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emptystove · 2 months

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The Long Con - Ch 14

One Piece Fanfic (Romance/Drama/Suspense)

Pairing: Nami x Law

Rating: EXPLICIT, 18+ ONLY

CW: Smutty Smut Smut, light bondage, light dom/sub

Chapter Summary: Nami spends more time with Sanji before finally meeting back up with Law.

Posted to AO3, FanFiction, and Wattpad under HortyCord.

Chapter 14 - Trust

Sanji was already sat leaning against the bars that separated their cells when Nami was returned.

She forced herself to settle in closer to him, leaning against the back wall but still safely out of his reach if he were to try anything. Now that her initial fear had mostly worn off, she allowed herself to really take in his state. His clothing was torn, and there were deep marks where his shackles met the skin on his wrists and ankles. He was a bit gaunt, probably from the lack of regular meals. And when he thought she was looking, he would pull his fingers into tight fists to keep them from shaking.

From the way he was stealing glances of her, Nami was surprised how long he held out before finally speaking.

"Where did they take you?" His brows were knit together over glassy eyes. He was so easy to read. He couldn't help but be an open book, worry etched into every line on his face.

"To the king," she answered. Selling her lies with half truths was a standard trick for Nami, but doing that in front of a Vinsmoke brought her too close to memories of how she was able to trick Ichiji, of what she went through to survive. She was so busy forcing those images out of her mind that she missed his next question.

"What?"

"I asked if you are alright. I mean, did he...," Sanji swallowed hard. His voice was a bit less strained than the last time they spoke, but he still struggled to keep it steady. "What did he do?"

Nami looked away. She remained silent and hugged her knees to her chest. She would let his imagination do the lying for her. Based on how they were torturing him, whatever his mind came up with would sell her story better than she could.

His reaction was surprising, although maybe it shouldn't have been. He was seething. He was more upset by Nami's pain than his own, and she wondered if he was actually as different from his brothers as he claimed to be.

His response reminded her of someone. Someone who was also much softer than his reputation.

She watched him adjust his torn sleeve to recover his tattoo as he looked away from her. She didn't even realize she was staring at it.

He was ashamed of the mark, what it meant, and how people judged him for it. That familiar pain hit her much harder, and she was speaking to him again without even thinking.

"How old were you when they did that?" She asked softly.

She knew he didn't want to talk about it, but she also knew he was still desperate for any type of interaction with her.

"Maybe five? I can't remember."

"I was eight."

Pale blue eyes locked onto her, a mix of confusion and concern.

She turned and lifted her left sleeve as best she could while handcuffed. Even if he didn't recognize who the symbol belonged to, he understood the implication she was making.

"You can tell by the warping of the design when someone got tattooed as a child," she continued softly. "It changes with your body as you grow. Yours was subtle, but I can still tell."

He was staring at her in awe, eyes darting from the slightly skewed swordfish on her arm to the far-off look in her eyes.

Nami was ready to brace herself, to gather her courage to continue, but she was surprised when she didn't feel the need to. Normally, she would be telling lies to seem more relatable to her target, but Sanji was different. He was easy to relate to, and although that made her somewhat uneasy, it also made her relieved to have gotten past her initial fear of him so quickly.

"My name is Nami," she mirrored his words from the first time they spoke. "I don't know what your family did to you, but I'm truly sorry."

"Nami," he rasped almost more to himself than to her. His hands gripped the bars between them as his gaze softened. "Nami," he mumbled again, as if saying her name out loud ensured the person in front of him and the kindness she gave in that moment was truly real.

"Sanji," she whispered, giving him the faintest hint of a smile. "Do they ever turn down these stupid lights?"

He returned the smile as much as his exhausted features would let him. "Sometimes. It's either pitch black or bright as the sun. Whichever they think we don't want. Just another way to try to break us."

She thought about his words. Her mind was starting to wonder what other types of psychological torture they subjected him to. His heart must be strong to last this long, endure so much, and still refuse to submit. If she wasn't careful, she might actually start to like him.

"Nami." She looked up, and he made sure she was listening before he continued. "They aren't going to break us. I promise."

"Good," she whispered back, suddenly feeling desperate to change the subject.

She didn't know exactly what Doflamingo wanted out of him, but he did say he wanted everything. So, Nami decided to go for what she was actually interested in at that moment. A distraction.

She asked him trivial questions about himself, and he was more than happy to answer. They talked for hours. She knew his favorite color, favorite food, and the different types of bait he liked to use while fishing. He knew her favorite music, the types of books she likes, and the best islands for shopping. It was all insignificant based on their situation, but it's what they both needed.

She had to stop herself from saying too much when he started describing an island that sounded a lot like Zou. He could tell she wanted to say something, though, so he watched her expectantly, patiently waiting for any piece of information about herself she was willing to give him.

"Is that where you would go to if you could leave?" She asked instead.

He frowned in thought. "I, uh, I don't know. It would be great to be almost anywhere outside of a dungeon, I guess," he chuckled half-heartedly.

"If you had your freedom - like really had freedom, without the fear of kings or fathers or of anyone knowing your name, what would you do?"

Sanji hummed and scratched the scruff on his chin. "Well, the first thing I would do is smoke a damn cigarette."

Nami giggled. Looking back toward him again, she wondered how much of his shaking hands had to do with nicotine withdrawal.

"After that, I guess I would be cooking. Feeding the hungry... I want to live in a world where borders and treaties and the rich and powerful can't dictate what food is available where and for whom."

She smiled genuinely at him for the first time. "Can you cook anything with mikans?"

"I can cook anything with anything. When we get out of here, I'll cook you anything you like." He was smiling ear to ear now. "What about you? What would you do?"

Nami really wasn't sure anymore. She thought of her sister's freedom. If that wasn't her goal, what would she do? Up until recently, her answer would have been obvious. She wanted to draw a map of the world. She would have answered that way too, if the words didn't die in her mouth before she could speak. She thought back to the last time she was truly happy, and it changed everything she thought she wanted. If someone had told her just months ago that her answer to that question would be on a submarine, she would have laughed in their face. Now though, she couldn't bring herself to dream of freedom without also dreaming about him.

What would freedom even be like with Law? A lot like her time on Zou, she imagined. Without meaning to, her mind flooded with the most stupidly ideal scenario she could think of. Shachi making coffee and tea in the mornings, Nami bonding with Bepo over charts and navigation, and Penguin suddenly becoming very busy every time Nami would bring up collecting his debt. She imagined what it would be like to introduce Law to Nojiko. She would give him such a hard time, even though Nami knew Nojiko would already have decided she approved of him. She imagined Law holding her again, shutting out all of her worries and fears, drifting off in his arms for the rest of her days.

"Nami?" Sanji asked with a touch of concern as he watched a stray tear slip down her cheek.

"Ah, sorry. These stupid lights must be straining my eyes more than I realized," she lied. "Traveling is my dream. I want to make a map of the world. I mean, that was my only dream, but I think now I have another."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I want you to cook for me."

She smirked as he blushed all the way to his ears, and she finally understood that he was telling the truth.

He really wasn't a Vinsmoke.

*****

It was still dark out when Nami made her way back to her room, only a few hours before the sun would peek over the horizon. She was barely in the door before Law pulled her the rest of the way inside, locking it promptly behind her.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, almost desperately.

"What the hell, Law?"

"Were you downstairs all night?"

