#aircon scrap

[purecoppersolutions]

Air Conditioning Unit Disposal Made Easy: Tips for Homeowners

Knowing what to do with your old air conditioner when it comes time to replace or improve can save you a lot of trouble, money, and time. Proper air conditioning unit disposal is also required by law for owners of expensive Sydney households and companies. This is one approach to simplifying things while causing the least environmental harm.

Factors That Make Proper Disposal Crucial

Throwing AC units in the garbage is not the only way to dispose of them. People with the necessary training must handle these systems' metals, refrigerants, and other components. Careless waste disposal impacts the environment and raises the possibility of fines. Proper air conditioning disposal may help Sydney become more sustainable while safeguarding the environment.

How To Remove An Air Conditioner Easily

1. Hire Professionals

Hiring a reliable company is one of the most straightforward ways to eliminate an air conditioner. Many Sydney businesses specialise in recycling and disposing of air conditioning systems and take great care of each component. Moving large objects is a nuisance that may be avoided by utilising their pickup services.

2. Recycle the Materials

Copper and aluminium are two recyclable metals used in highly valued air conditioners. By taking your unit to an approved recycling site, you can help reduce trash. Some websites will pay you based on the air conditioner scrap metal price so that recycling could be a wise financial decision.

3. Evaluate Repurchase Initiatives

Certain shops and manufacturers offer trade-in or buy-back plans. If your old system is removed from these efforts, you may receive a discount on a new one. This method of dealing with scrap air conditioning systems is practical and environmentally friendly.

4. Donate Functional Units

Giving a working air conditioner to a nearby charity or institution is excellent. Giving your old machine a new lease on life can save you time and money. In Sydney, various locations provide free pickup of secondhand air conditioner pickups.

What to Avoid

Illegal Dumping

You will face serious consequences if you break the law by throwing away an air conditioner. Proper air conditioning disposal procedures are always preferred.

Disregard Safety Regulations

Refrigerants from air conditioners are dangerous and should be handled only by professionals. You should never attempt to disassemble something independently unless you have the proper skills and equipment.

Benefits of Responsible Disposal

Getting rid of an air conditioner has various benefits, including:

Recycling reduces landfill waste and prevents harmful chemicals from polluting the environment.

Selling the unit for air conditioner scrap metal can offset some of the costs of installing a new system.

Following all of Sydney's waste disposal laws and regulations to avoid fines.

Making It Convenient

Many Sydney firms will pick up old air conditioners from your home or place of work. If you work with a reputable vendor, replacing your old system will be safer and more efficient.

Getting rid of an air conditioner does not have to be complicated. You may ensure that your air conditioning unit disposal is done professionally and respectfully by hiring professionals, recycling materials, or donating working units. Sydney's wealthiest homeowners have the potential to be among the first to adopt eco-friendly practices and regulations.

[topgunruinedme]

Bite me (Bruise Me), Fight Me (Loose me Too)

Whumptober: Day 15, Pained hugs/“I did good, right?”

Word count: approx’ 10.7k

Character: Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Rating: Mature

Summery: Jake had had a lot of uncertainties in life, but love was the one thing he did know.

Ao3 account: TopGunRuinedMe

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mention to medical disorders, Undiagnosed Medical Issues, Poor lifestyle, Neglect, Child Neglect, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Forced Prostitution, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Jake is not the prostitute, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Jake is struggling to adapt, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Jake just wants to be loved, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Hurt Jake "Hangman" Seresin, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Bad Parents, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Mummy Issues, misconception of love, Mental misconception of Love to avoid trauma, Author may be a little tipsy writing this, Normal people become alcoholics to cope:Jake seeks out fights, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Mainly Hurt, Little comfort, I Have No Idea How This Got So Long, NO Spell Check, I've been writing so long i'm now sober, Physical Abuse, Not for the character you think, We Stan Yote, We must pay for his therapy, Miscommunication.

~~~~

Jake had had a lot of uncertainties in life, but love was the one thing he did know.

He grew up in a hole in a wall, one bedroom apartment just shy of the ghetto, his family, small only a member of two, were food stamp users, and he was only in school due to the tax payers dime. His mother worked two jobs, day shift at the supermarket and nightshift at the petrol station where she would occasionally let him sleep in the backroom on the couch until he was eight years old and finally deemed responsible enough to stay home, although he still preferred the store in summer because they had aircon, and heating during winter. But despite his mother working herself haggard to make barely enough to keep a roof over their head always managing to get enough money to scrap together rent, even if she went out at night and came back at odd hours a bruise or two with a cracked smile, she always made it happen. Just like when she tried to put food on the table, sometimes his only meal would be a bag of skittles if she could spare the change, or if they rationed enough they could make a loaf of bread for two weeks, if they eat around the fuzzy green spots. He had eaten it once, so ravenous not realizing it, and had spent the whole next two nights paying for it, weak and shaky over a toilet bowel vomiting up more weight than he could risk losing in his mother arms who cried softly as she rocked him whispering her prayer into his skin.

But even when he went to school in thread bare clothes, a bag his mother had found in a dumpster still relatively usable even if one strap was broken and had to be tied back together every so often, and a hole or two in his old sneakers; that had dried blood strained on the inside from where his feet had rubbed them raw last summer when his socks finally gave out and he had been to afraid to mention it to his mother until she had spotted the sores and cried herself to sleep that night. He still managed, despite his hindrance, he had the reading skill of a high schooler, math of a 4th grader, and an active sport level in intensive sports despite the fact he was skinny, thin and all but looked like wind would brush him away, his lungs burnt under each long sprint and bones aches after each tackle, but he loved it.

No one cared if he was skinny or weak, no one cared if he looked like a ghoul or worse barely functioning clothes, just that he could catch the football and sprint with it fast enough that people rarely caught him before he reached the touchdown line, or that he was able to take off from the start line with such a steady pace that he could outrun most of the older kids in a 200m race.

He had potential his coach had told him; he could very well become a professional runner or player if he put in the effort. He had simply nodded along knowing it wouldn’t happen, he couldn’t afford it, and he wouldn’t dare ask his mother. He had to be smart, he had to be active, he had to be healthy; because he needed the skills for a decent job, he needed to be fast to get between jobs quickly and on time, and he needed to be healthy so someone can take care of his mother when she got sick and tried to work through a fever again like she did last winter. Someone had to do something because she was working herself into the grave and he knew it.

But despite it all, the long hours, the mood swings, his school accomplishments and little to no encouragement at his mother’s numb subconscious he knew she loved him, even when some days she laid in bed with no energy to get up, or when he had to help her to the table and cradle his palm to his chest after burning it on the stove, even after the countless times his mother had told him it was hot, to make breakfast because it was the least he could do. At least until he was old enough to do some work, he knew Mr. Martian needed his lawn moved, maybe he could ask the man. He was sure he’d let him borrow the machine and do it for him, he could he was sure of it, if he reached up high enough to grab the bar.

He had heard the other kids the other day talking about how they get money for doing chores, things like taking out the garbage and clearing their rooms, washing dishes, and washing clothes, but he had never gotten any, and he did that daily between his own studies. He always had to sneak out of school and run home just so he could drag the tied off bag of garbage down the two flights of stars past 6B who always stood on the stair landing to watch his pass day in and day out, gaze roaming over him but never asking to help so maybe he was just supervising him so he could tell mummy he did his chores. He had never earnt anything for it so maybe he wasn’t doing enough, he could do it. Get pocket change, that’s what they called it, he could give it to mummy to help. It would help, he was sure of it.

He had been slightly older, when his mother had been fired from the store after falling asleep too many times and had been employed at a mum and pop diner, who allowed them to come in early to eat pancakes for breakfast on the house three times a week, when 6B spoke to him for the first time.

“Hey kiddo, Why don’t you do that before you go to school?”

He blinked pausing mid pull to look up at the man who had overlooked his task for the last two years, now at 10 years of age, having grown slightly taller and more lanky but his baby checks finally starting to fill in with one semi-stable meal in his life, the older man’s lips tugged up in amusement at his own question.

“The racoons” he replied simply, “If they go out too early then they get into it and open the bag and fight over it then it just makes a mess and they wont take it away. But if you take I just before then they don’t get the chance because that’s when Miss Whennies cat Tinkles is watching guard, he always stands right next to it and warns them off”.

“The racoons” the man nodded along as If it made sense, “You know I could always use some help” the man cocked his head, “I’ve got a bad back you see, and a big strong boy like you would be able to do it nice and quick”.

He hesitated, grip tightening on the bag, “I uh- I have to go back to school sir-“

“It would only take a moment” 6B assured, “I’ll give you $5 for it, for being such a good boy”.

Five dollars? It would be easy money and it’s almost three times his spending money, it would allow them to buy milk for once, and he missed milk. He bit his lip slightly contemplating it before sighing leaving the bag on the landing before jogging back up the stairs towards the man whose smile grew wider.

“See I knew you were all grown up, a big boy now aren’t you?” 6B asked with his smile, and he shifted, a weird feeling blooming in his chest at the sharp smile trying not to flinch at the weird itchy feeling he got when the man reached out slapping him on the shoulder. Hand lingering as it drifted down to squeeze his arm before settling on his lower back tugging him closer leading him back towards the man’s still open apartment door. The man’s hand was warm nudging him forward, resting down on his lower back like Santa did when he used to sit on his lap at the mall; 6B hummed happily, “Growing some muscle on you boy”.

The door was closer now, held ajar by an old wooden chair wedged under the door handle, which sat under a small sign painted onto the door. The letters were faded and scratched off but he had been reading for a long time and he was really good at hangman so figuring out words with missing letters was his special skill, he squinted slightly trying to make sense of the white lettering.

Sper.

No Supr

Wait… Super.

He frowned slightly, that’s weird, Super, he wondered what it meant. He of course knew about comic books and superheroes, but the whole point of being a secret hero was to not have the word painted onto your door.

“I play football now with the bigger kids” he offered in response to the man. They were much rougher when they play so he had to train with them more often to get stronger, he liked some of them though, they helped him. Sitting beside him counting when the other two stood on either side of the bench hands hovering on either side of the bar with the black bits encouraging him to lift them, ensuring him again that they were right there in case it got too heavy.

“Hmm, I bet that makes you nice and strong. All sweaty and warm when you play too. Do they still make you wear those shorts? The little stripped ones?” The man asked.

He didn’t get a chance to answer.

The door to the stairwell opened and he jerked to the side frightened as feet raced up the stairs in a hurry, almost tripping over his abandoned bag looking startled, his mother's wild hair, purse thrown over her shoulder, hand holding the rail for support as she looked down at the bag confused then up to them, her eyes lingering on his started expression then the warm hand on his back.

“Jacob,” her tone was sharp, and angry. “Come here”.

But he hadn’t done anything wrong. Truly. He was going to go back to school, he really was. “Mum, I was just going to help him with his trash then I was going back to school I promise-“

“Now Jacob” she warned sharply.

He felt uneasy, stepping back away from the hand that seemed to drop reluctantly as he stepped down the stairs, between the two tense and glaring adults, into the safe embrace of his mother, who reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist, tugging him close the moment he was within range, almost tripping him down the stairs in her haste to hold him close.

“Benjamin,” His mother hissed angrily; one hand cradling his neck holding his face to her stomach, the other resting on his back desperately holding him close, the pressure half muffling the conversation as if shielding him from it. “What the hell do you think you are doing”.

“Your late on rent”, 6B replied calmly, “The boy’s just picking up your slack”.

The arms around him tightened and the whine left his lips before he could stop it as the pressure grew and he bit his lip sharply, 6B chuckled, although he didn’t know what he found so funny.

“Don’t ever come near my boy again” his mother warned sharply, her voice low and it gave him goosebumps, he hadn’t heard it like that before, not since she yelled at him for knocking over one of their rare drinking glassware, causing it to break and she had yelled at him not to move until she cleaned it looking half between wanting to throw him down the stairs herself or cradle him between her arms.

“Pay rent on time then, that way that sweet little face of his won’t pay the consequences, because I don’t know about you but I am just dying to see what they look like filled”.

“Jacob”, his mother’s voice trembled, he hummed not able to shift enough to look up at her and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, “Go to school, I don’t want you to leave until I come and get you after work alright?”

“Okay” he muttered quietly into her stomach, half disappointed he wouldn’t be able to get Mr.6B’s trash for him and earn that $5, but she didn’t release her grip when he tugged back. “Mum-”

“I don’t want you coming home during school anymore, do you understand me?”

“I-“

“Do you understand?”

“Yes Mum!” he huffed finally breaking away, slipping out of her arms and she looked crazed, lips bitten bloody, gaze wild looking half like she wanted to lung out and grab him again, “I'm going” he hastily assured making his way down the stairs not looking back as he caught the end of the conversation as the door swung shut and he took of racing to get back on school grounds before class started back up.

“What do I have to do to make sure you never touch him again?”

“You know what you have to do, with tax”.

