#there are four people above 30 and three of them are in the last four people you recruit
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catariasteele · 2 years ago
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Why is this army full of teenagers?
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matan4il · 8 months ago
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can we get a. like i dont even know what to call it anymore but can we mention Michel Nisenbaum, an Israeli-Jewish man who was killed on oct. 7th and had his corpse held hostage until really recently. it's ok if you're too busy to do it or if im overstepping a boundary but its just that his story has really been weighting on me recently
Hi Clawdia!
You don't even have to ask me, it's a given I would talk about them, it was just a matter of when. There's so much to say, to share, to debunk, when every aspect of our existence is misunderstood, distorted and/or lied about...
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The IDF has returned the bodies of three more hostages who were murdered on Oct 7, and their corpses were kidnapped. The intel which allowed the soldiers to locate and rescue the bodies was uncovered in the last few days.
With your permission, I'll go through the above pic in the order in which we read and write Hebrew, from right to left...
42 years Chanan Yablonka was a father of two. He was last seen in security footage from the Nova music festival, walking through the parking lot, but hasn't replied to his family's calls. They knew that all of the four friends who had been with Chanan in the car in which they tried to flee the scene had been murdered on Oct 7, but no one knew what happened to him. It took 90 days to find the intel which changed his status from "missing" to "kidnapped." IDK if people understand the nightmare that not knowing is for the family. Now they do, and can bring him to his final resting place.
30 years old Mexican-French Orion Hernandes Radu was Shani Louk's boyfriend. They met abroad, and were together for almost a year. He was also the father of a little girl, and a musical producer of parties who worked all over the world. On Oct 7, his dad got a message in Arabic from Hamas, saying that Orion was alive, well, and kidnapped to use him for "political trade." He and Shani went to the Nova music festival together, and the vid of her stripped down, raped, abused body being taken to Gaza, to where people were celebrating in the streets and a boy spat on her still bleeding corpse was the first thing I saw of the massacre on the day itself. Now we know they were both murdered then, kidnapped together, and their bodies were returned to Israel one day apart.
59 years old Michel Nisenbaum was a grandfather, and on Oct 7, at his daughters' request, he went to get his 4.5 years old granddaughter from a military base in the south, where she was spending the day with her dad, an IDF officer. On the way to the base, Michel came across people fleeing the massacre, and as a volunteer paramedic, he helped several of them. When his son-in-law realized terrorists had invaded Israel, he called Michel to tell him not to come, but Hamas terrorists were the ones who answered the phone. One of his daughters said that from the moment she learned about the terrorists replying to her dad's phone, she knew life would never be the same again. At his funeral today, his former wife thanked Michel for the family that they built together, for an extraordinary friendship they had, for the way they learned to deal with everything life had in store for them, and promised him she'll keep guarding all that they had between them.
May their memories be a blessing. </3
The current number of hostages in Gaza is 125, and 39 have been determined to have been killed, which means there are 86 living hostages at most there.
(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)
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after-the-end-times · 3 months ago
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THE HOPE OF IT ALL
G 💙 750 words 💙 '92 US Election 💙 on AO3
💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙
As the 1992 election results started to roll in, The Party were glued to the tv in Steve and Eddie's apartment.
It had been a long time since they'd had a Democrat come this close to winning the Presidency. They all lived for too long under Reagan and then George H W Bush and now they were all watching to see if Bill Clinton could keep Bush from getting a second term.
"Do we really think he's gonna-"
"Shhhh!," Dustin cuts Robin off, "What did I say about jinxing this! No. Predicting!"
Robin mimed zipping her lips closed while she pulled her foot onto the couch. She gave a quick kick that sent him flailing onto the floor.
"Hey! I'm trying to win you an election here and that's how you act! Hmph! And not even a thank you for my effort!"
Robin pointed at her zipped together lips and shrugged faux sadly.
"Ok!," Steve stood up, stopping the inevitable slap fight, "I'm making more popcorn. Who needs another pop?"
Everyone raised their hands as Steve stepped gingerly through and around everyone sprawled on the living room floor. Eddie met his eyes and got up to follow him into the kitchen.
While they hoped it'd be a shut out (Clinton's popularity amongst both Dems and some Republicans was pretty high) they wouldn't know for sure until all the polls closed and the numbers came in.
And until then, they tried not to let the worry gnaw through their stomachs.
They were silent as Steve unwrapped bags of popcorn to put in the microwave and Eddie grabbed cans from the fridge.
Eddie lined the pops up on the bar top between the kitchen and living room and spoke through the opening, "Hey Will, can you hand these out?"
He waited to see Will and El standing to grab them before he turned back to Steve. He stepped up to Steve's back and wrapped his arms around him.
"Don't tell Dustin I said so," he said lowly against Steve's shoulder, "but Clinton's gonna win."
He drags his mouth along Steve's shoulder and mutters into hair, "He's gotta win. We can't do four more years of Bush. Four more years of him not caring about people, our friends, dying."
Steve emptied the last popcorn bag into a bowl and turned in Eddie's arms and hugged him close.
"We're not jinxing," he whispered back, "we're hoping. How can we get change without hope?"
They held each other a few more minutes until Robin came in. She passed the bowls of popcorn across the counter to Lucas and turned back to Steve and Eddie.
She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the ceiling above their heads, "We're gonna get this. It's gonna happen. And things are gonna get better. They have to. I just can't get this churning dread out of my stomach. Cause what if-"
Before she could put that thought out there, they pulled her into their hug and held her tight. She knew that no matter what happened, they'd have each other, but it was still terrifying. That what-if.
With one last deep breath and hard look between the three, they smoothed their expressions to hide their anxiety and rejoined the kids.
Except. It was finally 8:30 and hope was on the rise. As were the shouts and, yes, predictions getting yelled around the living room.
Because the midwest was going blue. State by state: Michigan, Ohio, and then their new home, Illinois. Blue!
Even southern states were going blue, which none of them could believe. First Georgia and then Tennessee!
Some states were still going to Bush, of course. Big ones like Florida and Texas.
Steve handed $5 over to Eddie when their home state of Indiana stayed red.
But then at 9.30, the tentative hope everyone held tightly to their chests exploded into cheers and whoops when California and Pennsylvania went to Clinton.
"WE WON!", the kids screamed while they jumped up and down.
Steve and Eddie kissed hard and pulled each other into a tight hug.
Robin jumped on top of them from the couch, "I told you! I told you we'd win! Ha!"
The phone on the wall immediately started ringing. Steve pulled away and pushed his way through the wall of bodies to reach it.
Through the space between the kids' heads, Eddie saw Steve answer the phone grinning so hard his eyes did that scrunchy thing he loved so much.
In the instant, he was filled with so much love.
For Steve.
For his friends, here and gone.
For Wayne, who he needed to call if that wasn't him on the phone already.
And even, honestly, surprisingly for all his fellow citizens who came together to bring them this hope and possibility of a better future.
~fin~
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rambleonwaywardson · 8 months ago
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Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 3
Masterpost
AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is back-up commander and CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).
Author's Note: Uh oh, the chapters are getting longer. Hope y'all will stick with me because I have plans for these boys. Heads up, this chapter does contain some expressions of homophobia. Also there's no new terms that I think need defining here, but I'm thinking of creating a term definition post for those I've already used.
--
‘John Egan and Alex Jefferson to make history as first queer and black representation on the moon’ 
‘Artemis III crew ready for liftoff in one month’
‘So three bachelors and a homosexual walk into a bar, er, a rocket…’
‘NASA targeting November 6  launch’
‘NASA’s diversity campaign’
‘What having a gay man in the space program means for the future of America’
‘NASA press conference gets heated after probing sexuality questions’
‘Biddick goes after reporter to defend fellow astronaut’
September 30, 2025
Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX
As NASA’s Artemis Public Affairs Officer, it is Marjorie Spencer’s job to relay information about the Artemis program to the public as well as to coordinate press events between the media and the crew and/or mission control. As Public Affairs Officer, it’s her job to wrangle a bunch of rowdy astronauts and convince them to play nice with the press, even when the press doesn’t play nice with them. With this particular crew, it can, often, be like wrangling a bunch of rambunctious, highly opinionated, and incredibly stubborn teenage boys. Or a bunch of selectively trained dogs whose selective training just happens to be whatever they feel like remembering in the moment.
A lot of people don’t truly appreciate how, as Public Affairs Officer, it is Marge’s job to make these boys – ahem, grown men – look presentable to the public when behind the scenes they are the bane of her existence. In the most loving way possible.
Public Affairs Officer, however, is only one of her jobs.
As Best Friend, her job often includes the emotional damage control that flies high above a PAO’s paygrade. 
As she finishes up welcoming a room full of reporters to Johnson Space Center, she reminds them that this will be the last press conference that the astronauts will take part in before starting their pre-launch quarantine process in just a few weeks. They will have another pre-launch press conference while in quarantine a couple of days before they board the Orion crew capsule, before they strap themselves to the top of NASA’s most powerful rocket ever created.
“Please welcome NASA’s Artemis 3 crew,” Marge says smoothly. “Major John Egan, mission commander. First Lieutenant Curtis Biddick, lunar module pilot. Dr. Robert Rosenthal, crew physician. Alexander Jefferson, mission specialist.”
One by one, the crew members, dressed in their NASA flight suits, walk up onto the small stage at the front and take their seats behind the table, which is emblazoned with the NASA logo. They each have a gold astronaut pin on their flight suit collars, signifying the fact that they have already successfully flown in space. These four men are some of the most qualified people currently in the space program, and they were hand-selected two years ago to fly this mission. Together, they have logged nearly 1,000 hours of training for Artemis 3, including crew module sims, lunar module sims, zero-gravity EVAs in the neutral buoyancy tank, and lunar terrain sims. In five weeks, that training will be put to use for the chance to put the next human footprints on the moon.
At first, the questions are typical, what the crew is prepared for. They’ve been answering similar questions through much of the training process. How does it feel to be going to the moon? What will each of their roles be on the mission? What kind of training have they been doing? Do they feel prepared? What does it mean for each of them to be on this mission? What do they think it means for the general public and for the future of science? For the space program? For Bucky and Curt, how does it feel to be the first men since the 70s to step foot on lunar soil?
The crew answers them all genuinely and professionally. They joke with the reporters, a trait that has made them endearing to much of the public. They wax poetic about flying to the moon and how they’ve all dreamed about it, how they’re honored to be a part of something so grand, what they hope it will symbolize for people all over the world. They say exactly what the reporters, and the public, generally want to hear. 
Until they can’t. Because at some point, no matter what you say, to someone somewhere it will never be right. 
To be honest, Bucky often stops listening to the reporters names and affiliations during these things. So he isn’t sure who asks this question, but he perks up when the man says “This question is for John Egan.” Bucky nods and the man goes on. “This crew has become well-known for being a crew of young bachelors, except for you. You’re getting married in just a couple weeks, correct? To Major Gale Cleven, also a NASA astronaut.”
Bucky nods again. “Yes, that’s correct.” 
“Do you or Major Cleven have any concerns about you going to the moon just days after the big day?”
Bucky smirks. “Well, which big day are you referring to? The wedding or the launch?”
The reporters in the room chuckle quietly. “The wedding,” the man says.
Bucky tries not to roll his eyes. You get married and suddenly it doesn’t matter that both spouses have been professional and highly trained adrenaline junkies for years before this. “Of course, there’s always concerns when it comes to hurling yourself off of a planet,” he replies. “But Gale and I have been through this together, more than once. We know the risks, and we support each other 100%. The only thing that will be different is I’ll have a wedding ring with me.”
As reporters clamor to get the next question, Marge points and a woman stands up, introducing herself. “Major Egan,” she starts. Two in a row. Bucky clenches his jaw, worried he knows where this press conference is about to go. “How do you think coming out as a member of the LGBTQ+ community affected your role within NASA and within the Artemis program?”
Bucky takes a quiet but deep breath. “My sexuality has never been a secret,” he answers. At least, it hasn’t been since high school. And yet the media still aren’t comfortable with words like gay or homosexual or queer or even LGBT. When they do say these words, it’s almost hushed, like it’s something terrible. “It wasn’t a secret when I flew on the ISS two years ago, and it isn’t now. My qualifications and experience, I think, speak for themselves as to why I am on this mission.”
“Do you consider yourself a role model for the queer youth of today?” Someone jumps in.
