?” You choke a laugh, heart thumping in your chest as you wipe at your eyes and try to gain control of your emotions.

“No.” Jack breathes, eyes watery with her own unshed tears. She knew you were joking but she also needed to make sure you heard her. Her fingers absentmindedly fiddled with yours. “It’s you and it’s been you for months.”

You blow out a breath, staring at the women next to you in complete wonder. You reach out, cupping Jack’s cheek and she leans into the touch. “Good to know I’m not actually delusional.”

Jack rolls her eyes but with an affectionate smile lighting up her face. Her eyes fall to your lips and your breath catches. She leans forward as your heart thrashes in your chest. Your mouth opens as you swipe your tongue across your lips in anticipation. Jack’s hovering inches away...

And then your phone rings. Jack chuckles, rolling her eyes as she pulls away. “I swear to whatever gods...” You mutter angrily under your breath, pulling your phone out of your pocket you release a frustrated groan when Tim’s caller ID flashes back at you. You smile apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Hazard of the job.” Jack shrugs.

“If you tell me we have a case I might actually murder you.” Is how you answer the phone. Jack laughs quietly from next to you.

“Sorry, Y/N.” Tim chuckles. “Victim is a friend of SecNav, so Vance wants us all on this. I’ll text you the address.”

“Ok. Thanks, Tim. I’ll be in asap.” You sigh as you say goodbye and hang up the phone. You slump back into the couch, rolling your head around to face Jack. “I really hate this job sometimes.”

Jack chuckles at your pout, tangling your hands back together and squeezing. “And yet, you wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.”

I’d like to be doing you.

“Hey!” Jack reaches over swatting you lightly on the arm. “Mind out of the gutter.” You laugh, unsurprised she knew exactly where your mind had gone.

“I didn’t say anything.” Your innocent expression has Jack rolling her eyes. Your phone pings, the text with the address coming through. You knew you had to go but there wasn’t a single part of you that wanted to move from where you were right now. Jack, if reading your mind, smiles softly.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.” She stands up, pulling you along with her. You only let go of her hand to slip your shoes and coat on. Jack opens the door, leaning against it as you make your way out. “I’ll hopefully see you in the morning.”

“Maybe. Victims a friend of SecNav so I have a feeling it’s going to be an all-nighter.”

Jack’s shoulders slump slightly, she moves forward and wraps her arms around your waist, burying her head into your shoulder. You both stand like that for a moment, enjoying the feeling of holding each other in your arms. It all felt a little surreal, that any moment you were going to wake up and this would all have been a dream.

Jack pulls back enough to look you in the eye. Your breath catches, head-spinning slightly, as she leans forward, her lips placing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “To keep you thinking of me,” Jack smirks as she steps away, giving you a playful shove to the shoulder. “Now go, you’ve got a case to solve.”

She winks and your knees go weak, she seriously had no right being this hot. When you don’t move Jack arches a brow, poking her finger into your side and making you squirm as you quickly step back.

“Alright, fine, I’m going.” You make your way down her driveway before turning back to see her still standing in the door. “And you really think I ever stop thinking about you?” You shout.

Jack grins. “I should hope not.” You roll your eyes playfully and Jack laughs. You wave a final goodbye before turning back around and making your way to your car, Jack’s eyes following you the whole way.

#jack sloane x reader #jack sloane #jacqueline sloane #the case of us #ncis #reader insert #fem!reader #slow burn #chapter ten #multi chap #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

30 notes · View notes

asklordcaptaincastronova · 4 years

Text

(At this point we actually get to the naval treaties and nope still not relevent to 40k but whatever I guess)

(Once more everything is ooc

Part 2: The Entente gang successfully cuts their naval budgets but only if everyone else does it, ships types get official definitions, and nothing bad will ever happen again

Well, WW1 is over, the Entente won, but already the victorious powers are looking side eye at each other. Italy’s cheesed off they didn’t get as much as they wanted out of the rotting Hapsburg zombie empire, let alone Anatolia, Britan’s going to have to make the hard choice whether they want to still be best friends with Japan or attempt to cozy up to America. America is trying to go back to their previous foreign policy of Europe, Africa, and West Asia don’t exist. France Is.

Everyone begins authorizing naval buildups, because it’s armsrace time. Japan order 16 new capital ships, Britain 12, and the US... 50 though congress balks because exorbitant military spending is not something America does.

Yet.

This is all going to be very, very expensive, and only Japan and America aren’t broke, and congress absolutely does not want to spend money on 50 battleships.

So in the time honored tradition, a conference is held, except for once, it’s in America. The only other nations who can even build capital ships are Spain, Germany, and the USSR, who are not invited because nobody cares/spain is broke for non ww1 related reasons, The Versailles Treaty, and they aren’t real and don’t exist/the soviet shipbuilding industry is so bad they’re mostly trying to keep the fleet afloat let alone build new ships of any sort.

Cue the Washington Naval conference... (Yes I know two of these flags are inaccurate but whatcanyedo?)

🇺🇸: “The way to disarm is to disarm”

🇯🇵🇫🇷🇮🇹🇬🇧: ...

Cue the arguing. The Americans have cracked the japanese codes (this will be a running theme for most of the 20th century) so they know exactly what japan’s sticking points are and want to get as much as possible out of it as they view Japan as the only nation here they actually need to worry about.

🇺🇸: So... how about ten years of nobody building any new capital ships, and you stop building the ones you have under construction

🇬🇧: Ok fine, people will be pissed but we can’t afford it

🇯🇵: Can we keep the Mutsu? She was paid for by donations from school children

🇺🇸🇬🇧: Sure, as long as we can each keep one of ours under construction

🇯🇵: Ok

🇫🇷🇮🇹: We’re too broke to argue

...

🇺🇸: Ok now how about we limit how many tons our navy can be, and establish ratios of each others navy to each other

🇯🇵🇫🇷🇮🇹🇬🇧: ... what

🇺🇸: America and Britain can have 525,000 tones of capital ships, then japan can have 315,000 tons, and Italy and France can have 175,800 tons each.

🇺🇸: Also battleships really shouldn’t weigh more than 35,000 tons either, nor should they fire shells of more than 16″ caliber

🇬🇧: well... ok. Again, people will be pissed but we can’t afford it. Also our tests for putting ludicrous guns on battlecruiser hulls in WW1 ended badly

🇫🇷: This is a terrible idea, we deserve 350,000 tons

🇺🇸: let us have this and we’ll give you concessions later down in this tumblr post

🇫🇷: ok

🇮🇹: Huzzah, we shall be a naval power on par with the french, our greatness in the nautical arena is recognized at last

🇫🇷: No, that’s also a terrible idea

🇬🇧: Do you really think italy will ever have that kind of ship building capacity? Let them have this

🇫🇷: lol ok

🇯🇵: This is very bad, we need at least 7:10 ratio against the Americans if we are to defeat both their fleets in sequence. But we can go down to 60% minimum but it will make the navy *pissed* (This will have repercussions later)

...

🇺🇸: So if our capital ships follow these ratios, the number of tons of cruiser should follow the same-

🇬🇧��🇷: Absofuckinglutly not.

🇺🇸: wait you two are agreeing on something

🇬🇧🇫🇷: We’re doing this imperialism thing, we have to maintain our authority across most of the world. We should have more cruisers than you, your only colonies are the Philippines, Hawaii and a bunch of sparesly populated islands. You should have less than us, and Japan has even fewer colonies than you do so they should get absolutely less.

🇯🇵: Which we absolutely do not accept

🇺🇸: well I guess that idea’s screwed uh, how about we limit the size of cruisers to 10,000 tons and no bigger than 8″ guns?

🇯🇵🇫🇷🇮🇹🇬🇧: That’s a much better idea

...

🇬🇧: While we’re here, submarines are evil and immoral and we should ban them

🇫🇷: fuck off

🇺🇸: Yeah no france can use that concession card from above here

...

🇺🇸: So we also had in mind aircraft carrier limits, similar to the capital ship restrictions above, but all existing aircraft carriers are hereby exempt. Also you can convert 2 capital ships to carriers for free.

🇬🇧🇯🇵: Oh sweet

🇫🇷: ok

...

🇺🇸: Lastly, since 4 of us have a bunch of pacific islands, we should regulate ho those are fortified

🇮🇹: I’ll just leave then

🇬🇧: Singapore must be turned into an impregnable bastion, but other than that who cares?

🇺🇸: we reserve the right to fortify Hawaii and the Philippines but don’t care about the rest

🇫🇷: I can’t afford it anyway

🇯🇵: I really like this idea, because it will make my future imperialist ambitions much easier

...

🇺🇸: excellent, now Britain, Japan, we’re all in excess of these limits so let’s start scrapping ships! Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen!

This actually was honored until the mid 30s, and sparked off the “how can we do this under 10,000 tons” that leads to so many odd cruisers built in the 20s and 30s. It also caused the Japanese military to decide to begin pushing the country towards fascism.

Next time, the first London Naval Treaty

@particularcustodian

#ooc #longpost

4 notes · View notes

misssophiachase · 4 years

Photo

Klaroline AU Week - Day 3: Crossovers/Fusions

He’s the new hotshot recruit at the U.S. Navy Fighter Weapons School and unbeknown to him, she’s his new instructor (you know how this goes). Lines from the movie in italics (because I’m no aeroplane expert).

Take My Breath Away

Sunday 20:45: Raised By Wolves Cocktail Bar, San Diego, CA

“I start my new job tomorrow, Kat,” she insisted. “I should be home in bed preparing.”

“You do that every night, roomie,” she shot back by way of response. “And drinking wine and watching the Notebook for the millionth time doesn’t count as an activity.”

Caroline was an Astrophysicist and had been working in DC for the past ten years. She’d recently moved cross country to take a contract position at the Miramar Naval Air Station in San Diego and had reunited with her best friend Katherine who was a Professor at the University of California in La Jolla.

It made sense for them to move in together, but Caroline was realising that Katherine was one of the nosiest roommates ever.

“This is a completely new role for me,” she argued. “I need to be on my game, these officers are some of the best in the Navy, Kat. They don’t call it Top Gun for nothing.”

“I’m jealous that you get to work with gorgeous men in uniform and I have to lecture children.”

“I never understood that. What is it with everyone’s obsession with men in uniform?”

“Well, maybe you just haven’t seen one in the flesh yet?” His crisp but attractive English accent wasn’t enough to stop the rolling of her eyes.

“And I suppose you’re going to remedy that situation,” she drawled, turning in her chair and meeting his dark blue eyes for the first time.

She wanted to deny it but she couldn’t. This guy was hot, with or without the white, naval uniform. Sexy stubble, sinful, crimson lips and dirty, blonde hair that curled teasingly over his ears was only the beginning, he had a pair of rogue dimples that she swore had superpowers they were that disarming.

“Alright, love?” Caroline felt Katherine nudge her subtly in the ribs. She needed to retain what composure she still had.

“I think you got the wrong location, the fancy dress party is on campus,” Caroline teased.

“Cute,” he shot back, licking his lips teasingly. She should have been repelled but this guy had the opposite effect and Caroline knew it had nothing to do with the uniform.

“I need to apologise for my friend,” a fellow officer, also in head-to-toe white offered. “He can’t help himself, he was dropped on his head as a baby.”

“Oh, I know what this is,” Kat realised. “This is your little, two-man act to try and pick up poor, unsuspecting patrons.”

“Gee, tough crowd,” he murmured in his friend’s ear, although they could still hear him. Officer Number One’s gaze hadn’t wavered, it was still firmly trained on Caroline.

“I’m Lieutenant Klaus Mikaelson, this is Enzo St John,” he offered by way of introduction, his eyes slipping lower and perusing the low-cut, black top Katherine insisted she wear. Caroline could feel an unmistakable blush forming in that region and hoped he wouldn’t notice. He was an arrogant ass for sure but her body obviously didn’t care about that.

“Lieutenant?” She asked, wondering if this cocky guy was one of her students because if so this was going to be really awkward come morning.

“We’re Naval Aviators,” he said it slow like she couldn’t understand the concept. “At Top Gun.”

“Impressive,” Katherine cooed, her voice laced with sarcasm, not that Officer Number Two noticed.

“I go by Lucifer though,” he shared, they both looked at Enzo curiously.

“Did your mother not like you?” Kat asked, mouth agape. Unlike her friend she hadn’t been around the Naval culture Caroline had.

“It’s his call sign, like a nickname,” Klaus explained, again slowly. Caroline had to stop herself from telling him where he could shove his mansplaining.

“My surname is Saint, get it?” The girls just looked at each other thinking that was just weird logic.

“And what is your, call sign is it?” Caroline bluffed.

“The Original,” he smirked, knowingly, tipping his hat in her direction.

“The Original what?” She asked, unable to help herself.

“Well, how about we get to know each other and I’ll tell you all about it, love.”

“Wow,” she muttered, Caroline was surprised there was any oxygen left in the bar his ego was that inflated. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to pass. In fact, we were just leaving, right Kat?”

She picked up her purse and grabbed Katherine’s hand. She might have wanted to be there but Caroline had no interest in staying any longer.

Monday 05:45: “The Strand” Pacific Beach, San Diego, CA

“Tully! Tully, come back here, girl!” He heard a melodic voice before he saw her.

Running along Pacific Beach was his rare downtime these days. Flight school was intense, not that Klaus minded. He was a fighter pilot first and foremost and he was living his dream.

He liked to think he was confident, most people considered him arrogant but Klaus could practically fly in his sleep it was that deeply ingrained in his life, so too the Navy.

The first time he’d faltered since arriving was the previous night. Klaus considered himself good with women but his performance at the bar was woeful. If he wasn’t aware, Enzo had been reminding him ever since. He’d never had a woman literally leave a place because she didn’t want to talk to him.

Klaus knew he’d acted stupid, peddling those tired lines but he had a habit of doing that when he liked someone. And he liked this girl, that much was clear given he’d been thinking about her ever since. Not that he’d probably ever see her again.

The golden retriever bounded over to him, rubbing against his bare legs and almost tripping him in the process. Klaus stopped to lean down and give her a pat. “Hey, girl.”

He looked up into the familiar, blue eyes of the woman from last night. Dressed casually in form-fitting jeans and a white t-shirt, those blonde waves hanging loose over her shoulders, Klaus didn’t think she could look any better than the previous night but he was wrong.

“Lose something?” He asked, noting just how adorable she looked flustered, her creamy cheeks tinged pink from the exercise.

“You again?” she asked, obviously only just realising who he was. “I didn’t recognise you without your costume.”

“There’s that sarcastic wit I’ve missed,” he chuckled. “I take it this is a friend of yours.” Caroline eyed the dog in frustration as she rubbed up against him lovingly.

“Traitor,” she muttered. “Tully is my friend’s dog and as I’ve discovered this morning has a mind of her own and enjoys flirting with strange men.”

“I’m not a stranger,” he drawled. “You know my name but I never caught yours, love.”

“That’s not my name,” she shot back. Klaus felt his muscles going cold so started stretching on the spot, his shorts riding up even higher. He could see her checking him out like she had last night. He still had it.