~~~~

He loved his mother, and he knew she loved him. Even when she grew closer, more obsessive. She started to demand she came along to his matches, or for him to walk straight to the store after school instead of hanging out with friends and do his homework in a booth at the diner until he was well into high school and many years into the less affectionally known name as the diner boy.

But it was there that Pops had silently slid across a Naval brochure when his mother’s back was turned, it had been there that his normal meal 3 days a week turned into if you wash the dishes, you can come and eat anytime, and the older couple became Nam and Pop, the two who allowed him in at ass-a-clock in the morning if he came knocking after another fight with his mother. It was there Pop had opened up an old wooden box aided by candle light and shown his medals still as shiny as the day they were pinned across his chest and told him in a harsh whisper of the horrors that came with them. He explained it all, his role as a SEAL, the ground staff, the naval aviators, and the deck hands. The fliers, builders, lawyers, leaders, and the engineers. Anything he could want, all at his fingertips, and Pops was all too willing to walk into the recruitment office and hand it in himself; if he wanted.

If he wanted. If he wanted to leave all this. If he wanted to leave the diner, to leave his mother, to leave this shitty town he’s hated since he was a kid. To leave their half broken down apartment, and to leave their sleezy super long behind in the wind. To leave poor mister Pickels, the kitten that had accompanied Miss Whennies after Tinkles passed, a kitten which soon grew into a large orange ball of fluff and had well outlived its owner. If he wanted to leave…

And what’s worse? He did.

He wanted to leave. He did.

But he couldn’t.

Not with her. Not while she stayed here and suffered by herself, while that man sucked her dry of everything she had, raising her rent every time he felt like it just because he could. The man who no longer intimidated by his stronger build or his nasty glares, who simply grinned at him sharply in response, wondering down the hall calling out his mother’s name with a sing-along voice in a way he knew would make his teeth clench.

And he wanted to leave, so desperately that he could pull his hair out, bloody and raw, and tug the teeth from his head with a pair of priers and no painkillers, and it still wouldn’t compare to the pure desperate need to leave. So desperately that he could cry and yet knew it would solve nothing. Because people like them? They don’t get a happy life; they don’t get other options. They worked to live, live to survive, and survive until you couldn’t give anything more, but overall, you never truly accomplish anything.

He knew what it looked like, if he applied. A poor kid from the ghetto, they’re going to think he’s gang affiliated, he wasn’t, sure he knew some kids from school, he knew what they did, but he never stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and they stayed clear of him in response. He worked hard to get where he was, he wouldn’t let something like that get in his way.

Not now. Not after everything.

And he wanted to apply, if only to get out of here. He wanted to, had the flying folded in his pocket, in between his pillow case and pillow as he slept, keeping it with him as a reminder of what he could achieve, all out of eyeline from his mother. A small token, maybe a daydream, something he knew would never be achieved, but it was nice to hope.

It would be nice to hope, he reminded himself as he woke in the morning with a wince, tugging his shirt down from where it had risen during the night hiding the forming bruise brushing it off as another sport related injury, the three bruised patterned indents all too real to pretend otherwise. He sat at the table staring blankly into the oatmeal, the same three patterns etched into his skin sitting mere milometers from him, waving around flamboyantly as his mother complained about something he had heard a million times. The same rings that had punched their marks into his skin, arms that had left darkening bruises wrapped around his ribs, the love carved into his skin, aches into his bones.

He felt each ounce of her love with each inhale, with each cough or whistling breath, and each sharp movement just like he had when he was a kid. The way she would squeeze too hard after a long shift, but he never complained because he missed her too, even if it made his ribs ache, or he was short of breath, he held his tongue and let her hold him; arms wrapped tightly around his body during the night preventing him from moving from her grasp as she squeezed. Because his mother loved him, the marks proved it, he had learned early on to hold back the whines of complaint in the morning when he woke to the marks dug into his skin, or the way his breath hitched or came with a wince. Because she loved him, she said so. She loved him.

And that was the reason he couldn’t go.

And that was the reason he left.

The reason he had tried to close the door on the face of two uniformed men who came knocking, papers in hand claiming he had to come with them, that he belonged to the Navy. Like he was property. Their star-sparkled stupidly clean shoe that was polished to the point you could see your own damn reflection out of them, that made him want to slam the door on their shoe all that harder blocked him, wedged between the two pieces of wood looking bored at his temper.

“Seresin, come peacefully-”

“For the last time, I didn’t sign up” he glared, “So, piss off”.

“Son you’re only making this worse for yourself, you had a clear recall date if you had second thoughts, you missed it.” he blocked out the officer, his attention dragged to his side as noise came from within he apartment. Worry bubbling as he heard his mother move around when she should be on bedrest, her latest cold having sent her to bed earlier in the week and had refused to let up for a moment.

Annoyance flooded through him mounting on his already building irritation at the knowledge they had woken her form her much needed sleep, he twisted to look at her finding her ending the kitchen walking towards him, dark circles under her eyes, betraying her exhaustion from her gaunt haunted look to the tremble in her hand. She looked wearily, approaching slowly, twisting something between her palms fiddling with it as the ruckus the two men grew louder when the officer realised he was blocking out his speech.

“Mum,” he called out gently “Go back into the bedroom I’ll be right there-“

She croaked, foot staggering her hands reaching out to the nearby counter as she forced herself closer, “I did”.

“What?” He frowned confused, half distracted glaring down the officers whose hand pressed hard against the door feeling it budge slightly much to his own annoyance, “Mum go back to the room ill-“

“I signed you up”.

He paused, staring at her, his pause allowing the officers to push him back by a hand on his shoulder causing him to stagger back as the door swung open.

“Ma’am, please allow us to resolve this peacefully. Recruit Seresin has been MIA for his first week of introductions-”

“You what?” he cut the man off staring at his frail mother who looked so painfully guilty and relieved at the same time, gut clenching and chest tightening feeling like he had just been thrown into a cheese grater.

She bit her lip, sighing heavily before holding out the item she had been fiddling with, a well-loved, folded and slightly dammed pamphlet. The naval pamphlet. “I found this under your bed, I- Pops told me you were thinking about it and the deadline was coming up and you never asked me about it and you never filled it out, so I did”.

“Mum-”

“You can’t stay here the rest of your life; you cannot rot away between these four walls like I am. I refuse to let you” she demanded, on the verge of tears voice trembling, “You deserve something much better than this Jacob; you always have. Don’t squander your chance to get out of this hell hole because of some misplaced honor”.

“That honor is my mother”.

“And your mother is asking you, to go”.

“You need me here, pops and Nam need me here-”

“Go Jacob, go” she whispered, “Please, make something out of yourself. If not for me, then for you. Because if you don’t take this chance, you’re going to resent me for the rest of your life, and I can’t stand to think of it”.

“But i-“

“You can write them a letter once you get to base, explain it all. Trust me, they’ll forgive you. Please, pack. Please Jacob”.

And so, he did. He packed the small measly items he owned, that still fit in that shitty backpack from so many years ago, the trusty thing having lasted all through his schooling with a caring hand, he had kissed his mother goodbye and felt his ribs ache under the force of her hug until one of the officers physically pulled him away and lead him down to a car.

A car that led him to the most physically challenging part of his life, the best part of his life. He had been offered temporary quarters, a package of standard clothes, uniforms, and PT gear, all new. Brand new. Clothes just for him and packed in the bottom was a pair of sneakers, and dress shoes. In his size. He was offered a meal plan of daily meals, three times a day. Showers, wherever he wanted, for however long he wanted in exchange for letting them buzz his golden locks, and a bedroom, sure he had to share it with a roommate who was out of state and being flown out to the base, but it was his.

And somehow one of the worst things his mother had ever done to him, turned into one of the greatest. The bruises had faded with time and so had his anger towards her, and all too soon the dorms began to fill in. The hall loud and brash with kids his age moving in, laughing and being crass, as he waited for the hall warden to snap at them to behave appropriately, sitting on his bed picking at his fingers having long had the habit of biting his lip ripped from him having already spent time under the man, tugging at the skin around his nails flitching as he heard the key turn in the lock of the door, eyes flicking to it instinctively.

He glanced up as the door opened unusually nervous to meet his roommate for the first time only to pause, a laugh bubbling from his lips before he could stop it. The man blinked at him in the doorway, hair buzzed, skin tanned, but he knew. He had lived with them for fuck sakes. He laughed, and laughed and laughed, until the man, unimpressed, tugged the door shut trapping them within, throwing his duffle on the unclaimed bed and crossed his arms, tense, jaw clenched, glaring him down hostilely.

“What,” the man growled out.