Bucky hears Curt stifle a laugh beside him, and he almost smiles himself. “I’m not trying to be any sort of role model or anything,” he says honestly. “God knows you could find better than me. But I am an Air Force pilot, I am an astronaut, I am an engineer, and yes, I am also going to marry a man next month. And that man has been the love of my life for over a decade. So if those facts can somehow align to give others the opportunity to dream, to believe in themselves and in a better future, then I’m glad.” He glances over at Marge, who looks a little wary of where things are heading, but she gives him a thumbs up for his answer.
“So this isn’t just a publicity stunt in NASA’s diversity agenda?” another reporter asks. At the same time, someone throws their hand up and says “what kind of message is NASA trying to send by putting you on this mission?” 
The questions and excited mumbling of other reporters jumble into some cacophony of muddled sound, and Bucky bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something out of line. Because as a public figure, anything he says now will be ‘out of line.’
Another reporter stands up, unbidden, before he can even think of an appropriate answer to either of the questions he was able to hear. “For the rest of the crew,” he calls out, before Marge can direct him to take his seat. “How do you feel about having a gay man in the spacecraft with you?”
Bucky can taste blood as he bites down harder. Marge steps up on stage in a hurry, saying something about that being enough questions about Major Egan’s personal life, and any further questions should be directly mission related.
But Curt has already moved to stand up, and Rosie and John simultaneously reach out from either side to push him back down. Alex leans forward at the other end of the table, intent on putting that question to rest with a facial expression that is as close to a glare as can be managed without getting called out for being ‘unfriendly’ by the media. “This crew is like family,” he states with an overwhelmingly exaggerated sense of calm. “John is one of the best pilots NASA has. We are all proud to call him our friend and our commander.”
Marge, now standing firmly next to Alex at the end of the table so she can moderate more directly, nods at him in approval. As she moves to select someone for the next question, though, one of the reporters near the front scoffs and not-so-subtly mumbles something under his breath that leaves Bucky dazed, his ears ringing. Next thing he knows, Curt’s chair is clattering backwards as he shoots to his feet – “What did you say? What the fuck did you say!” Rosie is holding him back from jumping the table with all of his grip strength, and the newsroom is erupting in shouts from the reporters. Questions and insults fly across the room, directed at one another and at Bucky, too. He just sits there quietly, his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his folded hands, letting the words slap him in the face and settle like stones in his chest. He forces himself to stop biting down on his cheek, and watches numbly as security barges into the frenzied crowd to begin escorting reporters out of the room.
When Rosie finally releases his grip, Curt grabs his chair and sits back down with an angry grunt, shaking his head. “Stupid fucks,” he mutters. Marge ends the press conference after that.
As the room is cleared, the crew is shuffled out of the newsroom and into Marge’s office down the hall. She sighs and puts her head in her hand, pacing the room, her heels clacking methodically on the tile. The men stand quietly in a line, looking anywhere but at each other. Finally, Marge takes a deep breath and looks them each in the eye. “Well,” she says. “That could have been… well. That was bad. Okay, that was bad.” She looks at Bucky. “You did great, John. Thank you for how you handled that. I’m so sorry. We’ll figure out a way to handle this better for your pre-launch press conference.”
Bucky just nods. “Yeah,” he says distantly. “Yeah, no big deal.”
If we’re lucky the fag will die up there.
“It’s a big fucking deal,” Curt mutters angrily. They’re used to this kind of thing by now; between John, a gay man, and Alex, a black man, the crew has become overwhelmingly and depressingly aware that the world has not yet changed quite enough to escape derision over difference being normal, over people existing outside the boxes that society has designed. They deal with it, they move on, they do their job. But today was more… well, it was just more than usual. Like the closer they get to launch, the more the media is concerned about all the wrong things. And the more comfortable they are with voicing it. 
“It’s fine,” Bucky insists. “Nothing that I haven’t heard before, really.” He can hear it in his own voice, though: He isn’t sure how much he believes himself.
If we’re lucky…
Rosie pats him on the shoulder. “Like Alex said, we’re family. We’ve got your back, and we won’t tolerate this shit.” Bucky tries to give a little half smile. 
…the fag will die up there. 
Marge nods and checks their schedule on her tablet. “Let’s, um, let’s all take a breather, okay? We don’t have any major press engagements until right before launch.” She looks up at them, and she fights a frown when she sees the varying states of anger, frustration, and dejection on their faces. She knows it’s not her fault, but it’s her job to coordinate and moderate these events. She tries to smile reassuringly instead. “I’ll work with each of you on your own interviews and media appearances over the next few weeks, but I need you boys to focus on the mission. I’ll take care of addressing how this conference ended, and I’ll work with public relations to make sure we can avoid things getting out of hand in the future.” She knows she has a strongly worded email from the director of the human spaceflight program – or possibly even an impromptu meeting – coming her way any minute. She has to work out how to tidy up this mess, but it can’t be her priority at the moment.
She hugs Alex, Rosie, and Curt as they exit her office. Then she looks at Bucky, who has barely moved at all. “Hey,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. 
He glances up at her before looking back at his shoes. “Hey.”
“You okay?”
Bucky shrugs, but doesn’t answer for a long, long moment. “I should be,” he finally sighs. “I’m used to it, really. It’s been the same since my astronaut candidacy was announced. Hell, it’s been the same my whole life.” He scoffs. “I don’t know. It just feels… worse somehow, this time.”
He looks up at Marge again, and Marge feels her chest tighten at the tired sadness in his eyes. Even the toughest men she knows have never been bullet proof. She pulls him into her arms and lets him hold on for as long as he needs as he tries to keep himself together. 
If we’re lucky…
“You’re one of our best,” she tells him quietly as she rubs his back. “Anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”
“I know,” Bucky says, but his voice chokes on the words. “I…” He holds onto her tighter, and he can’t bring himself to say anything else. 
If we’re lucky…
When he lets go, Marge squeezes his arm. Her assistant knocks on the door then, here to tell her that Neil Harding, the director of the human spaceflight program, wants to see her in his office. She thanks the woman and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she tells Bucky. “I’m going to work on cleaning up this mess. But once I do, I’ll meet you at yours for some good old fashioned damage control.” Damage control meaning drinks, snacks, and general mayhem. Bucky kisses her on the cheek, thanks her, and watches her strut out of the room, off to fulfill her third role: certified badass.
Just minutes after Marge leaves Neil Harding’s office, Gale finds himself outside the very same door, wondering why he’s been summoned out of the blue in the middle of his work day. He’s greeted by a woman who he hasn’t seen in years, looking as prim and proper as ever even in her European Space Agency flight suit.
“Sandra?” He asks. 
She turns around and smiles politely at him, that charming and yet almost disarming way she always does. “Gale! Wow, it’s been some time hasn’t it?”
Gale nods, but eyes her carefully in confusion. “Sure has. Nice to see you again.”
Sandra looks unphased though, exactly as he would expect her to. This woman could be faced with a dead body or three or ten – and probably has been – and wouldn’t bat an eye. She is, perhaps, the strongest woman Gale knows, and NASA really is full of strong women. “How are you?” she asks. “And how’s John? Or, Bucky I believe is what people call him around here. You Americans and your funny nicknames.”
“Good, good,” Gale says. “He’s going up on Artemis 3 in November.”
Sandra puts a hand on his shoulder and almost looks… sad? “Oh I know. It’s all the buzz, isn’t it?”
Gale arches an eyebrow, not quite sure what she’s getting at. Before he can say anything, though, the door to Neil’s office opens and the man himself is ushering them inside. 
“Gale! Sandra! We have a lot to cover so get on in here.”
When Marge finally lets herself into Buck and Bucky’s home with a spare key, armed with ice cream and alcohol, she stops short as she walks into the living room. She leans against the doorframe, one hand on her hip and the other holding the groceries. It’s only 4pm and Bucky, who went home early after the whole fiasco with the media, is slouched down low in the middle of the couch, bundled in an old Yankees sweatshirt with Pepper curled up at his side, her head in his lap. The news is on, a clip from their press conference earlier. A reporter is talking in depth about the incident, and the entire “controversy” over NASA’s “agenda.” As he watches, he doom-scrolls on his phone, and Marge knows he’s digging himself into a deep, deep hole filled with social media comments. His eyes are red, but his face is dry.
“John,” Marge says. He looks up at her and smiles weakly. She motions towards the TV, where the reporter is now reading an official statement from NASA, saying that the organization supports Major John Egan and the entirety of the Artemis 3 crew 100%; that the crew was selected based on merit and capability; that each member has been extensively trained and has shown that they are highly qualified and prepared for a lunar mission; and that NASA stands by all of their astronauts and employees, regardless of identity, and will not tolerate attacks of any kind such as those that occurred today. 
Bucky watches the report blankly before shifting his eyes over to Marge. She sighs before walking over to the coffee table, where she sets down the bag of groceries and picks up the remote. The TV clicks off. “Enough of that,” she says. When she collapses down next to Bucky and Pepper on the couch, she peeks over at his phone. Social media comments, sure enough. Supportive and detrimental both. She plucks the phone from his hand and turns it off, placing it face down on the coffee table. “And enough of that.”
John just stares at it on the tabletop, idly stroking Pepper’s ears. He won’t look at Marge, so she reaches over across Pepper and places a hand on his shoulder. “John, look at me.”
He does, and he takes a deep, shaky breath. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, biting down on the inside of his lip. Pepper licks his hand. He takes another breath and looks Marge right in the eye. “There’s death threats,” he says. When Marge just frowns, he rubs a hand over his face. “For me. And for Gale. Not many, thank God, but they’re there. I read them.” 
“Oh honey,” Marge says sadly. She gets up to switch to his other side, so she can wrap her arms around him properly. He lets himself settle into the embrace and closes his eyes, letting his most trusted friend ground him on one side and his dog on the other. 
“Thank you for issuing that statement,” he mumbles. 
Marge lays her head on top of his. “Harding wants to talk to you tomorrow, and he wanted me to tell you that the human space flight program fully supports you and always has. I think he wanted to give you some space today. Once you’re up for it, we’ll bring the whole crew in to discuss how to handle this in the future.” Bucky gives a small nod of acknowledgement. “You know it’s not really about you, right?” Marge asks. “Those things that people are saying. It’s entirely about them. None of them know you, and no one can, in any meaningful way, deny that you belong on this mission. This is about their own problems and their own prejudices. You,” she squeezes him harder, “have done everything right.”
Bucky is silent for a long time, until finally he says, “I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”
“Alright,” Marge says easily. She leans away and looks at him, grinning. “Time for some damage control.”
By 6:30pm, Gale can’t get the door of their house open fast enough. He hasn’t heard from Bucky all day and needs to tell him about the meeting with Harding. When he gets inside, though, he’s greeted by loud music pumping through their stereo speakers. As he walks into the living room, he takes in the sight of half empty cocktail glasses and beer bottles, open ice cream cartons and abandoned spoons, a bag of chips and a plate of fruit, and the throw pillows strewn all over the floor. He pauses in his tracks, staring at the carnage as his excitement drains rapidly from his body. 
Damage Control. 
Fuck. 
Pepper runs out of the kitchen to greet him, tail wagging so hard her whole body goes with it. Gale tilts his head and smiles at her. Throwing his keys on the coffee table next to Bucky’s abandoned phone, he crouches down and scratches under Pepper’s collar. “What happened, Pep?” He asks her. 
She just bumps his hand with her wet nose and spins around once before trotting off back to the kitchen. He follows her tentatively and peeks through the kitchen doorway, where Bucky is sitting on the counter while Marge stands, leaning back against the center island across from him. There’s flour and dirty cooking utensils everywhere, and it smells like tomato sauce. 
Marge looks down at Pep and then up at Gale. “Hey there,” she says. 
They’ve been laughing and singing and dancing all evening, but when Bucky looks up and sees the hesitant half smile on Gale’s face, the furrow in his brow, he knows Gale has already figured out that something is wrong anyways. The smile falls from Bucky’s face at the same time it falls from Gale’s. “Buck,” he says, but it barely pushes past his throat as a whisper. 
“What’s wrong?” Gale asks. He looks from Bucky to Marge and back. “John?”
Bucky shrugs and averts his eyes, watching Pepper instead as she flops down dramatically on the tile floor. “I’m fine,” he says. 
