#three cheers for thorough investigation

[icryyoumercy]

okay. question, since google is supremely unhelpful these days

to my understanding 1) islam has a prohibition of making images of living things 2) islam has a thing like the jewish pikuach nefesh, where a rule can (and has to) be broken in order to save a life 3) a lot of the early medieval medical texts are based on the works of muslim scholars

given this, i feel like medical diagrams should be exempt from the prohibition under 1), but i can't find any useful answers on google. is anyone willing and able to confirm, deny, or elaborate on this, please?

#three cheers for thorough investigation #i'm reading a lot of old medical texts #and because language restrictions most of them are written #by european and later usamerican christians #which for the obvious reason skip the theological issues #so if anyone has details i'd be delighted

[dani-says-stuff]

Madison Seminary

❥ Back to the Control Center

❥ Nate Hardy Masterlist

-Do not fear, this will be a multi-part fic and I will end up finishing it at a different time, an explanation can be found in my reblogs here

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Nate Hardy x fem!medium(?) reader

Summary: Ahh yes, finally a haunting where the spirits don't hate women

Word Count: 852

Warnings: hauntings, language, inconsistent capitalization, my usual grammar warning, short

Dialogue Key:

Y/N

Nate

Sam

Colby

Steve

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

"Oh. Well that's fun." you joked walking through the door, "My favorite thing to see when entering a haunted area," you turned, watching as the boys filtered in behind you-Sam filming, "Is a shit ton of creepy-ass dolls." 

"No!" Sam exclaimed, walking over to film some of the dolls closer up, "you don't just walk in and there's this many dolls just staring in your direction"

Probably wasn't the best idea to kick off the night by making fun of some weird and possibly haunted dolls... but you only live once, right? 

After a thorough bullying session, the four of you went to do a quick walk around the building, some light exploring, if you will, before the night truly begins. 

Nate was in the front with Colby, followed by Sam who was filming, you walking slightly behind him at the end of the group.

"Isn't there supposed to be some strange occult shit in here too?" Nate called back, as he looked at all the walls, trying to find any of the alleged sigils. 

Sam stopped, moving to the side as he positioned the camera to look at the triangular thing he found on the floor. "What is that?"

You, however, weren't phased by the "sigil" he found and walked right on top of it. 

"What are you doing Y/N?!" he shouted, "That could mean anything-"

You pierced your lips, trying to hold back your laughter at your blonde friend, "It's a shuffleboard, Sam."

The blonde looked down one more time, tilting his head slightly as he did so. "Ooh, ok, yeah I see it now." 

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

"Guys, this building is actually insanely huge" Colby explained, during the initial information portion of the video, "it actually has 88 rooms in it and the haunting s are rumored to be started at the beginning of the 20th century, so it's been haunted for a very very long time."

"Legend has it," Nate joined in, "that there have been approximately 200 bodies found here. It's frequent for people to experience shadow visitations, they will get disoriented, dizzy, nauseous-"

"There are even reports of people getting like choked."

"Poltergeist activity, things getting moved around, getting pushed... this is not a good spirit place."

"And, they don't like men"

Your eyes widened as you looked between the three guys around you, "wait are you serious?"

They all nodded solemnly, mistakenly believing you to be worried on their behalf. 

At least until you fist-pumped and started cheering. 

"I'm sorry" you spoke despite the unapologetic grin on your face, "it's just, this is new to me" you explained gesturing to yourself, "usually in the place we go, the spirits all hate women"

Colby tilted his head to the side with a shrug, "Yeah, yeah that's true" 

"So" you spoke nonchalantly, raising your arms to grasp Sam and Colby's shoulders in faux sympathy, "how's it feel to be in my shoes" 

Sam laughed, shaking his head at you, "Honestly? Not a fan."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah... we might need to be more considerate in the future"

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

You truly began the investigation within the basement of the Seminary. It is believed that this was the area where a woman was buried under the floor.

In this area, an anomaly was detected beneath the floor as well as a cadaver dog hit about three feet away. However, when they looked into it and dug the hole, nothing was there. 

"Alright" Nate announced, stepping around the railings "I'm goin' in the hole."

"You're really going for it this video" Sam nodded from the corner, "Proud of you."

"Thanks, man" he deadpanned looking between the blonde and the raven-haired man controlling the camera, "Yeah, I'm stoked you guys brought me out to butt-fuck Ohio to be in a hole." 

You stood behind him on the other side of the railing, laughing softly as he jumped in. 

"I just want to point out" Steve spoke looking over the railing, "this is the second night in a row that we made Nate be a dead body."

"Wow!" Nate mocked, "I didn't even notice that dude."

"Wait, yeah!" you joined in, raising your voice and crunching up your face a little, "Can we talk about that for a second? It took me long enough to not be single... can we please stop killing my boyfriend" you whined stomping your foot for good measure. 

The boys laughed at your antics, all the while Nate leaned forward, grabbing onto the bars, "Can I have a good-bye kiss this time?" he pouted, "You know before I leave this earthly plane and die... again"  

You leaned forward and grabbed his cheeks looking straight into his eyes, "You're just pitiful, aren't you?"

"Please" he whined, dragging out the end of the word and keeping his pout. 

"You're ridiculous" you whispered before leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

He smiled, pushing himself from the bars and plopping down in the hole, "Kay, thanks babe!" 

Colby 'Aw-ed' obnoxiously from behind the camera, whipping it back and forth between zooming in on Nate who now was crouched below the floor, and yourself as you leaned over the railing looking down at him. 

Sam just blinked owlishly, feigning annoyance for the video, "Ok, now that that's over, can we begin the investigation now?"

once again, don't worry, i will be making a pt. 2 for this fic

#nate hardy x reader #nate hardy imagine #sam and colby imagine

[papillon82fluttersby]

Famous Five Art Nostalgia #02 – Part 1

Introductory post

Masterpost

☃️🎄🔦 Five Go Adventuring Again – Le Club des Cinq / Le Club des Cinq et le passage secret

Original publication date: 1943 (UK), 1955 (France)

(Cover art by Simone Baudouin, 1962)

As this was the first book of the series to be published in France, the publisher decided to title it simply as “Le Club des Cinq” instead of the later formula “Le Club des Cinq et […]” This understandably created confusion regarding the series reading order, and in a more recent edition this volume was renamed “Le Club des Cinq et le passage secret” (i.e. ‘Famous Five and the Secret Passage’).

~~~~~~

Plot summary (adapted from Wikipedia):

Julian, Dick, and Anne's mother is ill with scarlet fever, so they, George, and Timmy return to Kirrin Cottage for the Christmas holidays. Uncle Quentin, who is working on a secret theory in his study, takes a break to hire a tutor, Mr Roland [M. Rolland], to help Julian and Dick catch up with schoolwork they missed while sick. George is also required to attend the lessons, as she has just spent her first term at Gaylands boarding school [la pension Clairbois] and is behind her age level.

(George and Anne greet the boys at the train station)

(The Five settle at Kirrin Cottage for the Christmas holidays) [Note: This illustrator shows Julian with dark hair and Dick with light hair.]

The day before lessons commence, the children visit the old house at Kirrin Farm, which is run by Mr and Mrs Sanders [le père et la mère Guillou (“père” and “mère”, in this case, is an old-fashioned way of calling old people; this translation was changed to “monsieur et madame Guillou” in later editions)]. Mrs Sanders informs the children that two artists from London, Mr Thomas [M. Dulac] and Mr Wilton [M. Rateau], have booked a three-week stay at the house. The children explore some old secret hole in the house, they also find a cupboard with a false back. When searching a cavity in a wall, Dick finds an old book of medical treatment recipes and a linen map inscribed with Latin words.

(Exploring the farmhouse under the cat’s vigilant scrutiny!)

(An intriguing find!)

The children take the map back to Kirrin Cottage, where Julian guesses that it shows a "secret way" but he is unable to decipher the other words. Much to George's chagrin, Julian later shows the map to Mr Roland, asking him what the words mean. He confirms that it is about a "secret way" and also about an east-facing room with eight wooden panels. The Five don’t have much time to investigate, though, as they’re getting busy with Christmas preparations.

(Wintery fun!)

(🎶 Deck the halls with boughs of holly fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la 🎶)

Later, Timmy is banished outside to his kennel for attacking Mr Roland. During the night, Uncle Quentin's secret papers are stolen.

(Mr Roland faces a ferocious guardian)

(When confronted with Uncle Quentin and a duplicitous Mr Roland, poor Anne has trouble holding her tongue and covering for George who did enter her father's office at night but had nothing to do with the theft)

(Julian, Dick and Anne come to tell George about their confrontation with Uncle Quentin and Mr Roland, which George missed because she was walking Timmy outside)

George suspects Mr Roland of being the culprit, but cannot immediately convince the others. As George acts ever more rudely to Mr Roland, she gets punished and confined to her room.

(Julian does some snooping on his own, following Mr Roland, and sees him handing a sheaf of papers to the Sanders’ lodgers)

(Fake yawning: a tried and true tactic to escape adults’ supervision and, in this case, sneak into George’s room, where she’s been punished, and cheer her up)

The children later discover the "secret way" (which was in Quentin's laboratory after all) which leads to the two artists' room in Kirrin Farm, and they search it thoroughly for the stolen papers.

(Up the Secret Way!)

(A thorough search)

George uncovers the stolen papers and they try to escape through the secret way. The thieves almost outrun them but retreat when George threatens to set Timmy loose on them.

(Timmy holds the thieves at bay)

The Five also discover that Mr Roland was in league with the thieves and imprison the three of them in a room until the police arrive and arrest them.

~~~~~~

Bonus:

(Go on, Timmy, chase that insolent cat away!)

~~~~~~

Cover art through the ages:

(Disclaimer: This is not an exhaustive list; sometimes the dates are difficult to pinpoint; and I have purposefully not included editions that re-used similar cover art, with differences only in layout and font style.)

(Original cover art by Simone Baudouin, Hachette, 1955 – George’s and Anne’s headscarves are certainly a look!)

(Subsequent edition with cover art by Jeanne Hives, Hachette, 1969 – where the Five have suddenly turned into snowmen, plus a snowdog!)

(A snowy landscape by Jean Sidobre, 1971 – poor Anne’s legs must be cold with this skirt in the snow!)

(A pony ride with Jean Sidobre again in this Vermeille collection, 1974)

(Playing hide-and-seek in the snow! J.P. Morvan, France Loisirs, 1975)

(A very Christmassy cover by Umberto Nonna for Edito Service, 1981)

(More snow in this third illustration by Jean Sidobre, Hachette, 1982 – maybe Anne is wearing tights to protect her legs in this one?)

(Yves Beaujard continues with a snowy theme, and Anne’s legs are still bare 🥶 – Hachette, 1990)

(Finally all four kids are suitably dressed for a walk in the snow thanks to Paul Gillon, Hachette, 1992)

(A change of scenery with this illustration by Munch and Prunier – I love these colour tones, so warm after all the snowscapes! Also, Timmy seems very interested in Uncle Quentin's vials and beakers – maybe a future scientist in the making? Hachette, 2000)

(The Five explore the newly titular “passage secret” – Frédéric Rébéna, Hachette, 2006)

(More exploring from Auren, Hachette, 2019)

~~~~~~

That's all for today!

#papillon82 reads #famous five art nostalgia #famous five #le club des cinq #illustrations #simone baudouin #enid blyton #i don't really want to commit to a strict schedule but weekly updates sound like a good goal to aim for #let's see if i can keep it up!

[mpatriciaann]

Here’s another story about the gift of seeing others and saying so. We accidentally got to the library eight minutes early. On the surface this doesn’t seem like a big deal . . .but with three spirited boys, eight extra minutes can feel like eight hours. At the time, my sons were seven, six, and four— the perfect ages for high curiousity and low impulse control. As we entered the small outer foyer and I realized the main library wasn’t open yet, low-grade panic set in. My kids were not cut from the “sit still and wait patiently” kind of cloth.

Thankfully we had a bag full of books to return. Let’s draw this out as long as possible, I thought. Each boy excited took turns feeding picture books into the automated return system. They oohed and aahed as the scanner scanned each barcode on the nearby screen (and then they shoved a brother to get a better look) as the conveyor belt carried each book to the appropriate bin. Dump. Again!

When our book bag was empty, they slurped water from the drinking fountain, hid under the massive stairwell, asked a gazillion questions about what would happen if the concrete cracked and fell on top of them and would they for sure be crushed and die? There were two trips to the bathroom and thorough investigation of a row of cupboards that foolishly were void of padlocks. As the minutes inched on, more library patrons joined my energetic crew in the waiting vestibule. Staring eyes weren’t in short supply.

“Be aware of others. Stay near me. Quiet words, please,” I reminded them often.

My boys weren’t being bad. Just inquisitive, antsy, talkative, active kids. And after eight minutes, their mama was exhausted. When the clock struck ten and the bell tower began to chime, the large sliding glass doors finally opened. The small crowd began filing into the sanctuary of books. Jude jumped and Elias squealed and Noah started to sprint as I reminded them again to please walk and use inside voices.

An older woman who had been waiting nearby caught my eye “it’s going to be a long summer,” she said.

“Yeah, it is,” I replied with a weak smile and sigh.

Then her eyes brightened, and her smile warmed. “But you’re doing a great job. Thank you for being here,” she added. I had braced myself for a stranger’s rebuke—parenting in public is one of the hardest things for me. In the little years it made me sweat with anxiety. But instead of judgment I was met with the kindness of simple encouragement. All I could do was whisper thank you. She gave me a knowing nod and entered the library as I followed my sons — my back a bit straighter, my steps a bit lighter.

A small, unexpected thank you from a stranger. A word to make someone feel seen. Is there an easier gift of kindness to give?

So I pass on these sweet words to you: Thank you. Thank you for changing diapers and reading stories. Thank you for going to work and still making dinner when you’re dog-tired. Thank you for cheering at swim lessons and folding laundry and answering the billionth question to quench a little person’s curiosity. Thank you for helping your neighbor and listening to your coworker. Thanks for getting to church early to set up or staying late to tear down. Thanks for mentoring that teenager. Thanks for doing your mundane job with a smile. Thanks for putting one foot in front of the other.

Thank you for being you. No one else could fill your shoes.

[wordsintimeandspace]

All That Haunts Us (1/14)

Jon and Tim have seen their fair share of strange things while working in Research at the Magnus Institute. They still didn’t quite expect to rescue Martin, who has been missing for a year, from a supernatural encounter during one of their investigations. Together, the three of them hunt for answers and try to find a way forward, but they all have things that haunt them.

Meanwhile, Elias sees the perfect opportunity to set his devious plan into motion...

Jon/Martin/Tim, rated T, ~2500 words for this chapter. Read on AO3!

Tim plumps down onto the corner of Jon’s desk without much warning. After months of being friends with Tim Jon supposes he should be used to it by now, but he still startles a little, eyes shooting up from the book he’s been engrossed in for who knows how long. Tim sits there with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling down at him like he’s exactly where he belongs.

“Can I help you?” Jon finally asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I hope so,” Tim says lightly. “But first, I brought lunch.”

He sets a sandwich down in front of Jon. Jon blinks in surprise, and only now notices the rumbling of his stomach and the empty desks around him as everyone else in his shared office has gone out for lunch. “Oh. Sorry, we had planned to meet up, hadn’t we?”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind eating here.” Tim takes a bite of his own sandwich, as if to demonstrate. Jon wrinkles his nose as he continues talking, mouth half full. “Reading anything interesting?”

For a second Jon hesitates - out of all the people in the Research Department, Tim might be the only one to agree with him that ‘The Architecture of Cathedrals in the 15th Century’ is actually interesting. But based on the look in his eyes, Jon suspects he has something more pressing to talk about. “Nothing too important,” he finally says, carefully prying the wrapper away from his food. “What did you need help with?”

“I’ve been working on a case.”

Jon looks up from his sandwich - spicy chicken and cucumber, just what he prefers - and frowns. “The one with the cat, right?”

Tim heaves a melodramatic sigh. “Yes, the one with the lady who claims her cat got eaten by, let me quote, ‘a six foot tall monster with too many legs and teeth’. As if that’s the only logical explanation for an outdoor cat to go missing in London. Never mind, oh, I don’t know, cars and foxes and all that.”

Even as he tries to suppress it, Jon can’t quite help the grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You sound like you had a bit of a week.”

“Oh, you have no idea. I called every vet and the animal shelter if they’ve seen any unusual injuries. And then I’ve knocked on every door in the area that has a cat flap and asked them if their cat has gone missing in the last year, and I scoured every possible missing pet portal on the entire internet.”