“Well, if you told me then I wouldn’t have to call you that,” he grinned.

“I better get going, don’t want to be late,” she replied, hooking the leash to Tully’s collar.

“Late for what? Or is that just another excuse to get away from me?”

“I start a new job today, I need to be on time.”

“Well good luck, love,” he offered. She didn’t bother to argue about his endearment and just shook her head. Everything in Klaus wanted to ask her out again but knew it would probably be pointless.

Monday 09:45: Miramar Naval Air Station, San Diego, CA

“Civilian specialists are here because they are our very best source on enemy aircraft. One of our very best is Caroline Forbes. She has a PHD in astrophysics and is a civilian contractor so you do not salute her. But you better listen to her because the Pentagon listens to her.”

“Good morning,” she greeted them. Klaus was seated in the front row with Enzo not quite believing what he was seeing.

Turns out her new job just happened to be him. He was torn over whether it was a good development or a bad one. Hooking up with your boss was obviously frowned upon but at least this way he knew where to find her.

The way she looked in that fitted, black, skirt suit with her wavy hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her creamy neck was messing with his composure and looking around the room he could see his fellow students thought the same thing.

A ripple of jealousy came over him and Klaus didn’t like it one bit.

Somehow he’d managed to lose track of what she was saying, something about F5 and MIG 28 Aircraft but he’d been too busy to really take much notice.

“However, the MIG 28 does have a problem with its inverted flight tanks. It won’t do a negative G pushover,” she explained.

Enzo nudged Klaus. Only a few weeks ago they’d seen a MIG 28 do exactly that during a training exercise which had attracted enemy aircraft and nearly killed them for their trouble. They continued to discuss it between them.

“The latest intelligence tells us the most it will do is one negative..” she paused mid sentence.”Excuse me, Lieutenant, is there something wrong?”

“Yes ma’am, the data on the MIG is inaccurate,” Klaus replied, noting her adorable but puzzled look.

“How’s that, Lieutenant?”

“Well, I just happened to see a MIG 28 do a...”

“We,” Enzo interrupted.

“Uh, sorry, Lucifer. ‘We’ happened to see a MIG 28 do a 4g negative dive.”

She cocked her left eyebrow, almost like she was trying to work out whether he was telling the truth or just messing with her.

“Where did you see this?”

“Uh, that's classified.”

“It's what?”

“It's classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”

He sent her his very best smirk and given her less than impressed expression, Klaus knew he was going to have to do a lot more work to win her over.

But he was more than willing to try.

10:45

“Ma’am? Excuse me!” He called out. She continued walking towards her car, choosing to ignore him not interested in a discussion right now, it was already extremely awkward enough. “Caroline!”

She finally turned, realising he was going to continue to make a scene until she acknowledged him. Of course she’d expected him but what transpired after she hadn’t. Caroline was trying to work out if it was all arrogant bluster or something entirely different.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” She answered officially, trying to ignore just how good his khaki uniform brought out his Californian tan. He came closer, and even though he wore Aviators she could tell his eyes were trained on her with that same intensity she remembered from the previous night.

“You tricked me.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You knew I was at Top Gun, you knew I was your student but yet you didn’t feel the need to tell me, why is that exactly?”

“I felt that it was inappropriate to disclose my identity at that time.”

“But yet it’s okay to just show up in class like that? What if I’d said something in front of everyone.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” she murmured. “You want to be here just as much as I do because we love what we do and this, whatever this is, doesn’t factor into that.”

“This? You rejected me last time I checked,” he replied. “Twice.”

“Is that why you did that before in class? Was it some form of petty payback?”

“It wasn’t petty,” she gave him a look which clearly said she didn’t believe him. “Okay maybe a little bit petty but it did actually happen, Enzo has this great polaroid you’d love.”

“But apparently it’s classified though right?”

“How about we go out for a drink and I’ll tell you the redacted version?”

“I am not going out with you, I don’t know how many times I have to say it.”

“Why not?”

“I’m your teacher, you’re my student. This can’t happen because it is all kinds of wrong, Lieutenant .”

“I don’t like to take no for an answer and, just so you know, I don’t give up easily, love.”

“Is that so?” He sent her his best smile and finally removed his sunglasses, those blue eyes roaming over her body before eventually landing on her face. Caroline was trying to pretend he had no effect on her whatsoever but she could feel her resolve fading fast.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, ma’am.” He walked away, the spicy scent of his aftershave hovering in his wake.

Caroline had no idea what she’d gotten herself into but at the same time it excited her too. It had nothing to do with men in uniform, just one man in particular.

#kcauweek2020 #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline drabbles #misssophiachase #take my breath away #top gun #fusion

34 notes · View notes

aurorapillar · 4 years

Text

Title: though we don't share the same blood Fandom: Trash of the Counts Family Characters: Alberu Crossman

Cale Henituse was a very annoying person, and that was Crown Prince Alberu’s honest opinion; the man in question was disrespectful, rude, a near-constant headache and a troublemaker. But he was also one of the people who Alberu trusted most in the world, and despite his flaws and faults, Cale had never let him down.

He’d not only completed any job that had been set for him, even if it wasn’t always in the manner that Alberu would have preferred, Cale had also managed to accomplish numerous other tasks that had not been requested of him. From making it possible for the Roan Kingdom to obtain the surviving Whipper Kingdom mages, to helping in the creation of the navy, to getting his hands on high-grade magic stones which he’d proceeded to sell to the crown; the list of things he’d done which benefited their country continued to grow. That combined with the blood Cale had bled in defense of the nation and the fact that he’d kept the secret of his heritage, made it impossible for Alberu not to trust him.

When it came down to it he and Cale were similar; both of them were capable of and willing to manipulate and use others without feeling much guilt after the fact. Normally, Alberu would do his best to avoid interactions with a such a person due to the danger that came with it; words and deeds could be a weapon just as much as a spell or sword could, and when going up against someone equally skilled at using them it was all too easy to lose track of whether you were winning or losing. And Prince Alberu was not someone who could afford to lose.

However there was another similarity between the two of them that had convinced Alberu to use Cale as an asset rather than avoid him, and that was the fact that both of them worked towards the greater good. When the situation called for it they both set aside their selfish desires and focused on using their cunning to bring about a solution that benefited the kingdom, putting their skills to work in order to achieve the best outcome.

Of course, that didn’t mean they wouldn't take advantage of any opportunities that came along in the meanwhile, neither of them were saints after all, despite what so many people in both the Roan Kingdom and other lands thought about Cale. It was quite amusing really, the inaccurate impression so many people had of 'young master silver shield'; to them, he was a paragon of virtue, a true hero that wanted nothing more than to protect and help other people.

To be fair they were correct in some ways, no matter how much he grumbled and showed distaste towards such a title, Cale was a hero; his role as such had already been written in history using the blood that he'd bled as ink. That didn't change the fact however, that he was also a greedy and conniving punk.

What would the citizens think, Alberu couldn't help but wonder at times, if they knew some of the things that troublemaker had done? He himself was well aware that he didn't know the full extent of things Cale had gotten up to, the paths that had been taken to reach certain outcomes, but the things he did know and the things he could suppose by reading in between the lines at times astounded him. He'd played the Whipper Kingdom like a fiddle, obtaining their mages and magic devices for the Roan Kingdom while at the same time earning their trust and friendship; he'd convinced the Queen of the Jungle somehow that he was a pure and gentle man; he'd earned the love of the Empire's citizens while stealing it's treasures and then turned around and helped cause a revolution. And then there was whatever he'd been doing on the Eastern Continent that had gotten him entangled with the Mercenary King; quite frankly Alberu wasn’t sure he wanted to know any details about that, he had a feeling it would only cause him more stress. Yet despite all that, hardly anyone knew what he was really like, the majority still saw him as a pure and naive being.

Alberu had heard the whispers among many of the nobles, they had a tendency to think they were a lot more subtle than they truly were and that he had a lot fewer ways to find things out then he really did; so many of them bemoaned the fate of Cale Henituse, the poor hero who was being yanked around and manipulated by the Crown Prince and his glib tongue. The storyline they had created in their heads couldn't have been farther from the truth of course, and there had been many days Alberu had found himself indulging in some rather unprincelike laughter after listening to it.

Such whispers had only increased of course after he and Cale had become sworn brothers, people saw such an action as Alberu’s way of tying Cale to him so as not to lose a valuable tool. They were partially right however, becoming sworn brothers had been a way to tie him and Cale together, but it had not been for the reasons they believed.

Though he had two younger half brothers, the fight for favor and the throne had meant that he'd never gotten the chance to be close to them; doing so was far too risky, even without taking into account the added danger of having to keep his heritage a secret. There was a part of him that had always longed for that missed opportunity though, for the chance to be an older sibling with someone younger to care for and dote on, and with Cale that opportunity had come back around.

It hadn't been something he'd even considered when they'd first started working together, back then Cale had been nothing more than a necessary annoyance needed to reach his goals, but over time that had changed. It had started with Cale discovering his heritage, something that Alberu still wasn’t sure how he’d done, and yet keeping quiet about it despite what he could gain by running off to tattle to one of the other princes. Such information in the wrong hands would have guaranteed that he was knocked from his place as Crown Prince, possibly even gotten him killed as well, and earned Cale plenty of favor from the other princes and their factions; but it had been Alberu himself that he’d come to directly, and he’d even brought a gift of dead dragons mana along.

It had been rather infuriating really, Cale hadn’t even tried to blackmail him; not that he wanted to be blackmailed mind you, but at least with blackmail it was easier to tell where the other person stood. While he’d said he wasn’t keeping his mouth shut for free, there had been no threat accompanying his request, though Alberu wasn’t so naive as to think that necessarily meant he wouldn’t have done something if he’d refused. Still it had felt more like a deal between partners than extortion, and from that point on Alberu had found himself viewing Cale as an ally of equal standing rather than just someone to be used. He wasn’t quite sure when simply viewing him as an ally had turned to also worrying and caring about him, perhaps it been after their time in the Empire when he watched Cale struggle to hold up the tower and then turn around and question about the welfare of others despite his own health issues; it was hard for him to say for sure though. He could clearly remember however the way his heart had been pounding during the attack on the Henituse territory as he watched black blood drip from Cale’s eyes, nose and mouth over the video communication device; there had been more blood coming out of him than any of the previous times he’d seen the man use his shield, and it had taken great willpower to keep his voice calm as he’d reminded both Basen Henituse and himself to not forget their task.

He’d had to use that willpower again later that same day to remain calm while talking to Cale, who while still covered in blood and looking exhausted, had expressed his intent to head to the Ubarr territory that night. At the time he’d been worried that Cale was pushing himself too hard, but had figured that he was smart enough to not go past his limits and neglect his health too much; of course later he’d realized how wrong he was, Cale Henituse was a truly brilliant and talented person, but he was also a stubborn idiot.

It was like all of the man’s intelligence flew out the door when it came to the matter of his own welfare, and the worst part was that Cale didn’t even seem to realize his own recklessness or how much he worried other people, anytime that anyone tried to express their concerns he always seemed to have a confused expression on his face like he didn’t understand what they were making such a fuss about. Honestly, sometimes Alberu found himself wondering if he’d one day cancel the illusion hiding his true appearance only to find his hair had turned gray from the stress that Cale’s recklessness caused him. What a troublesome younger brother.

It had been a surprise when he'd suddenly realized that that was what he considered Cale to be, his little brother. Following the end of the battle at Maple Castle, Alberu had found himself contacted by Rosalyn, who had filled him on the events that had taken place before heading off to the Jungle with Choi Han; their conversation had brought up many concerns, not the least of which was the re-emergence of black magic and Cale’s current unconscious state.

Of course, Cale being Cale with his apparent allergy to properly resting and recovering, had awoken after only three hours; and while he'd looked pale when Alberu had spoken to him over the video communication device, he'd also seemed ready and willing to get back out into the field. Truth be told, Alberu would have likely to forbid him from doing so, but he'd known they needed Cale out there and as the future king of their country he couldn’t sacrifice their chance at victory because of personal sentiment.

Not that he was sure Cale would have listened to him even if he had forbidden it. Despite Cale having proclaimed that his future goal was to be a slacker during their conversation that day, based on past experiences Alberu had a strong feeling that Cale was the type of person who would end up getting involved even when they didn't want to.

He'd known of course that Cale’s friends would do their best to keep an eye on him and keep him safe, but that didn't stop him from worrying, and so he decided to take advantage of something he needed to do anyway and tagged along with his aunt and the other dark elves who were headed to the Jungle. The main reason for going with them was to see the battlefield and the golems for himself, there were quite possibly very dark times coming and as a leader, he'd needed to understand the things his men would have to have to experience. And if it also happened to give him the chance to check on Cale in person, well nobody but himself needed to know that had been part of his plan.

Originally he hadn't actually been planning to tease Cale, but the shocked expression on his face at the sight of him had been too entertaining to resist, and the words 'little brother' had just slipped out. there had been no falsehood in those words though, because that was exactly what Cale Henituse had become to him over the course of the two years they'd known each other.

When the end of the war had finally come around it had only seemed natural to offer up the idea of becoming sworn brothers as a method of keeping get the hounds at bay, and it had been accepted. He didn't really know if Cale actually saw him as an older brother or if he was just playing along, but the title of 'hyung' slipped easily enough from the other man's lips and for the time being that was enough.

Cale Henituse was still an annoying, disrespectful and greedy headache; but he was his annoying, disrespectful, greedy headache of a younger brother.

#alberu crossman #trash of the count's family #My writing

46 notes · View notes

sparklycitrus · 5 years

Text

00Q Wings!AU

And here it is! The very first part. This story is full AU, so despite some familiar elements it does not follow the plot of any of the movies at all. Mallory is the current M. Vesper got killed by bad guys for simply being Bond’s lover instead of betrayal and suicide. And (almost) everyone has wings.

Untitled

(The wings are magical to an extent but there are no magic in this universe. They also do not resemble birds or angels, although poetic comparisons are frequently made.)

When Q saw 007 for the first time at the National Gallery, his first thought was: you've got to be joking.

He had expected someone lean and sharp, perhaps a bit wan, with meticulously cleaned feathers and the air of a tired soul stubbornly clinging to life. 007 was one of the oldest agents after all, and had almost literally just come back from death. Q was no stranger to prickly operatives. He figured he’d go in with his usual barbed wit, preen and fluff a bit to establish his newly acquired authority, then hand over the equipment and that would be that.

He did not expect to stand frozen at the entry of the large room to stare at what must've been one of the most magnificent set of wings he’d ever seen in his life. They were large and robust, spanning half the length of the bench even folded, and was a white so bright they practically glowed. A smattering of golden yellow downs adorned the shafts. A shade brighter than the man’s blond hair, they perfectly matched the streak of color on the tips of each feather. The other patrons – there were few, as it was the middle of a rainy afternoon – were all either surreptitiously or openly staring. Why did M choose such a public place to meet a man like this was beyond him.