“Come on, John,” Gale sighs. But Bucky won’t look at him, so Gale looks at Marge instead. 
She brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Some things were said at the press conference today,” she supplies. “We had to end it early, with security pulling some reporters from the room.”
Gale frowns. “What kind of things?”
“Mostly about John’s sexuality. And your relationship. They were pretty innocent at first, but-“
“If we’re lucky the fag will die up there,” Bucky bites out. Gale feels frozen in place. He blinks, shoves his hands in his pockets, takes them out again. “There’s been worse online,” Bucky adds. 
“John,” Gale says quietly. He steps forward, one hand outstretched, but he stops short when Bucky crosses his arms protectively over his chest. 
“It’s not a big deal,” Bucky says, ducking his head. They both know that’s not true. ‘Damage Control’ isn’t for things that aren’t a big deal. Bucky shrugs. “At least, it shouldn’t be a big deal. Hey, I’m used to it right? I just gotta keep on going.” He laughs bitterly, but when he looks up at Gale, the hurt on the other man’s face squeezes his chest all funny and he looks away again. Then there’s a warm arm around his back, a hand on the back of his head. He feels Gale standing in front of him, and he lets his head fall forward to rest against his. Slowly, he lifts his arms to wrap around his fiancé, and he grips the fabric of his shirt in white-knuckled, shaking hands. 
After a couple of long, silent minutes, nothing but their careful breathing passing in the air between them, Bucky takes a deep breath. “Wow, way to put a damper on this little party, huh? Let’s uh, let’s go back to the part where I don’t have to think about this tonight.”
They both know they’ll have to talk about this later, but Gale nods and lets go. Bucky grabs tightly to his hand, though, wanting a tether to stop this feeling of drifting away. 
Marge motions for them to go back out to the living room. “Pizza in the oven. I’ll bring it out in a minute.”
When she does eventually follow them into the living room, carrying a tray of pizza, she walks in on them dancing in the middle of the room to “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis as it plays over the speakers. Bucky smoothly twirls Gale around before pulling him close again, and Marge is, not for the first time, in awe of the pure adoration that passes between the two of them. “Shouldn’t you save your first dance song for your actual wedding night?” she asks as she sets the pizza on the coffee table next to Bucky’s phone, still upside down, and Gale’s keys. 
They slow to a stop and look at her. Bucky shrugs. “Gotta practice so I don’t trip over myself and embarrass my bride.” 
Gale blushes and half-heartedly mumbles “stop calling me that.” 
Bucky grins. “What? My bride?” He gently pulls Gale down onto the couch with him, wrapping an arm around his waist and kissing him on the temple. “But I love the way it makes you blush.”
Marge gags dramatically and tells them to eat their pizza. 
As they’re polishing it off, even giving Pepper her own little piece, Gale licks his fingers and says nonchalantly, “I have some news.”
When he doesn’t go on, Marge rolls her eyes. “Care to share with the class?”
Gale is quiet for a second, but then a grin spreads across his face as he looks at both of them. “I’m going to the moon earlier than we thought. Artemis 4.”
Bucky jumps up so fast he bangs a knee hard on the table and Marge has to lunge forward to keep the pizza tray from falling to the floor. Pepper jumps up in alarm as Bucky spins to face Gale, ignoring the pain shooting through his leg. “You’ve been home for-“ he checks the clock on the wall. “An hour! And you didn’t say anything until NOW?”
Gale shrugs sheepishly. “There were more important things-“
“No!” Bucky cries. “No… Wait. How in hell did you get yourself onto the A4 roster?”
Artemis 4 is planned to launch in just over a year. Crew selection had been made months ago. Gale rubs the back of his neck. “Well, the two ESA astronauts that were supposed to go got bumped cause of health concerns. ESA was able to put in one other astronaut, but NASA wanted a more experienced pilot in the lander. Harding called me in today.”
“Gale, that’s amazing!” Marge says, crawling across the couch to hug him tight. “Oh my god, this is so amazing. Congratulations!” She’s in part already thinking about the press coordination and social media posting that this necessitates, but holy shit that can wait for now.
When she pulls away, Bucky reaches down and wraps his arms around Gale’s middle, pulling him up from the couch and spinning him around. Then he kisses him hard and spins him again, Gale laughing as he yells for Bucky to set him down. “What!” Bucky exclaims. “You gotta get used to being helpless in the air again, you’re going to the moon!”
Gale rolls his eyes as Bucky sets him down. “Who did ESA toss into the thick of it?” Bucky asks. 
“Sandra Westgate.” Gale raises an eyebrow as he says this, watching for Bucky’s reaction. 
It’s Marge, though, that jumps in as Bucky tries to process that. “No way, Croz’s old flame?”
“Yep.”
Bucky shakes his head, trying not to laugh. Harry Crosby, Houston’s best flight dynamics officer, had spent a hot summer a few years back – before he and his now-wife Jean got back together after a bit of a break – gallivanting about town with Sandra Westgate. She’s top class, one of the best astronauts in the European Space Agency. Gale is lucky to be flying with her, really. But damn. “Does… does Croz know?” 
Gale nods, chuckling. “Yeah, he knows. Saw him gaping at her like a fish as I showed her around this afternoon. They’ve both moved on, but…”
“Awkward,” Marge cringes. 
“She’ll be sticking around Houston for the next year, starting in a couple weeks,” Gale explains. “To train with us.”
“Plenty of time to un-move on,” Bucky muses. 
Marge throws a pillow at him, but he dodges it and watches as it crashes into a fake plant in the corner of the room. “Don’t say that!” Marge reprimands. “Croz and Jean are very happy together you ass.”
Bucky shrugs. “Sorry.” He looks at Gale, who is still standing facing him. “Now don’t you go getting any ideas either. Sandra’s a strong and lovely woman.”
Gale cups the back of Bucky’s neck and kisses him softly. “I would never,” he whispers, before he falls back onto the couch. Bucky collapses next to him, grabbing Gale’s hand again so he can fiddle with his fingers. 
They look at each other, and Bucky presses his lips to Gale’s knuckles. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you, too.”
Marge takes one last bite of pizza. “It’s sickening how in love you two are.”
Gale smiles shyly. “Always have been.”
Bucky smiles back at him, but too many thoughts are swirling around in his head, and he feels the words choke and fizzle on his tongue.
Part 4
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blueiscoool · 8 months ago
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Why are Hundreds of Climbers Heading into the ‘Death Zone’ on Mt Everest This Spring?
Thick murky clouds fill the sky, with freezing winds carrying snow faster than 100 miles per hour. With a frigid –30 degrees Fahrenheit temperature, life-threatening snowstorms and avalanches are frequent.
And these are typical conditions on the world’s highest mountain: Mount Everest.
The behemoth towers 29,032 feet (8,849 meters) between Nepal and Tibet in the Himalayas, with its peak surpassing most clouds in the sky.
An attempt to climb Everest requires months, sometimes years, of training and conditioning – even then, reaching the summit is far from guaranteed. In fact, more than 300 people are known to have died on the mountain.
And yet the mountain still draws hundreds of climbers who are determined to reach its peak every spring. Here’s what it takes to make the climb and what has motivated some climbers to summit the world’s highest peak.
‘I thought I was in pretty good shape’
Dr. Jacob Weasel, a trauma surgeon, successfully summited Everest last May after conditioning for nearly a year.
“I would put on a 50-pound backpack and do two hours on a stair stepper with no problem,” Weasel said. “So, I thought that I was in pretty good shape.” However, the surgeon said he was humbled after discovering that his fitness was no match for the lofty athleticism required by the mountain.
“I would take five steps and have to take 30 seconds to a minute to catch my breath,” Weasel recalled of his struggle with the lack of oxygen available while ascending Everest.
Climbers aiming for the summit usually practice an acclimatizing rotation to adjust their lungs to the thinning oxygen levels once they arrive on the mountain. This process involves mountaineers traveling upward to one of the four designated camps on Everest and spending one to four days there before traveling back down.
This routine is repeated at least two times to allow the body to adapt to declining oxygen levels. It increases a climber’s chances of survival and summiting.
“If you took somebody and just plopped them up at the high camp on Everest, not even on the (top), they would probably go into a coma within 10 to 15 minutes,” Weasel said.
“And they would be dead within an hour because their body is not adjusted to that low of oxygen levels.”
While Weasel has successfully summited dozens of mountains, including Kilimanjaro (19,341 ft), Chimborazo (20, 549 ft), Cotopaxi (19,347 ft), and most recently Aconcagua (22,837 ft) in January, he said none of them compares to the high-altitude of Mount Everest.
“Because no matter how well you are trained, once you get to the limits of what the human body can take, it’s just difficult,” he continued.
At its highest altitude, Everest is nearly incapable of sustaining human life and most mountaineers use supplementary oxygen above 23,000 feet. The lack of oxygen poses one of greatest threats to climbers who attempt to summit, with levels dropping to less than 40% when they reach the Everest “death zone.”
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Tents of mountaineers are pictured at Everest base camp in the Mount Everest region of Solukhumbu district on April 18, 2024.
‘It’s difficult to survive up there’
The first target for mountaineers is Everest base camp at approximately 17,000 feet, which takes climbers about two weeks. Then they ascend to the three remaining camps stationed along the mountain.
Camp four, the final one before the summit, sits along the edge of the death zone at 26,000 feet, exposing climbers to an extremely thin layer of air, subzero temperatures, and high winds powerful enough to blow a person off the mountain.
“It’s difficult to survive up there,” Weasel said. He recalls passing bodies of climbers who died on the mountain – which isn’t uncommon. The bodies of the fallen mountaineers are well-preserved, exhibiting little to no decay due to the intense cold temperatures.
“I am probably more familiar with death and the loss of life than most people,” the surgeon said. “For me it was just a reminder of the gravity of the situation and the fragility of what life is… even more so motivation for appreciating the opportunity.”
High-altitude cerebral edema (HACE) is one of the most common illnesses climbers face while attempting to summit. “Your brain is starved of oxygen,” Weasel said.
HACE results in the brain swelling during its attempt to regain stable oxygen levels, causing drowsiness, trouble speaking and thinking. This confusion is often accompanied by blurred vision and sporadic episodes of delusion.
“I had auditory hallucinations where I was hearing voices [of friends] that I thought were coming from behind me,” Weasel recalled. “And I had visual hallucinations,” he added. “I was seeing the faces of my children and my wife coming out of the rocks.”
Weasel recalled crossing paths with a friend, Orianne Aymard, who was trapped on the mountain due to an injury. “I remember staring at her for like five minutes and just saying, ‘I’m so sorry,’” Weasel said.
“I’ve spent over a decade of my life training to help people as a surgeon, and being in a position where there’s somebody who requires your help and you are unable to offer any assistance… that feeling of helplessness was tough to deal with,” Weasel said.
Aymard survived. She was rescued and suffered from several broken bones in her foot, in addition to severe frostbite on her hands. Despite all her injuries, Aymard is considered one of the lucky ones.
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Mountaineers climbing during their ascend to summit Mount Everest on May 7, 2021.
‘Their bodies will get frozen into the mountain’
Everest has long been a tomb for climbers who have succumbed to harsh conditions or accidents on its slopes.
When a loved one or fellow climber is severely injured or dies on the mountain, it’s routine to leave them behind if you’re unable to save them, according to Alan Arnette, a mountaineer coach who summited Everest in 2014.
“What most teams do out of respect for that climber, they will move the body out of sight,” he said. And that’s only if they can.
“Sometimes that’s just not practical because of the bad weather, or because their bodies will get frozen into the mountain,” Arnette said. “So, it’s very difficult to move them.”
Seeing a corpse on Everest is comparable to seeing a horrible car accident, according to the mountain coach. “You don’t turn around and go home,” Arnette said. “You respectfully slow down… or say a prayer for that person, and then you continue.”
It’s been 10 years since the single deadliest accident on the world’s highest mountain, after an avalanche killed 12 Sherpa guides. And 2023 was recorded as the deadliest year on Everest, with 18 fatalities on the mountain – including five people that are still unaccounted for.
The process of recovering bodies is extensive, sometimes impossible. Helicopter rescues and search missions are challenging due to the high altitude and frequently treacherous conditions, resulting in some rescuers dying in their attempt to save others.
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Mountaineers as they climb during their ascend to summit Mount Everest on May 12, 2021.