“... and? Did you find anything?” Jon asks when Tim doesn’t continue.

Tim throws his hands up, exasperated. “Of course I found something. Do you have any idea how many cats go missing every year in a city like this, entirely due to natural causes?”

Jon nods. “Okay, I get your point. This still doesn’t answer the question of what you need help with though.”

“Look, I just thought... if there is a monster like that - and I’m not saying there is - it’s big enough to harm more than cats, right? So I looked for missing dogs as well. And then, while I was on a roll and because I was terribly bored, I looked for missing persons.”

At that, Jon raises an eyebrow. He knows Tim is an excellent researcher, thorough in everything he does, but that seems to go even beyond his usual rigour. “You can’t possibly tell me you found an account of a person being eaten by a monster like that. Surely we would have heard of it by now.”

“No, ‘course not.” Tim rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his sandwich before he continues. “This has nothing to do with that. But what I did find was a missing person’s report from about a year ago, and several accounts from the last few months that the building where he used to live is haunted.”

Jon stills, looking at Tim with a frown. “That rather sounds like someone is making a crude joke.”

“At first I thought so too,” Tim says. “But the reports on the hauntings didn’t mention that a person went missing there. And the guy’s address isn’t even public. They couldn’t have known. I had Sasha dig that up for me, along with other details on the case. You know Sasha, right?”

Jon nods - he doesn’t think he’s ever talked to her, but even he can’t escape the Institute gossip when someone transfers from Artifact Storage to another department. And he’s seen her around Research by now, in the last few weeks. “I- yes. But… what kind of ‘haunting’ are we talking about here?”

Tim shrugs. “There seems to be a bunch of evidence. Recordings of hushed voices and weird noises, something like rustling? Blurry figures in the shadows. Cold spots.”

“I’m not sure I would count that as evidence.”

Tim lets out a long sigh. “Don’t be such a sceptic.”

Jon frowns. “It is our job to be sceptical.”

“Yeah, sure, but you have to admit it’s a weird coincidence, right? That this building where one person disappeared is supposedly haunted since then?”

Jon bites his lip. He trusts Tim’s instincts. And he can’t deny that there’s something off about this whole thing, even if he can’t put his finger on it. It happens sometimes, that a case just feels… wrong, he supposes. That it comes with a prickle of unease and a shiver down his spine, in a way that is too familiar to ignore. He wonders if Tim feels it as well, or if he just - for some unfathomable reason - wants to get out of interviewing even more cat owners.

“What do you want to do about this, then?” he finally asks, and Tim’s face immediately brightens.

“I want to go view the flat. There’s a rent advertisement online. Perfect opportunity for a bit of snooping.”

“Okay. And you need me for… what, exactly?”

At this Tim smiles - a bit mischievous, which is his usual expression, but also a bit bashful, which is a rare sight for someone as self-assured as Tim. Jon can’t help but feel a bit nervous about that, and reaches for his long cold mug of tea.

“I need you to pose as my boyfriend,” Tim says calmly, and Jon promptly chokes as he takes a sip.

“What?” he finally manages to get out as soon as he can breathe again. His cheeks are burning, but Tim just gives him a sympathetic smile and a pat on the back.

“You heard me. Come on, help me out there buddy.”

“But… why?”

Tim lets out a long sigh. “Look, I first tried to be honest, but when I called the landlord and mentioned the Magnus Institute he swore at me and hung up. The rent advertisement is just the backup plan. I need you to be with me and take over the speaking to make sure he doesn’t recognize me.”

For a moment, Jon can only stare at him. “I still don’t understand why I’d have to be your boyfriend. Can’t I be your flatmate?”

“It’s a one bedroom apartment. He’s not going to believe we’re flatmates.”

“What about Sasha? Can’t you ask her?” Jon asks, a bit helplessly.

Tim gives him a long look. “Jon, I’m trying very hard not to be offended that you really don’t want to fake date me, but you’re not making it easy.”

“I- I’m not-” Jon splutters before heaving a sigh. “I- fine. Fine. I’ll do it.”

Tim cheers, even as Jon glowers at him. “Oh, this is fantastic,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve always wanted to do something like this. Can I call you a pet name?”

Heat rises in Jon’s cheeks. He tries his best to glare even as his stomach swoops at the idea, for reasons he resolutely does not want to examine. “Absolutely not.”

“Hold your hand?”

“No.”

Tim lets out a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re no fun.”

“This is supposed to be work, not fun.”

“I can multitask and do both at once, Jon.”

Suppressing a groan, Jon rolls his eyes at him, and decides to just move on. “When do you want to do this?”

“Okay, so, I need you to call to set up an appointment. We can-”

Abruptly, Tim stops. He goes still, the excited grin slipping off his lips. He’s not looking at Jon anymore, his eyes instead fixed on something behind him.

Jon whirls around in his chair, and startles when his gaze falls on Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute, standing in the doorway to his office. As usual, he is wearing an impeccable grey suit and a smile that never quite matches the piercing look in his eyes. Somehow, there’s always something unnerving about him, although Jon can’t put his finger on it.

“Um. Hello, Mr. Bouchard,” he starts slowly.

Elias’ smile widens just a little bit. “Jonathan. I’ve told you before, call me Elias,” he says smoothly. “And Timothy. Just the man I wanted to speak to.”

Tim winces and sits up a little straighter. “Of course. What can I help you with?”

Elias fixes Tim with a long stare that makes Jon squirm in his seat. “I had a rather unpleasant call with one Mr. Abbott earlier,” Elias finally says, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “He complained that someone from the Magnus Institute asked to see one of his rental properties to investigate a case.”

“I’m just doing some regular follow-up, Sir,” Tim says, a bit defensively. Jon finally looks away from Elias towards Tim, and watches the crease between his brows deepen as Elias continues.

“Of course. I’m sure you were perfectly polite, Timothy. Mr. Abbott, however, was quite clear that he believes an investigation like this will hurt his carefully crafted image. And I just couldn’t help but wonder why you were contacting him when you were supposed to work on the… what was it, the case of Mrs. Mitchell, I believe? Regarding the disappearance of her cat?”

“Err. Yes, I-”

“Are the cases connected?” Elias asks, a sudden sharpness in his voice that makes Jon flinch. Tim’s mouth twists, as if he’s trying hard to suppress a grimace.

“I don’t believe so, no,” Tim says hesitantly. “I just thought-”

“In that case, I would advise you to focus on the work you were assigned, Mr. Stoker.” The tone in Elias’ voice makes it very clear that he won’t accept any objections. Nevertheless, the smile on his lips doesn’t falter. “We wouldn’t want to get any more complaints, would we?”

“I-” Tim stops himself, letting out a sigh. “Of course, Sir.”

“Since it seems you might have gotten bored with the Mitchell case, I’m sure you have already conducted all necessary research and can deliver the report to my desk by this evening. Or am I mistaken?”

Tim’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t protest. “Sure,” he grumbles.

“Excellent,” Elias says, the sudden sharpness in his voice gone as quickly as it came. He gives them both a short nod. “Have a good day, gentlemen.”

With that, Elias turns on his heels and walks away. He’s out of sight as soon as he turns a corner down the corridor, but still, Jon can’t help but stare after him. Beside him, Tim lets out a pitiful groan.

“This evening?” Tim buries his face in his hands. “I had until next week to do the report. I haven’t even started it.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says with a wince. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nah. Don’t think so. But thank you.” Tim looks up with a small smile and stands, wrapping up the remains of his sandwich. “I’ll best get back to work if I want to have this done by five.”

Jon lets out a small hum, but he’s still distracted by what just happened. Again, he stares down the corridor, as if Elias might reappear any second. He can’t shake the feeling of his eyes on him.

“Are you alright?” Tim asks. Jon startles a little and looks back at him. Tim is watching him with a quizzical expression on his face.

“Yes,” Jon says hesitantly, chewing on his bottom lip. “It’s just… that was strange, wasn’t it?”

Tim shrugs. “Yeah. But everything about Bouchard is strange.”

“I suppose. But this was...” Jon hesitates. This was more than strange, he wants to say. This feels like Elias doesn’t want us to investigate whatever is going on in that haunted flat. But that’s a silly thought, isn’t it? Jon shakes his head. “Nevermind. Good luck with the report.”

Tim gives him a pained smile. “Thanks,” he says miserably, and finally shuffles back towards his office.

That afternoon, as much as Jon tries to go back to his book, he can’t quite stop thinking. He can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, in a way that makes him jittery and anxious and makes it impossible to focus on the words in front of him. He stays late to make up for it, and when he finally calls it a day, the other researchers that share his office have already left. Jon puts on his coat and grabs his bag, and goes to check on Tim.

The door to Tim’s office is still open, although all the desks are currently unoccupied. Tim’s desk is a bit of a mess, filled with piled up papers and books and too many empty cups of tea. With their earlier conversation about the case still on the forefront of his mind, Jon gives in to the temptation to step closer and skim through the texts scattered on the desk.

It doesn’t take long until his gaze falls onto what looks like the copy of a police report. Carefully, he pulls the paper out from underneath a book. It’s undoubtedly the missing person’s report Tim has mentioned. The address fits to the area of the case he was working on. Jon starts reading, and immediately stills.

It hits him suddenly that Tim had never mentioned the name of the missing person. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that there are actual people behind the cases they’re researching. But there’s the name, right next to a photograph.

In the photo, Martin Blackwood is looking directly at the camera, a small smile on his lips. Jon takes a moment to take him in - the pudgy cheeks covered in freckles, the sad eyes, the light brown hair falling in soft curls around his face. An actual person, with a life and friends and family who must wonder what has happened to him after he disappeared a year ago. Who maybe still have hope that one day, he will come back.

So far, Jon was only a little irritated that Elias intervened in their investigation. Now, he’s suddenly furious.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Jon pulls out his phone and takes a photograph of the report. He places it back on Tim’s desk and leaves.

As he walks to the tube station, he pulls up the address on his phone. He takes the train that goes in the opposite direction of where he lives, changes trains twice, and finally, half an hour later, steps out into the chill September air. By now, it’s already getting dark. Jon pulls up the collar of his coat to protect himself against the cold, and begins to walk towards the haunted flat where Martin Blackwood disappeared.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #jonmartim #jontim #my fic #my fic: all that haunts us #it's heeere #my very first tma multichapter #and actually my longest ever fic #that I actually edit and upload #I have an entire rough draft done so I think regular updates will be fine?

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Cat Burglar Boyfriend

A/N: My roulette wheel landed on Lawmen and Conmen a second time, so clearly this method works! Cheers to my first piece of 2021! Requested by @white-magician​

Summary: Neal reasons that if the FBI didn’t want the benefits of unconventional methods, they wouldn’t employ unconventional consultants. In the process of using said methods, a cat changes the plans and Neal flees to your apartment.

Word Count: 4,651

           The Chelsea complex soared high over gentrified properties and closed storefronts. Though it could boast an impressive list of amenities for a mid-range apartment building in Manhattan, it came just short of magnetic keys. The suspect lived on the seventh floor in an east-facing unit, and thanks to Diana’s investigating, Neal knew that no one would be in the apartment until its tenant returned to New York in two days. He looked good in all black, which worked out especially well in times like this, when he needed to blend in with the dark and get in and out unnoticed.

           With all of the neighbors rightly asleep, it was a cinch to quietly pick the lock and let himself inside. Neal moved slowly, but not so slowly that he wasted time or would look strange if anyone happened to enter the hallway before he had the door closed behind him. A large window with the curtains left open allowed light to filter into the room, but it was still darker than the hall outside, and the thief remained still for a moment as his eyes adjusted.

           Now, there were only so many good places to hide the bank statements he was supposed to retrieve. (Supposed to might be a strong term, but what Peter didn’t know didn’t usually end up hurting him.) Neal knew all the regular tricks; under the mattress, in a sock drawer, in the freezer. Even a safe was possible, and since they tended to be more noticeable, a safe was even preferable. Without a particular time crunch, though, there was no need to be sloppy and run from one likely hiding spot to the other. Neal had all the time he needed to search carefully and systematically, to better make sure that no one would notice he had ever been here.

           He started in the bedroom, where people liked to store their most valuable belongings. It made an intuitive level of sense that what was precious should be stored close by, and no one spent more time in their kitchen than the room where they slept. He started to untuck the linens with gloved hands to raise the mattress when something small moved and he froze like a statue.

           A pair of slitted yellow eyes opened and blinked at him, followed by a brief flash of pink tongue as a small mouth opened in a yawn.

           His heart slowed and Neal smiled to himself. He was getting out of practice if he got that startled by a pet. “Hey, kitty,” he crooned, voice barely above a whisper. Taking just a second of pause, he ruffled the cat’s fur behind its ears. Its fur was so dark that with the lights off, it blended in with the navy duvet – except for the lighter tone of its nose and its glowing eyes.

           He went on with his business, briefly feeling apologetic for having woken the cat. It was unsatisfied with his intrusion on the bedroom and instead of going back to sleep, it stretched out its spine and hopped off the bed, heading out the ajar door. Neal lifted the mattress to feel underneath it, used his flashlight to check behind the headboard, and then felt inside the seam of the mattress itself for any lumps or crinkling. When he found nothing, he tucked the bedding back in and got to work on the twin nightstands.

           A quick but thorough search of the rest of the room, including the closet and dresser, yielded nothing but a mild concern as to why the room’s usual occupant needed so many different sunscreens. Though the bedroom was usually the best place to start, in this case, Neal admitted it was a bust and let himself out. He left the door cracked like he had found it so that the cat could come and go between the bed and its food.

           Speaking of the cat, it had apparently decided he wasn’t so awful, after all. Neal paused to pet it again as it rubbed around his legs, and after he’d given it a few strokes from flank to tail, the furry thing left his side. Neal headed for the next closed door and heard quiet water sounds on his way as the kitty lapped at its bowl. The door opened easily, but the bright red light of a motion-detecting laser caught his eyes straight away. The even line was barely an inch away from the furthest part of the door. It was only a few inches off the ground, and Neal didn’t see any others. He put one foot over it, heard no alarms and saw no lights, and finished his step.

           This room was an office, Neal realized. There were no windows to let the outside light in, so he turned on the lamp whose outline he could barely see. The yellow light hurt his eyes after walking around with moonlight and stars as his guides. The office was crowded but looked well-used, more lived in than the bedroom, even. There was more to search, that was for certain; between bookshelves stuffed from side to side and the desk with barely a square foot of clear space, Neal figuratively rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

           A small blessing was that although the room looked disorganized, the owner was fastidious. Neal quickly found that everything was right where it belonged, it simply needed more space in which to belong neatly. He flipped through heavily-read books to check between their pages, and knocked on the bottoms of drawers for hollow compartments. He found none. Once he had finished with the desk, he turned to the nearest bookshelf and, with a small sigh, began taking books out one at a time and flipping them open, giving papers the opportunity to fall out.

           It was going to take at least thirty minutes to flip through every single one of them. Neal just kept going. He had two full days to find the statements, but every time he came back raised the chances of being caught by a neighbor or building security guard. That meant he had to do it tonight, and do it well. He finally finished the first shelf and started on the second. As if it could feel and sympathize with his increasing restlessness, the suspect’s cat started to rub on his ankles again while meowing at him. Neal murmured a distracted hello and kept going.

           On the third shelf, Neal went to pull a book down when his fingers curled too far over the top and pulled a thick cardboard stand down instead of a book. He turned it to look at it. The cardboard was printed to look like the spines of books pressed tightly side-by-side. Neal quickly raised his eyes back to the shelf where he had pulled it from and saw a small black box that had been hidden behind it.

           “How’s that for clever?” He said aloud to the cat, putting the cardboard piece down carefully on the desk.

           The box wasn’t a safe. It had a small latch on the back that Neal had to take a few seconds to find, but it opened without a key or a combination. The owner clearly thought his cardboard trickery and motion detectors would be defense enough against any nosy burglars. The blue-eyed man grinned. Neal loved winning. He browsed through the papers inside the box and his grin just grew wider, smug. The bank statements were all inside.

           In the distance, a police siren sang. It was muffled from the windows. Out of habit and tension, Neal lifted his head to look towards the open office door. The red laser was still unbroken and even if the box had been a trap, the police didn’t have a response time that fast. Crimes happened all the time in New York City; no need to overreact. He had come here for the statements, and he wasn’t getting spooked without their information.

