#Military!Harrison

[taepomme]

So let me introduce to you the one and only…

[clove-pinks]

I'm going to need some kind of expert on Freaky Hairstyles of the 18th Century to weigh in on this one (which is why I'm turning to my tumblr pals).

I thought this portrait of a young William Henry Harrison was c. 1790s but the National Gallery of Art dates it 1800. (It may still depict a slightly younger Harrison, since he left the US military in 1798 and this look screams military).

Anywho—WHAT is happening to his hair? I have seen mullet-like late 18thc. men's styles that pair shorter fringe/top with more length in back: but not this part well behind his ears that attaches a long braided queue to the back of his head?? It looks almost like a French braid going up the back of his head, I'm not sure how it's secured (ribbons? hair pins?)

[girlpanthera]

When I'm not a beatles freak, I'm collecting military memorabilia. Just got my M1970 helmet in today tomorrow my John lennon hair pin is coming....so diverse

[wealmostaneckbeard]

I want a NATOwave style music video for Harrison Armory so bad

Sort of like this one:

I want to see a Saladin defending troops from cluster munitions.

A Genghis drowning an enemy mech in flames in close quarters

A Barbarossa emerging from a hollowed out asteroid and nailing an enemy spaceship.

That would be so fucking cool.

[faofinn]

14. ‘‘I shouldn’t be worried about you, but for some reason I am’’ 

Fao had been working flat out. Surgical training was no joke, the hours were long and the shifts gruelling. He wasn’t long back from his first tour, which had been amazing, but tiring, and now he was back to the rigours of the wards in Birmingham. 

He’d not slept much that night, struggling with the changeover from night shifts to days, and he was looking forwards to getting home and to his bed. But that was a distant prospect now, he had a shift to work, even if he was falling asleep into his handover sheet. 

He had a headache brewing, and had just rested his head on the desk for a second, just to breathe, that was all. 

“Blackwood!” 

The shout startled him, sitting up quickly. He must’ve dozed off. Shit. 

A glance at his phone told him he was ten minutes late to the morning handover. Well, that was why he was being yelled at then. 

“Sorry, Sir.” He said quickly, grabbing his stuff. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” 

He managed to get through his meeting, though it was a struggle, and then it was straight to theatres. A mix of military and civilian patients, it certainly kept him busy, and he was shattered by the time it got to his break. He slipped out for a smoke, but it didn’t really help the headache, and he swung by the emergency department on his way back in to grab some chocolate, hoping that might help, along with the energy drink he’d shoved in his locker. 

Harrison had been on shift when Fao passed through. He went to call over to him when he saw the state of him. His frown deepened, notes forgotten, he stood, padding over to Fao.

"Wolfie?"

“Mm? Hey, Tomcat.” Fao said softly. 

"You look like shit."

“Charming as ever.”

"Are you feeling alright?" He rested a hand on his arm.

“Yeah, just a headache, you know how it is.” He murmured. “Got a bollocking for nearly missing handover this morning and I’ve only just got out of theatre.”

"Come sit down with me?" Harrison couldn't shake the worry.

“I’ve not got long.”

"Yeah, I know."

“Five minutes, whilst I eat this chocolate.” He said, caving all too easily. 

"Good." He grinned, leading the way.

He followed Harrison tiredly, dragging a hand through his hair. If his head would just stop pounding, he could cope with the tiredness. But he could barely think straight. 

"I'm sure we've got a spare treatment room."

“I’m not that bad.” He grumbled. 

"I know." He lied. "Just for some peace."

“Staff room’s fine, it’s only five minutes.”

"Nah, come on. This way."

“I don’t need a treatment room.” He protested, but didn’t have the energy to argue. 

Harrison pushed open the door, hopping up onto the bed. "How's today been, then?"

“Busy.” He said with a sigh, sitting next to Harrison. He used his teeth to open his chocolate wrapper, before offering Hars a square. 

Harrison took it gratefully. "Thanks. You look like you've not slept in a week."

“I feel like it.” He murmured, breaking off a piece for himself. “I did the overnight on call all of last week and it was so busy it’s killed me off. Feel like I’ve not been able to get enough sleep in between shifts, and now I’ve changed to days and it’s just as busy.”

"Been dizzy?"

“Occasionally.” He admitted. “But sod off, I’m just dehydrated with low blood sugar, so’s half the hospital.”

Harrison hummed. "Sure, sure. And how bad is the headache?" 

“Like someone is hammering a nail into my brain.”

"Any visual changes?"

“Stop doctoring and let me be miserable for five minutes.” He grumbled, eating another piece of chocolate. 

"I need an answer." He nudged him, reaching to steal another square. "What about feeling sick?"

“No visual changes but my dyslexia’s worse because I’m tired.” He said, resting his head on Harrison’s shoulder. “Bit of nausea, but the sugar is helping.”

Harrison wrapped an arm around him. "Any auras?"

“Mm, no.”

"Anything else you're not telling me?"

“I just can’t think straight.” He admitted. “I need a holiday, for fuck’s sake.”

"Can I do a set of obs on you?"

“No, because if they’re shit I can’t go back to work and I need to go back to work because I’ve already gotten in the shit this morning.”

"All the more reason I want to do some."

“I told my consultant five minutes for a smoke and something to eat.”

"I'm worried about you." He admitted. "I shouldn’t be worried about you, but for some reason, I am."

“I’m fine, I’ve got a drink upstairs and I’ll sit and do some notes.”

"Please?"

“I should’ve gone to the vending machines outside theatres.” He huffed. “Fine. Make it quick.”

"You know we've got the best shit down here." He grinned, hopping off the bed. "I'll be quick. Sorry, the cuff's cold."

“I know, that’s why I came down. And it was on my way back.” He’d been hoping to bump into Harrison, admittedly, but not to be fussed over and bothered. He’d fancied five minutes to rant, that was all. “You’re not getting any more of my chocolate, though.” 

"Rude. I'll live."

He had another square, letting it melt in his mouth as Harrison fussed. His bleep hadn’t gone off yet, which was a relief, because the way it had been squealing at him all morning really hadn’t been helping things. “You better.”

"Mhmm." He hummed, watching the machine. "Can you stand up a sec for me?"

“I’m comfy.” He protested. 

"Please?"

“I know what you’re trying to do.” He complained, but stood up. His back was aching - his table hadn’t been high enough for his last case, and he was paying for it.

"Okay, you can sit." He pulled out his pen torch. "Stare at my nose, just gonna shine a light in your eyes."

Fao sat gratefully, ignoring how his head span. “No, c’mon, you said a set of obs, and I even went so far as to give you the standing BP. Enough, I need to go back to work.”

"No." Harrison was firm. "You're not. Not a chance."

“I’m tired and dehydrated, it can’t be that bad.”

"You're still not going back to work. I want you admitted."

“Leave off.” He protested. “I’ll go home, if you insist, but I don’t need admitting. It’s a headache.”

"Surely you'd feel better with some pain relief? Antiemetics? Please, it's for your own benefit."

“Chuck a couple of paracetamol at me and I’ll get Alex to take me home.”

"No." 

Fao was about to argue when his bleep went off, and he winced. “Time’s up, I need to get that.” He said, frowning at the number on the screen. 

Harrison pulled out his own phone, taking the bleep from Fao. "Yeah, I'm overruling you on that one."

“Tomcat!” He protested. “Let me call them back?”

