#and i feel like i need to clarify that yes OP was talking about what they claimed to be their own art like this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bookofmirth · 3 years

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I saw your recent response to an anon where you mentioned the drama that occurred the other day based around bookprofessor’s post. Obviously you don’t have to respond to this or publish it if you do not wish but I just wanted to bring up that while it is important to focus on the real life issues at hand, the OP was hypocritical in her post which is why people were getting upset. She was preaching against ableism while simultaneously flaunting her IQ and degree which is a form of ableism. She was speaking out against racism while ending her post using the racial slur “cracker” when talking about the possibly Caucasian Twitter elriels.

Obviously she had some important points but it was completely overshadowed by her participation in the hate speech and prejudice that she was speaking out against.

This does not in any way justify the nasty messages she received but on the same hand, I do not blame anyone that called her out for her hypocrisy. I hope you can understand why her post was so negatively received and how flawed it was. My hope is that one day everyone can just ignore the negativity, report those who are being racist/prejudiced in any way, and block those who are just being loud and who you don’t wish to see content from. But unfortunately I do not see that happening any time soon.

There are a few things I want to address in this because I think it's a good moment for the fandom to step back and reflect on how we treat one another, how we react to such issues, and how we behave moving forward.

First off, thanks for explaining your point of view without being antagonistic. I do think that everyone's emotional reactions to the post were valid. I do NOT think their responses, in terms of words and actions, were valid. Now before I move forward, I want to clarify that when I use the word "you", I am referring to anyone who may have had the response I am describing - not you personally, anon. Also please don’t freak out about how long this is, as a majority of it is a response to the fandom in general, not you in particular.

What was - and wasn’t - said in the original post

In this post, there were completely valid criticisms of the way that people in this fandom behave, and it wasn’t “generalizing” a certain group, it was literal, actual proof of things that had been said, by multiple people. I’m not going to get too into what Alyssa argued because her critiques of those tweets was flawless. The original post had very valid criticisms of what was happening on Twitter. Alyssa exposed the actually racist, homophobic, and imperialistic underpinnings of those tweets.

However, a lot of people are stuck on the bits before and after those critiques. @bookprofessor apologized for different aspects of her post in a few different asks. There were perhaps better ways that some of those things could have been phrased, some things that could have been left out. And she apologized. People can accept that apology or not but we can’t act like it didn’t happen. Like she didn’t reflect and learn to do better.

However, the people she was calling out have not done the same thing, and if anything, comments that focus more on Alyssa’s tone than why she wrote the post in the first place lets those people off the hook.

On cracker - Using the word "cracker" is not racist in the same way that using racial slurs against POC is. Is it prejudiced? Yes. But you cannot say that it is the same thing when that is demonstrably untrue, given centuries of oppressive history. No one has been oppressed for being white. Those are not the same. Reverse racism is not a thing because a white person punching down on POC is NOT AT ALL the same thing as a POC punching up at white people. The actions look the same, but the impact is so unequal it’s not even funny.

Racism is a systemic, institutionalized problem. It is not defined by individual actions, though those actions can either support or challenge racism. When someone calls a white person a cracker, there isn’t centuries of oppression giving power to and reinforcing that statement. That is not a “gotcha” moment.

Saying “I have x IQ” or “I have X degrees” is not ableist. I’m sorry to whoever told you it was ableist (again, not you specifically anon but people who had read the “aw shucks guys” vagueblogs about it), but it’s not. Those are facts. I have no idea what my IQ is, but I have five degrees from institutions of higher education. Me saying that is in no way ableist.

Often, people mention those things to be elitist, yes. Sometimes, they can be used to say “hey I know more about this than you”. They can be used in a way that tries to make themselves feel superior. I suspect that this is the impression that a lot of people got of the post. However, there is a fine line between saying “hey that’s elitist” and professing anti intellectualism. Which is perhaps a side issue so I’ll let that go for now.

Another reason that people mention their degrees or qualifications is to establish their background knowledge and credibility. If I were to say “hey y’all I have two MA degrees” (which is true) I am not being ableist! It is a fact! It is factual! And I worked my ass off for those, I will be in student loan debt until I die for those, I have every right to mention them if I want to, and often I do so in order to establish my credibility, to explain the position I am coming from. And my prior knowledge of these topics is relevant when we are talking about literature since that’s what my degrees were on - literature and linguistics. That is why Alyssa mentioned her background, though she did pair it with comments about other people, for which she has apologized.

My final point about this is that I 1000% understand feeling insecure or less than because of educational attainment. I dropped out of high school. I had a complex about that for a long, long time. But I also know that if I took offense at someone else saying they had a PhD, then that offense is about me, not them. Someone else’s inferiority complex is not reason for people to pretend to be less than they are.

If those two comments are what overshadowed the bigger, more important issue for a lot of the readers of that post, then y’all allowed them to overshadow those more important issues. I am 99% sure that someone right now is reading this and thinking “but Leslie, it was the way that she said it!” Boy have I got some news for you!

How we react

This next section is not specific to this ask; instead, it is a discussion of how the fandom responded. If it were only one person who had said “but her tone” then I wouldn’t need to make this point. The fact that multiple people are exhibiting the behavior explained below is what makes this a cultural problem within the acotar fandom.

The main argument I saw on the post itself, and indeed any time I see people bring up how nasty Twitter can be, is that “it was a joke” and “that’s how stan Twitter works”.

No.

Those responses were quite useful for this post, though! So buckle up everyone, because I am going to talk about gaslighting, racism, respectability politics, and tone policing. While I understand that some people might have taken personal offense to what was said, there is a much bigger issue at stake that has nothing to do with individual feelings, and everything to do with ensuring that POC stay silenced and white supremacy is upheld.

Back to the “but it’s a joke” thing. Thanks for gaslighting! Great example of that, person I’m not going to tag! Gaslighting is when you make someone question their experiences, when you try to make them think “wait, did I really feel that way? Is my feeling about that valid? Do I need to re-evaluate my response to this?? Am I blowing this out of proportion???” And saying “it’s just a joke” is a perfect way to do that. Did I say something accidentally sexist? It’s just a joke, nbd! Now you’re the problem, because you didn’t understand my joke and laugh!!!

Saying “it’s a joke” or “oh they are old/young/ignorant, they will learn” is not a good response to... anything. It takes the responsibility off the people who are doing the harm, and putting it onto the people who were hurt. And in this case, anyone who read those tweets and found them harmful (which should be everyone?) is completely valid. You aren’t lesser for being angry or emotional or for seeing a problem where other people saw a joke. The people who see those things as acceptable jokes are the ones in the wrong.

This is a tactic that is used against women all the time. Any time a woman is sexually harassed at work or online, for example, and she gets upset about it, and someone chimes in with “oh they weren’t serious, can’t you take a joke?” So you can imagine what this is like for women of color.

It is a very, very common tactic for people of color to be silenced via tone policing and respectability politics. Tone policing and respectability politics are very closely related, especially in this context. The idea is that if Alyssa had just written that post in just the right way, it would have been more palatable to white people, and therefore okay to write. The idea that if she had tried to be “understanding” or “see it from their perspective” or understand that it’s “just a joke” are all ways to silence and de-legitimize any accurate, valid criticisms that were made of those tweets. It effectively re-routes the conversation away from the real issues, and to the person trying to bring them up. It’s essentially an ad hominem attack in disguise.

