#NCO answer key

[luminouslywriting]

Ok, but I am really interested in seeing Dick and Rosie's relationship prior to this. Like who fell first, what drew them in, and ultimately just some key moments. I wish you best of luck on your surgery and can't wait to keep reading your work!

Oh Nonny, this is such a good ask and I'm thrilled to answer it because I really do have a LOT of thoughts on the two of them! They're an underrated fave couple of mine actually because they really do work so well.....which is sad haha. SOME MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD, SO BEWARE KIDDOS!!

How'd they meet?

Ruth had already been in Europe since Spring of 1942. Unfortunately, starting out as a woman in the JAG-Corp wasn't super appealing to a lot of different court systems within the military. She had to pretty much claw for every shred of respect and reputation that she earned. So by the time that Easy Company (I'm fudging the timeline a little bit so it all works out) shows up in England, no one really wants to work with her. Enter Ruth being the only person they can get to defend one of the NCO's in a court martial against Sobel. So naturally, this is where her and Dick Winters first meet.

He's hard at work training and trying to stay focused on his men and she's this little shark with an attitude. They immediately click and get along because he does NOT try to hit on her or flirt with her. He just asks her about work and what will be the most helpful for her job. Well she defends the men well and earns Sobel's irritation, which automatically endears her to him anyway.

How'd they get together?

She gets asked to stay on in Aldbourne and starts working with other companies and a large variety of soldiers. As she's building up her reputation, she doesn't go out on the weekends. You know who ALSO doesn't go out on the weekends? Dick Winters. Neither one really cares for drinking or partying or anything of the sort and they're both just nerdy enough to find each other doing paperwork on a Friday night, which presents the perfect opportunity.

The thing about Ruth is that up to this point, she's already been burned in a relationship due to a lack of respect from her former fianceé. If you ever want to get over that, date Dick Winters. Because he drinks his "respect women" juice and treats her first and foremost as a JAG-Corp lawyer doing her job, a friend second, and then romantically third. Which brings us to the next questions.

Who fell first/What drew them in?

Truth be told, Ruth was really turned off to wanting to get to know anyone. She has a hard time socializing, especially after how badly things ended with her first fianceé (more on that in the Flak-House chapters, so be on the lookout for that). So when Winters comes along and literally follows all of her standards, checks every single box off, and treats her as an equal?? She's absolutely baffled. He's a kind man who has goals and morals and beliefs. He has courage and cleverness and cares about people deeply.

But he absolutely fell first. He's quickly endeared by her quick wit and sharp sarcasm, though she rivals Lewis Nixon in that field, truth be told. She has a strong moral compass, similar to his and he really appreciates that she's open and upfront about the things that she wants. She's a natural leader in her own right and they're both very much opposite sides of the same coin, if that makes sense.

Their relationship:

These two were the sweetest with one another. Dick Winters had a way of calming her down and keeping her grounded. When she was with him, she wasn't constantly on the prowl for things to court martial or for people to sass. She was relaxed enough to do her job when needed and was having fun at the same time. Neither one was big on PDA, but they were big on communication and making time for one another. They'd swap ideas about the universe and about God and he and Lew were the only people in Aldbourne that knew she was Jewish.

They'd spend mornings together curled up in bed and she loved to help clean him up after hard training sessions. She was the person he could go to and rant and vent and let out all of his feelings to. They were each other's safe space in a seriously tumultuous time. They'd talk about history and art and literature and write each other letters. He'd buy her books and she'd find little knick knacks and things that he needed. They'd spend evenings just working on paperwork or talking about his men and his worries for them all.

And Lewis Nixon could usually be found trailing behind or trying to get them into trouble.

Key Moments:

Key Moment #1: They always used to go for walks together and talk about work. Surprisingly, it was her that initiated a conversation about more than work and about his hopes and dreams for the future. He kissed her first and their relationship very much had a sense of comfort and ease with one another. They never really needed to speak too much, though conversation was important to them. Everyone knew that they were together but no one was about to say anything about the scary lawyer lady and their beloved preferred leader of Easy Company lol.

Key Moment #2: She defended him in a court case against Sobel to get RID of Sobel. Yes, it was a messy situation but he knew that if he needed a lawyer, he needed the best one he could get. And she was the best of the best. So them getting rid of Sobel freed them up for more time together and to figure out where they'd go from here. Neither one had any illusions about the two of them getting to be together throughout the entire war. They just thought that they'd have more time.

Key Moment #3: They had a serious talk about what they wanted after the war was over. And for Dick Winters, he's a traditional man who wants a family and wants to settle down and live a peaceful life. And it isn't that Ruth is opposed to that. But she's got some serious trauma and some things that make her believe that she could not give him that life that he wants. He wants a farm and she wants to stay in New York. He wants kids and she's not sure if she'll ever be a mother.

This is also the point in which Ruth realized that she loved him. And love for her is scary, as I've talked about before. Affection, friendship, admiration—all fine things for her to be feeling. But love? Love is when things get real and she wasn't ready for that.

Which brings us to Key Moment #4: The breaking point. The picnic where she talked about that to him. She expressed that she couldn't give him the future that he wants and that she needed to leave. And the thing is? He can't even be mad at her or begrudging in any way. Because he understands that her leaving is an act of love for him. It's a rough pill to swallow for both of them. But they remain close friends and they write to each other as often as they can.

The other thing to consider here is the fact that if Ruth had stayed in Aldbourne....she absolutely would have ended up with Winters. He would have stuck by her through everything and tried to make a life that worked for the two of them. And they'd be very happy together. If she hadn't run, she'd already be engaged and waiting for him to come back by the time that D-Day comes around. It's the right person at the wrong time. And that doesn't mean that you can't have more than 1 right person in your lifetime. This is thus evidenced by her and Rosie—and finding the right timing for that relationship.

[techtrends-today]

How to Prepare for the NCO Cyber Olympiad 2024

The NCO Cyber Olympiad stands as a prestigious competition that opens doors to a plethora of opportunities for students. Participation not only hones one's skills but also enhances their academic and professional trajectory. This guide is designed to equip students, parents, and educators with comprehensive strategies to excel in the NCO Cyber Olympiad 2024.

Introduction to NCO Cyber Olympiad

The NCO Cyber Olympiad is a renowned competitive examination that tests students' knowledge and skills in cyber security and digital literacy. It offers numerous benefits:

Skill Enhancement: Participants gain advanced knowledge in cyber security.

Recognition: Successful candidates earn certificates and accolades that bolster their academic profiles.

Future Opportunities: Top performers may find themselves with scholarship opportunities and a head start in tech careers.

Preparing for the Olympiad

Preparation is key to excelling in the NCO Cyber Olympiad. Here are some essential tips and strategies:

Understand the Format: Acquaint yourself with the exam structure and types of questions.

Study Materials:

Books:

"Cyber Olympiad Preparation Guide" by Disha Experts

"NCO Cyber Olympiad Comprehensive Study Material" by MTG Editorial Board

Online Resources:

Official NCO website for sample papers and guidelines

Educational platforms like Khan Academy and Coursera for related courses Understanding the Syllabus A well-rounded understanding of the syllabus is crucial. The NCO Cyber Olympiad broadly covers:

Basic Cyber Security:

Fundamentals of cyber threats and defenses

Key concepts in encryption and data protection

Digital Literacy:

Understanding software and hardware fundamentals

Internet safety and responsible online behavior

Advanced Topics:

Ethical hacking basics

Emerging technologies in cyber security Focusing on these areas and practicing related problems will significantly improve your readiness. Time Management and Practice Effective time management can make or break your preparation. Here's how to manage your study schedule:

Create a Timetable:

Allocate specific hours each day for Olympiad preparation.

Dedicate more time to challenging topics.

Regular Practice:

Take mock tests and sample papers under timed conditions.

Analyse your performance and identify areas for improvement.

Balanced Study Routine:

Include short breaks to avoid burnout.

Diversify your study methods (videos, quizzes, reading material).Exam Day Strategies On the day of the exam, staying calm and focused is paramount. Here are some actionable strategies:

Morning Routine:

Have a healthy breakfast to fuel your brain.

Arrive at the exam centre early to settle down and relax.

During the Exam:

Start with the sections you are most confident about.

Keep track of time but avoid rushing.

Review your answers if time permits.

Conclusion

The NCO Cyber Olympiad is an excellent platform to showcase your cyber security prowess and advance your academic career. With thorough preparation, effective time management, and the right strategies, you can excel in this prestigious examination. Remember, the key lies in consistent effort and a positive mindset.

[itsnaved-blog1]

SOF National Cyber Olympiad (NCO) 2018-19 provides an opportunity to win up to INR 50,000 to students of class 1 to 12

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Forgiveness is Divine

Ron Speirs x Reader One Shot

Requested by the effervescent @hbo-monster-bob​ (my first ever request oh my lordy!)

Summary: you get hurt and Ron loses his cool in front of the wrong people. Now he fears he may have truly lost you. 

Warnings: mention of injury, potty words, a bit more angst than initially intended, some good ole RemorsefulButTryingHisVeryBest!Ron Speirs, some shitty dialogue i probably should’ve spent more time on

~ ~ ~ ~

He’d really fucked up. 

Even as he had ranted at you, he’d known how badly he was fucking things up.

But you...you’d made him worry. You’d scared him.

While helping Malarkey and Bull drag a wounded NCO into a trench, a bullet had ricocheted off of someone’s helmet and buried itself deep into your left bicep. The shock of it had made you drop, unable to catch yourself between your unresponsive arm and your death grip on the NCO’s vest.

Ron had thought you’d died.

He’d been sure that he’d just watched you die in front of him and then he was being fired at and he’d gone numb and gotten himself and his men out of the line of fire.

Hours later, he’d caught sight of you at the med station with one of the medics fishing around in your bicep for the fragments of the bullet that had stained your jacket beyond use with your blood.

You’d initially given him the soft smile you’d always saved for him when he stormed in, the fact that you were alive and safe eclipsed by his rage that you’d made him worry so badly.

His mother had once compared his temper to a tsunami- wild and destructive and overwhelming to those foolish enough to cross its path.

“The only difference between you and your father is that you stick around long enough to see the carnage you’ve created. My only wish for you, my sweetheart, is that you learn to own your mistakes and make them right again…..”

Ron had disappointed both of you with what he’d done next.

He’d let you have it.

He’d shouted and scolded and criticized you for your ‘carelessness’, tearing into you for abandoning your position of relative safety in favor of ‘playing a hero’. 

Ron had called you incompetent and reckless and questioned your sanity. Your smile had slipped from your face and he’d watched as you began to close yourself off to him, eyes becoming cold and detached despite the pain you must be feeling as the medic tweezed the deeply embedded shrapnel from your bicep. 

If you had been alone he knew you would’ve snapped right back at him or (at the very least) told him to calm down and find you when he’d remembered how to behave like a grown-up.

This brought him to his second fuckup, he’d done it in front of people. 

No, it was worse than that.  

He’d questioned your competence in front of three of your superiors (and several NCOs….and six of the medics).

When he’d finally run out of steam, you’d stared at him with a cool indifference that he’d only seen you slip into when you were dealing with something/someone you loathed. 

It was a look he’d never had cast his way before. And now that it was?

Ron felt about two inches tall. He hated it.

After making him suffer your silent and baleful glare for an agonizing two minutes, you’d turned to the (incredibly uncomfortable) medic and let your hateful expression melt into your regular, relaxed one.

“Any instructions for me, Doc?” you’d asked politely, and when the man had given you some gauze to repack the wound later you’d popped down off the table you’d been sitting on and walked past him like he was little more than furniture.

His outburst had gotten you taken off of the frontlines- away from the action and away from him.

When he’d asked Nixon where they’d put you, the other man had scoffed and given him an answer along the lines of “somewhere where her ‘incompetence won’t put others at risk’. Jackass.”

Welsh was significantly more helpful, telling Ron they’d sent you to Battalion for some extended desk duty (after scoffing at him, of course. Ron hadn’t realized just how quickly word had spread about his outburst).

Not that knowing where you were made much of a difference. 

He could be sitting right next to you and you’d still carry on as if you were alone, and when you did look at him it was so detached that all of his words of remorse died in his throat.

It was horrible.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

After reclaiming a hamlet on the airborne’s way to Germany, Ron had realized that you weren’t going to budge or relent in your indifference. 

Your willpower was clearly steadfast- you wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t at least a little bullheaded.

He was going to have to come to you. 

He had to try to make things right, even if you hated him for it...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Ron had knocked and not received an answer, he’d decided to come in anyway.

You didn’t look up at him as he closed the door behind him, keeping your eyes firmly trained on the typewriter in front of you as your fingers flew across the keys. 

A neat stack of (what he assumed to be) freshly typed reports for Sink rested beside your still-smoking cigarette on the table, and from the slope of your shoulders Ron could only assume that you’d been at this task for hours.

Clearing his throat, he tried to ease you into conversation.

“Want me to take those to Battalion for you—?”

“No. I don’t.”

Well, at least that was more than you’d said to him in the past week. 

Ron had never imagined he would ever be the sappy type to miss the sound of someone's voice. Of course, that was before he met you. Before he’d started to care for you in the way a man cares for a woman, rather than the care a CO has for his fellow officers.

Not that he’d told you that. Not yet.

And now he may never get to- considering you’d refused to speak to him for the last three weeks about anything other than urgent work matters…..

You brought your cigarette to your lips and pulled from it deeply as you read over all that you had typed so far, the angry tick of your clenched jaw the only sign that you knew he was still there.

Even as you despised him, Ron still found you beautiful. A vengeful divinity with a glare that could cut glass and a stubbornness that rivaled his own.

He walked over to stand behind you, reading over your shoulder and realizing that it wasn’t reports that you had been working on….but death notices

You’d once told him it was your least favorite thing to do, that you’d gladly take latrine duty for the rest of your life if it meant you never had to write another.

“Soul sucking,” you’d called it, a night when the two of you shared a cigarette while on patrol. Your nose had been red from the cold and your eyes a little glassy from unshed tears, but you’d given him a sad smile when you’d noticed the grim look he was giving you. “I can’t remember the last time I wrote something that didn’t begin with ‘We deeply regret to inform you…’

Ron used to know how you felt about everything, and if he were being honest with himself he liked knowing how you felt about things- good or bad. For all the men you were the consummate professional, bright and even-tempered and nurturing.

But with Ron, you let yourself be a person. 

A brilliant, passionate, driven person whose complicated thoughts and feelings complimented his own so well he’d briefly considered changing his stance on the concept of soul-mates.

With a grim weight in his chest, he realized that all of those feelings toward you may have to be changed to the past tense.

Stubbing out the cigarette with ink-stained fingers, you pulled the letter from the typewriter and added it to the pile. He watched as you picked up a pen and began crossing names off a list he hadn’t seen before. You’d gotten through three of the five pages and it was already two in the morning.

Guilt flooded him when he realized that you’d been having to do this for at least month. 

If he hadn’t understood your anger towards him before, he certainly did now.

“Y/N…” he began, not surprised when you sniffed and made to get more paper for your next batch of death letters as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s late, you should rest.”

Silence as you secured another sheet of paper in place and centered it.

Ron waited a few more seconds before he took another step closer to you, hand hovering over your shoulder hesitantly.

I owe my mother a few apologies if this is how she was ever made to feel with my father.

When he placed his hand on your shoulder you immediately stiffened, fingers freezing where they rested over the keys like you’d turned to stone.

He’d expected as much, yet it still stung.

Ron says your name again, more softly than he thinks he’s ever spoken to another person in his life.