He grinned unable to stop himself, “You know when I said I came from the ghetto, I didn’t expect them to put me with the only god damn colored kid on the block”.

~~~~

It started with the shoulder punches.

He hadn’t realised it was an issue until Javy had sat him down with a worried look, whispering quietly about some rumors flying around behind his back because he was hurting other kids. Kids he had thought had been his friends. His face had twisted into an incredulous disbelief, then hurt, and anger, he hadn’t hurt anyone.

He had then nervously asked Javy if he believed them, the man had hesitated before admitting he tapped rather hard when he was showing affection and maybe it was a misconception, a misunderstanding, that he should try being gentler.

He didn’t understand.

So, Javy had shown him, tugged down his shirt, unbuttoning it enough to tug down sleeve enough to show his sholder where the skin was splotched in different colors. He had stared at it, then stared at it some more.

They had bruised. They were old. In different stages of healing. He had been so focused trying to spread his love with the others he had neglected Javy, his love already fading from the man’s skin.

He swallowed hand grazing over the skin his jaw clenched and Javy had just mused quietly reassuring him in worry “It’s ok Jake, It’s ok”. But it wasn’t.

He had tried, to fix it. He tried, but he couldn’t get it out of his head. The rumors, his ‘friends’ and how could they say something so horrible? He didn’t want to hurt anyone, he hadn’t! Truly. He was just trying to show them he liked them, trusted them, loved them, and they had thrown it back in his face. He wondered if his marks still bloomed on their skin in the face of their betrayal, if they would look at it at night lips curling up disgusted by their own actions. If they stared his love in the eye and disregarded it so easily.

He never spoke to them again. The kids. He shut them out when they came back from break, just brushed past them in the hall, refusing to answer them when they came up to him to start a conversation, staring at them blankly when they demanded to know what the hell his issue was, if he thought he was too good for them, and all he couldn’t think about was, was his mark still on their skin? Did it burn so close to its maker? Did the blood curdle and run through their veins aware of its carrier’s actions.

Did it hurt them as much as they hurt him?

So he set himself up, he strengthened his accent, he acted cocky, irritable, and made sure to rile up everyone around him until they couldn’t stand him, until everyone saw him as unapproachable. Everyone except Javy who stared at him at night sitting on his bunk with a lost expression, but despite the others trying to pull him away, Javy stuck to his side closely refusing to leave him too. Even when everyone hated him, when people began to abandon him in hops refusing to cover his back Javy came in clutch every time without hesitation and together they became an unstoppable duo. Together, they became family, brothers, each mark at a time.

It didn’t stop the way hurt festered in his chest when he passed those kids, who had become adults, in the hall as they leaned over and whispered to another kid who looked over at him and smirked laughing. He knew. Everyone did. It was about him. He steeled his jaw throwing them a cocky smirk and thrived off the sneer he got in return.

“You shouldn’t taunt them” Javy scolded.

“I’m just having a little fun Jay” he rolled his eyes, nudging the man with a loose knock to his shoulder and Jay staggered to the side slightly, hand twitching like he wanted to reach up and caress the mark, his jaw tightening as he stared at him before moving again, likely reminding himself this wasn’t the time or place to savor the mark.

He never did. Javy was weird about them, almost moving as if he wanted to hold them, cherish them, looking tense when he gave them when others could see, before locking himself in a bathroom stall or dressing quickly so he didn’t have to look at them. Maybe he was embarrassed.

“It’s ok Jake” Javy had whispered into the night, thinking he had gone to bed hours ago as he spent his time counting the cracks in the wall, still terrified to move as the boy sighed shifting as the bed creaked, “I know you don’t mean it. I know you love me truly”.

I do love you.

So why does it feel like you don’t understand how much?

Then came Bradshaw and everything fell apart.

At first he had loved it, Bradshaw was older than them, more reactive, and he had that fire-like attitude at him. His iron-clad control was frustrating, but if he gave him fuel, the man would throw it back at him, but if he tugged long enough the man would spit at the fire, and it would bloom into a wildfire. Beautiful, but dangerous.

He couldn’t help it. It was like an addiction. He needed to see Bradshaw react, to see those ambers glow. He ignored the warnings, the stern lectures, and bulldozed through them and day by day he watched as that iron-clad control snapped piece by piece, scaffolding flattering and crumbling down around him. He loved that he could use his jabs and taunts to drag the man out to play with him, it was exhilarating, he loved the thrill it gave him, feeling as if he was on the edge of his seat every moment he was around him, dancing on his toes, and Bradshaw strutted around like a ticking time bomb and he intended to make him explode.

Most of all he loved the way he could punch the older man in the shoulder and bubble in excitement as Bradshaw would return it as good as he gave it, and for once in years, he had a bruise. A dark blemish that spanned across his shoulder, next to his collarbone, on his right side, right over his heart. It aches when he moved, tugged when he stretched, expanded when he breathed, and he could feel it in every living movement and he loved it.

Then it all went to shit.

He didn’t know what happened. He had taunted him, and Bradshaw just snapped. Suddenly the usual jab to his shoulder wasn’t just his shoulder, it caught him by the chin, causing him to stumble, then to the gut, and a hand wrapped up around his throat, body breathless, slammed back up against the wall and, this didn’t feel like love.

This, hurt.

He remembered the gasping, chocking on air as Javy held him close barking at Trace to get a handle on Bradshaw, holding his steady on shaky legs. The man’s terrified gaze roaming over him looking more devastated at each impact point, hands roaming over his tense stomach and already red and blooming jaw, he could feel it, the blood pulsing, the tenderness.

“Fuck you, Seresin!” Bradshaw snarled over Trace’s shoulder looking like a dog foaming at the mouth, Trace’s hand was on his shoulder hissing at him to back down, to not make this worse. “The only place you’re going to lead people is to their grave, you’re like a god damn hangman. The only person who wants to be your friend is death itself”.

And there it was. The death wish. The curse. The enigma.

His callsign.

The issue with living on a base is that gossip travels quick, its twists, and it never does the spoken any favors. But once someone caught ear that he grew up in the ghetto, it was over for him.

From that moment on he had been called Hangman, the man who seeks to kill all those around him, a mercenary, a curse, a bad luck charm. Death. Flying with a yoke in hand.

It never occurred to him to report the attack, or to register the way Bradshaw tiptoed around him for a bit as if waiting for the axe to fall. A blow that never came.

He never did get over the way Bradshaw’s bruises ached in his skin, how they slowly faded but his words stuck sharp like a knife between his ribs. And the colours he had looked forward to everyday, ones he had squirmed in anticipation to watch bloom across his chest, left him in an odd feeling of displacement. Bradshaw was avoiding him with a clenched jaw, Trace alongside with him. And all too soon, his skin was unblemished again.

And he hated it.

Unloved, and a death calling.

How fitting.

He never escaped it, not when Javy earned his name, not when graduation came and they were awarded their callsigns officially, his tag already printed before he could request it. His instructor smiling proudly, whispering teasingly “the mercenary” as he pinned it to his chest, staring at him with this expectation and declared in front of everyone, awarding him his rank, and officially alienating him, because who wanted deaths calling on their squad?

“I expect you to earn our country some kills, son”.

And he had. First air-to-air kill in centuries. And what he hated about it most? It proved them all right, because when it came down to it, he didn’t hesitate for a moment pulling that trigger. He didn’t flinch, think, or anything. In fact, if anything, he took satisfaction from watching it fall out of the sky, droning back to the tower over coms, reporting the kill without really hearing it.

Then he earned a new name.

The executioner.

Everyone hated Hangman, but everyone wanted to know the executioner. To hang off his arm, to brag they were friends, to buy him rounds of drink all to celebrate the life he had taken, and that night he came home with bruises brooming across his chest, back, and arm, from drunken rumbles, and sloppy disported punches in congratulation.

And he felt like he could breathe again.

He shouldn’t be happy for taking a life, but it had earned him marks. It earned him love. And he missed it so much he could scream.

~~~~

Top Gun wasn’t any different than it was the first time. Whispers still followed him, his reputation one step behind him, and Brashaw. Bradshaw stood in his way, that hostile look, the same clenched fist, the threat of his love, and yet the man just taunted him with it. And he was so close, so close. So frustratingly close, Bradshaw fist wrapped around his jumpsuit dragging him close as he laughed exhilarated, arm raised fist ready only for everyone else to jump in, to tear them apart, screaming at each other. And Bradshaw had been ripped away, the Captain jumping between them. Bradshaw might be stupid, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore a Capitan.

He wanted to throw himself off the carrier. To shove his yoke and crash into the ocean. He had been so close and all he had to show for it was the faint red marks of Bradshaw’s nails from where he as twisted the fabric of his flight suit in his fist.

And it wasn’t enough. He felt like he was going insane, like he had been going through with drawls for years and he just wanted it to stop.

“Jake” Javy stared at him with that same worried look that’s been following him for years, “Maybe it’s time we talked about it”.

Talk about him. About his obsession. About Bradshaw. About everything, and he wasn’t ready.

“Maybe its time you went to see someone”.

“why?”

“To talk to them…about this”.

“I talk to you”.

Javy never answers, just gives him this exhausted look, a haunted piercing gaze that reminded him too much of his mother the day he left, a gaze that cut through him and reminded him of every mistake he’s ever made. Missing Nam’s funeral, never visiting his mother, sending letters, responding but never taking that step to actually seeing her. Being well over due to heading back to that damn town to see Pop, to meet the grandson he spoke so fondly of that had taken over the business a few years ago. Mik. Something. It wasn’t important. Not really.

So he clenched his jaw and ignored the disappointed look, gaze trailing over Brashaw as he danced around in the sand, those muscles shinning in sweat as he tacked Neil to the ground successfully distracting he man allowing Trace to score a goal her Rio by her side faithfully managing to knock peoples ankles out from under them before they knew what was coming.

Then it came. And they crashed. Bradshaw was picked, and Maverick fell. But then Bradshaw fell with him. Love, Bradshaw so loved to taunt it in his face, even in his dying moments.

Each mark, each punch, each heated argument, and clenched jaw screamed, I love you, I love you, I love you~

And he still went after him, because Bradshaw had loved the Captain too.

But then, they lived. And he was flying like his life depended on it, and it might have, his heart pounding in his chest and he was scared it might stop if he didn’t get there in time. He hadn’t hesitate that time either, guns switching to missiles before he knew what he was doing, tone flooding through his ears fingers already pressing down the trigger before he could check which jet he had caught. Then there was smokem, and they lived.

They all lived.

The aftermath is what caused the issues though. His life was always complicated with Bradshaw around. But this time it appears the man came with an extension, the Captain, Mitchell, Maverick. His Godfather.

A father figure, who wouldn’t take no as an answer, who tugged him forward into a hug and he just stood there because where the hell had it come from? But then, it kept happening. Maverick keeps hugging, soon it became a usual pastime for the man making his rounds ensuring he patted, hugged, or kissed each and every one of them goodbye before he left and it hurt.

Usually, he was quite open to hugging, welcoming the family outlet of love. But this, he didn’t know what this was, and he hated it.

He didn’t know what he did to make the man hate him so much but it hurt, seeing the other smile brightly, Mavs soft expression welcoming them into his mismatched family alongside him, to hug him but only offer him the physical object, to wrap his arms around an empty vessel, and it ached.

He didn’t understand.

And it appeared it was becoming a common response to the man named Maverick.

Mav claimed to love him, he hugged him, he smiled so welcomely and treated him as if he was one of his one, and yet, no matter how many times he checked his in the privacy of his own home, on the verge of tears at the sight of the unblemished skin. Why was Mav allowed to love everyone but him?

Why must they taunt him with it? What did he do?

He didn’t understand.

~~~~

To be honest, letting a bunch of slightly tipsy aviator lounge around an open hanger with years’ worth of projects building up to fidget with, was only going to lead to a disaster.

Some perks of being somewhat buddy buddy with aa almost retired Captain meant accompanying the team to group outings at the man’s hanger out in the desert, it almost meant lounging back in a sun in a lounge chair drinking a beer watching Bradsh- Bradley tinker around with some object, that he thinks used to be an engine before it was deconstructed, that the older man had dragged out of the Captains workshop and began to fiddle with; apparently deeming him as his official supervisor since the rest of the group had disappeared into some other part of the hanger and Bradshaw wanted to enjoy the warm sun as well, even if it was heating the metal and causing the man to hiss in annoying under his breath in a muffled curses anytime he burnt himself.

In the most part he was enjoying himself, who wouldn’t he was practically on holiday, baking in the sun, a beer in hand, couldn’t ask for anything better. It was almost sweet serenity. Almost.

“Shit!”

His eyes snapped open eyes settling on Bradley whose teeth were gritted, blood trailing down his arm, hand clamped down on the rapidly bleeding wound. He jerked up not even glancing at the beer that he had knocked from his hip down onto the concrete where it spilled, as he stumbled out of the chair to his knees beside the man already ripping off his t-shirt and whacking Bradley’s hands away to see the damage for himself, before wrapping the fabric around it in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

“Mav!” the cry sounded raw, fearful.

The cut was deep, from his elbow down to mid-forearm, bleeding, pink and soft, gushy under his finger tips and he tried not to think about the fact his fingers were literally in Bradshaw’s arms, touching the mutilated flesh.

“MAV!”

He felt sick, Bradshaw was rapidly losing color and blood was pouring into his lap, onto his jeans as he tried to stem the bleeding, cursing as he grabbed Bradshaw’s limp hand from his thigh pressing it against the wound snapping at the man to hold it there. Before hastily unbuckling his own belt, not blinking over the mess he was making as he ripped it from its loops, looping it around Bradley’s bicep tightening it in an attempt of a torniquet, it was tight, probably too tight but he had to stop the bleeding-

“MAV!”

He was brushing away Bradley’s hand away, not that it did much good, the sticky blood coating his skin, and his stomach churned. And for once he was willing to admit he felt truly petrified, Bradley’s limp arms, pale skin starting at his wound, and blood in silent horror.

“MAV-!”

“Jesus, I’m here kid” Mav grumbled from behind him, “What do you nee- Bradley!” Something shattered on the ground but then there was Mav by his side nudging him out of the way, taking over. He shuffled back slightly leaning against his chair, feeling unstable all of the sudden, like the world was spinning around him. He stared at his hands, coated in blood, jeans ruined, shirt unsalvageable, but Mav was already calling for the rest of the group and, how had no one heard his screams?

Had they ignored him? At the cost of Bradleys life?

Mav was shoving Bradley into the arms of Reuben and Billy, Nat already having run off to get the car, as Mav ordered them to take him to the small hospital that was apparently in the next town over and then- Mav was in his face. His hands on his knees and Mav was- Mav.

“I’m here sweetheart,” Mav ran a hand over his knee soothingly and his breath shook before realising he’d been muttering the same word over and over again, mav. Mav. Mav. Mav. MAV.

“I’m here sweetheart, but I really need to go. Bradley’s really hurt and we have to get you up with the others so we can get you changed and ready to go see him all patched up because I think you’re a little shaken Jake. Come on up we go-” Mav had a hand on each of his elbows urging him up with him easily shouldering his weight as he stumbled around like a drunk fawn. He didn’t- he just- he was

“He was so pale” he crocked, pleading with Mav, begging him. For what?

“He’s ok, he’s never been any good with blood. He’s okay Jake” Mav reassured him gently tugging him further into the hanger, he followed blindly. That, that’s what he had been looking for.

He’s ok.

He’s never been good with blood.

He’s okay.

Okay.

Mav pulled away slightly, ensuring he had his feet under him, but his hand flew up clenching at Mav’s bicep even as Mav releases him completely, clearly desperate to follow after his son, in all but blood. His voice trembled, croaking, eyes flicking over Mav’s face trying to determine the man’s emotion from the small mini-markers, trying to figure out what he did wrong.

Why are you leaving?

“I did good, right?” he asked, clarifying desperately, watching as Mavs brows furrowed slightly shifting impatiently, urging someone over his shoulder towards them as he tapped him on the shoulder squeezing it.

I need you.

“Yeah kid, you did good” Mav smiled softly, “Callie’s going to help you alright? I think you going into a bit of shock. It’s alright, no one was expecting it to happen. Cal, make sure he gets out of these clothes feel free to the stuff in the backrooms, I should have some old stuff from my flight mates stores in there that should fit him, he needs lots to drink, lots of electrolytes and sleep” he informed her, Neil sliding up beside her nodding along, gently wrapping his arm around his chest from behind transferring the weight as Callie patiently tugged on his fingers until they no longer clenched the Capitan and held them within her own.

“Come on Jake, let’s get you into a nice warm shower and-”, he couldn’t focus on Callie, throat dry, staring into an empty spot.

Mav was gone. The moment his grip was released he sent the two a grateful smile before turning on his heel and taking off out of the hanger. Gone.

Mav left him.

And he wasn’t sure he could forgive him.

That night he held his own waist, arms wrapped around himself as tight as they would go and held on. Through his sobbing hiccups, through the pained hiss and clenched teeth, his ribs squeezing tight as he let out a muffled low whimper of pain, refusing to let go, until he could see the darkening skin through his blurred vision. And then, maybe then, he could pretend Mav loved him too.