"Well, it's nice to see you again, too."

Law let out a heavy sign, willing himself to calm down. He knew his pent-up, anxious, sleep-deprived brain wasn't helping him come across the way he intended.

He managed to keep the strain out of his voice, but he couldn't stop himself from demanding all the answers he was craving.

"You're doing another job for Doflamingo then?"

"Yeah, it's the whole reason I'm here." She said it like it was obvious.

"I know you've been meeting with him in his office."

Nami rolled her eyes. "And you think that means what exactly? You think I'm fucking him?"

"Just tell me what-"

"This is ridiculous. I've got questions for you, too, you know." She pushed an accusatory finger into his chest. "You couldn't tell me you wrote a formal report on what we did in Germa? Because it seems like I'm just about the only person here who hasn't read it."

"Nami-ya," he started, but her patience had already run out.

"He questioned me about it. About a lot of things, actually. And no, he didn't touch me, if that's the only thing you are worried about. I don't know what his end game is exactly, but I know a master manipulator when I see one. Speaking of which, exactly how cozy are you getting with Monet?"

"We aren't cozy," Law grimaced. This wasn't how he needed this conversation to go. "We aren't anything. Doflamingo is making her work with me, probably tasked her with keeping an eye on me. If it makes you feel any better, I threatened to kill her the last time she tried to come onto me." He took a step closer, raising his hand to cup her cheek. "I only care about-"

"Who is the Surgeon of Death?"

Law's hand stopped just short of her face. "Who told you about that?"

This was a problem. He suspected Doflamingo was trying to separate them, but it was clear now that wasn't the extent of it. If he was trying to poisoning her against him, Doflamingo knew they had a relationship. The question now was why. Doflamingo could be ruining Law's happiness for his own fun or because he was hurt by their attempt to keep it a secret. He hadn't ever been shy about ruining his family members relationships as he saw fit. Baby 5 knew that better than anyone. The other possibility was that he suspected Law's betrayal. That would be much for dangerous for both of them.

"How long have you known Doflamingo?" She asked, getting more visibly frustrated as he pointedly looked away. "Why should I answer any of your questions when you won't answer mine? Why should I-"

"Because you're fucking with my head!" He whisper-screamed, finally abandoning all attempts at composure. "Ever since I met you, everything is ten times harder. Do you realize that? I had one thing to do. One goal. And now every step I take toward it, I'm, I'm hesitating. I'm missing things. Things I never would normally miss. And the closer I get, the farther I am because all I can fucking think about is you."

"Law..."

She reached for him, but he was already pulling away. It wasn't her pity or empathy that he needed right now. "I made you a promise. I never doubted that I could keep it, but you make it really fucking difficult."

He was pacing, refusing to look at whatever expression she had after his outburst. He didn't need her to argue with him or yell back at him, even if he deserved it. He didn't need her to coddle him. He needed-

"I guess..." She hesitated for a moment, prompting his eyes to come back to her, surprised by her tone. She licked her bottom lip and swiftly replaced tongue with teeth. His eyes locked on her mouth as she released her lip, letting it slide slowly back into place. She looked up at him through heavy lashes. "I guess I've been bad."

Nami struggled to hold back her satisfied grin as she watched him freeze up. Law's expression was guarded, but he was melting fast.

He swallowed thickly and parted his lips, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to speak.

He knew what she was doing. She was giving him back the control she knew he needed, offering him the intimacy with her he craved. She knew him so well. She manipulated him effortlessly, and he fucking loved it.

The next thing he knew, she was whispering in his ear. When had she gotten so close to him? His hand ghosted up her spine, and the last of his resistance finally snapped as she begged him to teach her a lesson.

His fingers tangled in her hair, and he yanked her head back, forcing her to look up into his fiery gaze. He meant to ask her something reasonable, like if she was sure, or if she knew what she was really asking him to do. But when he saw the same burning desire looking back at him all he could manage was, "You drive me fucking insane."

His lips crashed into hers. The warmth that bloomed in his chest spread out like electricity in his veins.

He swallowed every moan and whimper she let out as he manhandled her across the room. She grasped at him feverishly, desperate for more contact, and she gasped when he pushed her off him and onto the bed.

She was panting, trying to catch her breath, eyes wide with excitement as she watched him slowly remove his belt. Instead of continuing to undress, he knelt on the bed beside her. She opened her mouth to speak but snapped it shut when he shot her a warning glare. He knew she liked him being in control as much as he did. She trusted him completely.

He removed her belt next, and she obediently lifted her hips to make it easier without him instructing her to. She was so perfect. If he wasn't already in love with her, he would have fallen for her then and there.

"Strip."

She obeyed.

He climbed on top of her, holding the leather tight in his hands. His lips ghosted over the shell of her ear, and he felt her shudder underneath him.

"Tell me the safe word," he commanded.

"Mikans," she breathed.

"Good girl."

*****

Each of her hands were tied to the headboard with a different belt. The bottom half of her body was held above her, strong hands gripping her hips as her legs curled over his shoulders. She was almost upside down as he effortlessly held her soaked core up against his face. If she wasn't careful, she was going to come undone again. How many times had it been already tonight? She was already fucked out of her mind, and she couldn't blame that on the blood rushing to her head from her current position.

"Please..." she whined between heated breaths.

"Please what?"

She almost thought she imagined his voice, because how could he speak when his tongue was buried so beautifully inside her?

"Ah, Law, p-please."

This time she knew it wasn't her imagination because he pulled away ever so slightly, and she could feel his hot breath teasing her slick folds as he spoke.

"I'll give you anything you want, Love. You just have to say it."

She had to muster every bit of strength she had left to not unravel just from his words.

"Need you, ah, please Law, need you inside, please. Need to cum. Please. Please. -Ah!" She hardly knew what she was saying. Her brain somehow able to form the words she wanted to say and what she knew he wanted to hear.

He dropped her with one swift movement, and he was already climbing on top of her when her body bounced up from the force of her fall against the mattress. She started to wonder how he had managed to last so long pleasing her without losing himself. The ways he touched her, how he moaned into her cunt as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from her.

She gasped and fluttered her eyelids shut as he finally entered her. One agonizingly slow push until he was completely inside her. As much as he had already loosened her up, she was still tight around him.

"So fucking perfect for me," he rasped, and he groaned when his words made her clench harder around him.

Her hands gripped the leather on the belts as he started to move. She wanted to touch him desperately, wanted to feel him with every inch of skin she could. She wrapped her legs around him, her hips moving to meet his as he increased his pace. The only sounds in the room were the slapping of skin on skin, the creaking of leather under her hands, and his soft, low panting next to her ear.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, nipping and sucking marks into her skin before licking his soft, warm tongue across them.

"Cum for me," he growled against her skin, and she obeyed. Her vision blurring, her whole body tensing and arching as the man above her reached his own peak.

She heard herself whimper as he pulled himself out, cold air almost unpleasant against her noticeably empty hole.

Her eyes were still closed when she felt him unbind her hands. She wrapped them around his neck to pull him close, but he was already moving to hold her again. His skin was so warm under her fingertips, just feeling him as he cradled her, so soft and gentle, had her let out a satisfied sigh.

"I-, mm," he cut off his own words with a tender kiss, "-so much."

"I know," she breathed easily, relaxing further into his touch. "I needed that, too."