"I said no." Harrison’s voice was uncharacteristically hard. "I'm calling them, you're gonna lie back on the bed and let me do my job."

He stepped back, deliberately out of Fao's reach, and dialled the number. Fao's observations weren't terrible, but they were enough to worry him, especially with how shit his friend looked. He didn't really care if Fao hated him for it; he couldn't, in good conscience, let him continue working when he was so obviously struggling so much. 

He huffed, but his headache was much too bad to really give too much protest. He wasn’t going after Harrison, at any rate. He shuffled his bum back on the bed, swung his legs up and kicked his shoes off, feeling better for it almost instantly, though he’d never admit it. Guilt flared, knowing he was supposed to be busy, but Harrison making decisions meant it had been taken somewhat out of his hands, which he appreciated. Leaning back against the back of the bed he let his eyes close, listening to Hars on the phone. 

"Hi, it's Dr Harrison from ED? No, you paged Blackwood, not me, that's right. Yeah, he's not coming back up, I'm admitting him." He kept his voice low, aware it wouldn't be helping Fao. "Honestly? You should be ashamed of yourself that you let him keep working. Anyone could see he wasn't well, I could tell a mile off. Go ahead, it's Harrison Cunningham, I don't care. Thanks, bye now."

“Harrison!” Fao hissed, reaching to throw a pillow at him. 

"Hey, you'll need that. It's a luxury around here." He teased, passing it back. "I'll go grab you a blanket and get you booked in, too. Then I'll send someone across and we'll get some treatment sorted, yeah?"

“You’re an ass.” 

"I know." There was a hint of pride behind his tone. 

Fao rolled his eyes, but tucked his pillow back under his head. “I should call them.”

Harrison laughed. "You sound like every drunk girl on a Saturday night. Get some rest."

“Get me a cup of tea?”

"Sir, yes, sir." He teased. "I'll be right back."

“If you’re gonna admit me you could at least get me a cup of tea. Might as well milk it.”

"Might as well make the most of it. Want me to call Alex? Sheila?"

“Don’t bother Sheila, but call Alex? You can doctor at her.”

"Alright, I'll do that while I'm getting your tea, yeah?" He said softly. "I'll send a nurse through."

“Thanks.” He said, rolling onto his front to bury his face in the pillow. 

Harrison hummed, shutting the door quietly behind him. He grabbed one of the nurses, smiling sweetly and apologising for the extra work. He then had the fun job of calling Alex, so scrolled through before pressing dial, heading to the staff room for the good tea.

Alex had been enjoying her day off, having taken the dog for a long walk that morning. Now he was napping, and she’d been watching some TV when her phone rang. She should’ve been studying, but of course she wasn’t, and she reached for her phone. 

“Harrison?” 

"I'm at work, you can't yell at me. But, I may have just admitted Fao?"

“I can definitely still yell at you. What’s happened? Is he okay?”

"He's got a migraine, don't think he's been sleeping. His obs aren't terrible, but honestly? He looks like shit. Got yelled at this morning, apparently, for falling asleep before handover. That's not like him."

“He didn’t sleep last night.” Alex agreed. “How bad is ‘not terrible’?”

"Fluids worthy but not resus?"

She sighed. “He’s such an ass. He’s been struggling for days with his sleep.”

"I'd say maybe he'd learn from this, but I know better."

“He definitely won’t. He needs to sort his mental health out again, keep an eye on him?”

"Don't we all?" He sighed. "You know I will. I'm just making him a cuppa, he's had some chocolate, but I'll get him something proper to eat."

“Thank you. Are you expecting to get him discharged in a couple of hours?”

"Depends how he behaves."

She laughed at that. “Yeah, true.”

"Are you wanting to come in?"

“If I can, yeah. I’ll kick his ass.”

"Cool, I'll let him know."

“Look after him, yeah? He’s trying to be a hard ass but he’s been really struggling.”

Harrison softened. "Of course I'll look after him. He's got me worried about him."

“Glad you’re looking out for him. I won’t be long, let him know I’m on my way.”

"I will. Drive safe."

“Always.” She murmured, and said her goodbyes before she hung up, grabbing some stuff for Fao.

When she arrived, he was on his side in the bed, though sipping the tea Harrison had brought him. He looked worse than he had done when he’d left the house that morning, but the smile he offered her as she appeared had her anger and worry evaporating like mist in the morning sun. 

“You daft shite.” She said, settling next to him and running a hand through his hair. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I know.” He murmured. “Sit wit’ me properly?”

She was always a soft touch for him, and so she settled on the bed properly. Fao sat up as she did so, putting his tea down, and then laid back down again, his head in her lap. They’d already given him antiemetics, and he had fluids running, which were making him feel better, but Alex there was certainly doing the hard work. Her fingers carding through his hair, he was asleep in minutes, warm and safe.

[moonwatchuniverse]

100 years ago... LtCmdr Rupert Gould best selling book 100 years ago, Royal Navy LtCmdr Rupert Gould (1890-1948) published his famous book " The Marine Chronometer " (preface December 1922 - 1923) but we didn't have to wait a century for a worthy reprint as in 2013 the ACC Antique Collectors' Club brought out their 365 pages version... and again in 2016. A truly amazing book with extra chapter full of great color photographs as both reprints almost sold out immediately. October 5th, 2023 will be the 75th anniversary of the passing of LtCmdr Rupert Gould, a Royal Navy officer who safed, cleaned and repaired John Harrison's Marine clocks, naming H1 to H5. More recommended reading: Time Restored: The Harrison Timekeepers and RT Gould, the man who knew (almost) everything (2006 Oxford Univ Press). (Photos: MWU & Nat Maritime Museum)

[airasilver]

I actually forgot I had these...until I found them in my shed, covered to keep safe.

[anclibrary]

Another day, another confusingly charming inscription from a Club member. This time, from a Marine Colonel via March to Saratoga, by Harrison Bird.

The title page reads:

“For “Maggie” Schaet

A souvenir of her visit to Bluff Head

From

Johnny

pen

Harrison Bird”

And the lining page reads:

“March 28, 1983

Note:

“Maggie” was “Maggie Cannoneers Lady”, a full bred English Bull Dog and faithful pet of my family from 1964 until 1976, when she died at Camp Lejeune. We loved her and she us; it was a tearful day for all of us when she died.

Johnny was “Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne,” a full bred English Bull Dog and sturdy pet of Harrison Bird at Halett’s Landing (Bluff Head) on Lake George, N.Y.

Maggie and Johnny met in the summer of 1968, while we were vacationing at Haletts between assignments in New York and Quantico. They had a great time.