~~~~

Being asked to stay behind after class by a commanding officer was fine, being asked to stay behind after class by Maverick, was not. Let alone for the man to come up to him and ask him personally to come up to his hanger after work so they could talk about some things, he might as well have a better chance throwing himself into a jet turbine and hoping to live to tell the tale.

The drive was long, perhaps that was on purpose, to allow him the chance to shrug of today’s lesson and his worries. Maybe t had been intended that way but clearly Mav had never taken the time to know him. Instead, it gave him hours to hyper-analysis every interaction with the man and his classmates for the last two months trying to determine why the hell he was being issued an informal reprimand.

A lot had happened in the last few months, the daggers had been officially named as a squadron and they had all been issued their new enigma, he wore his quite proudly as did many others, the group as a result became somewhat closer, spending more time together. Or at least attempting too. So in response he had attempted to share his appreciation as well, but it was always one step forward and two steps back, it seemed almost like every attempt he made they would shut off a little more from him, each shaken head, each retreat, each stiff pool game when he offered to play with them and they’d brush him off, and each a disappointed murmur plunging a knife through his chest: Nat shook her head muttering disappointedly sighing in a way he hadn’t heard in months, “Same old Hangman”.

He didn’t understand, and he was started to get really sick of being left outside the loop.

He swallowed thickly as he pulled up to the fenced lot letting himself in as he pulled off the dirt road onto the slightly gravelled section Mav had donned the parking and put the truck into park, taking a moment to flex his fingers around the wheel trying to take deep even breath, to counter the way his brain seamed to twist and twirl trying to dig him further into a hole he didn’t want to get stuck in.

“You can do this” he reminded himself softly, “You can do this”. It can’t be that bad right? If he was anything bad, Mav wouldn’t have dragged him all the way out here, he would have just ordered him to his office and been done with it. Right?

“Do you plan on sitting in the car all day Seresin!” a voice called out.

He let his eyes fall shut head bumping back against his head rest before opening the car door and sliding out, “Thought I’d take a moment to enjoy the sun sir” he called back. The last one before his execution that was.

“You didn’t have a chance to do that on the drive in?” Mav asked coming into view lifting an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a cloth, dirty and stained but it appeared to be doing its job.

“I’m from Texas pops, we do everything differently, it’s easier if you just accept it” he grinned, pushing back his nerves as he strolled closer shoving his hands into his pockets, “So, what’s up, you’re not going to kill me and burry me out here are you because it think the Dingos might get me before the Eagles do” he commented lightly. If anyone would be able to kill and get away with it, it would be Mav. Hell, he already had the perfect stretch of land for it and enough connection to make a viable alibi. Maybe he shouldn’t have come…

Or at least told someone where he was going.

Where the hell was Javy when he needed him, they could have matching gravestones.

Mav huffed, lips twitching in amusement as he tucked the rag corner into his back pocket letting ti hand, “Now why would I do that? I just called aside in front of the class, that’s too suspicious, even for me”.

He shrugged, “Bradshaw would probably help you hide the body”.

Mav frowned “You saved his life, twice now”.

“Small details”.

Mav hummed, “Come on, we can talk inside”, Mav turned leading him further into the hanger, his gaze couldn’t help but drift to the darker spot of concrete where he knew had blood splattered over it a few months ago, unable to bring himself to make the trip out here since, only to find a pristine surface. He swallowed thickly before following the man in.

So, Mav’s suspiciously good at getting rid of blood stains. Great news.

He has the burial sight, the extra hands, an alibi, good clean up products, all he needs now is motives.

He go down that list worryingly quick and he’s hardly made it past the threshold of the property yet. He sighed signing his own death certificate and allowed Mav to lead him into the kitchen where the Mav placed a bottle of water chilled from the fridge onto the counter gesturing for him to take him, placing the counter between them.

He was a tad ashamed of the way it set him slightly more at ease.

It didn’t take long the tension building awkwardly between them before Mav sighed heavily suddenly looking his age, frowning heavily brows furrowing in worry as he leaned over on the counter glancing up, clearly unsure how to approach the subject, “Look Jake…some of the other had some concerns about your rough- uh… treatment! Towards the others, and I think it’s about time we address it”.

Rough treatment?

Rough?

“Look Jake” Javy squirmed uncomfortably, “There this rumour going around….that you hurt some of the other guys…”

Rough?

“I didn’t- Javy I would never- They’re kids!”

I-

“Jake?”

He hummed, not really registering the way his grip around the bottle tightened a tad too much causing it to creak, or how he straightened slightly as Mav pushed of the counter staring at him fully in concern, “Are you alright?” Mav asked.

It was happening again.

It was happening again.

It was happening again.

He swallowed thickly, hand raising up the flesh under his shoulder, under the collarbone over his breast over his right side, digging his knuckles into the flesh, and into an older bruise, feeling the flash of the sharp pain restart his system, the haze beginning to fade.

“Jake!” Mavs sharp tone tugged him further out, those egal eyes tracking his hand rubbing at his chest, eyes narrowing, “What’s wrong with your chest”.

He dropped it, “Nothing. You we’re saying”. About how everyone hated me.

Mav stood his ground staring him down, but so did he. After all, Mav was the one who taught him how. Mav bit his lip slightly before relenting, acknowledging that they were just as stubborn as each other and they likely wouldn’t get anywhere unless one of them submitted and they both knew it wouldn’t be him.

“Jake, come on tell me what’s going on” Mav shoulders slumped, “I can’t lead a time if you’re fighting within it”.

“I don’t know what they’re talking about” He gruffed out. “Why don’t you ask them if your so un-bias”.

“Come on kid, work with me here.-“

“No! Because why am I the only one here? This is a team issue, no? Where’s the team?” he waved his arm in a wide swipe his distress beginning to grow, “Why am I the one singled out? What because Bradshaw doesn’t like me, which means Nat didn’t like me and she’ll willingly spread that distrain to everyone if she could and-”

“Jake” Mav warned lowly, “Enough”.

“I am not the only person on this team!”

“I’m aware” Mav replied calmy, “However it’s your actions that they’re concerned about, so I want to hear what you have to say before I go through with anything”.

So, there is a reprimand here.

Bradshaw doesn’t like me: Motive.

He pushes himself away from the counter not caring about where his bottle dropped as he tried to put distance between the two of them, feeling uncomfortable, scratchy, and- I don’t understand, I just don’t understand, I DON’T UNDERSTAND-

Then suddenly he couldn’t breathe. The stress builds and his chest and- and- suddenly all he can do is wrap his arms around his waist in an attempt to release the building pressure suffocating him, and squeeze. Breath hitching, sharp gasps, nails digging into his flesh then- strong hands settled on his arm, one on his wrist tugging it away from himself sharply, the other just above his elbow on the opposite arm holding him still. He clamped his eyes shut refusing to look at the man, breath trembling in uncontrolled panic. Mav tried to pull his other arm away from his body but he jerked away, hands holding him still clamped tightly, but a pained hiss made its way through gritted teeth. His eyes opened, shiny and wet as Mav stared him down silently bringing his right wrist to his left holding them together loosely giving him the benefit of the doubt as he gently tugged up his shirt, letting out a shocked breath at the sight of the bruised and damaged flesh. Mav’s fingers trailing over the tender skin feeling his abdomen flex to get away from the prodding fingers, worry shining in Mav’s eyes making a wounded noise as he traced a larger bruise from his belly button wrapping around to his hip bone and lower two ribs.

“Sweetheart” Mav breathed, “Who did this?”

He blinked, jaw shaking slightly as he cleared his throat, staring at Mav’s worried expression in confusion. “What?”

“Who hurt you, sweetheart?” Mav’s eyes looked wet, peering up at him, fingertips ghosting over the bruise as if afraid he’d hurt him if he touched it further.

“No one hurt me, Mav” he frowned.

“Jake, I swear if someone’s-”

“They’re love marks” he explained softly in confusion reaching down and Mav let his hand fall, he reached for the bigger mark and traced it lightly, “See this one is darker? It means it’s full of love. This one?” he shifted over lifting his shirt further ignoring the keening noise Mav made when he revealed the black and green mark over his heart, “It’s lighter, it’s fading, the love”.

Mav stared at the marks silently, gaze flickering over the newest ones looking more and more troubled, before gently asking “Who did this?”

He blinked, “I did of course”.

“Wh-why?”

“Because…” he frowned, “Because you were punishing me, and I- I didn’t know why and I just thought maybe if I could-”

“Wha- Jake, honey. I’m not punishing you,… how am I punishing you?” Mav’s grip on his elbow tightened slightly squeezing in comfort, his gaze seeking him out, genuinely confused.

He shifted uncomfortably under the gentle gaze, feeling himself sinking under it unable to stop himself, squirming as he muttered, “Your hugs,…they’re wrong”.

“How? Wrong how, Jake”.

“I don’t know!” he bit his lip tugging away from Mav, the man only let him step back a step before he was right there again, keeping his hands to himself but making sure he didn’t flee in his agitation, “Ok. They’re just wrong,” he gritted his teeth, turning his gaze, dancing over the counter, his abandoned drink, to the oil stain on the floor, a machine with a toolbox open where Mav had clearly been working before he arrived, anything to avoid the mans gaze. “They’re just empty. Like they don’t mean anything, you love everyone else so clearly, but then you get to me and it’s like you have nothing left to give, and- and- they don’t hurt Mav! They’re meant to hurt, to squeeze, to hold you so tight that you- you fuse, to make marks so I can see your love and-” his breath shuttered, voice trembling like a loose leaf in the wind.