He rested his head on her chest, holding tight to her waist as their legs intertwined. She twirled her fingers through his hair, getting closer and closer to sleep until she heard him speak, just barely above a whisper.

"I was 10 years old when I met Doflamingo."

Her hand stilled for half a second before she continued her movements, silently encouraging him to continue. He paused so long, she thought that might be all she was going to get. Though when he started to speak again, it was like he couldn't stop himself.

"The place where I'm from, where I was raised, it's gone now. The people who lived there were slaughtered. Government claimed we were too high of a risk, that we would spread disease to other nations. We were sick, and it was deadly, but it wasn't contagious. Polluted soil from companies that lined the pockets of those in power. It was more lucrative to silence their victims than to stop the suffering they caused. They didn't hold back once the decision was made. Everyone was dead by morning. My neighbors, my classmates, my parents, even my little sister... I shouldn't have survived. I'm not sure why I tried so hard to live, knowing that I was going to die soon anyway. When I met Doflamingo, I had nothing left but hate. I thought he could help me get some sort of revenge on the world that took everything from me. That's when I joined the family."

Nami silently took in his words, her heart breaking for the man in her arms.

"After a while, someone helped me. Took me away to find a cure. After he was gone, I didn't want to go back to Doflamingo. I lost my family a second time, but something was different about me then." He let out a heavy sigh. "I met Bepo not long after, Shachi and Penguin shortly after that."

She peppered soft kisses along his forehead. She wanted to know more, but she knew she was lucky to get that much. A small pang of guilt filled her chest as she thought about the sister he lost, wondering if her improvised cover pretending to be his sister in Germa had hurt him. She held him close, continuing to graze her fingers across his hair and skin until his breathing became slow and steady. There was still a lot she didn't know about him, but it seemed like his secrets were a lot more like hers than she realized.

It was all going to be ok, though.

She was back in his arms, and she still had faith in him. He would tell her everything else when he could.

They still had time.

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#fanfic #law x nami #nami x law #one piece fanfiction #op fanfic #lawnami #lawna

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: Side Effects ch.3 (baon)

Summary: All Stretch wanted to do was drop off some pants to get altered for Edge’s cast. He’s obviously asking for too much out of life.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Past Injury, Coffee Shop

CH1 | CH2

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Barista, Tailor...

Stretch shifted in his bus seat, garment bag over his knees and his eye lights carefully focused on his phone screen.

He’d only taken the bus once since the whole incident in California, but the one that ran the Embassy route usually didn’t have as many Humans as this one to downtown Ebott.

Today he could feel the looks from other people, Humans, crawling up his spine and it was a little hard to ignore. No one approached him at least, ready to spit some extra-strength vitriol into his lap, so they were probably just curious. That did happen sometimes, either because he was a little bit Twitter famous or because he was just a Monster in general. People frequently took discreet pictures of him or videos, and he tried not to take it personally. Heck, Keanu Reeves got the same treatment when he took the subway.

Stretch sometimes found those pictures on instagram or twitter. Depending on the caption, he’d even comment, hey, being amicable about the amateur paparazzi was probably good public relations.

But it was one of the reasons he usually wore headphones on the bus, even if, like today, he didn’t have them turned on. Friendly was good and well, but sometimes there weren’t enough spoons in the drawer, and headphones acted as a decent barrier of sorts to that shit.

Not that a lack of spoons was a problem today. He still felt weirdly energized after pouring his all into healing Red. What he honestly felt was hungry, hell, starving, his magic pleading for a quick snack or maybe a ten-course meal. Coffee he’d remembered to bring along, but with Edge out of commision, the level of baked goods in their house was hitting critically low levels.

Hm. The stop for the Beanery was coming up and it wouldn’t take up too much time for a side quest into pastry retrieval. Getting Edge's trousers to the tailor could wait a couple mo'.

When the bus rolled to a halt, Stretch hopped eagerly down the steps to the sidewalk. He could already taste those sweet, sweet lemon bars, might even pick up a cinnamon roll for Edge while he was in. He took a moment to dump out the dregs of his morning coffee, might as well get a refill while he was here, and headed in.

The bell jangling cheerily overhead was the same as always, but there was nothing normal about the way the entire shop froze in their tracks when they saw him. Baristas and patrons alike stopped and stared, and Stretch froze right along with them, resisting the urge to glance behind him, cause he was pretty sure he was what they were looking at and not some other skeleton Monster that crept in on his heels.

“um, hi?” he tried, lifting a hand in an awkward wave.

That seemed to get the record playing again. Before he could even lower his hand, Debbie was around the counter, Jennie and Daniel at her heels, paying no mind to the line of people waiting at the counter. Then again, none of them looked put out by the barista parade, they only stood and watched as Debbie dashed up to him and flung both her arms around his ribcage, almost making him drop the garment bag. Jennie joined her, and Daniel, and Stretch only stood there bewildered, caged in Human arms and patting whatever heads and shoulders he could reach.

“um, hey, guys? sorry i haven’t been in, things have been a little weird.”

“We know, dear,” Debbie said finally ,and to Stretch’s horror, when she pulled away, she drew up her apron to wipe at her eyes. “We’ve been watching everything on the news. Oh, sweetie, how is Edge doing?”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Well, fuck, he knew a few internet sleuths had figured out that Edge was one of the Monsters hurt even if he was such a stickler for privacy that his name wasn’t in any of the reports. Stretch hadn’t even considered that the people who knew Edge would be worried out of their skulls, fuck, he’d been home for almost a week, had no one bothered to let the Beanery in on it? What about Thomas at the book shop, he knew Edge, too...but no, he’d probably texted Andy.

Stretch abruptly realized the entire shop was waiting for an answer. Humans that he didn’t know by name, but whose faces he recognized, shop regulars who probably followed him on Twitter, nodding a greeting every time Stretch stopped in. Asgore hadn’t wanted him to post on Twitter about what happened because he was afraid it would open a can of worms and get people asking him questions that he probably shouldn’t answer.

(Which honestly, it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his fault his fingers worked faster than his brain.)

But obviously radio silence on Twitter wasn’t the answer either, not from all the worried faces around him. He needed to have a chat with Asgore on that front, but first it was time for some damage control.

“He’s fine,” Stretch said, loud enough for everyone in the shop to hear, “seriously, he’s doing okay. he’s a little bang up, he’d got a temporary cast on one leg, but he’ll be up again with a coffee craving in no time.”

To his dismay, instead of being reassured, Debbie burst into full-fledged tears and hugged him again. He leaned down to wrap both arms around her, squeezing tight, until her sobs trailed away.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Debbie pulled away and grabbed a napkin from one of the tables, wiping at her eyes. “It’s only...i was so worried.”

“We were all worried,” Jennie put in. Debbie’s niece was like a younger, taller version of her, complete with her own tears. Behind her, Daniel was nodding along. “When we saw that awful video. But when we called the Embassy, they couldn’t tell us anything.”

Ah, shit, of course they wouldn't, especially not about Edge since he wasn’t supposed to be a public figure. And they probably hit Andy with a gag order, too, so he wouldn’t even be able to say much.

Welp. Stretch didn’t work for the Embassy, thanks, and Asgore only mentioned Twitter. If they didn’t want him talking to people’s faces, they should’ve sewn up any loopholes before they let him out on the street.

“he’s fine, i promise,” Stretch said firmly, then he reconsidered. “deb, do you have a cell phone?”