           Neal unfolded them and laid them down on the floor underneath the lamp. The desk would have been preferable, but there just wasn’t space. Neal went through each page of each statement, taking quick snapshots on his phone of both front and back pages. All the while, it niggled in his mind that the sirens were growing louder. Before he had even finished taking the photographs, he could see red and blue lights flashing on the wall opposite the office door, coming in through the window in the main room. The cat meowed, and Neal looked down at the doorway as the cat left.

           The cat left, walking straight through the laser line. Which meant it had come in, straight through the laser line. How long had it been since he had first noticed the cat in the office? Three minutes? Four? Easily long enough that the police were feasibly close. Silent alarm. Clever. Unwelcome, but clever.

           Stubbornly, Neal took fast photos of both sides of the last few pages, then folded them up, put them back in the envelope, and hurried to put them back in the box. He closed it, then put the cardboard piece back in front of it. It didn’t need to be perfectly even as long as it looked convincingly like an uninterrupted line of book spines from a foot away, which it did. Neal turned off the lamp and took a small leap over the laser as he scrambled out of the office, pulling the door closed behind him.

           His eyes had to adjust to the dark again, but he could tell that the lights outside weren’t moving. The police cars had parked. How long had they been parked? Any minute now they would come to the door, break in, apprehend him, unless he wasn’t there. But where could he go? Without knowing how close they were, walking out and trying to make it to the stairwell or elevator could result in him being seen leaving. There was also a high probability that there were police prepared to cut off the intruder in both the elevator and the stairwell, as well as the fire escape. Even if Neal wasn’t seen leaving the apartment, with his anklet and the alarm going off, it wasn’t a big leap to make and he knew the cops would be all too quick to make it. Even though they would be right to, he didn’t appreciate it.

           Without leaving through the door, and unable to take the fire escape from the kitchen, he had one other exit point: the balcony. Neal had noticed while he came in that the balconies ran straight above one another. If he could make it to the one beneath him, he could either sneak through that apartment and escape, or he could continue swinging down balconies until he reached the ground floor. Doing that would be dangerous. Doing it at all was dangerous, but repeating it six times to get all the way to the ground was five extra times he risked losing his grasp or landing badly.

           That was a problem for the next moment. Neal opened up the balcony doors and shut them behind himself. He couldn’t lock them from the outside, but hopefully the cops wouldn’t think twice about it. It would be weird to expect a break-in from a seventh-story balcony, after all; it wouldn’t be the strangest for someone not to lock those doors.

           Oh, but it had been quite a while since he’d last done this. And he had no equipment, either. There hadn’t been much to do in prison but for staying in shape, so he knew he had the upper body strength, but the lack of recent experience was letting the butterflies grow in his stomach. He grabbed onto the silver banister with one wrist facing the apartment and the other facing the empty air, and put one leg over the balcony siding first. Once he had a small grip with his toes on the concrete on the other side, he flipped his apartment-facing hand around the other way and lifted the other leg over the edge of the balcony. No floodlights were on him; that was a good sign.

           Neal chanced a look down over his shoulder. He could see the glint of silver from the balcony rail below. If they were all the same height, that was going to be about three feet higher than the balcony itself. If he could swing his legs and get his feet on the floor on the inside of that rail, he would be okay. He might still hurt himself, but it would be hard to fall backwards over a three-foot rail with forward momentum.

           From the balcony, he could see the front door to the apartment, and underneath it the bright light of a flashlight or tactical light. Time was up. Neal very, very carefully got himself as low to the ground as he could, putting a hand around the very bottom of the balcony rail and keeping the other tightly around the top. He let one leg, then the other fall; not both at once, just in case the weight on his hands came too suddenly. When his legs were only swinging minimally, he tightened his right hand and released his left, dropping it to the bottom of the rail where it met the concrete balcony floor. Dangling from the seventh story, he heard the slam of the apartment door as it was broken open.

           Luck was on Neal’s side; he was tall enough that, with his arms above his head, he could already get his feet over the lower balcony rail. He used that as a way of helping himself start swinging, and with extreme caution and a held breath, he let go, swinging forward and down onto the sixth floor balcony.

           His feet hit hard, and his back felt like it popped as it hit and slid a few inches on the top of the rail, but he was very solidly on the balcony. Neal let out a small wheeze and lunged for the balcony doors. They weren’t locked. (See? It wouldn’t be suspicious at all that the seventh floor’s balcony doors were unlocked.) Only once he was inside with the glass doors shut behind him did he realize that the lights weren’t all out, and he wasn’t alone; in the dim light cast by a paused television, a woman in comfortable-looking pajamas was standing facing the balcony with her arms crossed, evidently having watched him drop from the floor above.

           Neal looked back at her, trying to think of something to say but coming up short. There wasn’t much he could say. Even if he turned and left, she had seen his face, just as he had seen hers. She could describe him to the police.

           “You have ten seconds to convince me why I shouldn’t use this and scream for the police,” the woman threatened once it was apparent that Neal wasn’t going to say anything. “I’m sure they’ll hear me, the floors are thin.” He looked at her hands as something small sparked a little bit of blue and realized she was holding a taser.

           Ten seconds. He had done more with less. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised, putting his hands out to show he was unarmed. He didn’t try to move any closer to her, knowing that that might be seen as threatening, and instead stayed put. “And I wasn’t stealing anything up there. The cat tripped the alarm.”

           “Right,” she said skeptically. As his eyes adjusted to the changed light level yet again, he could see her hair was a little messy and her neckline crooked, like she had been comfortably laying on her couch for a while before noticing the circus on the balcony. “Because innocent men dress like cat burglars, jump off balconies, and blame the real cats.”

           “I mean it,” Neal insisted, this time putting his hands out at his sides. “Look, I haven’t got anything.” He hadn’t taken anything from the apartment. He knew better. Photographs were all they would need to find a lead, anyway. He thought about offering for her to check his pockets when it dawned on him. “I work for the FBI,” he told her openly. “I’m a consultant.”

           “Not much longer, if they find out you broke in upstairs,” she predicted flippantly. He got the feeling she didn’t really believe what he was saying.

           “No, it’s true.” Neal put his left hand down and put his right one in his pocket, taking out the small C.I. badge Peter had given him. He didn’t like to carry identification cards on his exploits, but if he were to be arrested or badly injured, he wanted Peter to be notified quickly. He trusted Peter to make the situation as least terrible as possible. “Here, you can look for yourself. It’s got the federal seal.”

           He gave it a toss. The woman let it fall instead of trying to catch it, and then squeezed her taser, making it spark warningly at him while she crouched down to pick it up. She flipped it open a little bit clumsily and turned her body slightly so the light from the TV would hit the badge. Making a sound of frustration, she backed up, switched her taser to the same hand as his badge, and hit a light switch on the wall which made the overhead snap on.

           Neal blinked against the bright light while she got a better look at the I.D.. She compared him to his picture and then checked it for the government seal on the laminate. Apparently satisfied, she closed it and tossed it back to him. She also lowered her taser, but not entirely.

           “The man upstairs is a murder suspect,” Neal lied smoothly. In truth, he was only legally a suspect in a white-collar crime, hence his own involvement, but since their key witness had gone missing less than a day ago, Neal and Peter both suspected there was foul play involved – hence the urgency that led Neal to sneak into the Chelsea building in the first place.

           “I’m pretty sure he still has Constitutional rights,” she retorted, but at this point she didn’t seem nervous or even angry, just a little bit annoyed, tired, and somewhat teasing, like she enjoyed having him at her mercy. In a way, Neal thought, she was like the cat from upstairs. Except the cat probably couldn’t work a taser. “So try again.”

           “Look.” Neal’s nerves were wearing thin. She had him on facts and he only had so many tries before she would write him off entirely. “We were at a dead end. We needed to find something. I didn’t take anything, just found a lead. If you turn me in, that lead and anything that could come out of it becomes fruit of the poisonous tree, and he’ll walk on murder and everything else.”

           She thought about it for a few seconds. Neal couldn’t tell which way she was leaning. Some people were steadfast about the rules, while others saw them as somewhat more flexible. The woman was very contemplative.

           “Stake your freedom on it?” She eventually asked. Neal nodded quickly. She nodded once, mind apparently made up, and put down the taser. She didn’t let go of it, but she wasn’t aiming it in any particular direction anymore, nor was she poised to use it. Neal let out an almost silent breath of relief.

           There was a time and place for awkward loitering, but now wasn’t it. With her blessing, Neal advanced, just to skirt around her and head for the door to take his leave. He was only a few steps towards her when a rap sounded like it was trying to knock the door off its hinges.

           “Police!” A man on the other side bellowed. Neal widened his eyes and took a step back. One of them must have seen his hands on the balcony before he had let go and swung down. They’d be watching the balconies now. There was no chance of getting out with them right outside. “We’re coming in! Stand back from the door!”

           The woman, instead of calling for them to enter faster, moved towards the couch and dropped her taser between the sofa back and its cushions. Neal spotted her dropping his badge down there with it and wondered if she was panicking or up to something. It would be just his luck if he had broken into the home of a nefarious plotter.

           The police broke the door in, making Neal question why he was saying he broke and entered when they were doing that. At least he was civil enough to use the doors without damaging them. These thoughts were largely a result of panic and anxiety, he knew; it felt like the walls were closing in. There wasn’t a way out, because he hadn’t realized the cat walked through the laser until too late. This was why he was a dog person.

           “What the hell?!” The woman who lived there shrieked at the cops, to Neal’s surprise. She hugged herself tightly as if she were frightened, and with the pajamas and slightly askew shirt, it was an easy sell.

           The police didn’t immediately come for Neal. Instead, they cleared the room systematically, and then two went into the two rooms on the right, while two passed through the living room. Of the latter two, one then went into the kitchen while the other stepped out and checked the balcony. The one who had broken in paced forwards to talk to the distressed tenant.

           “Ma’am, stay calm,” he ordered with the authority of a dozen lieutenants. “We’re looking for a burglar. A home security system was triggered in the apartment directly above you and one of my men saw someone jump down onto your balcony.”

           “We didn’t see anything!” She exclaimed, not so much argumentative as shocked. Neal nodded agreement, silently holding in his surprise at being included in her statement. “You think you see someone do acrobatics and now you get to break my door and force your way in?!” She raised her voice and directed her shout at the police in her bedroom. “Get out of there!”

           The officer turned to Neal, disregarding the tenant’s indignancy. “Who’s this?” He asked, giving the con artist a suspicious stink eye.

           “My boyfriend,” his apparent alibi snapped, reaching out and grabbing tightly to his hand. Neal quickly slipped his fingers through hers and squeezed as though he were comforting her. “We’ve been watching Netflix. We didn’t see anything!”

           “Didn’t see anything, huh?” The officer eyeballed Neal’s outfit. Neal thought to himself that maybe, just maybe, the all-black outfit was a tiny bit conspicuous, after all. “Didn’t hear anything, either?”

           He didn’t understand why you were covering for him, but Neal was going to play his part and not look a gift horse in the mouth. “Like she said,” he told the officer with an honest face, feigning some worry by creasing his brows. “We’ve been watching Netflix, we probably wouldn’t have heard anything with the balcony doors closed.”

           The officer moved his eyes around the room. The couch looked rumpled enough for two people to have recently been on it. Neal suspected it was because she had been laying down, but the officer probably wasn’t thinking about that. And, of course, a show was queued up on Netflix, the frame frozen at an odd fraction of a second that left a bit of a blur on a character’s face.

           The officers from the other rooms came back and reported to their boss that the apartment was clear. Neal’s savior huffed and said that she could have told them that herself, while squeezing his hand tightly.

           The officer in charge tried to placate her. “We’re just doing our jobs, Miss…”

           She glared at him. “Y/L/N,” she snapped. She said it with the tone of an insult, trying to hasten him out of her home.

           Playing his part, Neal squeezed her hand and brought it up to his mouth, giving a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “It’s okay, darling,” he softly reassured. “They were just making sure we’re safe.”

           “Could’ve tried asking us to open up instead of breaking my door!”

           The officers didn’t apologize for the intrusion or the damage, but the one in charge did let Y/L/N know what precinct to call and to ask for the billing department if her door turned out to actually be broken. They filtered out warily and skeptically. Neal knew that the one they talked to, at least, didn’t fully believe they hadn’t seen anything, but he didn’t seem to be convinced enough to call either of them on it. Especially since there were two of them, and the woman lived there, he knew that it would have been very shaky grounds on which to arrest him. He owed her for her quick thinking and her generous decision to not just trust him, but to cover for him.

           He stayed while the police filtered out and for several minutes after, waiting for them to leave. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. Y/L/N went to the door, made it shut and twisted the deadbolt, which he didn’t think had been on before. After rolling her eyes, she complained to him. “Entitled prick. It’s dark. He didn’t know what he saw. Didn’t even see a face. He had no business storming in here like that, what if I had little kids?”

           Neal had no response, though he saw the merit in her argument. Even if he didn’t, he wasn’t about to tell her that after what she’d just done for him. Y/L/N went to the window, looking out at the source of the red and blue lights, and then she went back to the couch, where she reached in and got his badge. She tossed it back to him.

           “You said you’d stake your freedom,” she reminded him, her eyes solemn and hard. They weren’t angry, but they were certain, and warning. “If I find out something’s been stolen, or that you lied about anything, that’s exactly what’ll be at stake, ‘cause I’ll tell.”

           “You just obstructed justice,” Neal pointed out to her. He felt a lot better now that there was some mutually-assured destruction.

           “Right,” she said sarcastically. The thief was starting to think he had overlooked something. “Because when a man jumps down onto my balcony and enters my home, and I’m all alone, I’m not terrified at all. I definitely wouldn’t do what he says to stay safe.” Yep, there it was; he had missed it. “So.” She crossed her arms again and stepped out of the way between him and the front door. “If your story doesn’t get holes poked in it, we won’t have a problem. If I find out you’ve been here to get people hurt? You’re going down with your ship. Are we clear?”

           Neal nodded, swallowing and staring at her with both respect and a little bit of indignation. He was getting off easily, but he didn’t like being spoken to like this, as though he were a bad guy. Sure, he took some things that weren’t his, but he didn’t threaten women or cover up violence. On the other hand, she was quick-witted, calm, and clever. Neal was impressed (and a little bit attracted, if he were going to be honest). Luckily, he knew that it was absolutely not the time for flirting, and he had the feeling that if he tried, she would take that taser out, too.

           “Crystal,” he promised, meeting her eyes warily as he walked in a wide semicircle around her to get to the door.

           His night hadn’t been a failure, but it also definitely had not gone as planned.

#lawmen and conmen #white collar lawmen and conmen #White Collar #white collar x reader #neal caffrey #neal caffrey x reader #oneshot #Crime #burglary #cat burglar boyfriend #fic #neal's pov #cat #happy 2021

[onyxiana-is-obsessed]

BRO YOUR IMAGINE WHERE S/O WAS KILLED AFTER THEY DIDN’T BELIEVE HER ABOUT THE CLONE THING WAS AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! can I ask for a part 2 or an Alternative ending? Where the body the police found wasn't the reader, they somehow find that the villains used the reader to transform her into a Nomu!! Like hearing her distorted voice blaming them PLEASE I WANT TO CRY MORE xdd

I’m glad you liked it! I am so sorry this is so late! I decided to make this a part two instead of an alternate ending! You did say you wanted to cry more so I did my best to make it as angsty as possible! I hope you like it! Length: 2k Pronouns used: She/her

Warnings: Swearing, details of a murder.

Disillusioned (Part 1)

Tag list: @shiggi-trash @neon-tries-writing @happynoodle @boku-no-dumbass @peachy-yabbay

Lost Again

The weeks following the incident with the villain were hard for the Big 3, especially Mirio. They hadn’t been the same since meeting her… or him. They hadn’t been the same since the day (f/n) disappeared, and it didn’t go unnoticed. When the trio had brought up meeting the villain to the heroes, they were all extremely concerned.

The biggest concern was whether or not (f/n) was alive. Thanks to what the villain had said, the police had reopened (f/n)’s investigation, going so far as to exhume her body and have it tested.

Unfortunately, the results were the same. Multiple forensic teams had tested her DNA, but all they came up was natural DNA. Meaning the body they’d found was actually her. However, the villain had mentioned being able to create clones, what if this (f/n) was just a realistic clone? The reopening of the investigation stirred the public, causing a bit of backlash.

Why didn’t they know the first time? Why did they exhume her body? Exhuming her body meant disrespect to the family. Why didn’t they do a thorough investigation the first time? A young girl died and no one took it seriously until the Big 3 brought up the villain. How did no one realize the villain had kidnapped her? How come her family hadn’t noticed?