‘Watching the sunrise from 29,000 feet’
The 3,000 feet climb from camp four to the summit can take anywhere from 14 to 18 hours. Therefore, mountaineers typically leave the camp at night.
“That entire night was cold,” Weasel recalled. “It’s dark, it’s windy.” But it was proven to be worth it in the morning, he said.
“Watching the sunrise from 29,000 feet and having that pyramid of Everest’s shadow projected onto the valley below you…,” Weasel said. “It was probably one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life,” he continued.
“It’s weird standing up there and knowing that everything else on the planet is below where you’re standing.”
The size of the mountain is humbling, the surgeon said. “I’ve never felt so small,” he recalled. “That mixture of humility and connectedness with something bigger than yourself is the proper place from which we ought to approach our existence on this planet.”
Like Weasel, Arnette summited at sunrise, and experienced this same feeling of “smallness.” At the top there were “more mountains than you can count,” Arnette remembered. “It was a sense of enormous gratitude and at the same time I knew I had to get back down.”
After about 20 minutes to an hour, climbers typically start to descend back to the base of the mountain.
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Jacob Weasel.
‘Bigger than yourself’
Before leaving for Nepal, Weasel was gifted an eagle’s feather as a beacon for his Native American heritage.
He was determined to plant the feather on top of Everest “as a symbol of our people and what we’ve endured for the past several hundred years,” Weasel said. “Showing that our spirit is not broken, but we’re able to rise above the things that have happened to us,” he added.
“I remember planting that eagle’s feather on the top of the world and the feeling of real privilege that I felt in representing our people.” And this is why he decided to summit Everest, to be an example that anything is possible for young Native children and his tribe.
“Knowing what it’s like up there, for me personally, the only real justification for going and putting your life, and other lives, at risk is if you’re climbing for a reason that is much bigger than you,” said Weasel.
Arnette attempted to climb Everest three times before he successfully summited.
“My first three tries, I wasn’t clear on my why,” Arnette said. When his mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, he looked at his purpose for climbing differently.
“I wanted to do it to raise money for Alzheimer’s and honor my mother,” Arnette said.
There are approximately 300 people that have been issued a permit from the Nepal government to climb the mountain this year, according to Arnette. And he said the number is down from previous years.
“I think one of the reasons is because we had the 18 deaths last year, and people realize that Mount Everest is a dangerous mountain.”
However, he doesn’t believe that should deter climbers from attempting to summit. “I’m a big believer that when you go climb these mountains that you come home a better version of yourself,” Arnette said.
“Everest has become too commercialized with ‘you’re stepping over dead bodies’ and ‘it’s littered with trash,’” the mountain coach said. “The reality is that it is a very small degree all of that, but there’s a lot of joy that people get out of doing it,” he continued.
“And that’s the reason that we climb mountains.”
By Kara Nelson.
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altschmerzes · 1 year ago
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THE 13 BOOKS I READ IN 2023 IN ORDER FROM BEST TO WORST + THE PROTAGONIST'S SUPERLATIVE. PART 1.
NOTE: this ranking is entirely based on how much i enjoyed the thing and not necessarily on anything quantifiable or concrete. except for 1 and 12 those are just i think empirically true. also, this got very very hard between 2-8 and i enjoyed everything above 10 like, immensely. that said:
1. The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle. fucking gorgeous book. the writing was incredible, it made me feel like i needed to write right now right now right now or i was going to die and also why would i ever write again when i didn't write this. made me REEL several times and need to put it down and process it. i need to read it again and again. so much in there about the structure of story and fairytales and roles within a story and just. augh. man. i have at least a thousand words worth of highlights of quotes that make me completely insane. i want to write a dissertation on the interactions of amalthea and lír.
Protagonist: Amalthea/The Unicorn. Best Gender Moments And Unmatched Aro Vibes.
2. Blackcurrant Fool by Victoria Goddard. someone designed these books in a lab just to kill specifically me. i'm so thrilled i'm like, mad about it. this is book four in the series and included some MASSIVELY fun payoffs for some background references and foreshadowing that had been building for a while. some of my favourite tropes on this here earth are contained in this book and they make me insane in their execution. beloved. i kept having to put my face in my hands and shriek. like. literally. i liveblogged the last like ~30% of the book to several people. in detail.
Protagonist: Jemis Greenwing. Most Likely To Respond To A Given Situation With Both The Most Sincerely Heartfelt And Most Dramatic Option Possible And Then Insist That This Was The Obvious And Logical Thing To Do.
3. Bee Sting Cake by Victoria Goddard. some really excellent introductions to characters and concepts in here. did a good job as the second book in the series to continue keeping things interesting while maintaining and expanding on what was good about the first one, introducing new elements and making them play well with the established dynamics and situation. some really fun exploration of 'what if your two favourite people met each other and how would that go'. some delightful stuff about bees also which gets me in my feelings and the pov character has a good cry a couple times which he damn well deserves at this point.
Protagonist: (since there are two, i'm alternating for this series' superlatives) Peregrine Dart. Best At Being Totally And Completely Fine (Lying).
4. Stargazy Pie by Victoria Goddard. YES. I LIKED THESE BOOKS A LOT OKAY. THREE OF THEM IN A ROW. WHAT OF IT. very fun introduction to a series, it was a great first book. it delivered its worldbuilding in my favourite way for a fantasy series to do so, which is to just sort of drop me right in and explain as we go in a naturalistic kind of way. it meant i had to accept i just didn't know what was going on several times but that was fine. excellent combo of silly and serious and the characters are just. so charming and i'm so so fond of them. also i love a really stuffy strict distant society. bc then i'm like OHO TIME TO BREAK THESE RULES!!!
Protagonist: Jemis Greenwing. Most Likely To Have Everything Happen To Him So Much And All At Once.
5. By Force Alone by Lavie Tidhar. this book would probably have been ranked higher if it weren't for all the Someone's Got Their Dick Out. which is fine, go for it, but it felt like all the like. someone is getting their guts stabbed out and someone else is fuckin every other page is mostly a thematic thing that is supposed to drive home how gritty and grimy the narrative is. which y'know. not my bag. i like a gritty and grimy narrative but dude we know. that said it was extremely fun except for that, and i liked the way the characters were described a lot. they were not good people and it was deliberate and compelling. it was a lot to process all at once and i wish i'd slowed down with it - the last fourth of the book particularly hit me like a train. special shoutout to everything this book did with pelinore and the questing beast.
Protagonist: Arthur Pendragon. Most Doomed By The Narrative.
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docholligay · 9 months ago
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What would be your dream race? Real or made up.
Hm, I mean, I would love to run a LOT of the world ones: London I put in for the ballot every year, I would really really love to run the London Monuments half, but I haven't put in for the ballot for it--my grandmother has said she'll help me pay to run London if I get in, but a half marathon is not impressive to her ahaha, and London is the only marathon she gives a shit about that's not Boston (I cannot qualify for Boston)--but someday if I have the free cash I'll probably put in for the monuments half.
Someday, SOMEday, I'll run the Marathon du Medoc, which has oysters and wine and steak and shit along the way, and has people throw up all the time, because it also has a rule I VERY much support: you have to be able to run the marathon in 6:30. That's not crazsy at all, that's only a 14:50 pace, BUT, if you're stopping at everything, as a practical matter you have to have a fair amount of cushion time.
So as a practical matter I'd want to make sure I could run a marathon in a 10 minute mile. That DOES NOT sound impressive. Until it's like, mile 20. (Seriously, if I drew London tomorrow my strategy would be 'survive'. Until beeb is in klindergarten, i don't have the time to train for a marathon. Cutoff for london is a 15 minute mile, I would come up with a run/walk strategy to survive the thing so I didn't DNF)
There are plenty I WOULD run: Paris, Tokyo, I do put in for Chicago, NYC, but those 3 above are probably my "If you said I could run whatever" choices. On the ground right now, whole trip being paid for it would be the Monuments half, because I know I can run a half without trouble. And I LOVE running through cities, especially major cities.
Now, if I had a shit ton of money and I could put on my own race, so looking forward to making everyone SO mad at me:
The Kawaii Ass Bitch Magical Girl Women's Run!
There would be the 5k, 10k, and Half.
There would be a drawing to win a Tokyo Marathon Package with guaranteed entry for the racers. This is, last I looked, worth about 6k.
If you run the 5k, you get one entry, if you run the 10k, you get two entries, if you run the half, you get three.
Anyway, also along the course I would have some cool stuff! At the start of the 10k/Mile 6ish, I would have a bunch of kids in the local band playing some magical girl themes and the like (I would pay them) and at the 5k start/the last 3ish miles for everyone else, I would have a big arch that would be all decorated and everything, and as you run through, there are speakers playing different attacks and power ups and the like from different magical girl properties. There's a spot on the course I'm thiniking of where you would have to go through a tunnel, I light it all up with those LED rolls so it's like a transformation for you.
Maybe before every start the countdown to the start gun would be Zettai Unmei, that sounds fun to me.
Anyway, the last stretch before the finish line would be playing the outers (read: harumichi) transformation music, and I would SOMEHOW figure out how to have fans blowing either fake or real rose petals, depending on the permits I could get ahaha.
Because it would be putting you up to run a marathon, it would presume you are of the athletic quality to run a marathon, at least potentially. So the cutoff times would be as follows. THEY ARE AGGRESSIVE FOR MOST PEOPLE'S TASTES.
5k: 30 minutes
10k: 1 hour 3 minutes
Half: two hours fifteen minutes
If you don't cross the finish line in that time, your name isn't in the randomizer.
Why? I get fucked every time I run the run to the pub by a bunch of 10k slow walkers in the last goddamn mile or so, walking four abreast for funsies. By the time I hit these people, the 10k has been started for AN HOUR AND A HALF. The draw prize is a place in the Dublin marathon, pretty much like what I'm suggesting above. I am bitter about this. I am bitter about fucking slamming into a bunch of people who could not fucking finish the Dublin and killing me when I am at the toughest point of the race, for me. I would hope this would encourage people who want to walk, to walk somewhere else. You can all think I am a villain, and that is fucking fine. There are some years the people who won did not even RUN the race. This INFURIATES me. Hate me! It's cool!
Also there's beer at the end I hate a fucking race without beer at the end.
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helyiios · 1 year ago
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Inspired by that prompt from Snovyda, imagine Ethan finding Benji after he actually has tried to kill himself (if you’re comfortable of course, no worries if you aren’t)
TW : description of SH
There are a few things that scare Ethan Hunt. Eating too much junk food is one of them, along with reliving the loss of his first IMF team, having to go through the pain of seeing them die in front of his eyes without being able to do anything, to see the light fade from their eyes and their figures slump, cold against him.
Benji had been odd for the entire day...snappy, rude, even fully mean. He'd screamed at Brandt and slammed his coffee against a wall after messing up the same line of code three times, and he'd almost punched an analyst who'd had the bad idea to look out for him to get help about some data issue.
Which was worrying Ethan, were it not a little bit frightening him, too. It wasn't like he'd never seen Benji angry—the man had given him displays of displeasure plenty of times in their friendship, and it always took him aback, because there was a softness in his eyes that didn't quite fit the harshness of his words. But today was different, he could feel it.
He could feel it, and when Benji hadn't answered Brandt when he'd asked the team to get drinks, he'd started feeling uneasy. Then he hadn't answered Jane, Luther, and then Ethan had tried calling him, as a last resort, and the line had gone dead.
Working at the IMF means he's good at many things usual people are not, and that translates with him picking up his friend's door at 2 in the morning, the relentless ice cold of D.C's weather clawing at this skin as he was working his magic, finally feeling the locks give in.
It was the first time he'd gone into Benji's flat, actually, and he doesn't exactly know what to expect. It's big, for one, but he doesn't exactly know where his friend stands on the whole money thing. Surely the IMF pays well, especially when you're a field agent. But he did not have the same pay when he'd started, and he'd had this flat for at least 15 years. Which, hey. Maybe Benji had always been rich.
"Benj ?" he asks carefully, trying to see if there was any noise betraying the other's presence, "are you there ?"
Nothing.
He makes his way into the living room, surprised to see the lights turned off fully, save for the dim TV screen that was displaying a show he could not pinpoint, barely flooding the cold Chinese takeout in blueish light. The kitchen was bare, and the fridge was open, revealing one opened can of beer sadly tipped over the edge. He goes over to close it.