“Oh, Jake” Mav’s voice sounded wrenched, “Darling, hugs aren’t meant to hurt you”.

“But I-“

“Sweetheart, bruises aren’t a good thing, they’re bad. Really really bad” Mav explained softly, “Hugs aren’t meant to hurt you, you’re meant to feel safe in them, melt into them, sleep in them.”

He was trembling, he could feel it, his jaw wobbling as he sniffed, throat bobbing, fingers unconsciously tracing over his dark skin, the only constant in his life since he left home, “But I- I cant get love without them Mav” he admitted with a wrenched whisper, quickly followed by a halted sob, chest heaving in effort as he tried to supress his tears at the sudden overload, “I don’t know how, this is all I’ve known. This means love”.

This meant love. It always had. Since he was little, since he curled up next to his mother and she help him close, or her holding him by the hand as they crossed the street or in stores, she only held on so tight because she was worried he’d get lost, or that he’d have a nightmare or fall out of bed. She did it because she cared.

“There this rumour going around….that you hurt some of the other guys…”

“Look Jake…some of the other had some concerns about your rough- uh… treatment! Towards the others, and I think it’s about time we address it”.

“They’re just kids!”

He- he had been hurting them? But it- it meant love. Didn’t everyone know that? When he nudged their shoulder did they just think he was hurting them, just because he could. When he nudges Javy…Shit Javy. Did he think he did it on purpose? Did he think he was hurting him?

“It’s ok Jake” Javy had whispered into the dark room, “I know you don’t mean it. I know you love me truly”.

He felt sick. Did everyone think he was some sick dick who hurt people just because he could? That he’d debase himself to hurt kids because he was bigger and wanted to dominate or intimidate them? Did- did Bradley just think he was edging him into a fight? Was…was that all they were to Bradley? Just some dick he used to fight within the academy. Did none of it mean, I love you?

���It doesn’t,” Mav said softly, “it doesn’t sweetheart”. Mav lifted his hands slowly giving him time to move before cradling his cheeks gently, wiping away the tears that had escaped that he hadn’t even noticed, “Do you feel this?” Mav asked softly, “How gentle I am?” Mav’s hands dropped down to wrap around his waist holding him close, giving him the option to step closer, “Feel how I hold you? Like you can just lean into it? that you can trust me to hold you?”

He hesitated slightly nodding hesitantly searching the older man for anything that told him not to trust him. Feeling as if his world had just been turned upside down, like he was miss stepping within his own body.

Mav smiled softly, “Then trust me”.

He swallowed nervously before leaning forward slowly placing his weight on the man, Mav takes it easily and he allowed himself to exhaled softly embracing the warmth of the other body, muscles relaxing like puddy, but despite allowing himself some freedom he still felt like there was the ghost of an expectation for the arms around him to tighten like a cobra and rip the hope from his still beating heart. He felt like he was about to stumble into a trap, like he was trapped in a bird with no power, a faulty ejection and just holding on for the ride, trapped in a freefall not knowing when it would stop.

“This is love” Mav mused. “Gentle, soft, and not painful”.

“My mother loved me” he muttered defensively, desperately, “She did”.

“I’m sure she did” Mav agreed gently, “She had had a different way of showing it. But us, the daggers, we show love a little differently alright? So, you’re going to have to get used to soft and gentle for a while, can you do that?”

He bit his hip hesitantly before nodding, allowing himself to tuck his head into the junction between Mav’s neck and shoulder listening to Mav hum lowly, just holding him swaying lightly allowing him to sink into the new feeling. To become accustomed to it.

To give it a long forgotten name,

Love.

[revenancy]

impossible fires || marley haight.

okay so let's talk about my failgirl. the absolute love of my life. she's so fucking useless is it really a wonder that she somehow managed to fall into an arson plot that she was, previously, completely unaffiliated with and is it so hard to see why the cops think it looks suspicious???

marley josephina haight

→ born in the town of Lacrymo, L5, population ~120. raised by her single working father, Ward, at the nearby Haight Outpost. (Haight Outpost is gone now. Nothing stands where it once stood, except maybe the memory of a checked valance in the kitchen. The smell of one-pot meals sauteeing while she does her coursework at the kitchen table, breaking away from her textbook to stir the packaged ingredients.)

→ currently crashing on Jaci's couch in Kingston, L4. it's barely his apartment any more – but if he doesn't want to pay rent, that's not her problem. she just wishes he'd get his aircon and water turned back on.

→ a born engineer, she's currently unemployed due to the ship "pulling the plug" on the outposts, i.e., scrapping the system that her family had relied upon for their income. (Video calls with her best friends – Jaci, Violet – who knew about each other but never met. It's a shame. She thinks that Vi would've loved Jaci. But it's too late to think about that now. Haight Outpost isn't even a hole in the ground.)

→ struggles with depression and a general inability to keep a job: she's aggressive towards people she perceives as holding immature or irrational beliefs, such as those who treat the Matriarch like a deity.

→ goes heavy on synthetic drugs, especially memory-jacking ones that drag her back to a time and place before – before the outposts collapsed.

→ before she spent a year in invol, rotting in the psych ward at Sacred Spring.

→ before Violet Szarozy died choking on her own blood.

taglist: @iucemon <3 ask to be added or removed! (i am also very bad with taglists so please gently poke me if i forget you)

[youronlybean]

omg PLEASE tell me more abt scrap 1; pr1 gang au you say???

So, originally I had written this for the PR1 month event, week 1 I think. What I have is essentially the origins of Skadj the snarky, chaotic arsonist and how he double/triple-crossed everyone and ends up joining the crew!

I’ll share an excerpt, because I kinda like this one :)

[Jeremy moment, frustration, Ze had never wanted to punch someone more in his life]

“Not yet,” Ze sighed reluctantly. [Ari & Jvckk gang owes them money money money, stole from them too] “We just need to figure out how he’s going to cooperate with us. Then we can kill him.”

“You see,” the hostage began, and Ze began to seethe with rage. “-that’s the thing: if you’re gonna kill me once I give up the info, why not just keep the info to myself and not die?” He grinned, and kept the expression even as Ze brought his foot down on the hostage’s leg.

“I know you can’t be that loyal to Ari,” Ze muttered, glaring right into the hostage’s eyes. “You’re just a freelancer - a pyromaniac with no loyalty to either side.”

“I have loyalty,” the hostage argued. “If you pay me well enough I could be loyal to you.”

Ze raised an eyebrow. Now they were getting somewhere! Unfortunately, it wasn’t like they had cash flowing out of their ears at the moment, especially since the rival gang had yet to pay up their debt to them. If they had the money that had been hidden away, they would absolutely have enough to pay this guy off. Unfortunately, though, they didn’t. Ze would just have to work around that.

[the arson stuff, plus the coffee]

[happy about arson :)))] The hostage kept the same smug expression, a hint of glee in his eyes. “Speaking of heat: do you guys have AC? It’s really hot in here.”

“For the last fucking time, you’re a hostage!” Ze groaned, stamping his foot down on the hostage’s leg again. Honestly, he was beginning to grow a little hot due to the frustration, but out of principle he couldn’t switch the aircon on now. “You’re not supposed to be comfortable, that’s not how this works.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just winding you up.”

[Ze’s reputation]

He turned to Jeremy and gestured to the door, which the bodyguard closed so that the three of them were secluded in the room.

“Alright, you listen here, you little shit,” Ze forced his mouth into a mad smile, hoping to intimidate the hostage. The captive’s face remained straight, simply cocking an eyebrow to show he was in fact listening. “How about if you tell us where the money is, we’ll give you half? How’s that sound?”

[NOTE: Ze lie = concise, spontaneous, mostly believable. Chilled lie = abrasive and convoluted. Speedy lie = drawled, confident gaslighting - remember for later]

Jeremy made a small noise of alarm and covered it with a cough, though Ze didn’t know how much their hostage would buy it. It wasn’t like Ze was actually going to let him have HALF of their owed money (Ze didn’t know how much exactly, but apparently it was a LOT of money), but maybe he would get a small cut if he behaved - MAYBE.

“Mm, I dunno,” the hostage mused, a nonchalant yet doubtful note to his voice. “I don’t think you guys like me very much - what’s to stop you from just murdering me when you’re done with me? You don’t trust me.”

“No, we don’t,” Ze agreed, the fake smile still firmly plastered across his face. “And we will be murdering you if you don’t cooperate, but the way I see it, you’re gonna die anyway if you don’t give us the info.”

“Where are you gonna get the money’s location from if I’m dead? You think Ari’s people are more likely to give it up than I am?” The hostage scoffed amusedly.

“They might be a bit more opposed to dying, yeah,” Ze shrugged. He felt like he was beginning to get the upper-hand now.

“Pfft, maybe. Those guys are pussies anyway.”

“So are you gonna give us the location or not?”

There was about three minutes of long, contemplative silence, in which all Ze could do was stare down the captive man while he played with the idea in his head. Even Jeremy began to shift uncomfortably and Ze felt his eyes growing sore from glaring.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” the hostage finally decided. “Or rather, I’ll show you.”

“Oh?” Ze sighed, biting his lip furiously.

“That way I can be sure you’ll hand over some cash and I can escape with my life,” the hostage clarified. “I mean, wouldn’t you rather I have it than Ari?”

“Sure,” Ze pursed his lips, doubtful of the proposal. Ze would rather this rouge agent had it than their rival gang, but there was nothing stopping him from giving the money back to Jack once he had it. “What’s your name?”

“What?” Even the hostage seemed taken aback by the question.

“Your name? Sharpish, please.”

“Skadj,” the hostage answered simply.

[aonoexpat]

23-01-2024

I can barely believe it, but dear friends, I am writing to you from Auckland International Airport. The time has come, as I knew it would, but it still hurts like hell!

I spent my last days in Wellington figuring out how I was going to get here, saying goodbye to all my loved ones, organising and packing all of my stuff, finishing my scrap book, gifting gifts to people and receiving some too, working my last shifts, spending some time in nature...

...cocooning with movies and good food, enjoying the summer sun and heartfelt conversations, collecting signatures, ticking the last things off my to do list, and weirdly, barely crying. I was so focused on the process, on getting all my things in order, that I felt like I had quite a grip on myself emotionally. I knew the final goodbye would be sad, but because I hadn't really taken the time to feel my feelings, when it finally came it hit me hard.

About twelve hours ago my housemates and an old friend of mine finished up dinner (that they insisted on paying for despite my protests, y'all are too kind ♥), and they all walked me to the InterCity bus together. Even during boarding I managed to hold it together, but as soon as the doors were about to close I felt like they were going to cut me off from a lifeline. Like I was going to be a lonely little kid, being shipped away from her family. Because that is what these people have come to feel like. They have shown me the most incredible kindnesses over the past year, and I will never forget that.

I had read the most terrible reviews online of the InterCity bus, but I guess I lucked out, because it was perfectly fine and comfortable! The aircon was on, I had all the charging ports I could wish for, I had a little table, and an empty seat beside me (that I could justify claiming for my bags because I had to buy an extra ticket in order to be allowed to bring my second suitcase). I spent some time allowing myself to cry and mentally say goodbye, listening to Westlife, and then I played some Minecraft on my laptop before switching to a scary movie. Once I started getting sleepy I allowed myself to drift off. Sleeping was a little uncomfortable and I wasn't all that successful, but I got at least a couple of hours in!

The bus ran exactly on time, which means that I am now at the airport in Auckland waaaayyyy too early. I had prepared for a cancelled or heavily delayed bus, so this is a pleasant surprise. I'm now watching the sunrise from the international departures area, taking some time to sit down and drink water and eat a little. The sleep deprivation is already affecting me, so I'm mentally buckling up for the plane rides to come. For now I've dropped my luggage off at a secure place, and I'll soon head into the city to meet up with a friend and kill some time!