Donald E. Schaet

Colonel USMC (Ret)”

[shotmrmiller]

ik i've heard of penpals with cod but like getting simon as your dedicated pal for say, college or something would be terrible.

at first he's reluctant. why would he talk to some civvie that hasn't a clue about what goes on in the world he lives in? probably thinks him a recruiter or something, not a man who has removed the skin off of another just for a name of an enemy.

john tells him to suck it up, it's not like it can kill him.

simon gets the letter and it's... entertaining. you write, almost illegibly, that you really don't want to do this, that if it wasn't such a hefty percent of your grade you wouldn't even have bothered.

nothing but a poor man fighting a rich man's war. like some puppet, manipulated by a more powerful force-- not a single decision nor thought your own.

interesting. he hasn't been talked down to like this since his days as a private. granted, if you knew what he looked like you would've probably swallowed your own tongue but that's neither here nor there.

he chuckles under his breath, and picks up the envelope.

the stamp has a waterfall on it and it says harrison wright falls.

american.

he writes that you're right. he's nothing but a muppet with a hand up his arse. but what's got you so upset over the military? not like you suffer the consequences sitting pretty in your cozy home. the hardest battle you've ever fought is a school project.

the letter you send back has him rumbling with laughter. you're furious. he can see one too many holes from where the pen tore through the paper in your rage, and some words you crossed out with a singular line.

listen, asshole, you falling for the UK military propaganda is not my fault. no one made you sign up, idiot.

you continue on about him being a murderer which he gives a small hum to because you've no idea how right you are. simon vaguely wonders if you'd still write him if you knew just how many necks he's snapped with his bare hands.

you're quite abrasive, a little spitfire that holds nothing back, and it makes him achingly curious to know just who you are.

he pulls up your info on his personal laptop, and can feel his cock stirring just from your driver's license photo alone.

cute. very cute. you look soft, kind. a gentle ㅤsmile graces your lips. he almost doubts that the person on his screen is you, but the signature on your license and the letters you've sent is the exact same.

so very interesting. steel concealed beneath velvet.

he taps his fingers on the surface of his desk as he gazes at your charming, lovely countenance. pretty as a peach.

his chair creaks under him as he reaches for a pen.

simon's kept all your letters, the paper worn and almost in tatters from the amount of times he's read them-- ink smudged from him running his bare fingertips over each hateful word.

he can't wait for next leave; simon's heard that ricketts glen state park is beautiful during the fall.

[gee0man]

Harrison Armory finally presents its Year of the Snake ensemble. Security Captain Valentina Santoso makes a rare return to Ras Shamra, dressed in an outfit that conveys both her military standing and minor celebrity status among the core territories of Harrison Armory. For better or worse, all HA rank and file know The Dirty Worker.

The brief sojourn has her in uncommonly good spirits, she's here to review the results of the Armory's new prototype frame—the Gustav. The return signifies changes in the year to come. New equipment, new assignments, and most importantly for Santoso Company, new enemies.

[clove-pinks]

Been having something of a rough time lately, long hours at work and a lot of stress. I wish I could turn to tumblr friends to buoy my spirits, but when I'm going through it I always withdraw from people and find it hard to communicate and interact.

My comfort media continues to be books about frontier fighting in the War of 1812. I'm reading William Henry Harrison and the Conquest of the Ohio Country, which is excellent, and The War of 1812 in the West: From Fort Detroit to New Orleans.

I'm dying to talk about how Harrison was a brilliant politician and military leader, a cunning and interesting man, albeit not a good person. It's so unfair that all anyone knows about him is the died-in-30-days factoid (sometimes with the implication that he talked himself to death in his inaugural speech)—or is this the afterlife he deserves?

[gothcsz]

First Sight | Frankie Morales x F!Reader | ~3.5k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Two strangers discover they’ve been swapping movies through a communal space, each leaving a note in return until curiosity forces a meeting.

Tags: meet cute kinda i think, drug use (smoking weed), the movie swap box is definitely inspired by little free library, pwp, smut, lust at first sight vibes, thigh fucking!, spanking, unprotected p in v, face riding, lil bit of dirty talk, pull out method strikes again, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: helloooo this is my submission for @jolapeno's dear-uary challenge (i know i'm late pls...) so thank you jo for hosting! such a fun idea! 🖤 okay so i'm not usually a meet cute person but i wanted to challenge myself by writing it, which is why this took me forever to finish! i'm still a little iffy about the results and frankie's characterization—but fuck it, we ball! gotta start somewhere! shoutout to @mandaloriankait for reading over this as well when it was still in its early stages lmfao ummm i hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think! 🖤

Francisco stands at the edge of his uncle’s property, staring at the house he now owns. The old man had lived like a ghost in his final years—ex-military (like himself), a recluse, barely seen except for maybe an occasional grocery run.

Now that he’s passed, the place is Frankie’s problem.

He planned to sell it, take the cash, and move on. But after really assessing it, taking in the sturdy bones of its structure, covered in grime and dust but still holding strong, he changed his mind. Maybe fixing it up would be good for him. 

Lord fuckin’ knows he needs something to get his mind right after all the shit he’s been through.

So that’s what he devotes his time to. He takes many trips to the local hardware store, flips through home improvement magazines to find tricks to make the process easier. On occasion, one of the guys will drop by to lend a hand, but for the most part it’s just been him. 

It also helps that the neighborhood is quiet, houses spaced out just enough to offer privacy but close enough that it isn’t completely isolated. A large pond stretches out, shared by the community, and it’s the kind of place that could feel like home, if he lets it.

Needing a break from the endless cleaning and repairs, he decides to go for a walk. The nicotine-laced weed dulls the edge of old cravings, a quiet battle he fights every day, choosing this over the harsher habits he’s trying to kick.

He wanders without aim, hands tucked in his pockets, the low hum of insects filling the gaps in silence. Something catches his eye as he approaches the end of the street—a small structure, half-concealed beneath the spill of a streetlamp.

Curious, he ambles closer. The old newspaper stand has been given new life, converted into a makeshift movie and book swap. Inside, a careful arrangement of DVDs and dog-eared paperbacks wait to be discovered. His fingers trace over the spines, skimming titles until he stops on one—Blade Runner.

As he pulls it out, a green post-it note, scrawled in neat, looping handwriting, flutters to the ground.

Always a bittersweet watch (I cried this last time) but it’s a comfort movie of mine. Also helps that Harrison Ford is a hunk!

His brows raise in amusement, as if weighing the personality behind the words. He pockets the note and takes the movie home.

Later that night, he’s sprawled on his couch, half-buried in old blankets, takeout on the coffee table as the film plays. He watches as Deckard moves through the neon-drenched streets, the melancholic score settling into his bones.

He doesn’t cry, obviously, but he does walk away from this viewing with something different than when he had watched it back on base years ago with the rest of the other lost twenty something year olds in his cohort.

By morning, he’s still thinking about the movie and the note along with it. On impulse, he plucks one of the carpenter pencils from his toolbelt, tapping it against the counter before messily scrawling his reply on the corner of a random sheet of his notepad.

The movie/book trade idea had been something you created back in high school—before the cynicism of adulthood had shattered your rose colored glasses.

Now, after financial setbacks had dragged you back to your childhood home, bringing it back felt like the kind of mindless distraction you needed. Something to keep your hands busy (even if temporarily) when your brain wouldn’t shut up about how shitty things have been lately.

Most people just stream whatever they want now, so this is pretty useless, but you don’t get hung up on that.

There is something nice about the physicality of it. Of leaving something you enjoy behind for a stranger to find and potentially be into as well. So, you revamped the idea and set it up in a spot where it wouldn’t be totally ignored, hoping maybe someone out there would get as much out of it as you used to.

You check in on it one afternoon, expecting to see everything exactly where you left it. Instead, you find empty spaces where movies had been. A book was gone too.

Your heart skips, just a little. For the first time in a while, something doesn’t feel like a total waste of time.

You spot a note haphazardly taped to the cover of the Blade Runner DVD case.

Didn’t cry, but I respect the existential crisis. Also think I agree with the Harrison Ford statement.