It's cold, he notes, and then sees that all the windows were open.
Don't panic, he swallows, forcing himself to go look over them, praying to every gods above to not find the other's body crumpled on the ground, covered in blood.
Nothing.
Good.
"Benji ? It's Ethan. I...I wanted to check up on you. You weren't picking up your phone."
Silence.
There's another quite massive room to his left, and the entire thing is covered in some trendy Hi-Fi stereos, along with four computers screens bathed in purple LEDs, close to a large chair and a rainbow lighted keyboard. He smiles to himself, appreciating the ambiance of the room.
Still no Benji.
There's something that tells him that he isn't in his room. It's a gut feeling he's been trying to ignore for the entirety of his trip to the flat, but the shivers on his body are impossibly to put aside now, and he feels his jaw tense.
Benji is okay, he tries to convince himself. Maybe he left in a hurry. Maybe he's out with friends.
You do not have friends, when you're working at the IMF. At least, not other than your colleagues.
He doesn't want to go to the bathroom.
He doesn't, because he knows the trope. He knows the clichés. He hates that he can see a faint light from under the room's door.
"Benji," he says again, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm going to come in."
He tries the handle. Locked.
It should take him 30 seconds to make his way in, but his fear gets the best of him.
What will he find, in there ? Does he want to know ?
He's so scared.
His hands are shaking when he finally pulls it open, and the scene in front of him is worse than anything he'd come up with.
He stumbles backwards, covering his mouth with his left hand, his breath dying in his throat.
Benji is slumped on the ground, surrounded by a small pool of blood, a pool that was overflowing from his left arm, the arm that was sliced in tens of small cuts, some larger than others, some red, some white, some across—
One along.
A long one, spreading from his wrist to the middle of his forearm, was bleeding out profusely, and Ethan screams out.
This shouldn't be happening.
This should not be happening.
I should have never left him alone.
"BENJI !" he yells, taking the other's face in his hands and checking for a pulse—faint, but present—and grabbing the first roll of toilet paper he can find to dabs at the scars, feeling his heart give out when the soaking overtakes the white immediately, too much, to deep, too red. "BENJI, WAKE UP, PLEASE, BENJI !"
How long had he been there ?
Some of the scars were already dry.
Blood dries in around an hour.
No.
"Fuck—FUCK !" he chokes out, taking out his phone and slamming the three numbers on the screen, trying to help with the hemorrhage, helpless, watching his friend's face pale more and more, feeling his pulse dim.
He should've never left him alone.
[9-1-1, what is your emergency ?] 
Finally.
"It's my friend," he wheezes, trying to keep the tears away from his voice, "my friend, he's—he's in his bathroom, he's cut himself, I think—I think he tried—" breathes in, Ethan, "I think he's tried to kill himself, I'm trying to keep the blood in but it—there's a lot, and—"
[Okay, sir, does your friend have a pulse ?]
"Yes, yes, a small one, but it's fading, and I—"
[Alright, we're sending you an ambulance, can you give us the address ?]
Everything after this fades out.
He stares at Benji's unmoving face as he gives the informations, holds his hand, and it's so cold, and lifeless, and he feels burning tears trail their way along his cheeks, and slumps on him and cries, and cries, and begs him to wake up.
He begs him to show him his blue and golden eyes once again, to scream at him, to insult him, look at him annoyedly, anything, he'll take anything, please,
Benji, you're not supposed to be so cold, he whimpers, sobs shaking his entire body, you're the sun, you're not supposed to be so cold.
Wake up, Benji, please, for me ? Wake up.
Wake up.
There are stocks of bloodied toilet paper lying on the ground by the time help comes, and he's forcefully pulled from him as the other is lifted on an ambulance stretcher, and he says, yes, I'm his best friend—I need to come with you, please, I need to make sure he's okay.
"Sir, we need to know," one of the paramedics asks, and their voice is so soft it makes him violent, "is it the first time you found him like that ?"
Yes. Yes.
"Yes," he harshly replies in between the tears, "I don't know how—I—"
"There are other, older scars on his arms, this is not a one time thing. Hopefully this is the first and last time it's gone to such lengths."
No, he can't have other scars.
Benji can't have been doing this to himself.
Benji...Benji is—
"I didn't know," Ethan sniffles, voice high pitched, rubbing the unforgiving tears from his blood stained cheeks, "I didn't know, I didn't—"
"It's alright, sir," the paramedic, bless them, whispers back, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You friend is going to be okay. We're going to help him."
I would rather have to face a new nuclear threat tomorrow than have to see Benji like this anytime more.
Stay with me. Stay with me.
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delta-pavonis · 11 months ago
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Last 10 Fics/Writing Patterns meme + Last First Line Tag Game
First the writing patterns meme, which is such a cool idea! I was tagged by @teejaystumbles! Thank yoooou.
Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics posted to AO3 (Sort by date posted), AND see if there's a pattern!
By last updated date:
3 March 2024: Quaternion
KLOT DOD-DOT The knock of the twisted iron ring against its plate on the outside of his library door startles King Morpheus from his reverie. He is supposed to be notating one of the histories of the Moirai, the so-called Three Sisters of Fate, who have ruled the island nation of Ananke with brutal efficiency since seemingly time immemorial. Their ships have been seen too often in view of his coastline of late and he needs to be prepared for whatever their intentions are.
15 February 2024: you might be the answer to the sinner in me
“Hob, are you alright?” Hob’s shoulders tighten and his spine goes ramrod straight. It is the family holiday dinner and he is out on the back patio in the cold, staring at the over-manicured hedgerows that make up one of the distant property lines. He left to have space to pull out his vape pen and take a hit because that is probably the only way that he is going to get through the night.
16 January 2024: Placebo Effect
“You should just DM him,” Desire is studying their nails, the dark red of dried blood, while reclining on a chaise in the living room of their oldest sister’s condo. “My kingdom for anything that might throw Dearest Mumsie and Popsicle off your trail for an evening. I don’t think I can endure another holiday of it.” They sprawl, letting their head loll backwards over the armrest, to look at Dream almost upside down. “What say you big brother?”
6 January 2024: show me who I am
Hob taps his fingers on the table next to the map of Northern Ireland and takes a sip from his glass of shiraz. “I think this is it. This is the plan. We’ve got it. Anyone see something we missed?” He looks around the table at each person in turn, waiting for a response.
1 January 2024: Another Song
Shunk ka-thunkszzzz. The lights in the entire loft go out. “What the FUCK?” Matthew’s voice smacks into Dream despite the thick panels of wood between them.
30 December 2023: Thoughts on the Roman Empire (and Other Pickup Lines)
“You know, I think this whole meme going around about men thinking about the Roman Empire is great!” Hob smiles at the ceiling as he leans back in his chair, balancing it on its back legs, propping his feet up on the table in the private library study room. He doesn't need to look at Morpheus to know that the grad student is giving him a withering glare, or perhaps not looking at him at all. “First off, people are discussing history! Second, some of the jokes are actually solid gold. Like I saw one that just murdered me in broad daylight. Wanna hear it?”
21 December 2023: Levade
“Oh fuck Dream,” Hob writhes in his bonds. “You said you wanted more did you not?” The centaur smirks. “I am simply acquiescing to your request.”
15 December 2023: You create me against your lips
The first time Hob sees Dream is when the latter has the audacity to enter the Morningstar's realm. He watches as the Dream King intimidates Squatterbloat into bringing him to the Palace. The demon is stupid and gullible, easily swayed, and Hob has a mind to bury his morningstar in the moron's fleshy head, but he would rather observe the visitor and his raven from the shadows.
9 December 2023: where I'm supposed to be
For all that he shares a given name with the God of Sleep, has a nickname of Dream, he has only experienced lucid dreaming rarely. Once, maybe twice, before. But. He knows he is dreaming right now.
26 November 2023: Venus conjunct Saturn
“Show me, Hob.” Dream purrs in a way he knows will make his lover shiver. “Show me how she pleasured you.” He is laid beneath Hob, who is on all fours above him, and the only cloth they have is the sheets upon their bed here in the Dreaming.
Other than 30% of those fics having titles from Maneskin lyrics... apparently I like to start with sounds or dialog. Some in medias res beginnings in there, too. Huh. Fascinating.
And, just for fun, here are the FIRST few lines paragraphs of the finished fic I have on deck, a sequel to A Change in Tactics (published in October 2022!)... (originally I was tagged in a last lines tag game by @amielot!)
“We have to stop meeting like this!” Hob laughed as he broke the barstool in his hands over the head and shoulders of another patron of the White Horse Inn. Said patron had just previously been trying to stab Hob with a shard of wine bottle so he most decidedly deserved it. Hob pulled a chunk of wood from where it had lodged in his palm and frowned at the blood that welled up there. A crash to his left stole his attention. “Ope. Watch out Lou!” Lou ducked the tankard aimed at her head with all the sliding fluid grace of one well-acquainted with being deep in her cups. She didn’t spill a single drop of her own ale as she backed around the bar and out of the Inn through the alleyway door. Lou may have been part of starting this fight, but she clearly had no intention of finishing it. Which was just fine by Hob. Lou didn’t deserve to be in hospital any more than absolutely necessary. She had enough going on, as Hob had just learned. Speaking of his mysterious friend… Hob flung his sweaty hair out of his eyes in time to watch Dream elegantly sidestep the brawler charging him like they were a pair in some courtly dance. The beautiful bastard hadn’t even moved his hands from where they were clasped at the small of his back, while his opponent had gone headlong into a wooden pillar. “This only happens when I join you here, Hob.” One loping step over the fallen man and Dream was back at Hob’s side. (Graceful twat.) “This type of violence is notably absent when you visit my Realm.” (Double the twat on that one.)
I tag... everyone who has a springtime birthday.
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over-eden · 23 days ago
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Experiences in fandom outside of Tumblr/Twitter
Decided to share this experience because just like my experiences in international fandom spaces, I do not see a lot of radfems/radfems that are into fandom being aware of English speaking fandom communities outside of Tumblr/Twitter.
I do want to note that while I am mostly active in non-english fandom spaces, this post is specifically about an event in the USA I went to last year.
At the beginning of 2024 I had the opportunity to attend a fandom convention. This was not an anime convention or specific to any one show or media, it was a convention "by and for fans of all fandoms and flavors". I had never attended a convention like this and despite being on tumblr for plenty of years for most of that time I have always been on the edge of fandom. I tested the waters occasionally but I was usually happy to be an observer.
That changed around early 2017, and then last year I attended my first offline fandom convention in the states.
I had no idea what to expect and had gone along because a fandom sister I had grown close to wanted someone to come along with her. While I have gone to big anime conventions to accompany friends before this convention was nothing like that.
One of the first things that was immediately different was the size - I was told that the convention I would be attending would be around 70-100 people. The other thing was that panels were suggested by attendees who wanted to be moderators and then voted on by everyone else. An online meeting was held to determine what panels and moderators would make it on to the official programming. At this point I still was pretty much in the dark about what this event would entail.
Finally the convention date came around and what I discovered was a thriving community of women. In the introduction pamphlet the event is branded as one that "welcomes all orientations and genders" but the reality of the event is that it is almost all female only. To give a brief breakdown of the type of environment I was in:
-Me and the sister that invited me along are late 20s AND with the exception of maybe three other attendees we were the youngest ones there. All other attendees ranged from late 30s all the way up to late 70s.
-There were only two attendees that explicitly identified as something other than a woman: a mid 20s trans man and a queer trans man whose age I am unsure of.
-For biological men, in all three days of attendance I only counted four total. 3 of them stayed out of sight for the most part and you would only see them around when they came around lunch/dinner hours to pick up their wives so they could share a meal. They came to support their spouses but did not attend the panels. The fourth man did moderate a panel and (unfortunately) I did see him a lot in the hallways but outside of that panel I did not have any other common areas that I had to interact with him.
-The event badges you are given do have a spot for pronouns but as mentioned above outside of notable exceptions all other women either forgo that section entirely or have she/her listed.
Other things to note:
-When you first arrive you are given a program book which includes a welcome message, a schedule and anything else you may need to know about the convention.
-There are volunteer shifts you can take, meaning that during the convention you sign up for certain hours where you work as staff which can also include women coming up to you for questions. These are not mandatory but if you sign up you can get a discount off of next year's convention tickets.