His prepared quip about old warships and inevitability of time died in his throat. Sitting there, still as a statue, 007 could've passed for one of the museum’s installations. Something provocative about the fall of man and the innocence of angels. Q felt small all of a sudden, his own dull brown wings fluttering nervously against his rail-thin frame. He clutched the equipment case tight against his chest as he forced himself to walk forward. The sooner this meeting was over with, the better.

When he sat down he was careful not to let their wingtips touch. It was a bit difficult considering their size, but the agent turned in accordance, adjusting his body so he faced Q at an angle. He gave the Quartermaster a thorough once-over, taking in the rumpled anorak, the black case, the customized watch. Q steeled himself before looking up, directly into eyes so blue that they put a clear autumn sky to shame.

“How in the hell did someone like you land such a promising career in espionage?” Q blurt out.

The agent started. Quickly he scanned around them, at attention and alert, but relaxed once more when he found the room suitably empty. His wings twitched, reflecting a cascade of light that contrasted sharply with the navy hue of his tailored suit. Q found his gaze being involuntarily drawn to the feathers again. He immediately wrenched his gaze back down, but it was not fast enough to escape the other’s notice.

“Q, I presume?” the agent said, his voice a pleasant rumble. There was a quirk of a smile hanging on his lips as they shook hands. Q felt a shiver slither down his overly taut spine.

“007,” he acknowledged. “Apologies, I really was not expecting…your files are woefully inaccurate. I should get that looked into once I get back.”

“Which ones?” the agent asked.

“Pardon?”

“The files. Which ones did you access?”

“All of them,” Q answered. “Including the one on the private server in the Chief of Staff’s office. I’m aware of necessary vagueness for the sake of security but this, is perhaps a bit too off.”

That earned him a chuckle. 007 shifted, then unfolded his wings to their full extent. Their raw power dominated the room as the feathers expanded around them. Q heard multiple instances of halting footsteps and a badly disguised gasp. Show off, he thought, although it was working flawlessly.

“Subtlety is not your forté, I see,” he quipped.

“Sometimes subtlety needs a guiding hand,” 007 smiled. “Your watch, Quartermaster.”

At that Q looked down. “What about it?” he started to ask, then saw that something was stuck to its beveled side. It blended perfectly with the grooves along the outer ring, and only stood out because Q had built the watch himself and knew every nook and cranny. If this were an off-the-shelf model he would not have noticed at all.

He lifted his wrist and carefully removed the small metallic object. It was a tracker, one of R’s designs, and the very same that was assigned to 007 in the mission that resulted in his supposed death. Q-branch had written it off as a loss. Now not only did it turn up whole – albeit nonfunctional – but it had ended up on Q’s wrist without an inkling of his knowledge. Hell, he’d never even seen the agent move his arms aside from the brief handshake, and that was with his other hand.

“How – when did you –” he stammered. The agent smirked and again fluffed his wings, and Q suddenly realized he had either been resolutely staring or resolutely not staring at the wings that he completely missed what the agent himself was doing. 007 had plenty of opportunities to plant whatever he wanted. The fact he picked a small target like Q’s watch was just to accentuate the point.

“Tell me more about my promising career in espionage,” 007 goaded.

It took all of Q’s effort not to whack the man in the face with the equipment case. He stood up in a huff, feeling like an utter idiot. The agent was wearing the same smug expression as a cat in a cream jar. Q wanted to tell him off, and barely managed not to.

“Here,” he spat, thrusting the case into the agent’s broad chest with a heavy thump. “Do try to return them in functional conditions this time.”

“Not going to tell me what they are?”

“It’s a gun and a radio. Standard issue. Your e-tickets have already been sent to your mobile. Good day, 007.”

There was nothing he could do to hide his agitation as he walked away – his wings were fluttering like mad and 007 had a full view of his back. But he could at least keep the agent from seeing his irate expression. It didn't help that he reached the entrance at the same time as a crowd of schoolgirls, who all stopped chatting abruptly to stare at the man in the room. Q groaned.

If this was the indication of things to come, well, work was going to be absolute hell.

(more to come)

#00Q #james bond #q #fanfic #mi6cafewipwednesday #wings!fic #untitled #for now

41 notes · View notes

adamsvanrhijn · 5 years

Text

fanfiction: to be between two religions

title: to be between two religions fandom: Les Misérables rating: general/teen relationships/characters: Enjolras/Marius; Marius, Enjolras word count: 4,660 keywords/tags: Swimming, Canon Era, Enjolras Has Feelings, Awkward Marius, Physical Fitness as Bonapartist Democrat Praxis summary:

Early one morning, Marius Pontmercy attends the swimming school where Enjolras is a regular.

notes: written for AO3 user CharlesLindberg for the 2019 Chocolate Box exchange.

{read two religions on AO3} {read two religions on Dreamwidth}

Marius is in a daze in the dressing room, in the showers, as he walks from that cloister of dry rooms to the lukewarm and humid area of pool facility.

His visit to the swimming school this morning marks the return of a habit he had many months before discarded: owing to his obligations — concerns at the publishing house which had drawn him from his reveries, forced him to work more than he was inclined — he has not slept properly in some days, and if the years of his adolescence are to be any evidence, the physical exertion of swimming never fails to rejuvenate and reset his body to its natural state. Besides that, newfound independence, penniless independence at that, distracted him from his old routines; he has neglected his body in favor of his mind. But he is here again, and has resolved to continue to be here even on days when it is not strictly necessary to wake him up. Courfeyrac was generous in giving him the sous to spend his morning bathing, indeed, he gave enough for a month's worth of patronage; he does not wish for the loan to be in vain.

(A year ago he would not have accepted a loan at all.)

Once he is in the water he feels momentarily as though he does not remember how he became so, but ducking under solves this problem, and then he is able to attempt once more that rhythm of the arms and legs which is only possible for a man submerged.

The first thirty meters are slow; on the second length he goes a little faster. The third and fourth are taxing, and when he nears the side of the pool where he started, he realizes that in his absence he has forgotten how to properly breathe.

A queue has formed at the end of the lane, in the shallow end. He surfaces to join it, treading water, bobbing: the floor is just enough inches beneath him that he is underwater entirely if he tries to stand upon it.

"Marius Pontmercy?"

In a careful balance, Marius tilts his head sideways to press the water out of his ear, presses his curly wet hair back from his forehead with the heel of his palm. The length is growing bothersome, but with all his distractions he has not yet seen to a barber. Now that he is attempting swimming practise, he is more cognizant of that necessity.

If he remembers, he'll ask Courfeyrac about it later.

"Marius Pontmercy."

He remains in place, another point in the line of swimmers. No one knows him, here, so whatever voice is saying his name must be an imagined one. It does sound a little familiar, but all imaginary voices must; it is not so uncommon to hear one's name amongst a din of human speech. Sound in the natatory room echoes.

Something brushes against his knee under the water, and he flinches.

Then he blinks. The something was someone, and the someone was saying his name indeed. It is Enjolras, Courfeyrac's friend, who is before him now. Marius feels blood rush to his cheeks: in recent months he has spent plenty of time with Courfeyrac, some even with L'Aigle and Jean Prouvaire, and although they have been not too long ago in the same room, his most prominent memory of being alone with Enjolras — even if it is from years ago!— is not one he is fond of. And it is alone, here, a quick glance tells him that everyone else in the swimming school at this hour indeed is a stranger.

"What a pleasure it is to see you, Citizen," says Enjolras, gracious. Although he does not smile, not really, he gazes into Marius with light in his eyes, an earnest turn in his lips; the discomfort dissipates. Looking at him, Marius forgets to paddle his hands and kick his legs, and he nearly sinks.

Then Enjolras takes his elbow and holds him upright, completely level, until he starts again. Marius looks down and sees that only his legs move beneath the water.

"Huh," says Marius, for he sees also that Enjolras looks very different while undressed. And too: were it not for the fact that he has on previous occasions accompanied him elsewhere, alongside Courfeyrac, Marius might assume that the man existed solely in lamplit backrooms, speaking of Thermidor and guillotines and Rousseau and crime and whatever other conversational matters to which republicans so devout as he were prone.

(In fact, Marius has never before in his life heard Enjolras utter the word "guillotine".)

It is difficult to shake the impression that Enjolras should not be here, for in a swimming pool is a far cry from in the street, bathing clothes have little in common with an overcoat, Courfeyrac is not here to mind him, and thus there is nothing about this encounter which Marius can relate to any others.

Enjolras looks at him with an unreadable expression – high forehead smooth, head tilted. Droplets of water are still upon his cheeks, flushed only slightly with exertion; a damp lock of hair falls at his brow. In daylight, when dry, Enjolras's hair is pale but with a golden sheen; here it is nearly translucent. It curls about his face like a girl's.

...he is, however, very much a man, even if Marius had thought them each the same age at one point — that horrible cusp when one is between adult and child — until Courfeyrac had mentioned otherwise. Marius thinks to himself that if young women were to smile at Enjolras, it would be because they think him handsome, whether he wore a threadbare coat or not. Himself, he has no such good fortune.

Another man begins his next length; they move up in the line. Marius grabs the curved edge of the wall so that he need not exert effort simply to stay in place.

Enjolras does no such thing. It seems to Marius that he ought to have better things to do than attend open hours at the swimming pool so early in the day. He nearly asks the question — 'why are you here, at a quarter to seven in the morning?' — then thinks better of it, but he senses that his mouth is opening and closing like that of a fish.

A fitting comparison for the setting, even if any respectable fish ought be far more comfortable in the water than Marius himself.

"You think it odd that I attend the swimming school."

...even after time apart, it is as though Enjolras knows everything he has ever thought, and thinks him wrong for it.

Marius presses his lips together and nods.

"Man ought to be in water as he is on land."

Dimly Marius recalls that this was an opinion published by Rousseau, and determines that his impression of Enjolras was at least not entirely inaccurate.

He makes no reply, however. What is there to say?

They are splashed by a turning swimmer. The wall is not really meant for conversation.

Enjolras touches his shoulder, and a thrill travels down Marius's back. "And indeed," he says, "my mother will need her navymen," and then he moves nearer to the wall, bends his knees, and pushes into a swift, effortless crawl stroke.

Marius watches the contraction of his back and curve of his elbow, dazed.

So he continues swimming laps. So early in the morning is an unusual time to be at the pool; the room is hardly crowded. There are but four other men in his lane besides Enjolras, each of whom seem to match his own capability and speed. Enjolras passes them all at various points and is utterly considerate about it.

Swimming, Marius believes, develops his mind and body at once. He once regularly attended the school at the quai d'Orsay to hone the skill, for lessons and for free-time alike, but with all his practice he has not become exceptional, and his year upon dryland only has certainly not done him any favors. It is very well, he supposes, for while Enjolras has mentioned the Navy, the Emperor's conquests were made upon land, not water; a honeybee can fly but not swim. There were no seas to be crossed at Marengo or Borodino.

In any case, he does not aspire to join the military, or at least, not for a France under the House of Bourbon. Still, he would like to be skilled at it, and devotes himself to lessons wholeheartedly, practices on his own time. Physical fitness is important. He imagines, too, that his father would have valued a son who strives to be competent in all man's capacities, being ranked so in the military, and dreams that he is growing up in the fashion of Baron Colonel Georges Pontmercy. Yes, Marius would like to be an upstanding young man in his father's image: versatile, well-rounded, a superlative version of himself, suited for a nation united under the Empire.

Since leaving his grandfather's house he has lapsed in discipline; it used to be that he might go swimming whenever the thought passed his mind — on his returns from Vernon, after a lecture, upon waking, before retiring. He did not exert himself only when he thought he needed to, but regularly, with the cognizance that to do so improved him as a man; once he learned the truth of his lineage, his desire for that improvement only increased.

Well: he has lapsed in this discipline; without discipline he could not have learned to read in German or English, nor maintained steady work, earned his keep. Without discipline, he would not have made up his mind upon his employment and devoted his free-time to pondering and reading and listening, to taking walks in the city and dining at old-fashioned restaurants. But while his thoughts have flourished, his form has suffered.

Luckily, even after time away, the water still refreshes him. He will much prefer it to accompanying Courfeyrac to see his friends on his days off, and at times when he is not inclined to be social, to passing the hours with old Mabeuf, as well. He will allow himself plenty of time to improve again.

Meanwhile, Enjolras is as comfortable in the water as a dolphin – although perhaps he would not prefer precisely that comparison. His technique and his vigor are mesmerizing; he cannot help but watch whenever he has the chance. He glides more than double the length of his body at once and turns his head to breathe without altering the positioning of his torso and legs; the muscles in his narrow shoulders and back tense and relax in rhythm. His strokes and kicks have strength behind them. The wool of his bathing costume conforms to his thighs and his shoulders and — to his body, generally, in a manner that would be inappropriate, were ladies present. When he swims upon his back, Marius finds that he must avert his eyes.

The hour continues on, and Enjolras does not leave.

Each time Marius feels they are distant from one another, he then notices Enjolras approaching from behind him. Enjolras simply has more stamina. It is unfortunate, thinks Marius, that the months of absence from the swimming school have rendered his own body foreign to him. He must breathe more frequently, pause at the end of the course for longer – once, he was more capable. He feels as though he has entered into a competition against his will, that he need prove something, he begins to kick harder, pull with more effort.

But it is too much, too soon, and so as he finishes the fourth length of a repetition of 120 metres, pause he does.

Some seconds later, Enjolras performs a gymnastic somersault beneath the water beside him, and continues on without taking a breath.

Marius lays his forearms upon the edge of the floor above the pool and rests his head upon his elbow, breathing heavily. His pulse is still racing from the exertion.

He stays like that for a little longer, allowing the other men to pass him by, until an old man in an impermeable waistcoat and garish taffeta water-cap leans over to him to say, "have you finished, then?"

Marius, his arms keeping him buoyant at the wall, feeling as dazed as he had upon his arrival, can do nothing but blink up at him dumbly. The old man tuts and begins to dip his toes into the water beside his shoulder.

He understands this message, and so hoists himself out of the pool, the session concluded.

When Enjolras enters the dressing area from the shower room, holding his wrung-out swimming costume in one hand and a linen towel around his waist with the other, Marius himself is nude and examining a hole in his chemise. He tries not to let this new presence phase him, but finds he can think only of the thoughts which must run through Enjolras's head: he is poor, he cannot afford even a patch for his shirt, he thinks little of his own appearance, he is foolish, he does not finish what he starts, he lacks in self-government... He cannot imagine the words in Enjolras's voice, for Enjolras has only ever been kind to him; nonetheless he cannot shake the sensation that he is being sneered at.

"In the interest of verity," begins Enjolras abruptly, "I shall say that I may speak only on my own behalf." He retrieves a stack of folded garments from the shelves, sets them upon one of the benches — diagonally from Marius — and then lays the towel down and sits, begins patting himself down with a smaller one. Marius turns from him before he sees more than he ought to. "But, I have missed your presence at society gatherings."

This is not sneering.

Marius does not look at him.

"Thank you?" he manages to reply, but the words leave his lips with garbled intonation; he sounds to his own ear a schoolboy unsure of his recitation. He has not actually attended a meeting of the society of the Friends of the ABC in nearly two years.