We see respectability politics in media when people of color who act or dress or speak like white people are afforded more respect. Or any time that a person of color is pulled over and people say, “well if they had just done what the police officer asked...” There is a pervasive idea that if people just “act” properly, aka if you act white, then the police won’t feel antagonized and try to kill arrest you. If we are nice enough, meek enough, smile enough, etc. then we will be accepted.

When we tone police, we refuse to allow marginalized people the right to be angry. We say that "hey, we can only have this discussion if you leave emotion, which you rightfully feel, at the door, and we can only continue this discussion if you behave in a way that makes me feel comfortable." But guess what? It isn’t about you! These discussions are often highly uncomfortable. There is no nice way to tell someone they are being racist. And yet somehow, that is the ever-moving goalpost. It seems reasonable, right? “Just be civil, be nice, don’t insult each other!” And there is that. But those criteria change constantly, to the point where anyone (white) at any time can say “WHOA WHOA THIS IS MAKE ME UNCOMFORTABLE???” Then we find ourselves at zero, and suddenly the focus of attention has shifted away from the actual problem.

Before we go further, I want to say this: people have a right to be angry. They do not need to make their anger palatable or tasteful for the consumption of others (read: white people).

We saw this last summer, and I’m not sure how the message didn’t get across. But people are rightfully angry about racism. They are angry about the murder of people of color by police, they are angry about lack of quality education, or clean water, of centuries of oppression that have led to this very moment when all of that ceases to matter because a white woman’s feelings got hurt one time.

And that is what pisses me off so much. There is no way in this world that we could criticize tweets like those that everyone would agree with, and that everyone would “approve” of, that would be “nice” enough and yet still be impactful and make the authors of those tweets understand the gravity of what they have done.

The least we can do is allow one another to express our anger, our outrage, because it’s highly likely that those people know exactly what the fuck they are doing, and they do not fucking care. By criticizing a woman of color for the way in which she chose to engage with this topic, we are avoiding the issue and letting the people in those tweets off the hook.

There were many responses to that post that were positive, that agreed with Alyssa. There are a ton of people who disagree with those tweets, who find them disgusting, who understand exactly how and why they are problematic. That should be what we are talking about. Getting to the core of the argument, on that post or any about racism or other problematic behavior in fandom, requires getting past our own egos. It requires us to be able to step back, say “hm this thing is frustrating but there is a bigger picture here”. It’s not easy, and I recognize that.

The fact that it is a common tactic though? To say “hey this hurt me personally and so I’m going to ignore any valid points you made?” That feeds directly into centuries of white supremacy because it, once again, silences POC and makes them try to play a losing game. And they will always lose, because no matter how hard they try to play the white game, the goalposts are constantly shifting. So you know what? Fuck the game, and fuck respectability politics, and fuck tone policing and “uwu be nice guys” because when it comes to things like racism and sexism, I don’t expect the people who deserve to be criticized to be nice. In fact, trying to be nice only serves to fuck POC over in the end.

Indeed, in response to that post, certain blogs have taken the opportunity to position themselves as “the nice ones” or “the ones who would never” or “uwu let’s be nice guys” while completely ignoring the fact that a woman of color was attacked for calling out racism. And yes - that was the point of her post. People getting hung up on mentions of her degree are (intentionally or not, it doesn’t matter) completely obfuscating the fact that that is not what her post was about, which was to call out disgusting behavior. idk how many words the post actually was, but essentially, people are focusing on 5% of it to the detriment of the 95% that was actually really important shit. These types of vagueblog posts about the issue fall into exactly what I am talking about - these are people who have decided to look at this issue, see how Alyssa (and anyone else who dares speak up) has approached it, and intentionally try to act like they are “better” because they can be “rational” and “kind”. Newsflash, if you don’t have something to be angry about, then being “nice” about racism isn’t that much of a flex. If it didn’t bother you, then congratulations. That doesn’t make you better than people it did bother. You just got lucky this time, and decided to use that to your advantage to look like the good guy.

I am not saying that all calls for peace are doing this. Obviously it’s what we all want. This is the worst I have seen this fandom in the 4+ years I’ve been here. But we cannot have that by ignoring the real problems and pretending that if we are all just nice to each other, then we will solve racism and sexism and all bullying in the fandom will stop.

So combining all of this - the gaslighting, the tone policing, and what do you get? You get a fandom that refuses to actually engage critically with its own problems and take accountability for them. You get a fandom that decides that it’s easier to be distracted by this one mean comment over here than it is to engage in the fact that you know what, the culture in this fandom has actually turned incredibly disgusting and a lot of people are just okay with it. You’ve got a fandom that is using the tools of white supremacy to avoid the discussions that should actually be taking place. Maybe people don’t realize that that’s what they are doing. But if someone still thinks that after reading this post, then godspeed my friend, I hope you enjoy Twitter.

Okay so my last thing I want to say is that I didn’t come to all of this knowledge fresh from the womb. I do a lot of work, in my personal life and my professional life, to be better. So here is a list of books that I have found particularly helpful:

How to Be An Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi

Stamped From the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America also by Ibram X. Kendi

White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism by Robin DiAngelo (side note, I was kinda meh about this one but the chapter “White Women’s Tears” is particularly helpful)

So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo

Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment by Patricia Hill Collins

I’m not going to talk specifically about Alyssa’s post anymore, but if anyone wants to continue talking about these broader issues going on in the fandom, I am game. (I really should be grading papers though, so it might take a bit.)

#cw racism #acotar #acosf #acotar fandom #fandom wank #fandom things #this is the long post i mentioned earlier #i will link it in my meta post

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happyandticklish · 3 years

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Emotional Entanglements

Notes: For the request by @ticklish-sidekick. Thank you for sending in your request and sorry it’s so late! Felix and Benji’s relationship is one that isn’t explored as much in the show, so I had fun delving into it. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Felix is feeling insecure about his friendship with Victor now that the other has a boyfriend, and decided to take matters into his own hands.

Felix told himself he wasn’t jealous.

Unfortunately, he was a terrible liar.

Fifteen minutes in, and all Victor could talk about was Benji. Benji this, Benji that, an endless stream of ranting until Felix felt like he could’ve gone on a quiz show about the guy. He sat on the couch, nodding along and eating the popcorn he had prepared for the movie marathon that was supposed to have started already. However, Victor wanted to talk first. Felix hadn’t realized the talking would be so one-sided when he agreed.

“It’s just like… my whole life I’ve been searching for that person I could just talk to, y’know?” Victor said, gesturing with one hand as he talked. “And I feel like I can finally do that with Benji. It’s like we can talk about anything—movies, our families, life. Even if it’s just mundane stuff, there’s a connection when we’re talking. You know what I mean?”

His eyes were wide in that puppy way they got when he was excited. Because he was excited. Because he had a new boyfriend, something he had assumed he could never have, and he was happy, for once. And Felix was being a dick.