[marconijasper]

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[iamthescalesofjustice]

discovered a large spiderweb in the house. am not knocking it down, not only only bc it is up high on a ledge and i would have to get a ladder and very long pole to do so, but also bc it is an absolutely fantastic sight, gently undulating in the faintly conflicting breezes of the aircon and ceiling fan. the lightning up there and its disparately placed anchor lines with weave only in certain sections gives off the illusion that it really is some softly rippling scrap of sheer silk held aloft by air alone, like a ladys scarf plucked away by a sudden gust summer wind,

[hauntedmoon519]

this suit is a lie the shoes, dull and scuffed still formal yet out of place i can feel the tie it tieghtens around my neck pressing past the hypertrophic disfigurements and ice cold burns i straighten it, sleeves hanging loose past my wrists held together by threaded scraps and fluxed studs of wispy dissonant jewellry the stains masked by jacket sleeves i have taken an awl to a cracked belt more times than i need to appear as though things are tacked together with leaking stuffing and viscera broken knots and blood vessels i sit in the hall of mirrors aircon hazes the room i have been sitting for a long time i will hang fire until the reflections splinter and rupture beyond efficacy

[comtraderecyling]

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[virtue-and-beneviolence]

The ghost in my home is you.

You and Shuji remember your relationship differently as you learn to live without each other.

An angsty Tumblr draft; no idea of word count and here's a content warning for blood.

It was his house. He'd bought it outright years ago - a cash offer with the spoils of his first big deal as a part of Toman. It was a modest detached house he'd found with Kisaki's help. And while his unofficial roommate may have had ulterior motives for evacuating Shuji from his home, the taller man was appreciative of the help nonetheless.

He didn't think he'd ever have a place of his own. He was free of the scrap and strife and violence he left behind years before in his family home. If you could call that abusive mess a family.

He had a house, sure, but it was an oddly hollow dwelling. Sparsely furnished though not for a lack of money so much as a lack of understanding of how he was supposed to know what to put in a whole house. It was Shuji, take out, and balled up suits destined for the dry cleaner against the world.

For a chaotic man full of life, his living arrangements were bizarrely sterile when you met him. It started innocently with you bringing plants every time you came to visit your new friend. Your plan to bring life into his home worked, even if he killed most of the plants because his sheepish smile when one died was to die for.

You breathed life into that place. You made it a home, warmed it like his personal hearth. And for the first time, he had someone to cook with. Even better- he had someone to eat with. Someone who he could talk about everything and anything with without having to hide half his life from.

All of a sudden he had someone to protect and love. He had a reason to make it back to that home of his.

The relationship was a whirlwind and all too soon he was facing the aftermath.

You were gone.

So why did he taste you on the rim of his orange juice jug?

Why'd he feel a pinch on his side and a shiver down his spine when he guiltily left his suits scattered on the floor at night?

Why did the warmth of the aircon on his neck feel so convincingly reminiscent of your breath in the twilight between wake and sleep?

Why did he feel like at any moment he'd wake to find you watching him sleep with that dopey little look in your face that he loves so much?

Why'd he swear he heard the door to the onsuite bathroom click shut at 5:55 am? Why'd he hear running water as if you were going about your morning routine?

Why'd he wake to tears dampening the bedspread you picked out and left behind to find his right side too warm and his arm asleep as if you'd been there just seconds before laying on him all night?

That was it. Enough was enough.

He was calling in a favor with his realtor in the morning.

There was a ghost in his home and she looked just like you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was a place of your own, somewhere he'd never touched.

It was homey. Decorated in your favorite style. Full of pictures of people you love rather than someone you loved once.

You could finally leave behind some of your sillier things and lean into adulthood. You were mature alone, without him, and it was a point of pride. The chorus of family telling you two to grow up had long faded in the distance now that you were alone. All it took to grow up was leaving him.

You could walk to your bed without stepping on a discarded cuff link or tripping on designer slacks.

You could cook the meals you wanted how you wanted and when you wanted, without being beholden to your partner's unreasonable and unpredictable work hours and unsophisticated palette.

You could journal nightly and listen to your podcasts and do chores for one instead of two.

You could finally breathe without being plagued by the clock; uncertain when, or if he'd come home. You didn't have the crippling weight of fear that if he did make it home, he might be on death's doorstep. There was no need to have a sewing kit labeled first aid at your front door. Finally you had no fear of calling a doctor rather than playing one while dread filled your throat with bile because what if you were hurting him worse?

Gone were the days of coming home to the door ajar. Of hearing the distinct tacky sound of tread in coagulating blood as you walked in your shared home. Of not knowing if Shuji made it back but just barely, or if a rival had broken in and was waiting to take or kill you. Of finding him in the tub bleeding terribly, and beaten so he was hardly recognizable. Of having to reach out through the stiffness of psychosomatic rigor mortis of your own to see if his skin was still warm. Of having to know this meant his adversary, or the corpse of one, must be somewhere in your home.

You could live in peace now.

You could live safely.

And yet, without him, you couldn't laugh. There was no silly joyful banter, no warming each other through the night, or someone's antics to keep you on the edge of your seat.

Safety at the cost of all that was joy and novel and thrilling, that was what this home represented.

It was a place he'd never touched.

You supposed that's why it always felt so cold.

Ye so here it is @gennabi @wildartist @l-tora-l 🤙🤙🤙

[mintmatcha]

One wide, sturdy hand pins you down by the wrists, stretching your arms as far above your head as they’ll go. Kuroo uses his long build to hold you perfectly still, knees parting your legs so wide that your calf hangs off one side of the desk and the other scrapes against his computer monitor, watching you writhe with a wild grin.

“You’re so pretty,” his free hand traces down your torso, thumb and pointer finger slowly popping the buttons of your shirt. Your pants are long forgotten, sitting in a pile right next to the door, leaving only your panties left to keep you warm. The aircon immediately hits your bare skin, a shiver raking through your body. The way you shake has you accidentally bucking up into him, the cold, cold metal buckle of his belt digging into the newly exposed soft of your stomach. Against your core, you can feel how hard he already is, practically pulsing through the cloth. “-And fucking desperate for it, apparently.”

“It’s freezing in here, Tetsu-”

“Excuse me, we’re in the office.” he dips down, nose pressed against your cheek, lips tracing over your jaw as he talks. The nip of his teeth further chastise you, “Address me properly.”

You whine, trying to turn your head and catch him in a kiss, but he pulls away- just fair enough to watch you strain for him. Every pull and wiggle just makes him smile wider, those dark eyes sparkling with hunger.

“Sir-” you finally relent, “Sir, please, just fuck me already.”

Kuroo sits up, jerking his head to the side to point towards the door as he busies his free hand undoing his belt. His briefs are bright red, a stark contrast from his conservative suit. “Shh. There’s people right outside.”

Of course there is. You can hear the low murmur of voices echoing down the hall, carrying out the day’s activities, completely oblivious to what was happening less than five feet away.

“You don’t want the whole office to know my secretary is a little slut, do you?” his voice drops so low you can barely understand him.

You arch your back, pouting your lips just the way he likes it, searching for a real kiss this time. “Only a slut for you, sir.”

His mouth finds yours and you’re finally hot, want blossoming under your skin. The wet pulls of his tongue searching for more and more, deep and all consuming until you can practically feel your brain misfiring-- the only thought you can manage to scrap together is him, him, him. He moans and mumbles into the kiss, all concerns of noise suddenly gone as he loses himself in grinding himself against you. The pretty pink head of his cock slips free on the elastic of his briefs and each kiss, each rut against you, has him glazing your skin with precum.

Suddenly, he lets go, freeing your hands. Kuroo suddenly leans back to fumble around the side of his desk, pushing around the drawer on the side of his desk. He comes back after a moment, tossing a foil packet on to your chest.

“Put it on me,” Kuroo whispers, running a hand through his tousled hair, “I want to feel your hands.”

Carefully, you rip the package open, gripping the corner with your teeth and tugging. Using your newly freed arms, you peel back the edge of his underwear and watch his cock fall free, heavy with it’s own excitement. A dribble of precum gathers at his slit and you brush it away with your thumb; the way it rips a gasp from him almost surprises you.

“Holy fuck-”

You pinch the tip and roll the condom down his cock, taking your time to alternate between firm touches and soft, trailing touches. When you reach the base, you continue, fingers ghosting over his cropped pubic hair before dropping low to cup his fat balls and roll them ever so slowly in your palm. With your other hand, you grip him. Through the thin latex, you can still feel everything, even the soft ridge that runs the length of his cock-

And apparently he can feel everything too.

“Holy fuck-” he repeats, louder, voice already starting to break-

“Shh.” you mimic, “There’s people outside-”

You squeeze him harder. “You don’t want the whole office to know my boss is a little slut, do you?”

[purecoppersolutions]

Your Complete Guide to Air Conditioning Unit Disposal

Air conditioning is essential for homes and businesses looking to stay cool in Sydney's excessively humid climate. However, proper air conditioning unit disposal becomes crucial when these units end their lifecycle. Trash disposal done incorrectly can harm the environment.

Why Proper Disposal Matters

Metals, polymers, and refrigerants are potentially dangerous elements in air conditioners. Hazardous chemicals are safely disposed of when an old unit is recycled or thrown away, while usable items—such as air conditioner scrap metal—are recovered. Apart from benefiting the surroundings, recycling your old unit could save money or enable you to make money.

Step 1: Determine If Repairs Are an Option

Before you throw out your air conditioner, check to see if it can be repaired or upgraded to last longer. Rather than looking for a way to delete it, a simple fix can restore its functionality. Furthermore, if repairs are prohibitively expensive or the air conditioner is outdated, it should be disposed of appropriately.

Step 2: Contact a Professional Removal Service

Hiring a professional service to pick up old air conditioners is the best solution for premium homes or businesses. You can be confident that your waste will be taken and disposed of safely because these companies comply with all environmental laws and regulations in Sydney. Choose a recycling company with experience disposing of air conditioners for a smooth procedure.

Step 3: Explore Recycling Options

Old air conditioners can be recycled using a variety of environmentally beneficial methods. Copper coils and other metal components from old air conditioners can be recycled for various uses. Because they know the current market value of the parts, Sydney scrap yards will pay you a reasonable price for your old air conditioner. Check that the recycling centre you chose meets all environmental regulations.

Step 4: Understand the Scrap Value

You should know how much you could get if you sell your outdated equipment for scrap. Copper tubes and other metal components can be sold for more than their actual worth. Find a reduced quote from reputable companies that deal in scrap aircon. Remember that the type and condition of the equipment can affect the price.

Step 5: Dispose of Hazardous Materials Safely

When air conditioner refrigerants are inappropriately released, they harm the environment. If you want to recycle or dispose of your unit, you must use trained personnel who understand how to remove it safely. This allows us to reduce waste while ensuring compliance with Australian environmental requirements.

Step 6: Check Local Regulations

Sydney has restrictions on disposing of significant things like air conditioners. To better understand what you need to do, check or visit an expert; proper rubbish disposal allows you to avoid fines while contributing to the town's cleanliness and vegetation.

Although initially it could seem difficult, correctly disposing of an old air conditioner can be quick and ecologically benign. Whether you pay someone to remove, recycle, or dispose of it, trash should always be treated carefully. Following these rules guarantees a suitable and long-lasting disposal of an air conditioning unit.

[skyfire85]

FLIGHTLINE: 115 - EC-121 WARNING STAR

PO-1W (WV-1 after 1952) #2 at Barbers Point NAS in Hawaii in 1952. The WV-1 was the forerunner of the EC-121 Warning Star. | Photo: US Navy

In 1949, the US Navy began investigating the use of a suitably modified C-69 (the USAF designation of the Lockheed Constellation passenger/transport) as a patrol and airborne early warning craft. Two L-749 (the longer ranged variant of the L-649) were acquired and modified with a large dorsal radome and a smaller ventral unit. Due to the aerodynamic effects of these radar, the vertical stabilizers were enlarged. These two aircraft, designated PO-1Ws, proved that the concept worked, and were retained by the Navy for use in training crews for the production model PO-2W, which was based on the L-1049 Super Constellation. The PO-1W, redesignated WV-1s after 1952, were eventually transferred to the FAA in the late 1950s. The PO-2W (redesignated the WV-2) were initially built with the same dorsal AN/APS-45 height finder and ventral AN/APS-20 search radar as the WV-1, but they were eventually upgraded to AN/APS-103 and AN/APS-95 units respectively. The crew of a WV-2 normally numbered 18: 6 officers (2 pilots, 2 navigators, 2 weapons controllers) and 12 enlisted (2 flight engineers, 1 radio operator, 2 crew chiefs, 5 radar operators, 2 radar technicians), but could be increased as high as 31, depending on the mission.