"No need." This is accompanied by a sound resembling a laugh, but softer, somehow kinder. He has the impression that behind him Enjolras is watching him – waiting for him, perhaps, to say that he misses attending them, or that he would like to come again soon. But there is nothing to wait for: Marius has long-since made his decision upon the state of things, and though he maintains friendly relations with some of the society's members, he does not wish to be a friend himself.

"I am glad that I am graced with it here, nevertheless," Enjolras continues. "Do you swim often?"

He sets down his shirt. In any other circumstance, confronted with a man he knows in such a strange environment, he is sure he would feel compelled to dress and depart as quickly as possible. To do this to Enjolras, however, seems as though it might be disrespectful —

The fact that he is even considering this facet of etiquette makes him feel as though he ought to follow his instinct, and stay.

"I used to."

"Perhaps you might begin again."

Marius does not look at him.

"Perhaps. Yourself?"

"Yes, thrice a week, in winter."

Marius says, "it is very cold this year."

In an ordinary conversation they would be seated or standing across from one another, able to observe the other's countenance, and fully clothed. Owing to the latter aspect, Marius is unwilling to turn around. He gazes at the wall, instead, and simply hears: an occasional splash from the corridor to the pool, the squeak of a hand-crank in the shower room next door, the whir of water through pipes. He feels his arms hang limp at his sides and becomes suddenly aware of his own body and his state of undress, as though he ought be doing something with himself; he crosses his arms at his belly and clenches his hands, a little.

"And to be moving is to be warm," says Enjolras, breaking the quiet. His tone gives Marius the impression he might be quoting something, but he cannot imagine what. It is not so complex a thought. "In summer, there is more to do out of doors; I maintain the habit in winter for the body's sake. One does not feel cold so much if he exerts himself regularly."

"That is true," says Marius, and he fidgets, rubbing his knees together awkwardly, before adding softly — "you do swim very well."

"Ah — thank you, as do you."

There it is: perhaps Enjolras intends to mock him, perhaps his flattery is insincere. Marius scoffs a little too loudly, and begins to arrange his clothing that he can depart sooner.

"You do not think so? You've excellent technique, Marius; I imagine only that you are out of practice. Yours is a problem of stamina."

Excellent technique, with a problem of stamina.

Perhaps Enjolras is simply the most earnest man he has ever met, and wishes only for the improvement of others. Perhaps Marius is being stupid and ought to stop thinking that Courfeyrac's friends see him a half-wit.

"I do not intend to give unwelcome criticism. Indeed, I hope to see you continue. Yes, I come here to be warm, but so too does swimming develop not only the musculature of a man but also his discipline and character — a regular practice from which we may all benefit," comes his voice again, falling into the same, lofty tone from before, and uncharacteristically wistful.

"Are those your words?" blurts Marius, for he cannot help himself.

"No, in fact, they are my father's, though the idea cannot be attributed to any one man."

"Your father!"

Yes, this conversation is sincere, after all.

Marius attempts to picture Enjolras-the-senior, and only succeeds in imagining a broad and graying Enjolras-Courfeyrac's-friend. He thinks to himself, with some bitterness, that Enjolras has words from his father, in his father's voice; perhaps Enjolras visits his father at Christmastime in the provinces, wherever he is from, and swimming in winter is a strange sort of family tradition that began there.

"How — yes, my father."

"How splendid!"

"Among numerous other things, he taught me to swim himself; I learned in the Loire. I am fond of those memories."

Questions come to him at a rapid pace; he says everything that comes into his mind at once, unable to stop himself.

"The river, you mean? Wouldn't it be cold, in wintertime? Well, you are from the South, I can tell by the way you — never mind, perhaps it is warmer there, do you swim together still?"

"Indeed the river, and yes, very cold in all seasons. We swam out of doors only, and only in summer: the water comes from the mountains. There were no heated baths and steam pumps as in Paris."

This only partially satisfies Marius, yet he stops himself from continuing the interrogation, cognizant of his running mouth. After a moment, Enjolras adds quietly, "My father died, however, when I was twelve. By that time I was living with my uncle and did not see him regularly."

Marius's heart stutters, and he at last turns around to look at him.

Enjolras sits with his back straight as a soldier's, his legs parted at the thighs and crossed at the ankles. His hair is soaked, still; Marius watches a drop of water fall from a curl to his shoulder, along his toned chest and abdomen. No matter how frail or feeble he may seem while clothed, owing to lean limbs and reedy hands and skin that at times was more wan than rosy, in the water, clad in clinging wool and always in motion, it had been clear that Enjolras had the build more of a warrior than a wilting flower. Perhaps he was raised as Marius imagines he himself might have been, in different circumstances: he mentioned lessons, so it is that his uprightness and his constitution and his fitness are products of his parentage.

Here, stripped, the look of him makes Marius wonder for a moment what else about Enjolras ought be obvious to him that isn't.

He feels heat rise to his cheeks when he realizes that Enjolras sees him looking, and turns his gaze to the floor, instead, just for a moment, to rid himself of the sense of impropriety.

"I didn't know," he says, mouth suddenly dry, and then he looks at Enjolras once more — now in the eyes. Here they can hold one another's gaze, where before Marius was utterly incapable of it.

"Thus I have told you. I do not think of him often; you needn't offer commiseration."

"But you see — you see — I was seventeen."

"Pardon?"

Breathe.

"When my own father died, I was seventeen. I never knew him. As a boy he did not teach me to swim, nor anything else, but I come here now in his honor. My mother died when I was five. I have a grandfather, but he is nothing to me now, and an aunt, but she lives in his house."

Enjolras tilts his head to one side, quizzical, and says nothing. Marius cannot think of what to do, but once more his mouth continues for him, and once he has started he finds he cannot stop — whether or not Enjolras understands, or wishes to hear it, is of no consequence, for the need to justify himself has risen in him, and can only be satisfied in this way. "I was kept from my father. I've neither fond nor unfavorable memories of him in life, for I learned the truth about him only upon his death, from reading a letter he left me and then the newspapers, the army bulletins. I never knew him at all. At my age he was fighting in the Army of the Rhine — you will know about the battles of Jemappes, and Pirmasens, and Mainz, surely — "

"Of course — under the Republic."

A font seems to come up from within Marius at Enjolras's hallowed tone as he pronounces the word, Republic.

"He fought under the Republic in his youth, and he fought under the Empire as a man. Under the Republic he rose in the ranks, but achieved no glory; the Republic was a stepping stone for my father as it was for France. I respect it, do not have that air; I respect the Republic. I must respect what laid the foundation, but it is the construction which I venerate. The Emperor was the builder; his method was as conqueror. To France he brought triumph, the gleam of the future, a territory united in greatness; that is what my father fought for. Under the Emperor my father became a captain and then a Major. At Waterloo it was he who seized the regimental colours of the Limburg Rifles; doing so earned for him a Legion of Honor and a barony, and now that is mine. I cannot be all what he wished for me, not after my childhood, not after the theft of the throne, but I — "

From experience, he is careful not to end his speech with a question.

"I endeavor to honor him in all that I do."

Enjolras is neither solemn nor amused; he does not scoff, but he has lost a little of the approval in his gaze. He seems almost sad. He says, "thus you admire Buonaparte," and clasps his hands before him, looks at Marius with searching eyes.

Marius is incapable of processing this. "Why — "

"You do not care for my pronunciation; I do not care for yours. '95 was a service, '97 a warning, '99 a betrayal. I shall call a tyrant as I please."

"It is a matter of principle," says Marius, and there is more he wishes to say, but Enjolras's tone is sobering, final. Enjolras looks him up and down; he becomes once more aware of his undress, and turns away a little.

"It is good for a man to have principles," begins Enjolras. "You have them, as you say, and you've a vehemence about them; for that I respect you. Apathy is the adversary of progress and good-will, Marius, and that is a matter upon which I daresay we agree. You speak of foundations: that laid by the people in '89 and '93 has not crumbled despite the efforts of those who sought to rule France by force, but I cannot agree with you that Buonaparte built upon its legacy, and I should not agree were someone to say the same of Louis XVIII or Charles X." – then he pauses, and goes on only with, "forgive me for my untowardness, Citizen, for I do not wish to discomfit you. You are an intelligent, impassioned man; you have bared your soul to me; you have confided in me, and I have met you not with consideration but with contrarianism."

The contrarianism itself is of no consequence, for Marius cannot imagine that Enjolras will ever understand him, nor he Enjolras. This matter is one upon which he has made his mind, but now he is confronted with it again. Marius does not want to be a pupil, as Courfeyrac said once; he wants to keep to himself, stay true to what he knows is right, remain steadfast. In a way, this is worse than the scorn he has imagined receiving, than the words he perceived as mockery, from Enjolras, for now that he is receiving such clear praise, he cannot even think ill of his intentions.

He and Enjolras are different in their views, in their routines, in their beliefs.

But they are alike, in some ways, too.

"You are not untoward."

"No?"

"You are always discussing politics. It would be foolish of me to expect otherwise, but I am not uncomfortable to do so as well; it is only that I disagree with you on the fundamentals. I have laid out my reasons for you."

"Which of them?"

This gives Marius pause.

Enjolras looks almost pleased with himself.

"I refer, of course, to your fundamentals, Marius."

"I — have we not established this? You want to discuss now?" For it is rather a miracle they've not been intruded upon, in the state they're in, the conversation they've had. Neither of their philosophies are particularly palatable for most, Marius imagines, but to please the palate is not why they keep them.

"Of course there are better venues for this discourse," he continues, and at long last he pats himself down with the ends of the towel before retrieving and donning his shirt, which is bright white and seems freshly laundered. "Have you yet plans for your day, Marius?"

Now Marius turns from him entirely, back to where he started, and he picks up his own to do the same. The new tear in his chemise - he has a little money now, Madame Bourgon can darn it, if he remembers to ask - is right at the collar; his coat will not conceal it. The old one is inconveniently revealing. It is laundered, but worn and yellowed.

Another difference between them.

"No," he says, shirt over his head. He pushes his arms through, adjusts it, and fastens each button of the placket — Enjolras does the same, and at the same time.

Each across from the other they wrap their shirts, don their trousers; Enjolras has more pieces in his outfit than Marius but takes somehow less time to dress. Enjolras fastens his overcoat at his throat.

Another similarity.

He gathers his own things; Enjolras offers assistance. Once they are orderly he clasps Marius's shoulder, just like in times before, and then his hand slides along his back that they may link arms.

"Allow me to take you to breakfast."

"Oh," replies Marius, a little caught off-guard. "All right."

And so he allows himself be lead, just this once, and they depart together.

26 notes · View notes

thesethingsofours · 4 years

Text

Embracing Failure in Photography

In every photograph taken, there exists profound potential.

We will all end in failure, but that’s not the most important thing. What really matters is how we fail and what we gain in the process.

- Costica Bradatan, In Praise of Failure

An artist’s life is a never-ending, unresolvable, inconclusive search for the perfect expression of an internal sensation as it relates to the wider world. In this endeavour, most are lucky if, a handful of times in their entire lives, they stumble upon something merely approaching “decent”. Consequently, rather than being preoccupied with creating, the artist spends vast resources interrogating themselves from within, and observing the world at large, carrying the faint but persistent hope of working out who they are, what they think, and what is worth expressing. The goal is to produce an artwork that contains at least a slither of that intended expression, and to hope beyond hope for a slither of that slither to contain some understandable meaning. In this regard, art is built from a catalogue of failures, falling one onto another, eventually making a stack tall enough for something to be plucked from the elusive top shelf of meaningful expression.

In photography — particularly the improvised forms of street and field photography — the arduousness of this process is clear. Not only do you need to take a ton of photos in order to find something worthwhile, but you need to spend many exhausting, sole-wearing, soul-wearing hours walking around on high alert, searching. Alex Webb goes as far as to put a number on it, maintaining that “99.9% of street photography is about failure”. Even he, one of the most renowned practitioners in the history of the field, aims for just 1/1000 photographs to be a success, of which only a small percentage will become widely celebrated. If, at best, just 0.1% of an artist’s effort is successful, how is the overwhelming “failure” to be understood?

In life generally, we tend to misplace “failure”. We look at the outcomes of our activity and judge it against arbitrary, extraneous benchmarks. In photography, failure is typically positioned in one of three places: the appearance of the final image; the technique used to take the picture; or “missing the shot” in the first place. In truth, none of these are where the real failure lies. Arguably none are even failures. Instead, the only failure in photography is a failure to see; to purposefully engage. Why? Because regardless of whether you end up with something materially valuable, the contrails of purposeful engagement will linger with you, no matter what.

Failure Fanatic

Personally, by choosing to become a field photographer with manual, mechanical, half-century old, analogue cameras, I have deliriously maximised my relationship with failure. I am a flop aficionado; a bungle believer; a disappointment devotee; a washout worshiper. Compared to digital photography, which is increasingly moving towards a zero percent failure rate, manual film photography has the potential for failure at every turn: leaving the lens cap on; unknowingly using expired film; irreparable over- or under- exposure; inaccurate focus; mechanical failure; failing to wind the film forward; moving too slowly to catch the moment; running out of film before the moment arrives; light leaks from accidentally opening the back of the camera (FFS!!); light leaks from deterioration of the camera’s sealant; film exposed to x-rays in airport security; film lost in the post on its way to the developer; film incorrectly or poorly developed; or maniacally smashing the camera against a wall out of pure frustration at all of the above.

Anyone shooting manually on film must accept, from the outset, that no matter how well-intentioned, experienced, capable or careful, at some point, one of these failures is inevitable. Failure is deeply embedded into the process and only so much within your control.

Beyond the practical failings of taking pictures, in metaphysical terms it is arguable that, rather than only 99.9% of photographs failing, the failure rate is 100%. Whether on film or digital, no photograph will ever fully replicate the internal stimulation that prompted you to take the photo. First, given the limitations of biology, converting a thought into an act can never be done with complete accuracy. It can be close (the exploits of Simone Biles and Nadia Comaneci are testament to that), but there will always be a minute or massive degree of approximation between what you intended to do and what you did. Second, if you do manage to catch a scene as close as physically possible to what you had envisaged, in every photograph there remains an insurmountable structural failure: the inability to convey the entirety of a three-dimensional, five-sensual human experience into a comprehensive, two-dimensional, visual testimony.

Seeking Success

If indeed the physical act of photographing and the photograph itself are cursed to fail by their very nature, then where in the photographic process can success be found?

Ultimately, each photographer must find success within themselves, in the internal exploit of seeing, and seeing well — the deliberate operation of visual, intellectual conception; grey matter moulding grey clay of sight and emotion into an exhilarating, vibrant sculpture of idea and object. If your body fails to compel the camera into action, or the camera fails to record your bodily response, or if everything goes as well as possible, but the resulting image is lost or destroyed; provided you succeed in the act of instantaneous conception, you will be forever changed, minutely or massively. If you screw it up, lose it, miss it, destroy it: you still saw it; conceived it; “took” it. Even without a camera to hand, the exercise of seeing well offers boundless thrills, but the camera acts as an amplifier, pumping up the volume on the jazzy rhythm of human existence. Fundamentally, it’s about being a photographer rather than taking photographs.