“Yeah,” Felix agreed weakly, trying to sound tuned in to their conversation. “Yeah, no, he sounds great. I’m glad you guys are, uh, getting along so well.”

He didn’t sound convincing, even to himself, and it was clear Victor picked up on it. He shoved his hands between his legs awkwardly, chuckling a bit. “Sorry if I’m taking a lot, I didn’t mean to, like, take over the conversation or anything. We should probably start the movie now, huh?”

“Oh.” Though Felix had been hoping for the other to say that for a while now, it felt strangely empty in the moment. His stomach prickled with what may have been guilt, but was potentially just too much popcorn. Still, he decided to ignore it for now. Besides, Victor was the one who had brought up the topic change. “Yeah, sure. Though we may need to get some more snacks before we start—I think I may have finished off most of our supply here already.”

Victor laughed, a real laugh, and Felix allowed himself to smile as well as they both went out to the kitchen. Things were fine between them, no need to worry about Benji or anyone else.

That didn’t mean he wanted to be partnered with him for PE however.

“Ford, hey!” Felix caught up with Coach Ford, busy already helping a classmate. The man turned around, startled by the sudden voice, though his demeanor quickly changed to one of displeasure when he realized who it was.

“Weston.”

“Ford,” Felix replied in turn. “Is it alright if I call you Ford?”

“No.”

“Perfect. Coach Ford it is. Sorry for bothering you like this, I just wanted to check in really quick. Ah, so I know you said you didn’t want us to pick our teams for the co-op exercises today, and I completely understand that. Because then you could just pick your friends, you know? But here’s the thing. You have me partnered with Benji.”

There was a beat of silence while Felix stared up at him expectantly, as though the name alone should be explanation. Ford waited approximately five seconds before hesitantly confirming. “Yes. I did. Were you confused on that, is that why you came over here?”

“No, no, not confused,” Felix clarified, glancing back over towards the rope course where Benji was waiting for him. He smiled, waving over at him, and Felix hated how perfect his smile was, how of course Victor would want to hang out with someone like him over Felix—

No, he wasn’t doing this. Not now. “It’s just that Benji and I…” Felix trailed off, looking for a way to explain it. “We don’t exactly get along. So you can see how that might make working together difficult.”

Coach Ford frowned. “I see you two together all the time. Hanging out with that Salazar kid?”

“Victor?” Felix snorted, shaking his head. “No, Benji and Victor hang out, I however—”

“Listen, Weston,” Ford said, holding up a hand to stop him. “If I had to make exceptions for every kid in here due to personal history, we’d never get through the class. Now, why don’t you go back over and do the assignment like you were told, huh?”

It was clear Felix wasn’t going to get through to him, and so reluctantly he turned back around to face his new rival of Victor’s time.

“What was all that about?” Benji asked when he reached him, nodding over to where Ford stood barking commands at some other students who were also having some difficulty with the task. Benji threw a ball towards him and Felix caught it, barely, grunting a bit as it hit his stomach.

Felix shrugged noncommittally, throwing the ball back perhaps a bit harder than he needed to. “Nothing, nothing, just clarifying some stuff, you know? Nothing to concern yourself with. Let’s just get this over with so we can all go home and get on with our lives.”

Benji smiled hesitantly at the strangely aggressive tone, but decided to let it go for now. “Yeah, sure. So what did you want to start off with? We could do trust falls, ball toss—”

“Ball toss works,” Felix cut him off, the idea of trust falls making him uneasy. No way he was just going to fall back into the other boy’s arms. Of course, knowing perfect Benji, he probably would catch him.

Felix briefly considered how psychotic it was to be annoyed at someone for being too perfect, but before he could too deeply break down his own strange jealousy, he realized Benji had already started on the first activity, and he quickly redirected his focus.

The co-op consisted of three main activities, the blind ball toss, trust falls, and The Pipe. The last one was in actuality a tube-shaped rope ladder, but The Pipe had been a distasteful nickname by one of the students that had ended up sticking. At the top of the ladder was a baton that your teammate would toss to you, starting the relay. Supposedly, there was no time limit on when they completed the course so long as it was within the constraints of class, but there was an unspoken agreement between Coach Ford and the class that those who came in last wouldn’t be doing so hot grade-wise.

Several minutes later and one hectic ball toss later, Felix flinched as he felt himself fall into strong arms. He allowed himself to rest there for all of a second before scrambling forward, nearly tripping in his haste to get away. Benji chuckled in surprise, stepping back a bit to let him catch his footing. “Woah, hey, you okay there? You know you’re only supposed to fall the one way, right?

“Yep, yep, yep, totally good,” Felix nodded vaguely, hardly looking at the other. With each second that he spent around him, his suspicions were repeatedly confirmed—Benji was a catch. Funny, strong, hair slicked back and perfectly groomed. Not only that, but he had been chattering the whole time, non-stop quips and comments about their work, all of it with that same easy grin. Objectively cooler than Felix on the whole, some might say. Why the hell would Victor need Felix around when he had someone like Benji? “Just, ah, lost my footing there. Hey, you want to do the rope ladder now?”

“We still have a couple more trust falls to do—”

“Ten trust falls is so many,” Felix interrupted, walking over to the rope ladder and tugging it ruminatively. “Why don’t we just move on, skip straight to the good part—being done with gym! Eh?”

He forced a cheery tone, trying to hide his ulterior motives, but it was clear from the way Benji’s smile dipped slightly that he hadn’t hidden it well enough. He coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh, you want to run or—”

“I can climb.” Benji walked over, that smile back and chippier than ever. Guilt prickled at Felix’s stomach once more. Benji was clearly trying his hardest to make this friendship work—why couldn’t he do the same? “I have strong arms, so we might have a better chance of getting through this faster. I wouldn’t want to hold you up nay longer than I have to.”

“Oh, no, you’re—” Felix started and then stopped a protest, flushing as Benji called him out. He didn’t have any more chance to argue as Benji gripped a rope, finding a foothold and pulling himself up.

Felix had to admit, Benji was right. He pulled himself up effortlessly, barely breaking a sweat. Felix bet he had never struggled to do a pull-up or gave up halfway through a push-up. Just another way that Benji the Superior excelled over him.

His focus snapped to attention when Benji yelped, misplacing a step suddenly and losing his footing. He fell back into the ropes, slipping down the tube and bumping into crisscrossed ropes with a shriek. Felix raced forward to catch him, but just as Benji neared the ground his foot caught in the ropes, stopping his descent with a sudden pull. He stuck his arms out to stop himself from lurching back, his other leg dangling loosely within the tube.

Benji’s eyes were wide in surprise as the moment caught up with him and Felix stood frozen with his arms still outstretched for a moment before remembering himself. “Are you okay?”

Frowning, Benji struggled a bit against the ropes, tugging a bit at his trapped ankle. It didn’t give, his foot staying stubbornly in place. “I think so? Just a bit stuck I think.”

Felix stifled a laugh as he watched the other wiggle around in the ropes, trying to get himself free. He had to admit it was kind of funny to see coordinated Benji squirming around like a worm on a hook. A quick glance confirmed Coach Ford was still helping the other students, so Felix decided to take things into his own hands. He walked in front of where the other sat struggling, hands on his hips as he considered the situation.