Debbie blinked, but pulled an iphone out of her pocket. It was older and the screen was cracked, and Stretch made a mental note to deal with that somehow, but that would be later. For now, he opened up her contact list and added his number, labeling it ‘Skeletor’s Second Cousin.’

As he typed, he said, “next time, call me, okay? not that i want a next time but, you get me. call, text, whatever. i’ll tell you what i can.”

Debbie nodded, still a little teary, and backed away enough to let Julia and Daniel get in another quick hug before they headed back behind the counter.

“Come on, let me get you a drink,” Debbie said briskly. She took hold of Stretch’s elbow, leading him up to the counter like a lost lamb, “You look like you’re on your way somewhere.” Stretch followed meekly along after her like a good little sheep. Not like letting her get in a little mom-ing was gonna hurt.

He allowed Debbie to steal his travel mug, watching as she worked her magic to fill it. “yeah, edge needs some of his pants altered if he’s gonna be able to wear them with a cast, so i’m headed down to the tailor.”

Debbie actually paused, lips pursed, “I see. Let me throw in an extra shot of espresso, I have a feeling you may need it.”

~~*~~

Not much time later, Stretch had a chance to really appreciate Debbie’s foresight.

He knew the Monster tailor, Bruno, as a casual sort of acquaintance but not so much professionally, not since he’d been fitted for his wedding tux. Stretch’s style tended towards either off the rack or out of Edge’s side of the closet, and that was about as far as he liked to think about clothes.

His husband, on the other hand, probably had his t-shirts professionally tailored. Not that Stretch was about to complain, heck no, not when he got to reap the benefits of that view.

But it did kinda leave him in the position to be standing awkwardly, listening to Bruno moan about the travesty he was about to commit on some perfectly good trousers.

“It won’t work!” Bruno declared, for about the fifth time if someone was counting, and Stretch really, really was. “There is barely enough material in his trousers for his legs, he expects me to maybe coax the silk worms into adding more for a cast?”

Stretch shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, munching on his last lemon bar as he watched the tailor pace. Everything on the overflowing tables rattled with every stomping step he took, the pictures on the walls hanging ever more crooked. Stretch couldn’t say he minded, it was kinda like getting a free show.

The sigh Bruno heaved was loud enough to shift all the pictures another inch, “The only way it might work is if I cut the seam all the way up the side and find a way for him to fasten them. The trousers won’t go over the cast, but he will at least be covered.”

“think velcro’s been proven to work,” Stretch offered idly. Even he shrank away from the look of pure distaste Bruno gave him, the void flickering in his vision as he almost shortcutted out to the sidewalk and to heck with the pants. Bruno was one of the rare Monsters who towered over him, with a pair of gleaming ivory fangs peeking out from his lips, the curling horns towering over his head well-polished. From the look of his shop, business was flourishing, which just proved that Human problems with Monsters wasn’t the way they looked.

“Is he planning on tearing them away in the middle of a meeting with heads of state?” Bruno sniffed. “Perhaps do a little dance for them?”

“uh...i hope not?” Stretch offered meekly. “i mean, probably should order a g-string too if that’s on the table.”

Bruno went on as if Stretch hadn’t said a word. “No, he is not. Hook and eye would work, buttons would be more secure, but.” He shook his head with grave misery, “No. he won't like it. No matter what I do, he won’t like any of it. No.” Bruno heaved a sigh worthy of any swooning Victorian heroine, sagging into a huge, squashy chair that creaked ominously. “I’ll do it, but I’m afraid he’s not going to like any adjustment I come up with. I certainly hope he doesn’t tell anyone he’s wearing one of my creations!”

“i’ll let him know to keep the business cards to himself for now.” Stretch leaned against the counter, plucking up a business card of his own to weave through his fingers. Oh, he was gonna regret asking, he knew it, but he was reluctantly curious. That might kill a cat, but hopefully skeletons got off for free. “okay, so, if what edge is asking for won’t work, what would you recommend?”

Bruno brightened instantly, illuminating like a newborn sun and clapped his huge hands with such exuberance that Stretch took a step back. “Ah, well! When it comes to something like a cast, there are a few options, oh, let me think!” He stroked a finger down one long fang, considering, “you both have such slender legs, but very shapely. Ah!” Stretch waited with morbid curiosity, almost expecting to see a bubble with the word ‘eureka’ come spilling out of the tailor’s ear. “I have it! I think he would be dashing in a business kilt!”

A what? “a kilt,” Stretch said, flatly. “that’s what you’re saying. that’s the big idea. not exactly original, is it.”

“Yes, yes, a kilt,” Bruno flapped an impatient hand at him, “and original isn't the question or suitcoats would have died out a hundred years ago! A sedate pattern, of course, nothing too flashy, not for Embassy work.” Yeah, as if that was Stretch’s big concern, that Edge might get stuck with something more appropriate for disco inferno than a business meeting. Then again, bell bottoms might work... “With a kilt cut jacket and tie, oh, yes, something in a dark wool, I think.” Bruno stood and marched over, Stretch bouncing along with every step, until he could lean in to whispered conspiratorially, “He’d look scrumptious and I don’t think I need to tell you that should be his natural state of being.”

“scrumptious.” Stretch repeated slowly, tasting the word. Yeah, okay, he kind of liked that one in the same sentence as Edge, he could warm up to this idea. “how long would it take to make something like that?”

Bruno’s expression turned into one from the sly family, his little smile widening to a toothy grin. “It’s entirely possible I have something in the works right now that might be suitable. If you’ll excuse the pun.”

Uh huh. He sure knew his clientele, didn’t he. “sold. let me know when i can pick it up.”

“I’ll have it done by the end of the week, along with the...trousers.” His distaste from the last word faded into a certain disturbing gleam that began to shine in Bruno’s eye and before Stretch could flee, he took hold of Stretch’s elbow, gripping firmly, “Now. Why don’t we see what I can do for you?”

“what? wait, no, i’m just here for edge!” Stretch tried, digging in his heels as Bruno began to pull. His sneakers squeaked on the tile as he slid along in the direction of the dressing rooms. “no, don’t! help! i don’t need new clothes!”

“Nonsense!” Bruno scoffed, “Everyone can use an addition to their wardrobe. Particularly when you come to me dressed like that,” He paused, his face twisting into a moue of pure disgust as he tutted over a perfectly decent sweatshirt and pair of track pants. “I couldn’t possibly let anyone see you leaving my shop this way. No, no,” He shook his head, tugging Stretch determinedly along. “My reputation won’t have it. Come now, let’s see what I have for you.”

Stretch gulped and cast a longing look at the door as he was hauled inexorably towards the dressing rooms.

Where was a damn explosion when you needed one?

-tbc-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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pythagoriantymek · 6 years

Note

top 5 words, top 5sounds, top 5 stories, top 5 traditions (cultural or familial or anything), top 5 natural phenomena, top 5 flora/fauna, and top 5 tropes (answer whichever you wish, no pressure)

Oh boy, I will endeavor to do as many of these as I can. This is going to be a long post though, so I’ll put it under a cut

These answers would be different if I did them at a different time, also the rankings are going to be largely arbitrary, but here’s my best shot

Words:

5. Oqchban - This is the accusative word for orc in a conlang I made, which, maybe saying it is one of my favorite words is conceited, but I love the /k/ + /ch/ + /b/ cluster

4. Lacheism - The desire for something bad, even cataclysmic, to happen. From the dictionary of obscure sorrows, I really had a fixation on this concept for a while.