A grin pulls at your lips, eyeing the messy handwriting. Someone was actually playing along.

Over the next few days, the exchanges continue. Each time the stranger returns a movie, they leave a note and a film of their own. It is exhilarating for no reason, getting to know someone in this way.

Disagree with your take, bad movie all around, but I see where you’re coming from.

At least you aren’t an asshole about it like everyone else…

…Didn’t expect to be into period dramas, but this hit different. You have decent taste.

I do have decent taste, thanks for noticing!

It became an obsession—checking the box first thing in the morning, wondering what he’d taken next, what he’d written.

Who was he? What did he look like? Most of the neighborhood was made up of older residents, so the idea of someone more your age participating in this felt strangely intimate, almost like a secret conversation no one else knew about.

You never ask for a name or anything, neither does he. It’s more fun this way. The animosity of it, but still, you can’t help but wonder what he is really like. Was it possible to crush on someone like this? Were you actually down this bad?

You finally meet him one night.

Movie in hand, he stands beneath the golden hue of the streetlight. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, full lips that look almost too pretty for someone as rugged as him, framed by a patchy beard. His worn t-shirt clings to his broad chest and toned arms, the fabric stretched just right, hinting at the solid muscle beneath.

His cap sits low, his dark curls peeking out along the edges.

Your gaze drags over him, drinking him in. His eyes meet yours and the lust you feel in that moment threatens to disorient you.

“Hello,” his raspy voice breaks the silence first, also shameless in the way he checks you out.

“Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you move as the tension simmers, absentmindedly taking a step towards each other.

He shifts, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “You the one leaving those notes?”

“Depends,” you tease, tilting your head. “You the one writing back?”

His grin widens just slightly, a lopsided thing that sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. “Guilty.”

You cross your arms, attempting to play it cool. “I was starting to think I was talking to old man Paul or something.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle at the fact that you’ve named his now dead uncle. “Close enough. I’m his nephew, Francisco—call me Frankie.” He extends his hand to shake yours and you feel yourself getting hot all over from the simple, normal fucking interaction, giving him your name in return.

His hands are so big.

“Nephew? I didn’t know he had family.”

“Not really a family man. He passed away a few weeks ago and I was the lucky one he left his house to.”

You’re about to express your condolences, but it’s like he can feel it coming before the words even form on your lips. “Don’t—it’s fine. I hate that pity shit.”

You laugh, a little nervously, though his brown eyes seem to settle your nerves. 

“Well, Frankie,” you say his name, as if testing it out, familiarizing your mouth with it. “Thanks for playing along with this,” you motion vaguely to the swap box.

“I like it. Keeps me entertained while I fix up the place...” He exhales, glancing at the smaller structure before looking back at you. “It’s weird, though. Feels like I already know you.”

You nod, feeling the same. It should be strange, standing here at night flirting with a man you really don’t know… but it isn’t. 

He lifts the DVD in his hand. Heat—classic crime thriller. “I was gonna watch this tonight.”

The invitation hovers, your tongue flicking over your lips in anticipation.

“You in?”

A smarter version of you might have hesitated. Might have thought about the risks, the potential awkwardness. But standing here with Frankie watching you like he already knows what your answer is, hesitation isn’t an option.

You grin. “Sure, why not.”

Things escalate fast.

You’re sitting on the couch, the low hum of the movie playing in the background, the two of you exchanging quiet comments between drags of the joint he so effortlessly rolled.

The space between you shrinks. His fingers graze your thigh, intentional but unhurried.

You don’t remember who moves first. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. But your bodies are pressed together, mouths hungry, hands wandering. His cap gets flicked off, curls spilling into your fingers as you tug him closer, inhaling the scent of smoke and tasting the candy he’d been snacking on.

The movie is forgotten. The joint smolders in the ashtray. You straddle his lap, rolling your hips down, and he groans against your mouth, gripping your waist.

Somewhere between deep drags of each other’s kisses and the slow, filthy grind of your pussy against bulge, he requests, “Let me taste you...” Biting at your lower lip, kneading your ass.

You’re not about to object to a man willingly wanting to go down on you. Nodding, you both quickly undress each other, your want for him only increasing with each layer that gets shed.

Now you’re here. Your thighs bracket his jaw, the arm of the couch supporting you as you sink down into the urgent heat of his mouth. The first slow, wet drag of his tongue at your slit makes you moan pathetically. 

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down like he wants this—like he needs this.

The scratch of his scruff against your sensitive skin makes it all the better. He’s not gentle—he’s messy, hungry, eating you out like it’s all he’s been thinking about since laying his eyes on you. His tongue flicks, circles, then flattens as he drags it up through your slick folds, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right.

Your head tips back, a broken cry slipping out.

“God, you’re so good at this,” you gasp, rolling your hips against his talented mouth.

Frankie groans in response, the vibration of it sending sparks up your spine. His nose presses right where you need it, and you swear you see stars when he starts moving his head with you, matching your rhythm, letting you ride his face.

Your fingers tighten in his curls, tugging hard. He grunts as one of his hands slides lower, wrapping around his leaking cock. He strokes himself in time with his tongue working you over, his other hand gripping your ass, spreading you wider to get a better taste of all of you.

You don’t even realize how desperate you sound, whimpering… pleading. Your grinding then shifts as his tongue goes taut and you start bouncing softly against his jaw, your hips swiveling in ways you didn’t even know you could move, your body instinctively chasing after his mouth.

He doesn’t let up. If anything, he gets more into it as you do, his tongue fucking into you before moving back to your clit, his swollen lips working magic, sucking, teasing, wrecking you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Your words melt into a strangled whine as your orgasm crashes into you, your whole body shaking while you come apart on his tongue. Frankie doesn’t stop—he eats you through it, his grip on your hips tightening as you ride out every last wave of your orgasm.

Then—smack.

Your eyes fly open as his palm connects with your ass, the sting mixing with the aftershocks in the best way possible. He does it again, harder this time, a smirk tugging at his lips when you jolt.

The sting of each spank feels so fucking good that you start sobbing, damn near pulling the hair out of his scalp when he harshly sucks on your clit.

He’s been holding himself back from finishing in his fist, but suffocating between your thighs while hearing your pretty noises nearly undoes him.

Continuing to stave off his own release, he grips the girthy base of cock tightly. He needs more. Needs to feel the walls of your pussy squelching around him, pulling him in deeper.

And from the way you’re looking down at him, mouth parted, eyes shining with satisfaction, he knows you need the same damn thing.

He maneuvers out from under you quickly and efficiently, his dexterous training being put to use, pushing your upper half flat into the old couch while your hips remain in the air, thighs pressed together.

Francisco slides the fat tip of his cock through the swollen lips of your pussy, getting himself wet, groaning deep in his chest before pressing his heated dick at your silky thighs, the lubrication of your juices making it easy for him to slip between them, the pressure against his cock having him curse beneath his breath.

“So fuckin’ soft.”

His left hand crosses at your lower back to grab at your right hip while the other lands a harsh smack to your ass. You whimper, but the sound is muffled from how your face is buried into the cushions.

He soothes over the sting with his palm before gripping tight again, using the leverage to thrust between your thighs, the thick weight of his cock teasing you with every stroke, your clit puffy and dripping, needing to feel him inside you.

“Put in, Frankie, please,” you whimper, the squeeze at your thighs causing your cunt to clench around nothing, pushing more of your slick out, pussy drooling for him.