“You’re really tangled in there,” Felix said, whistling a little as he shook his head. “Like, wow. How does that even happen?”

“Just help me out, please?” There was a slight pink tinge on Benji’s cheeks, and Felix realized all at once that he was embarrassed. He shook his hands a bit in emphasis. “We can’t exactly finish the relay with me like this.”

“Alright, alright, just hold on.”

Felix moved over to his ankle, frowning down at the ropes. A couple of the ropes had wrapped around his ankle, and an experimental tug confirmed that they held tight. There was no way he was getting his foot out like this. Benji’s eyes widened when he started taking off his shoe, shifting nervously in the ropes. “W-What are you doing?”

“I have to do this, calm down,” Felix muttered distractedly as he slid off his shoe, tossing it on the ground. “That way I can slip your foot through the ropes. Just hold still, will you?”

Warily, Benji did as he asked, trying to force his leg to relax as Felix tugged at his ankle. When that didn’t work, he sighed in frustration, gripping his foot and pulling at them instead. He wasn’t expecting the yelp that came from the other, or for Benji’s foot to jerk anxiously from his grip.

“Hey!” Felix exclaimed, trying to grab the foot which continued its evasive dance. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, sorry, it…” Benji broke off, and then, wonders of wonders, that same pink spread across his cheeks once more. “Just don’t grip it like that—it tickles.”

“Oh.” Felix blinked, his brain taking a moment to adjust to the fact that Perfect Benji was ticklish. He hadn’t let go of his foot either, a fact that Benji was carefully aware of. “Ticklish, huh? I got to be honest, I would not have expected that from you. You just don’t… look ticklish?”

Benji let out a slight huff of laughter, too tense with anticipation to be genuine. “I didn’t realize ticklish people had a ‘look’. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’ll forgive it,” Felix allowed, and then, curiously, he curled his fingers into his socks where he held his foot. Another frantic yelp, only this time a grin flickered across the other boy’s features, a helpless, instinctual reaction. And then Felix was grinning too, only for much different reasons. “Although, now that I know information like Benji Campbell is ticklish, it would surely be a crime to not take advantage of it, don’t you think?”

“F-Felix.” All at once, Benji’s vulnerable position started to sink in. “C’mon, we don’t have tohoho—nohoho!”

“I’m hardly even touching you, man.” Felix gripped his foot, gently digging his fingers into his curled soles. He wiggled his fingers a bit and a couple more giggles slipped out. “Does Victor know?”

“No, a-and hehe doesn’t neheed to k-know!” Benji attempted to prop himself up against the ropes in an effort to somehow pull his foot out, but nails scribbling under his toes had him falling back down again. “G-Gahaha, Fehehelix!”

“Yes?”

Benji curled his toes, his face scrunched up as he fought to hold back his laughter. “C’mohohon! Ihit—geh, ihit tihihickles!”

“Well yes Benji, that is often a consequence of being tickled.”

Benji groaned, rolling his eyes. “Yohohou ahahare n-nohot fuhuhunny, yohohou knohohow.”

Felix gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “Why, I am offended Benji! I take pride as being the humor lynchpin of our group. But if that’s how you want to be, then I’ll take it into my hands to give you something to really laugh about.”

Felix locked his arm about the other’s foot, effectively ending any chance of escape he might’ve had. He gently scratched at his heel, and Benji snorted, his leg jerking in his hold. He made little circles around the area with his nails, tracing intricate patterns that had the other boy writhing. Experimentally, he tried squeezing his heel and Benji jumped, yelping.

“Fehehelix!”

“And I always thought Victor was ticklish. You certainly take the cake in that area.” Felix chuckled, circling his heel and dragging a finger up his sole. Benji tensed, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the sensation. “I’m hardly even touching you right now.”

“Yehes yohou ahAHARE!” Benji’s words cut off into a squeal when fingers scribbled over his soles suddenly. He threw his head back, alternating between grabbing the rope and pushing at it to try to get out. “Ahaha, nahahat thehehehere!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felix hummed, smirking as he gently walked his fingers up his foot. “People laugh when they’re happy, your happiness makes Victor happy, and I like making Victor happy. I’m just trying to be a supportive friend, that’s all. I don’t know what all your squirming is about.”

“Buhuhuhullshit!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Felix clucked his tongue, scratching at his arches. “Crass language isn’t very nice Benji.”

Struggling to sit up as much as he could in his position, Benji managed to direct a glare at Felix. “Ohoho Yeheheah? Wehehell fuhuhuhuck yohohou.”

Felix sighed, shaking his head. “I did warn you after all.”

For a brief moment the tickling stopped, and Benji sunk gratefully against the ropes, taking the chance to catch his breath. He entertained the thought that maybe Felix had decided to let him go after all, but in the next moment he felt fingers curling under the rims of his socks, tugging them off his soles. He froze, breath catching nervously in his throat as Felix gently tossed the garment aside where his abandoned shoe now sat. “F-Felix. What are you doing?”

“Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

A startled gasp escaped him when nails dragged over his bare sole, a slow, gentle pace that pulled a stream of giggles after it as Benji’s foot twitched and jerked in his hold. “F-Felix, wahait, ehe, hohold on! C’mon, w-we cahan talk abohout—ah! Ahahabout thihihis!”

“I don’t think there’s a whole lot to talk about, other than the fact that you’ve clearly been hiding crucial information from us. Benji, charismatic, smooth-talking, oh-so-confident Benji, is ticklish. Very ticklish, at that.” His words were growing more playful now, and Felix realized suddenly that he was having fun. “This is simply your punishment for hiding such an important detail.”

Benji’s giggles were unending at this point, every once in a while spluttering out into a silent cackling as he shook his head uselessly. Felix’s nails were electric against his skin, and he jumped and squirmed in the ropes as they traveled slowly up his soles, scribbling over the ball of his foot. “W-Why wohohould Ihihihi hahahahave mehehentioned thahahahat, ahaha, Fehehelix! C’mohohohon!”

“I can’t understand you through all that laughter,” Felix said, his words lilting with teasing innocence. “Maybe try enunciating your words and try again.”

“Yohohohou’re thehehe wohohohorst,” Benji groaned, attempting to glare at him, but all the anger was sapped from the gesture when combined with the silly grin plastered over his features. He hadn’t been tickled in a while, at least not like this, and he wasn’t prepared for it to be quite so intense. Yet, despite all of that, he couldn’t help the way a small part of him lit up with light hope. This was the closest effort Felix had made to bond with him in quite a while, and even though it tickled far, far too much, Benji found that he was almost happy for it.

“Oh ho, the worst am I? I think you’ll find that I can be much worse.” Felix tapped his fingers around the ball of his foot, getting closer and closer to his toes but never actually on them. “You seemed pretty ticklish here earlier. I wonder how it’ll feel now?”

“No, Felix, wahait, yohou don’t h-hahave to!” The anticipation was almost worse, and laughter bubbled nervously in his throat, slipping out and making him squirm and tug harder at the ropes. “Not there, c’mon—ahAHEIEIEHEHE FEHEHELIX!”

“Ah-ha. Jackpot.”