3. iqoqo - The Ndebele word for frog. The q’s are lateral clicks (|| for the ipa inclined) and I love the sound symbolism there.

2. Approved - Obligatory joke, but also, rarely do I see that word accompanied by bad news.

1. Sobremesa - Spanish for the conversation held around a table during and after a meal. This is also cheating, because this is one of my all time favorite things.

Sounds:

5. Plucking the metal strands of a particular table in the math lounge at my college - I discovered this oddly musical table freshman year and it feels like a beautiful secret in plain sight

4. Any sound deep enough to make my chest resonate (also deep sounds in general) - MmmmMMMmm yessss

3. The unvoiced alveolar lateral fricative ( ɬ )- Call me a basic english speaking conlanger, but I can’t get enough of it

2. Train tracks - I just find the comforting

1. The sound that it makes when I hit the hollow metal tubes outside of my house - It’s impossible to describe, but they makes a beautiful noise

Stories:

5. The Legend of Drizzt - I, and this is not an exaggeration for effect, have read the Icewind Dale Trilogy over 20 times. Reading them is like visiting an old friend.

4. Instructions for a Help - A fun and creepy series. It plays with ideas that are cool and examines utopia as a concept in a more original way than most things

3. Frankenstein - Probably my favorite “classic.” I deeply related to this book in middle school, which, while dramatic, does make it one of my favorite books.

2. Fallen London - While I don’t really play anymore, I absolutely love the world of these games. Dark, gothic, vaguely steampunk, and filled with all sorts of themes I find compelling.

1. New Albion - I’ve loved this set of albums for years and years, I admit it has flaws, but I love it nevertheless. Excluding Lost Hollow, sorry Paul, but they’re just not good.

Traditions:

5. My holiday playlist - From the end of Thanksgiving to my birthday shortly after Christmas, I get to listen to my holiday playlist, which is great.

4. Beverages in Poland - My mother told me that when you visit someone in Poland (where I’m from, but we moved before I can remember) they will offer you tea or coffee. My favorite part though is that if you say neither, the host will give you both, just in case.

3. Walpurgisnacht - While the actual holiday is good, I mean the event that the Psi Phi club at my college does. It’s a good experience to stay up all night telling stories with friends.

2. Dia de Los Muertos - While I don’t celebrate it, I love this tradition. Death and mourning is something fascinating and really important to me, and the day of the dead is a really good cultural thing for it.

1. Eating dinner together - Just in general, I find that it makes for deep bonding and I rarely eat dinner alone. Always one of the most important and enjoyable parts of a day

Natual Phenomena:

5. The Bolton Strid - I don’t know if this counts as a phenomenon per se, but there’s a river in England with a 100% death rate; if you go in, you just die. It’s a combination of fast current, slippery rocks, and labrynthian underwater caves. It makes for a fun D&D inspiration.

4. When puddles freeze over and you step on them - Lov the crunch

3. Mycelial networks - I love that fungi make whole forests interconnected, like a wonderful, spongey internet. Also I live near the largest organism on earth, which is one such network in the Blue Mountains that is over 2 miles in area. Fungi are so cool

2. The kind of damp, fresh, open smell that happens sometimes around dusk in rural areas (or at least areas with a lot of plants) - It’s not quite petrichor, but it’s a similar thing and it’s a really good smell.

1. The combination of wet branches and a light source - it makes a really pretty effect and is a reminder of good times.

Flora/Fauna:

5. Lilacs - They’re my favorite flower because they smell so good

4. The Gimpi gimpi bush - Favorite in that it is so riddiculous that if it was in a book, it would be mocked for being too over the top. Just brushing this thing is enough to cause months to years of pain bad enough that it drives people to suicide.

3. Gastropods - I just find the really cute and sweet.

2. Fungi - Mentioned above, they’re so cool and important. As fascinated by death as I am, of course I have a soft spot for these wonderful little decomposers.

1. Cephalopods, specifically octopi - This is practically required to be number one. They’re fascinating and I love them.

Tropes:

5. Eldrich horror, but banal - I’m a big fan of cosmic horror, so it’s fun to treat mind rending beings as everyday, or, perhaps even better, have them just be regular guys, a shoggoth with a desk job. Ex. Welcome to Night Vale, The Norminomicon from Fable, certain SCPs.

4. Wise and caring mentor - Grandfatherly figures basically. Really, I just love uncle Iroh

3. Desperate grasping -> Bad situation -> Acceptance - I don’t know what to call this, but when a character is trying so hard to do something, they just can’t let go, and then they see everything and they do. Ex. Dolls of New Albion, Death of the Outsider

2. What must be done - Character struggling/grappling/negotiating with what they have to do, what they must become to do what they must. Ex. The Traitor Baru Cormorant, The Prince of Egypt, Ozymandias from Watchmen

1. Frantic resignation - When a character is there, trying their best to make something work, and again and again, day after day, it’s eating them alive, but they need to keep it working, for themselves, for those they love. Ex. the dad from Next to Normal, Moana at the beginning of the movie

Whew. Thank-you for the ask and for sticking around this long. Sorry for being so rambly.

#Ask #Anonymous

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siverwrites · 7 years

Text

Dangerous Games Ch.1

First part of my potential draft of Dangerous Games. Something in order, gasp!

Just a WIP draft so I stop going over it again and again and keep going with the stuff continuing off it. If my ultimate plan goes through once I have enough I’ll start posting cohesively to AO3, but I’m still in things may change mode and will I even be able to actually finish - why did this take over so much.

Still not satisfied with a start. Multiple attempts later!

All related things tagged Dangerous Games

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

It had been a productive and satisfying day. Cabanela lounged in his sofa in a rare moment of peace and quiet. It would only be a short while as he would leave soon to spend a lovely evening in the company of Jowd and Alma for Alma’s Birthday. That ever rare peaceful moment seemed doomed to remain such when his phone rang shattering the silence.

Cabanela fetched his phone with gusto and the vague thought that maybe he would rescind his threat to chew out the next salesman trying to sell him useless rubbish in light of his good mood. He leaned casually against his wall.

“Hellooo, Cabanela here.”

“Detective Cabanela, this is Byrde.” Cabanela stiffened from his casual lean at the urgency in Byrde’s voice. “The Chief needs you back at the station. His office ASAP.”

“What happened?”

She sounded nervous. “There’s been an incident. It’s better if you just get down here. I’m sorry.”

“I’m on my way.”

Cabanela’s gaze slid over the tidily wrapped present on the end of his table as he dialled Jowd’s number. Unfortunately their evening was looking to be delayed. Hopefully it was nothing that wouldn’t take him too long to sort out though he was going to be late regardless.

The line rang and rang. He frowned at the phone. Jowd and Alma would long be home. He finally gave up, telling himself they only stepped out. This timing meant nothing. Everything was fine.

When Cabanela entered the station he hurried to Chief Gant’s office, but his haste wasn’t enough to prevent him noticing the tension in the air or the hushed voices. He knocked at Gant’s door, harder than he intended, and Gant’s voice summoned him inside.

Gant sat at his desk with a grave expression. He gestured at the chair in front.

“You’d better sit down, detective.”

“What’s goin’ on, Chief?”