“You need to rest—”

“Are you issuing an order, Lieutenant?” Your voice was sulfa powder on an open wound- searing and sharp. 

Your head has turned minutely in the direction of his hand on your shoulder, and if a glare could cause burns he’s sure his hand would’ve been ash by now.

He shakes his head. “No, no I’m not.”

You seem to nod in acknowledgment, only stopping when his thumb kneads into one of the tight knots along your trapezius. Ron sees your jaw tighten again, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

Surprisingly, you’re allowing it to linger where it is as well.

“Good, Sink’s commands outrank yours anyway. Besides, it’s not as if I have to be anywhere in the morning. You made sure of that—”

You cut yourself off when Ron steps up beside you and crouches down, eyes trained forward so all he can see if your profile. 

“Please,” he whispers, moving his hand from your shoulder in favor of taking one of yours in between his calloused palms.

With an awful surge of hope, he decides to put it all out there, knowing just how easily you could reject him and leave him alone again.

Maybe I don't want to be alone, not like I used to.

“I thought you were dead, Y/n.”

You sigh ruefully at that, closing your eyes with a grimace.

“Hey, look at me—”

For the longest time you don’t, but just when he thinks you’ve shut him out again you let your eyes open and allow your doubtful glaze to fall on him.

You may as well have embraced him, considering the overwhelming relief he felt as he looked into your eyes.

“It, it was….I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did—”

“You didn’t speak to me at all.” You nearly hiss, the deep breath you took the only display of just how furious you were beneath the surface of civility. Ron’s chest tightened uncomfortably when he caught your lip quiver, yet when he made as if to comfort you, you gave him a look that shut him right up.

You weren’t finished yet.

“You were out of line, Speirs. You had no right to speak to me like that—”

“I know...”

“You fucking humiliated me! In front of Winters, Moose, and Sink- not to mention every single goddamned man in that tent—”

‘I know—”

“What in the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea how hard it’s been getting them to see me as anything other than something to fuck or mock? Years, Ronald! All gone like that—!”

You cut yourself off again when you start to cry, biting the inside of your cheek in an attempt to regain composure.

You were right, he hadn’t been thinking about that at all. 

He’d never thought much about the immature comments he’d overheard from the NCOs and replacements, never considered that any of those childish innuendos had ever been said to you directly.

“I didn’t intend to…..when you got shot I wasn't able to do anything—”

You furrowed your brows at him and made a face. “I didn’t need you to do anything. I’m not even in your company.”

He feels as if he’s about to lose you again. The idea makes his throat feel uncomfortably tight and his blood is beginning to run cold.

Make it right. I have to make this right….

“I know you don’t need me to take care of you,” he says quietly, looking down at your hand in his and bringing it to his lips so he’s speaking against the curve of your knuckles. “But I think I need to do it for me.”

When he looks back at you he sees that your eyes are wide, one or two of your tears have spilled over and down your cheek.

“Jesus, I’m….Ron—” you begin, but stop when he shakes his head minutely.

“You know.” He interrupts. “I know you’ve got to know by now….”

Of course you know. You’re one of the smartest people he’s ever met. If anyone could read his true intentions through his blunt demeanor, it would be you.

But he’s glad that you don’t ask him to elaborate further. You seem just as content as he does to leave it unnamed.

You roll your lips together a few more times before taking a shaky breath. 

“That doesn’t mean you get to treat me like that.”

He hums in acknowledgment. “You’re right. It doesn’t. Forgive me.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a yawn catches you unaware and Ron can’t help but smile slightly at the simplicity of the action. 

When you raise your left arm to hide your yawn into your elbow you hiss in pain, and instantly Ron is anxious again.

“You okay?” He asks, and you nod despite your grimace.

“Yeah, yeah. I just forget sometimes.”

When you lower your arm he watches as you take a deep breath and turn back to your work.

“I’ll do them.”

You whip your head to look at him, another yawn interrupting your questioning gaze.

“What? No, don't be silly. I’m almost done��.”

Something in the look he gives you shuts you up, and when he gives your hand a squeeze you seem to sigh in defeat.

“You’re not going to leave me alone until I go to bed, are you?”

He gives you a smirk. “Good guess.”

Standing up from his crouch he gently coaxed you into a standing position, nodding his head away from the desk and towards the darker corner of the room where your makeshift bed is set up. 

You give him a tight smile. “Gotta rebandage the arm first….oh-kay then.”

The rolled gauze is barely out of your pocket before Ron takes it from your hand, pointedly looking down at your covered arm.

“Ron...you really don’t have to—”

“I know that, but I want to anyway.”

And because you’re infinitely more forgiving than any mortal being could ever hope to be- more forgiving than a beast like him deserved, you let him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  

Sitting beside you on the floor, Ron was careful when unwrapping your old bandage, trying as hard as he could to keep his touch light.

The injury was red and bruised and angry but it was healing- just as the medic had promised. You’d have a scar, but you didn’t seem to mind that possibility.

You said his name quietly, and he realized he’d been staring.

When his thumbs ghost around the curve of your bicep you shiver, and when Ron looks back at your face he sees a light blush dusting your cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you say, exhaustion apparent in your voice now. “Stop looking at me like that—”

“Like what?” he says with a small smile, setting the clean bandage over your wound and feeling a pleasant tightness in his chest when you snorted a laugh.

“Like... like you’re a disappointed babysitter.”

Ron laughed at that, shooting you a look before starting to wrap the strips of gauze around your upper arm.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as he tended to your arm, and every so often you offered him your cigarette to take a drag from.

Things still felt somewhat precarious between the two of you, yet Ron also felt that something more significant had been established in the dingy office you’d been assigned to stay in.

In the morning, Ron would approach Sink and Winters and see if he could get you back from battalion HQ. Not as a man who cared for you, but as a soldier who’d made a mistake and grievously misjudged another soldier’s character.

Anything to ensure you didn’t have to sit in this room another day and write to the families of dead soldiers.

When he’d finished bandaging your arm, you gave him permission to help you maneuver it back into the sleeve of your sweater. He felt your eyes on him the whole time and he swore he’d never known a feeling so sweet.

Your eyes are heavy with slumber already, but you still try once more to discourage him from finishing your paperwork.

“I can do it in an hour or two, just a quick nap—”

“If you were this reluctant to sleep as a child, I’m starting to get why so many of your babysitters were ‘disappointed.’”

Ron lifts up the pile of blankets you’d reluctantly allowed him to find for you, and despite your protests, you scoot yourself underneath them and fold your arms across your chest like a petulant teenager as he tucks them around you.

“Children tend to mirror the behavior of those in positions of authority,” you say offhanded, almost sounding like you were directly quoting from some textbook on child psychology. “Maybe one should look within themselves and explore what unfavorable quality they may be projecting upon the blank canvas of youth….”

You laugh at the furrowed confusion on his face.

“You must be a poetic drunk.” Ron offers, and from the grin on your face he knows he’s on to something. “Go to sleep, before you start reciting Shakespeare or something—”

“Twelfth Night or Romeo and Juliet?”

“Y/N.”

Ron’s fingertips brushing across your cheek instantly quiets you, your eyes trained on his face as he allowed himself to openly admire you for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you nod.

“I know you are.” 

When he sees the obvious haze of sleep start to curl around your gaze, Ron knows he needs to let you rest.

“Wake me up in an hour?” you ask, something in your tone of voice seeming to acknowledge the slim chance of him agreeing to your request.

“Maybe. Sleep.”

With a half-hearted glare, you mumble something equivalent to ‘yeah yeah, okay’ and turn your head away from him and close your eyes.

Ron stays where he is, stroking at your hairline in the same calming way his mother used to do for him when he’d had a bad dream as a child.

If his mom were here now, he imagined she’d be proud of him.

Maybe he wasn’t fated to be distant and cold and cruel like his father.

For the first time in his life, Ron let himself begin to dream of life after all of this.

The only thing he knew for sure?

He’d do anything- everything in his power, to make sure you were a part of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ TAG LIST TAG LIST!

@mrseasycompany​, @itswormtrain​

(Love you guys! hasta la pasta, my dudes!)

[princemannikin]

The Lower Decks

Shaxs is what would happen if you answered the question “What if we made a staff NCO an officer, and then handed them the key to the armory.”

[onelungmcclung]

Do you have any advice on writing rarepairs?

hmm, that’s an interesting question, and I am of course very flattered to be asked. it’s quite a broad question, so I’ll try to answer it as broadly as possible, and if I haven’t covered the aspects you had in mind feel free to drop back into my inbox. (you can always dm me, too, but if anon is more convenient/comfortable that’s fine. I’m happy with whatever works best for you.)

one of the perks of writing rarepairs, imo, is that by definition the dynamics haven’t been well explored, so you can approach the relationship in question with relatively fresh eyes. (fanon can be cumbersome.)

on a technical level, relationships -- of all kinds -- are an extremely powerful way to explore and communicate characterisation. by exploring an under-explored relationship, you can dig into under-explored aspects and hidden undercurrents in those characters. this is a) incredibly rewarding and b) develops each character as a whole.

so, the implication of that is: characterisation in fanfiction is key. in some ways, fic gives you an advantage because you don’t start from scratch. the disadvantage is that people will notice if your writing isn’t in-character. the key points of getting into character -- for writers as for actors -- are attention to detail, imagination, and sensitivity. (avoid writing yourself into characters; let them inhabit the space as fully as possible.) look out for character interactions that interest you, that you enjoy, that you’d like to see more of; and then examine what precisely intrigues you and what those interactions indicate about the characters, individually and in relation to each other, and think about how this dynamic might play out in other scenes/settings.

(disclaimer: I generally prefer canonverse to AUs, so my advice may be skewed towards canonverse fics. but I figure it’s best to start by thinking about the relationship in canon, and then you can always translate that dynamic into other settings.)

with regard to the hbowar rarepairs I’ve written, there hasn’t, as I recall, been a highly sophisticated thought process behind them. (for example, blindness started with “hey marc warren is a really good actor and everyone’s ignoring blithe”; december started with “this dynamic seems fun, there’s no mcclung fic, and wait is he talking to himself”; and, showing me at my most incisive, days go by started with “there just isn’t enough nco fic”.) sometimes I just think other people have written the ship/characters wrong and I need to go stick my definitive oar in. I usually begin with a mood and an image and just start writing and watch the story gradually reveal itself, and that’s a highly unpredictable, instinctual approach to writing. other people write differently. I can’t really advise on approach; hopefully you already have one that works for you; if not, keep writing until you find one that does.

anyway, the world of rarepairs is your oyster. run with it; have fun with it. write anything that gets its hooks into you, even if you think nobody else will care. (in my experience, there are always people who care, and I really thought I was out on my own when ao3 had to create the “forsyte saga - all media types” category for me.) if you’re not sure what you’re doing, don’t put pressure on yourself to finish anything or be perfect; just write and see what happens. maybe you give someone a new otp; maybe you accidentally give yourself a new otp. feel free to come back and cry about that.

[thirsty-pixie]

Unsteady Barry x Reader

Warning: so blood, war, guns, cursing, panic attack if any of this will trigger you then I suggest not reading.

Part 2

I griped the edges of the sink and stared into the mirror that was clouded from the steam, the bathroom was warm still from the from the bathroom heater and the hot shower I just took. I splashed my face with water and when I looked back up I wasn't looking at the mirror anymore. I was sitting in the gunners hatch of the Humvee on our route clearance mission. "Hey Y/L/n" I heard my Sergeants voice over the roar of the engine, "yes sar'nt" I ducked down into the humvee to hear him better. "Anderson's sick from chow last night and want to trade and take his dismount mission with the guys?" I looked at Anderson then back at my NCO and nodded. I slid my harness off and switched spots with Anderson, and began reading the mission brief notes he had taking. For the dismount mission we were going to be walking 2 miles ahead of the convoy clearing with handheld mine detectors. We were looking out for both command wires and IEDs, I was going to me walking behind Roger's who was going to be walking with the PSS-14 mine detector.

The humvee slowly stopped and I opened my door doing my 5-10-15making sure there was nothing on the ground before getting out. I walked to the truck behind me and placing my hand on Roger's shoulder. He smiled and we all got in formation, the walk was slow as we cleared out was towards the village. Roger stopped abruptly and I turned my head "all stop" I whispered to Mendez who was behind me, he repeated it down the line and I walked closer to Roger. "What's up?" He looked at me nervously, "listen" I took the ear piece from him and he moved the mine detector forward. It pinged something and I nodded "ok... mark it and go around... dude relax we trained for this." I patted his shoulder and gave him space he took a few minutes to mark the mine and make a path around it. Mendez radioed up what was going on and we moved on.

We were about 100 yards from the village when Roger called an all stop again and began marking. I walked closer to make sure he was ok and thats when I heard the pop. Seconds later Roger's head drops back and he falls down, I felt a burning in my arm but I ignored it. "CONTACT 12" I yelled and everyone dropped, I started shooting back towards the building and a man fell from the roof followed by a rifle. I crawled up to Roger and and grabbed his IOTV pulling his lifeless body up. I threw him on my shoulder to fireman carry him and I called out to Mendez. Mendez ran up crabbing the PSS-14 and we ran back towards the Vehicles. We put Roger's in the medics vehicle as to protocol and got back inside the trucks to head back to base.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!" I punch the side of the humvee and screamed Mendez put his hand on my shoulder. "Theres nothing you could've done" I turned and squeezed now tender hand and began pacing. "He was just a kid Mendez.... I was supposed to be pulling security but I wasnt. I could've seen the sniper before he took the shot." I pulled my gloves off and threw then down. Mendez grabbed my shoulders then cringed letting me go "Y/L/n hey go shower and change....your covered in blood." I wince and grabbed my arm. The adrenaline had subsided and the pain was becoming more prevalent. I walked into the bay and pulled off my gear letting it fall to the ground, Mendez helped me slide my OCP top off leaving me in my green under shirt.