The backlash was rough. Not only for the heroes but for Mirio and (f/n)’s family. They did their best to comfort Mirio and he did his best to comfort them. He’d apologized over and over for neglecting to see that (f/n) wasn’t herself, but her family disagreed. Even they couldn’t tell it wasn’t their (f/n). The villain had perfectly portrayed her, to the point where it was terrifying. If they could do that, that meant the villain could be anyone.

The police quickly got the pro heroes involved with their investigation, doing everything in their power to find (f/n) or at least the villains who did this to her. They didn’t have many clues to go on. There was only one thing that was extremely odd in her case.

Why did they clean her decapitated head?

The idea was baffling, why did the villains want her to be recognized? Cleaning the head meant people would easily identify her, barely any effort needed to be put in. When committing a crime, no one would want the victim to be recognized, yet here the villains were doing the exact opposite. It didn’t make any sense.

However, as odd as that was, there wasn’t anything concrete that led them to the killers or the original villain, who had kidnapped her. In fact, even a few weeks after, the police had little to no information on who was responsible.

“Mirio?” Tamaki called, seeing his friend enter Fat Gum’s agency in his hero suit. Behind him, Nejire popped her head out. She gave him a wave as the three came close together, greeting each other.

“Hey, Tamaki. Good to see you.” Mirio greeted, waving to his friend. Ever since (f/n)’s disappearance, Mirio hadn’t been the same. He wasn’t as cheerful, his smile always seemed forced, and there was always that lingering regret in his eyes.

The trio had been through therapy, and was still going in fact, but it didn’t do much. Their change was drastic and only one good thing came out of all of this. It fueled their need to be heroes even more. They were much more aggressive, more willing to take risks, and always second-guessed anything they found even a little bit suspicious. 

“You’re here, are you ready?” Fat Gum asked, walking to the three. They nodded, wanting to hear more information. “It’s that abandoned warehouse we’ve been passed, numerous times. We think there’s a villain base there and today we’re going to find out.”

“I thought it was empty. I’ve been in there before, but I’ve never seen anything.” Nejire explained, making Fat Gum nod.

“It was empty before, but recent witnesses started seeing activity there. From what we’ve gathered, multiple villains gather there at least once a week. We’re not sure what’s in there, but none of our agents have been able to get in. So, it’s our job now.” The trio nodded, ready to go. It wasn’t a big team by any chance, just Tamaki, Nejire, Mirio, Fat Gum, Ryukyu, and some police officers.

***

The team had arrived at the warehouse and were waiting on the signal from the officers. Mirio took a few deep breaths, trying to get in his hero mindset. He needed to push everything else out of his mind and perform like a hero.

The sad thing was, (f/n) never left their minds. No matter what they did. When they’d wake up in the morning, they’d think of her, when they went to class, when they went to lunch, when they saw their hero suits… that one was a big reminder. Seeing their own hero suits would remind them about how they’d failed to help. Just their suits alone would taunt them and that was only one thing.

The three pushed all of these cruel thoughts out of their head as they got ready for a fight. However, before any orders were given, the door abruptly burst open. A woman with black hair and piercing green eyes glared at them. She waved her hand causing green energy to throw them away. They all flew away and landed on the ground, immediately pushing themselves to stand up.

Nejire was the first one to get to the villain, however, a large purple beast got in her way. The nomu quickly grabbed Nejire, slamming her down onto the ground in front of it. She let out a pained cry as it kicked her away, making Tamaki catch her with his tentacles and bring her back down, safely.

The large nomu let out a loud scream, making the heroes prepare for a battle. The woman smirked as she pointed to the trio and laughed.

“That’s them! Doesn’t it hurt?!” She yelled and they glared at her. The nomu let out another cry but… this one was different.

“No…” Mirio whispered as his resolve shattered right then and there. That shriek was bone-shaking and so familiar. He could feel his heart speed up, there was that feeling in the pit of his stomach, that sinking feeling, it was almost like a bad nightmare. It was a bad nightmare. “No. NO! (F/N)!” The same reaction went through Nejire and Tamaki as they listened to the garbled mess coming out of the Nomu’s mouth. When they focused, they could hear words.

“Your fault!” No. Please no. Anything but that. Mirio ignored all logic and ran to the nomu, throwing himself at it. After his initial shock, all he could feel was intense remorse and regret. He felt the need to beg for mercy and forgiveness. But most of all, he needed the nomu to be some miserable hallucination of his. He couldn’t let this monster be his (f/n).

“(f/n)! I’m sorry! Please! Please don’t let this be you! I’m begging you!” He said, looking at the villain. “Tell me this isn’t her! This isn’t my (f/n)!”

“Oh? Can’t you tell?” She responded with a laugh. Mirio barely had time to respond before the nomu threw him away. Once again, Tamaki caught his friend and set him down.

“Th-that’s he-her!” Mirio cried, tears sliding down his cheeks. Both Nejire and Tamaki were also crying, unable to help it. Her distorted voice, the way it sounded so pained physically hurt them. It was almost as if something was repeatedly stabbing their chests. They felt nauseous and dizzy, it was both disgusting and so fucking sad.

So, the villain lied. The situation was actually worse. At least the other way, (f/n) would’ve died, but here… she was still alive and thinking. Clearly, since she was blaming them.

She sounded just like herself… but at the same time, she didn’t. The trio had frozen up, unable to move or think. Their minds started to shut down, unable to process anything but the fact that their (f/n) was a nomu.

When the pros realized this, the trio was told to leave. No one blamed them, fighting villains was hard enough, but to now have to fight their friend, their cherished loved one, was something else. So, the pros decided to handle the situation.

As the trio was leaving, something clicked for Mirio, and he refused. He knew if (f/n) was still alive and well, she wouldn’t want him to leave her like that. (f/n) was a good person. That last thing she’d want was to be turned into a fucking nomu. A villain to hurt her friends and the other heroes.

“We… have to finish this.” Mirio said. Just those words were enough. No need for an explanation, no need for convincing, because all three of them were thinking the same thing.

So they went back, ignoring the pros. They took a stand and they pushed past their fears. (f/n) wasn’t (f/n) anymore, so they weren’t hurting her. They were hurting the monster she was put in.

The trio worked like never before. It was almost like they were able to read each other’s minds, being able to synchronize their attacks. It was deadly, and that’s exactly what they were trying to do.

“I’m sorry!” Tamaki yelled as his large tentacles threw her away. Nejire flew up into the air and used her super move to take (f/n) down. Mirio was quick to deal the final blow. As much as it hurt and as wrong as it felt, he knew he had to.

They frowned and watched as (f/n) fell over, a pained groan leaving her mouth and her body landing on the ground with a loud thud. She wasn’t going to survive and the three sat by her as she slowly started to slip away. Before she did, though, they had something to say.

“I’m sorry, (f/n). I should’ve believed you. I’m sorry I didn’t, I… I wish I could take it all back. If I could, I would do it in a heartbeat. I love you so much, so much it hurts, baby. I was an awful boyfriend and an awful friend and I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could make it better. I wish I could make you better. I’d give my life for you right now. If we could switch places right now, I’d take that chance so quickly.” Mirio mumbled and only a weakened whine left her mouth. His hand gently grazed against her face. Tamaki reached out and touched her hand, sniffling as he spoke up.

“I-I’m sorry, I should’ve known it w-wasn’t you. I’m s-so sorry (f-f/n). I’m so sorry, I f-failed you. I f-failed as a fr-friend a-and hero. Like Mirio s-said. If I could sw-switch places with you, I w-would. I’m so, so, so sorry, (f/n). I’m so sorry.”

“(n/n)? You’ll be ok,” Nejire sniffled, sitting behind (f/n) and gently rubbing her large, muscly shoulder. “It’s ov-over. I’m sorry too! I wish I knew better. We should’ve trusted you, you had no reason t-to lie or, or do what you did! Y-you w-would never h-have hurt Amajiki. I-I’m so sorry! If I could, I’d give my life for you. I’d… I would trade places with you too, if I could. You don’t deserve this but we do. We… we do.” Her tears slid down her cheeks, landing on (f/n)’s shoulder and sliding down to her collarbone.

Unfortunately, the last sound that left her mouth wasn’t comprehensible. It was the same garbled mess but if this was, in fact, (f/n)… then she knew they were sorry. She knew they regretted what they did… not like it made much of a difference now. 

(f/n) was still gone. They still lost her and it turns out the outcome was worse than what they thought it was originally. How long had the villains had her like this? Did they take care of her? Did they abuse her? Why didn’t they just kill her? Why?

It didn’t matter. There was no one there to answer their questions. All they knew was the body was, indeed, fake. (f/n) had been turned into a nomu… and now she was gone. Again.

#mha #mha imagines #mha mirio #bnha #bnha imagines #mha angst #bnha angst #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mirio togata #bnha mirio #mirio togata x reader #my hero academia mirio

[dravenxivuk]

Can you please tell those of us who don't know much about Lily a little about her? I've always been curious from seeing her in your games!

Enthuse at length about my Witcher OC? sure xD 

Race: Demon Gender: Female Immediate family: None Sexuality: Bisexual disaster Occupation:  Witcheress, explorer 

Lily is thought to be around 400 years old, but she doesn’t actually know, and stopped paying attention at least three centuries ago. She shows no physical signs of aging.

Demeanour: Laid back and cheerful most of the time, but mess with those she cares about and she will hurt you. Maybe not now, but one day she will come back to you because she has all the time in the world. Less concerned about slights to herself, probably won’t even notice them. Will tease those she likes, but will tone it down if they’re getting uncomfortable. Does have a soft side but you have to earn her trust before she’ll show it.

Likes: Shiny things (especially if they’re sharp and pointy), learning, travelling & exploring, dancing, reading, red wine, having her head scratched at the base of her horns (very few people know this).

Languages: Can read and speak most languages of the Northern Realms fluently, has reasonable knowledge of other languages from her travels.

Preternaturally Strong: Lily’s strength is on par with a higher vampire.

Regeneration: Lily regenerates incredibly quickly – as fast, if not faster than, a higher vampire.

Always sober: Can’t get drunk due to how fast she heals, but keeps trying anyway!

Soul-free: Doesn’t have a soul.

Long Witcher 3 verse background under the cut (basically her about from the sideblog where I RP her @simplly-lilly ).  She has other verses - modern, Nioh 2 based, a couple of ‘old’ verses set 50-ish years after Witcher 3, but this is her main one.

Lily ended up in the Northern Realms because she investigated an interesting shiny disc she found in her own world. She appeared in an intricately drawn circle in a mage’s lab which was very pretty but she was far more interested in the shiny baubles he had hanging around so wandered over for a closer look. Master Bertrand, the mage, got quite upset that she just ambled out of his summoning circle, he wasn’t aiming for a horned woman but as she’d shown up she should at least have the decency to follow the rules.

Bertrand wrote a work, Master Bertrand’s Treatise on Summoning & Containing Demonic Entities, based on his summoning of Lily that made him infamous among goetia magic users, mostly because none were ever able to replicate his work and summon their own demon. Lily maintains this is because he only summoned her by accident because she went to look at the shiny disc.

Nonetheless it is possible to summon her, something that has so far been managed accidentally by one scholar in Oxenfurt and a group of witchers messing about in Kaer Morhen. Being summoned is disconcerting and makes her hungry, as such her standard advice for anyone trying to summon a demon is to dispense with the theatrics and make sure you have snacks on hand for when they get there because they’ll be grumpy. If she trusts someone enough she’ll give them her sigil so they can call her whenever they want.

Master Bertrand periodically subjected Lily to horrific experiments and she is heavily scarred as a result, but most people never notice as she heals so quickly her scars are barely visible. Those who do look closely might notice that a lot of them look medical, almost vivisection-like as the mage wanted to find out if demons were the same on the inside as people, among other things. Lily doesn’t like to talk about it and as those who do notice the scarring tend to put it down to fighting she generally doesn’t have to.

Lily ended up staying with Master Bertrand for about a century. He taught her various languages of the Northern Realms and how to read, which he regretted doing as soon as she found the library and started disappearing for weeks at a time. Lily stayed with the Bertrand as long as she did despite the hideous experiments he conducted on her, because it never occurred to her that she could leave.

There were protective wards around the house, and strong magical barriers controlling where she could go. The Mage experimented with magical implants for a while as a way to track and control her, but her accelerated healing powers just pushed them out almost immediately. When he needed to restrain her for an experiment he would have to use massive amounts of magic that would leave him drained for days. As she’s concerned dimeritium is just another shiny metal, it is no more or less effective at restraining her than anything else, and she’s very fond of silver.

Master Bertrand had an ongoing contract with a Cat witcher who brought him interesting bits of monsters for potions and occasional live specimens if requested. For one set of experiments Bertrand hired Cat to spar with Lily, he wanted to see how her speed and strength compared to a witcher having already established she was stronger than humans. Cat won easily and told Bertrand that if he wanted accurate measurements she would need to be trained otherwise the results would always be skewed, so Bertrand hired Cat to do just that.

Cat not only taught Lily hand-to-hand combat and sword play but how to use a whole range of blades, and how to hide them to pass the most thorough searches. Her witcher training would be obvious to any witcher who sparred or fought her, probably down to which school. She can fight very well, although she’s not quite as fast as most witchers, but she can also get reckless because it’s only pain and she heals. She’s very protective of her friends and while most of them are fast healing witchers, she regenerates faster so will put herself between them and peril if the need arises.

Cat also taught Lily how to make witcher potions and an exciting array of poisons, much to Master Bertrand’s annoyance as Cat (and later Lily) refused to share this knowledge with him. Cat tried to teach her to use witcher signs but abandoned it after she blew up half the lab trying to igni a candle.

Cat and Lily were a couple for almost 70 years. Cat made her promise that when he died she’d return his medallion to his school, however he didn’t set a time limit on doing it so she now wears it as her own. Cat also made her promise to look after his blades and put them to good use, most of the blades secreted around her person used to belong to Cat and they have all seen a lot of use. She’ll talk about Cat if pushed, but won’t bring him up voluntarily.

Cat died after being betrayed by Bertrand. Until Cat died she respected the magical barriers around the house, but the pain and fury over his death tapped into her demon nature more fully than any experiment and the barriers came apart as she forced through them. The ensuing fight with Bertrand was when they both discovered how distorted and warped magic can really get around her when she goes full demon. It was the last thing he ever discovered as shortly afterwards she ripped his heart out.

She also destroyed a lot of the darker corners of his lab, but she left the library and house intact. Much as she hates the place it’s always handy to have somewhere to go back to if absolutely necessary. She has an interesting collection of magical knickknacks courtesy of inheriting Bertrand’s collection, most she keeps because they’re shiny but a couple are actually useful.

She likes witchers and vastly prefers their company to humans, mostly because they’ve travelled a lot and seen a lot of shit so always have an interesting story to tell. They also know what it’s like to mostly pass as human until people get up close. When very bored she has been known to put up a contract on herself. Occasionally it works.

She will break her horns off herself if she’s travel through somewhere sensitive (looking at you Novigrad) but she doesn’t like doing it because they itch when they grow back, particularly when they’re going through the velvet shedding phase. Her horns usually grow a bit quicker than her hair, but if she takes a massive amount of damage they’ll grow back more quickly as her body kicks into healing mode.

Lily is a firm believer in hugs, and gets particular joy from hugging tetchy witchers as she’s sure they’d enjoy hugs too with a little practice. She just ignores it when they’re a bit awkward as it’s often been a while since whichever witcher she’s tackle hugged this time last had any friendly contact.

#oc lily #witcher oc #witcher ocs #information dump! #that's probably a lot more than you wanted to know xD #i get quite enthusiastic about my demonic disaster daughter #gharashambles

[introvertguide]

The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957); AFI #36

The film most recently under review was the British class, The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957). I know that this is almost an entirely British production and the American co-lead in this film is an add-on, but is on the AFI top 100. Also, it’s a darn good film that portrays the blindness that comes with pride and power. In a war setting, this blindness can cost lives and we sometimes forget what the fight is for (sometimes it is nothing). The movie won seven Oscars for Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Director, Best Screenplay, Best Cinematography, Best Editing, and Best Scoring. The film also swept the Golden Globes and the BAFTAs (the movie won Best British Film at the latter). The struggle for power between a British officer and a Japanese internment camp officer is the driving force for almost the entire movie and the psychological chess match is fascinating. Everything else feels kind of like filler, but that might just be me. Before I opine any further, let’s look at the plot, which is always proceeded by:

SPOILER ALERT!!! THIS IS A CLASSIC FILM WELL KNOWN THROUGHOUT NORTH AMERICA AND WESTERN EUROPE BUT I STILL HAVE TO PUT UP A WARNING!!! I THINK EVERYONE KNOWS THE ENDING, BUT I WILL STILL GET COMPLAINTS IF I DON’T SAY SOMETHING!!! ENJOY THE SYNOPSIS!!!