Swinging a bit on the ropes from all his struggling, Benji cackled wildly, his nerves lighting up with alarm at the intense sensation. He tried curling his toes but Felix merely pulled them back, scribbling underneath them regardless. His protests were lost to howls and squeals, his face flushed a dark red, part from embarrassment and part from laughing.

“TIHIHihihihIHIHICKLES!” he managed, a vague plea. His perfect hair wasn’t as perfect now, pieces of it falling into his face and obscuring his vision. His chin ducked down in concentration as he attempted to somehow will the sensation away, a method that was rarely, if ever, successful. It certainly wasn’t helping him much now.

“Well, in that case—”

“Weston! Campbell!”

The two froze off instinct, Felix’s fingers pausing and hovering over the other boy’s still trapped foot. Benji’s laughter sputtered weakly and came to a halt, and together they both looked up into the confused gaze of one Coach Ford.

“What is all the racket?” he demanded, resting his clipboard on his waist with one hand. “And why is Benji tied up like he’s some kind of strange rope Christmas decoration?”

Felix paled, quickly dropping the other’s leg, and Benji coughed awkwardly, attempting to sit up and gather as much dignity as he could in the situation. “Sorry Coach,” he started, his words a tad breathless from laughing. “I fell during the relay and Felix here was just helping me out.”

Felix snapped his head to look at him, narrowing his eyes in confusion. This was Benji’s chance to rat him out, to get revenge, but… he wasn’t?

With a vague grunt of suspicion, Ford raised an eyebrow at his claim. “I heard laughing.”

“A joke,” Benji cut in quickly, smiling over at Felix quickly, who nodded after a moment, slowly, still trying to catch up to what was happening here. “Felix here is a bit of a teenage comedian if you haven’t noticed. Isn’t that right Felix?”

“Huh?” Felix blinked, taken off guard, but with a firm look from Benji he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m a regular Adam Sandler.”

There was a beat of silence as Ford considered them skeptically, but finally he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Sure. Try not to let it be a habit, huh? Though it may not seem conventional, this is still class. Now would you two stop fooling around and finish the relay already?”

“Yes Coach,” Benji agreed quickly, nodding to Felix who kicked into gear, going about actually untangling the ropes this time. Ford continued to watch them for a moment before evidently deciding that at the very least they would be quiet now, and turned his attention back to the other students, most of whom had either already finished or were having just as difficult a time.

A couple minutes later, they managed to get the ropes off, safely depositing Benji on the ground once more. They didn’t end up finishing the relay, mutually deciding that that ship had sailed. As Benji tugged the laces on his shoe, Felix shifted indecisively besides him, tossing the ball back and forth in his hands. He knew he had to say something, but it didn’t make the confession any less difficult.

“Hey Felix, do you mind giving me a hand up—”

“I’m sorry!”

Benji paused, hand still outstretched in the air. “Oh. Ah, thanks—”

“It’s because I was jealous,” Felix continued; now that he was talking, he figured it was better to get it all out and be done with it. Words tumbled nervously out of his mouth, jittery with awkwardness. “Of you, that is. You and Victor. It’s just that before he started dating you, we hung out all the time and we would talk about everything, but now that you’re here he doesn’t need me as much, which is perfectly understandable, I mean, you’re his boyfriend, he should hang out with you more than his friend, right? But still, I started worrying it was something with me, maybe, and I took it out on you because of my own insecurity, which is a shitty thing to do to a person but—”

“Felix!” Benji’s eyes were wide, a startled smile on his face. “It’s okay, calm down. It makes sense that you were jealous.”

“Oh.” Felix paused. “It does?”

“Yeah.” Benji rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I get it. Because I was kind of jealous too.”

Of all the things he had expected Benji to say, that was last on his list. He snorted, an incredulous, involuntary action. “You? Jealous? Of me?”

“I mean you and Victor were so close before,” Benji explained. “I always felt like an intruder of sorts. And then you were kind of stand-offish to me, and… well, you know.”

“Huh.” Felix leaned back against the wall, shaking his head. “This whole time, and we were both just being stupid.”

“Well, at least I didn’t take it out on you with tickling,” Benji pointed out with a wry grin.

Felix flushed, his shoulders ducking up in a cringe. Now that he was looking back on it, the whole situation probably came off as incredibly weird and off-putting. “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean—”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Benji held up a hand, waving off the notion. “Besides, it wasn’t… all terrible. It was kind of fun in a way.”

Felix quirked a brow up, a bit of his unease falling off as he turned to look at the other. “Oh? You had fun, did you?”

Now it was Benji’s turn to go red, and he took a quick step back, holding his arms up in vague defense. “Yes, but I think I’m all fun-ed out for the day, thanks.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna do anything,” Felix assured him. “I don’t think we need to get into any more trouble with Coach.”

After that day, Felix found he didn’t mind Benji’s company as much as he used to, and even found himself inviting Benji to come with Victor and him to hang out. It helped that Victor always brightened at the suggestion.

Of course, the information that Benji was ticklish was quickly shared to Victor, but Felix decided he was allowed to have a little fun.

#tickle fic #love victor #benji campbell #felix weston #tickling #fanfiction #fic request #requests #victor salazar

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antiterf · 3 years

Text

I started thinking about how I'm more and more okay with talking about things like menstruation, abortion, and things specific to my reproductive system as an inherent part of my trans manhood. (Yes, that it what I'm going to call it).

And I thought to myself how I didn't see myself or any other trans men as inherently less as men for it. Even though it's something we definitely do not have in common with cis men, and whenever the topics are talked about it's hugely if not entirely focused around (cis) womanhood. Cis in parathenses because people like to act like cis womanhood is universal womanhood and default womanhood.

Part of me thinking about it was related back to the whole transandrophobia debate (seeing someone comparing it to white womanhood along with being compared to terfs, I'll get to the terf one later). It also relates back to how difficult it is to talk about how society will inherently treat trans men as a group like how they treat women, seen as harmless, confused, tricked, pitiful, or not seen at all. That obviously doesn't mean that trans men are women, it means that larger society still basis stereotypes on us related to our birth sex. How we are treated does not define who we are, even if we take those experiences and incorporate them into our identity and being.

With being compared to terfs, I could see where the person was coming from- hold on and hear me out. Ever since the transandrophobia thing started gaining, I immediately thought of terfs saying "oh? So you realize that you are A Woman? That the trans community doesn't actually care about you?" And general talking points that are ultimately there to make you feel like trans people don't care about you. People talking about transandrophobia typically bring up how trans men and trans mascs bringing up their experiences of oppression and trying to describe them is what makes people pissed off.

Basically, terfs will take transandrophobia being talked about as "proof" that the "tifs" are "peaking" and shit. We have a thing where "if the terf agrees with you, you're wrong" but can still agree that we delete terf posts after finding out they're a terf because that means the post now has a different meaning. It should be understood that just because a terf agrees with something, it doesn't mean they're perceiving it the same way the op is. So I understand, I fucking saw it coming for crying out loud, but I still don't think they're comparable. The ones speaking about these issues are trans men who see the issues as an inherent part of being a trans man, not as part of being a woman.