“There’s no point in mincing words. Detective Jowd has turned himself in for murder.”

Silence fell over the office as Cabanela tried to absorb and process the ridiculous words.

“With all duuue respect, not a funny joke.” he finally said.

“I wish it were. Alma was shot in their home - fatally I’m afraid.” Gant sighed. “A sorry day for this station losing both of them like this. Jowd claims he did it.”

Cabanela stared at him blankly. Shot. Alma dead. Jowd… shot her?

“She…” Not that. One thing at a time. Counter the absurd impossibility before the simple one. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on here or what Jowd’s playing at,” Cabanela said, “but he didn’t. He wouldn’t.” She was… dead?

“The scene is being investigated. I’m afraid it doesn’t look good.”

A sense of unreality crept in. Part of him wanted to laugh. She couldn’t be dead and Jowd shooting her? Jowd? How could anyone take that seriously?

“I’m sorry, my boy,” Gant said. “I know this is harder on you than any of us, however I must ask you some questions. We’ll keep it private here.” He stood. “I’ll give you a few minutes first.”

Cabanela was only vaguely aware of Gant leaving and the click of his door. He stared at the desk without seeing it. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be. He was going to see them tonight. He wanted to leave now, head straight for the detention centre. There had to be some kind of mistake. He needed to talk to Jowd. Everything would be clearer. It was a joke. A cruel and stupid joke.

She could not be dead. He could not have shot her. They didn’t answer. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

A pat on the shoulder and the clink of a teacup on the desk startled him out of his daze. Gant circled back around to his seat.

“How has Jowd been lately?”

It took him a moment to comprehend the question enough to pull an answer together.

“Normal. No…” No… that wasn’t quite right. There had been something on his mind. Cabanela hadn’t been able to wheedle it out of him yet. He and Alma had been keeping hush about something… yes, something was brewing between them.

“No?” Gant prompted.

“Normal enough,” Cabanela repeated. “But there was something bothering him. Don’t know what it was. He and Alma…”

“Were they fighting?”

Cabanela shook his head and had to bite back his irritation. As if fighting would mean anything in the face of this, as if that would be enough to... “Nothing like that.”

“Did he tell you anything?”

“No.”

“And Alma? Anything you’ve noticed?”

“Nothing more than I already said. Otherwise they were fine… happy. We had plans tonight. Her birthday…” He stopped before he started rambling or worse. He should be there. They should be there.

“Can you think of any reason Jowd might do this?” Gant’s eyes bore into him.

“He didn’t. Jowd would never…” Gods help him, it took every ounce of control he had to finish the sentence. “…shoot Alma.

Gant’s expression softened. “I know this is difficult to believe. I don’t want to believe it myself! However, he admitted to it. We have a bullet matching his gun and only his fingerprints.”

“There’s something else. That’s not what happened.” Cabanela leaned forward. “Give me the case. I know him. I know their place.”

“I’m afraid there may not be much of a case. This looks to be one of the easier trials the courts will have to handle.”

Cabanela’s chair flew back as he jumped to his feet. He slammed a hand on the desk, knocking the teacup over. “No! He didn’t do it. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Now, now.” Gant waved a placating hand. “I know you’re distraught, and you have every right to be, but this just shows me that you’re too close. Sit down, Detective.”

Cabanela stared at the spreading puddle of tea and tried to force back images of Alma… bleeding out…

He pulled the chair back, suddenly feeling unsteady and dropped into it. “Please, let me talk to him. Let me look into this.”

Gant said nothing while surveying him with an unreadable expression. They remained watching each other in silence until Gant finally spoke.

“Very well. I’ll give you three days to conduct an investigation of your own, starting the day after tomorrow once our team has cleared out. However, once those three days are up, that’s it. I need you back on your regular case load. Understood?”

“Perfectly.” That should be more than enough. Obviously some huge mistake had been made. He rose to his feet.

Another thought hit Cabanela that nearly knocked him back into his chair. How could he have nearly forgotten?

“Kamila! Their daughter. What’s happened to her?”

“She’s under the care of a family friend, Lynne.”

An inward sigh of relief. Lynne had a good head. She’d be fine there. As fine as was even possible under the circumstances…

“I am sorry my boy,” Gant added with a shake of his head. “This is a dark day for us all, but you were closest to them. If there’s anything you need you just let me know, all right?”

“Yes, Chief.”

Gant pulled out a cloth and started mopping up the tea. “You go on home now,” he said. He glanced up from his cleaning. “And, do take care of yourself!”

Cabanela couldn’t recall a time he ever felt so heavy when he finally entered his flat. Heavy, while his mind raced in circles over his talk with Gant, over Jowd and Alma, over his attempt to visit Jowd before leaving… damnit. No amount of furious demands let him in to see him. Well, if Jowd didn’t want to talk as friends, he still had his investigation to look forward to. They would talk one way or another.

He drifted over to his couch and his eyes fell on the gift still sitting on the table. He swallowed hard. How? How did this happen? She was dead. He was… under threat? Lost his mind in the brief span of a few hours? Wrong, all wrong.

He shuddered. While he sat relaxing here, she was being killed. He wrenched his gaze away from the gift and retreated to his kitchen. Get a drink, calm down. That was his intent. Instead he found himself gripping the counter.

Tomorrow… tomorrow he would see Lynne and Kamila. He could hardly question the young girl, though she might have something she could tell him. Maybe he could also look into Jowd’s files. If there was something in his last case, if there was something he missed… it didn’t have to be official yet.

Several hours of the night slogged by in endless pacing, attempts at sitting only to furiously fling himself back into wearing ruts into his carpet while his thoughts whirled, alternating between reasons that would cause Jowd to do this, careful avoidance of Alma’s absence and a hollow disbelief that this was happening at all.

He eventually eked out a few restless hours of fitful dozing on his couch and rose early in the morning with a plan laid out for the day. Leave early, stop by and see Lynne and Kamila before work. Plow through as much as he could, keep an ear and eye on the investigations, work out his plan of attack for the next three days. They would face the rest together after Jowd was out.

“Detective Cabanela!” Lynne peered at him in surprise from her door.

“Hey baby. Thought I’d stooop by, check on you both.”

Lynne managed a wan smile. “Thanks. Come in.” She opened the door wider and nodded in the direction of her couch. “Kamila’s awake already… still…”

Kamila sat on one end of the couch, her hands clenched in her lap and her head bowed.

He approached and took a seat beside her. “Hey there kiddo.”

“Cabanela…” Kamila’s lip quivered before she flung herself at him burying her face in his chest. “It’s a nightmare and it won’t stop. Stop it stop it stop it.” She dissolved into a sob.

Cabanela wrapped an arm around her and exchanged a look with Lynne. She gave him a helpless sort of half shrug with a mixture of sadness and sympathy. The room felt heavy with the feelings.

Kamila eventually pulled back, sniffling. Cabanela soundlessly retrieved a handkerchief from his coat and passed it to her.

“I’m scared,” Kamila whimpered. “Mom… I want mom. I want dad.”

“Kamila, look at me.”

She stared up at him with wide and reddened eyes. More tears threatened to spill out. He held her shoulder in a firm and what he hoped reassuring hold.

“I will get your dad back, but I need you to help me a little here. Can you tell me what happened?”