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In 1943, POWs arrive at a Japanese prison camp in Burma. Two prisoners talk about a recently dead prisoner, giving the idea that many have perished and nobody even remembers their names. The Allied prisoners march from the train into camp whistling the famous Colonel Bogey March and line up at attention in front of their own officers including Lieutenant Colonel Nicholson (Sir Alec Guinness). On arrival to the quartering area, the Japanese commander, Colonel Saito (Sessue Hayakawa), says that all prisoners, no matter rank, will work to construct the railway from Bangkok to Rangoon. 

Nicholson says that his men will work, but the Geneva convention says that officers are exempt from manual labor. That evening, Nicholson meets the other prisoners. The rounds include an American Lieutenant Commander named Shears (William Holden) as well as the ranking British medical officer, Major Clipton (James Donald). In conversation, Nicholson tells Shears that there will be no escape attempt since his group had been ordered to surrender and escape would be defiance to his superiors. This adherence to “proper military behavior,” even at the expensive of self perseverance, is a major theme throughout the film.

At the morning assembly before work began, Nicholson again refuses to have his officers perform manual labor. Saito threatens to have the group executed, but Major Clipton steps in and says there are too many witnesses and Saito will face charges for murder after the war. As punishment, Saito decides to leave the officers all day in the jungle heat. At the end of the day, the officers are put in a cramped punishment hut while Nicholson is put into a very small iron box named “the oven.”

While the British officers are being punished, Shears and two others make an escape attempt. Shears gets away but the other two are killed. He wanders off and finds a Siamese village where he is nursed back to health and then travels to the British colony of Ceylon. 

Shears gets away but the officers are detained for what is described as a month later in the film. The prisoners won’t work and constantly sabotage the bridge project in protest of having their officers locked away. Saito realizes that he will have to commit suicide if he does not complete the bridge (as impossible as it seems to be), so he finally gives in and releases Nicholson and his officers saying they don’t have to complete manual labor. It was a win of principle and it is strange to see all of the soldiers cheering their officers even though the release will not give them more time or any help. “Yay, our superiors are allowed to do nothing and take credit for the work!! Hooray!!”

Much to the chagrin of his soldiers, Nicholson chastises the men for the poor job that they are done. The officer feels that soldiers need to take pride in their work to maintain morale, even if it means helping the enemy. The officers do a thorough overhaul of the bridge plans and move the construction downstream. They also increase the expected completion rate to try and finish before the deadline. Nicholson thinks it will be an example of British ingenuity and strength if they can complete the project on time...while helping the enemy.

Looking back at the condition of the American in a Ceylon hospital, we learn that the officer stole his rank and impersonated someone else in order to get better treatment at the camp. We know that this did not work out, but it is still treason and could earn Shears serious punishment. A British officer said that the American Navy was aware of this and transferred Shears to the British military for a special mission to destroy the bridge that is being built at the camp. Shears has no choice, but is allowed to volunteer for the mission to save face (which he does).

Shears is going to have to move fast, because Nicholson pushes his men (as well as other local workers) to complete the project. He even has Saito’s men pitching in an attempt to allow the commandant to save face. They are able to complete the entire bridge in only 3 months, just in time to allow the Japanese military to transport officers and dignitaries safely through the jungle. Nicholson proudly puts up a sign commemorating the bridge's construction by the British Army, from February to May 1943.

Shears is able to parachute into the jungle, commando style, the day before the first train is scheduled to cross the bridge. Four men are in the group (make that three because one didn’t survive the jump) that land and get to a Siamese village. The 3 men are aided by the local chief and some of the village women. The group go under the cover of darkness and plant explosives on the bridge supports below the water line. The group waits until the next day to try and blow up the bridge and the dignitaries at the same time.

A problem arises at daybreak when the level of the river goes down and exposes the wire connecting the explosives and the detonator. This is spotted by Nicholson and he is so wrapped up in honor and duty that he point it out to Saito. The two officers take a group of Japanese soldiers over to investigate what is going on in the riverbank. It appears that Nicholson has forgotten what side he is on amongst the fervor to complete his pet project in the name of the British military. 

One of the commandoes breaks cover and kills Saito while Nicholson actually yells for help to keep the team from the detonator. He is killed and Shears runs out to try and hit the detonator but is shot and killed as well. Nicholson sees Shears and realizes what he has done. A mortar round from the last commando in the brush injuries Nicholson and he has just enough energy to fall on the plunger for the detonator to blow up the bridge just as the train is crossing. The medical officer, Clipton, watches the proceedings and mutters to himself “Madness!” Roll credits.

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I harp on the movie for not being American, yet still on the AFI top 100. I will admit here that there is a large portion of the film that is designated to the adventures of Major Shear that feels quite like an American story. The thing is, it doesn’t feel like he has a character arc at all. On the other hand, neither does Nicholson until the last 5 minutes of a movie that is over 2.5 hours long. He has the character direction of a candy cane. 

I will get into the great parts of the film, but one more complaint is the pace of the film. It is really boring at times. The characters are established early on in the movie and don’t really change, so they do exactly what you would expect them to do. The only twist at all is literally in the last five minutes. That last five minutes is phenomenal, but you sure have to be patient to get that far. I had to watch the movie twice because I fell asleep during the third quarter of the film. Upon watching again, I realized that I really did not miss much.

For the good, Sir Alec Guinness and Sessue Hayakawa were amazing. Both play men trying to survive in an impossible situation and the only thing guiding them is principles and honor. Without their principles, they will die and so will the men that report to them. It seems obvious that both men have made decisions that have ended up with the death of soldiers and civilians, so neither is afraid to sacrifice themselves or others on principle. 

I am somewhat confused as to why the Allied soldiers follow the orders of Nicholson. His fight is so that he does not have to do manual labor. When he wins the game of chicken with Saito, he rewards his men by having them work harder to aid the cause of the enemy. Nicholson is like Forrest Gump in some ways because he does exactly what he is told to do (or at least how interprets his instructions). Officers don’t participate in manual labor so risks his (and his officers) to abide this. He was ordered to surrender so he will not attempt escape. The bridge is based off British plans so he will complete the job. He is given a deadline to accommodate enemy officers and dignitaries so he will finish before that time. Those guys shouldn’t be down by the river with explosives so he immediately informs Saito.

Shears was probably the most flexible character, but he did not change over the family. He also did not look like somebody who had been in a POW camp. He had a bit of a dirt tan, but he was healthy and muscular like a man who had a muscle isolated workout plan and a balanced 3,000 daily calorie diet. The clothes may have been shabby, but none of the soldiers really looked like starving POWs. Also, all of the women in the film (there were a few) were all young, good looking, and had great teeth. I kind of doubt it. 

Although the characters were interesting, the film did a pretty poor job of painting each lead as a stereotype. The American lied about his history, talked big, and took on the crazy missions. The British officer followed rules to the point of harming others. The Japanese officer was honor bound and willing to kill as a matter of obedience. This is not what I think, but it was reportedly what the writer of the source material, Pierre Boulle, thought. 

One thing that I have not touched upon because I wanted to save it mostly for when director David Lean’s opus, Lawrence of Arabia, comes up, the shots of the jungle in Cinemascope are beautiful. From the beginning when we ride in on a train right behind a machine gun, the background speaks volumes. There are not a lot of close ups because the jungle is made into a character. There is no greater threat to the captors or the prisoners than the environment surrounding them and Lean makes sure that the viewer is constantly aware of this. It is really what keeps the film from becoming tedious at times, so a round of applause for director David Lean and cinematographer Jack Hildyard.

My questions that I always ask myself will be answered a little different than normal. Does this film belong on the AFI top 100? Absolutely not. It is blatantly a British film and should not be pilfered because of a couple American actors and screenwriters. It does, however belong on the BFI top 100 and it stands at #11 on the list of greatest British films. Would I recommend it? Absolutely. Also, pay attention to the scenery because the characters are established very early and have little growth, so the camera work is the best part between the first 30 minutes and the last 15 minutes. I am not sure that the film needed to be so long, but it is still very good and deserves a full watch.

#the bridge on the river kwai #william holden #david lean #AFI top 100 #british films #cinemascope #award winner #1950s #greatest films #movies #introvert #introverts #film score #Colonel Bogey

[rivet-ing-titanic]

April 30th, 1912 - American Inquiry Day 11

Pictured: Philip A.S. Franklin (left) and J. Bruce Ismay (right) during the US inquiry into the disaster.

Day 11: A first big thing that is notable about today is the fact that the first woman witness is called to testify, a first class passenger named Mrs. Helen W. Bishop. But the morning starts with a seemingly unrelated individual to the disaster, but it comes that he had insider knowledge regarding a telegram addressed to “Islefrank” or “Franklin” on Monday morning. It is later asked that the testimony be sent to the officers of Western Union Telegraph, to advise them that one of their employees is leaking information. Another seemingly unrelated character is Deputy Morgan of the United States Marshall services who was in charge of the elusive Luis Klein. Colonel Archibald Gracie was among the first class passengers who testified today. His story is one that he later captures in books that are still read to this day. His story is definitely worth reading. 

Witnesses:

Edward J. Dunn, Salesman;

Charles H. Morgan, Deputy United States Marshall;

J. Bruce Ismay, managing director of I.M.M and Managing Director of the White Star Line (recalled later in the day);

C.E. Henry Stengel, First Class Passenger, RMS Titanic;

S.C. Neale, Counsel for I.M.M;

Colonel Archibald Gracie, First Class Passenger, RMS Titanic (recalled later in the day);

Mrs. Helen W. Bishop, First Class Passenger, RMS Titanic;

Dickinson H. Bishop, First Class Passenger, RMS Titanic;

Notable Quotes/Lines of Questioning or Summarized Testimony:

Edward Dunn, was a salesman who was speaking with an acquaintance about the Titanic disaster, at which “the question arose that there were rumors that there was a telegram delivered at the Western Union office to be delivered, or a message had been received by wireless addressed to Islefrank; and the wireless people, not knowing who Islefrank was, in turn turned that telegram over to the Western Union people to deliver to Islefrank. It appears that the telegram was delivered at the White Star office between half-past 7 and 8 o'clock that Monday morning.”  Dunn is continuously asked to give the name of his informant, but he remains steadfast and will not tell the subcommittee that man’s name.

The topic of Luis Klein comes back today as Deputy Morgan is interviewed. He presents a signed paper in which Klein waives the need for official subpoena, and agrees to come from Cleveland to D.C. in order to testify. Klein made it to D.C. with the Marshall, however he snuck out of his hotel at 7a.m. one morning and has not been seen since.

Ismay takes the stand again before the senators.  He starts by explaining all the lines held and controlled under the I.M.M. Then they discuss the relationship with Harland & Wolff, Thomas Andrews and the work they have done for White Star Line.

On their contract with the British Government: “No, sir. We are supposed to use the fastest ships we have in our fleet for the conveyance of the mails, but there is absolutely no penalty attached to our not making any special speed… I think there is a minimum; or we are not allowed to put the mails into ships that will go less than 16 knots, or something like that.” – Ismay

“No, sir. We have never built a ship with Messrs. Harland & Wolff by contract at all. They have carte blanche to build the ship and put everything of the very best into that ship, and after they have spent all the money they can on her they add on their commission to the gross cost of the ship, which we pay them. We have never built a ship by contract.” – Ismay

“She might not have sunk. I think it would have taken a very brave man to have kept his ship going straight on an iceberg. I think he should have endeavored to avoid it.” – Ismay

Ismay provides copies of all messages he sent aboard the Carpathia. 

“We have given instructions that no ship belonging to the I.M.M. Co. is to leave any port unless she has sufficient boats on board for the accommodation of all the passengers and the whole of the crew.” – Instructions given by Ismay the day following his reaching New York.

“Because there was room in the boat. She was being lowered away. I felt the ship was going down, and I got into the boat.” – Ismay, on why he boarded a lifeboat.

“Mr. Chairman, I understand that my behavior on board the Titanic, and subsequently on board the Carpathia, has been very severely criticized. I want to court the fullest inquiry, and I place myself unreservedly in the hands of yourself and any of your colleagues, to ask me any questions in regard to my conduct; so please do not hesitate to do so, and I will answer them to the best of my ability…” – Ismay (for full statement: LINK)

“I have no fault to find. Naturally, I was disappointed in not being allowed to go home; but I feel quite satisfied you have some very good reason in your own mind for keeping me here.” – Ismay. Smith has asked a number of men, mainly those of higher status, to say for the record, their opinions and confirm he was acting in a correct manner. I think you can look at this one of two ways: being extremely thorough and meticulous in this investigation, or you could see it as a CYA (cover your ass) attempt because some other people he didn’t consider their feelings or desires in the slightest.

Put into record was a letter from Ismay to Senator Smith, and Smith’s subsequent reply regarding Ismay’s departure for home. (link)

“I am working night and day to achieve this result, and you should continue to help me instead of annoying me and delaying my work by your personal importunities.” Smith in his reply to Ismay

“There was no one else around, not a person I could see except the people working at the boats, and he said, ‘Jump in.’ The railing was rather high - it was an emergency boat and was always swung over toward the water - I jumped onto the railing and rolled into it. The officer then said, ‘That is the funniest sight I have seen tonight,’ and he laughed quite heartily. That rather gave me some encouragement. I thought perhaps it was not so dangerous as I imagined” – Stengel

“There was a lady had a cane, I believe, with an electric light, and she was flashing this light, and they were going to that boat, and we were going toward that boat, and there were two other boats around, so the two or three of us kept together; that is, all the boats besides our own kept together.” Stengel (see this post about the electric cane)

A letter that I.M.M Counsel Neale sent (or directed his associate to send) to the Commissioner of General Immigration that stated the passengers would arrive in Halifax, and provided incorrect number of survivors, was put on the record. This was directed by Neale based upon a message that his office received from Franklin in New York.

Colonel Archibald Gracie  – A name many are familiar with, when it comes to the sinking of Titanic. He wrote two books about his experience, one co-authored by another survivor named John B. (Jack) Thayer (Titanic: A Survivor’s Story and The Sinking of the S.S. Titanic); as well as one he wrote himself called The Truth About the Titanic. His answers and testimony are quite long so I have provided a link to his testimony here, as I think he has a fantastic story to tell. You should read it. There are many quotes I wanted to include but for space, I have not.

“That is the boat that I came to when I came up from below. I was taken down with the ship, and hanging on to that railing, but I soon let go. I felt myself whirled around, swam under water, fearful that the hot water that came up from the boilers might boil me up - and the second officer told me that he had the same feeling - swam it seemed to me with unusual strength, and succeeded finally in reaching the surface and in getting a good distance away from the ship.” – Gracie

“There was a splendid Frenchwoman, who was very kind to us, who loaned us one of her blankets to put over our heads - that is, four of us. One poor Englishman, who was the only other passenger besides Mr. Thayer and myself who was saved on this raft - he was bald, and for that reason he needed this protection, which was very grateful to him. It was very grateful to me, too. The people on the Carpathia received us with open arms, and provided us with hot comforts, and acted as ministering angels.” – Gracie

“We thought of nothing at all except the luxury of the ship; how wonderful it was.” – Mrs. Bishop

“The conduct of the crew, as far as I could see, was absolutely beyond criticism. It was perfect. The men in our boat were wonderful. One man [a lookout, though she was not sure which] lost his brother. When the Titanic was going down I remember he just put his hand over his face; and immediately after she sank he did the best he could to keep the women feeling cheerful all the rest of the time. We all thought a great deal of that man.” – Mrs. Bishop

Mr. Bishop did not have much more to say than his wife, except to pass on some hearsay about a watertight door on E deck and that the women and children order had not yet been given when they got in boat no. 7 (the first to leave the starboard side). It is somewhat unclear to me the way in which they selected passengers to testify.  Gracie makes sense but I am unsure whether the Bishops added much. However, it is of note, that the Bishops are of Michigan, and that is Senator Smith’s state.

“I only mention that fact, because they [Butt, Millet & Moore] were perfectly imperturbable, showing their confidence in the ship, that no disaster was going to take place. In fact a great deal of my testimony is given for that purpose, to show how unconcerned everybody was about this serious disaster until the very last.” – Gracie

SEE American Inquiry Day 10 post here.

#mypost #this day in history #titanic inquiry #colonel archibald gracie #j bruce ismay #passengers #may 1 #International Mercantile Marine Co #rms titanic #sinking of the titanic #april 30

[marcjampole]

Are the George Floyd riots the American Reichstag Fire?