I thought how trans men are trans men, before I remembered one feminist saying "trans women are trans women" when asked if they were women and felt the immediate need to clarify with myself. Trans men are still men, but we have our own experiences to manhood that are explicitly different from cis men. The same way being a disabled man makes me experience manhood pretty differently than abled men. My lack of enjoying sports and being unable to do more physical chores relates to how disability impacts how my manhood is seen for instance. The lack of power, trouble with money and jobs, the inherent fact that I will need help all interferes with what my manhood "should" be.

That doesn't make me less of a man though. Just because I do not fit into the majority does not mean I don't fit into the general term "man" or "men." Feeling shame for not being able to shovel the driveway as the only man in my house isn't expected in the majority of men. Neither is feeling incredibly nervous about going to a gynecologist because of how I'll possibly be treated. My experience of my gender being different doesn't take away from it. Being a trans man matters in that way, not in a way where I'm "not really a man."

#notaterftip #not sarcasm #long post #rant

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words-writ-in-starlight · 4 years

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where's the essay op

Okay so bayonets. I don't know why I ever pretend that I want to talk about anything but military history and battlefield medicine. I checked all my sources in the waiting room of a doctor's office so you're just going to have to trust me because they are Gone. I’m pretty sure this can all be found on a few Wiki dives, though.

First of all, to recap, let me clarify a common misconception. The triangular bayonet was NOT outlawed in the 1949 Geneva Convention, nor any future revisions—as it was originally a musket weapon, it was fading out of use by World War II and the subsequent Convention. However, you'll notice that I opted to use to word "violates" rather than "were banned by," which is a fine semantical hair to split and, I suppose, debatable. Most bayonets were not explicitly banned in the GC, in that there is not an article in the GC saying you can't use them. However there IS an article in the GC, adopted from the earlier 1899 Hague Regulations, stating that it is prohibited to "employ weapons...of a nature to cause superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering" (originally part of Article 23 of the HR, now Article 35 of the GC, expanded in 1977). Personally, as someone who knows a lot about how a lot of weapons impact the human body, I think that is a more expansive statement than most people would expect, and should be treated accordingly. Regrettably I do not work for the UN.

Point is, triangular blades specifically are known to cause wounds that are difficult to heal, highly prone to infection, and extremely likely to never fully recover, while also having a relatively low mortality rate. This is because the axes of a triangular wound, which is shaped sort of like a Y, make it very hard to stitch closed, and very easy for any "twisting" of the blade to create a large hole with ragged edges that's functionally impossible to stitch closed. As an added bonus, because of the way scar tissue forms, it's possible for one "line" of a triangular wound to pull open other parts of the puncture while the scar tissue forms and pulls on the skin. Even by standards in the 1700s, triangular bayonet wounds were phenomenally likely to infect and consistently difficult to repair, and modern medicine has made only limited improvements on that situation. As such, cases have been made that certain types of bayonet/triangular blades in general are therefore in violation of this article, despite not being explicitly banned.

(Side note: yes, the American military violates the GC on the regular. The American police violate the GC. I am excruciatingly aware. The GC is interesting reading generally, but especially if you're an American and you ever feel like being appalled for a few hours.)

Anyway, with that covered again, let's actually talk about the development of triangular bayonets, which might've been out of use by the time of the GC but DEFINITELY violated that article in a big way for a good two centuries prior and are also a fascinating insight into the fact that humanity, as a whole, is really determined to do things in the dumbest way possible.

The first thing you have to understand about bayonets is that they were originally invented as a way to integrate pikes with guns, not knives or even swords. When arquebuses and muskets were first invented, you were lucky to get a rate of fire around one round per minute, and you still had to protect your army while they were reloading their clunky black powder guns. Therefore, most infantries between like...the invention of the gun and the late 1600s were comprised of soldiers equipped with muskets, and also soldiers equipped with pikes (a type of spear). The idea of a bayonet was "what if we put a pike and a musket TOGETHER and then we could give everyone THAT and have way more guns in our army because we don't need pikemen anymore." Which makes sense when you think about it.

What makes less sense is that the initial effort at bayonets was something called a plug bayonet. You'll never fucking guess what these geniuses (first record is Chinese infantry around-abouts 1600, popular use of plug bayonets recorded in Europe around the 1630s) figured out for their first try at a bayonet. Here's a hint! There's not a lot of places on a gun where you can "plug in" a sword.

Obviously plug bayonets did not exactly catch on as a fantastic solution, because these guns were either a gun OR a short spear and neither was especially good at their jobs. A bunch of battles hinged on this problem. Which brings us to the end of the 1600s, when English forces in Scotland got absolutely obliterated by a bunch of Highlanders in 1689 because the English were so busy trying to fix their bayonets that the Highlanders literally just charged them, fired one volley, and cut them down with swords and axes. The English took that one very personally (which, you know what, fair, it was a humiliating defeat, especially since the Highlanders had been using that tactic very successfully for a while) and started developing better bayonets.

This is where we get to socket bayonets, AKA what you would probably recognize as a bayonet from a period TV series or a museum. Socket bayonets have a metal sleeve that gets attached around the barrel of a gun (in this case a musket), so that you can still theoretically use the damn gun while it's attached. There were problems with the development of socket bayonets (notably, it took a while to figure out how to keep them from falling off the gun during battle), but overall they worked much better and armies started getting rid of pikemen. This was also when bayonets were shortened to a little over a foot, which isn't really important but made them much easier to maneuver. Socket bayonets were the European order of the day by the early 1700s, and mostly came in three flavors: single edge (like a knife), double edge (like a sword), and spike (like a...spike). There were pros and cons to all of these (single edge wasn't great for stabbing, spike was ONLY good for stabbing, and double edge was kind of okay at stabbing and kind of okay at slashing), but most importantly, both single and double edged bayonets were fragile. The heads of polearms were shaped on patterns other than "sword on a stick" for a reason, and it's because "sword on a stick" is not very sturdy.

Triangular bayonets were the solution to this problem. Triangular bayonets are basically a single piece of metal creased long-ways, with both edges sharpened and the top fluted to form a third edge at the crease. This makes a much more resilient weapon than a flat blade, because a twisting motion doesn’t risk snapping the blade in the middle. It also means that now you have three edges, and human nature is to figure “more knife better.”

And don’t get me wrong, as a weapon of war, the triangular bayonet was a great one. It was introduced in the 1710s and then got used regularly to maim and terrify through the start of the 1900s. In fact, the triangular bayonet worked so well that it only began to get phased out of use when the style of war itself started to change dramatically during the World Wars. When warfare was focused on pitched battle (your old school “two armies enter, one army leaves” kind of warfare), the emphasis of a bayonet was on extending the reach of a gun. A bayonet lets a soldier have a weapon for closer range combat, where a gun—especially a long gun like a musket—is not as effective. So when you had two armies on the field and a bayonet was first and foremost a way to keep the enemy at least gun-length away, longer bayonets were better.

But World War I was the advent of trench warfare, which was a terrible idea and also meant that a long weapon, like a gun with an extra foot and a half of sword on top, was much, MUCH harder to work with. Either fighting took place in no man’s land, where you probably weren’t going to get close enough to use a bayonet anyway, or in a trench, where a weapon as long as you were tall was just impossible to work with.