"Shit I'll get a medic." Mendez took off and I sighed sitting on the bench, the bullet had gone through Roger and lodged itself in my bicep. Moments later Kinley our medic came running up with Mendez on her heels. I lifted my sleeve out of the way so she could see it better and she sighed. "Theres no exit wound so the bullet is still in there I need you to come to the medic bay" I nodded and grabbed my too following Kinley.

~~~~

I tugged my sleeve down over the scar on my bicep and grabbed my bag, Dr. Dressa had sighed me up for an acting class to try and socialize me more and help me acclimate to civilian life. I walked drove to the building and sighed getting out of my car. As I was waking up to a building there was a blonde telling off some guy who looked clueless. "I was gonna ask if this is the acting class but considering the drama I'm guessing it is." I said chuckling as I walked up next to the man. He looked at me and nodded "you new?" I shrugged "yep don't necessarily want to be here though" I followed him inside and he furrowed his brows "then why are you here" I sat on one of the chairs and leaned back.

"My Doctor thinks it will help me come back to the real world." He nodded "what branch were you in?" I looked at him surprised he knew what I ment "uh Army... I was a Combat Engineer" he nods and looks at me with a half smile "I was in the Marines." I smiled "Ever deploy?" I asked looking down at my hands. "Yup did you?" He looked at me and I nodded "yuuuup.I'm Y/n by the way..." He stood up and put his hand on my shoulder "Barry... and uh you'll like the class" I looked up at him and faked a smile. "Thanks" he walked away and I stood up looking around. Mr. Cousineau walked in and looked at me "who are you?" I grabbed a paper from my bag and walked up to him "uh hi... I'm Y/n Doctor Dressa signed me up she said she emailed you and uh heres a written form from her." He took the paper and nodded pointing to the chairs.

He started talking about the Macbeth play they were going to preform, I wasnt paying attention when someone kicked my chair. I blinked a few times and looked at Gene who was staring at me, "ok I'll as again. Doctor Dressa told me she had you prepare a monologue. You have to perform one to get into my class." I stood up and pulled my sleeve down subconsciously. "Uh yeah I'm thought the last speech from uh Blackhawk Down." I he nodded and pointed to the stage, I nodded walking forward. "There's still men out there...... Goddam!... when I go home and people ask me 'hey hoot. Why do ya do it man? Why? You some kind of war junkie?' I won't say a goddam word. Why? They wont understand. They wont understand why we do it. They wont understand it's about the men next to you. And that's it, that's all it is"

I blinked and the image of Roger falling to the ground flashed in my head, I tried to push it back but it was to late. I stood there in horror at my ears started ringing and I was back in Afghanistan, the truck had hit an IED and it damaged the driver side of the vehicle. I was gunner on the mission since I refused to go dismounted again after Roger died, something hit my leg and I screamed in pain. I ducked into the humvee and looked at the driver who was leaned forward on the steering wheel bleeding. Then a gun shot and the body was falling off the roof and I was lifting Roger to carry him back.

I started breathing heavily as my PTSD hit me like a car speeding towards a brick wall. I started shaking, I looked for an escape and ran into the dressing room. I started pacing and repeatedly ran my hands through my hair, I heard footsteps but I ignored them. "Hey you ok" I recognized Barry's voice but it was foggy as the voice of Roger played through my mind. "You alright" he asked again. "He was a fucking kid" I stopped infront of the wall clenching my fists and squeezing my eyes shut. "When we get back home I'm gonna purpose to my girl" his voice echoed in my head and I punched the wall. "He was a kid.." I put my back to the wall and slid down "a fucking kid" I hid my face in my knees and cried, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up from my knees and seen Barry sitting infront of me "I could've saved him I could stopped the sniper.... I should've done my job" he gulped and looked down. He chewed his lip and I sighed, "sorry." He looked up and shook his head "don't be its perfectly fine to have PTSD from deployment." I nodded.

"I haven't had an attack like this since the day I got back to the states..." I hugged my knees resting my chin on them. "Want to talk about it?" I looked at him and shook my head "not really" he nodded and stood up holding out his hand, I took his hand standing up "how about we go get some drinks instead" I smiled at him and nodded "yeah I'm down" I wiped my eyes and walked out to my car Barry walked next to me with his hands in his pockets. "You wanna ride with me or uh want me to follow you?" I asked pulling my keys out of my pocket, "I uh I can ride with you if you dont mind" I smiled and unlocked the car and we both got in.

We didnt talk on the way to the bar but I could tell there was something burdening him. The way he sat staring out the side window with his hands on his lap, palms flush against his thighs. When we arrived at the bar we ordered a round of shots and a beer, he got up to go to the restroom leaving his phone on the bar next to me. I took a drink of my beer and looked at his phone as it lit up and started buzzing. Noho Hank.... weird name... I thought about answering the phone for him but before I had the chance to give it a second thought he came up behind me grabbing his phone. He sighed loudly and put the phone to his ear walking away from me.

When he came back he plopped down on the chair and taking a drink of his beer, "everything ok?" I looked over at him "yeah I'm fine just work stuff" he mumbled almost inaudible. I nodded and ordered two more shots, "here cheers to the military we, the willing, led by the unknowing, are doing the impossible for the ungrateful. We have now done so much for so long with so little, we are now capable of doing anything with nothing." We clinked glasses then brought them back down tapping the bar before taking the shot.

He pulled out a 50 and payed our tab, which I thanked him for repeatedly. We walked outside and the cold air hit me causing a shiver to run through my body. I fished my keys out of my pocket and quickly got into the car, Barry sat down in the passenger seat and buckled up. "Hey you wanna get breakfast tomorrow?" He looked at me and I smiled "yeah... I'd love to" he smiled and nodded. "Here put your number in my phone and I can text you my address" I handed him my phone as I drove back to the theater to take him to his car.

I parked my car behind his and turned to him "thanks for hanging out with me. It may not seem like it but I had a lot of fun." He nodded as I spoke and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Yeah me too. I'll uh... I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Part 2

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I was watching the D-Day commemoration ceremonies this week with family and I thought why do we have a Royal Navy and Royal Air Force but not a Royal Army? I mean other than the fact that it sounds a bit naff? We’ve got the Royal Navy and we’ve got the Royal Air Force but no Royal Army. My dad was a Grenadier (RIP dad) and was mighty proud of being a guardsman and protecting HM the Queen and all that but I never really thought about it until after he died. The Guards like the rest of the army serves the Queen so why not? Would you know since you were an army officer and you are very academic?

This is a great question which I can hardly refuse to answer given I’ve been actually attending one or two official events myself to commemorate D-Day along with members of my family and also friends (some ex-army). I’ve been very moved by the whole solemn occasion and back in my hotel room your question serves as a useful distraction (in a good way!).

It’s a question that baffles a lot of people - especially my American and other European friends - who ask me that too on occasion. You’re right it does sound naff to say Royal Army when you say it out loud. It’s not as if the army doesn’t already have somewhat eccentric and even supercilious traditions - to the outsider’s eyes at least - to add ‘Royal’ for an extra helping of pomposity and snobbery. Although the delicious opportunity to rub it into the noses of the (republican) French army just might be worth it. But personally speaking, I’m super glad it’s just the British Army.

I think I’ll have a stab at the answer but it might not be the only answer. Put simply historically, unlike the Army, the Royal Navy has always been a single and national organisation. And so has the Royal Air Force since its formation in 1918.

There is some contentious debate here as to who really founded the ‘navy’ whether it was Alfred the Great or Henry VIII of the Tudor dynasty - I err towards the Tudors in this debate. It’s true that Alfred the Great founded a navy of sorts to defend the realm. Whether you want to call this collection of ships a navy is both semantic and charitable but at the very least it was a single ‘national’ entity. For his army though Alfred had to rely on noblemen volunteering men from other shires.

This pattern continued down the centuries where the nobles had their own armies which were expected to rally round the sovereign in times of crisis. Indeed, the term 'The Army’ did not come into proper use until the middle of the 17th century, by which time the Royal Navy had been well established on a permanent basis for many years and was called so.

The English Civil War (1642-1651) between the King ( Charles I) and Parliament (Cromwell and company) was the true origin of the British army. In that war, Parliament obviously won. The overall outcome of the war was threefold: the trial and execution of Charles I (1649); the exile of his son, Charles II (1651); and the replacement of the monarchy (by divine right) with, at first, the Commonwealth of England (1649-1653) and then the Protectorate under the iron rule of Oliver Cromwell (1653-1658) with his creation of the New Model Army.

Charles II returned from exile in 1660 to take back the throne at the behest of the will of Parliament. But all was not the same. Although Charles II had agreed to accept the powers of Parliament in the Declaration of Breda, there were many who were suspicious. They thought that he might say one thing and then, after being restored to the throne, return to his father’s policies.

The navy had always supported both Charles. So when Charles II was restored to the throne, he proclaimed that, because of its support for him, the navy would henceforth be called the “Royal Navy”.

With the army it was more complicated. Many in the army had fought against Charles. This was not surprising as the army was very much the creation of Parliament and especially Cromwell. Charles II accepted the fact that the Crown was prohibited from having its own standing army. 

The Royal Navy are the senior service as they were the first to receive Royal recognition as an armed service of the Crown. The Royal Air Force were formed by Royal Charter in 1918 by King George V.

The key thing to understand is that the British army was never national in the way the navy and the air force were. Historically the British army was a collection of region based militia raised at the behest of the monarch.

When the monarch wished to raise an army he would do so by endowing a stipend to a local nobleman to raise a regiment. The nobleman would be the Colonel of the Regiment (hence that tradition of the senior officer commanding the regiment or division) and would determine its uniform, and promote its NCOs and select its officers from the sons of other notable families within the region.

On raising a regiment an oath of allegiance would be sworn and a toast drunk. The army are considered “loyal” not “royal” in that sense.

Some regiments enjoy royal patronage, others such as the Intelligence Corps don’t. Indeed a member of the Royal family is often the ‘Colonel’ of that regiment (and he or she wears the regimental uniform when they see them). During Colonial times, the British Army was allowed to use Queen Anne’s Red Ensign, however, they were still not considered a “Royal” service.

Another reason why the British Army doesn’t have the prefix ‘Royal’ is because only certain regiments and corps are called 'Royal’. The prefix Royal before the title of a unit is considered an award in much the same way as a battle honour. The regiments with this prefix are entitled to wear the coveted blue facings on collar and cuffs on ceremonial scarlet tunics.

So the picture is complicated but it’s true to say the quirky historic traditions of the regimental system within the British army is why there is no Royal Army.

You and I know - because we both have had family members in the guards - know the picture is even more more muddied in answer to your specific question. The Grenadier Guards and the Coldstream Guards as well as the other foot guards - the Irish, Scots, and Welsh Guards - form part of the royal Household Division along with the Household Cavalry (made up of the Life Guards and the Blues and Royals).

Despite their ceremonial duties dressed in scarlet tunics and bearskins known to the world over, all the foot guards are considered an elite fighting force - along with the Parachute regiment the Guards provide many officers and soldiers serving in the SAS.

As you know the Grenadier Guards is considered the most senior regiment in the British Army. It can trace its lineage back to 1656 when Lord Wentworth’s Regiment was raised in Bruges to protect the exiled Charles II. In 1665, this regiment was combined with John Russell’s Regiment of Guards to form the current regiment, known as the 1st Regiment of Foot Guards. Its most famous battle honours were at Waterloo they broke Napoleon’s Imperial Guard. So it’s interesting that the Grenadiers were seen as the bodyguards of the monarch.

But it’s not the oldest regiment in the British army, despite its seniority. That honour is widely given to the Coldstream Guards whose Latin motto is Nulli Secundus (second to none). More accurately it is the oldest continuously serving regiment in the British Army.

But its lineage goes back to the New Model Army when Cromwell gave General Monck permission to raise in Scotland his own foot regiment to join the New Model Army. After the Civil War and after Richard Cromwell’s death, Monck gave his support to the Stuarts, and on 1 January 1660 he crossed the River Tweed into England at the village of Coldstream, from where he made a five-week march to London. He arrived in London on 2 February and helped in the restoration of Charles II to the throne. For his help, Monck was given the Order of the Garter and his regiment was assigned to keep order in London. However, the new parliament soon ordered his regiment to be disbanded with the other regiments of the New Model Army.

And don’t get me started on the Blues and Royals!

This digression down memory lane still leads me back to the conclusion that the regimental system remains the backbone of the British army today. It is its strength as a fighting force and man to man the best army in the world today.

Even as the British army and its regiment system faces challenges (budget cuts and regiments are either being stood down or amalgamated) and evolves (reflecting societal changes such as letting women into frontline combat roles), it is fitting that we are not the Royal Army, rather the British Army loyal to the Crown.

Thanks for your question and I hope you enjoy(ed) the rest of the D-Day memorial ceremonies with the rest of your family as indeed I have.

**PS: I wrote this on the night of June 6th but I could only send it out now. My apologies.

[howling-harpy]

With All Due Respect

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Speirs/Lipton Word Count: 8032

Summary: Only commands from Captain Speirs make Lipton’s blood run hot. He has a feeling that the captain knows. Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction based on the HBO drama series and the actors’ portrayals in it. This has nothing to do with any real person represented in the series, and means no disrespect.

A/N: Someone on LLSS wanted speirton with ordering kink and body worship. Of course I picked that one up.

[Read on Ao3]

*

It was the Champagne that was at fault, that’s what Lipton decided long afterwards when all was said and done. The reverend of his church and his mother had been right about alcohol, it was indeed the drink that made him careless and dissipated and led to other sins, but in the end Lipton couldn’t bring himself to mind any of it. It would have been a lie to blame the drink, though. It had all started earlier, and Lipton couldn’t exactly pinpoint when.