I have to admire the thousands of people protesting the awful death of George Floyd and the unredeemable racism in the criminal justice system that it represents. Even wearing masks, the protestors are risking their lives to show that they are both sick to their stomachs and exhausted by the centuries of racism that have poisoned the United States. Young and old, protestors are more likely to be hurt or die as a result of contracting Covid-19 at the rallies than from police brutality or getting run over by an uncontrollable mob. As is typical, the overwhelming majority of protestors have been peaceful, despite the rage boiling inside them. Congratulations to the thousands of peaceful protestors for their bravery and dedication to the cause. 

There should be no prize or nod of recognition to those who predicted that we would once again see a national series of marches protesting police violence. It was bound to happen again as long as police departments don’t do a good job weeding out racists, as long as police recruitment ads focus on military adventurism and not peace-keeping skills, as long as police unions keep protecting bad apples, as long as we have an administration in Washington that is both racist and brutal and encourages both racism and brutality. It would have also been easy to predict that some demonstrations might lead to violence, because violence will occasionally break out at even a well-organized protest. 

Keeping in mind that we don’t know yet how many of the incidences of violence at Floyd protests were large enough to be called riots and the broader question of what constitutes a riot, let’s consider how riots start. At the heart of the riot dynamic is the simple fact that most people are followers and conformists. Most people look to others to set the tone. One trivial example: In the late 1970’s in Candlestick Park, there were more people in the stands passing a doobie than standing up with their right hand at their hearts during the singing of the Star Spangle banner. Post 9/11, if you don’t put your hand to your heart and sing, people give you dirty looks.  A less trivial example: tattoos. Thirty years ago, tattoos were an expression of rebellion; but nowadays, most people below 50 consider it a lifestyle decision.

A riot consists of two kinds of people: Those who start it and everybody else. Imagine being in a swarm of people that breaks off from a march or has been herded into a relatively confined space by the police and/or urban geography. Three people break the glass of a storefront and start looting. The entire crowd moves that way, sweeping individuals along with it. A few other people—let’s call them early adopters—start taking things. All of a sudden, what was once taboo is now being done by everyone. Keep in mind that everyone there—the good, the bad, the blessed and the cursed—is angry, frustrated and tired of the constraints of quarantine. Many are quite poor and long past disgusted at getting exploited, demeaned and paid poorly by the wealthy.

Or imagine that the same three people set fire to a car. A protestor’s better self knows it’s wrong, but the same primitive instinct that has you yelling for a defensive lineman to cripple the opposing quarterback kicks into high gear, so you start cheering. Your cheers and those of all the other basically good people around you are part and parcel of the start of a riot.

Keeping the three or four riot starters from activating the crowd is the key to making certain that a peaceful demonstration doesn’t steer into violence. Now at this point in history, virtually every group involved in organizing demonstrations for civil rights, criminal justice reform, LGBTQ rights, immigrants, the poor or any other cause under the banner of progressives and the left knows how to keep protests nonviolent. Additionally, the accurately named incident called a “police riot” really doesn’t happen in much of the country any more, even if individual instances of police brutality are frequent and ubiquitous. Good planning by organizers and police restraint explain why protests usually lead to very few altercations nowadays.

So why have the George Floyd protests been different? Do we blame the added frustration of the Covid-19 quarantine? Were there too few march monitors because of the relative spontaneity of the actions? Did the mix of responsible versus irresponsible people skew too much to the irresponsible, because the responsible ones stayed home to avoid the crowd?

Early evidence is suggesting another, more nefarious reason for the riots: They were started by white, right-wing provocateurs interested in stirring up a race war in America.

Already the police in Pittsburgh, Nashville, and Minneapolis suspect that riots in these cities were started by white nationalists. Mayors from all over the country report that a larger than usual number of riot participants have come from out of town.

What we may be experiencing is an American reboot of the 1933 arson attack on the German parliament building, called the Reichstag, that was perpetrated by Nazis, but blamed on the communists by the recently elected Nazi government. Now I’m not saying that Trump or the Trump campaign is directly or even indirectly paying white supremacists to start riots at George Floyd protests. It could be someone else. For example, we know that Koch-sponsored organizations are financing the anti-Covid 19 protests around the country—you know, the ones in which oversized, evil-looking dudes carry large weapons and are allowed to menace everyone around them. 

But even if Trump had nothing to do with setting up these riots, he certainly is using the Nazi playbook following the Reichstag fire: labelling the protestors and rioters as terrorists and calling for the police to crack down with heavy boots and blazing firearms against rioters, and by implication, against protestors, too. 

Motive is an important element in proving any criminal case, and there can be no doubt that Trumpites have more of a motive to start a riot than do #Blacklivesmatter, Antifa or other social justice and civil rights movements and organizations. As New York Governor Andrew Cuomo pointed out in a magnificent speech at today’s daily press conference (June 1), Trump and the conservatives are delighted to change the topic from the institutional racism that led to George Floyd’s murder to rioters creating mayhem in the streets and threatening our way of life. By contrast, it was and is in the best interest of those protesting to keep things peaceful.  

The facts are slowly falling into place and so far, it looks as if white racists and not legitimate protesters who started many if most of the violence. Expect a white wash from the Barr Justice Department, but a thorough investigation by a number of state governments. 

By the way, it’s easy to separate racists from non-racists among so-called friends of social justice by how they react to the violence. The non-racists like Cuomo focus on how the violence helps the right-wing narrative. The racists insist that the rioters have undercut their case for change. That case has not changed. Probably at the instigation or white provocateurs, a few people did some stupid stuff. As some have pointed out, their looting is peanuts compared to the $600 billion large corporations and banks have looted from the American people in the form of Covid-19 financial help, while individuals, small business, states and municipalities have been largely ignored.

#georgefloyd #protests #riots

[icryyoumercy]

i love that a legitimate way to prevent tetanus in an unvaccinated individual is 'just make the wound a whole fucking lot bigger'

#three cheers for thorough investigation #a study in sex drugs and french #oh this problem is most common in deep narrow wounds that don't bleed a lot? #get my knives we're gonna stop people from having such wounds #is there any study on the treatment of tetanus in people who refuse a vaccine? #like this is one vaccine you can refuse with a clear conscience! #you cannot infect other people with tetanus #unless you actively try #in which case that'd be murder #and also very difficult to accomplish

[purplesurveys]

604

1.) What was the last strong scent you smelled? Kate poured some gin in her cup last night and the smell from the bottle wafted towards my nose. Shit staaaaaaaaank 2.) When was the last time you changed your outfit? 10 minutes ago – I just took a shower. 3.) What did you buy the last time you went shopping for new clothes? I got this cute two-piece ensemble of a bralette top and high-waisted pants. 4.) What is your favorite meal of the day? Dinner. 5.) Do you typically eat breakfast or skip it? I usually kinda have to skip it regardless if I’m full or downright starving. We have godawful traffic and I’d rather make it to school on time than spending +1.5 hours on the road just because I decided to have breakfast at home for 10 minutes.

6.) What was the last thing you took a picture of? I took a selfie of me cooking corned beef yesterday because it was the first time I ever made it hahahaha. 7.) Do you have a collection of anything? Not really. I always say I collect receipts from dates but I honestly haven’t done that or been thorough with my collection for like a year now. 8.) What was the last thing you threw away? My dog did some number 2′s so I cleaned up his mess. 9.) What is the cause of your current emotional state? I’m feeling waves of shame because I’ve already misplaced Gabie’s early Christmas gift to me (Apple earpods that I only got a month ago). Couple that with my usual seasonal Christmas depression, and you would know I’m not doing so well. 10.) What were the last plans you made? How about cancelled? Jum, Aya, Kate and I were making plans to party for New Year’s when I drove them to their dropoff point last night. I don’t think I’ve cancelled any plans, at least in a while. 11.) How did you discover your favorite band? It’s from this girl who discovered them while we were in Grade 4. 12.) Does the weather affect your mood? If so, in what ways? Yeah, I get lethargic being outside when it’s humid. I work okay and am generally in a better mood if it’s chillier or if it’s raining out. 13.) When are you most likely to be bored? If I’m outside and alone. I tried eating dinner alone twice so I can understand what other people mean whenever they say how spoiling yourself while alone is good self-care, but I hated every minute of being by myself cos I just found it boring and a bit sad. 14.) What was the last big decision you made? Haven’t made any big ones in a while. 15.) Where was the last place you traveled to, and what did you do while there? The last far place I drove to was a small community in Bulacan. We held a journalism workshop for their members. 16.) What is your favorite thing to go shopping for? Clothes. <– Yep. 17.) How organized are you? I’ve said this already but I’m messy-organized. My working space is usually a mess, but I know where everything is. I love making to-do lists, categories, tables, and charts though so maybe I lean towards being organized. 18.) What were the positives and negatives of your last week? Huge positive was turning in my last requirement and thus ending my semester; another positive was it was my org’s initiation rites for our newest batch of members AND our Christmas party last weekend. Shittiest negative was misplacing a very valuable gift from Gabie lately. 19.) If applicable, how did you decide what you wanted to study in college/university? I’ve always been good at and loved writing, telling stories, and watching investigative documentaries. I thought I was going to like journalism, but it turns out I’m much more comfortable just reading the news and being on the audience side when I watch investigative joun stuff. 20.) What was the last thing you received in the mail? My online order of three necklaces for Gab. 21.) What is one of your wildest dreams or ambitions? To end up working for WWE, my absolute dream company. 22.) When was the last time you performed in front of a group of people? My org was a participant in last school year’s freshman orientation party and we had to perform this cheesy choreography thing for them (along with other partner orgs) by the end of the day. 23.) Who was the last person to upset you? How about the last person to cheer you up? The answer to the first question is me. As for the second one, it has to be my friends last night. We had our Christmas party and it was nice to be with them where we weren’t fixated on our laptops because we’re working. 24.) Is there anything or anyone you’re trying to get over or let go of? Yes. 25.) What was the subject of your last phone conversation? I just told Gab I was so sorry and that I am very disappointed in and hating myself at the moment and hung up. 26.) What are your plans for tomorrow? How about the weekend? If I remember correctly, we have a test photoshoot with our chosen photo studio for our grad shoot tomorrow but nothing’s been said about it lately so I don’t actually know if that would push through. If it’s a go, I guess I’ll have to go to that. 27.) When was the last time you were sick? Three years ago. 28.) How close do you have to be with someone before you’ll consider them a friend? I dunno, they just shouldn’t annoy me lmao. 29.) What did the last jacket you wore look like? It’s dirty white and it’s got some Japanese print on the left side. 30.) Name five things you can grab from where you’re sitting. A pair of scissors, the keys for our family car, a jar of peanut butter, our dining table decor, and my shoulder bag.

#survey #surveys

[bountyofbeads]

Boeing Employees Mocked F.A.A. and ‘Clowns’ Who Designed 737 Max https://nyti.ms/36J0UIg

Breaking News: Boeing employees mocked the FAA and bragged about getting it to approve the 737 Max with little new training for pilots, internal documents show.

“This airplane is designed by clowns, who are in turn supervised by monkeys." Boeing employees mocked federal rules, talked about deceiving regulators and joked about potential flaws in the 737 Max as it was being developed, internal documents show.

Boeing Employees Mocked F.A.A. and ‘Clowns’ Who Designed 737 Max

The company expressed regret at the embarrassing communications it sent to investigators on Thursday, which included a comment that “this airplane is designed by clowns, who are in turn supervised by monkeys.”

By Natalie Kitroeff | Published Jan. 9, 2020 | New York Times | Posted January 10, 2020 |

Boeing employees mocked federal rules, talked about deceiving regulators and joked about potential flaws in the 737 Max as it was being developed, according to over a hundred pages of internal messages delivered Thursday to congressional investigators.

“I still haven’t been forgiven by God for the covering up I did last year,” one of the employees said in messages from 2018, apparently in reference to interactions with the Federal Aviation Administration.

The most damaging messages included conversations among Boeing pilots and other employees about software issues and other problems with flight simulators for the Max, a plane later involved in two accidents, in late 2018 and early 2019, that killed 346 people and threw the company into chaos.

The employees appear to discuss instances in which the company concealed such problems from the F.A.A. during the regulator’s certification of the simulators, which were used in the development of the Max, as well as in training for pilots who had not previously flown a 737.

“Would you put your family on a Max simulator trained aircraft? I wouldn’t,” one employee said to a colleague in another exchange from 2018, before the first crash. “No,” the colleague responded.

In another set of messages, employees questioned the design of the Max and even denigrated their own colleagues. “This airplane is designed by clowns, who are in turn supervised by monkeys,” an employee wrote in an exchange from 2017.

The release of the communications — both emails and instant messages — is the latest embarrassing episode for Boeing in a crisis that has cost the company billions of dollars and wreaked havoc on the aviation industry across the globe. The Max has been grounded for nearly 10 months, after the two deadly crashes. A software system developed for the plane was found to have played a role in both accidents, and since then the company has been working to update the system.

There is still no indication when the Max might be cleared to fly again, as the company and regulators continue to discover new potential flaws with the plane.

The messages threaten to further complicate Boeing’s tense relationship with the F.A.A. Both the company and agency indicated Thursday that the messages raised no new safety concerns, but they echoed troubling internal communications among Boeing employees that were previously made public.

In several instances, Boeing employees insulted the F.A.A. officials reviewing the plane.

In an exchange from 2015, a Boeing employee said that a presentation the company gave to the F.A.A. was so complicated that, for the agency officials and even himself, “it was like dogs watching TV.”

Several employees seemed consumed with limiting training for airline crews to fly the plane, a significant victory for Boeing that would benefit the company financially. In the development of the Max, Boeing had promised to offer Southwest a discount of $1 million per plane if regulators required simulator training.

In an email from August 2016, a marketing employee at the company cheered the news that regulators had approved a short computer-based training for pilots who have flown the 737 NG, the predecessor to the Max, instead of requiring simulator training.

“You can be away from an NG for 30 years and still be able to jump into a MAX? LOVE IT!!” the employee says, following up later with an email noting: “This is a big part of the operating cost structure in our marketing decks.”

Requiring simulator training can be costly for airlines and even after the crashes, Boeing told the F.A.A. it was not necessary. It was not until Tuesday that Boeing said it would recommend simulator training for pilots who fly the Max.

Boeing on Thursday expressed regret over the messages. “These communications contain provocative language, and, in certain instances, raise questions about Boeing’s interactions with the F.A.A. in connection with the simulator qualification process,” the company said in a statement to Congress. “Having carefully reviewed the issue, we are confident that all of Boeing’s Max simulators are functioning effectively.”

“We regret the content of these communications, and apologize to the F.A.A., Congress, our airline customers and to the flying public for them,” Boeing added. “The language used in these communications, and some of the sentiments they express, are inconsistent with Boeing values, and the company is taking appropriate action in response. This will ultimately include disciplinary or other personnel action, once the necessary reviews are completed.”

The messages outraged several lawmakers, who saw a disregard for safety and broader problems with the culture at the company.

Senator Richard Blumenthal, Democrat of Connecticut, said in an interview that he would push for new congressional hearings to question Boeing leadership about the “astonishing and appalling” messages.

Boeing said that it notified the F.A.A. about the documents in December and that it had “not found any instances of misrepresentations to the F.A.A. with its simulator qualification activities,” despite the employee’s comment about “covering up” issues with the simulator.

Lynn Lunsford, a spokesman for the F.A.A., said in a statement that the messages did not reveal any new safety risks.

“Upon reviewing the records for the specific simulator mentioned in the documents, the agency determined that piece of equipment has been evaluated and qualified three times in the last six months,” Mr. Lunsford said. “Any potential safety deficiencies identified in the documents have been addressed.”

Mr. Lunsford added that, “while the tone and content of some of the language contained in the documents is disappointing, the F.A.A. remains focused on following a thorough process for returning the Boeing 737 Max to passenger service.”

The relationship between Boeing and the F.A.A. has been a complicating factor for the company as it works to persuade international regulators that the Max is ready to fly. Last month,  Boeing fired its chief executive, Dennis A. Muilenburg, whose optimistic projections about the plane’s return to service created a rift with the regulator.

Stephen Dickson, the new chief of the F.A.A., has struck a more assertive tone in public comments about the Max, urging his employees to ignore outside pressure to quickly lift the plane’s grounding and telling Boeing that there is no set timetable for the Max to return.

In a meeting with Mr. Muilenburg last month, Mr. Dickson told the company not to make any requests of the regulator and to instead focus on completing the paperwork necessary for regulators to evaluate the update.