(If you know anything about WWI, you’re probably asking me about bayonet charges right now, specifically the concept of “going over the top.” Contrary to every media representation of WWI ever, “going over the top” of a trench faded out of use pretty quickly. It was a type of bayonet charge where the soldiers in ONE trench fixed their bayonets and tried to charge no man’s land in an effort to reach the OTHER trench, but it was basically never effective because no man’s land was often heavily trapped and strafed with gunfire and mortar shells. Also, it was the kind of battle tactic that military history books talk about with phrases like “total annihilation of whole attacking battalions,” so that’s the kind of mortality rate we’re talking about here. The Battle of the Somme featured a good number of bayonet charges by the British, for context, so people learned and started using other tactics.)

So, since bayonets were only useful in trenches, suddenly everyone was scrambling to shorten bayonets and guns so that their soldiers could get ANYTHING DONE. And THEN soldiers started admitting that they were literally taking their bayonets off their guns and using them as knives instead, because for trench fighting that was way more useful, and so everyone just decided fuck it, let’s just make bayonet-knives, which is why WWI weapons with bayonets usually look, very literally, like someone duct taped a short knife to the front of a gun. This was the start of the decline of the triangular bayonet, a full two hundred years after it hit the battlefield, which is a frankly spectacular run for any weapon since the invention of the gun. Triangular bayonets held on, here and there, through part of WWII, but they were almost entirely gone by the time of the Geneva Convention being ratified in 1949. However, spike or knife bayonets are still issued to many armies as a weapon of last resort to this day, although they aren’t often used in actual attacks. Now we have bigger, worse weapons for actual attacks.

TL;DR, the development of bayonets went like this:

“What if we put a pike ON a gun? …oh wait, you still want to use the gun? Sucks to be you, I guess.”

“What if we put a sword on the gun instead? Then we could put it somewhere where we can still use the gun! Good luck keeping it on there, though.”

“What if we actually made something designed to get put on a gun and stab people effectively? Like, what if we designed something with that purpose in mind? Perhaps?” SMASH CUT TWO CENTURIES

“Well if you’re just gonna take your bayonet off and stab someone with it anyway, can we just go back to giving you knives, then?”

And now you’re caught up on all the dubiously successful ways we’ve tried to mutilate people with a knife-gun.

#military history #medical history #sort of...?#bayonets #honestly i have no idea what this would be classified as. i just had a really good time reading about bayonets in a waiting room.#Y'ALL WANTED TO KNOW SO HERE IS MY ESSAY #IT IS VERY LONG YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELVES I'M NOT SORRY #incidentally i HATE the fact that plug bayonets were a thing. what a terrible solution to a problem. what the hell.#'we went to all this trouble to make a gun that won't blow us up (much) so now we're gonna put a knife in the end'#i would love to talk to the guy who came up with that and ask politely what the hell decided them on this #as opposed to SAY FOR EXAMPLE A SOCKET BAYONET #WHICH IS NOT THAT MUCH MORE ADVANCED A CONCEPT #it does bear mentioning that bayonets weren't often major killers in war!#...because you were much more likely to be maimed and/or die later of infection than die outright on the field from a bayonet wound #so take from that what you will #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge #anonymous #asked and answered

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Quarantine: A Love Story{23}

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Heavy Angst, Plot Heavy, Slight NSFW

Words: 4.3k

Note: Italic text signifies a past memory/conversation.

*Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. FICTION! Think twice before you come @ me.

I hope you guys enjoy this. If you enjoyed this LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG.

As always, thank you for reading!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: Q1 | Q2 | Q3 | Q4 | Q5 | Q6 | Q7 | Q8 | Q9 | Q10 | Q11 | Q12 | Q13 | Q14 | Q15 | Q16 | Q17 | Q18 | Q19 | Q20 | Q21 | Q22

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Quarantine Week Thirteen-

-Chris-

“Knock, knock, room service.”

Groaning, he lifted his head, squinting at the sun that was shining through the window.

“What the fuck?”

“Knock, knock, room service,” came the voice again.

His head was pounding, and the light was not helping. Rolling onto his back, he used his hand to shield the sun before he rubbed his face hoping to clear the haziness in his eyes and head. When he felt steady enough to stand, he walked across the room to the door. Once there, he realized he was naked. Grabbing a discarded towel off a nearby chair, he wrapped it around his waist then cracked the door enough to see who it was. No one was there, just a room service cart. Poking his head out, he looked from side to side, still not seeing anyone.

“Did I order room service?”

Not wanting someone to happen to come out of their room and see him, he quickly rolled the cart inside his room, leaving it just before the bed. As he dropped onto the bed, he took the notecard wedged between the coffee mugs.

I let you sleep in yesterday and work through whatever it was that you were going through, but today is business as usual. We have meetings.

-M

Groaning, he dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling before closing his eyes. As soon as he did, it was your face he saw. Memories of your last night together flooded him like always. They always came when he had more than ten minutes to himself. So nights were sleepless, showers were torture, and getting any work done was next to impossible. He’d left because there was nothing else to do. He’d been getting plenty of emails about possible work in London and meetings to take, but he’d pushed them back time and time again. One reason was the pandemic that was still ravaging the world, but the other reason was you. He wanted to be near you, learn more about you, begin building with you. That didn’t look to be what you wanted, though.

He groaned again and rubbed his face hoping to stop the onslaught. It didn’t work. Your voice echoed in his head, and he swore he could feel your hands on him. God, he wanted you here. He wanted to still be in his cabin with you still resting your head on his chest. He wanted to be breathing in your scent, coconut oil, flowers, brown sugar, and pineapples. Your scent was seared to his memory.

“Fuck!”

His shout echoed in the hotel room. He sat up and stared at the cart with the breakfast spread. He’d done everything he could.

“She just doesn’t want me.”

With that, he stood and began getting himself ready for his meetings. He had three in total, and that itself told him it would be a long day.

Sure enough, by two in the afternoon, he was still busy and hadn’t had the time even to get lunch. The first meeting went on for three hours, and now he’d taken an unplanned zoom one regarding his project with Mark and Joe. Things were always moving behind the scenes, and though the last few weeks were a nice vacation of sorts, it was time for him to get his head back into the game, no matter how difficult it was posing to be.

As two meetings turned to three, then four, he found himself running on empty, and the longer that went by without you reaching out to him in any way, the angrier and more bitter he became. Never in his life had he been in this situation. He’d pursued plenty of women, but they all were receptive. They all showed interest of some sort. They all wanted him. he may not have wanted them on the level they wanted him, but there was a minimal basic understanding. With you, he felt he was always the one chasing you. It was disconcerting.

When he got in for the night, he was exhausted and ready for a shower and sleep. The ringing of his phone said it was not to be.

“Yes, Meg.”

“Did you look over that proposal I sent earlier?”

Sighing, he sat and hung his head back. “What proposal?”

“Hear me out before you shoot it down. What do you know about Letecia Jemison?”

“Who?”

“The model turned actress,” Meg clarified.

He sighed again, then put the phone on speaker and typed in the name into his Google search. In seconds images of who Meg was talking about populated.