Mourmelon, perhaps? In that miserable village of tents and endless practice drills and guard duty rotation and patrols, in the chilly and muddy February? “Lieutenant Lipton, patrol orders to the NCOs of Easy. See them delivered and brief the men.” “Lieutenant Lipton, inspect the roadblocks at eleven hundred hours. Report back to me.” “Lieutenant Lipton, I’ve scheduled second platoon for an all-night field problem. I’ve appointed you to lead it.” Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. It seemed that Lipton said that a hundred times as slow, routine days rolled by, and more than winter frost melted from his limbs with them. Captain Speirs seemed to want to keep him close now that he had been promoted and trying his legs as an officer, and Lipton wondered if it was to show him the ropes or if it was the only thing he could think of now that he wasn’t First Sergeant anymore. Whatever the reason, Lipton was grateful as Speirs seemed to always have something to do and never let anything go to waste. It was also fascinating in a way, to get this close to “Bloody” Speirs, the man whose reputation preceded him among enlisted men and officers alike. Lipton hadn’t even thought about it at the time. He remembered Foy as a moment of despair, like being dangled over the edge of a cliff and slowly feeling his fingers giving out one by one, and then in a flurry of artillery and snow there had been Speirs, settings things to balance once again. Lipton had simply been happy to see him and followed him without a question. In that moment of despair on the edge of the annihilation Speirs had been just a good soldier, a leader worth following, and Lipton had. But afterwards, after Noville and Rachamps and Haguenau, Lipton too had to admit that there was something singular about Speirs. After all, he had met and served under several good officers, he had fought alongside many capable soldiers, but only orders from Speirs made him feel warm to his core. Only his harsh demanding voice made his heart beat faster, only obeying him made his blood run hot in his veins. For the most part, Lipton preferred not to think about it. It felt like one of those things you had to shove back into the back of your mind and ignore in order to survive, but he couldn’t decide if ignoring it was easier or harder now that Easy was in reserve. On one hand, rush and combat had perhaps hidden it from his thoughts before, but on the other now that he had realized it he felt like the safe routine of Mourmelon was the only thing keeping it under control, and he feared what would happen when they’d have to leave it behind. It was late March when Lipton was making his way out of the battalion mess after a long day of training replacements that were a worryingly large portion of Easy’s strength, when First Sergeant Talbert fell in step with him. “Hey, Lip! How’s it going, sir?” Talbert greeted him. “It’s going,” Lipton replied, his mind still sketching a timetable for training passable combat soldiers of their re-enforcements before they’d move out while only half listening to Talbert. “How are things with you?” “Well, that’s the thing,” Talbert said and awkwardly chuckled. “The men are great. Everything’s going well, we’ve been through our training and finally got our hands on good supplies too, I think Luz had something to do with that, and I’ve written this week’s report about it all…” It was all within the responsibilities of the First Sergeant and Lipton knew it well, as he knew that Talbert did too, and he wondered when the actual business would come in picture. It didn’t sound like your regular chatter, but if there was a question in there, Lipton couldn’t pick up on it. Talbert cleared his throat. “Well, I should go and submit that report to Captain Speirs.” That was the key comment, and Lipton guessed that was it, only he wasn’t willing to be the one to say it. “Yes, that’s correct. The week report needs to be delivered to the company CO. Do you know where Captain Speirs’ tent it?” “Yeah, I know,” Talbert said, a note of frustration in his tone, “and I have the report right here too.” He lifted a thin brown cardboard file that looked like it had exactly one sheet of paper inside. “It’s just that, you know how Speirs can be sometimes,” he said and gave Lipton a friendly nudge of the elbow. Lipton did know, but he was too amused to cut the chase. There weren’t too many fun things around the muddy camp, and struggling forward on the soft ground was less grating with some company. “I don’t, actually, Sergeant.” “He can be a bit, well,” Talbert struggled, drew his words on and hoped that Lipton would either take the hint or complete the sentence for him. But when he didn’t, Talbert finally dropped his clumsily tactful demeanour and said: “He can be a bit hard-headed, alright? Heard-headed and weirdly moody and obsessed with details, and I’m gonna be straight with you, Lip, I’d rather not take this report to him personally if I could avoid it.” Lipton wasn’t surprised in the slightest. A lot of people didn’t get along with Speirs, or preferred not to interact with him personally if there was any other option, and Talbert’s easy-going and friendly personality might have been a great match with Major Winters, but Captain Speirs probably read him as sloppy and unprofessional. “Captain Speirs is a demanding officer, I’m aware,” he said. “Yeah, let’s say that,” Talbert grumbled, but then lightened up. “But you can handle him, right? He likes you. I’d really appreciate if you could drop this report off for me, sir.” Lipton accepted the errand without further convincing needed, and Talbert was too busy being grateful to question why he’d do it. But it wasn’t like it was much extra trouble, Lipton was probably going to cross paths with his fellow officer anyway, and if he didn’t, their tents were relatively close to each other. It wasn’t strange, just a kindness, a happy coincidence. Speirs was in his tent when Lipton came by. The flap of the tent was up, and the captain was sitting at his desk, a flimsy thing that had been provided to all commanding officers and that took up half of the small tent, not that the narrow bunk needed much space anyway. There was nowhere to knock, so Lipton stopped by the entrance and cleared his throat. Speirs had an ink pen in hand and was writing a letter at impressive speed, but he stopped when he looked up. “Yes? What is it, Lieutenant?” he asked. Lipton lifted the file in his hand before stating his business. “Just dropping off some paperwork on behalf of First Sergeant Talbert, sir.” Speirs’ expression didn’t change, he just nodded and made no further questions, but beckoned Lipton inside. “Sure. Come in, Lieutenant.” “Yes, sir.” Speirs already had his hand extended when Lipton stood by his desk and handed the file over. He flipped it open, glanced over the report with a single wrinkle between his brows and turned it over once, finding the paper empty on the other side. He scoffed. “Only a single page for the whole week’s work? Really?” “I’m sure Sergeant Talbert included everything he felt was necessary,” Lipton said. Speirs gave him a look underneath his dark brows, hard and direct. “Are you now, Lieutenant?” he demanded. Lipton looked back. “Yes, sir.” “You have read the report, then?” “I haven’t, sir.” “Then how can you be sure of its quality?” Lipton didn’t know when he had fallen into parade rest, but presented with a direct question that required him to raise up to answer it made him aware of how he tensed up with his back straight and feet firmly planted on the ground, slightly apart. “I know Sergeant Talbert, and I can vouch for his expertise. If he has written a one-page report, then all that was needed is a one-page report.” Speirs stared at him for a moment quietly, evaluating him and probably his statement. His expression gave away nothing, neither good or bad, he simply looked and evaluated Lipton, then got up from the desk. He looked down at the report once again, seemingly read it over before closing the file and dropping it on his desk. Lipton stood where he was since he hadn’t been dismissed. After Speirs tossed the report he turned back to face him and leaned his hip against the desk, crossing his arms. The silence stretched on and Speirs kept looking at Lipton like he had all the time in the world and planned to use it. For what, that wasn’t clear, and Speirs didn’t seem to be in any hurry to let Lipton in on whatever his endgame was. “You vouch for your men readily, Lieutenant,” Speirs finally said, his tone neutral. Lipton answered honestly: “I know them, sir, and so I am able to.” “You submit their reports for them too, I see,” Speirs added, this time his tone slightly more pointed. His voice was still soft, conversational even, but it was clear he was probing for something. Lipton was on his guard, but there was nowhere to run or no way to avoid, besides there shouldn’t have been anything to hide. “Sergeant Talbert happened by and asked me to, and since it’s convenient, I dropped by,” he said. “Sergeant Talbert didn’t want to do it himself, did he.” It wasn’t really a question, but Lipton pretended not to hear that. “It was more convenient like this, sir.” Speirs gave a little hum, almost a scoff and regarded Lipton with hard eyes. His expression didn’t falter, nor did his crossed arms either tighten or loosen. One could have thought that he didn’t care where the conversation was going at all, even though his tone was getting stronger as he was drawing out information. “I know Sergeant Talbert finds me objectionable,” he said then, “it’s all right. The feeling is mutual.” Lipton didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything, not even in a gesture. Speirs stared him directly in the eye. “But you, you I see pretty often, Lieutenant Lipton. You come by often.” That was a puzzling remark, and Lipton couldn’t quite keep it out of his voice. “You ask for me often, sir.” “Yes, I do. But even when I don’t, there you are. You don’t have a problem with me, then?” Something warm curled in Lipton’s chest and he had to suppress a smile. “No, I don’t have a problem with you, sir.” Nothing changed in Speirs’ expression, but something in his eyes did. Lipton had spent a lot of time looking in his eyes which were the only giveaway when for whatever reason Speirs decided to wall everyone out. There was an intent look in them now, something strong and focused and strangely heated, something that made Lipton want to squirm – not with discomfort, but out of some sort of coyness that he hadn’t ever felt before. “Lieutenant, close the flap,” Speirs ordered starkly. Lipton was moving before he even knew it, not questioning the order or wonder about it. When the flap of the tent fell, they were left in the glow of a bright lantern that made the green fabric glow. “Come back here,” Speirs said then. Lipton did, assuming his previous position of parade rest with his hands behind his back before Speirs who was still leaning against the desk. With the flap closed the tent felt smaller, more intimate somehow. Private. “Take one step closer,” Speirs said. Lipton did, even though the movement took him too close to his captain. They weren’t quite toe to toe, but too close to be simply within conversational distance. All Speirs would have to do to touch him would be to unfold and reach his arm, which he did a moment later. Lipton drew in a careful breath when Speirs’ hand landed on the side of his face, fingertips light like a breath on his scars. They still held eye contact like that was the only way they could actually communicate, and Lipton searched Speirs’ intently, seeing the previously detected heat burn and turn darker. Dangerous, this man was. “You have acquired quite a few battle scars,” Speirs noted as if they were discussing the details of a report, his fingertips ghosting across Lipton’s facial scars. “A few, yes, sir,” Lipton replied and was surprised to hear his voice almost level if a little soft. “Anywhere else than here?” Speirs asked. “Yes, sir,” Lipton said. “On my neck, on my arm, and on my – “ He realized what he was going to have to say with the words already on his tongue and what that might prompt when Speirs was brushing at the scars he could see. At the same time Lipton also realized that even though his voice was level, his breathing was off. He had taken a deep breath when he had stepped forward and that had turned into his new rhythm of rapid, deep inhales that he could hear too loud in his ear. “ – on my inner thigh, sir.” Speirs’ head tilted to the side in a slow arch, but his gaze never wandered or lost its focus. Lipton swallowed, fiddled with his hands behind his back some.   “You’re such a valuable soldier. I’ll have to inspect you sometime, just to check up on you,” Speirs murmured. It could have been a threat or promise, and Lipton found himself wishing that in either case it wouldn’t be idle. For a moment longer Speirs stared at him, held his gaze in a manner that made Lipton feel like he was supposed to say something, but then he let his hand drop and the flame went out in his eyes. “But not today, Lieutenant,” he said, once again neutral and noncommittal, already moving on from the situation like it hadn’t even existed. “You’re dismissed.” Once again, it was easy to follow the order. “Sir,” he hoarsely recognized before he let his feet carry himself out of the tent on automation. Chilly March air was like a sobering splash to his face after the warm tent, that Lipton only outside of it realized had smelled like Speirs. Regardless of when it had started, it took a stark turn after that evening in Mourmelon, as did many other things. There was a vague yet constant feeling of pressure lifting. It was frustrating to just go through the motions and loiter around and train endlessly for what felt like nothing, but no one missed combat. They moved out from Mourmelon to Germany in April, driven in trucks through German countryside, met only weak resistance and mostly cleared towns and set up roadblocks and checkpoints. Lipton kept his post and continued to assist the company commander while acting as a willing link between the NCOs and the CO. Whatever had transpired between them in the tent in Mourmelon seemed to be gathered up and packed away with their equipment. Lipton kept following Speirs and Speirs kept requesting his presence, and even though on the surface it was all everyday army life, proper and professional, something had changed underneath. Lipton could see it in his Captain’s eyes every now and then, how they lingered on him when they shared a Jeep, how that intense heat sometimes flared up when they were alone, and how Speirs kept favouring his personal attendance over any runner or radio messages. Speirs kept him close, somehow more tightly than before, and Lipton let him. Something mellowed in him when the captain told him to follow or go, to join him or do something for him, and the best days were when many small errands needed doing and he got to hear the simple “come here, Lieutenant” several times. Getting to obey and please the captain felt like slipping into a warm bath, and those ordinary busy days were full of tingling contentment that relaxed Lipton’s shoulders and flushed his skin warm. Sometimes he wondered if Speirs knew what he was doing to him, and at times when he caught his keen eyes on him he was sure he had an idea. He wondered if it really had started in Foy, and if it had been a mistake how he had simply joined Speirs by his side, close up without any reservations or backup whatsoever. Nearly everyone else sensed something strong and dangerous about Speirs and knew to stay away, but Lipton had ignored all the warning signs and glued himself to the captain’s side, ending up inside that aura of danger. Maybe it had been a mistake. But nothing happened. Nothing was said or even hinted at, and although Lipton understood why considering they were constantly on the move and surrounded by other officers and trying to keep Easy company together and somewhat out of trouble, he was still disappointed. All they had was their professional familiarity, proximity by necessity, and silent looks that lasted just a few seconds too long. It felt like a standoff. V-E day was full of soaring relief and boundless happiness. With the help of ten thousand bottles of the finest wine and liquor, Easy company celebrated their survival and the end of all horrors for several days, sprawling into a week.   One party seemed to simply blend into another, and even if they were technically still on duty, there was not a single sober man, enlisted or officer, willing to hold them to the regular standard. It was impossible to control everything in that little Alpine paradise, and even though they did keep up with the necessities such as supplies and road blocks, especially the evenings were full of wild merriment, more or less contained in the houses of the deserted town. On Saturday new supplies arrived, and Colonel Sink hosted a party for all the officers at the extravagant hotel that resembled a lodge in a brutal sort of way. There were fine rugs on the floors, red velvet in the halls and all the furniture along with walls and staircases were dark wood with heavy decorations, but then there were stuffed animal heads mounted on the walls, creating a strange mixture of fine art and death. After supplies catching up with them there was good food, things that Lipton hadn’t seen in ages such as roasted meat that was served hot and crunchy vegetables. With them Champagne and liquor flowed freely and the merriment of the men kept the eerie feeling from the stuffed animal carcasses at bay and warmed the entire building. The doors were open, and even though the party was intended for the officers, several soldiers without bars in their collars strolled through to sample the goods. It was almost midnight. Lipton had been dragged along by Welsh and Nixon who had both wanted to eat and drink and show their junior officer a good time, and even though he had felt reluctant to join them, a few cups of Champagne later he was happy he had come. Some senior NCOs came by too, and Lipton got swept into the merry group of Talbert, Grant, Moore and Liebgott who had decided to snoop around the officers’ party and maybe sneak in for a bit. They were in the middle of a playful debate about it when someone called out for him. “Lieutenant Lipton.” The tone was familiar and his body recognized it before his thoughts caught up, his back straightening and cheeks flushing. He turned around. Speirs looked like he was off-duty, but just slightly. His hair was smooth and neatly kempt, he was wearing his good brown uniform jacket that had been washed, his shirt was neat and his tie tugged in, but the top button of his shirt was undone and his jacket open. “Captain Speirs,” Lipton said. “Come with me, Lieutenant,” Speirs ordered promptly, ignoring the enlisted men completely, “I need you.” “Yes, sir,” Lipton agreed right away, turned to throw one last glance at his buddies who looked back with grimaces and pitying eyes. Lipton wished he could have laughed openly at their misplaced sympathy, but that would not have been wise, and besides he had a long ago learned to feel privileged and happy with him alone knowing the captain’s true thoughts. He followed Speirs through the crowd and to the stairs without any further questions. The second floor of the hotel had become almost as crowded as the first with several gambling tables and drinking games set up there. Someone had found a record player and instead of German classics that every household seemed to have was playing The Andrews Sisters. Speirs led Lipton up the stairs to the third floor, where the crowd was rapidly dwindling. A few men who preferred to simply converse rather than join the partying of the lower floors were sitting at the steps, and none of them paid Speirs and Lipton a single glance as they passed. A captain from another company had fallen asleep on the steps with a wine bottle cuddled in his arms and his head resting on a step. The third floor was deserted, and as soon as they got out of the stairs and took down to the hallway, Speirs reached behind him and took Lipton’s hand. His hand squeezed, and Lipton squeezed back. Speirs picked up his pace from a confident stroll to almost a jog, turning the corner and taking them even further from the party, then seemingly at random darting towards one of the doors. He pulled Lipton into one of the hotel rooms, leading him by the hand and ushering him inside, then throwing the door shut behind them. They were in a large one-room suite, a large, comfortable room with soft carpeted floor, antique-looking oak panelling and furniture to match. There was large hulking dresser with brass handles, a few armchairs and a writing desk with a single green-shaded lamp that was on. The windows had red velvet curtains that had been drawn, and behind the lounging area there was a bulky double bed. The lock clicked in the door, and Lipton was reminded of a flap of a tent. Speirs brushed against him in a manner that could have passed for accidental, then continued his way to the writing desk that was set in the middle of the room like a space-divider. He turned around, leaned against the desk and regarded Lipton, who just now realized he was locked inside a private room with the captain whose eyes had that uncanny flame he usually hid. Lipton assumed the parade rest just to appease that fire. “Lieutenant. Come here and stand before me, at ease.” Lipton didn’t see a reason to reply, just did as he was told. He felt suddenly alert in a way he associated with field duty. “You are truly a valuable asset to this company. I have been very pleased with you.” Lipton didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. This didn’t seem to be to Speirs’ liking, because his expression hardened and he said: “Answer me when I’m speaking to you.” Lipton felt a shudder go down his spine, a thrilled and pleasant one. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Speirs relaxed again, content like a cat. “Come here.” It felt like a small eternity when Lipton crossed the floor. His boots made no sound on the soft carpet, but each step was heavy and dragged on like he was treading in deep water, and all the while Speirs watched him, keen and shameless. Lipton stopped before him at a distance he would have if they were simply talking. Somehow pretending like nothing was out of the ordinary added to the tickling flame that had been lit in his belly at the first command, or even perhaps from the moment when Speirs had taken his hand. “I promised I would inspect your condition once, didn’t I, Lieutenant?” Speirs said, playing along with the normalcy as well. He could have been giving a briefing or reporting nothing new from his patrol. “You did, yes, sir,” Lipton agreed, matching his tone. “Take your boots off, Lieutenant.” Lipton crouched down to follow the order. His jumpboots hadn’t been this clean in a while and he was proud to have himself together, but right now they were only an obstacle to be put aside. He wasn’t about to be evaluated based on his uniform. One boot came loose, then the other, and Lipton took his socks off while at it, stuffing one in each boot before setting them neatly aside and standing up straight again. Speirs was watching him still, so keenly that it felt impossible that he had glanced aside even for a second. It was an astonishing thought to consider that something so simply as taking his boots off for him gained Speirs’ undivided attention for him, and Lipton shivered pleasantly at it. Speirs leaned more heavily on the desk, almost a mirror image of himself back at Mourmelon in that yellow-green glow. He extended one foot forward. “Now mine.” Lipton’s mouth went dry in an instant, but the demand in Speirs’ voice didn’t leave any room for hesitation or refusal. He crossed the polite distance between them, less and less soft carpet between them, and stopped just short from bumping knees with the captain. For a second they shared a look, Lipton’s wide-open eyes meeting Speirs’ fierce ones. He fell on his knees. It wasn’t a difficult task to undo Captain Speirs’ jumpboots as they were exactly the same ones Lipton wore down to the same size, but just kneeling there on the floor and doing something like that for him, that was a treat. He undid the laces and pulled them loose, then grabbed the boot by the heel and the outsole and pulled it off, then peeled the sock off like he had done to himself. Speirs helpfully offered his other foot for the same treatment, and Lipton took in in his lap to deliver. Speirs had calloused feet just like every soldier, surprisingly sleek ankles and wiry hair starkly black against his pale skin. “That’s good,” Speirs murmured, gently pulling his foot free from Lipton’s hold. “Now stand up and give me a kiss.” Lipton’s stomach did a flip at that and it took him a moment to collect himself enough to put his feet under himself again. While kneeling down he had had an excuse not to look at Speirs, but when he stood he had to raise his gaze too, and when he locked eyes with the captain again he saw his fierce eyes and mouth just a bit agape, anticipating. To kiss someone was a simple enough command, but with Speirs he didn’t know exactly what he wanted. He had waited for this inspection for so long while also keeping it in the back of his mind that Lipton now found himself unprepared, never having kissed a man in his life, and the list of girls kissed a short one as well. Speirs waited for him. He had given an order and he expected it to be followed, so he just sat there in his relaxed yet taunting manner, ready for anything and expecting the best, and suddenly Lipton couldn’t take the single-minded scourge of his eyes anymore. Quickly he leaned in close, closed his eyes and kissed his captain, at the last second avoiding his mouth and instead going for the corner of it, pressing his lips there quickly. He felt like a boy being dared, and despite how juvenile and chaste the contact was, his heart thumped in his throat. He felt a hint of stubble against his lips. He pulled back, biting his own lip. He felt torn between having done something unspeakable but also ridiculously inoffensive, and when he met Speirs’ gaze again he saw the feelings reflected back at him. “You can do better than that, Lieutenant.” Even with his cheeks rosy and heated, Lipton rose up to the challenge and dived in again, his hands trembling when they came to rest against Speirs’ collar, and lips uncertain but determined when he claimed his captain’s mouth in a kiss. This time Speirs met him in the middle like he wanted to be sure he didn’t miss again, and the result was perfect. He kissed with force and passion, pressing in and parting his lips like he wanted to bite, and suddenly Lipton felt challenged. He returned everything he got, letting his desire take the lead. “Oh…” Speirs breathed between them. It was a strange sound, a barely audible mixture of pleasant surprise and lust, the ordinary and indecent blending together in one greedy breath, and then his hands moved up to take a hold of Lipton’s jaw and the back of his neck, angling him so he could kiss him deeper. When they parted, they were both out of breath. Speirs kept his hands where they were, holding Lipton by his neck with his fingers idly slipping into his hair. “Take your clothes off,” Speirs grunted. With his hands clammy, Lipton obeyed. Speirs pushed him just at arm’s length to watch him as he did, and his gaze burned so hot on his skin that the room didn’t even feel chilly. Lipton took off his cap and his jacket, placing both on the chair by the desk. He untangled the knot of his tie and pulled it off, then turned his attention to his buttons. Speirs’ eyes watched his fingers like a hawk, and just as predatory. He undid his cuffs, then started from his collar and moved down, undoing every button until he could slip his shirt off, leaving him in his undershirt. Speirs said nothing, just let his eyes roam and take in everything that was bared. His teeth grazed his bottom lip briefly. Lipton pulled his undershirt from his trousers and over his head, sending it to the growing pile of clothing on the chair. When he moved to undo his belt buckle, his hands happened close enough to his groin to notice he was already half hard. He felt himself blushing, a bit stunned, and his fingers felt that much clumsier when he started to open his trousers. He hadn’t even noticed himself growing aroused, he had been too busy being sunken into the sweet bliss of obeying, and now that he was about to reveal his state to be observed by Speirs’ keen eyes, he almost faltered in embarrassment.   He risked a glance at Speirs and was shocked to realize that he had already noticed, which was evident in his downcast eyes and openly yearning expression. “Good. Good, keep going,” Speirs urged him, his voice low as he shifted rigidly, his calm façade slipping. Lipton pushed his trousers down and stepped out of them. On a strange impulse, or perhaps delaying the inevitable, he folded them neatly before putting them over the back of the chair. His breath was coming out short and quick now that there was only one article of clothing left. He pushed his thumbs under the elastic band of his underwear, then slowly inched them down his hips, and legs until he could discard them too. Speirs shifted again, almost compulsively. Lipton straightened up again, fully nude, skittish on his feet and his cheeks flaming, but still eager. Speirs took a long look at him, all the way from his toes and legs up his belly and chest before finally coming back to his face. If the look in his eyes had been heated a moment ago, it was positively scalding now, and there was naked desire there. “You are stunning,” he breathed. He moved like something had snapped, like he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, and in a second he was in Lipton’s space where he caught him in his arms and kissed him like he intended to devour him. Lipton gasped into the kiss and Speirs pressed in closer. He tasted faintly of whiskey and cigarettes, a strong, smoky aftertaste that Lipton didn’t mind at all. Speirs held him fast by the back of his neck as they sunk into the rhythm of their kiss. It was like diving, sinking into the swirling depths that took your breath away and muffled all sounds around you. Speirs’ hands moved. Their grasp let go and they slipped on the move, strong and greedy, conquering skin and flesh. They caressed his back, warm palms kneading into the muscle and fingers stretching to draw the edges of his shoulder blades before slipping down, making Lipton curl his body towards Speirs. Speirs’ thumbs caught in the small dips in the small of Lipton’s back before sliding to grasp his hips, a commanding, firm hold that made Lipton give a stuttering whine and buck forward, rubbing his naked body against Speirs’ uniform, distantly wondering if he was making a mess there. The wool scratched his skin, but underneath it Speirs’ body burned hot and inviting and the man gave a low groan when their hips rubbed together, fully hard in his pants and fingers grasping tighter. Then suddenly, Speirs pulled back from the kiss and left Lipton blinking in confusion. He opened his eyes to meet Speirs’. “I want you in bed, now,” he told him. “Yes, sir,” Lipton breathed in return, not even noticing the title and already moving. They stumbled across the floorspace, Lipton backwards as Speirs pushed him by the hips, until they fell on the bed. Speirs handled him with confidence, and he found himself yielding with terrifying ease until he was almost fully on his side with Speirs pressed against him from behind, arms around him and mouth against his neck. Speirs hadn’t even loosened his tie, but his mouth was hot and insistent, his teeth ever present on Lipton’s neck, and his hard-on bore against his ass through the rough material of his trousers. Lipton arched back against him and earned himself a moan. “Christ, you drive me insane,” Speirs growled against his neck, greedy hands all over Lipton. “Uh-huh,” in a breathless grunt was all Lipton could manage. Speirs was making good of his words with his hands, stroking and palming him without restraint. His hands stroked his chest, palms curving along his muscles, thumbs nudging against his lowest rib and then stroking upwards until his fingers could circle and toy with his nipples. Lipton squirmed and panted under the treatment, not knowing what to make of the burning touch but having nowhere to go because Speirs held him in an ironclad grasp, firmly pressed along his back. He had no other option but to lie there, belly up and held tight and take it, take all that vicious tenderness, that thorough exploration of his body, and whimper and moan. Speirs’ wonderful, dangerous hands pet his skin and kneaded the muscles, then stroked lower down his belly, affectionately caressing everything they touched, then reached even lower down his naval, fingers stroking through pubic hair. Speirs’ breath was coming in deep, concentrated puffs like he was running uphill. “Spread your thighs for me.” Lipton shuddered and hurried to follow the command, bending his knee and pulling it up, opening his legs in a form of sharp v. Speirs let out a shuddering sigh, a sound of admiration, and his fingers slipped on the smooth, soft skin on Lipton’s inner thighs. There was the scar, the rugged ugly reminder of a close-call, and Speirs traced it carefully before lavishing the tender skin with merciless attention. “You like that, don’t you? When I tell you what to do?” There was absolutely no reason to lie, and Lipton felt no shame. “Yeah,” he sighed. In a bizarrely animalistic manner of affection, Speirs licked the corner of his mouth, then lapped at his lower lip. “I knew it,” he rasped, “I knew it.” It was deliciously decadent how Speirs was still fully dressed, but it seemed that he also had a plan in mind. His hands let go of him for a second, and a few seconds later Lipton heard a pop of a metallic lid. Then there were fingers on him, between his legs and drawing behind, and just like that he was touched on his entrance, then inside. There was copious amount of jelly of some sort coating Speirs’ fingers, thick and warm and slippery, easing the penetration and making everything feel so so soft. Being fingered felt like nothing else ever. There were no words, there was no comparison, there was only this entirely new, alien feeling of his body opening, being spread open and caressed from the inside. The lubricant warmed up quickly and was so thick it didn’t leak or spill over but left him feeling tended to and wet. Ready. Speirs had two fingers of his right hand inside Lipton and his other arm wrapped tightly around Lipton’s chest, keeping him still as well as he could. It was bizarre, how strong his hold was but how smooth and soft his touch was, firm and as demanding as everything else about him, but his fingers curled and caressed and made his body yield. Lipton realized he was making a punched-out humming sound every time the fingers pumped inside. There was something building inside of him, a heavy heat he hadn’t ever felt before, couldn’t even have imagined before this. Then the finger gave one last twisting thrust, stilled and pulled out. “You can undress me now,” Speirs said straight in his ear, wet lips brushing against the shell of it. He had to gather his wits for a moment, but then Lipton turned to Speirs. His captain looked more dishevelled than he had ever seen him, a mess he had made of him, his cheeks red and sweaty, his hair out of place and his red lips draw slightly back, revealing his teeth. Even with weak, trembling fingers Lipton made quick work of Speirs’ uniform, undoing button after button under his dark gaze, then pushing the shirt from his shoulders. The undershirt followed, and after that the belt was unbuckled and pulled out of the loops, the sound of leather against the rough fabric loud in the room. He pulled down the fly, and Speirs shifted helpfully when he pulled the trousers along with his underwear down his thighs and legs and finally completely off. Speirs naked and aroused was a breath-taking sight that made his heart race. He was brawny in a wiry sort of way, strong but still lithe, his body hair was black against his skin that was flushed with arousal, and he basked under his partner’s gaze shamelessly and completely comfortable with himself. Lipton hadn’t even realized how he stared until Speirs broke the spell by leaning towards him again and laying a hand on his collarbone. There was no playfulness or patience left in Speirs’ gaze now, his expression was intent and greedy. “I want you back against me, back to my chest. Now,” he said, almost whispered, and without a question Lipton crawled back into his hold. From a storey below them the record player was playing a bright swing tune that sounded muffled in their room. It would forever be the song that played during his first time. His first time like this, his first time being taken by another man. It felt heavenly and striking at the same time, overwhelming in a way that threatened to turn into fear and bring him to tears, but Speirs was slow and steady, a constant that held him together through it. They breathed together and took the plunge, hands momentarily clasped together. They fit together. Their bodies curled and rocked together, finding a rhythm as natural as heartbeat. Lipton could only let his body chase the pleasure. He had been wound up so carefully and completely that there wasn’t a single clear thought left in his mind, he was perfectly within his body that wanted pleasure, wanted to keep winding and mounting the building heat until it would all burst into ecstasy. He had his head leaned back on Speirs shoulder, the leg he couldn’t bear to hold up anymore thrown over his thighs while his hips rocked back against the other man, his spine in an almost painful curve. He needed something, he needed something more, something his feverish mind couldn’t quite grasp. “Sir – “ he gasped without any idea what he wanted to say. Speirs gave a breathless groan at the title and his hips bore home more viciously. “Oh god, you’re so sweet… So, so sweet…” Lipton felt powerful then, in how he had lured Speirs to him, just as attractive to him as he had been to him. Speirs breathed into his neck, mouthing the sweaty skin and grazing with his teeth, as ravenous as ever. “I’ve been trying to get you alone for a month. You’re just so – oh Christ – so… so…” There didn’t seem to be a word fitting for whatever he wanted to communicate, and it was like his body was trying to speak instead: he thrust harder, grinding in deep, rubbing against all the right places, and Lipton understood. Speirs kissed his neck and then his jaw, open-mouthed and messy. “Do you want to come?” Something dark flared inside Lipton’s chest, an eagerness that turned him trembling and pliant and urged him reach behind him for the other, his hand curling around a hip as if it was possible to pull the other even closer. “Yes! Yes, please!” “Yes… What?” And damn him, there was a lucid streak in that, a wicked joy in the game, and Lipton wanted to play. “Yes, sir. Please, sir,” Lipton cried out. Speirs seemed to know exactly what he needed. His lips pressed into his hairline in the back of his neck while he rolled them just so that he could press him down and thrust into him harder. His movements were rough but fluid, and finally he pushed his hand between Lipton’s legs and curled his fingers around his achingly hard cock. “Go ahead and come then,” he urged. It was a matter of seconds, then. Pinned down under the weight of the other, trapped between a deft hand and grinding hips, writhing and flexing and a rough command still in his ears, it was so good it almost ached, and Lipton came with a keen he muffled into the comforter. He could do nothing, only shake through his release that made his whole body thrash and tremble, and then just collapse when the overflowing ecstasy washed over him. Speirs rode his release out with him and kept fucking him through it, keeping the high going until every last drop of it was drained and it turned into deep satisfaction. The heat finally died down, leaving behind only bone-deep warmth. Lipton couldn’t bring himself to move. He just lay where he had ended up, not even bothering to close his legs. He hadn’t even realized that Speirs had climaxed at some point, but only became aware of something wet dripping down the backs of his thighs, and then Speirs flopped down next to him on his back with a heavy sigh. It got quiet in the