Last year, Boeing disclosed internal messages from 2016, in which a top pilot working on the plane told a colleague that he was experiencing trouble controlling the Max in a flight simulator and believed that he had misled the F.A.A.

“I basically lied to the regulators (unknowingly),” the pilot, Mark Forkner, said to his colleague, Patrik Gustavsson.

Boeing did not inform the F.A.A. about the messages when the company first discovered them, waiting until about two weeks before Mr. Muilenburg was set to testify in front of Congress to send them to lawmakers. The conversation, which took place before the Max was approved to fly, angered key F.A.A. officials, who felt misled by the company, according to three people familiar with the matter.

After the congressional hearings, Boeing moved Mr. Gustavsson out of his role working on the certification of new planes

On Thursday, Representative Peter DeFazio, a Democrat from Oregon who is leading the House investigation into the development of the 737 Max, called the newly released messages “incredibly damning.”

“They paint a deeply disturbing picture of the lengths Boeing was apparently willing to go to in order to evade scrutiny from regulators, flight crews and the flying public,” he added, “even as its own employees were sounding alarms internally.”

**********

Live Updates: Ukraine Gets ‘Important Data’ From U.S. on Iran Plane Crash

President Volodymyr Zelensky initially said the possibility that the flight had been shot down, killing all 176 onboard, “cannot be ruled out but is not currently confirmed.”

Here are the latest developments:

Ukraine and U.S. Discuss Plane Disaster

President Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine spoke with Secretary of State Mike Pompeo on Friday morning Washington time after he requested that the United States and other Western countries release the evidence that a Ukrainian passenger jet that crashed shortly after takeoff in Iran had been shot down.

Mr. Zelensky said in a post on Facebook early Friday that the possibility that a missile had downed the Ukraine International Airlines plane on Wednesday, killing all 176 aboard, “cannot be ruled out but is not currently confirmed.”

Hours later, Mr. Zelensky’s spokeswoman said the president had met with U.S. Embassy officials in Kyiv and received “important data that will be studied by our specialists” and later in the day he spoke with Secretary of State Mike Pompeo.

American and allied officials said on Thursday that they had intelligence that surface-to-air missiles fired by Iranian military forces shot down the Boeing 737 minutes after it took off from Tehran, headed for Kyiv, the Ukrainian capital.

The jet crashed hours after Iran fired ballistic missiles at American targets in Iraq in retaliation for the killing of Maj. Gen. Qassim Suleimani, the leader of a powerful branch of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, and was bracing for a possible American response.

Mr. Zelensky has pledged to get to the bottom of what happened, cutting short a trip to Oman immediately after the crash and dispatching a team of 45 Ukrainian experts to Tehran.

On Friday, Mr. Zelensky made it clear that Western governments, allies in his country’s conflict with Russia, had not initially shared the evidence that led them to believe that the Ukrainian jet had been shot down by Iran.

“The version that a missile hit the airplane cannot be ruled out, but currently cannot be confirmed,” Mr. Zelensky wrote in the post, before his call with Mr. Pompeo.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau of Canada and Prime Minister Boris Johnson of Britain both said Iran had probably shot down the plane by accident. President Trump said he suspected that the downing of the plane had been the result of “a mistake on the other side.”

An American official told The New York Times that the United States had a high level of confidence that a Russian-made Iranian air defense system had fired two surface-to-air missiles at the plane.

The crash of the Ukrainian jet has presented Mr. Zelensky, a 41-year-old comedian who swept to a stunning victory in the presidential election last spring, with the most urgent crisis of his short tenure.

“Our goal is to ascertain the undeniable truth,” Mr. Zelensky said in his statement on Friday. “We believe this is the responsibility of the whole international community before the families of the dead and the memory of the victims of the catastrophe.”

The Ukrainian prosecutor general’s office issued a public request for help from Canada, seeking information from intelligence agencies about a possible missile strike.

Iran Denies Plane Was Hit By Missile

Iran has maintained that there was no evidence that the plane was struck by a missile and doubled down on that assertion on Friday, despite western officials pointing to intelligence suggesting the passenger jet was accidentally hit by a missile.

Iran’s Civil Aviation Organization chief, Ali Abedzadeh, speaking during a Friday news conference, urged caution and said that nothing could be determined until the data from the black boxes was analyzed and said statements made by other nations were politically motivated.

But, he added, what could be said was that the plane had not been hit by a missile and was likely on fire before it crashed. He also urged nations with intelligence on the crash, namely the United States and Canada, to share that information with Iran.

“We cannot just give you speculation,” Mr. Abedzadeh said in footage televised and translated on Iranian state television. “So far what I can tell you is that the plane has not been hit by a missile, and we have to look for the cause of the fire.”

Hassan Rezaeifar, the head of the Iranian investigation team, said during the same news conference that it could take more than a month to process the data recovered from the flight recorders and that the investigation could take up to two years. He also noted that Ukraine, France, Canada, and Russia have all said they are willing to assist Iran with the data extraction, and Tehran will send the black box to one of these countries if it fails to retrieve the data.

Normally, Iran has the capacity to download black box data, but Mr. Rezaeifar said that since the devices had been damaged, it would be difficult to extract information.

“We need special software and hardware which are available in our country, but if we fail to extract the data due to the damages of the black box, we will get help from other countries,” he said.

The black box will begin to be evaluated on Friday, Iran’s state-run IRNA news agency reported, “to assess and check whether it is possible to reconstruct and analyze the information inside the country.” State television aired footage that it said showed the two black boxes that were recovered from the crash site.

Video appears to show Iranian missile striking plane.

Footage verified by The New York Times appears to show a missile fired from Iranian territory hitting a plane near Tehran’s airport, the area where a Ukrainian jet crashed on Wednesday.

As investigators work to determine an official cause of the accident, the video offered new clues about the crash, which came hours after a violent confrontation between Iran and the United States.

A small explosion occurred when what appears to be a missile hit the plane above Parand, a city near the airport, but the plane did not explode, the video showed. The jet continued flying for several minutes and turned back toward the airport, The Times has determined.

The plane, which by then had stopped transmitting its signal, flew toward the airport ablaze before it exploded and crashed quickly, other videos verified by The Times showed.

Visual and audio clues in the footage also matched flight path information and satellite imagery of the area near where the plane crashed.

Crash Could Open Rift Between Ukraine and Allies

The aftermath of the plane crash in Iran has the potential to open a fresh rift between Ukraine and its most important Western allies.

President Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine has already turned into an unwilling player in United States domestic politics as a result of the Trump administration’s pressure campaign seeking assistance in the 2020 presidential race. Now, he is stuck in the middle of an even more volatile American crisis: the conflict with Iran.

On the one hand, Mr. Zelensky needs Iranian cooperation to deliver the full-fledged investigation of the disaster that he has pledged to his public. On the other, Mr. Zelensky needs the data collected by Western intelligence — not to mention his continued reliance on Western support in Ukraine’s conflict with Russia.

“He could end up in a situation of being caught between two fires,” said Oleksandr Danylyuk, Mr. Zelensky’s former national security adviser, who resigned in September. “It’s a very complicated situation.”

Mr. Zelensky was caught flat-footed on Thursday when American officials went public with intelligence findings about the crash, and it was clear that the United States and its Western allies had not briefed Kyiv.

On Friday, American and Ukrainian officials raced to dispel any appearance of a rift. But Anatoliy Hrytsenko, a former Ukrainian defense minister, said that any recalcitrance from Western countries would create suspicions in Ukraine that they were using the tragedy as a cudgel in their conflict with Iran.

“Western leaders must give us these intelligence findings,” Mr. Hrytsenko said. “If we assume the worst and they don’t do this, then a big question mark arises: Is this really about determining the cause of a plane crash or is this now geopolitics?”

France Will Be Involved In Crash Investigation

France’s aviation investigation authority said on Friday that it had been invited by Iran to take part in the investigation into the crash of an Ukrainian plane near Tehran this week.

A spokesman for the authority, known by its French acronym B.E.A., or Bureau d’Enquêtes et d’Analyses, said France was getting involved because the jetliner’s engine had been designed by CFM, a joint venture between GE Aviation, an American company, and Safran Aircraft Engines, a French one.

“No further assistance has been requested at this point in time,” the spokesman said, adding that Iranian aviation authorities were the lead investigator in the case.

Jean-Yves Le Drian, France’s foreign minister, did not say on Friday whether the country had proof that the jetliner had been shot down by Iranian missiles, but said that France was “available” to help with the investigation.

“Before the speculation, we must establish the truth in conditions of utmost transparency,” Mr. Le Drian told RTL, a French radio station. France, one of the signatories of the Iranian nuclear deal, is now trying to salvage it by acting as a go-between for Iran and the United States.

Anton Troianovski, Megan Specia, Aurelien Breeden, Melissa Eddy, Christiaan Triebert, Malachy Browne, Sarah Kerr and Ainara Tiefenthäler contributed reporting.

*********

Internal Boeing documents show employees discussing efforts to manipulate regulators scrutinizing the 737 Max

By Ian Duncan, Lori Aratani and Michael Laris | Published January 09 at 11:14 PM EST | Washington Post | Posted January 10, 2020 |

Instant messages and other internal Boeing documents revealed Thursday show company employees discussing efforts to ma­nipu­la­te U.S. and international safety regulators.

“Yes, I still haven’t been forgiven by god for the covering up I did last year,” said a 2018 message.

Another exchange between Boeing employees, from August 2015, closes out with this: “I know but this is what these regulators get when they try and get in the way. they impede progressw” [sic]

In 2017, a Boeing employee wrote: “this airplane is designed by clowns, who in turn are supervised by monkeys.”

The documents were released by Boeing to congressional investigators probing how the company’s 737 Max jets were certified by the Federal Aviation Administration as safe before two crashes that killed 346 people.

[Read the documents on website]

The communications “paint a deeply disturbing picture of the lengths Boeing was apparently willing to go to in order to evade scrutiny from regulators, flight crews, and the flying public, even as its own employees were sounding alarms internally,” said Rep. Peter A. DeFazio (D-Ore.), chairman of the House Transportation Committee.

At issue in some of the messages was whether simulator training should be required for pilots flying the Max. Boeing went to great lengths to prevent such a requirement, in part because it would be costly for its customers, company documents show.

On Thursday, Boeing said in a statement: “These communications do not reflect the company we are and need to be, and they are completely unacceptable.”

The company added that it had “not found any instances of misrepresentations to the FAA in connection with its simulator qualification activities, and we remain confident in the regulatory process for qualifying these simulators.”

The FAA said it had reviewed the more than 100 pages of documents and “our experts determined that nothing in the submission pointed to any safety risks that were not already identified as part of the ongoing review of proposed modifications to the aircraft.”

The messages underscore how important to Boeing financially it was to avoid simulator training for the Max.

In one November 2015 message, the 737 chief technical pilot, whose name is redacted in the documents, said failing to get computer-based training for one system “is a planet-killer for the MAX.”

In a March 2017 message, the chief technical pilot wrote several of his colleagues to “stress the importance of holding firm that there will not be any type of simulator training required.”

“Boeing will not allow that to happen,” the pilot wrote. “We’ll go face to face with any regulator who tries to make that a requirement.”

In another email chain, from June 2017, the chief technical pilot forwarded to Boeing colleagues messages in which he persuaded an airline, which is not identified in the documents, not to require simulator training on the Max.

“Looks like my jedi mind trick worked again!” the pilot wrote. “These are not the droids you’re looking for.”

Sen. Roger Wicker (R-Miss.), chairman of the Senate Committee on Commerce, Science, and Transportation, said “these communications suggest a troubling disregard for safety among some at Boeing and raise questions about the efficacy of FAA’s oversight of the certification process.”

In a shift Tuesday, the company said that it is recommending that pilots undergo simulator training before they resume flying the 737 Max. The FAA, which will have the final say, said it will consider Boeing’s recommendation.

The messages released by Boeing also show employees voicing concerns over deficiencies with a Max simulator. “Would you put your family on a MAX simulator trained aircraft?” one employee wrote in 2018, before adding: “I wouldn’t.”

Regarding the simulators, the FAA said “any potential safety deficiencies identified in the documents have been addressed.”

#boeing #ukrainegate #iran #iran news #us iran #aviation #canada #canadian #ukrainian #u.s. politics #republican politics #politics and government #us politics #politics #u.s. news #u.s. military #top news #nyt > top stories #top stories google news #trump administration #president donald trump #news today trump #trump news #trump scandals #uknews #france #world travel #world news #worldpolitics #international news

[spackeets-written-madness]

One Scholar to Another

A small gift to a friend that wanted to learn more about Cyssa Scourgepaw’s general personality so I wrote this. Something that happened in the past.

Description: Midona both loves and hates Trehearne, her niece, Cyssa Scourgepaw sets out to talk with the other scholar and form a deal. Fandom: Guild Wars 2 Characters: My own, Moma and Surinus ( @nonsense-with-sottises ), Midona, Auderen and Kyrus ( @the-bubble-opera ) and Trehearne Setting: Core, 1325 ae Words: 2214

It was not often that the two warbands met, but when they did, Midona Strifeheart, Pact Commander and Legionnaire of the Strife warband insisted on cooking for all of them; and made sure that there were seconds as well as plenty of space. The other warband in question was the Scourge warband, a skeleton warband much like Midona’s own and run by her niece: Legionnaire Cyssa Scourgepaw. Midona herself also brought some additionals with her: Surinus Ripmind and Paulina Ripclaw, both from another warband and having been invited by Midona to meet the rest of her ‘family’ and have dinner.

Cyssa Scourgepaw was standing next to her own partner, Moma Scourgewind as they both watched Surinus talk with Midona and Kyrus. The pink-haired charr turned to her ruddy-furred partner. “Bet you he doesn’t last three days with her,” she commented. Moma simply chuckled and nodded. 

Unfortunately her comment was heard by another of her warband and Faustus Scourgefang included himself into the conversation. “You don’t have to be mean,” he said as he walked closer to the pair.

Cyssa turned to her bandmate with a done look and slightly raised brow. “Have you met my aunt?” was the only thing she asked with a slight hint that he might have missed a point.

Faustus thought a bit. “Hmmm, well...She ain’t so bad, rough around the edges - though the same can be said for most charr. She’s also kind, motherly, endearing and -” he paused and looked at Cyssa’s expression. It clicked. “Ah… You meant her enemies.”

“Yes I did you blockhead, are your horns too big that they hamper brain-space?” the young necromancer insulted the engineer.

Faustus ignored the insult since it was not the first time he had been insulted by his Legionnaire. “One of these days, I’ll pick up when you mean one thing and not the other,” he commented. 

“And I will celebrate that day.”

Any other conversation was interrupted by a loud snarl conjoined with a sudden and terrified yelp, the three standing around turned their heads to see Paulina holding Fabias Scourgetail by the front of his shirt. “Normally I’d threaten to step on your tail, but I see that you’re a few inches short.” They heard Paulina snarl into the face a very scared looking charr.

Faustus kind of looked at the scene and seemed to pale at seeing his brother in trouble. “I-I’m going to go save my brother,” he said and quickly walked towards the larger female charr that held his brother. 

“Good idea,” Cyssa agreed. She still looked done. Very. She scanned the room they were in, Auderen was snooping around, Lunia was helping Faustus with Fabius and Decima was talking with Maximus. She then looked away because Kyrus called her name to say hi, then looked back and found Maximus’s head in a vase. Cyssa’s face screamed ‘are you kidding me?’ Decima was already trying to get her bandmate’s head out of the vase.

Cyssa spun on her foot in the opposite direction and began to walk away. “Midona, I’m going to my study, call me when dinner’s ready,” she said loud enough for her aunt to hear.

“Alright, dear!” Midona called back after putting a brief pause on the conversation she was having with Surinus. She then went back to her conversation as her niece slipped off to leave her idiots alone.

Dinner soon came and too quickly in Cyssa’s opinion as she wanted more time studying her books on Orr. But here she was, sitting down and eating her dinner. Moma was seated directly next to her on her right and her aunt was to her left. There was a lot of conversation around the table, and a lot of it Risen and Pact based since well, they were at war with Zhaitan.

Some things said by Paulina and Surinus were more Pact as a whole, what they were doing, war efforts, all that fun stuff. Cyssa wasn’t paying attention because she was currently listening to Midona rant about Marshal Trehearne, and the slyvari’s tendencies to go on Priory-esque historical rants about Orr in field while they were doing something rather important. It of course annoyed the soldier since she didn’t particularly care about the history of the place she was killing things in. Cyssa listened to her aunt rant about this guy that she both loved and hated for the duration of dinner until it ended.