Ironically, this mentality is the furtive ground on which taking meaningful photographs is sown. What you have seen becomes part of who you are, and will forever exist as one of the many grains that fills the beach of a future photograph; a future artwork; a future profound, non-photographic interaction with the world.

Under this process, there is no such thing as missing a shot — there are only shots gained. I shall furnish you with an example.

Photographing Phantoms

As a field photographer, I roam around looking for stirring, naturally occurring scenes to take pictures of. In March 2017, for four days, I was doing this in Bucharest, Romania.

Having nearly finished a roll of film, I took my afternoon break. Inside a coffee shop, a server in boy-fit jeans, a navy roll neck and oversized, wire-rimmed glasses gleefully introduced herself to me: “Cristina”. With hair bundled anarchically into a blonde, cotton candy nest, she took my order and asked me about my camera. Surprised by her enquiry, I fumbled my way through an explanation, vainly attempting to seem simultaneously aloof and interesting.

Immediately, I was taken by her manner and appearance. With one frame remaining before changing the roll, I resolved to ask for her photograph. But between her busyness and my sheepishness, I failed to catch her eye. Despite sipping my flat white as slowly as I could, the opportunity never arose, and with the encroaching dusk hastening my need to get back to work, I relented, clumsily asking one of Cristina’s colleagues to play subject. I took the picture and wound the roll onward, expecting to hear a click. To my surprise, despite showing “37” on the counter (typically the maximum number of frames on a 35mm roll of film), there was no resistance under the winder. I still had one frame left.

Suddenly, positioned by the till under a theatrical spotlight, there stood Cristina. I approached her. Besides paying for my coffee, I paid her a gentle compliment and quietly asked for her picture. She bashfully agreed. I shot and wound to 38. This time, click! In a moment of rom-com reproduction, she asked for my details in order to see my work. Like a struggling salesman at a vacuum cleaner conference, I fingered through my wallet and formally delivered her my card. We exchanged smiles, and I left; flustered but buoyant.

The next evening, I returned to the coffee shop for an evening cocktail event. Cristina was there. We spoke, expansively. After the event, we went to a bar and continued speaking. Then to another, and another; diving deep into the night before floating towards the shallows of early morning and departing each other’s company, possibly forever.

But within three months I had moved to Bucharest. Within four, we were living together. Three and a half years later, here we still are.

Not knowing how this would all turn out, photographically-speaking, you might say two things are important — first that taking Cristina’s photograph furthered the nascent channel of communication between us; and second, that I will always have that precious photograph from the first time we met.

On the latter point, you would be wrong. As it turns out, the last frame on my roll of film was a phantom. There was no film left, no picture to develop. I took her picture but have no picture.

However, I do have her.

Cristina, March 2017

Art Imitating Life

As this (entirely true, yet implausibly romantic) example demonstrates, taking the photo was more important than having the photo. Whereas it would generally be perceived that I failed in taking Cristina’s photo, in truth it was an enormous success. It opened me up and my life was irrevocably changed.

Yes, to have the 3:2 image from that moment would be amusing — one can imagine it being wheeled out over the decades at any major celebration of our partnership; the first, rectangular page of an amorous, amorphous fairy-tale. We would intermittently return to it, pouring over Cristina’s expression, projecting thoughts into her then-head; arbitrarily amending those thoughts to suit our wavering memories of the moment. But self-evidently, the physical image has become entirely irrelevant.

Success was achieved the moment I meaningfully, deliberately, and honestly engaged with the world through my camera— here, in the delightful, atomic shape of Cristina. After doing so, the ability to subsequently show anyone what that moment looked like became largely frivolous. Admittedly, the extraneous consequences of this engagement were extreme — it’s highly unlikely for the love of your life to emerge every time you take a photo (if nothing else, I’m 99.9% certain Cristina would now prefer I ensure this is not the case). In fact, most of the time, I am photographing people who never know I have taken their photo, who I don’t directly speak to. But even if I never saw Cristina after that moment, or had taken her photo without her knowing, I would still have aspired to have been meaningfully transformed by the act of releasing the shutter.

Finding success in seeing rather than taking equates to a certain philosophical view of life in general, where success lies in being rather than doing. As mortal creatures (at least until Elon Musk devises an alternative), human life is characterised by failure — eventually our bodies flounder, and we cease to exist. Yet arguably, it is the inevitability of this failure which drives us to love, explore, create and accomplish. Being a photographer can help put this philosophy into practice. If you get a few good pictures along the way, all the better.

See more of Neal’s photographic work at nealgruerphotography.com.

#photography #art #creativity #philosophy #film photography

0 notes

echodrops · 7 years

Text

Home and a Half Bios: Niresh

And last up, Niresh!

This bio contains a slight spoiler for Niresh’s backstory that will become relevant in Home and a Half, but no spoilers for the plot itself.

Name: Niresh Kul Thaun

Age: 9.5 (Galra years)/7 (Earth years)

Birthday: 12th of Vril, E11296 (Galra cal.)/July 1st (Earth cal.)

Height: 112 ri/40 inches

Weight: 19.8 vit/95 lbs

Species: Galra (Although Niresh’s family line does include some non-Galra, hybridization in the Thaun and Qotar families was kept to a minimum, and Niresh passes for full Galra to most eyes. The transparent fur is a rare birth defect, not a sign of mixed ancestry.)

Family Story: Niresh’s mother was Intelligence Officer Opporsa Vekshar Thaun, who, until the birth of her children, was the sole remaining heir to the ancient Thaun family, a clan that has persisted since Daibazaal’s medieval period. Staunch and upright, Opporsa was the picture of an heiress: meticulous, aware of her prestige, and, to those outside her social circle, cold and haughty. Appearances are everything to many old families, and Opporsa was extremely competent not only in her military duties (which did, on occasion, include torturing prisoners for information), but also in her manners and conduct. Still… Appearances are only skin-deep, and among her own loved ones, Opporsa was a very different person. Warm, generous, and fiercely protective, she was an attentive mother to Niresh and, surprisingly, a dear comrade to Ulzrani—although they rubbed each other wrong for months before they started to see eye to eye.

Niresh’s father, Chief Engineering Officer Kahzul Vulis Qotar, was so different from Opporsa that learning they were mates generally put people into fits of laughter. Easy-going and laid-back to a fault, Kahzul’s lackadaisical style and attitude led many people to believe he and Opporsa were a “Lady and the Tramp” pair, but this was actually inaccurate. Kahzul’s line, the Qotar, were an equally old and well-established Galra family, barely below the Thaun in terms of power and influence. Far less concerned with appearances and stately behavior, Kahzul’s roguish looks were tempered by his enduring kindness, and Niresh’s memories of him will be forever dominated by his patient teaching, soft nuzzles, and silly space animal impressions.

Like Opporsa, Kahzul was the heir apparent to his line, and indeed their initial meeting and courtship was arranged by their parents. One of the extremely rare cases in which arranged marriages find a perfect match, Kahzul and Opporsa were delighted upon meeting and fell deeply in love. Normally members of such prominent families would merit more prestigious placements in the Galra military, but in the case of young couples, transfers out to bases less scrutinized by Command are sometimes approved with a “look the other way” attitude from the empire’s higher-ups, particularly when families have the means to line many pockets. Niresh’s parents were the only formally bonded pair of Galra on the Pishkos base, a bond which survived even the deaths of their first son and later Niresh’s fraternal twin, both of whom suffered the same birth defects Niresh barely survived.

Appearance: Born severely premature and under-weight, Niresh is extremely slight of stature (both in terms of height and general body type) and will remain so forever. Although Kahzul and Opporsa’s desperate dedication ensured Niresh’s survival and later development into a (mostly) physically healthy child, Niresh will never put on the heavy musculature and bone structure of normal Galra. Nevertheless, a powerful will to live and consistent physical training since infancy mean those bird-thin arms and spindly legs only look fragile—Niresh is twice as fast as Dulsara and even more lithe. From narrow-crested head to dainty taloned-toes, delicate is the first (if not exactly accurate) word that springs to mind while trying to describe Niresh, and although she will never admit it, Dulsara is deeply jealous of her friend’s delicate, elegant facial features, perfectly normal-looking (that is, triangular and not flappy) Galra ears, and short, manageable fur. Although Niresh’s skin is an unremarkable shade of purple, at least when compared to other Galra, having transparent fur severely amplifies the risk of sunburn—on top of being a permanent visible indicator of sickliness. Niresh’s skin is patched with very small white spots (the equivalent of freckles), which is not uncommon for Southern (furred) Galra, but typically goes unnoticed beneath their coats.

Strengths/Skills: Despite a wary disposition around strangers, in other matters Niresh is exceedingly inquisitive, with a nigh unquenchable thirst for knowledge and a penchant for wandering off after exciting things. Not content to let an opportunity to understand or grasp something new pass by, Niresh will often relentlessly seek knowledge even where the other Galra children hesitate, and asks questions most would never think of. This adaptability to new experiences is what prompted the initial contact with Keith, and what will eventually help Niresh become a talented intelligence agent, like Opporsa. Outsiders to the team are apt to mistake frequent flat expressions and shrinking posture for signs of timidity, but they’re really a sign of fiercely careful physical management: Niresh is reserved and watchful, but not shy. Unlike Dulsara and Xerci, who take hands-on approaches to the universe and everything in it, Niresh prefers to observe first and participate second, carefully cataloging and breaking situations down from the background before making any final moves. Thoughtful, calculating, and possessed of an excellent memory, Niresh speaks softly but sees much.

Nevertheless, this almost scientific curiosity and shrewdness should not be taken as indicators of a lack of compassion or self-expression; among friends, Niresh is sweet-hearted and quick to forgive, attentive to the needs of others, and easily pleased. Likely as a result of the intense care and skinship needed to survive the birth defects (as well as Kahzul and Opporsa’s somewhat smothering love after the fact), Niresh is used to consistent physical contact, and actively seeks and gives cuddles more often than even Xerci, at least with a trusted few people.

While Dulsara will eventually grow into an all-out bruiser, Niresh’s slight physical frame is always going to be particularly well-suited to missions requiring both stealth and delicacy, where even one tick might be the difference between success and failure. Coupled with extra frameworks in both engineering and xenobiology from Kahzul, Niresh’s well-rounded skillset shines with quick wit, a calm, level head, and a big heart.

Takes secret-keeping to a science.

Weaknesses: Niresh’s interest in shiny, new things and penchant for chasing off after them without warning causes panic on a relatively regular basis and puts the members of Team Voltron on edge—a comfortable Niresh is a wandering Niresh, and even Allura has been spooked by opening doors to find a Galra where she least expected. More prone to introspection than the other children, Niresh sometimes gets deeply lost in thought, even at highly inconvenient—or flat-out perilous—times. Cute, fuzzy creatures are a serious weakness, and Niresh’s safety has more than once been threatened by aliens using adorable looks to lure in prey. Despite becoming relatively healthy, at least compared to those first few touch-and-go years, Niresh’s immune system remains severely compromised and prone to illnesses other Galra children could easily shrug off.

Although Dulsara’s in-your-face stubbornness and Xerci’s wobbly-lipped obstinance attract more attention, Niresh is (quietly) just as stubborn and just as liable to ignore direct orders, with an added edge that neither Dulsara nor Xerci have: when pushed too hard, Niresh will lash out not with words but with physical violence, even against much bigger and stronger opponents. Like a coiled snake, a very silent, very still Niresh is not a sign of obedience—it’s a sign of danger.

Even so, Niresh is still a child who is extremely conscious of appearance, highly sensitive to insults, and badly in need of adult guidance. Niresh’s ability to compartmentalize better than the other children often fools people into believing things are going much better than they are emotionally; Keith is still not really aware of just how much trust was placed in him when Niresh chose to come to him in tears.

Is bitterly jealous of Dulsara, for many reasons.

Favorites: - Food: Although all Hunk’s creations are interesting and yummy, Niresh’s favorite food is and will always be Syunghi fruit, a type of reddish-white fruit similar in flavor to the lychee of Earth. Syunghi is rare and expensive, even for the upper-echelons of Galra society, and Niresh only got to try it once, when Opporsa received a handful of the fruits as a present from Niresh’s grandparents. It made a lasting impression and produced a permanent longing.

- Color: Navy blue

- Smell: Subtle floral scents. Lance’s body washes and hair products are overwhelming, but soft notes from mildly fragrant flowers are calming and pleasant. Small flowers like the Baby’s Breath of Earth work nicely.

- Animal: Like Kahzul, the self-professed “universal encyclopedia of space creatures big and small,” Niresh is fascinated by all animals, feeling a childish, unmarred sense of wonder upon discovering each new species—a wonder that can even overcome years of empire indoctrination about the uncleanliness or worthlessness of many a “lower” lifeform. Would turn the Castleship into an ark if Allura would allow it. Sometimes mistakes sentient beings for animals and attempts to adopt them. Although Niresh is open to learning about many kinds of animals, the cuter and fuzzier it is, the better: Niresh actually happy-cried for an hour after discovering the Earth “bunny rabbit.”

- Voltron Lion: Niresh prefers the Green Lion, relating well to its inquisitive nature, smaller stature, and even its ability to blend in and go unnoticed. Yet the Green Lion’s role in battle—as the shield of Voltron—is not unfamiliar to Niresh either, who (despite being younger than Dulsara and less out-going than Xerci) somehow often ends up smoothing the way for the others in emotionally fraught situations.

- Pastime: Niresh lacks Dulsara’s copious energy to burn, but nevertheless enjoys action and freedom. Perhaps because of Kahzul and Opporsa’s fierce dedication to a health regime that could safely build up their sickly child’s body, Niresh developed a fondness for long hikes and jogs, particularly outdoors where strange new plants and beings could be encountered around every corner. There’s nothing more soothing than a long run with the sun on your back and the wind in your fur.

- Place in the Castle of Lions: The research labs when Hunk and/or Pidge are present. Although Niresh keeps hidden (so well sometimes that Pidge and Hunk don’t even notice they’re being watched), observing engineering has been a long ingrained and calming habit. Kahzul used to love to explain every step of what he was working on with Niresh, something that Hunk has taken to doing too, anytime he notices and can tempt their eavesdropper out of the shadows. Niresh loves to watch Pidge make modifications to the Green Lion, fascinated by how something that is so “alive” can be made up of so many metal parts.

Dislikes: - Being snuck up on. Just don’t do it if you value your skin.

- Being made fun of or teased, especially based on appearance. Dulsara knows this and uses insults like weapons when she gets worked up.

- Being alone for any extended period of time. Niresh can be stealthy and competent while solo, but is not made for truly solitary work in the long term.

- Being harassed by Xerci, particularly because Dulsara has a bad habit of ignoring him and leaving all the actual work there to Niresh.

- Being cooped up in one place or inside for too long.

- Keith’s repeated vehement insistence that they cannot get a Yuppy. Lance has a Kaltenecker, why can’t they have a Yuppy??