room. They lay side by side where they had collapsed, shoulders brushing and breathing slowly evening out. The muffled sounds of the party became clearer, music and conversation too far away to make out words with sudden bursts of roaring laughter or hollering when the mood soared or a game was won. A glass broke somewhere. The record player was playing a soft romantic tune where a sweet female voice crooned probably about an absent lover or missing home. With some amusement Lipton realised they hadn’t even pulled back the covers, just fallen on top of them and then been too preoccupied with each other to even make use of the pillows. Speirs’ clothes were in a bundle on the floor, and Lipton remembered his own folded over a chair by the desk. With a huff that had a spark of amusement over their absurd current situation Lipton rolled over onto his back, ending up pressed against Speirs’ side. He turned to look at the man besides him, who was languidly stretched out and still basking in his own afterglow. As Lipton looked, Speirs tilted his head to the side to him. Their eyes met and Speirs gave him a small smile, then turned on his side to face him and lay one hand on his chest, the backs of his fingers stroking his collarbone. All that had been dark and dangerous about him seemed to have melted away, and without his uniform Captain Speirs was just a man. His eyes were warm and his gaze as gentle as his hand caressing his chest, but even sated and lazy he was focused. Lipton looked back, trying to understand the thoughts behind the look but coming up empty. “Don’t be scared,” Speirs muttered. Lipton blinked. “I’m not. Why would I be?” he asked, baffled. Speirs took a deep breath and smiled, satisfied with the answer. He shook his head a little, then leaned closer to kiss Lipton’s shoulder. “It’s nothing,” he said and kissed him again, then sighed so quietly that Lipton wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t felt it on his skin. “We can’t stay here for long, but give me a moment. Just a minute.” Lipton turned onto his side to face Speirs and mourned when the hand on his chest fell on the covers between them. He didn’t like the distance in Speirs’ voice, the hinted apology and reassurances as if he needed any of it. It made him feel that all that had happened between them, not just now but everything (since Mourmelon, since Haguenau, since Foy) before was about to be left in this room, and he didn’t like it. He had gotten himself close to Speirs, across the distance and inside his defences, and he wasn’t about to be expelled now. Now that Speirs wasn’t touching him anymore he fixed the problem by reaching over to touch him instead, his hand ending up on his side, feeling the hard plane of the ribcage and letting his hand drift lower to the mild curve of his waist. He was soft and warm there, drying sweat and the rise and fall of breathing signs of life under his palm.   “I’ll give you anything you want,” Lipton muttered, his hand moving from Speirs’ waist and around him, and then crawled in closer to the inviting heat of his body. Speirs sighed, something unreadable in his eyes, and smiled, sweet and relieved, and shook his head again even when he returned the affection and pulled Lipton into his arms. He let Lipton rest his head on his bicep, both arms around him in a secure embrace. “You are so…” Lipton waited for him to finally finish the sentence. After a heavy pause Speirs seemed to give up on it, huffed and cast his eyes down. When he looked up again, he had a spark in his eyes and he brought his hand up to Lipton’s face, smoothed a few overgrown strands of hair from his face, then curled along his jaw and pulled him into a kiss.  

[dearophelia]

gonna set your flag on fire - chapter 8

chapter 08: let it all come crashing down

An old friend from home needs to speak with you. [read on AO3]

(eternal thanks to @nightingaleseeking​ and @tarysande​ for their cheerleading on this project!!)

James reads the message again. And then a third time. The nine words don't change.

Mission FUBAR. Team captured. AA guns online. Nora compromised. 

“Shit." The message is dated two days ago, picked up and forwarded by a long-range vorcha comm buoy this morning.

He takes a mental inventory. Chen and Rahiri are back from their mission, but Deck’s team isn’t due back for another three days. He checks the N team roster and comes up empty. Not even a single N1. He sends a message to Abby, hoping she knows something he doesn’t about who's available for a rescue mission, and then dials Liara.

The connection takes a while to establish as it navigates through Liara’s security measures. Though the delay isn’t any longer than usual, James starts to fidget in the silence.

“James,” she answers, smiling. But her smile fades instantly upon seeing his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to send a few agents out to Zorya. Follow up on that Cerberus intel you passed us. Immediately. Please,” he adds as an afterthought.

Her brow furrows, but she taps at her console out of view. “Done. What’s going on?”

Even if he wanted to, there’s no sense in hiding it from Liara: she’ll find out as soon as her agents report back. “I sent a squad to check it out. They’ve run into some trouble.” He pauses. “A lot of trouble,” he corrects the understatement. “And Nora’s on the team.”

Liara blinks at him a few times and her eyes widen. “Do you think –” she cuts herself off, as if not even wanting to imagine the end of that sentence, let alone speak it into the universe.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “They got a message out and that’s what it sounds like.”

“Goddess,” Liara exhales. “James, you have to tell her.”

“I’m not telling Shepard I lost her kid.” He’s certainly not telling Shepard that he lost her kid and that her kid’s under Cerberus control. He has to tell her. Shepard isn’t anywhere near his chain of command anymore, hasn’t been for a long time, but she’s a good friend and she can pull resources he currently can’t. But he doesn’t want to tell her.

Liara shakes her head. “You have two soldiers available who can stage a rescue: an adept and a Shadow, a pair very ill-equipped to storm a base this size.”

James frowns, but he’s long stopped asking how his wife knows everything she shouldn’t. She does well by the information. And Liara’s right: Chen and Rahiri are good soldiers, but there are only two of them and they’re far better suited to stealth and infiltration. They tried stealth and infiltration with the first team and that only resulted in one compromised soldier and the other five captured. It’s time to blow down the front door.

“Even if you add yourself and Abby…James, you cannot do this with four people, do not be that stubborn. We would all tear the galaxy apart for our kids, but Olivia actually has the power to do it.”

“I know,” he says. And so do you, he adds silently, gratefully, though he hopes with all his heart Liara will never have to. She’s right, again: putting an Alliance team together with the right skills and security clearance will take too long. The war may have ended thirty years ago, but Shepard and her role in it haven’t faded into irrelevance. She wouldn’t use Galactic Affairs resources for this – she and Garrus have always separated their family and their work – but that hardly seems to matter. He’d bet a year’s salary that she’ll have half her old crew assembled by day’s end, and probably even wrangled the Normandy. “I’ve had nightmares about this call,” he admits.

Liara offers him a reassuring smile. “Better it comes from you. And now.”

His omnitool beeps with a response from Abby. No joy. Even Abby isn’t available. “Yeah,” he sighs.

“When you have a plan, tell me where I should meet you,” she says.

Of course Liara’s coming; James doesn’t know why he ever considered otherwise. She’s Shepard’s best friend.  Dropping everything for each other is what they do. “I will.” Their kids are with Aethyta for the summer; they don't even need to find a babysitter.

“As soon as my agents have anything, you will be the next to know. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” he says. He’ll need it.  

***

“I have a name and a paper trail a year old,” Liara says. “Which would you like first?”

Strange how this feels so much like a war council. Tablets scattered across the table, holographic projection in the middle, second cup of coffee steaming in front of her. Garrus at her right, Liara at her left, around the table with Miranda across from her between them. All they're missing is some bad lighting, Hackett on the QEC, and James lurking around the edges, unsure where he belongs.

Except this is their dining room, not the Normandy, and there aren’t any NCOs stationed outside, just their kids sleeping upstairs.

“Name,” Olivia says before anyone can say otherwise. Nora's been with them for three months and it's taken this long to find anything on Project Damocles. She's wanted a name since Chakwas pointed out the chip on that very first scan.

“Doctor Charlotte Turner, head of Project Damocles.” Liara calls up a holoimage of a pale blonde woman with strong cheekbones and an angular jaw.

“Turner’s still alive?” Miranda says, almost in awe. At the blank stares the others give her, she explains. “I lost track of her in the war. She’s brilliant.”

“She has her claws inside my kid’s head, Miranda,” Olivia snaps.

Miranda looks at her through the holoimage. “I realize that, Shepard. But Turner is formidably intelligent. Underestimating her would not be wise.”

Olivia takes a shallow, sharp breath. She isn’t sure whether she’d like to kill Charlotte Turner, or throw her into an Alliance cell deep underneath Vancouver and destroy the key. If they're both very lucky, she won't have to make that decision.

“Her trail goes cold about a year after the…surgery on Nora,” Liara says.

Olivia grimaces and doesn’t want to know what other words her friend may have used there. Bad enough she and Garrus use words like experiment and implantation regarding their daughter. Those words don’t need to see daylight, much less other people.

“But we think she’s still alive?” Garrus asks.

“I found no evidence otherwise,” Liara says. Her eyes flick toward Olivia before focusing again on Miranda. “There’s mention in this file that Turner worked on Lazarus.”

“Lovely,” Olivia mutters. Garrus rests his hand on her knee, beneath the table out of sight of the others. She drops her own hand down and gives his a gentle squeeze.

“She was an early consult,” Miranda brushes past the statement before any other implications have the chance to fall. “Her research was irrelevant to what we needed. She was moved onto other projects.”

Olivia bites her tongue about splitting a fine difference between irrelevant and unnecessary. It isn’t her mind she’s worried about anymore. Nora’s upstairs in her bedroom, sleeping soundly underneath a yellow comforter and glow-in-the-dark stars, blissfully unaware of this very disturbing conversation happening where she ate dinner a few hours earlier.

“And we lose her a few years ago?” Garrus brings everyone back to the present.

Liara nods. “Current Cerberus records are patchy at best and she drops out of them in early 2189. She may still be working for Cerberus, but the last record I have of her is security footage leaving Omega on a transport ship ostensibly headed to Virmire.” She brings up a new image. Despite the dark hair, it’s obviously Turner boarding the ship. “There’s no record of the ship ever landing on Virmire,” she continues. “But it does appear two years later on a cargo run through Aralakh for Kassa Fabrication. According to my agent, the owner either truly does not remember Turner, or is a very good liar with some incentive to cover for her. Likely the former."

Garrus sighs and leans back in his chair. “She could be anywhere.”

“The Alliance has spent the last few years knocking on the door of every Cerberus cell they can find,” Olivia says. “Any chance you know of any they may not have found?” she asks Miranda, though she’s asked it before.

“We were isolated from each other for precisely that question,” Miranda says, the same answer she’s always given.

It was worth a shot. “Here’s hoping she slips up,” Olivia says, though she’s been around the galaxy enough to know that people like Turner don’t slip up.

They only reappear of their own volition and only then when it’s already too late.

***

Olivia stares past the elcor ambassador at a spot on the wall behind him. They really should repaint the meeting room.

“This one disputes your claim.”

She shifts her gaze to the plant behind the hanar ambassador. They should also water the plants in here. Maybe replace them with synthetics.

She lets the elcor ambassador retort – with great irritation, I do not care – before she sits up straight and focuses her attention on the two. “Ambassadors,” she says, and then is interrupted by the door chime. Olivia furrows her brow. Molly’s new, but she knows not to interrupt these meetings. “Yes?”

The door slides open. “Director, Ambassadors, I’m so sorry for interrupting.” The young woman looks nervous. No, worried. She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Director, you have an urgent call.”

“How urgent? Can it wait?” As much as Olivia would like to be just about anywhere else, economic tensions between the elcor and hanar have been rising lately; her office is the last stop before Council trade mediators get involved and come up with a solution that will probably piss off both races and the krogan.

Molly shakes her head. “An old friend from home needs to speak with you.”

Olivia’s blood runs cold.

Adrenaline sparks against her tongue. She swallows against a sharp wave of nausea and blinks rapidly, forcing her vision to clear. There’s a ringing in her ears as she turns back to the other two and she’s never been so thankful that neither race understands human facial expressions.

“Ambassadors,” she says, surprised at how calm her voice sounds while her heart pounds in her chest, “my apologies. This requires my immediate attention. Assistant Director Kali T’Vasa will take my place in these conversations." She stands and grits her teeth together against the vertigo that joins the nausea. Breathing slowly, she gathers her computer and, after giving both ambassadors a courtesy nod, steps out of the meeting room.

She whirls around on Molly as soon as the door closes, surging half a step into her assistant’s personal space. “Who the hell pulled that line?” she hisses.  

Molly’s eyes go wide and she takes a step backward. “Commander James Vega?”

Olivia’s heart thunders in her ears and another wave of adrenaline crashes into her, freezing cold and frantic. “Okay.” She closes her eyes tight, forcing the tsunami of panic to hold off for just a little bit longer. Five minutes, that’s all she needs. Talk to Vega, find out what happened, then panic.

With a sharp exhale, she opens her eyes again. “Okay. Uh – pull Kali out of whatever she’s doing and send her in there so those two don’t do anything stupid. And reschedule everything for the next three days. No, a week. And,” she pauses. “I need coffee.”

“Large black triple shot hazelnut latte?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, Molly looks like she’s going to say something. But she doesn't. “Anything else?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Thank you,” she adds belatedly.

Molly nods. “He’s connected to your private terminal.”

Olivia manages a small smile for the young woman and steps into her office. She takes three deep breaths – good air in, bad air out – before picking up the call. “What happened?”

It’s a testament to how panicked James is that he doesn’t even say hello. “The mission Nora’s on went pear-shaped. Cerberus captured her team, but they got an SOS out. The chip’s active.”

Everything

just

stops.

Time, air, the galaxy. James on the vidcall.

Her brain ceases processing external signals. Everything freezes in place, silent and unmoving, except for Olivia’s shallow breath, in and out.

The chip’s active.

Air in, air out.

Not good, there’s no good air in here, there might not ever be any good air again, and there’s so much bad air in her lungs she could never hope to breathe it all out. Just…air. Keep breathing. Breathe. Inhale, exhale.

In. Out.

Her lungs burn with the force of it.

“…need your help,” James is saying when everything flips back on again. He stops. “Shepard?”

“Yeah,” she says, blinking a few times. She refocuses on his face on the screen in front of her. Just another crisis, that’s all. She’s spent her entire adult life managing any number of crises. If she can fool herself into thinking this is no different, she can make it through this conversation. Make it through this day. She exhales sharply, straightens her shoulders, and shoves the panic part of her five-minute plan to sometime several days from now. “Yeah. What do you need?”

Just another crisis. That her daughter is at the center of it is a fact she does not have time nor space to dwell on right now. Nora doesn’t need her to panic.

Nora needs her to help.

***

“Here’s a thought,” Alle says, staring up at the ceiling. The concrete floor isn’t particularly comfortable, but if she’s lying down, she isn’t pacing. And if she isn’t pacing, she isn’t driving herself and everyone who can see her insane. “I’d love to just sit here and wait for a rescue, but waiting at least another three days to see if our message even got out is probably not our wisest plan.”

"No," Carlos agrees, "probably not. But – and I'm not saying we shouldn't try – but we don't have any of our gear, our intel was wrong, and now we're down a person."

Alle sits up. She tugs her hair down from its mussed ponytail, runs her fingers through her hair, and then pulls it back up out of her face. Looking over at Rachel’s cell, she sighs. It’s been almost two days since they dragged an unconscious Nora out of the cell. And though the others all thought she was hearing things, Alle will swear to every known god and goddess in the galaxy – and a few she thinks she got from television – that she heard screaming late last night. “We've had worse odds," she says, because they have. This just feels worse. "Anyone got a way out of here?”

She’s met with silence for half a minute and then Micah speaks up.

“Getting out isn’t difficult,” he says. “We rush them when they bring food, that’s not an issue. The problem,” he sighs, “is what do we do beyond that door. Torrini's right: we have no gear, no idea what forces they have, and the blueprints we had are out of date. Any escape route isn’t guaranteed.”

“Yeah, but they can’t have changed it that much,” Carlos says. “It’s a concrete building in the middle of the jungle. We found some walls and doors in the wrong spot, but generally everything was right. They’re not gonna overhaul the entire infrastructure. Some rooms might be missing, but a hallway isn't going to go the wrong way. Right?”

Alle quirks her eyebrow. He has a point. But blind faith that Cerberus hasn’t blocked their exit strategy with their redecorating isn’t how she wants to rescue her best friend. She ultimately may not have a choice, but she’d like to avoid shouldering major parts of their plan onto Cerberus is too lazy to remodel their jungle base. “Doesn’t solve What’s Behind Door Number One, though.”