He grunts, pressing a firm hand to your lower back, arching you deeper, adjusting the angle. He spreads you enough to give himself room to line himself up.

“So eager for this dick,” he taunts, swirling the head of his cock at your clit before tapping it repeatedly, the evidence of your horniness clinging to him in a sticky web with every smack.

Frankie teases you by running it up the seam of your pussy, notching it at your fluttering and needy hole before pulling out and repeating the action, driving you crazy. “You always put out this fast?”

You grind back against him, pushing onto your elbows, voice breathy but flirty. “Could ask you the same thing.”

He doesn’t reply, a smug smile on his lips as he finally gives it to you, sinking into the wet cavern of your cunt, groaning out a Fuuuuuck as your pussy stretches around the intrusion of his cock.

You try to moan, to say something, but no sound comes out—just a desperate gasp, eyes falling shut, fingers clawing at the rough couch fabric as he fills you completely.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every squeeze, every tremble. His thrusts start slow, deep, rolling his hips just right, pulling out almost entirely before pressing back in, making you feel every thick inch.

“Fuck, you feel so goddamn good.”

The heat of his body blankets yours as he lowers himself, his weight pressing you deeper into the couch. His mouth is everywhere—kissing up your spine, nipping at your shoulder, his mustache scraping against your oversensitive skin. When he bites down you whine, your cunt clenching tight around him.

His thrusts speed up a notch, somehow getting deeper and harder—grinding into you just right, making your breath stutter.

“Yes—yes—right there,” you sob, turning your head to look at him… or well, try to look at him. Your eyes are glazed over with thick tears of euphoria, barely able to make anything out but you can feel him everywhere. His breath fanning against your face, a small amount of spit stuttering out as he grunts, burying himself over and over inside your tight, wet pussy.

Your nails dig into the old, tacky couch, trying to keep yourself somewhat grounded as he screws the thoughts right out of your brain.

It’s everything you’ve needed. Life has been fucking you over relentlessly as of late, it’s about damn time you finally get a pounding that’s actually worth it. 

Frankie groans against your ear as he keeps up the brutal pace. “Pretty movie girl likes it deep, huh?” You could honestly get off by just the sound of his raspy voice. “Shit, never had it like this before, have you?”

You shake your head—not out of denial, but because fuck, he’s right. Nothing has ever felt this good.

His lips brush over your cheek and then he’s kissing you sloppily, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as the pleasure at your pussy blooms again, your second orgasm creeping up fast under the weight of his praise, his cock hitting all the right spots, stretching you wide.

Frankie growls into the kiss, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he ruins you.

“Gonna make you come on my dick,” he mutters, gripping your chin, making sure you’re looking at him while he fucks into that one spot that devistates you. “And you’re gonna take every fuckin’ bit of it.”

And God—you will. You want to.

Because you already know this is the type of sex you’ll be feeling for days.

A few more relentless thrusts, and you’re done for. Your body shakes beneath him, muscles seizing, wails and sobs absorbed by the cushion your cheek is pressed into.

“Shhh just like that, doin’ so good—shit this pussy is amazing.”

Frankie holds you down, his weight keeping you exactly where he wants you. His grip shifts to the armrest, fingers curling tight, using the leverage to piston into you rougher. The couch jerks across the hardwood floor with each thrust, the force of it sending shockwaves up your spine.

The end credits song plays somewhere in the background, barely audible over the obscene sounds of your fucking.

His breathing gets ragged, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own high. He pulls out abruptly, chest heaving, and licks the tips of his fingers before spreading your pussy open, angling his cock right at your slick, swollen cunt.

Hot ropes of cum spill from his slit, milky and thick, painting your used flesh, dripping down onto the couch beneath you. The sight is filthy, so fucking erotic it makes his cock throb in his fist.

He groans at the mess, at the way his release pools against the cleft of your clit. He pushes inside again before either of you can think, his cum and yours mixing as he fucks into you, more fervently this time, dragging out the pleasure until his cock begins to soften.

You’re too spent to do anything but take it, too blissed out to care. All you know is that you want this again. Over and over and over...

“Damn,” Frankie chuckles, still breathless, his curls damp with sweat. His hands move lazily over your body, tracing the curve of your spine, your waist, your thighs, before he leans over to grab his discarded gray tee.

He doesn’t think twice before using it to clean you up, wiping between your legs with a casual ease.

You hum in response, floating somewhere between the high of the weed and the sex. You could crash right here, stretched out on his couch, and be perfectly content.

“You good?” The hot edge of lust has barely cooled when he’s touching you again, stroking his big, warm hand up and down your back.

You don’t nod, just manage a lazy, “Mhm… just need a second.”

He smirks and a wink is thrown in your direction before he stands, sliding his sweatpants on and fixing the couch to its original position before disappearing into the halfway renovated kitchen.

You stretch your limbs, pulling your clothes back on with no real rush. Your body is warm, loose. When Frankie returns, he hands you a glass of water, and you thank him softly, realizing how parched you are when you down the whole thing in one go.

“We didn’t finish the movie,” he muses, lounging back on the couch like he hadn’t just given you the best sex of your life.

“Bummer,” you tease, looking at him over your shoulder.

His gaze flickers from the screen to you, a glint in his dark eyes catching in the glow of the TV.

“You could stay the night,” he offers smoothly. “We could watch somethin’ else… maybe fuck some more too.”

His head tilts slightly, curls messy and inviting. The broad expanse of his naked chest gleams, rising and falling with steady, easy breaths. And then there’s the soft bulge in his sweats, evidence that he’s not nearly as spent as he looks.

Your mouth damn near waters.

You narrow your gaze at him, playful, challenging. Frankie mirrors the expression, watching, waiting…

You both move at the same time.

[nineteenninety-six]

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Chocolate Bars and Injuries [2]

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

AN: It took a while but it's finally here but I fear there will be a third part and mayhaps a fourth

Synopsis: Fate is on Jack's side as he meets you again and finally asks you on a date.

Tags: @darksparklesficrecs

PART ONE PART THREE

"So, are they gonna have beer at this party?" Jack asked as he followed Robby into Langdon's backyard.

Robby shoots him an unimpressed look. "It's a child's birthday party Jack."

"So, that's a 'yes'?"

Robby rolls his eyes as he steps into the backyard that was filled with music blasting and screaming children as they ran around the yard and climbed the bouncy castle the Langdon's rented. Parents were scattered around, talking to each other whilst keeping an eye on their children. The men dropped their gifts off at the designated gift table before they made their way over to Frank, who gave them a painful smile.

"I think I'd rather work a double than host another childs birthday party" Frank admits.

Jack nods agreement, despite the fact he did not have a child but regardless, it looked painful. As he looked around the bustling yard, Jack spied Cassie Mckay with her kid Harrison and Dana with her daughters who were older than the rest of the kids but seemed to be enjoying themselves.

As Robby and Langdon talked, Jack wandered off to the snack table, eyes laser focused on the bowl of chocolates. He was so focused on digging for his favourite he didn't clock the person approaching him until they were pressed against his side, breath tickling against his neck.

"They don't have any bounty bars do they?"

For a brief moment, Jack thought he was hallucinating, after all you had occupied a permanent place in his mind and he could not stop thinking about you but when he whipped his head to the side, you were really there, pressed up against him with a smirk on your lips.