- Getting sick, particularly because Dulsara and Xerci never do.

Weirdest trait: Niresh has no discernible sense of humor, at least as far as anyone on Team Voltron can tell. While Dulsara and Xerci will laugh at Lance and Coran’s jokes (sometimes because of their sheer stupidity, but still), even after many months have passed, no one has been able to determine any real pattern to what will make Niresh laugh. Sometimes completely random things that no one else finds amusing at all will put Niresh into uncontrollable fits of giggles; other times the entire team will be in stitches while Niresh just stands there, blinking coolly. Pidge has tried to science it out, but even the best algorithms have failed to make any accurate predictions. The way Niresh’s amusement works is and will always be a perfect mystery, even to the other Galra children.

Just for fun: - Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

- DnD class: Rogue

- Favorite Disney movie: It used to be Bambi until the one horrible occasion Hunk forgot to fast forward through the traumatic death of Bambi’s mother, permanently ruining Niresh’s ability to enjoy the frolicking of the cute woodland creatures. Now Niresh prefers Frozen, although Lance is still careful to fast forward through the deaths of Elsa and Anna’s parents every time. (Hunk has had remote privileges revoked.)

- Earth Horoscope/Chinese Zodiac signs: Cancer, Wood Sheep

- Lucky number: 2

- Best Earth school subject: Calculus

- Earth Spirit Animal: Ermine

- MBTI personality type: INFJ – The Advocate

- A virtue and a vice: Temperance and Envy

- K-Pop Image Song: LAST DANCE - BIGBANG

#Poor Niresh #So done with everyone's shit #Home and a Half #HaaHVLD #galra oc #galra oc bio #voltron fanfic

74 notes · View notes

thisdaynews · 5 years

Text

‘We May Have to Shoot Down This Aircraft’

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/we-may-have-to-shoot-down-this-aircraft/

‘We May Have to Shoot Down This Aircraft’

Nearly every American above a certain age remembers precisely where they were on September 11, 2001. For a small handful of Americans—many of them among the most senior officials in the U.S. government—that day conjures memories of a bunker underneath the White House, built for the Cold War but never used until that Tuesday morning 18 years ago.

What had begun as an odd incident, with the crash of American Airlines Flight 11 into the North Tower of the World Trade Center at 8:46 a.m., quickly escalated 17 minutes later when United Airlines Flight 175 crashed into the South Tower. As the world realized the country was under attack, Vice President Dick Cheney and senior White House aides were rushed to that bunker under the White House, known as the Presidential Emergency Operations Center (PEOC). There, underneath the executive mansion’s north lawn, they tried to figure out how many more hijacked planes were in the air. They knew of at least one: United Flight 93.

Story Continued Below

This excerpt from the forthcoming bookThe Only Plane in the Sky: An Oral History of 9/11 (Avid Reader Press)is based on contemporaneous transcripts of 911 calls and cockpit voice recorders from September 11, as well as both archival primary source interviews with key participants—conducted as early as 2002—and supplemental original interviews by the author, as recent as this spring, including the first-ever interview with the Navy officer who ultimately asked Cheney for authority to shoot down hijacked airliners. Interviews have been edited and condensed for clarity.

Gary Walters, chief usher, White House:It was a little bit before 9 a.m. when Mrs. Bush came downstairs—I met her at the elevator. As we were walking out, I remember we were talking about Christmas decorations.

Laura Bush, first lady: My Secret Service agent, the head of my detail, Ron Sprinkle, leaned over to me as I got into the car and said, “A plane has hit the World Trade Center.”

Condoleezza Rice, national security adviser, White House:I thought,Well, that’s a strange accident.I called the president. We talked about how odd it was. Then I went down for my staff meeting.

Matthew Waxman, National Security Council, White House:I had started about six weeks earlier as Condi Rice’s executive assistant. At about 9:00 o’clock, we would have a daily Situation Room meeting for the national ecurity adviser and all the senior directors. It was during that meeting that the second plane hit.

Mary Matalin, aide to Vice President Dick Cheney:I was with the Vice President when the second plane hit, and we knew instantly that this was not an accident.

Condoleezza Rice:It was the moment that changed everything.

Matthew Waxman:We went into full crisis response mode.

Mary Matalin:We went right into work mode. While we were in his office making calls to New York, making calls to the president, making calls wherever they needed to be made, the Secret Service barged into his office.

Dick Cheney, vice president:Radar caught sight of an airliner heading toward the White House at 500 miles an hour.

Lewis “Scooter” Libby, chief of staff to Vice President Dick Cheney:We learn that a plane is five miles out and has dropped below 500 feet and can’t be found; it’s missing. You look at your watch and think,Hmmm, five miles out, 500 miles an hour.Tick, tick, tick.

Dick Cheney:My Secret Service agent said, “Sir, we have to leave now.” He grabbed me and propelled me out of my office, down the hall and into the underground shelter in the White House.

Mary Matalin:My jaw dropped and the jaws of my colleagues dropped because we had never seen anything like that.

Condoleezza Rice:The Secret Service came in and they said, “You have got to go to the bunker.” I remember being driven along, almost propelled along. We had no idea where it was safe and where it wasn’t. We didn’t think the bunker of the White House was safe at that point.

Dick Cheney:They practice this—you move, whether you want to be moved or not, you’re going.

Gary Walters:The Secret Service officers started yelling, “Get out, get out, everybody get out of the White House grounds.” I remember early on, the chaos. People running, screaming. Fear was in my mind.

Christine Limerick, housekeeper, White House:The look on the faces of the Secret Service agents who were told that they had to stay—I will never forget that because we had at least the opportunity to flee.

Ian Rifield, special agent, U.S. Secret Service:We were fairly confident that plane was going to hit us. The supervisor in the [Secret Service’s] Joint Operations Center basically said, “Anybody who survives the impact, we’ll go to an alternate center, and we’ll continue.” It wasn’t a joke.

Dick Cheney:A few moments later, I found myself in a fortified White House command post somewhere down below.

Commander Anthony Barnes, deputy director, Presidential Contingency Programs, White House:Vice President Cheney arrived in the bunker, along with his wife. The PEOC is not a single chamber; there are three or four rooms. The operations chamber is where my watch team was fielding phone calls. Then there’s the conference room area where Mr. Cheney and Condi Rice were—that’s the space that had the TV monitors, telephones, and whatever else.

Mary Matalin:It took a while for everybody to actually get to that area. It hadn’t been used for its intended purpose—which was to be a bomb shelter—since its inception.

Commander Anthony Barnes:Shortly thereafter, I looked around and there was Condi Rice, there was Karen Hughes, there was Mary Matalin, there was [Transportation Secretary] Norm Mineta. Mr. Mineta put up on one of the TV monitors a feed of where every airplane across the entire nation was. We looked at that thing—there must have been thousands of little airplane symbols on it.

Mary Matalin:The vice president was squarely seated in the center. It was emotional, but it was really work, work, work. We were trying to locate first and foremost all the planes. Identify the planes. Ground all the planes.

Commander Anthony Barnes:That first hour was mass confusion because there was so much erroneous information. It was hard to tell what was fact and what wasn’t. We couldn’t confirm much of this stuff, so we had to take it on face value until proven otherwise.

At 9:59 a.m., those inside the bunker—as well as millions more glued to TV screens around the country—watched in horror as the South Tower fell.

Mary Matalin:We saw the building collapse.

Commander Anthony Barnes, Deputy Director, Presidential Contingency Programs, White House:There was a deafening silence, and a lot of gasping and “Oh my god” and that kind of thing.

Mary Matalin:Disbelief.

Commander Anthony Barnes:There are four or five very large, 55-inch television screens in the PEOC. We would put the different news stations—ABC, CBS, Fox, NBC—on those monitors. I remember Cheney being as flabbergasted as the rest of us were sitting there watching on these monitors. Back in those days, a 55-inch TV monitor was a really big TV. It was almost bigger than life as the towers collapsed.

Dick Cheney:In the years since, I’ve heard speculation that I’m a different man after 9/11. I wouldn’t say that. But I’ll freely admit that watching a coordinated, devastating attack on our country from an underground bunker at the White House can affect how you view your responsibilities.

Mary Matalin:We had to go right back to work.

Richard Clarke, counterterrorism advisor, White House:Many of us thought that we might not leave the White House alive.

Matthew Waxman:One of the things we were all very conscious of down in the PEOC was that the White House Situation Room was staffed with our close colleagues and friends who were staying in those spots despite a clear danger. The Situation Room, which is only half-a-floor below ground, was abuzz with activity, from people who wouldn’t normally be posted there, but who felt duty bound to stay there to help manage the crisis. Especially early in the day, there was a palpable sense that close friends and colleagues might be in some significant danger.

Ian Rifield:There was a sense of frustration too, because we were sitting there. Everybody wanted to fight back. We’re trained to go to the problem, and we were sitting there. There was a lot of tension in that regard. You wanted to do something to protect the complex and the office of the president even better than we were, but we were doing the best we could with what we had.

Condoleezza Rice:Norm Mineta, the transportation secretary, was tracking tail numbers of the aircraft on a yellow pad. He was calling out. “What happened to 671? What happened to 123?” He was trying to make sense of what was going on.

Nic Calio, director of legislative affairs, White House:Norm Mineta was sitting in front of these TV screens that had all these planes on them. It was pretty remarkable when you saw the number of planes in the air.

Condoleezza Rice:My first thought was,Get a message out to the world that the United States of America has not been decapitated.These pictures must have been terrifying. It must have seemed liked the United States of America was coming apart. My test was to keep my head about me and to make certain that people around the world didn’t panic.

Nic Calio:The activity was so high and things were happening so quickly, at least for me, there wasn’t any time to be afraid.

Matthew Waxman:There was this stark contrast between the chaotic information bombardment about what was happening around Washington, around the country—some of it accurate, some of it inaccurate—and the calm and careful deliberation of a lot of the senior decision-makers.

Nic Calio:The vivid memory I have was we were in this cocoon—receiving and sending all this information, at the same time not knowing where our families were. It was probably midafternoon before we were able to try and contact our families. That was worrisome. I didn’t know where my kids were. There was an overriding uncertainty about what was going on, what would actually happen, and what would have to follow.

Commander Anthony Barnes:The president was safer aboard Air Force One than trying to come home, and Mr. Cheney—without question—he was in charge. He was in charge of the space and we would bring him information.

To defend the nation from the surprise attack, government officials inside the PEOC called upon the military and the small number of fighter aircraft ready at bases across the Northeast, coordinated through the Northeast Air Defense Sector (NEADS) headquarters in Rome, New York.

Col. Bob Marr, commander, NEADS:We were in foreign territory; we are used to protecting the shores, way out overseas. Our processes and procedures weren’t designed for this.

Major General Larry Arnold, commander, 1st Air Force, Continental United States North American Aerospace Defense Command, Tyndall Air Force Base, Florida:We can’t see the aircraft. We don’t know where it is because we don’t have any radars pointing into the U.S. Anything in the United States was considered friendly by definition.

Lt. Heather “Lucky” Penney, F-16 pilot, D.C. Air National Guard, Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland:Our chain of command didn’t go up to NORAD [North American Aerospace Defense Command] ], didn’t go up through the First Air Force, which oversaw operations in the United States. They had no method to be able to reach down—or even be able to know that the D.C. National Guard was there and available. There were no rules of engagement. I hadn’t even thought about what that kind of mission might be like on American soil.

Commander Anthony Barnes:I was running liaison between the ops guys who had Pentagon officials on the phone and the conference room [in the PEOC] where the principals were. The Pentagon thought there was another hijacked airplane, and they were asking for permission to shoot down an identified hijacked commercial aircraft. I asked the vice president that question and he answered it in the affirmative. I asked again to be sure. “Sir, I am confirming that you have given permission?” For me, being a military member and an aviator—understanding the absolute depth of what that question was and what that answer was—I wanted to make sure that there was no mistake whatsoever about what was being asked. Without hesitation, in the affirmative, he said any confirmed hijacked airplane may be engaged and shot down.

Col. Matthew Klimow, executive assistant to the Vice Chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Richard Myers, Pentagon:No one had ever contemplated the need to shoot down a civilian airliner.

Major General Larry Arnold:I told Rick Findley in Colorado Springs [at NORAD’s headquarters], “Rick, we have to have permission. We may have to shoot down this aircraft that is coming toward Washington, D.C. We need presidential authority.”

Major Dan Caine, F-16 pilot, D.C. Air National Guard, Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland:I handed our wing commander the phone to talk to the high levels of government to get the rules of engagement.

Dick Cheney:It had to be done. Once the plane became hijacked—even if it had a load of passengers on board who, obviously, weren’t part of any hijacking attempt—having seen what had happened in New York and the Pentagon, you really didn’t have any choice. It wasn’t a close call.

Matthew Waxman:That really grabs you by the collar, when you hear the vice president giving the order to shoot down an unidentified aircraft flying toward the national capital. That stands out as one of the most frightening moments of the day, partly because it highlighted the sense of continuing danger. There was also the realization of the enormous dilemmas that faced decision-makers at that moment with very little time and imperfect information.

Commander Anthony Barnes:I knew, without a doubt in my mind, that that was a historical precedent—that never before had we given permission to shoot down a commercial airliner. I got back on the phone—it was a general of some sort in the Pentagon—and on that secure line I was talking on, made sure that he understood that I had posed the question to the National Authority [the vice president] and the answer was in the affirmative. We made sure that we did not stutter or stumble because the emotion at that point was very, very high. Fortunately we didn’t have to use that authority.

Josh Bolten, deputy chief of staff, White House:Vice President Cheney was very steady, very calm. He clearly had been through crises before and did not appear to be in shock like many of us.

Dick Cheney:As bad as the events of 9/11 were, some of us had practiced exercises for far more dangerous and difficult circumstances—an all-out Soviet nuclear attack on the United States. That helped—that training kicked in that morning.

Eric Edelman, principal deputy assistant to the vice president for national security affairs, White House:He was a calming influence on people because you’d sort of be embarrassed to, in front of him, betray any sense of,Oh my God.

Condoleezza Rice:There were times that day that it felt like an out-of-body experience. But you keep functioning, even though you don’t really believe it’s happening.

With the order given from Vice President Cheney, the military scrambled to find fighters it could bring into the fight—even if that meant launching them unarmed, on a kamikaze mission to crash their own fighters into hijacked airliners. The scrambled fighter jets would never make contact with Flight 93—the passengers and crew aboard United Flight 93 passengers were planning, at the same time, to take the plane down themselves.

Col. Matthew Klimow:It was a very painful discussion for all of us. We didn’t want the burden of shooting down the airliner to be on the shoulders of a single fighter pilot, but we also didn’t want to have that pilot go all the way up the chain of command to get permission to shoot. It was decided the pilots should do their best to try to wave the airplane off, and if it’s clear the airplane is headed into a heavily populated area, the authority to shoot can be given to a regional commander.