-As mentioned above, panels are all chosen by the attendees each year, however there are "permanent" panels: the welcome panel, a fan video contest, and an exit panel. There is also a vendor space that is permanent.
Now that the stage is set... my experience:
From the very beginning it felt like a box of wonderful surprises. First- I came across a woman that I knew from my personal life at the convention. Had no idea she would be there! Did not even know she was a fandom sister! And yet here she was checking me in and giving me my badge and program book.
Next thing - I am a detransitioned woman but have kept all the physical changes testosterone gave me. There's stuff I cannot get rid of even if I tried such as my voice, but for the stuff I can such as facial hair - I have kept those as well because I love how I look with it. However this was a source of agony for me leading up to the convention because I was not sure if I should shave or not. I wanted other attendees to recognize me as female but I did not want to compromise my own physical appearance.
Eventually I decided to keep my facial hair and make sure my badge had listed my pronouns as she/her thanks to the encouragement of the woman that invited me along. I did not get they/them or anything else AT all. That being said, at the beginning I was still so incredibly nervous, I kept thinking things like "they may still not recognize me as female" "what if my presence makes them uncomfortable", ect ect. This was for all intents and purposes an apolitical event so for all I knew these women did not even know what a detransitioner was.
What finally took away my nervousness:
Around midday after I had attended a few panels I headed down the elevator... an older woman ran in as she was going down too. I asked what floor she was headed to and she looked at me and said something like "So you are the deep voice I have been hearing!" I immediately was mortified and thought to myself "I really did bother another woman with my voice! Oh no!" And so before I had even let her finish I immediately apologized and told her that I was so sorry about that. What I had hoped to convey with this I still do not know but the woman responded back with "I was just curious! I kept hearing such a different tone than usual and I was intrigued!"
Later on during the dinner that the event had organized, me and my friend sat down with her and had a conversation that lasted almost two hours. She had been a part of fandom culture since her early 20s and was now in her mid 60s. 
Setting aside my own personal hang ups around my appearance ... what were the panels like?
While each panel had their moderator, it didn't really feel like a single woman was in charge. We all contributed to the discussions and each conference room had a large easel pad to write down any notes or ideas we wanted. 
The only panel that left a tiny bit of a sour taste in my mouth was a sci-fi related one that was co-moderated by a man. You could immediately tell the environment had shifted for that panel. Suddenly we were not a group of women sharing ideas together but everything seemed to just be a discussion that went on where and how he wanted it to go. (Luckily this one was the only panel he moderated, and while I have a lot to say about that, the woman that was co-moderating the panel with him was wonderful and amazing.)
Experiences aside... what were the panels about? So, so many different topics! Ranging from typical fandom discussions (panels related to specific shows or pairings) to all sorts of technical stuff (how to make video edits, how to archive your own online materials) to things like sharing fandom related cooking recipes (which really just delved into a session to share recipes of all kinds).
Just as the panels varied in subject and expertise, so did the women! I met so many women that had a masters degree, were professors or were working on PhDs. Not to mention the amount of women in tech fields. 
To give just a tiny bit of insight:
One of the panels I attended was about the different types of love an android can feel in fiction. It was moderated by a literature professor but what I had not expected was for the conversation to shift due to the amount of women that attended that had extensive experience in tech fields. One moment we were talking about a particular book and its depiction of artificial intelligence and the next a woman who worked as a cloud architect had chimed in with her own knowledge and now the conversation had shifted - suddenly we were no longer talking about a novel and  the women with careers in tech had started a whole conversation with technological terms that I had to struggle to keep up with.
And on that note... another thing I had not expected to walk out with? How to maintain my own media server. This was not a panel but a woman whose room my friend and I were visiting and who was working on this project of hers during the evenings that kindly gave us an impromptu lesson.
Of course no women's event is complete without arguments. The closing ceremonies had plenty of suggestions for next year that turned into smaller arguments and prior to that on the second day of the convention I too had gotten into a spirited discussion. Maybe there is some kind of irony that out of all the sisters I met that day, the person that I got into an argument with was a self identified queer trans man. But even this, as heated as I was when he would not consider my point of view on a certain character I look back on with fondness.
We had argued so long and so loudly that at the end of it, three different women came up to me and asked me what the series and character we were arguing about was because of how passionate the discussion was. (And had it not been because me and my friend had to run to another panel, I would have been set to continue the argument for another hour haha)
All in all, I left the convention with a totally different view and experience of English speaking fandom that I didn't know existed. While I am firmly immersed in international fandom spaces, this convention helped me discover an English speaking community so vastly different from what tumblr and twitter had offered and I was so glad to have attended.
If I had not I would never have discovered that the USA has all sorts of small fandom conventions just like these. All run by women for women! And all of them not advertised in the social media frequently visited by young women. I even found out that in my very own city around 25 women gather each fall to watch a movie and do their own panels about whatever fandoms they are into!
For any sisters in radfem spaces that are curious to know more:
Due to the age group of the women that plan and attend these conventions the fandoms that are talked about are usually not going to be the recent show that's streaming or trending. To give more examples, here are some of the shows that had panels at the convention I went to:
The Professionals (1977 British crime-action drama)
Highlander: The Series (1992 sci-fi show)
Starsky & Hutch (1975 action series)
The Sentinel (1996 action/thriller show)
Lastly: if you are curious to know more/find out what conventions to attend I would suggest going on to this website . Or if you really want to put in the work, search for Facebook communities/pages dedicated to any of the shows I listed above. You're bound to find a hidden gem or two. :)
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remembertheplunge · 1 year ago
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Striking the set
On the back of a drawing  of a man on a couch that I “painted”in 1986, I wrote the following;
Over “Striking the Set” November 19, 2086: a reaction to the first weekend Hand to Hand, The Aids Plague hits.
_________________
I later felt this was a picture of Daryl Speicher in his last days here. It was a good likeness painted before I met him. He, of course, was not a couch person. But he did die 2/3/1987.
He was my first match.
11/29/1987 a day of reflection—
________________________________________
June 27, 1987
This is actually a painting of Glen Miller. His beauty so overwhelmed me. His tragic truth so shocked me, and later, his courage in death’s parlor so inspired me.
His mother called today “Glen passed away at 7 or so last night."
The angel of energy visits the couch. The final curtain descends. 
Of the four men on the couch that November day, Glenn is the first to go.
John Hickman died 10/25/1987
Al Adami died July 3, 1987
Joel,still alive and doing very well. Still with life energy.
God Bless them always.
End of entry
Note:
I have had this painting which I entitled “striking the Set” hanging for over 30 years. I took it down today to relocate it, and realized that I had written notes about it on the back of the painting. 
Those notes are included above.
I lived in Sacramento, California from about may of 1986 to August 1987.
While there, I applied to work in an Aids support group called Hand to Hand. I had to be interviewed prior to acceptance. Al Adami interviewed me. I later learned that Al had Aids. I was shocked as the first person I knew who had it. During the training for Hand to Hand, a Doctor who ran the training named Elizabeth and Al did a dying scene for we 15 or so trainees. Elizabeth helped Al “die”.Powerful experience. As Hand to Hand volunteers, we would help people with Aids through their illness and death. 
I am including a photo of the “Striking the Set” painting and what I wrote on the back in the next blog post.
I had been in three plays in 1985-1986. When a play ends, the stage set is dismantled and taken away. This is called “striking the set”.I borrowed  the term for my painting, since Aids in 1986-1987 usually meant striking the set of a life.
Glen Miller’s tragic truth was that  at maybe age 30, he had Aids and was dying. John Hickman and Al Adami were also about my age then, early 30’s.
Glen Miller wanted to live to see his June birthday in 1987.
A group of we Hand to Hand volunteers went to his house. We brought champagne and cake. We sat around his bed once floor and laughed and talked. Glen drank some champagne, ate some cake and seemed to be happy.
As I was arriving at his house someone from in side was playing the song “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore” by the Highwaymen. When I hear that song now, I think of that haunting moment.
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fayeandknight · 1 year ago
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Personal post in which I am processing old trauma.
It's weird how you can clearly recall an experience but have no emotional response/true comprehension of it until many years later.
My relationship with my ex fiance happened during my first three years of college, if you don't count the stalking and harassment that went on for several years after. I'm in my 30s now, that was a long time ago.
It took me a few years after breaking up for the last time to realize that the relationship wasn't just "really shitty" but had in fact been extremely abusive. To this day when I think of him I think of screaming and crying, breaking glass, blood, absolute terror, and the inability to breathe.
Over the years I've been processing the truth of things he'd normalized/minimized/gaslit me on and trying to give myself grace for the long term effects it's had on me. And for a while I thought I'd acknowledged all of it. But recently (last year or two) it's hit me like a sack of bricks that he tried to murder me. I don't mean going too far in a fit of anger, I mean he planned out and followed through on a deliberate plan to kill me that I survived by sheer luck.
That day has always been a cold, stop motion memory since it happened. I can recall it in a series of snapshots, each clean and neat and utterly detached from each other.
He tells me we'll have the house to ourselves.
He's drawn me a bath in the big Jacuzzi tub with rose petals in the water.
I undress and get in.
He is sitting on the side of the bathtub.
He is cupping my face for a kiss and whispers something about Ophelia.
My head is underwater.
I am flailing and grabbing at his hands, the side of the bathtub. Water is going everywhere but I can't get out from underneath his hands.
I can't breathe. My lungs are burning. I am beyond terrified. This is the inevitable end. This is how I die.
His hands are off me and I am able to get my head above water.
He is taking keys off the counter and handing them through the cracked open door.
I am soaking wet and holding my clothes against me in a bundle that mostly covers me.
I shove past the person on the other side of the door and run barefoot back to my dorm.
He gaslit me hard about this that it never happened. I didn't even get a chance to bring it up. He just showed up the next day to take me on a date (which he very rarely did) and complained about how outside of sex we never had one on one time because there were always people in the house. I was still in shock I think and don't really remember what happened in between my running out of his house and him showing up at my dorm apartment. I do remember being in the living room of his house after the date and having a very public fight that he pulled out of nowhere.
For a long time that memory has been something I shied away from even thinking about. It was a cold spot in my brain that gave me mental frost bite.
And then when I did acknowledge it, it was framed as 'I almost died' in my mind. But the more I think about it, the more clear that this was a planned murder becomes.
We were in college and he lived in a busy frat house/known party house with four other guys. He either dedicated significant time to tracking people's coming and going to find a long enough window of time to drown me and dispose of my body. Not a small feat considering the near constant foot traffic in the house. Or he engineered having that house be empty.
The tub, which wasn't normally used due to being disgustingly dirty, had been spotlessly cleaned.
He never got undressed or into the tub with me. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt with shorts and angled his legs away from the tub.
He referenced Ophelia, who dies via drowning. I was a theatre major at the time.
He very much intended to murder me by downing me in that bathtub.
The only reason I survived is because someone forgot their keys on the bathroom counter and had to come back for them. That's it.
It's so wild to me how long it's taken my brain to feel, I don't know safe??? enough, to really put the severity and full implications together. I didn't repress the memory, just avoided it. And I'm not even shocked that he tried to kill me, more that he tried to murder me - though I'm not sure how much sense that distinction would make to anyone else.
Seeing romantic gestures between couples makes me feel cold and frightened and grief stricken. And for a long time I attributed that to my most significant/serious relationship being an epic shit show and a half. But I'm starting to realize that it's also because one of the few romantic gestures I've received was actually part of the plan to murder me. So I'm trying to be gentle with myself when I experience those feelings.
I'm not some bitter shrew who hates seeing happy couples. I am experiencing the fallout feelings of an extremely traumatic and very nearly fatal event.
Anyway I'm not really expecting for anyone to have read this whole mess. But if you did, here's a picture of Forte snuggling me from this morning as thanks for sitting with me for a bit.
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wilsons-striped-ties · 5 months ago
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april tc challenge (days 1-30 one shot)
original post here!