Dinner came and it went, then they cleaned up and went to bed to be well rested in the morning.

When morning had come, Midona and her warband were already gone along with the two Rip warband members. After Scourge warband all got ready for the day and packed up their stuff for travel, they all waited outside with some haveing done some stretches.

“Soooooo, Legionnaire? Where to? Fields of ruin? Caledon Forest? Somewhere else fraught with danger and things to introduce my magic to?” Decima asked Cyssa. Decima Scourgemind was the warband’s mesmer and their tower since she was the largest in the warband.

“Depends, how for it are you guys to going to Fort Trinity to help with the invasion?” Cyssa countered.

Her whole warband cheered and started chanting ‘battle! Battle! Battle! Orr! Orr! Orr!’ like a bunch of crazies. After they had checked their Asuran tablets to see if they had the waypoint discovered, they poofed to the fortress. After they arrived, Cyssa instructed them to get familiar with the place before they headed off since she mentioned that she needed to see someone.

It did not take her long to find Marshal Trehearne’s office and she stepped into the open spaced location. 

Guards stopped her before she got any further. “Halt, only the Commander, officers, or those with appointments are allowed to speak with the Marshal,” one said.

“State your name, rank and placement in the Pact,” the other ordered.

Cyssa didn’t seem troubled by being stopped, in fact, she looked ready for that. “Cyssa Scourgepaw, Priory scholar, ex-Legionnaire to the High Legions and niece to Pact Commander Midona Strifeheart,” she said. 

The two guards looked at eachother, then her. “How do we know you’re not pretending to be her niece?”

“I can go get her if you’d like, but you wouldn’t like the scolding that follows.” Cyssa snapped.

They didn’t take too kindly to her threat and were about to call more guards when a sylvari came up to investigate the situation. “What is the problem, gentlemen?” Marshal Trehearne asked as he walked up to the entrance.

The two guards saluted him. “Sir! This charr is claiming to be the Commander’s niece!”

Trehearne paused to take a thorough look at Cyssa, he then seemed to recognise her. “Are you, Cyssa Scourgepaw?”

“That’s what I told Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee here,” Cyssa replied.

The slyvari’s face lit up with a small smile. “Ah, Midona told me quite a lot about you! And that your most distinguishing features were your bright pink wardrobe along with matching pink hair. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, I’m Marshal Trehearne,” he introduced himself.

Cyssa nodded. “I see that she tortures you with lectures about me as you torture her with lectures about Orr’s history,” she jabbed.

He took the jab well, in fact he just looked a bit sheepish. “Well, I do suppose that’s fair.”

“Speaking of Orr, that’s why I’m here. I wanted to compare notes on the history of Orr with you. Mostly as a trade to get your lectures off my aunt’s back before she chucks you into the ocean,” Cyssa said.

“She had also mentioned that you commonly want things by trade for something else. Usually benefiting yourself and another close to you,” he mentioned. The Marshal didn’t seem too annoyed at what she said. He just beckoned for the shorter charr to follow him.

Cyssa followed him. “Oh but sometimes my trades benefit everyone. Sometimes,” she admitted while she sat down on a chair, and placed her books down on the table. Trehearne sat down across from her after he grabbed his own books.

They ended up trading and comparing for nearly thirty minutes before Trehearne had to get back to work, but he promised that he wouldn’t prattle to Midona about Orr for awhile as long as Cyssa kept coming back for them to continue trading knowledge. After that, Cyssa went back to collect her warband and get started with killing dead things. She found them after some searching since they were all scattered throughout the fort, but she had found them and off they went to Orr.

The Scourge warband set foot on the plagued dirt of the risen lands, the call of undead birds filling the stale, briny, ashen air, almost always seemed to follow them as they walked over the sodden dirt. Despite the land being up for years, the dirt never dried, which resulted in it being very akin to a swamp. As they walked over the slightly dried path, they all had their weapons out and at the ready, scanning the rocks and dead coral for any Risen. The land itself was dead, but it also wasn’t, risen just like the army that shambled over it.

The seven charr in the warband had both pairs of their ears trained for noises that would betray Risen. Auderen - being a sylvari - mostly waited for the cue from the others since they had far better hearing than himself.

The minutes ticked by.

Suddenly Lunia let an arrow loose, at the same time, the rest of the warband launched their own ready spells at what would have been a Risen ambush. Lunia’s salamander drake, Ember, also launched herself at a Risen. It was glorious chaos. The warband ended up separated slightly but still in view of each other while they beat back the attempted ambush.

Moma and Maximus in typical elementalist fashion, had set everything aflame and also caused the earth to fight back as well. Decima had made clones of herself to explode and help her focus her magic beams on the various walking corpses. Fabius and Faustus had set up some turrets in record time to assist the warband, Lunia had made it rain arrows and Auderen had picked off stragglers. Cyssa had ended up wandering a little further than intended, since she wanted to make sure that she’d kill everything in the immediate vicinity.

After several more minutes, everything was well and truly dead. Again at least. This allowed the warband to take a breather and made sure that they were all accounted for. No one was badly injured, a little scrape here, a bruise there, but they were able to move along. 

Decima was doing a headcount and realised something. “Uhhhh, guys? The Legionnaire is still missing,” the mesmer said and at once everyone paled and immediately began to look for her trail.

It didn’t take long until someone called out. “I found a Risen downed by some very familiar corruption!” Auderen shouted slightly, which caused everyone to abruptly run over.

They followed the trail a bit further along. Then they heard the voice of the one person they didn’t want to meet right at the moment: Commander Midona. “Scourge warband! Where is your Legionnaire?” Midona asked as she runs up to them with a small entourage of Pact soldiers with her. She kept it formal for now.

The warband all kind of look at each other and quickly got into an argument about who was going to tell her. This resulted in the Commander looking very done as she listened to them banter. 

Maximus stepped forth after a few more moments of arguing. He saluted her first then he spoke, “Commander Strifeheart, we were almost ambushed by Risen, took them down but Legionnaire Scourgepaw wandered off in the battle and we’re following her trail.” He gestured to the dead Risen that had the tell-tale marks of Cyssa’s specific magic. 

Midona said nothing as she quickly took over the group as they continued to search for her niece. They followed the trail to a clearing that had a number of dead Risen that surrounded a rock. On that rock sat the familiar pink clothed necromancer whom didn’t seem to concerned that she had nearly given several people heart attacks. She was jotting something down when they appeared, after she was done, she closed her field journal and stood up from the rock, grabbing her staff. “About time you guys found me, I didn’t leave small crumbs,” was all Cyssa said to the group. Then she decided to give Midona a loose salute after she noticed that there were Pact soldiers with her aunt.

Midona looked like she was about to strangle her own niece, but decided against that for a very heavy and frustrated sigh. Moma shared a similar reaction.

“So, what’d you find?” Fabius asked.

“Oh I found an Orrian tablet that I hadn’t read about before so I stopped to study it,” she answered casually. She then walked past her aunt to head back to the trail. “Oh yeah, Commander, I got Trehearne of your back about his lectures. You’re welcome,” she called over her shoulder as she walked past and led her group off to no doubt continue to down Risen.

#guild wars 2 #guild wars fanfiction #trehearne gw2 #orginal characters #gw2 #gw2 charr #gw2 sylvari #Scourge Warband #Commander Midona AU #keiran writes

[zazu75]

Red Flowers

A SteakWine fic

The last thing Red Wine expected to find in his bedroll was a flower.

It was a small, red thing, its stem bent in the middle, as if picked hurriedly from the field. And indeed, when Red Wine scanned their surroundings, he saw a patch of the same flower in the distance. He frowned and tossed the little thing behind him then went back to packing his things. It was an odd thing to find and nagged at him for a few more minutes, but then Steak came into his peripheral nagged at him with brash words. The flower was quickly forgotten in favor of a rebuttal, which quickly led to a fight between the two of them.

Red Wine didn’t remember the red flower until the next morning, when he went to pack his bedroll. Another red flower rested atop of it once more, which caught the food soul by surprise. He picked it up, and upon closer inspection, found it to be a different flower than the day before. Just like the day before, however, he tossed it over his shoulder with a slight annoyance. He looked at his two traveling companions and wondered which of them would leave flowers on his bedroll. Gingerbread didn’t seem the type, even if she did like to spend time around flowers every now and then. Steak…

Red Wine had long concluded that Steak was too much of a brute to ever properly express affection, let alone court or gift someone. It couldn’t possibly be him.

Somehow, that thought disappointed him more than it should have. He ignored the twinge of disappointment in his heart, however, and set his sight on his other companion.

“Gingerbread.” He called to her and waited for her to turn around before he continued. “Stop putting these things in my bedroll. This doesn’t suit either of us.”

“What’re you talking about?” Gingerbread asked in confusion. He held the flower up for her and she frowned. “What are you doing picking flowers? We gotta get a move on!”

“You’re the one who keeps leaving them in my bedroll,” he snapped, “so stop it.”

“I’m not leaving them in your bedroll!”

“Then who is?”

“I dunno! Ask Steak!”

“As if that brute would know anything about flowers!!”

Gingerbread rolled her eyes and went back to her work. Red Wine scoffed at her manners and tossed the flower away and went back to his packing. He finished quickly and picked a fight with Steak to help calm his nerves. The other food soul was especially ornery that morning, which made their fight all the more intense and satisfying, though Red Wine came out of it with extra bruises than usual. It certainly took his mind off the flowers, however, and he didn’t worry about them until the morning after. It mildly surprised him to find his bedroll empty when he went to pack it, though he also felt relieved. One less thing to worry about, he supposed, and merrily went about his work.

Since then, he didn’t think of the flowers for a while, until they made it to their destination and checked into an inn. The town guard needed help with fallen angels, to which the trio readily offered their assistance. By the time the sun had gone below the horizon, word had traveled around the town of their aid, and the innkeeper upgraded their stay to give each of them their own room. Red Wine loved the small extravagance and enjoyed the time away from Steak and his multitude of annoyances. He had a wonderful night and slept contently and woke bright and early for his patrol the next morning. He and Gingerbread made a thorough round around the town’s outer perimeter and cleaned up any fallen angels in their way. Steak had taken to coordinating with the head of the town guard to get to the source of the problem, and the three of them were set to investigate beyond the town’s boundaries when they had enough information.

For the time being, however, Red Wine returned to his room to rest, though he was met with an unexpected surprise when he got there. A single rose, deep red in color and pristine, lay on top of his pillow. He picked it up and admired it with a smile that quickly turned into a frown. Who had put the rose on his bed? He put the rose back on his bed and left his room to find Gingerbread. A part of him didn’t really think she was the one leaving him flowers, but the alternative…

… It hurt too much to think of the alternative.

He found her in the tavern, with a tankard of ale in front of her and humans around her. Across of her sat a burly man, whose arms were easily twice the size of her own, locked with her in an arm wrestling competition. His arm shook with effort, and the grimace on his face intensified with every inch Gingerbread forced away from him. Red Wine watched impatiently while the crowd roared and shouted at both of the players, until they erupted in a loud cheer at Gingerbread’s victory. It took a few moments for them to move away from her, and only then did he approach.

“Gingerbread,” he greeted.

“Oh hey, Red.” She turned in her seat to face him. “What’s up?”

“Why are you putting flowers in my bed again?”

“What?” She frowned at him in incredulity. “I’m not leaving flowers in your bed. Or anywhere! Not for anyone and definitely not for you!”

Red Wine took slight offense to that, but he had a bigger issue to deal with than Gingerbread’s lack of affection for him. “Then who is leaving these on my bed? It’s not you, and it’s definitely not Steak--”

“--How do you know it’s not him?” She cut him off. “Did you ask?”

“No,” he scoffed, “there’s no need to. That brute--”

“--might surprise you.” Deciding that the conversation was over, Gingerbread turned back to the group of humans and yelled. “Alright, who’s next!!”

Red Wine frowned at her and walked back to his room. The rose still lay on his bed, beautiful and pristine, and he had no idea who put it there…

No, that was a lie. He had an idea. He simply didn’t like the idea. Because if it were true…

Gritting his teeth, he snatched the rose from its resting place and marched to Steak’s room. His knocks were loud and sharp, precisely three, and he didn’t wait for permission before entering.

“Could you at least wait until I say you can come in?” Steak sounded annoyed from his place by the desk. His weapon and armor were laid atop it, and the food soul sat on the desk chair while he cleaned them. Even though he couldn’t see his face, Red Wine could still see the set of his shoulders. Steak looked tense, on edge, maybe even frazzled, and for a moment, he wondered why.

“You’re no fair maiden to deserve that treatment,” Red Wine scoffed. He held up the rose to Steak’s back and accused. “Are you the one leaving flowers in my beddings?”

There was a long stretch of quiet, to the point where Red Wine thought he had been ignored. Steak hadn’t paused cleaning his equipment, didn’t even stutter at the question, which only cemented Red Wine’s belief. This couldn’t stand, of course, and just as he opened his mouth to ask again, Steak spoke up.

“Yes.”

“Why?” The simple reply had set the well-dressed food soul on edge. It sounded more loaded than it should have been. He didn’t like that one bit.

“Why do you think?”

The silence after that was prolonged, the heaviness of the atmosphere palpable. Red Wine knew why someone would leave another flowers--romantic gestures were not outside of his grasp. But this was Steak. Steak. He shouldn’t know how to express affection. He was a brute. A barbarian. He never courted anyone, never showed inclination towards anyone. This was Steak.

But this…

“Why red?” Red Wine asked, voice barely above a whisper, as if unable to lift the heaviness that surrounded them.

“The color matched your eyes.”

A simple, honest reply. Always simple and honest with this food soul. It drove Red Wine crazy, and so he accused. “Your eyes and hair are red.”

“Not that shade of red.” A pause. “And I wasn’t thinking about that when I bought the rose. I was thinking about you.”

Red Wine’s heart fluttered. He couldn’t deny the blush that rose to his cheeks, though he hated it. This was Steak. A rough, tactless idiot. He shouldn’t be leaving flowers in his bedding. He shouldn’t be thinking in shades of red to match his eyes. He should be out training or patrolling or--or doing what he was doing right now, cleaning his armor. They should be arguing or fighting right now, not… not this.

This… just shouldn’t have been possible. Red Wine had occasionally mused about something romantic with Steak, but it he believed it to be unrequited pining. Never had he seen an inkling of anything beside begrudging respect and hatred from the other food soul. This…

“...Of course you’d think like this,” he smiled wryly at Steak’s back. “Leave a few flowers on my bed and I would be swept away by your charm. What a boorish, unsophisticated idea. Completely thoughtless.”

Steak stiffened and Red Wine thought he’d finally get the confrontation he came into the room for. After a moment, however, the other food soul’s shoulders slumped and he heard him sigh in what sounded too much like defeat.

“Just...leave it on the drawer chest beside you.” Did his voice just waver? “I won’t bother you with flowers anymore.”

Red Wine’s stomach flipped and his breath caught in his throat. This...wasn’t what he expected. Steak was usually predictable, and dependable in his predictability. This… This wasn’t right.

It wasn’t right, but… This was Steak… And he was…

… There was no one really like him in all of Tierra.

Red Wine hesitated a moment before he approached the other food soul. He stopped right behind him, then wrapped his arms around his shoulders so that his hands--and the rose--rested in the middle of Steak’s chest. He felt the other food soul tense in his arms and tensed as well.

“I didn’t say it didn’t work.” He pressed his cheek against Steak’s hair. “Nor did I say I didn’t like it.”

A strained moment passed before Steak relaxed in his arms. The food soul moved a hand to gently--too gently; so unlike him--hold Red Wine’s empty one. He cleared his throat then spoke in a tone much too shy for Red Wine to ever dream of hearing from him.

“After our work with the village is over, would you like to go on a date?”

“Only if you make it a good one.”

“Of course I will.”

“So confident. How cocky.” He squeezed the other food soul gently. “But yes, I look forward to it.”

“Good. Now, if you don’t mind, I have weapons and armor that need attending to.”

“Yes, yes. I’m leaving.” Red Wine lingered in the embrace a moment longer before he pulled away. He left the room and shut the door gently behind him, a small smile on his face. He paused long enough to tuck the rose in his pocket then continued to his room. They still had a few more days worth of work to do, but he didn’t mind. It would give him a few days to prepare for his date. He needed to sweep Steak off his feet as well, and if he could get the other food soul to fall in love with him, well… that would be just grand.

#zazu writes #food fantasy #ff red wine #ff steak #ff gingerbread #steakwine