THE CALL

Lt. Heather “Lucky” Penney, F-16 pilot, D.C. Air National Guard:This sounds counterintuitive, but when the magnitude of the situation hit me, I really lost all emotion. It was really much more focused on,What are the things I need to do to enable us to protect our capital? What are the things I need to do to facilitate us getting airborne?

Brigadier General David Wherley, commander, D.C. Air National Guard, Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland:My translation of the rules to Sass was, “You have weapons-free flight-lead control.” I said, “Do you understand what I’m asking you to do?” [Sasseville and Penney] both said yes. I told them to be careful.

Lt. Col. Marc Sasseville, F-16 pilot, U.S. Air Force:As we’re going out to the jets, Lucky and I had a quick conversation about what it is that we were going to do and how we were basically going to do the unthinkable if we had to.

Lt. Heather “Lucky” Penney:We would be ramming the aircraft. We didn’t have [missiles] on board to shoot the airplane down. As we were putting on our flight gear in the life support shop, Sass looked at me and said, “I’ll ram the cockpit.” I made the decision I would take the tail off the aircraft.

Lt. Col. Marc Sasseville:We didn’t have a whole lot of options.

Lt. Heather “Lucky” Penney:I had never been trained to scramble [mobilize] the aircraft. It would typically take about 20 minutes to start the jets, get the avionics systems going, go through all the preflight checks to make sure the systems were operating properly, program the computers in the aircraft. That’s not even including the time to look at the forms, do the walk-around of the airplane, and whatnot. We usually planned about half-an-hour to 40 minutes from the time you walked out the door to the time that you actually took off.

Col. George Degnon, vice commander, 113th Wing, Andrews Air Force Base:We did everything humanly possible to get the aircraft in the air.

Lt. Heather “Lucky” Penney:I just got my radios up, and I was yelling at my crew chief, “Pull the chocks!” He pulled the chocks and I push my throttle. The crew chief was still running under the tail so that my gear would come up—there are safety pins that are all in the airplane—and so they were pulling all those safety pins as I was taxiing to go do an immediate take-off. I didn’t even have an inertia navigation unit. I didn’t have any of that set up. It was lucky it was a clear, blue day because we didn’t have all the avionics. They were not yet awake when we took off.

Lt. Col. Marc Sasseville:I was thinking,Wow, we’re in a little trouble here.

Lt. Heather “Lucky” Penney:Sass and I fully expected to intercept Flight 93 and take it down.

Lt. Col. Marc Sasseville:I was going into this moral or ethical justification of the needs of the many versus the needs of the few.

Lt. Heather “Lucky” Penney:I genuinely believed that was going to be the last time I took off. If we did it right, this would be it.

Major General Larry Arnold, commander of the 1st Air Force, the Continental United States North American Aerospace Defense Command, Tyndall Air Force Base, Florida:Bob Marr quotes me as saying that I told him that we would “take lives in the air to save lives on the ground.”

Lt. Heather “Lucky” Penney, F-16 pilot, D.C. Air National Guard:Seeing the Pentagon was surreal. It was totally surreal to see this billowing black smoke. We didn’t get high. We were at about 3,000 feet. We never got above 3,000 feet, at least on that first sweep out.

Lt. Col. Marc Sasseville:There was all this smoke in my cockpit. It made me nauseous to be honest with you—not from anUgh, this stinks, it was more from anOh my God, we’ve been hit on our own soil and we’ve been hit big.I couldn’t believe they had gotten through and they managed to pull off this attack.

Lt. Heather “Lucky” Penney:The real heroes are the passengers on Flight 93 who were willing to sacrifice themselves.

Lt. Col. Marc Sasseville:They made the decision we didn’t have to make.

***

Aboard Flight 93

In the final minutes of United Airlines Flight 93, passengers and crew used the plane’s in-seat Airfones to call friends, family and airline operators to communicate about the hijacking. A few minutes before 10 a.m., United Flight 93 passenger Edward Felt, a 41-year-old, married father of two who was traveling as part of his job as a computer engineer for BEA Systems, called 911 from the plane and reached emergency dispatcher John Shaw in Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania. It was the first tip to Pennsylvania authorities that there was trouble in the skies overhead. This is an abridged transcript of their call.

Ed Felt: “Hijacking in pro—“

John Shaw: “Excuse me?” “Hey somebody’s reporting a—“

Felt: “Hijacking in progress.”

Shaw: “Sir, I’m losing you, where are you?”

Felt: “United Flight 93.”

Shaw: “Wait a minute, wait, United flight. United Flight 93.”

Felt: “Hijacking in progress!”

Shaw: “OK, where are you? Where are you?”

Felt: “I’m in the bathroom, United Flight 93.”

Shaw: “OK, where are you?”

Felt: “I don’t know.”

Shaw: “Where are you?”

Felt: “I don’t know where the plane is.”

Shaw: “Where did you take off?”

Felt: “Newark to San Francisco.”

Shaw: “I got it, OK, stay on the phone with me sir.”

Felt: “I’m trying to … [unintelligible] at the bathroom. I don’t know what’s going on.”

Shaw: “Hey somebody get the FAA, Newark to San Francisco and they got a hijacking in progress. OK, yeah. Get somebody from the airport on the line. This is a hijacking in progress.”

***

Alice Ann Hoglan, mother of Mark Bingham, passenger, United Flight 93:The uniqueness of Flight 93 is that it was in the air longer than the other flights. People on board were able to find out about the fate of the other three flights and mount an effort to thwart the hijackers, even if they weren’t able to save their own lives.

Deena Burnett, wife of Tom Burnett, passenger, United Flight 93:It was silent, and I could feel my heart racing. [On the phone with me,] Tom said, “We’re waiting until we’re over a rural area. We’re going to take back the airplane.” I became very frightened and I begged, “No, no, Tom. Just sit down, be still, be quiet, and don’t draw attention to yourself.” He said, “No, Deena. If they’re going to crash this plane, we’re going to have to do something.”

I asked, “What about the authorities?” He said, “We can’t wait for the authorities. I don’t know what they can do anyway. It’s up to us.” He said, “I think we can do it.” Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. Then I said, “What do you want me to do? What can I do?” “Pray, Deena, just pray.” “I am praying. I love you.” Tom said, “Don’t worry. We’re going to do something,” then he hung up. He never called back.

One passenger, Todd Beamer, reached a Verizon Airfone operator, Lisa Jefferson.

Lisa Jefferson:As that plane took a dive, I could hear the commotion in the background. I heard the flight attendant screaming. People hollering out, “Oh, my God! Jesus, help us!” He asked me, if he didn’t make it, would I please call his wife? I told him I would, but I asked him if would he like me to connect him to her right then. He said, no, he didn’t want to upset her. She was expecting their third child in January, and he knew she was home alone. He gave me his home phone number.

Lyzbeth Glick, wife of Jeremy Glick, passenger, United Flight 93:Jeremy said there were three other guys as big as him, and they were going to jump on the hijacker with the bomb and try to take back the plane. He asked if I thought that was a good idea. We debated a little bit. He said that they were going to take a vote and asked what did I think he should do. I said, “You need to do it.” He’s a very strong man, and large—6 feet, 220. He was a national judo champion, so he was really well-equipped with self-defense. He was joking, “I have my butter knife from breakfast.” Despite everything, he was able to be a little bit humorous. Then he said, “OK, I’m going to put the phone down. I’ll be right back. I love you.”

CHAOS ON BOARD

Philip Bradshaw, husband of Sandra Bradshaw, flight attendant, United Flight 93:We talked about how much we loved each other and our children. Then she said: “Everyone is running to first class, I’ve got to go. Bye.” Those were the last words I heard from her.

Lisa Jefferson:Todd turned to someone else and he said, “Are you ready?” I could hear them; they responded. He said, “OK. Let’s roll.” That was the last thing I heard.

***

Transcript from the United Airlines Flight 93 cockpit voice recorder

9:57 a.m.

Voice in Arabic:Is there something?

Voice in Arabic:A fight?

Voice in Arabic:Yeah?

Voice in Arabic:Let’s go guys. Allah is greatest. Allah is greatest. Oh, guys. Allah is greatest.

Voice in Arabic:O Allah. O Allah. Oh the most Gracious.

[Sounds of a struggle, grunting]

Voice in English:Stay back.

Voice in English:In the cockpit! In the cockpit!

Voice in Arabic:They want to get in there. Hold, hold from the inside. Hold from the inside. Hold.

Voice in English:Hold the door.

Voice in English:Stop him.

Voice in English:Sit down. Sit down. Sit down.

Voice in Arabic:There are some guys. All those guys.

Voice in English:Let’s get them.

Voice in English:Sit down.

Voice in Arabic:Trust in Allah and in him.

10 a.m.

Voice in Arabic:There is nothing.

Voice in Arabic:Is that it? Shall we finish it off?

Voice in Arabic:No. Not yet.

Voice in Arabic:When they all come, we finish it off.

Voice in Arabic:There is nothing.

Voice in English:I’m injured.

Voice in Arabic:O Allah. O Allah. O gracious.

Voice in English:In the cockpit. If we don’t, we’ll die.

Voice in Arabic:Up, down. Up, down, in the cockpit. Up, down. Saeed, up, down.

Voice in English:Roll it.

Voice in Arabic:Allah is the greatest. Allah is the greatest.

Voice in Arabic:Is that it? I mean, shall we pull it down?

Voice in Arabic:Yes, put it in it, and pull it down.

Voice in Arabic:Cut off the oxygen. Cut off the oxygen. Cut off the oxygen. Cut off the oxygen.

Voice in Arabic:Up, down. Up, down.

Voice in Arabic:What?

Voice in Arabic:Up, down.

Voice in English:Shut them off. Shut them off.

Voice in English:Go, go, move, move.

Voice in English:Turn it up.

Voice in Arabic:Down, down.

Voice in Arabic:Pull it down. Pull it down.

Voice in English:Down. Push, push, push, push, push.

Voice in Arabic:Hey. Hey. Give it to me. Give it to me.

Voice in Arabic:Give it to me. Give it to me. Give it to me.

10:03 a.m.

Voice in Arabic:Allah is the greatest.

Voice in English:No!

Voice in Arabic:Allah is the greatest. Allah is the greatest.

At 10:03 a.m., United Airlines Flight 93 crashed into an abandoned coal mine in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. All 40 passengers and crew aboard were killed, as were the four hijackers.

***

Photo Credits:Photos inside the bunker (David Bohrer/U.S. National Archives via Getty Images). Pentagon (Alex Wong/Getty Images). Fighter jet (Alex Wong/Getty Images). Flight 93 victims (AP).

Sources:In addition to original interviews by the author and contemporaneous audio recordings, this oral history is based on conversation and interviews conducted as part of the following primary sources: Oral history transcripts from the collection of the National 9/11 Museum and Memorial; oral histories conducted by the 9/11 Tribute Museum; Mitchell Fink and Lois Mathias’ bookNever Forget; Leslie Filson’s official Air Force history,Air War Over America: Sept. 11 Alters Face of Air Defense Mission;Kate Anderson Brower’s book,The Residence: Inside the Private World of the White House; Jimmy Orr, “Nope, Dick Cheney Didn’t Change His Mind,”Christian Science Monitor,May 21, 2009; Richard Clarke, “Cheney and Rice Remember 9/11: I Do, Too,”Washington Post,May 31, 2009; “In Cody, Cheney Reflects On 9/11,”Powell (WY) Tribune,May 31, 2018; C-SPAN, “Pilots Remember September 11, 2001”; Evan Thomas, “The Day That Changed America,”Newsweek,December 30, 2001; Nicole Weisensee Egan, “Inside a Hero Fighter Pilot’s Decision to Give His Life in Kamikaze Mission on 9/11: ‘We Were Going to Do the Unthinkable,”People,September 9, 2016; Steve Hendrix, “F-16 Pilot Was Ready to Give Her Life on Sept. 11,”Washington Post,September 8, 2011; Andrew Alderson and Susan Bisset, “The Extraordinary Last Calls of Flight UA93,”Telegraph(U.K.), October 21, 2001; CNN Presents, “9/11: What Really Happened?”, September 14, 2002; as well as video interviews conducted with Laura Bush, by the Smithsonian, and with Condoleezza Rice, by the University of Denver.

Copyright © 2019 by Garrett Graff. From the forthcoming book THE ONLY PLANE IN THE SKY: An Oral History of 9/11 by Garrett M. Graff to be published by Avid Reader Press, an Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Printed by permission.

#aircraft #Foreign #Politics #Shoot

0 notes

dmozal-cancer-walk-in-50states · 7 years

Text

Wicomico County, MD & Bath County, VA

I would like to thank everyone who takes the time to read this blog and special thanks for your patience. I love sharing peoples lives with you! If you find any information inaccurate please let me know and I will correct it.

Salisbury, MD – September 22, 2017

The event in Salisbury was in a beautiful park in Wicomico County, with a pond that was lined with the luminaria bags representing many people battling or in memory of the fight against cancer.

Beginning of the track

More of the track

My husband doesn’t get to come with me very often but it was great to have him with me.

My husband Dave walking with other caregivers and survivors

The first survivor and caregiver I met were Gina and Pat. Gina is a 4-year survivor of breast cancer. Gina didn’t have any indication she had a problem. She was careful to check but she had no lump or any other symptoms. She had gone for her annual checkup and the doctor found a mass.

Pat and Gina

Things moved quickly for Gina. Her original appointment was on a Tuesday, then she had a sonogram on Thursday, Friday she had a needle biopsy, and the following week she had surgery.

Gina had some issues with her surgery. She didn’t heal on the inside, instead she had a wound vac for 5 weeks until she healed completely. Her surgery was followed by chemo and then radiation. When the doctor removed 8 lymph nodes she was told that 2 were not clear.

Gina also takes a maintenance drug that has some interesting side effects. She was a bit disappointment because the side effects include hot flashes and green urine. Gina said she had finally stopped having hot flashes and then had to go on this drug for 5 years which meant the hot flashes came back.

She had a little trouble with the chemo because she ended up with blood clots in both legs and lungs but she is doing great now.

Pat, one of her caregivers, is who Gina calls her “surrogate son”. Pat was her sons best friend in high school. Both of Gina’s children live a distance away so Pat stepped up to help. Gina said she doesn’t know what she would have done without him (she also said sometimes she doesn’t know what to do with him, and then she laughs). Gina’s son, an Airforce retiree, lives in Utah. Her daughter, a Navy veteran, is in Norfolk, Virginia. Pat and Gina laugh because Gina’s daughter says if she had been asked in high school if Pat would turn out like he has she would not have believed it. Pat said she really didn’t like him in high school.

Gina and Pat have been coming to relay for 4 years. She makes these beautiful rocks that are used for fundraising but I was blessed to be given one to keep and remind me of her. These two were a hoot. Pat is a firefighter and he is a workaholic (Gina said). They tell funny stories that just made me laugh.

Gina is such a loving and animated person. She has a very open heart. She has a surrogate daughter as well. Her surrogate daughter, Danielle, lost her mother (and Gina’s friend) to pancreatic cancer. Gina told her friend that although she couldn’t help her with her cancer she would take care of her daughter. Gina got to walk Danielle down the aisle when she got married.