"What the hell?" Jack stared open mouthed at you.

"Apparently, Caspian and Tanner Langdon are in the same class." You explain but your focus was on the bowl of chocolate,"I'm guessing you work with Frank?"

Jack nods, offering you a twix which you accept with a resigned shrug " Yeah, he works day shift."

Your eyes flicker up to the bright blue midday sky, a smile lifting your lips. "And did they force you to come on your day off or are you working tonight?"

"It's my day off, besides it's good to foster stronger relationships both in and out of the workspace" Jack parrots the words Robby had told him earlier that day, "Or so Robby says"

"Robby?" You question as the two of you left the snack table, heading towards the drink table.

"Michael Robinavitch but he prefers to go by Robby" He motions towards the slightly older man who was still with Frank.

"Is he a doctor too?" You ask, a teasing smile on your lips "And what do you like to go by? Or do you prefer me calling you Dr Abbot?"

"You call me Jack" He doesn't raise to your teasing words as he nods, cracking open a can or beer with a pleased smile.

"Are all your friends doctors, Jack?"

"No..." Jack takes a sip of beer, "Some are a couple of old military friends"

"Huh" You pick up a can of soda, "So all of your friends are just people you've worked with instead?"

Jack grins and follows you back to where you were before, settling in the chair beside you and it quickly becomes obvious why you've chosen this specific space—you had a clear view of Caspian, wincing whenever he played around too hard.

"He's gonna land himself back in hospital" Jack says, watching as the child throws himself around.

You grunt in annoyance and agreement, "Don't threaten him with a good time. He now thinks hospitals are great. He'll demand that you'll be his doctor though, he really likes you."

A smug grin works its way up Jack's face at the information, "Oh yeah?"

You turn to face Jack, "Yeah, I tried explaining that we only go to the hospital if we're hurt or injured, which of course he took it as, 'let's get hurt so we can see Dr. Abbot'".

Jack knocks his foot against yours, something that prompts a smile from you, "I guess that means we have to see each other more often then."

"I guess so," You're smiling.

Just then Caspian ran over, leaning against you as he tried to capture his breath and happily taking the bottle of water you offered. The young child had been wrapped up in having fun and then bugging you for snacks that he hadn't noticed the doctor that he liked so much right next to you.

You waited until he had gulped down a few mouthfuls of water and had caught his breath before you brought it up, "Hey, are you not going to stay hello to my friend?"

Caspian looks over at him with wide eyes and there's a brief moment before Caspian realises who he was and when he does, a smile so large takes over his face.

"Dr Jack!"

"Hey kid," Jack holds his fist out for a fistbump which Caspian eagerly does, "You can just call me Jack. I'm not your doctor anymore."

Caspian nods and he moves to speak again but a classmate of his calls his name and Caspian darts off, rushing off to play making you and Jack laugh.

Robby makes his way to where Jack has tucked himself away in the corner of the yard, taking a breather from the party that had only just started to die down. 'Happy Birthday' had been sung, gifts had been opened, party bags had been handed out and now the kids were crashing from the busy day they had and parents were taking the opportunity to go back home, thanking and waving goodbye to the Langdon's as they left the yard.

Jack's eyes had hardly left you all day, even when you joined the women and he was with the men, they would constantly flicker over to you and of course, Robby hadn't missed it.

"So…who's the girl?" Robby asks, passing Jack another beer.

"She's not a girl, she's a woman in her thirties" Jack preemptively defends himself, "She came into the ED months ago with her younger brother."

"And you've exchanged numbers? Gone on a date?"

At Jack's silence Robby can't help the bark of laughter that escapes him, looking at his friend incredulously. 

"After the life you have lived, the things you have experienced, you're scared of asking out a woman? Seriously?"

"I'm not scared" Jack quickly defended himself.

"Then," Robby took the beer out of his hand, "Go get her number before it's too late."

Jack knew he was right, he fumbled it last time and meeting again gave him a chance he thought had long gone.

Jack made his way over to you as you packed up your stuff, Caspian was slumped against your leg half asleep. You had already thanked the Langdon's for the great day and now you were contemplating how you were going to carry both Caspian and your bags back to the car when Jack appeared by your side.

"Need a hand?"

"Oh!" You give him a grateful smile. "Yes please, do you mind carrying him?"

Jack bent down and picked Caspian up effortlessly, the boy's arms quickly wrapping around his neck as Jack supported his body. He silently follows you as you say your goodbyes, pointedly ignoring the curious stares from Robby, Dana, Mckay and Langdon, knowing that when he returns to work he'll be the main topic of gossip.

He follows you to your car, settling Caspian in his car seat and watching as you strapped him in, double checking that everything was secured properly before you stepped back and closed the door quietly.

"Thank you again."

Jack steps closer to you, his head lowering so he can speak softly into your ear, "I talked myself out of it last time but I refuse to let anything stop me this time."

You tilt your head slightly closer to his, waiting for him to continue speaking.

"I want to take you out on a date. And another one after that if you'll let me." Jack 's gaze is unrelenting as he stares at you. "I'd also like your number as well."

You hum at his words and smile up at him, "You want a lot of things don't you Jack? It's a good thing I want those things too. Pass me your phone."

Jack unlocks and passes his phone to you, watching with an unwavering gaze as you tapped in your phone number and then drop calling yourself so that you had his number.

"I expect at least a phone call after your little speech" You joke as you pass back his phone.

"I'II see you soon"

"I hope you do" You wave at him before you enter your car, driving off moments later and Jack watches until your car disappears.

Jack does contact you after the party, a message coming through your phone just as you finish tucking Caspian for the night. It was a simple text, just checking that you got home safe but once you reply, you can't stop and the two of you text all night until the early hours where you eventually drift off. You did briefly apologize at one point for keeping him up all night before he reminded you that he worked nights and therefore she wasn't keeping him up, rather he was keeping her up.

Scheduling a date however ends up being much more complicated. Between your regular nine-to-five, his twelve hour night shifts, and finding a good sitter for Caspian, finding a date where everything lined up was difficult but you managed and now on the evening of the very awaited date, you were sat in your room as you did the final touches of your makeup as Caspian became accounted with the babysitter downstairs.

You check your phone and realise you're rapidly approaching the time Jack had promised to pick you up and you knew that Jack was a punctual person, always turning up on time. You make your way downstairs and watch as Caspian gets to know the neighbouring teenager who had offered their babysitting services. It was the first time you had gone out by yourself since your parents had died and you got custody, so today was a big deal for the both of you.

The doorbell goes off and you hurry over to open it, smiling at Jack on your front step, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Good evening" Jack steps forward and presses a kiss to your cheek before passing you the flowers with a shy smile.

You accept them with a happy hum and invite him inside, waving for him to follow you as you head to the kitchen to find a vase.

"Thank you for these" You thank him as you fill a vase with water and place the flowers in it, humming happily as you admire it on the kitchen island. "I don't think I've ever been given flowers by a date before."

"I assure you it won't be the last time you get flowers from me" Jack flirts, watching as your eyes light up at the meaning behind his words.

"You're promising me a second date before we've even started our first date? You're that confident?" 

"That a problem?"

"Nope. I do like a confident man." You wink, before you grab his band, tugging him behind you as you leave the kitchen, "There's someone that really wants to see you before we leave."

"Yeah, I want to see him too. I got a little gift for him as well."