Kamila twisted the handkerchief. “B-bad dream, it was like a bad dream. Mom…” she squeezed her eyes shut. “Dad said he’d take care of it and now he’s…” she choked and started to cry again. “He’s gone too…”

Even as Cabanela started to speak the words he knew it was a mistake, but he needed answers. A clue. Anything.

“Did you see what happened to her?”

Kamila let out a loud sob. She shook her head wildly, jumped to her feet and ran out of the room.

“Kamila!” Cabanela and Lynne both called.

He sagged back into the couch as Lynne hurried after Kamila. Cabanela stared down the hall. Stupid mistake, but what did her reaction mean? Was it merely too much too soon? Had she seen something that was too much for her to say? Was there enough for the young girl to have even made sense of any of it?

How much sense was there in this mess?

Lynne returned shortly, shaking her head.

“Leave her alone for now I guess…” she said softly while still glancing back down the hall. “She hasn’t said anything more than what she just did.”

She approached Cabanela, her worry and nerves clear in her expression and clasped hands.

“Is it really true?” she asked. “Do they really think he did it?”

“So the evidence claims.” As if that meant anything. So he claimed and that meant just as little.

“He said… when he came to ask me to take care of Kamila he said he was turning himself in.” She shook her head. “But, there’s no way.” Her hands flew apart in a furious gesture. “There’s no way! Detective Jowd would never do that!” She wiped her eyes. “He wouldn’t…”

Smart girl.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Baby, I wish I knew, but I intend to find out.” Cabanela unfolded himself off the couch. “I have to go. Take care of her. Give me a buzz if you need anything.”

“I will, thank you.”

It wasn’t until Cabanela entered the station that the reality of the situation started to sink in in the absence of Jowd and Alma’s greetings. The tension in the air had faded compared to the previous evening, but was still palpable. One of their own dead and the other arrested…

Cabanela made a beeline for his desk while avoiding the gazes of the rest of the officers but kept his ears open.

He tried to focus on his report. As long as he could focus on his work he didn’t have to think of them. As long as he could get everything done he would leave himself with plenty of time to focus on Jowd’s case. All easier said than done while listening to the snatches of conversation around him.

“Detective Jowd, man I can’t believe it. There’s gotta be a mistake right?”

“I have to get this down to the evidence room. Just… can’t believe she’s gone, you know?”

Focus.

“Detective Jowd really did it?”

“Dunno but sure looks that way from what I heard.”

“No way. He was the best!”

“Hey you never know what people are really like.”

Focus…

“Yeah but Jowd? And she was his wife!”

“Sure and how much crap have we seen between couples? I’m just sayin’ maybe there was something nastier than we knew. Wouldn’t be the first time.” The cop took on a higher pitched voice. “But he was always good to me! He’d never do it!”

The scraping of Cabanela’s chair being pushed back wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chatter creating a suddenly awkward and tense silence.

“Coffee,” Cabanela said simply by way of explanation. His gaze fixed on the pair of gossiping cops. One more word, I daaare you.

The pair shifted and the loudmouth shrugged. “I gotta get moving,” he muttered.

Right.

Cabanela swept away. Another coffee would be good and a moment to quell the urge to punch someone. A few days, just a few days.

#ghost trick #ace attorney #gtxaa #cabanela #lynne #gant #kamila #ghost trick fic #ace attorney fic #dangerous games #writing

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transcriptroopers · 7 years

Text

A Week in Air Force ROTC

The following is a submission from the marvelous @mrs-chief! If you’re ever planning to write about air force officers, consider giving this a good read through for all of your lovely backstory-writing needs!

And a tremendous thanks again to mrs-chief for taking the time to write such a hefty post! It’s phenomenally thorough and it’s clear you went through a lot of pains to write it. I’m sure it’s going to be a huge help for someone. ^^ -Kingsley

—————————————-

Howdy! It’s me, Mrs. Chief, who moonlights as an Air Force ROTC (Reserve Officers’ Training Corps) cadet. I thought it would be helpful if I imparted some of my experiences on you wonderful people in the hopes that your works of fiction can be accurate, or your curiosity can be sated. Either way, I hope this is useful in some manner, and I apologize in advance for how long this is going to be.

I’m going to try and break it down into just what a typical week is like for a cadet, such as PT, LLAB, and etc. but also some of the basic Customs and Courtesies (which I might call C&C because I’m lazy)

All of my information will be coming from my experience, my AFROTC class materials found on the Holm Center (only accessible to cadets, sorry), and several (public) DoD documents, including:

Jeanne M. Holm Center: Military Customs and Courtesies (not public, but the most used by my detachment for C&C)

Similar alternative: AFROTCI36-2010 (Literally everything AFROTC related)

AFI34-1201 “Air Force Protocol” (Literally everything possible. Ch. 8 is C&C)

AFH33-337 “The Tongue and Quill” (USAF document writing standards – very important if you’re going to have official documents in your work!)

AFI36-2903 “Dress and Appearance Standards” (Can your OC have hair like that in the military? [Chances are, no, they cannot.])

I want to try and keep this short, but there is a lot of information, some of it which I’m still learning, so if there’s something I don’t mention or you want clarification on, definitely check out all the links.

My other ROTC "handbook" is the Field Training Manual which teaches everything that will go down in Field Training, but for more general drill movements and ceremonies, I recommend AFMAN36-2203 if you want your characters to be doing accurate (to the USAF) drill movements, commands, and whatnot.

Some definitions of basic AFROTC terms to start you off:

(more at: https://www.afrotc.com/glossary)

GMC: General Military Cadet. This is someone in their first and second year of the program. Anyone who hasn’t completed Field Training is a GMC.

POC: Professional Officer Course. This is a cadet in the third-and-four year of the program. Has completed Field Training.

Cadre: AFROTC faculty. The instructors (USAF Officers) and NCOs (USAF Enlisted Officers) that keep the detachment both learning and running as it should. They are in charge.

PT: Physical Training.

FT: Field Training. 25 days spent at Maxwell AFB, Alabama learning how to become a POC.

FTP: Field Training Prep cadets. Second-year (or, as we say AS200s/250s) cadets preparing to go to FT in the coming summer.

PTU: Physical Training Uniform.

ABU: Air Battle Uniform. Our camo.

PCA: Professional Civilian Attire. For cadets without ABUs, this is the Uniform of the Day (UOD) for our AS (Aerospace Studies) classes, LLAB (Leadership Laboratory), or meetings with the cadre. It’s often called the ABU Equivalent.

PMT: Practical Military Training. An umbrella term for everything we do, ROTC-wise.

OPORDs: Operation orders. What we’re doing for the week.

AFROTC at a glance: Alongside your bachelor’s degree, you also take ROTC classes. At the completion of both ROTC and your degree, you commission as a 2nd Lieutenant in the United States Air Force.

A Week in AFROTC*:

(*as told by an FTP cadet at Det. 6XX. Subject to change detachment-to-detachment)

Sunday (Afternoon/Evening): OPORDs are typically sent out to the Cadet Wing by 2200, detailing the plan for the week, including PT exercises and locations, LLAB training objectives, and UODs. I check the OPORDs and pick which days I want to go to PT, and prepare for LLAB. Also I get any uniform parts in order and ready to go. For example, if I’m going to Monday PT, I put my PTU and water bottle and keys and etc. on my desk so I’m not groping around in the dark.