Gina continues to live life to the fullest with family and friends that keep her busy!

I also met two wonderful friends.

From left to right: April Walker, me, and India Johnson

April Walker is an almost 11-year survivor of thyroid cancer and mother of two. Her son was 3 years old and her daughter was 6 years old when April was diagnosed.

April has a lot of trouble with her allergies and they seemed to be acting up so she went to her ear, nose and throat doctor to see what was going on. She really hates when people mess with her neck and throat so she didn’t think her allergies would cause the doctor to do anything with that particular area, but she was wrong. First he put his hands around her neck and asked her to swallow. Then he had her drink water and did the same thing. Her doctor sent her for a sonogram, which led to an MRI then an MRI with dye and then a needle biopsy. The results were that she had thyroid cancer. Although the cancer was in her left side she chose to have the whole thyroid removed. She then had 2 doses of radioactive iodine. April raised two kids while going through surgery and treatments but she has been cancer free ever since.

I also met India Johnson, a caregiver that was walking for her mother and grandmother. These two special ladies, Katherine Holland and Bernice Holland, are both colon cancer survivors. She also walks in honor of her father Asbury Johnson who passed away from liver cancer. India said her father’s cancer was removed but spread to his brain, lungs and spine. Her father was 56 when he lost his battle. Eight years later the pain of his loss is still so raw.

April also mentioned she lost her mother at 69.

Although they didn’t stay too long India did share that this disease is definitely something we need to fight and win against!

The event chair, Debbie Marvel, started Relay many years ago in memory of her grandfather. A coworker had started a team and asked if she wanted to be a part of it. Debbie said that she was hooked as soon as she took her first steps at the Relay.

Debbie Marvel and me

Debbie lost her father a few days before the Relay 5 years ago but she knew she had to attend the event. She says that over the years she has seen so many people fight this disease, walk with or in honor of someone special affected by cancer, and she knows how important the funds are as they help not only with research but also with many services provided by the American Cancer Society.

ACS Staff Partner Debbie White and Debbie Marvel, signing shirts at the Maryland Relay

Penny Travers is a volunteer for Relay for Life and she is also a survivor. Penny sent me her story. She is a mom of who has “wonderful young adults” (children). They are Jake (23), Emma (18) and Lily (13). She has been married to Kirby for 23 years and refers to him as an “amazing man”.

Penny and me

Penny was diagnosed with Stage 3a Her2+ breast cancer in April of 2013 just a few short weeks after her 40th birthday.

Penny and her family

Penny said “Like many of us I had been touched by cancer prior to my diagnosis when I lost my grandmother in 1997 and then a very dear friend of mine in 2002. My aunt was also diagnosed with breast cancer in 2009 and thankfully is still celebrating being cancer free.”

She continues “Prior to my diagnosis I did participate in Relay for Life a few times and donated to teams that were participating so I felt like I could say that I was doing my part. But after I was diagnosed I began to have a whole new appreciation for the group of people that have assisted and participated over the years.”

“My family and friends came together after my diagnosis and decided that they wanted to start our relay team and had just a few months to organize fundraisers and get donations. I wasn’t much help because of my surgery and chemo treatments. But they were amazing and were able to raise about $5,000 by the night of relay. They keep doing it year after year without fail.”

Like so many others Penny said “We are a very close and very large family, so I have a wonderful support group with them and my friends and I know the importance of having that during my recovery. I’ve had over 13 different surgeries and procedures over the past 4 years. I’ve struggled with infections and anemia but keep pushing through with the help of family. There are many survivors out there that don’t have that or not to the extreme that I’m fortunate enough to have. And that’s where the Relay Community comes in. When the survivors and caregivers come out to relay and walk that first lap, they see all of the campsites and all of the participants…they see their support group. They see all of the people that care and that are determined to make a difference even though they don’t know you by name. They see all of the effort that you’re putting in to make that difference and to help fight for them.”

Penny’s resolve to help others is shown by her determination in being involved in Relay. She says “Regardless of how I feel, I’m there for them. My team, Penny’s Loafers has coordinated the Survivors Reception for the past 4yrs. It’s been an honor to meet all of the survivors and caregivers that come out to the event. I’ve heard the term warrior given to anyone that has been diagnosed with cancer. You’re fighting the biggest battle- the battle for your life, your health and just one more day with your family. But you can’t do it alone. You have to have people there to support you and to help you win the battle. That’s what relay means to me…people coming together, remembering all that can no longer be there with us and supporting all of the warriors in the fight for the cure!”

Penny’s enthusiasm and story are inspiring!

I spoke with several people who preferred not to share their stories in the blog. They showed their strength and fortitude by attending the event and caring for one another. The park at the Wicomico event was pretty but the true beauty of the event became surreal as night fell and the luminaria bags were lit against the backdrop of the pond.

As my husband and I headed out for the night we were reminded of what Relay is all about by the lights of the sign shown below.

Hope….the message behind each event is that everyone touched by cancer has the American Cancer Society fighting to find the cure, doctors and family members who are there to give them strength, and most of all there are others who continue to fight for them and with them so they have HOPE!

20th Anniversary of Bath County Relay for Life, Millboro, Virginia

The people at the Bath County Relay for Life in Millboro, Virginia were another group of friendly people. They made me feel so welcome, like I was already a part of their community.

I met several survivors and some shared their stories but not everyone wanted to have it on the blog. As I continue this journey I am reminded that each person’s voyage is unique and so are their personalities. Whether I am able to share their story on the blog or not, their journey and survivorship is a testament to the will and resiliency of each person touched by cancer. This includes not only the survivors but their caregivers, family members, friends and coworkers.

The track for Bath County’s Relay

The Relay included an auction and games. They had many beautiful items to auction off and the games were fun. I even won one of the games.

Auctioneer as he helps raise money for Relay of Bath County

Playing games (and I won)

I met Patty, a lung cancer survivor, who originally went to the doctor for a hernia. When they took an x-ray they found more than Patty bargained for, they found she had lung cancer. She was completely surprised, in fact her sister fainted when the doctor gave her the diagnosis. When she met her cancer doctor (who isn’t bad on the eyes she said) he set up her treatments. She has had 2 rounds of chemo, 6 treatments each time. She is now on a study drug every 3 weeks and has a CT scan every 4-6 weeks. At this time, she is stable (actually looks wonderful).

The lung cancer was in both lungs and in her lymph nodes. The medication is an immunotherapy drug that seems to be working well on her stage 4 cancer. She is reminded that stage 4 means that the cancer is in 4 parts of the body.

Patty is working 6 days a week, wears her husband’s hats when she can, and is involved with her family, friends and work. Patty knows the importance of the people you care about and spends her time and energy in being a part of their lives while continuing to work on her health. She is like the energizer bunny with so much energy you wouldn’t know she ever had cancer.

Donna, me, and Patty

Donna Ingram, good friend of Patty, was 50 when she was diagnosed. She had cervical cancer that was literally growing out of her body. She said that her mom could smell an odor and told her she needed to get checked right away. Donna went to the emergency room and they told her she needed to get to the cancer doctor right away!

For 9 weeks she did radiation every weekday. She also had chemo once a week for 9 weeks. She did the chemo and radiation treatments at the same time. She was stage 3 when they found her cancer.

Donna was hospitalized 3 times for different illnesses she picked up from other people while her immune system was weakened. She has 3 children, 4 grandchildren and another on the way. Donna looks amazingly healthy even though she just had back surgery, having titanium rods put in. She used to be a fitness trainer so exercise is important to her.

Each person deals with their loved one’s cancer in a different way. Each of her children dealt with her cancer diagnosis in a different way. The strength she received from them helped her through each step. The one thing she wants to make sure people know is that having a pap smear and yearly checkup is imperative.

She says that whenever she has to go to the doctor for her scans she gets quite anxious. I have heard the same thing from others before and I feel the same way. I’ve heard it called “scanxious” but there is no way she would skip the appointments or the scans.

It is an important reminder to be your own medical advocate and take care of yourself by seeing the doctor. Don’t ignore symptoms or any nagging feeling.

Gloria Lindsay is a colon cancer survivor. Her story is also unique. Gloria had been using a new push mower and noticed her side was really sore. The next day Gloria decided to clean out the basement. On Sunday she wasn’t feel very well. She is a florist so her husband went to water her flowers while she got ready for church. When her husband called to pick her up from church she said she wasn’t feeling good and that she had to lay down with a heating pad. Her husband called her daughter, Amanda, now known as “the warden”. Her daughter works at Bath County Community Hospital.

Gloria and her family

Amanda happened to be off work that day. Normally Gloria doesn’t complain because she has such a high pain tolerance so when she said she wasn’t feeling well this made the rest of the family concerned. Amanda said she’d take her mom to urgent care so she picked up her mom to drive her. Instead of taking her to urgent care, however, Amanda took her mom to the emergency room door at Bath County Community Hospital and said “this is where this taxi ride stops”. She told her mom she could either go into the emergency room or she could walk to the nearest urgent care (which wasn’t near AT ALL). Now this may sound a bit harsh but Amanda knows her mom is a bit “stubborn”. Gloria wasn’t going to the hospital unless Amanda tricked her. Gloria said she didn’t want to go to the emergency room because she didn’t feel it was “bad enough” (figuring it was a pulled muscle) and she didn’t want to pay the large emergency room fee. Left without a real choice Gloria knew she had to go to the emergency room.

Amanda told her mom to be adamant about the amount of pain she was in. Luckily the doctor listened to Gloria. He did a CAT scan and blood work. After Amanda read her mom the results of her bloodwork the family started making plans to take her to a bigger hospital.

Gloria’s tumor started at 5.5 cm but by the time they took her to the bigger hospital the scan with an IV contrast showed the cancer was the size of a plantain banana. They were a bit surprised since Gloria had been going in for colonoscopies every 2 years because she had precancer cells. What they believe happened is that the cancer was in a bend in the colon so it had been missed for 3 to 5 years. They went into the hospital May 21st, surgery was done on May 22nd, chemo started on June 16th and Gloria rang the bell on September 14th. It was a difficult three months.

Gloria’s granddaughter was there when she received her diagnosis. The family has a very special bond. Gloria’s granddaughter was graduating high school on June 3rd. Even though it had only been a couple of weeks since she had surgery Gloria participated in something called “capping” which means the special person selected goes up on stage the night before graduation to place the cap on that special graduate’s head. This special someone was Gloria’s granddaughter. Her daughters and husband continue to say how tough Gloria is.

Gloria said it had been tough at times but her family has been so amazingly supportive and strong. Her granddaughter drove in from Norfolk to spend the special day at the Relay with her grandmother. They are a close family who sees the importance of having each other, which keeps them strong no matter what!

Gloria continues to say that people need to be very active in their own medical advocacy (and so do the rest of her family). Getting checkups, communicating with doctors, and being aware of your body is imperative to catching this disease early!

Lisa Vestal, a breast cancer survivor whose cancer was discovered in 2004 said she considered herself cancer free in 2005. She was staged 3B. Lisa had a lump in one of her breasts but she wasn’t super concerned because she was always “lumpy”. She always needed additional films when she had the mammogram on her right side but her cancer was actually detected in her left breast.

Lisa had a lump that she ignored on her left side. Partially because of the fear of knowing what it might be and partially because of the fear of being overly dramatic. However, once she saw that there was discoloration and then pitting in the tissue she knew she couldn’t ignore the issue.

Pat Foutz, me, (way in the back is Cindy Andrews – a 3-year breast cancer survivor), me, Lisa Vestal

When she went to the doctor she had a needle biopsy right then. The doctor told her they already knew it was breast cancer. Although it was a shock, especially at the age of 43, Lisa knew it would be ok. She is a very positive person. Luckily her family and friends are very positive people as well. Lisa said she had 2 aunts that had breast cancer in their 80’s.

Through this whole experience Lisa has found that her family has become closer. Lisa is quite funny. Her children were 8 and 16 years old when she was diagnosed. She said she doesn’t remember much and tells people it wasn’t that bad an experience but her family looks at her and says “it was tough”. Lisa feels quite blessed to have had a journey that has made her faith and family stronger!

From her experience I believe she would tell you to push through your fear and face whatever is happening with your body as early as possible. Go to the doctor and get through the diagnosis, treatments, etc. Earlier is better if you have that opportunity!

Pat Foutz, chair for the Relay for Life event, is not originally from Bath County but loves the community. She has worked at the hospital for 36 years and involved in the Relay for Life for all 20 years.

Pat Foutz signing the Relay for Life shirts

Pat has a giving heart and determination that shows in the things she does. She says her story is more about adversity. Not by choice she became single when her children were young so her education became important to her. She needed to provide for her children as well as herself. She also wanted to show them the importance of being self-sufficient. Pat wanted to be involved in the community while showing her children what it meant to be active within the community so they became involved with Relay at a young age. In fact part of the time her daughter was at the Relay to celebrate the 20th anniversary.

Now that she has grandchildren Pat would like to be more involved with them because she doesn’t feel she had the ability to spend the time she wanted to with her children when they were young. She knows the impact of Relay for Life and especially for Bath County’s Relay. Not everyone who is involved with Relay for Life has a family member or friend who has been touched by cancer but being a nurse and someone who has a heart for others Pat has found that Relay for Life helps those affected by cancer through their multiple programs as well as through continuing research for a cure.

A small but powerful community, the Bath County event held in Millboro was one of the friendliest I have attended (they are all friendly). The people are close and take care of one another. Before I left I received a few items that I will cherish forever:

Gifts from Bath County’s Relay

The Color of Comfort

I received this beautiful afghan from Pat Foutz, Chair of the Bath County Relay. There was a touching note that reads:

Dear Denise,

This colorful lap afghan was lovingly crocheted by Janel Gum of Monterey, Virginia, for Bath County Virginia Relay for Life. She donated this in memory of her mother who died from breast cancer. We call it a Color of Comfort Throw, because every color represents awareness for a different cancer and because we fill it with hugs and hope!

We are honored to have you participate in this our 20th Anniversary of Relay. Please carry it with you to every event so that relayers from all over may fill it with hugs and hope as well. It’s the perfect size for travel, in case you need to cover your knees or make a pillow. We pray this will unite us into one Relay Nation filled with hope and determination.

Thank you for your encouragement.

Relay for Life of Bath County, Virginia

I cannot tell you how much this beautiful afghan means to me. I get so much from each Relay I attend. I am encouraged by the stories I hear and am blessed to be able to share them on this blog. As a survivor it gives me hope, as a caregiver it gives me hope, and as a friend it gives me hope.

Thank you to Janel Gum for sharing her talents to make this afghan. I’m sure your mother is proud of you, her wonderful daughter. I will carry this afghan as I attend additional Relays.

As the night finished, the luminaria ceremony included loved ones standing by the luminaria bags of their family member or friends as we celebrated the lives of those affected by cancer…..and the hope for the cure!

Bath County Community members quietly honoring those who have fought, are fighting, or who have lost the fight

#salisbury maryland rfl americancancersociety cancersucks cancer wicomicocounty bathcounty virginia millboro relayforlife relay

0 notes