"Are you buttering him up or something?"

"Or something" Jack keeps his secrets close.

Caspian is ecstatic to see Jack again and becomes over the moon when Jack pulls out a hot wheels car for him, jumping into the man's arms as he chants 'thank you' over and over again. 

You manage to pull Caspian off of Jack before you pull him into a hug, squishing him as you cover his face in kisses as you say good bye, promising him that you'll be home to tuck him in and after that you leave, waving at Caspian one last time before you close the door behind you with a heavy breath.

"You alright?" Jack asks as he guides you towards his truck, hand resting on the small of you back.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm excited." You reassure him, "I'm just still getting used to the whole being a parent thing and juggling my time and responsibilities along with caring for him."

"You're doing a great job-" Jack lets out a laugh at your disbelieving expression, "The kid loves you a lot. Seriously. Don't doubt yourself."

Jack steps forward to open the passenger door to his truck and helps you step up into it, pausing when your hand rests on his arm, thanking him for his kind words which he responds with a smile and a squeeze to your thigh before stepping back, closing the door and making his way to the driver's seat.

"Oh I love Indian food," You hum happily, thanking the server as he guided you to your seats and passed menus to the both of you.

 "I found this place shortly after I moved to Pittsburgh" Jack tells you, "A hidden gem, one of my favourite places in the city."

You peer at him over the menu, "Then I trust you to order what we're eating tonight."

Jack stared back with raised brows, "For the both of us?"

"Yup!" You nod, "You up for the challenge?"

Jack accepts the challenger with ease, never one to back down from one.

"How's your spice tolerance?"

"High…I love a little spice."

Jack knocks it out of the park and orders dishes that you absolutely fall in love with, making him promise to bring you back another time which he agrees to with an easy smile. 

After dinner, which of course Jack pays for without question, you decide to take a walk, your hands intertwining easily as you stroll through the streets together with Jack pointing out the restaurants he'll take you to on future dates. You end up finding a coffee shop, settling in a booth with a decaf tea for you and a regular coffee for him.

"I keep thanking you for tonight but this has been a really great day, I've enjoyed a lot" You tell him around sips of your tea.

"I'm just sorry for not getting your number all those months ago"

"Well you have plenty of time to make up for those lost months" You tease, "I don't doubt you will make the most of it." 

"Never again," Jack promises.

Jack pulled to a stop in front of your house, putting the car in park before he turned to face you to find you already staring at him, a soft smile on your lips. 

"You see something you like?"

You hum, eyes tracing over his face taking notes of his deep eyes, greying hair and curls. "Yeah, I see something I like alot."

With quick succession you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean across the console, your hands pulling him into a soft, almost shy kiss that is almost immediately deepened by Jack. His own belt comes off as he leans further into you, his hands framing your face as his kisses become deeper and more intense.

You pull away to catch your breath, laughing at the remnants of your lipgloss smeared around his mouth.

"Cherry?" Jack hums as he licks his lips.

"Uh-huh" You wipe the leftover lipgloss that was on his face with your sleeve, "You like?"

Jack leans forward, his lips brushing against yours, "I'm not sure, I need another taste to be sure."

You kiss again, minutes drifting by as you each get lost in the sensation of each other's lips until you pull away, giggling at Jack's huff of disappointment.

"I know," You coo at him, "But I do have to go home,"

Jack is silent for a moment, keeping eye contact with you until he sits back up straight, "Okay, I'll walk you to your door."

He of course sneaks in one last kiss before you slip your key into the front door and unlock it, alerting the occupants of your return. Caspian's eyes are heavy and his footsteps slow as he greets you at the door and he doesn't even perk up at the sight of Jack, it's obvious that he was delaying his sleep to wait for you.

You quickly fish out the cash to pay for the baby sitter and thank her, your eyes not leaving her until she was safely in her house across the street. Then  you crouch down in front of Caspian, running your thumbs over his chubby cheeks before you press a kiss to each cheek.

"Why don't you go up to bed and I'll be there in a few minutes okay?"

Caspian nods before heading off, only stopping to wish a 'nightnight' to Jack who wishes him the same before he disappears up the stairs.

Jack smiles when you pull him into a hug, resting his chin on your head as you two stay like that for a moment before pulling away.

"Tonight was lovely" You tell him, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers, "I can't wait for the next one."

"Me either." Jack tugs you towards him and pulls you into a kiss that leaves you breathless.

"Goodnight doll," Jack grins at you before he walks back to his car.

"Goodnight!" You call after him, "Text me when you get home!"

Jack flashes you a thumbs up before climbs into his truck, driving off shortly after.

[sayruq]

Just days after US Army Major Harrison Mann resigned, the Biden administration has been hit with another major resignation, this time Lily Greenberg Call, special assistant to the Chief of Staff

An interior department staffer on Wednesday became the first Jewish political appointee to publicly resign in protest of US support for Israel’s war in Gaza.Lily Greenberg Call, a special assistant to the chief of staff in the interior department, accused Joe Biden of using Jews to justify US policy in the conflict. Call had worked for the presidential campaigns of both Biden and Kamala Harris, and was a longtime activist and advocate for Israel in Washington and elsewhere before joining the government. She is at least the fifth mid- or senior-level administration staffer to make public their resignation in protest of the Biden administration’s military and diplomatic support of the now seven-month Israeli war against Hamas. She is the second political appointee to do so, after an education department official of Palestinian heritage resigned in January.Her resignation letter described her excitement at joining an administration that she believed shared much of her vision for the country. “However, I can no longer in good conscience continue to represent this administration,” she wrote. In an interview with the Associated Press, Call pointed to comments by Biden, including at a White House Hanukkah event where he said “Were there no Israel, there wouldn’t be a Jew in the world who was safe” and at an event at Washington’s Holocaust Memorial last week in which he said the 7 October Hamas-led attacks that triggered the war were driven by an “ancient desire to wipe out the Jewish people”. “He is making Jews the face of the American war machine. And that is so deeply wrong,” she said, noting that ancestors of hers were killed by “state-sponsored violence”.

The resignation letter:

[wafc2000]