Orthograph of a PO-2W/WV-2/EC-121. | Illustration: Lockheed Aircraft

I CAN SEE FOR MILES AND MILES...

Beginning in 1954 and running until 1965, US Navy Warning Stars participated in the "barrier" force, an extension of the Distant Early Warning (DEW) line of radar posts. Five picket stations off each coast were manned by radar equipped destroyer escorts, while WV-2s patrolled at altitudes ranging from one thousand to four thousand feet on missions lasting from 6 to 20 hours at a time, watching for a sneak attack from Soviet bombers or missiles. Aircraft on the Atlantic Barrier (BARLANT) flew from NAS Argentia in Newfoundland to the Azores and back, though beginning in 1961 the course was shifted to cover the Greenland-Iceland-UK gap. The Pacific Barrier (BARPAC) aircraft flew from NAS Agana on Guam, NAS Barbers Point on Hawaii and NAS Midway. Additional aircraft flew from NAS Rota in Spain and NAS Atsugi, Japan. Nine of the WV-2s were converted to WV-3 weather reconnaissance aircraft (the famed "Hurricane Hunters"), based at NAS Jacksonville in the Atlantic and NAS Agana in the Pacific. Thirteen other aircraft were converted to WV-2Q electronic intelligence (ELINT) aircraft. In 1962, with the tri-service consolidation of designations, the WV-2 were now EC-121Ks, while the WV-2Q became EC-121M and the WV-3 were now WC-121N. Four aircraft were modified under Project BLUE EAGLE in to NC-121 during the Vietnam War to act as airborne transmitters for American and Vietnamese TV and radio programs. Navy WV-2/EC-121s were commonly called Willy Victors, regardless of variant.

A WV-2 of Early Warning Squadron 15 (VW-15) flies over USS Sellstrom (DER-255) off the coast of Newfoundland in March 1957. The next year, the aircraft disappeared north of the Azores, with all crew presumed dead. | Photo: US Navy

An EC-121K Warning Star from electronic warfare squadron VAQ-33 "Firebirds" with an EA-4F Skyhawk and an F-4B Phantom II off the coast of Virginia in April 1973. This was the last EC-121 in service, being retired in June of 1982. | Photo: US Navy

A WC-121N assigned to VW-4 "Hurricane Hunters" at Naval Air Station Jacksonville, Florida (USA), August 1967. The plane was scrapped on 16 September 1976. Photo: US Navy

BIG EYE, COLLEGE EYE, RIVET TOP, KINGPIN, GOLD DIGGER, DISCO, BATCAT...

The USAF operated various marks of the EC-121 from 1954 through 1978, and the aircraft was used extensively during the Vietnam War. Like their Navy cousins, the USAF Warning Stars mainly flew early warning missions to compliment the Navy patrols, generally confined to orbiting 300 miles offshore. Declared operational on 21 December 1954, the 551st Airborne Early Warning & Control Wing at Otis AFB in Massachusetts started with EC-121Cs, and was subsequently upgraded through EC-121D and -H models. On 1 July 1955 the counterpart 552nd AEWCW became operational, based at McClellan AFB in California, with administrative control over the 966th AEWCS in Florida, which was tasked with monitoring activity over Cuba, including tracking of U-2 missions under the code name 'Gold Digger'.

View of the radar operators in an U.S. Air Force Lockheed EC-121D Warning Star aircraft of the 552nd Airborne Early Warning & Control Wing. | Photo: USAF

In order to bolster the US Navy's 'Crown' radar ships monitoring for North Vietnamese aircraft, four EC-121Ds were deployed to a forward operating base at Tan Son Nhut Air Base under the code name 'Big Eye'. Two aircraft were airborne at any given time, flying orbits approximately 30 miles offshore, which provided coverage of the main N. Vietnamese MiG base at Phúc Yên and the South Vietnamese capital of Hanoi. An F-104 provided MiGCAP to defend the Big Eye aircraft against interloping fighters. Flying these missions was decidedly uncomfortable, as the radar and other electronics produced copious amounts of heat, which, coupled with the heat and humidity of Vietnam, overwhelmed the aircon systems of the EC-121s. There was also the ever-present threat of being shot down, despite the MigCAP aircraft. Despite these challenges, the Big Eye scored on 10 July 1965, vectoring a pair of USAF F-4C onto a flight of North Vietnamese MiG-17s, resulting in two of the enemy aircraft being shot down. In February of 1967, the Big Eye forward base came under threat of Viet Cong attack, and the -121s were moved to Thailand.

Two F-104A Starfighters in formation with an EC-121D. Photo: USAF

EC-121 operations in Thailand were renamed to 'College Eye', and after temporarily flying from Ubon RTAFB were permanently moved to Korat RTAFB in October 1967. College Eye aircraft acted as directors for MiGCAP flights over the Gulf of Tonkin, as well as enforcing a "no-fly zone" over the North Vietnam-China border after a USAF F-105 strayed into China while chasing down a NVAF MiG. In 1967 an EC-121 was modified under the name 'Quick Look' with the QRC-248 Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) transponder interrogator, which allowed US aircraft to identify Soviet MiG radar transponders, vastly improving the detection range and ability to discriminate aircraft from ground-clutter.

In August 1967 another EC-121 variant began operating out of Thailand. Known as 'Rivet Top', it was a former USN EC-121K modified with the QRC-248, as well as interrogators capable of pinging two other Soviet IFF transponders. The aircraft, designated the EC-121M, was also fitted with stations capable of monitoring voice comms between NVAF MiGs and their ground controllers. These stations, manned by intel specialists fluent in Vietnamese, were known as 'Rivet Gym', and were eventually all College Eye aircraft were refitted with the equipment. The Rivet Top aircraft remained in Thailand throughout the war, flying missions over the Gulf of Tonkin. Due to spotty communications, an inability to correlate the voice comms with radar plots of specific MiGs, and secrecy rules surrounding the existence of Rivet Top and its IFF interrogators, the effectiveness of the EC-121M and the Rivet Gym installations on College Eye aircraft afterwards was questionable.

The EC-121M 'Rivet Top' at Korat RTAFB in 1967 or '68. | Photo: USAF

In October of 1970, two newly converted EC-121T, the last USAF variant, were flown to Korat to take part in the Operation KINGPIN phase of Operation IVORY COAST, a raid on the North Vietnamese POW camp at Son Tay Prison. The Kingpin EC-121s were to provide early warning of interloping MiGs and direction of USAF F-4s providing MiGCAP. The two aircraft call signs Frog-01 and -02, took off on 20 November 1970 and began heading towards their orbit points. Frog-01 suffered a ruptured oil line in flight, forcing it to divert to Danang for an emergency landing. Frog-02, now the primary Kingpin aircraft, continued on to its orbit, but once on station was beset with issues in its new equipment. Ground stations in Danang were unable to receive data from the plane, and its IFF processors, despite attempts to reset, would not display properly. The radar monitors were swamped with noise from Navy EKA-3 Skywarriors, who were jamming NVAF radar. Nevertheless, 02 remained on station to provide what data the crew could glean with the Rivet Top/Gym equipment. In any event, Ivory Coast was a failure, as the POW had been moved out prior to the raid.

An EC-121T, similar to Frog-01 and -02, at Korat RTAFB, circa 1971. Note the lack of the dorsal height-finder radome, a distinguishing characteristic of the type. | Photo: Jim Chandler

In October 1971 a number of EC-121T aircraft returned to Thailand under the callsign 'Disco' to provide support to USAF B-52s, who found themselves under threat from North Vietnamese SAMs and MiGs in the wake of Rolling Thunder. The Disco EC-121s took up orbits over Laos and the Gulf, though ongoing communications issues and the dated nature of their radar sets limited their effectiveness. All-in-all, Big Eye, College Eye and Disco aircraft flew nearly 14,000 missions by the time they were withdrawn in 1974, assisting in the downing of 25 MiGs and the rescue of 80 US and allied pilots. The EC-121s in the Southeast Asia theatre completed more than ninety-eight thousand accident-free flight hours, with zero losses.

Approximately four dozen ex-USN WV-2 and WV-3 Warning Stars were modified as part of Operation IGLOO WHITE, the deployment and monitoring of remote acoustic and seismic sensors along the Ho Chi Minh Trail through Vietnam and Laos. The Warning Stars were modified to collect and relay data from the sensors to Nakhon Phanom where the data would be collated and compiled for use in localizing and monitoring PAVN movements. The aircraft, designated EC-121Rs and nicknamed Batcats, were painted in the tricolor SEA camouflage, unlike the USN and other USAF Warning Stars. Concerns over the vulnerability of the Batcats led to their replacement in 1969 and '70 by QU-22Bs (unmanned modified Beech Bonanzas), though issues with those planes led to specially modified C-130Bs being introduced in 1971.

An EC-121R Batcat from the 553rd Reconnaissance Wing over Vietnam in 1969. | Photo: USAF

The EC-121 remained in USN and USAF service after Vietnam, being retired in 1978 by the USAF and 1982 by the Navy. The various Warning Stars were replaced by faster, more modern aircraft like the E-3 Sentry and models of the C-135 in the USAF, and by the E-2, S-3 and EA-6 in Navy service. A number of USAF Warning Stars are on display around the country, including EC-121T s/n 53-0555 at the USAF Museum in Dayton. Nicknamed "Triple Nickle" for its serial number, 555 recorded the first successful attack directed by an AEW aircraft on 24 October 1967.

[rebel-without-cause-x]

Heatwave and Pregnant

Angel Reyes x Reader

Mayans Tag List: @chibsytelford @briannab1234 @starrynite7114 @minnicelli @woahitslucyylu @whyisgmora @talicat713 @trulysuccubus @everyhowlmarksthedead​ 

It was hotter than the devils ass right now, the aircon was bust in your house, it didn’t help you were currently 6 months pregnant and no matter what you did you couldn’t get comfy.

“Fuck it” you mumbled pushing yourself up off the sofa, you knew Angel was at the scrap yard and that they had working air con. And plus there was a party tonight so it killed two stones with one bird.

Climbing into your car you rolled the windows down to try and get some breeze flowing through the car but it was no use, the air was hot and was just making you sticky, cursing your husband under your breath as you drove the short journey to the scrap yard, he just had to get you pregnant around Christmas meaning you would be heavily pregnant through the height of summer.

Parking the car near the bikes you pulled yourself out of the car, instantly Angel was by your side, his arms snaking around your waist.

“Mami what you doing here?” He whispered placing his large hand on your bump just as your son kicked, tears forming in your husbands eyes “did he just”

“Yeah he did” you grinned seeing your giant turn to mush.

The night went on and you were happily sprawled in a booth with Angel by your side not taking his hand off your stomach still over the moon that he felt the first kick. In that moment one of Viki’s girls stumbled spilling her drink all over you.

“For fuck sake” you snapped as the liquid soaked into your sun dress.

“Shit I’m sorry” the blonde mumbled passing you some napkins.

“I’ve got some spare shorts in my gym bag” Angel whispered kissing your head “I might have a shirt as well hang on”

Within a few minutes Angel came back with just a pair of shorts.

“Only had the shorts I’m afraid mi dulce” he said passing you the item of clothing.

“Thank you” you smiled standing on your tip toes kissing him before heading to the bathroom to change.

In a way you were thankful as you pulled the dress over your head and pulled the shorts on leaving you standing there in Angel’s clothes and your sports bra, you instantly felt cooler. As soon as you walked out of the bathroom the look of love that came from your husband made your heart melt.

Pushing his way through the crowd he made his way over to you smirking.