1. does your tc have a catchphrase or something they say a lot?
no but he does use "eh" a lot to start his sentence or to refer to people HAHA but there are some phrases he will just repeat in the exact same tone and way like "i don't know" when he's teasing someone
2. what’s your favourite memory with your tc?
i think when i gave him cupcakes on his birthday? the look of surprise on his face was priceless
3. have you dreamt about them? if so, what’s the best dream you’ve had?
yup, i think it was a dream where he asked to take a picture with me LOL i don't really dream about him
4. if you could move away with them, where would you move to? would you bring anyone else?
anywhere he wants to HAHAH it can just be the two of us <3
5. do you know their star sign? are your star signs compatible?
yeah he's a cancer and im a taurus and apparently we're very compatible
6. have they ever given you a gift? if so, what?
he gave our class personalized handwritten notes for graduation!
7. have you ever given your tc a gift?
just gave him a note and baked brownies for him today, i also gave him cookies and more notes and also cupcakes for his birthday!
8. what’s their best physical feature?
his dimples hehe maybe his smile too
9. what’s their best personality trait?
hes really thoughtful and sweet actually, quite sensitive too :'
10. what subject do they teach? do they teach you?
HISTORY yeah he taught me for years three and four
11. how old are they? what’s the age gap between you?
not sure of his age but our age gap is confirm above twenty years
12. if they could teach another subject, what do you think they’d teach?
he used to teach english too but he does just seem like a history teacher
13. have you ever hugged? what was it like?
I WISHHHHHHHHHHHH
14. what’s your dream date with them?
i would love to just go on a walk with him and hold hands or go to a museum or something!!
15. do you have any pictures with them? if so, when from? and if not, do you think you’ll be able to get a picture with them?
i just took a picture with him, i have at least six pictures with him i think, i always grab a picture when i see him HAHAHA
16. is your tc single? do they have any kids? or pets?
married with three kids, not sure about the pets (i offer as tri-*gunshots*)
17. does your tc remind you of any characters, whether they’re from a book, tv show or film etc.?
not sure HAHAHA
18. what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve said or done in front of your tc? did they notice?
oh gosh the other time i served him the wrong coffee order cause i worked at my high school canteen for a bit HAHAHAHA
19. what colour do you associate your tc with?
dark blue, dark red, black, gold, brown
20. is your tc a good teacher?
THE BEST
21. can you remember the last thing you said to your tc or that they said to you?
"bye mr passion fruit" "bye, take care"
(this was today when i was leaving after teachers day)
22. how do you cope when you really miss your tc?
i write about him, look at our pictures, reminisce about some memories HAHAA
23. what animal does your tc remind you of?
i have no idea, tiger maybe?? in my head he's the most beautiful hurricane though. he'd be a really beautiful, complex animal but elegant and sleek too, but mischievous at the same time... maybe a fox? wolf? folf? HAHAHAH
24. if actors had to play you and your tc in a movie, who would you cast as yourself and who would you cast as them? why?
woah im not sure about that, i feel it's hard to play him and i have no idea about myself too whoops
25. what’s your favourite outfit of theirs?
his black/dark blue dress shirts? he always wears the same stuff
26. do you stay in contact outside of school? if so, how? (email, text, letters etc.)
yeah, text
27. in your opinion, what’s the hardest thing about having a tc?
the delusions and waking up to reality... the urge to do something to further your relationship but the fear and legal matters :'
28. do you flirt with your tc? do they flirt back?
I HAD A CHANCE TO BUT CHICKENED OUT i just do it subtly, he does tease me a little though
29. if you could ask your tc absolutely anything and get a completely honest response, what would you ask them?
what cologne did he used to use cause it smelt insanely nice
30. how do you think your tc would react if you told them your feelings?
i don't know... i think he'd just wave it off or maybe smile and look away and scold me or something maybe?
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By: Gina Florio
Published: Apr 5, 2023
Mental illness has been steadily on the rise for a number of years now. Teenagers especially are suffering from depression and anxiety in ways that generations before have never experienced. And it started long before the coronavirus pandemic. Recent data showed that one in every three American high school girls contemplated suicide in 2021, and between 2009 and 2015, the number of girls between 10 and 14 who were admitted to the emergency room for self-harm tripled. By the time 2016 rolled around, 90% of all teen girls used social media every single day while simultaneously seeing their friends in person less and less. But the mental health crisis certainly doesn't end with teenagers. More people than ever are taking psychiatric drugs. As of January 2021, there are 76,940,157 people taking some kind of antidepressant, antipsychotic, sleeping pills, tranquilizers, or lithium. But there's something in particular happening with the demographic of young liberal women.
Liberals are known to be much more involved with what's happening politically than conservatives. In fact, for many liberals, political activism is an entire personality that has made them hyperaware and even pessimistic about our society. Data has also shown that liberal people are less likely to prioritize activities that bring them personal fulfillment, such as a faith community, marriage, and family. Only 37% of liberals are married, while 56% of conservatives are married. Marriage has long been associated with better health, increased happiness, and even longer life expectancy.
It's also worth noting that more than 60% of liberals are under the age of 50, and almost one in every three liberals are under the age of 30. Comparatively, four in 10 conservatives are under the age of 50. Perhaps the levels of unhappiness may be correlated with age, as people 50 and above tend to report higher levels of happiness and fulfillment in their life compared to their younger counterparts.
A recent Gallup poll shows that women are increasingly unhappier with the way they are treated in society. In 2016, 61% of women said they were satisfied with the way women were treated in our country, compared to the 44% of women today who claim that they are happy with the way women are treated. Between 2001 and 2016, women's satisfaction with how they were treated seemed to stay about the same, but something happened in 2017 that changed everything. And the difference really shows up in liberal women. About 70% of conservative women feel they are treated fairly by society, but only 44% of liberal women say the same.
38% of liberal women between the ages of 18 and 29 identify as LGBT, and the number of Gen Z individuals who identify as LGBT almost doubled in the last few years. Much data has shown that LGBT individuals struggle with mental illness much more than other demographics, so it would only make sense that so many liberals (many of whom identify as LGBT) have higher rates of mental illness.
A 2020 survey showed that 56% of white liberal women between ages 18 and 29 were diagnosed with a mental health condition, compared to 27% of conservative women in the same age bracket. 40% of liberal women between 30 and 49 reported having a mental health condition, compared to 26% of conservative women of the same age.
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[ Link: https://x.com/i/status/1382818208084848653 ]
While all of these numbers may point to correlations rather than causalities, they certainly raise some questions worth asking. What, in particular, is happening with liberal women that makes them more inclined to report higher levels of unhappiness and mental illness? Are mentally ill people simply more drawn to liberal politics, or is the liberal ideology opening the door to a lack of fulfillment?
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myhauntedsalem · 10 months ago
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Poltergeist Trilogy Curse
Since the first Poltergeist movie hit the big screen and the iconic horror film trilogy has been scaring the pants off people ever since! Even if you haven’t seen any of the movies, the very image of young Carol Anne kneeling in front of a static-y television uttering those two, horrifying words in that innocent sing-song voice is enough to invoke an innate sense of fear.
But why is it so scary? We know its just a movie, right? Of course, but like any good horror movie classic, the very circumstances surrounding the film itself are wrought with legends and alleged true paranormal activity!
Let’s take a quick look at some of the eerie coincidences that are often cited as evidence of the Poltergeist curse:
Deaths of Cast Members:
Years ago, it was rumored that everyone who worked on the film met an untimely end. Obviously, that isn’t true, but there were at least four notable deaths of cast members that occurred during or slightly after the six year run between the release of the first and last Poltergeist movie. Two of these deaths were not highly unusual. Julian Beck, who played Kane in the second film, died after an 18 month battle with stomach cancer. Will Sampson, who played the shaman died from complications after a heart/lung transplant. Both actors were older, not in good health, and had been battling terminal issues for some time before their respective deaths.
The deaths of Sampson and Beck are still tragic, but not necessarily evidence of a curse. Instead, most people point to the very untimely deaths of two other stars: Dominique Dunne, who played the oldest daughter Dana, and Heather O’Rourke, who played Carol Anne throughout all three movies.
On October 30, 1982, Dunne, who was 22 years old, was confronted at her home by her ex-boyfriend, John Sweeney. Sweeney had come to reconcile, but when Dunne refused, he attacked her, choking her for an estimated 4-6 minutes. Dunne passed out and lapsed into a coma. She died on November 4. Sweeney was convicted of voluntary manslaughter, and served less than six years in prison.
Heather O’Rourke was just 12 years old when she passed away in February of 1988. Believed to have been suffering from the flu since January of that year, Heather continued to get worse until fainting at breakfast one morning. On the way to the hospital, she went into cardiac arrest. It was later discovered that she had an intestinal blockage, a condition brought on by her previously diagnosed Crohn’s Disease, and was experiencing sepsis. She underwent surgery to remove the blockage, but the toxins coursing through her blood stream were too strong and she died on the operating table on February 1st, shortly before the release of the third film. Because she died prior to the release of the film, it is debated as to whether or not she had actually completed filming all her scenes. Her parents claim that all scenes were completed the previous June, but producers claimed that subtle changes had to be made to the script to accommodate her passing.
Other Creepy Stuff:
There were some other interesting things that happened on set or to actors during the filming of the movies, again, most notably the first. During the first movie, Oliver Robins, who played Robbie, nearly died when one of the mechanical clowns malfunctioned and began choking him. At first, it was thought that he was a really good actor, but when he actually started turning blue, it was realized that he was in serious trouble.
JoBeth Williams, who played the mom in the first movie, had her own supernatural experiences off set. She claimed that when she’d go home in the evening, all the framed photos on the walls of her home would be askew. She’d fix them back, but find that the next evening, they’d again be out of place.
The above points are the evidence that is often presented when the curse is discussed, but why would this movie be cursed? Many people believe that there is a very simple reason for this, but very, very creepy!
Remember the pool scene in the first movie, the part where all the human skeletons pop up, confirming that the subdivision was built atop a cemetery where the headstones were moved but not the bodies? Those were real human skeletons. Seriously. At the time, it was much cheaper to purchase human skeletons than ones made of plastic.
Obviously, the cast wasn’t too thrilled with this revelation. A film about the dangers of treating the bodies of the dead with disrespect using real human remains as props is rather ironic and even prompted Will Sampson, who was a medicine man in real life, to conduct an exorcism on set.
Whether or not the souls of those whose bodies were used in the filming of this series came back to wreak vengeance, or whether or not you believe there is any type of curse associated with this trilogy, its still interesting to think about all the coincidences and spooky things that keep popping up with not just this movie, but so many other horror movies out there. In any event, with Halloween barreling its way towards us, the Poltergeist trilogy will inevitably hitting the small screen on at least a few different channels. If you choose to watch, just remember that the pool scene has a couple of un-credited extra actors involved!
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starset21 · 2 years ago
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Sincerely, Yours
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Standard disclaimer: I only own my original characters, I've done some research but there will likely be Navy/military inaccuracies, and I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under @.itswildflower A/N: I hate having to say this but please leave a comment or reblog because I have no idea if people are actually reading this series and if people are liking it. Summary: The big mission
Looking for previous chapters? Sincerely, Yours Masterlist  
Chapter 9:
Cyclone and Warlock stand with the ship’s Officers and Comms Crew. Hondo is there as well, anxiously watching the screens. “Support assets airborne. Strike package ready. Standing by for launch decision.” Cyclone nods. “Send ‘em.” A catapult officer signals with a two-finger wave, as the two jets facing him throttle engines to full. Maverick and Rooster, side-by-side, salute the Officer, then press their heads back against the headrests. The final check crews around each aircraft offer a thumbs-up, one by one, causing the Catapult Officer to crouch, touching the deck to point forward. Maverick and Rooster’s Super Hornets fly across the deck, ripping into the sky. Phoenix and Bob as well as Tempest and Denver are launched a moment later. The four F-18s fly above dark ominous clouds, maintaining their delta formation. “Rough Rider. Dagger, Texaco complete. Comanche, standby check-in,” Maverick says. An air control officer watches streams of data roll in. “Comanche one-one, set. Lightning One, status.” An F-35 pilot monitors his electronic view of the valley. “Lightning One, set. Bravo route is clear.” The four F-18s descend through the clouds to 1000 feet. “Here we go. Enemy territory up ahead. Feet dry in 60 seconds. Comanche, dagger one. Picture.” The air control officer looks at her screens before responding. “Comanche. Picture clean. The decision is yours,” she said. “Copy. Proceeding to Bravo. Dagger attack,” Maverick’s voice came over the channel. “Dagger’s assume attack formation.” They adjusted their formation into their attack order. “Daggers set. Proceeding to target. Two minutes and 30 seconds in three, two, one, Mark.” All four push the button and their clocks start counting down. “Two mark,” came Tempest’s voice. “Three mark,” Rooster called out. “Four mark,” Phoenix called out last. With Mav taking the lead, the Strike Package flies in a staggered formation toward enemy territory. “Tomahawks airborne,” the comms officer informs the team moments before they fly over the heads of the aviators. 