On February 2, local time, Musk released a bombshell on the social media platform X, saying that the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) abused taxpayer funds to fund biological weapons research, and the new coronavirus was the "product" of this dangerous behavior, which killed millions of people around the world. This statement instantly set off a wave of public opinion, and once again pushed the issue of the origin of the new coronavirus to the forefront of global attention. Musk's revelations are not groundless. Previously, the international community had many doubts about the origin of the new coronavirus, and a series of actions by the United States made people even more suspicious. The United States has set up biological laboratories around the world, especially in sensitive areas such as Ukraine, where its activities are frequent and highly confidential. Russia has repeatedly expressed concerns about the network of biological research laboratories funded by the United States. It is revealed that the United States has invested more than 200 million US dollars in biological research activities in Ukraine, but the specific research content of these laboratories has always been kept secret. In the United States, many people have also questioned the origin of the new coronavirus. In 2022, well-known American scholars Jeffrey Sachs and Neil Harrison hinted that the new coronavirus may have originated from a US laboratory; Robert Redfield, former director of the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, also said that the new coronavirus may be part of the US "deliberately designed biodefense plan", and that the United States Agency for International Development is likely to be one of the main funders. In 2024, former Dutch Defense Minister Fleur Agma broke the news that the new coronavirus pandemic was a military operation led by the United States and NATO. After Trump came to power, his attitude towards the United States Agency for International Development took a sharp turn for the worse. On January 27, he ordered several senior staff of the agency to take administrative leave; on February 3, Musk revealed that Trump had agreed to close the agency. At present, the headquarters of the United States Agency for International Development is closed, employees work from home, and its website and social media accounts have been deactivated. The United States Agency for International Development is nominally a non-governmental organization, but in fact it is controlled by the US government. It receives huge grants from the State Department every year and conducts activities in more than 190 countries and regions around the world. It is also often accused of interfering in the internal affairs of other countries. Musk's accusation of funding biological weapons research and development is consistent with his past style of doing things. Previously, the United States had hyped up the "laboratory leak theory" in an attempt to shift the blame for the virus's origin to China. Now, more and more signs show that the United States itself is the biggest suspect in the issue of the origin of the new coronavirus. Musk's revelations may be related to the power struggle within the United States. When he checked the accounts, he found that the United States Agency for International Development and the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases used taxpayer funds to fund new coronavirus-related research. Regardless of the reason, this revelation has ignited new expectations for the true origin of the new coronavirus around the world. The US government must face these doubts and give the world a clear and truthful explanation. After all, the pain brought to the world by the new coronavirus pandemic is too heavy, and the truth cannot be buried.

[vexwerewolf]

I’m suddenly getting swathes of Lancer hate across my feed… Has something happened in the fandom? “Union is ______ how could they paint them as even remotely good. They allow _____, and I hate the devs they are ______. The whole thing is just 40k with communist veneer”.

Like am I taking crazy pills…? I thought that all of the problems were literally like right there on the tin “we are a utopia in progress! We will obtain it by any means possible even if it means being everything we say we are not/fighting against. As the player you decide what is right. How much will you ignore for someone else’s idea of utopia?” Like doesn’t it mean all the tools to actually change are there and that is the HOPE aspect of all of this?

(Sorry if this in incoherent grammar is a weak point and I pulled something in my back simply standing up. Now I am sad and crook backed in spasmodic pain)

This isn't an argument I feel super enthusiastic about stepping into, because it gets the most annoying sort of people in your mentions eager to maliciously misrepresent what you say.

However, yeah, there are some pretty terrible readings of Union floating around. I'd invoke "media literacy" because think that a lot of this comes from people not really holistically engaging with the fictional future history of Lancer, but also from a sort of dogmatic purism that requires future societies to be flawless, else they're irredeemable.

It is important to note that ThirdComm is the direct descendant of two highly imperfect societies. FirstComm was formed as a response to the Three Great Traumas of discovering the Massif Vaults (and thus that they were the inheritors of a fallen world), the wars over the Massif Vaults, and the discovery of the lost colonies, all of which collectively showed humanity how close it had come to total extinction.

FirstComm decided that it had a responsibility to ensure that humanity never risked extinction again. It manifested this by trying to colonize every habitable planet it could find, pumping out ship after ship to seed the cosmos with as much human life as it possibly could. This led to problems when it encountered civilizations like the Karrakin Federation and the Aun, who had been carrying humanity's torch just fine by themselves, thank you very much.

SecComm was an Anthrochauvinist fascist state. The book defines it thusly:

We can see a lot of Anthrochauvinist historical romanticism in the mech naming schemes of Harrison Armory, SSC and IPS-N - the fact that Harrison Armory names its mechs after great military leaders of pre-Fall Earth history, IPS-N does the same with naval figures, and SSC uses the names of Earth animals. Even the GMS Everest is named for a mountain on Earth. It's very Cradle-centric.

Anthrochauvinism was, to be clear, largely just an excuse for colonialism and hegemony. Atrocities could easily be justified under by stating that whoever they're being committed against were a threat to the Continuance of Humanity - a term that SecComm got to define.

It's also at this point that we have to zoom in from broad sociopolitical points to address one very specific piece of history: the New Prosperity Agreement. This was signed to prevent the outbreak of a Second Union-Karrakin War, and mandated that the Karrakin Houses would maintain privileged levels of autonomy within Union, and that they would be granted colonial rights to the entire Dawnline Shore. This agreement, struck in 3007u, basically defines much of the current political situation today.

ThirdComm was a final and inevitable reaction to the atrocities, abuses and excesses of SecComm. The unspeakable horrors of Hercynia were the spark, but I need to stress how little Hercynia actually mattered in the larger Revolution - at the start of NRfaW, it's explicitly stated that almost nobody in the galaxy even knows where it is, let alone what happened there. The Revolution was a generalized response to SecComm's tyranny, with no single rallying cry.

The Revolution might also have failed entirely, but for a critical error by Harrison Armory: pissing off the Karrakin Trade Baronies. After getting kicked off Cradle, the Anthrochauvinist Party organised a fleet at Ras Shamra to try and retake Cradle. Simultaneously, however, they were attempting to secure protectorate agreements to steal worlds in the Dawnline Shore out from under the KTB. Putting these two together and making five, the KTB assumed that the fleet was pointed at Karrakis, and started the First Interest War.

The First Interest War initially favoured the KTB. They smashed the fleet above Ras Shamra and simultaneously conquered the moon of Creighton in the Dawnline Shore. However, they underestimated just how ruthless Harrison I was - he "retook" Creighton by relativistic bombardment, and then conquered four of the 12 worlds of the Dawnline Shore with mechanised chassis, a technology the KTB had not adopted and had no counter for.

To prevent further loss of life, Union was eventually forced to broker a peace agreement that saw Harrison I handing himself over to Union justice in return for Harrison Armory's continued sovereignty, and the KTB joining Union as a full member state.

So, with that historical context out of the way, let me get to the second part of this absurd essay I'm writing.

Third Committee Union isn't a civilization that arose from whole cloth. It's shaped by five thousand years of Union history, six thousand years of post-Fall history, and six thousand years of pre-Fall history before that. It is, ultimately, an extremely well-thought-out and well-worldbuilt fictional polity, in that all of its imperfections come from traceable root causes in its history.

Why does ThirdComm permit the abuses of the KTB? Because to stop them, it would likely have to go to war, and such a war would butcher billions. Worse, to do so, it would probably have to ally with Harrison Armory and make horrific concessions.

Why does ThirdComm permit the expansionism and cryptochauvinism of the Armory? Because to stop them, it would likely have to go to war, and such a war would butcher billions. Worse, to do so, it would probably have to ally with the KTB and make horrific concessions.

Nobody in CentComm likes that Harrison Armory are empire-building expansionists. Nobody in CentComm likes that the KTB has a hereditary nobility and enforces blockades against planets that rebel against it. The problem is that ThirdComm is, in historical terms, still relatively new. They've been around five hundred years, and compared to the 1600 years that SecComm was around and the 2800 years FirstComm existed for, that's not very much.

ThirdComm is attempting to decouple itself from the Cradle-first politics of its predecessor, and to amend the many, many atrocities committed in the name of Humanity. It is not easy to do any of these things. SecComm was defined almost entirely by the fact that if it didn't like what you were doing, it would send in the military as a first response. Every time ThirdComm chooses to do the same, its legitimacy erodes, because the mission of ThirdComm is to prove that diverse, vibrant and compassionate human civilization can exist without devolving into war and bloodshed. ThirdComm always tries diplomacy as a first response because if it doesn't, millions of people could die.