“And we’re unarmed,” Micah points out again.

“We have an omnitool,” Alle says.

“That hardly qualifies as ‘gear’,” Rachel says, putting air quotes around the word.

“No, but Torrini can walk Wu through how to hack into those force fields with it, and I distinctly remember the goons bringing food having guns. We can acquire gear.” Now that she’s made her way through half a plan – even a half that largely depends on Jonah being able to understand Carlos when he goes full tech nerd – Alle finds herself very reluctant to stop planning. Momentum has carried her through many a FUBARed mission. No reason that tradition should stop now.

With a deep breath, Jonah pushes himself upright from his silent corner. “Problem Number One, retrieve our gear. Our actual gear. I’m not running an extract with an aging pistol we took off someone on the prison catering staff. Number Two, find where they’re keeping Vakarian and spring her.”

Alle swallows. They all know how to leave people behind; they’ve all made that awful decision to choose the mission over people and sometimes she thinks it was a prerequisite for the program. If she’s being honest with herself – and honesty has always sucked but has also always kept her alive – the easiest way to get the five of them out is to ignore Problem Number Two entirely.

She knows she’d never forgive herself, never stop being haunted by a metallic orange stripe and the ghost of a grenade, but forgetting about Nora is how Alle guarantees she gets out of this alive.

Momentum she’ll keep, but fuck honesty.

Problem Number Two is on the board. Jonah put it there and the other three aren’t arguing and maybe they all had to leave someone behind to learn that it isn’t something you do twice.

Jonah cracks his neck. “Problem Number Three, get all of us out of this damn base.” He pauses, waiting for someone to bring up a fourth problem.

They have way more than three problems, but nothing worthy of the board.

“I’m looking for answers to any of those three problems.”

***

Garrus stops by the front door to double check the security system. All green, all safe. He turns off the downstairs lights and heads upstairs.

His omnitool beeps softly with a forwarded message from Liv: the Citadel building department finally signed off on their design, all the finances are authorized, and remodeling on their new place will start next week.

"Thank you," he whispers in relief to the universe for at least one bright spot in this evening of bad news. They didn't have space even before they brought Nora home. In a few months, the boys will have their own rooms, he and Liv will have their own offices again, they'll have a full dextro/levo kitchen big enough that they can both cook at the same time without tripping over each other, and they'll have enough closet space that they can stop storing everyone's shoes in a closet downstairs with the holiday decorations. They'll even have a real guest room, not just a pull-out couch shoved into the corner of Olivia's office, lost anyway when they converted the room for Nora.

He turns off the light at the top of the stairs, casting the hallway into shadows. He passes his sons’ room, pleased to see their light off. Quentus has been protesting the concept of bedtime lately,

Soft light spills out into the hallway from Nora's room, the warm glow of her nightlight. She doesn’t like sleeping with the door closed and it's cracked just enough to see in. He peeks his head around the door. She’s sound asleep, curled up tight around her teddy bear. The stars have lost their glow for the night, but the fish nightlight glows happily in the corner.

It’s hard to believe she’s the end result of some twisted Cerberus experiment. She’s sweet and shy and smiles and doesn’t deserve the horror show someone placed in her head.

No child does, but especially not his daughter.

Between Liara and Miranda, they’d been able to put together a good picture of Turner. Garrus had had enough somewhere around learning she’d worked on a project trying to meld AI with organics. That one wasn’t Cerberus, according to Miranda, which didn’t really make it better. Worse, somehow, when Liara found some tenuous connections to the Alliance. He’d walked away and busied himself with laundry until the other two had left.

Nora looks so peaceful, so unaware of the bomb in her head. He knows he can’t keep it that way forever, but spirits, will he try. He silently steps back out into the hallway and continues toward his own bed.

“You okay?” Olivia asks, shutting down her omnitool for the night.

Garrus sighs. “We’re caught up on laundry.”

“That’ll last until tomorrow,” Olivia observes.

He nods in agreement and walks into the bathroom to get ready for bed. When he comes back out, Olivia’s leaning on the wall, waiting.

“That wasn’t an answer,” she says.

“I know.” He brushes past her.

She pushes off the wall and silently follows him to bed. She doesn’t respond, but everything she isn’t saying resonates off of her: she’s worried, she’s concerned, she isn’t going to push him.

Garrus clenches his jaw and curls his talons tight around the blanket as he tugs the covers back. Her patience drives him insane sometimes. “Our daughter has a dormant control chip in her head. We have no idea what it will do to her, and the monster who put it there is still alive somewhere, doing who knows what. I don't know what you want me to say, Olivia.”

She looks up at him with kind, soft eyes. “You walked away in the middle of the conversation and did what I’m pretty sure is eight loads of laundry. I’m just checking in.”

“Nine,” he says quietly. He sighs and lets the blanket fall back to the bed. “No. I’m not okay. Are you?”

“Nope.”

Though Olivia’s terrible at telling him anything other than truth, Garrus makes a perplexed sound. She didn’t leave and do three hours of laundry.

“I’m very good at compartmentalizing,” she reminds him, climbing into bed.

Garrus nods and slides in beside her.

It’s always scared him a bit, how good she is at turning things off, packing them away to be dealt with later. They're both good at it; it comes with being a soldier, but Liv is the expert. He hasn’t seen her with that kind of targeted focus in years. He honestly hadn’t wanted to see it again.

***

Olivia sits down at the kitchen counter with a heaviness and exhaustion she hasn't felt in a long time. One more call and then her list is done. One more call and then there's nothing to do until the Normandy picks them up in eleven hours. She still has to pack, but she can't justify pushing this call off any longer.

She can tell herself that other things were more pressing, more urgent. That in the grand scheme of this particular problem, it was more important to track down Miranda and pull about a hundred strings with Alliance Command. Starting a plan in motion was, fundamentally, a more critical task than stopping to tell her husband what’s going on with their daughter.

Yet no matter how she spins it, no matter how much logic she puts onto all the other calls she made first, it doesn’t change that she’s calling him last because she doesn’t want to call him at all. Doesn’t want to tell him, doesn’t want to say the words out loud. Doesn't want to see his face when she tells him that their worst nightmare is now their reality. She’d much prefer fabricating a sudden work trip, disappearing for a week, and returning with Nora in tow, crisis already resolved.

But Garrus is her husband and he is Nora’s father, and she needs to tell him. He needs to know. He deserves to know. And as much as she'd like to never tell him about any of this, she needs him to know. She needs him beside her for whatever comes next.

Olivia clenches her back teeth and calls his office.

“Good evening, Director Shepard,” Kyra says.

No matter how hard Olivia’s tried to convince her otherwise, Kyra always addresses her by her title. Olivia gave up five years ago. Tonight, she wishes she’d tried a little harder: she’s Mom right now, not Olivia Shepard, Director of Galactic Affairs.

And Garrus is about to be Dad, not Garrus Vakarian, Turian Councilor.

“Hi, Kyra. I need to speak to Garrus, please.” Her voice sounds so much calmer than she feels.

“I’m sorry. The Council’s in a closed session.”

Olivia nods. “I know.” Her throat’s suddenly bone dry. She swallows a few times before she can get the words out. “Tell him an old friend from home needs to speak with him.”

[aboyandhisstarship]

can i get that tinder au?

sure...this one is weird...Gwen is still in school and David is New to Delta force...also Jasper and Lilly and now a thing? JaspWait? that is a rare pair and a half...big i dig it...anyway here we go.

Gwen was only half watching the true crime show as she flipped through tinder, it was about one in the morning in her campus dorm and she was bored, most were men trying to flex but eventully she came across a smiling red head.

Gwen tapped on his picture pulling up the profile in more detail, it read

David:

22 Years old

Gwen noted that under the interest’s section David wrote a lot of outdoorsy activates…Gwen didn’t think much of it. She wrote the same thing, a lot of people did and swiped right.

Fort Bragg:

David stepped off the plane still in full kit as phone lit up with a notification from tinder reading “someone Liked your profile :D”

One of David’s teammates smacked him on the back “wow someone finally like your stupid profile.”

David rolled his eyes as another added “so long as she is better than your last date.”

David defended “bonquisha wasn’t that bad!”

Another finished “she tried to sneak onto the plane Davey.”

David waved his hand as he went towards his locker.

 The next morning:

Gwen woke up in her dorm room as her phone lit up “you have a match! Start chatting.”

Gwen opened up her match to see the smiling Red head “David.” Gwen sent a simple “hello” Before making her way to class.

 Bachelor NCO Quarters Fort Bragg:

David woke up at the late for him 08:00 to the sound of Jasper making some food saying mockingly “Good Morning Staff Sargent.”

David rolled his eyes saying “we just got off the plane…I’m allowed to sleep in a bit.”

Jasper lightly punched his shoulder saying “that’s Quitter Talk Davie.”

David turned on his phone to see he matched with a Girl named Gwen who messaged him a simple “hello.”

Jasper rolled his eyes “that’s almost worse than your opening move!”

David shook his head returning “Good Morning!” before saying “I’m going to go run a couple of K.”

Jasper give him a nod.

 Gwen was only half paying attention to her Literature class as her phone pinged the response from David. She blinked it was honestly sweet almost oddly so…she answered “to you as well…uh listen your profile doesn’t really say what you are looking for…”

A minute or so later David responded “Honestly I’m not sure…I have to travel a lot for my job…”

Gwen raised an eyebrow “oh? And what job is that”

David answered “sent a winking emoji… oh I’m an account.”

Gwen shook her head “ok so you’re not an accountant…” honestly she should be more worried than she was but she had a good feeling about this David and said “are you free…we can meet up somewhere?”

David sent an address saying “this is a bar…I don’t drink but they don’t let me into Restaurants around here anymore…not my fault but a very long story.”

Gwen smiled “sounds good David.”

 Back on base:

David lowered his phone sighing “I can’t believe you told me to say that Jasp…”

Jasper shrugged as he played with a basketball “hey it worked…and the team will want to check this one out.”

David pointed out “she will ask questions…that we can’t answer…”

Jasper touched his shoulder “you will be fine Nomad…now let’s get your outfit.”

That night:

Gwen was dropped off by her roommate Lilly saying “are you sure about this guy?”

Gwen adjusted her dress “I don’t know…”

Lilly smiled “well I well be nearby you just give the word.”

Gwen nodded as she entered the bar, the Bar was in the city and was frequented by both student’s from the university and soldiers from Fort Bragg. She saw a couple of people she knew in passing and a few other’s she didn’t, she felt like she was being watched from somewhere but ignored the feeling as she approached the red head, he was sitting at a table his phone sitting on it with a root beer next to it, he had his eyes closed. Gwen carefully sat down and David opened his eyes smiling brightly “Gwen?”

Gwen took his extended hand “that’s right and you’re David.”

David nodded “that’s right Ma’am…” he then visibly flinched adding “sorry Force of habit.”

Gwen shook her head “it’s ok.”

The two started to chat and things were going well, Jasper sat at the Bar Davie clearly had this as he took a sip of his beer and a red head sat next to him looking at David and Gwen with the same air as him, Jasper scanned her “no weapons…kind of cute.”

Jasper smiled “let me guess one of Gwen’s friends to make sure things go well?”

Lilly whipped around looking him over “and you are here to do the same?”

Jasper nodded “guilty as charged…” he reached out “Jasper Fronds.”

Lilly took the hand “Lilly Anderson.”

The date was going smoothly when a rather large burly man entered seeing David and screaming “STAFF SARGENT GREENWOOD! I TOLD YOU I WOULD GET YOU!”

Before Gwen could register anything David was on his feet hands raised “easy Barlow…no need to cause anything.”

Barlow laughed “you messed with my career!”

David pointed out “you sold someone a ticket….to Afghanistan…ON A DF PLANE!”

Barlow was clearly drunk saying “I don’t care about you DELTA FORCE COCK SUCKERS  AND YOUR LOVE OF DAMN SECRETS.”  And charged for David, producing a knife and swiping at him  

David took the blow for Gwen saying “run! Sorry about this.” As he produced a Glock

Jasper came around also armed as Lilly and Gwen simply watched in terror. David stood up as he said calmly “Barlow…give it up…”

There was the sound of sirens as Barlow gripped his knife. David ignored the bleeding as he protected Gwen saying “this is between us…you attack a Civ and we Kill you...”

The sirens got closer as Barlow snatched up a hostage “put your guns down…”

Jasper pushed Lilly behind him “can’t do that Barlow…”

Barlow snarled and charged for Gwen who heard 2 loud *Bangs* and was sprayed with blood.

20 minutes later:

David sighed as his arm was bandaged “well that was the worst first date ever…”

Gwen agreed saying “yep…no contest…”

David hung his head “I know you probably won’t want to see me again…”

Gwen nodded “shooting someone tends to do that to people…”

David nodded “I’m sorry you had to see that…”

Gwen shrugged “honestly it was kind of cool…Delta force huh?”

David nodded “that’s what they tell me.”

Gwen paused “you got one more chance Soldier boy…”

David gasped “really Gwen?”

Gwen sighed “I had fun…before you had to shoot someone…so maybe we can do more of that next time.”

David nodded “maybe I will…”

 Elsewhere:

Jasper sighed as the officer asked “and you and Staff Sargent do what for the Army?”

Jasper answered again “classified.”

The officer grunted “sure it is…”

Jasper signed the statement saying “if you require that information contact COL Miller US army.”

The officer grunted “or we will.”

Lilly approached gently “are you ok?”

Jasper waved his hand “I’m just sad we trashed there date.”

Lilly laughed “oh yea there date is ruined.”

Jasper smiled at her “it was nice meeting you Lilly…I wish we could meet again…but shooting people I find tends to ruin peoples impression.”

Lilly nodded “you may be right…but I enjoyed talking to you…so maybe we will.”

Jasper say David coming over saying “maybe we will…Come on Davie…the MP’s will want to talk us.”

Gwen watched them go with Lilly as she said “did we really agree to see them again?”

Lilly grabbed her keys “I guess we did.”

They headed back to their dorm room with one hell of a story.

(not proofread cause your boy is lazy) 

[indicamoonlight]

2am: IGY6

*Trigger Warning: Mentions of Sexual Assault _ Mild Detail*

I’ve been doing a lot of self inflection recently in an attempt to better myself emotionally and heal myself instead of just live in contentment.

I decided that my anxiety was at a manageable level and so I got a job. I work around many types of veterans and while some call themselves “dysfunctional” many still reminisce fondly on their time in service. “ I got your 6 man. No worries.” But how do I tell them that I’m not proud to be a veteran? How do I tell them most days I wish I never joined? I sit quietly back in my chair and hope they don’t notice I didn’t answer.

I joined for all the right reasons, I believed. I joined because they told me it would be another family, they told me I’d gain a worldly perspective, they told me my health would improve. After hearing all that why not? I guess I shouldn’t jump to an extreme and say that I regret my service because I don’t regret serving this country. I regret being there. I regret leaving in the first place.

I anticipated my first unit with so much excitement. When I met my chain of command I was more than ecstatic to prove how I would be an asset to our battalion. I was bright eyed and eager. The picture above was taken my first week. The premise of military service I was led to believe was something I resonated with whole heartedly. I established camaraderie, I had trust in those around me, I felt surrounded with love and support. That lasted only as I was successful. I found that out the hard way.

IGY6 plastered all over military themed suicide prevention posters. Veteran based military clean-up organization literally established to heal the wounds of service. But where are my battles? Where are those who told me they had my best in mind?

I married a man after telling my parents and friends from back home that I was straight on Facebook. We were in the same unit, in the same section, and shared a common wound created by an NCO that made us do his job on top of ours. I don’t remember ever working until 9pm from 6:30am but we weren’t about to argue that with him. I enjoyed my small wedding and I enjoyed my first month of marriage. And then something changed in the person I married and ultimately I suffered the repercussions.

“Hey, you were in the United States Army Dog. That’s more than anyone can say they’ve done in their lives. You should be proud”

When my husband assaulted me the first time, he held me down into a pillow so I couldn’t breathe. When I fought back, he started crying. I held him that night. When he went to bed, I cried silently next to him.

I wish I could tell you this was the end of that chapter. He told me that he had no idea it happened. That he must have trauma and that’s the cause. I believed him. 3 years later he tells people I lied for attention.

Every other night it was routine. The nights I fell asleep first were the nights I didn’t have time to fight back before being pinned down.

This went on for the better of a year. He told me it was an illness. He bought me plan B.