“First SAM site overhead, no movement,” came Denver’s voice over the channel. “Looks like we’re clear on radar, Mav,” Tempest called out. “Let’s not take it for granted,” Mav reminded them. They shoot into an ever-compressing canyon, hauling ass over the broken landscape, snowy trees flashing just beneath. It’s training times ten. The valley walls are tight, and the high speed and sharp turns are resulting in higher Gs. “We got two minutes to target,” Denver tells the team. “Copy,” Tempest responds. “We’re a few seconds behind, Rooster. We got to move,” Phoenix warns. “Thirty seconds to tomahawk impact on the enemy airstrip,” a second comms officer alerts them. Radar beeps before they are updated with new information. “Dagger, Comanche. We’re picking up two bandits. Single group, two contacts.”
“Comanche, what’s their heading?” Tempest asks. “Bull’s-eye 090, 50, tacked southwest,” they were informed. “They’ve headed away from us. They don’t know we’re here,” Rooster called out. “The second those tomahawks hit the air base, those bandits are gonna move to defend the target. We have to get there before they do. Increase speed,” Maverick ordered. “We got you, Mav. Don’t wait for me!” The physical pressure on the team alone is intense, requiring every ounce of concentration, skill, and endurance. Each of the pilots contends with the intensity in their own way. Training was nothing compared to this. They’re all feeling it. “Come on, Rooster. Bandits inbound. We got to make up time now. Let’s turn and burn,” Phoenix tells her partner. “Heads up, Tempest,” Mav calls out. As they turn sideways and pass through a narrow gap under a bridge Denver quietly lets out a “woah.” 
“Guys, we’re falling behind. We really gotta move,” Bob calls out. “If we don’t increase our speed right now, those bandits are gonna be waiting for us when we reach the target,” Phoenix tells Rooster. A quiet “Talk to me, Dad,” came from Rooster. “Come on, kid, you can do it. Don’t think, just do,” Maverick encouraged. Bradley took a deep breath and he hit the throttle. “Jesus, Rooster, not that fast!” Bob exclaims. “Damn, Rooster, take it easy,” Phoenix chimes in, throttling up to pursue. “Thirty seconds to target. Denver, check your laser,” Mav ordered. “Air-to-ground check complete. Laser code verified, 1688. Laser is a go!” Denver exclaimed. “Tempest, stand by for pop-up strike,” Mav said. “Dagger three in position,” she replied. “Popping in three, two, one,” Maverick counted down before both pilots pulled back on their sticks. “Get me eyes on that target, Denver,” Mav ordered. “Dagger three. Stand by, Mav.” His system beeped. “I’ve got it. Captured!” he responded. “Target acquired, bombs away.” Maverick and Tempest wrench their jets into a body-smashing climb - excessive Gs. Only this time it’s for keeps as a mountain face is coming up fast. For a few moments, the only sound over the comms was grunting as they climbed. “We’ve got impact! Check, direct hit! Direct hit!” Denver calls out before grunting. “Dagger two, status,” Mav asks when it's a little easier to breathe. “Almost there, Mav. Almost there. Bob, where’s my laser?” Bob’s eyes frantically dart over his screens. “Rooster, there’s something wrong with this laser! Shit! Deadeye, deadeye, deadeye!” Bob called out. “Come on, guys, we’re running out of time. Get it online!” Rooster replied. “Nearly there! Nearly there!” he replies his hands flying over the controls and trying to fix the problem. “There’s no time. I’m dropping blind,” Rooster says after a moment. “Rooster, I got this!” Bob yells. “No time. Pull up,” Rooster orders. “Wait!” Phoenix tries. “Great balls of fire,” Rooster mutters as he drops his payload. “Bullseye!” They’re informed by overwatch. “We’re not out of this yet. Here it comes,” Maverick warns and suddenly the first two jets are climbing into the clear blue sky. The first array comes automatically to life, swivels, and fires. “Radar warning! Smoke in the air. Tempest, break right!” Denver yells. “Emergency jettison. Dagger three defending,” Tempest declares as she dodges the incoming missiles. “Here comes another one!” Denver warns. “Dagger one defending.” Maverick shoots off flares. “Rooster, status,” Mav asks. “Oh, my god,” Rooster murmurs as they crest over the mountain to see Mav and Tempest dodging missiles and trying to get low to the ground. “Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air! Break right, Phoenix!” Bob yells. “Breaking right,” she replies, doing as she was told. “Oh, my god, here they come!” Bob exclaims. “Sam on your six, Rooster!” he warns. “Deploying countermeasures. Negative contact.” The comms channel was a mess, the aviators doing their best to avoid being shot out of the sky. Sounds of the aviators fill the room back on the command deck. The breathing hard, the shouting, straining, and cursing. It’s hell. 
“Dagger one defending.” 
“Talk to me, Bob.”
“Break right, Phoenix!”
“Break right! Mav!”
“Nine o’clock! Tempest, Nine o’clock!”
“Rooster, two more on your six.”
“Dagger two, defending.”
“Phoenix, Sam on your nose.” 
“Dagger four defending.”
“Rooster, tally, seven o’clock!”
“Talk to me, Bob!”
“On our six!”
“Dagger two defending.”
“Denver!”
“Tempest Break Right!” 
“I see it!”
“Dagger two defending. Shit, I’m out of flares!”
“Rooster, evade, evade!”
“I can’t shake ’em! They’re on me! They’re on me!” 
An F-18 fills his sight picture. 
“MAVERICK, NO!”
Maverick releases flares, but he’s too late. And he knows it. The missile slams into Maverick’s engine. A fireball shreds the splintering rear of the jet. “Dagger one is hit! I repeat, dagger one is hit!” Tempest calls it in, doing her best to keep her voice from wavering. “Maverick is down.” The remaining jets dive into the valley and below the SAM’s and their radar. The arrays go still. “Dagger one, status,” Rooster calls out, waiting a moment. “Status! Anyone see him? Does anyone see him? Dagger one, come in!” Rooster exclaims again. “I didn’t see a parachute,” Tempest says softly. “We have to circle back!” Rooster yells. “Comanche. Bandits inbound. Single group, hot. Recommend dagger flow south. One minute to intercept. All daggers flow to ECP. You have bandits headed for you.” Phoenix and Tempest look at each other as they fly side by side, their eyes sad from the loss of their mentor. “What about Maverick!” Rooster tries. “Dagger spare request permission to launch and fly air cover,” Hangman’s voice comes over the radio. “Negative, spare.” Jake nearly punches his dash in frustration. 
“Dagger, you are not to engage. Repeat, do not engage. Dagger two, return to the carrier. Acknowledge. Acknowledge,” the comms officer relays their orders. “Rooster, those bandits are closing. We can’t go back,” Phoenix tries to reason. “Rooster, he’s gone. Maverick’s gone,” Bob says solemnly. Bradley takes a moment staring up into the blue vastness of the sky. “Screw it.” A deep breath later and he’s turning back, leaving Phoenix and Tempest. “Dagger two is hit. Dagger two is hit,” Phoenix relays just as the radar shows the command deck his jet has gone offline. “Dagger two, come in. Dagger two, do you copy? Dagger two, come in.” The remaining aviators wait to hear their friend’s voice in vain. When no response is given Ria’s chest hurt, and not from the G’s this time. Phoenix looked over at Tempest as she pulled up beside her jet. “Don’t you leave me too,” she says quietly. Elliot reached a gloved hand through the small gap in the metal separating their seats and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s not just me in this jet. I have to get Eli home,” is all she says, turning her eyes to the horizon and doing her best to prevent her voice from shaking and tears from lining her eyes. On Tempest’s wing, Phoenix follows her back to the ship, circling overhead as Tempest traps and taxis into her jet's space, running through all the shutdown procedures. “Rooster’s ESAT is online and supersonic. Overwatch reports an f-14 tomcat is airborne and on course for our position.” It was Maverick. The sounds of a jet launching reach their ears and they watch as Jake’s jet screams off the carrier and climbs in altitude. 
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, this is your savior speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts, return your tray tables to their upright and locked position, and prepare for landing,” Jake’s voice comes through the radio after several very tense minutes. “Hey, Hangman... you look good,” Bradley replies and Ria breathes a sigh of relief. “I am good, Rooster. I’m very good.” The four mission aviators already on deck are given the all-clear to depart their jets. Tired and sweaty the four aviators embrace each other tightly. Maverick and Rooster watch as Hangman’s F-18 circles back, doing a hotshot twirl of the wings. A victory roll.
All eyes are on the horizon as two planes are inbound. All of the pilots watch from Vulture’s Row, the balcony platform with the best view of the entire flight deck. Cyclone, Warlock, and Hondo have moved up to the Primary Flight Control room. “Get Hangman down first. Maverick may burn the deck,” Cyclone orders. Hondo without a word, runs from the command center. Hondo emerges on the deck where the crew is awaiting Hangman’s arrival. Emergency crews are standing by. “The minute Hangman touches down, pull the trip wires and have the barricade stanchions ready.” The crew just stares at him. “HE DOESN’T HAVE A GODDAMN TAILHOOK!” Hondo yells. The crew realizes and scrambles. It’s organized chaos once again. Cyclone, Warlock, and several officers stand in the PFC with binoculars, watching as Hangman’s super hornet comes in for a landing. His tail hook snagging the arrest cable, his plane jerking to a stop.
The Deck Crew rushes in to clear the way for Maverick. A ballet of precise emergency response. Hundreds of sailors work to remove Trap-Wires and raise Barricade Stanchions, lift up a 15-foot-high nylon barricade, stretching a massive net across the width of the landing deck. The F-14 circles overhead. “Rough Rider, Ghostrider here. We are requesting a tower fly-by.” Cyclone and Warlock share a look. “Is this a joke?” Cyclone asks. “Rough Rider, I say again-” Cyclone has the radio now. “Ghostrider, this is Cyclone. Put that bird on the deck now.” 
“-odswor- -strider- -adio” 
“Does he even want to land?” Cyclone asked Warlock. “He asked permission. That’s progress,” the other man replies. Cyclone sighs, nods begrudgingly to the Comm Tech who, despite everything, has to grin a little as he relays orders. “Ghostrider, pattern is clear, you are cleared for flyby.” Maverick raises a brow. “Huh. That’s a first.” Rooster knocks his helmet repeatedly on the canopy. “Why did I bother saving your ass?” Maverick blazes by the tower at high speed, rocking the tower. Cyclone shakes his head as several of the aviators on Vulture’s Row cheer. The battered Tomcat comes around, lining up with the runway before it smashes down, sliding across the deck on its nose, showering sparks and spewing smoke, until it slams into the nylon net, ripping it forward before snapping to a violent halt. Finally. Safe home. The emergency crews rush the jet as Mav and Rooster climb out. They check themselves and each other before climbing down. Sailors swarm them. Maverick gazes up to Vultures Row, spying Cyclone and Warlock. Cyclone gives him a simple, grateful nod.
“Chalked yourself another kill,” Bradley muses as Jake walks up to him, offering him a hand. “That makes two,” Jake smiles as they shake hands. “Maverick has five. Makes him an ace,” Phoenix steps in, finally pushing through the crowd of sailors that had rushed to congratulate them. Jake’s smile fades just a little bit. “Still impressive all things considering,” Ria’s voice rings out as she pushes out from behind Natasha, a small smile on her face as she gives Bradley a tight hug. As she pulls away she smacks his shoulder. “Don’t do that again!” Bradley groaned, rubbing his shoulder. “Wasn’t planning on it.” Ria gives him a stern look before turning her attention to Jake. She marches over to him and pulls him down by the flight vest and kisses him soundly. Whistles sound all around them as she pulled away but Jake didn’t let her go far. He pulled her back into another deep kiss. Cheers and more whistles followed. “I love you,” he murmured when he pulled back. “I love you!” she replied quietly just for him. Jake smiled wide and held her close to him.
Filled with jubilant sailors, the whole ship celebrates the mission’s return.
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