“How do you make pregnancy look this sexy” he mumbled against your lips as his hands roamed your body. “Mi preciosa esposa” (My beautiful wife)

He couldn’t believe how lucky he was that you were his wife and carrying his child, the amount of love that was in his heart was unreal, he never thought he would find someone that loved him for who he was, flaws and all.

Over the music you heard some of the guys wolf whistling making Angel glare at them.

“Go get your own wife” he hollered “this one's mine and I’m never letting her go”

You couldn’t help but smile at him as he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his hand on your stomach as he nuzzled his head in your neck.

His life wasn’t perfect and was far from it but with you in his corner it was perfect enough for him.

[gasgasdaily]

The infamous "die Rote Sau" or more commonly known in English as "The Red Pig". This is the car that launched AMG into the stratosphere.

Back in the 60s, Mercedes was still competing in various motorsports under the Silver Arrows branding and 2 mechanics and engine specialist, Werner Aulfrecht and Erhard Melcher, worked together to build engines not only for the works team but also other customers who soon realized their potential.

Soon, they had to start a workshop with all the demands they're getting and then they started out as AMG Motorenbau und Entwicklungsgesellschaft mbH now shortly known as "AMG" opened shop. So to promote their brand, they decided they needed to enter a motorsport event to prove their worth and of all things, they picked the 1971 Spa 24hrs and of all cars, a heavy S-class.

As they couldn't get anything else, the 300SEL was picked. What was odd is that none of the luxuries that was in the car was even removed. It still had it's wooden interior panels, leather seats, rear bench, possibly aircon and the only difference it has was an additional rollcage, switches instead of aircon for the additional foglights and doors being switched with aluminium units which could not be detected by the naked eye. They too tuned the 250hp 6.3L V8 that came with the 300SEL to 6.8L and with crazy levels of horsepower @ 428hp.Despite weighing at a mad 1.5tons and having to outfight cars like the BMW 2000 Turbo and Alfa Giulia Sprint and Ford Capri, they managed to win their class despite having to change tires and refuel more than the other competitors.

Alas, good things don't last. Riding on a high, the two bosses pushed the Red Pig to compete in other races like 24hr Nurburgring and what-not but it all failed badly. Car was then sold to the French to be used as a testing vehicle for road smoothness and then it was either scrapped as everyone lost trace of it. However, AMG remade one with the blueprints they had it's now residing at the Mercedes museum in Stuttgart.

[untitlednottitled]

number10

Pre-Event plannings

I had a grand plan, to be lawfully wedded to my bby on our 10th anniversary, 1 year after proposing to her on our 9th, in Jeju, in front of a field of flowers with a fantastical view of the sparkling sea. I even rushed and got the engagement ring ready before our planned trip to Korea in April! But alas, covid-19 had to happen and all was foiled. After the initial plan was foiled in Apr’20, we held out hope that we would still be able to travel by the year end.. but yeah covid gave us a great big middle finger, as yet again, cases skyrocketed and we were all but grounded in sunny Singapore. 

Finally, in Dec’20, I decided to propose before July’21! Since the ring and the JannPaul box has been hiding at the back of the closet for the past year, and i didnt want to put it off any longer.

i began to scout for and collate decor items bit by bit on carousell, shopee and other shopping sites. It was a painful process because my initial plan was to recreate “Venezia”, which was an ice cream cafe we went to at Sixth Avenue, back in our JC days before it bowed out of Singapore a few years ago. There was next to no mention of Venezia on google and I was also unable to find any useful logos of the establishment either! So that idea was scrapped. Next, there was the plan to create big cut-outs of either Monsta X or VIXX members who would seem ‘genuinely happy for the proposal’.. but once again, let down by google, as the images I managed to find were either too pixelated or not relevant enough. Sadly, that idea flopped too. In the end, I decided to go for a more normal but personal decor to surprise bby :)

Truthfully, there were many chances to surprise-propose bby, especially our most recent staycation at Park Royal Marina Bay, but I didn’t feel that I was ready to do it.. so I delayed it till our big dinner on July 10th. Why July 10th? SAF had the brilliant idea to schedule my ICT during our actual 10th anniversary date, so we decided that we would have our anniversary dinner earlier. Furthermore, after Gyu Bar, we decided that we could and wanted to try more fine dining. After much research and deliberation (between Whitegrass and Buona Terra), we finally went for Whitegrass, which had decidedly nicer deco and ambiance. 

The weekend before the 10th, bby suddenly suggested that after our big dinner, maybe we should go for a drive. This gave me a great idea - if i drove, this meant that she would have to come stay over, and then I would definitely be able to surprise-propose to her! I very easily agreed with her suggestion and went for a slightly higher-end car, an Audi. Thankfully, this rental was not far from my place and the rental wasn’t that much higher than the Honda Fit before. So far, all was going to plan. Then, we also decided that since we would be getting a car, we could travel slightly further out, eg. the East. We decided to go to Playground Ragdolls, which would be our first interactions with our dream pet for our new house! 

I ordered a huge preserved flower bouquet beforehand as well as a tiny flower-box, to be delivered on the July 9th, which was also my mum’s birthday. She requested to have chilli crabs for dinner, which my bro bought from Jumbo seafood. We had a scrumptious dinner that night, but extremely regrefully, I couldn’t invite bby to come over, because it would mean that she would see all the flowers and thus ruin the entire event. 

On the day itself

On the 10th, coincidentally, I had to take up a mover role, to help my bro move some of his guo-da-li stuff to his fiancee’s place in Pasir Ris in the morning. It was a very simple job that took up the bulk of my Saturday morning. After lunch, he sent me back and I quickly completed the deco and freshened up before leaving at 4pm to collect the car. 

Leaving at 4pm was an overestimation of the travelling time, but also to prevent any lateness. I reached the rental car location at about 445pm but could not find the car at all. Confused, i called the host and she was quite pekcek to inform me that I was 15 mins early.. i went ‘oops’ and apologised for my kiasu-ness. At least she wasn’t overly judgey about it. I took over the car and quickly got on my way to Lakeside. Along the way, the aircon vent handphone holder kept dropping everytime I made my way over a particularly high bump as the Audi aircon vent was different from the normal aircon vents i was used to, with horizontal panes. Other than the handphone holder dropping from time to time, the drive to Jurong was pretty smooth. 

I picked bby up at about 5pm and she surprised me with another street branded shirt, endorsed by Hyungwon of Monsta X. She even gifted me with a picture of him wearing the exact same shirt! I gifted her with the small flower-box and inwardly laughed as she whined about receiving another flower.. inside i was like ‘lol, wait till you get the one at night’. We drove off from Jurong to City Hall, which was supposed to get us to Chijmes in 25 mins? 

Oops, we will be so early! But in the end we spent more than 35 mins on the road, because google maps was being a bitch and not giving the correct directions and we had to circle round Chijmes twice because we couldn’t enter the place! Finally, we decided to follow the signs strictly and we managed to enter the Chijmes carpark at last. We wandered around Chijmes for awhile and took some pictures. I helped her take some pictures that she was actually satisfied with!!!! SDNJIADBNAIKFAUFAKLFDNA!!! 

After inwardly celebrating alone, we entered Whitegrass. Overall, the food was nothing to brag about, though the service was very good. Like what bby has said, the best things about the meal were the breads and the specially made financier by the Japanese Chef. The Chef came out to greet us and even wished us a happy anniversary followed by a picture of us hehe. 

Full af, we decided to drive to Sentosa cove to sneak a peek at the rich people but nope, not allowed to ba long long go in, so we rerouted to Palawan beach instead. well well well, no entry into the beach. hur. oh well, time to head home. Inside my mind was running in all directions, almost 1.5y in the making, it’s finally gona be time!!

We reached and parked in less than 30 mins and quickly made our way back home.. only upon reaching my doorstep that i realised i left my keys in the flower-box inside the car.. luckily my dad was still awake to open the door for us.

Once in, we discovered my room door was closed and i let her enter first. Once she sweeped her eyes around the room, i panicked a little and just grabbed the ring and knelt down. I was entirely FLUSTERED and my mind was blanked out. haha, i lost all sequence of events. i knelt at an awkward angle and i wanted to switch knees, at which point, bby looked down and saw me kneeling on both knees (facepalm ttm). but okay, eventually it got sorted out and we took some pictures, with creative advice from my fiancee (^^). i also told her the entire journey from the ring all the way to present time, honestly, without hiding anything. Tbh, i wanted to make it hella grand but I missed out on some deco and by the time i discovered, it was too late to order again. UGHHH. When we went off to bathe, it was already about 1am and we had an early morning ahead. We both went to sleep happy hehe. (i got myself a ring catto)

Ragdolls all day, err’ day

I woke up next to bby catto who suddenly wrapped me up in the blankets and took a picture of me -.-

anyways, after a quick breakfast, i wore bby’s present and went out. We went some place first, before heading to La Fez in the East. It was a Morrocan restaurant which had a very pink and cutesy exterior. The food was not bad as well, the bby ordered Shakshuka while I ordered the Lamb Shwarma. Not entirely filling but good enough for me!

 Next we set off for Playground Ragdolls.. but i think i missed a turn somewhere so we just parked at a nearby carpark instead. We wanted to walk to Tigerlily Pattiserie but changed our minds to head to Birds of Paradise nearby instead, since bby has been wanting to eat it. and hohoho, dark skies ahead started to thunder and shortly after rain poured down. We didn’t bring umbrella and neither were there any umbrella in the rental car.. so we decided to brave the rain. The initial rain was pretty manageable, a slightly heavy drizzle but manageable. The moment we were halfway to the next shelter however, it poured. and poured. and poured. Needless to say, we were both drenched.. and bby was wearing her Tory Burch too... nevertheless, we persevered and reached Birds of Paradise and got our ice cream too! (along the way we passed a mama shop and bought a $6 umbrella) We got roasted sesame and sea salt hojicha. Tbh, both were good but as we were practically wolfing the ice cream down and the quantity was really alot, the ice cream became pretty jelat after awhile. For the first time in a long long while, we threw away ice cream. Yes, bby was pretty horrible for throwing away ice cream, especially when she was the one who proclaimed she loved it. 

With our new umbrella, we eventually made our way back the way we came, dry this time, towards Playground Ragdolls! Since we were pretty early, we waited outside for a short while, before the host let us in. and wow, once in, we were greeted by 2 curious little Singapuras. At first glance, they looked like regular strays but on a closer look, they had a kind of refined quality that really separated them from typical strays. And then as the host continued her briefing, our eyes strayed to the ragdolls. OMGGGG all so floof and cute!! Bby and I settled down near the couch and started playing with an 8 month old female kitto. and omg she was so playful!! Immediate want! While playing, we didn’t forget to enquire more about the purchase process and also listened in on the other customers’ queries as well. 1 hour passed all too quickly, and it came time to bid farewell to the cattoes. 

On the way back to the car, bby remarked that she was a little peckish, so we decided to head to a drive-thru at marine parade.. but once there, no drive-thru to be seen!!! We stopped at the passenger waiting area for awhile to research but to no avail. Eventually we gave up and I drove her back to her house.

At her block, I helped to carry all the barang barang back up and I remarked to her that I was going to call her parents ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’ to hint them that I proposed. And I did, but apparently, only her mum caught it. Her dad didn’t, sadly. Unfortunately, I needed to rush back to return the car, so i couldn’t stay to explain further (Sorry Father, i will explain the next time i’m there!)

Anyways, I drove back to return the car and swiftly parked. The owner ‘received’ back the car without much incident also. Aaaaand that concludes mine and bby’s eventful weekend, in which we both had our relationship statuses changed from boyfriend-girlfriend to fiance-fiancee ^^. 

Honestly, I do regret not getting actual flowers for you back in 2011.. but lol, the virtual flowers confession did make our relationship more interesting though haha. Yet another interesting tale that we can tell our kids next time also. I feel so happy as I recount the entire experience and am so glad that it succeeded. This sat, we will be going to re-size the engagement ring so that bby will wear the ring for events soon!! can’t wait!!