I remember the first time I told my 1SG. I remember the first time I told my unit friends. I remember the first time I told my NCOs. “He’s about to pin sergeant, are you sure you want to do that to him? He could be kicked out you know.”

IGY6 plastered on SHARP posters. Annual trainings sitting next to him at work. It became routine. Assault at night, little sleep, PT at 6:00. After 6 months I struggled to feel like me. I slowed down, I cried when confronted by authority figures, I ate too much or too little, the army gave me pills that gave me headaches. He begged me to “help him through this unique phase in his life”.

I remember the first week I failed my pt test. I threw up and almost passed out. routine events meant I had 2 hours of sleep that morning. They flagged me for inability to pass. Not one person asked if I was ok. Slowly my unit deemed me “a shitbag”. A colloquial military term for someone that can’t keep up with the military lifestyle.

We moved into a house with separate rooms. With separate beds. With door locks. I believed it had to have been my fault. I fell into depression. My unit still didn’t ask. Training after training, Sharp brief after assist training, not one person I told asked. No one had my six. They saw me letting go.

“Your doctors better work fast, because I’m chaptering you”

I live with this. Everyday I’m reminded of this. How do you cope with that many violations. They don’t tell you. How to keep moving forward. Your old unit friends have written you off.

No one has my 6.

People tell you about him. Even after you decided to leave and he threw your car keys into the street.

Veterans will discredit you for not deploying. Not knowing you evaded deployment with his new unit to stay home and try to heal. You’re military career was riddled with bruises, SSRI’s, and guilt. & I can’t tell them that I’m not proud to be a veteran. & I can’t tell them most days I wish I never joined.

So I sit quietly back in my chair and hope they don’t notice.

[techtrends-today]

How to View SOF Olympiad Results for IMO, NSO, NCO, IGKO, and IEO?

The Anticipation and Experience of Olympiad Results Day

It's a bright, crisp morning, and the school corridor is teeming with excitement. Students, guided by an infectious curiosity, convene around the notice board - the very symbol of their collective hard work and anticipation. This crescendo of emotions marks the special day when SOF Olympiad result are announced. Surrounding them, teachers, parents, and friends share in the suspense, eagerly awaiting the revelation of scores that signify months of dedication and learning. This moment epitomizes not just an end but a beginning—the acknowledgment of effort and the dawn of future aspirations.

The Impact of Olympiad Results on Students, Parents, and Teachers

Olympiad results are more than just numbers; they are reflections of potential, indicators of progress, and catalysts for academic and personal growth. For students, they signify recognition of their hard work, for parents, pride in their children's achievements, and for teachers, the result of their guidance and support.

Understanding SOF Olympiad Result

Key Statistics and FAQs

The anticipation around SOF Olympiad results often comes with numerous questions:

What percentage of students qualify for the second round? Historically, around the top 5% make it to the next level.

How are results calculated? A comprehensive analysis of answers, giving a detailed breakdown of strengths and learning areas.

Average scores for qualifiers? While varied, achievers often score above 80% to make it to the finals.

Accessing results online: Through the official SOF portal, requiring registration details for entry.

Cutoff scores: These are determined by overall performance levels each year, ensuring a dynamic and fair assessment process.

Accessing Olympiad Results Online

Students can view their results by visiting the official SOF website. A straightforward process - entering roll numbers and other required details - provides immediate access to individual performances, detailed analyses, and ranks.

Unified Council Services for Teachers, Students, and Parents

Tailored Support and Empowerment

For Teachers, Unified Council offers invaluable resources from comprehensive study materials and practice tests to workshops that enhance teaching methods tailored for Olympiad success.

For Students, a suite of services including mock tests, performance analysis, and personalized counseling equips them with essential tools for exemplary performance in Olympiads.

For Parents, regular updates, access to expert advice, and insight into nurturing home environments for study ensures their child's preparation is well-rounded and supported.

Testimonials and Success Stories

From a student climbing the ranks in IGKO, thanks to personalized guidance, to teachers witnessing a revival of interest in scientific inquiry amongst their classes, Unified Council's impact is tangible and profound.

Credible Sources and Further Reading

Official SOF Website: The primary source for all Olympiad-related information, including results and participation details.

Unified Council Reports: Offers insights into performance trends, success stories, and the effectiveness of support programs.

Education Ministry Statistics: Provides a broader perspective on the impact and reach of Olympiad programs nationally.

The path to viewing and understanding SOF Olympiad result is marked by anticipation, but it is just one step in the broader academic and developmental journeys of students. The Unified Council remains committed to supporting this continuous quest for knowledge, offering resources that empower students, engage parents, and enable teachers. With every Olympiad, new stories of challenge and triumph are written, and together, we celebrate these milestones, always looking forward.

[wiseguy05]

Global Call Center Outsourcings Market By Type, By Application, By Segmentation, By Region, and By Country 2020-2026

Call centers are the business consulting services where expert agents answer calls from the customers etc. The customers could call an organization before, during or after they purchase a product and this could be for their diverse needs. In 2017, the global Call Center Outsourcings market size was xx million US$ and it is expected to reach xx million US$ by the end of 2025, with a CAGR of xx% during 2018-2025.

Also Read: https://www.openpr.com/news/2089787/call-center-outsourcings-market-size-trend-analysis

 This report focuses on the global Call Center Outsourcings status, future forecast, growth opportunity, key market and key players. The study objectives are to present the Call Center Outsourcings development in United States, Europe and China.

The key players covered in this study Aditya Birla Minacs Atento Concentrix Conduent Convergys Corporation Datacom Group DialAmerica Firstsource Focus Services Genpact InfoCision Management Corporation Inktel Direct iQor NCO Group One World Direct Qualfon Sitel Sykes Enterprises SupportSave Tech Mahindra Teleperformance Televerde TeleTech TELUS International Transcom WorldWide Ubiquity Global Services United Nearshore Operations WNS Global Services Webhelp

Market segment by Type, the product can be split into Inbound Call Services Outbound Call Services Others

Also Read: https://www.openpr.com/news/968472/disposable-rubber-gloves-global-market-key-players-comasec-dou-yee-ho-cheng-enterprise-analysis-and-forecast-to-2025.html

 Market segment by Application, split into BFSI Retail Government IT & Telecommunication Defense Aerospace & Intelligence Others

Also Read: http://www.marketwatch.com/story/starch-derivatives-market-size-share-outlook-and-global-opportunity-analysis-2021-2026-2021-01-21

 Market segment by Regions/Countries, this report covers United States Europe China Japan Southeast Asia India Central & South America

Also Read: http://www.marketwatch.com/story/ayurvedic-medicine-market-2021-global-sales-price-revenue-gross-margin-and-forecast-by-2026-2021-01-22

 The study objectives of this report are: To analyze global Call Center Outsourcings status, future forecast, growth opportunity, key market and key players. To present the Call Center Outsourcings development in United States, Europe and China. To strategically profile the key players and comprehensively analyze their development plan and strategies. To define, describe and forecast the market by product type, market and key regions.

In this study, the years considered to estimate the market size of Call Center Outsourcings are as follows: History Year: 2013-2017 Base Year: 2017 Estimated Year: 2018 Forecast Year 2018 to 2025 For the data information by region, company, type and application, 2017 is considered as the base year. Whenever data information was unavailable for the base year, the prior year has been considered.

ALSO READ: http://www.marketwatch.com/story/celery-seedss-market-analysis-2021-by-segment-key-players-and-applications-and-forecasts-to-2027-2021-01-20

 About Us:

Wise Guy Reports is part of the Wise Guy Research Consultants Pvt. Ltd. and offers premium progressive statistical surveying, market research reports, analysis & forecast data for industries and governments around the globe.

 Contact Us:

NORAH TRENT                                                      

sales@wiseguyreports.com       

Ph: +162-825-80070 (US)                          

Ph: +44 2035002763 (UK)  

[freesuitwhispers]

Global Call Center Outsourcings Market Research Report 2020-2026

Summary - A new market study, titled “Global Call Center Outsourcings Market Size, Status and Forecast 2018-2025” has been featured on WiseGuyReports.

Call centers are the business consulting services where expert agents answer calls from the customers etc. The customers could call an organization before, during or after they purchase a product and this could be for their diverse needs.

In 2017, the global Call Center Outsourcings market size was xx million US$ and it is expected to reach xx million US$ by the end of 2025, with a CAGR of xx% during 2018-2025.

 This report focuses on the global Call Center Outsourcings status, future forecast, growth opportunity, key market and key players. The study objectives are to present the Call Center Outsourcings development in United States, Europe and China.

Also Read: https://www.openpr.com/news/2089787/call-center-outsourcings-market-size-trend-analysis

The key players covered in this study

Aditya Birla Minacs

Atento

Concentrix

Conduent

Convergys Corporation

Datacom Group

DialAmerica

Firstsource

Focus Services

Genpact

InfoCision Management Corporation

Inktel Direct

iQor

NCO Group

One World Direct

Qualfon

Sitel

Sykes Enterprises

SupportSave

Tech Mahindra

Teleperformance

Televerde

TeleTech

TELUS International

Transcom WorldWide

Ubiquity Global Services

United Nearshore Operations

WNS Global Services

Webhelp

 Market segment by Type, the product can be split into

Inbound Call Services

Outbound Call Services

Others

 Market segment by Application, split into

BFSI

Retail

Government

IT & Telecommunication

Defense Aerospace & Intelligence

Others

 Market segment by Regions/Countries, this report covers

United States

Europe

China

Japan

Southeast Asia

India

Central & South America

 The study objectives of this report are:

To analyze global Call Center Outsourcings status, future forecast, growth opportunity, key market and key players.

To present the Call Center Outsourcings development in United States, Europe and China.

To strategically profile the key players and comprehensively analyze their development plan and strategies.

To define, describe and forecast the market by product type, market and key regions.

 In this study, the years considered to estimate the market size of Call Center Outsourcings are as follows:

History Year: 2013-2017

Base Year: 2017

Estimated Year: 2018

Forecast Year 2018 to 2025

For the data information by region, company, type and application, 2017 is considered as the base year. Whenever data information was unavailable for the base year, the prior year has been considered..

FOR MORE DETAILS: https://www.wiseguyreports.com/reports/3491266-global-call-center-outsourcings-market-size-status-and-forecast-2018-2025

About Us:

Wise Guy Reports is part of the Wise Guy Research Consultants Pvt. Ltd. and offers premium progressive statistical surveying, market research reports, analysis & forecast data for industries and governments around the globe.                

 Contact Us:

NORAH TRENT                                                    

sales@wiseguyreports.com      

Ph: +162-825-80070 (US)                          

Ph: +44 203 500 2763 (UK)      

[alliance-recruitment-agency-blog]

Headhunter Companies - How does one go about becoming a headhunter?

You Can See Some Answer Here

There’s a reason why they say two heads are better than one. When it comes to recruitment, involving your entire team in the recruitment process can be of tremendous value.Just think of the potential that could come out of the combined (personal) networks of your team members, for example.

This is one of the reasons we see an increase in employee referrals and employee referral programs – and Headhunter Companies that provide AI driven technology to automate your employee referral efforts.

Referred hires generally are (among other things) more productive, more engaged and less likely to leave.Given the current market situation, it seems only natural for companies to increase their focus on collaborative hiring even more this year.

The same thing goes for internal mobility programs.Although not that many organizations have a (well-developed) internal mobility culture and program in place yet, this can be a great way to meet skill shortages, decrease turnover and boost engagement.

Being a fruitful official talent scout includes more than adjusting list of references with employment necessities. Consultative enlistment fabricates vocations and enables Headhunter Companies organizations to develop through key and all around coordinated positions. It's having an impact in completely changing someone to improve things while giving business answers for enhance tasks and main concerns for organizations. Official enlistment is a craftsmanship. Also, we're searching for specialists. 

Our partners serve in an assortment of useful controls—Accounting and Finance, Human Resources, Information Technology, Legal, Manufacturing, Sales and Marketing and Military Transition. While every enlistment proficient expertly centers around an unmistakable field, working crosswise over capacities to discover ability in different territories for a similar customer is significant to our prosperity. We call it strategically pitching, and its training isn't just empowered, however anticipated. Cooperation and collaboration is valuable to surpassing both your individual objectives and the objectives of our association. 

Regardless of your status, we're thankful you're here to investigate occupations after the military. Our Group is the U.S. pioneer in military enlisting, so we're as of now dedicated to your future. What's more, we do mean your future. Our motivation is to enable you to apply your qualities in business where you can have an effect and satisfy your desire. Our prepared military selection representatives will demonstrate this pledge to you by building and keeping up a consultative relationship concentrated on your profession following stages. 

Our Military Hiring Conferences are not work fairs. They are very composed occasions where we pre-organize interviews for officers, NCOs and experts with military managers who have genuine employment opportunities. These military cordial organizations are effectively looking for individuals with your aptitudes and authority capacities. We do practically everything ahead of time with the goal that you can concentrate on finding a profession way that bodes well for you, your family and your future.For more details Visit Here

Author Name:- Shreya Mehta

Address:- 104 Esplanade ave 120, 

                 Pacifica, CA

Mobile No:- +1 917-668-8461

Conclusion: I worked for an official hunt firm in the data section division. It was absolute first "genuine" work and at the point I knew my accomplice and I just required three things to make my profession complete: a cool title, a real pay opporunity card, and my very own office utilizing an entryway. That's right, I been there all. 

Rosenthal created here it is a neighborhood real estate broker. Robinson went to Villanova University School of Law and works in a Philadelphia practice. Gioia keeps on remaining in area and model by means of adjacent Reinhard offices ,. She likewise fills in as talent scout organization and venture administrator for RPS Research Pharmaceutical Services in Fort Washington, PA. 

The to almost certainly take a gander at Work-Life Balance isn't from a tradeoff point however beginning from a point of "Decisions You Make". Work and life stressors continues developing and expanded desires and decisions around us push us to direct a "decent life "It's time that we move from Work Life Balance to Work-Life Integration. 

I think correspondence is basic, and furthermore and more organizations are consolidating site pages inside their CRMs, email and keen dataphone stages. Thought of one as my customers gives Blackberries to their representatives and everybody is then added to BBM. Two perceptions; you must comprehend of telephone calls/messages at painfully inconvenient times. In the event that you've held up near 4 hours to react, at that point you're as of now inside and you're harming your work. At that point, ensure you pursue proficient correspondence habits. Try not to answer to an associate or manager utilizing slang "Ur going to be late?" It's vocation suicide when you are excessively easygoing and agreeable in a work area. Re-read each email something like multiple times previously you hit SEND, and message is longer than 5 sentences, single out the telephone and call individual. 

What: Pollster David Binder will in regards to his encounters with the Obama procedure. David focused gatherings, in-person talks with, hands-on research with voters the genuine battle. 

It's hard to believe, but it's true, just 5 stages! This truly is what is so appealing individuals today thinking about enrolling similar to a profession. Yet, any accomplished selection representative will disclose to you pretty much everything about advances requests an astounding measure of ability, assets and advertising to make a triumph. 

A hunt firm procures cash to draw in individuals that among best in their field, not those only ready to take every necessary step. This is the place essentially of dissatisfaction happens among competitors. 

It could be enticing to appear down providers since buying the answers for these inquiries immediately; be that as it may, if alternative is fascinating, it is advantageous to contribute the period for adapt without a doubt. Most dire outcome imaginable, you will build up a relationship without the agony . official pursuit firm and possibly incorperate profitable new contact in the rolodex in meeting client.

Visit Here: Alliance Recruitment Agency