Monday (Morning): If I’m planning on going to Monday PT, I set my alarm for 0515 so I have time to get dressed, eat, and mentally prepare for the day. UOD is PTU. I typically leave my dorm at around 0550. PT starts at 0630. I get to the Rec Center at around 0600. Upon arriving, if a POC or a member of the cadre is in the gym and they aren’t having a conversation with another cadet, I immediately say “Good Morning, Sir/Ma’am/Cadet [Insert Name]/[Insert Rank] [insert Name]”. No need to salute if indoors, and sometimes, people are rushing around so much that you’re lucky to even get out the “Good Morning” part by the time they’ve moved on, but it’s still important to say the greeting of the day.

We begin PT by having whoever is leading PT that day fall in the flight. Basically, they stand at attention in the front of the gym, say “FALL IN” and we fall in properly (see above links for more info). They are the Flight Commander for the duration of PT, and all orders during PT will come from them. There is still a chain of command that they have to respect (i.e. if a POC overrides an order), but they are in charge, essentially. The commander will guide us through warm-ups first. I have a feeling that every detachment does them differently, but basically we have timed exercises (high knees, butt kicks, jumping jacks, and jump ropes) and timed stretches, and between every exercise, we go to parade rest upon the command “STANDBY”, then the commander calls “RECOVER” and we snap to attention and respond with “AIRPOWER!”

After warmups and stretching, the commanders falls out the flight and then briefs us on the exercise of the day. It’s pretty straightforward after that. We do the workout, do a debrief in regards to the workout (what worked, what didn’t, critique of the commander), do some stretches, then leave. That’s it for required PMT on Mondays for FTP cadets.

Tuesday (Morning): FTP class begins at 0700. It is not mandatory, and it is not held at the same time or sometimes even offered by other detachments. It’s a good time for FTP cadets (AS200s/250s) to practice drill, leadership exercises, and etc. in preparation for Field Training. The UOD for FTP is ABU/PCA, and ours lasts an hour. Tuesday (Afternoon): PT is offered by my detachment at 1600 on Tuesdays. I don’t typically go to it, but it would be the same procedure as Monday PT. Wednesday (Morning): FTP PT. While regular PT is going on, the FTP cadets run our own PT session that is typically more intense and based on a learning objective, such as teamwork, adaptability, or motivation. Typically, a POC will supervise it, but the GMC cadets are basically in charge of the whole session. We still do the standard warmups/stretches, just do a different workout from the rest of the wing. It’s a great learning and bonding opportunity.

Thursday (Afternoon to Evening): Ahh, ROTC day. Thursdays are when my AS classes are, along with LLAB. UOD for classes and LLAB is specified in the OPORDs for that training week, but most of the time, it’s ABU/PCA. I begin my AS200 class at 1410, then go to my AS100 class at 1510. After AS100 is LLAB. When I leave my 100 classroom, I, being LRC (Low Ropes Course) Flight Deputy Flight Commander and an FTP cadet, get accountability for the AS100 cadets in my flight, then report accountability to either my LRC Flight Commander (an AS300 [POC] cadet) or to his superior, my squadron commander (another POC. AS400). We then move, as a squadron, out of the detachment and form up. An FTP cadet then assumes the role of Flight Commander and marches the squadron to the LLAB location. I’ll hit on some of the finer points of drill down below. Once in the LLAB location, we file in, stand at parade rest, and wait. A cadet leading LLAB will then ask the FTP cadets to lead the wing in the saying of the Airmen’s Creed. Then, the National Anthem is played (we stand at attention and face the flag). Finally, we’re typically asked to sit at that point, and we go about LLAB. LLAB consists of briefings, announcements, then we do whatever exercise for the day. Briefings will be about holiday-related safety (don’t drink too much on New Years’ Eve), general safety issues (wear your bike helmet), or events for the coming training week (such as Combat Dining-In for our TW12. They’re basically just a rundown of everything going on, or anything that needs to be taught to the whole wing, such as proper dress and appearance. Briefs are short, ~5 minutes, but there are proper procedures and ways that a brief should be set up and conducted. Announcements are shorter, typically just something like “hey, we’re getting a pet fish for the cadet lounge, there’s a donation jar in the det to help pay for it”. Exercises can be anything from combat waters (aquatic military training), to MOUT (in which we did a CQB Room Clearing exercise), to just learning drill. LLAB ends at 1800. Friday (Morning): PT. In good weather, Friday PTs are Warrior Runs sometimes, and if the PT Flight Commander and the Army ROTC PT Commander so wish, we also have game days occasionally on Fridays. Other times, it’s just basic workouts (or sometimes a fitness assessment, but that’s a whole other type of animal…)

Most suspenses (due dates) for things within AFROTC are going to be at COB (close of business – 1500) on Fridays.

Things to always remember:

1. When a member of the cadre comes into the room, the room is “called”. The cadet closest to the door sees the cadre approaching, calls “ROOM STANDBY”, and we all stand and assume parade rest. When the cadre enters, the same cadet calls “ROOM TENG-HUT” (honestly, I can’t spell it. I tried). The cadre will then say something along the lines of “take your seats” or “as you were”.

2. In my detachment, “flight” is NOT a preparatory command. We do not say “FLIGHT, FALL IN”. Instead, it’s just “FALL IN”. Also, commands are given the letter “H” in front of them. Instead of saying “READY, FRONT” we actually say “READY, HUNT”. Cadences are counted with the letter “P” added to the end of the number, so “HUP, TWOP, THREEP, FOURP” (1, 2, 3, 4)

3. There are a LOT of C&C things I just can’t go over because this is extremely long as it is, but things such as reporting-in and reporting-out are vital when meeting with the cadre.

4. While there is a lot of lighthearted camaraderie, there is CONSTANTLY an air of respect, coming from both the cadre and the cadets. My detachment commander (who is also my instructor – which isn’t normal but we are really understaffed) who is a Lieutenant Colonel has joked around with me before, but we still afford each other courtesies and respect in doing so. A good rule of thumb is if a member of the cadre or a POC speaks to you, use sir or ma’am. A lot.

5. If you really want to write a story about two cadets who are in love and dating, remember to have them report it to the det commander and fill out the proper paperwork. (I’m not kidding, that is a thing you have to do.)

6. We do not handle weapons of any sort. (well, we had plastic M16s for MOUT but they don’t count)

7. Academics come first. You cannot commission at the end of your ROTC career without your bachelor’s degree.

8. Emails are sent constantly. There are constantly extra things you will have to do outside of class for ROTC. Sometimes, it’s just your flight commander checking in on your week, or it’s paperwork, or it’s volunteer opportunities. In short, you never stop being a cadet. (until you commission)

9. An ROTC cadet will NEVER have enlisted ranks. Unless they were enlisted before joining ROTC, for example, a Navy ROTC cadet will never be able to be Master Chief, or an AFROTC cadet will never be able to be CMSAF. Enlisted ranks (including non-commissioned officers/NCOs/”enlisted officers”) are different from commissioned officer ranks. (I know it’s confusing, just bear with me) 10. SALUTE YOUR POC WHEN YOU ARE OUTSIDE.

11. “Get comfortable with being uncomfortable” – Cadet Wing Commander

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I hope this was at least somewhat useful to anyone trying to write military fiction, or anyone interested in ROTC.

V/R, //SIGNED// Mrs. Chief, C/3C, AFROTC

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#long post #basic training #air force #writing advice #military advice #ROTC #officers #submission

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