“She’s pretty, right.”

“Meg, what’re ya doing?”

“Nothing, just listen. Her team has been in contact with me, and I know her publicist. We've come up with a way to help both of you. With quarantine, everyone has reverted to a home-based lifestyle. This means maybe some names aren’t on tongues, and that means the roles are slowing.”

Already he didn’t like the way this was going.

“Meg--,” he began.

“It’s just a few photo ops. The press will get a few pictures, people will start talking, and the rest it easy. Plus, I think you two would hit it off; maybe this will jumpstart a relationship.”

“Oh god. Meg. I am not in the market for a relationship.”

“Chris, you’re a good looking guy. Quarantine has been going on for weeks. Not to be invasive, but when was the last time you were in the company of someone who wasn’t family?”

He scoffed and sat back while scrolling through the pictures.

“Meg. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s harmless. One or two dates, you get to blow off steam and maybe get something more,” Meg finished.

The picture on his screen was of this Leticia woman in a figure-hugging dress that accentuated her figure. She wasn’t bad to look at; he had to admit.

“And what does she have to say about all this?”

“According to Mike, he said she sounds open to it. If the idea of a photo op sounds deceiving, think of it as a date or spending time with a friend. You can never have too many contacts in this business.”

Meg always knew how to spin things. Her goal was to keep him relevant for as long as it was in his interest, or he decided to remain in the business.

“We have to talk first, Meg. Set up a facetime or zoom, or something,” he suggested.

“All right. I’ll text you. Get some rest.”

After ending the conversation, he stared out the window and immediately thought of you. Even a conversation for a meet up felt wrong to him. Weeks ago, he wouldn’t have cared.

“Unbelievable.”

Standing, he walked to the bathroom, determined to find some peace for the night.

~~~~~~~~

-Y/N-

Staring at the cabin, it looked the same, but it felt different. Whereas it felt warm and inviting before, now it felt cold and so far away. It had been three days, and you couldn’t believe he’d just up and left without so much as a goodbye or see you later.

“Of course he left. Why would he stay?”

“Because he’s in love with you.”

Spinning, you saw Ms. Lisa standing there. You sighed and looked back at the cabin. The last three days, her, Shanna, nor Carly brought up the elephant in the room. They didn’t treat you any differently, but you saw the questions in their eyes. You thought they would just let it be one of those things people brushed to the side and ignored, but seeing her here you knew it would not be that. When she stood beside you, you glanced at her.

“Let’s take a walk to the beach,” Lisa suggested.

You walked in silence through the wooded area from the cabin, around the guesthouse, and down the steps to the sand. Once there, you both kicked off your shoes and walked down the beach until you sat. You dug your toes into the hot on the surface but cold underneath sand and sighed out.

“How are you doing?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. What was supposed to be a quick chuckle turned into an elaborate laugh that went on for a full minute. She probably thought you were insane. You felt insane. When you stopped, you sighed then swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you as fine as Chris is?” Your eyes met, but you were the first to look away back to the waves. “I can see just how fine he is.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t plan it, and I’m sorry you found out the way you did, and I’m sorry if I broke your trust,” you rushed out. Lisa grabbed your hand and held it in her warmer ones.

“Y/N, no, no, no. You didn’t break my trust at all, and you certainly have nothing to apologize to me for. You are a grown woman, a beautiful grown woman at that. Honestly, I saw this coming years ago.”

You snapped your head to her, giving her a quizzical look. “What? How?”

Lisa smiled and rubbed the back of your hand. “I know Chris and all my children like the back of my hand. I raised them and have paid close attention throughout the years. While it’s more difficult to understand him now than it used to be, I do. He’s always been drawn to you. From day one, and against your better judgment, you’ve also been drawn to him.”

You sighed again, looking away from her kind face and back out to the ocean.

“You never understood it until these last few weeks. You saw his apprehensiveness and labeled it as hate. This quarantine has allowed you to see past that, see him on a level you probably weren’t ready for. You also weren’t prepared to like that side of him.”

She was spot on, but you were not going to admit that, not out loud at least.

“I’m here for you, Y/N. If you want to talk or not talk, I’m here. I’m not going to judge you or chastise you. It is not my place, and truly Y/N, I love you like you were part of my family.”

A tear slid down your cheek, making you roll your eyes. “Oh great,” you groaned.

Lisa put her arm around your shoulder and slide closer, but she didn’t speak again. She was letting you decide what you needed rather than her coaxing you in one direction or the other. You didn’t know how long stretched with only the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, but she didn’t seem to care. As the sun was beginning to set, you opened up to her, letting her know about your past and its effect on you. You steered clear of recent events with Chris or even the fact that of the two of you becoming intimate. Once you began, it felt like you were letting something go that you’d been holding on to for such a long time—shame. That feeling of unburdening shifted to you, spilling your guts telling her things you probably shouldn’t have.

You told her how much you’d hated her son for the first year, then told her how much he confused you and had you doubting yourself by the first have of the second year. Then you admitted that that hate and confusion turned to you being annoyed that you thought about him and even liked seeing him when you did. Your diarrhea of the mouth went further when you admitted that you’d probably thought about sleeping with him long before it actually happened. Still, Lisa didn’t speak. She let you say all you had to, and it turned out you had a lot to say.

You expressed your remorse over lying and sneaking around the last few weeks but admitted you weren’t sorry about it. That was when you felt able to confess that you loved all the conversations you and Chris had, you loved learning new things, loved seeing the vulnerable and soft side of him that he never showed. You even felt comfortable enough to voice your fears.

“I’m afraid if I let him in like I let Thro in that he’ll destroy me worse than he ever could. I was stupid with Theo. The signs were there, but I bypassed them. I didn’t listen to my gut, and by doing that, it cost me more than I ever dreamed. I am not the same person I was then. Everywhere I go, no matter who I am with, I have this barrier between them and me, and Chris is the only one who has ever been able to get behind that barrier. There are so many things that take me away and make it impossible for me to allow him to remain behind this barrier.”

You sniffled and wiped your cheeks while trying to get a hold of yourself.

“Do you want him behind the barrier?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. The question is, can I afford for him to be behind it, especially with everything I have going on and this new bullshit. It’s a lot.”

Lisa nodded. “That’s where you’re wrong. It matters. We have one life to live, Y/N. Tomorrow or the next is not guaranteed. This one existence is what we have. Our only purpose is to live a happy life, one that is fulfilling, rewarding, truthful, and full of love. To do that, we all have to find our truth, and we have to live in it. We have to unravel who we are, come face to face with our weaknesses, fears, strengths, and live unapologetically in all that glory. You have to do that. If you can’t, would you really want to look back on your death bed with nothing but regrets and no time to make it right?”

You hated how right she was. She wasn’t saying anything your mother hadn’t told you time and time again. She’d tried to drill this into your head after Connecticut, but you weren’t listening—you couldn’t. You still couldn’t. Everything in your life was now pointing in one direction, and you still couldn’t bask in it. Your past still gripped you and hovered over your head.

“Remember,” Lisa began drawing your attention to her. she wiped your cheek with the back of her hand the way only a mother could do. “Nothing and no one can keep two people apart who are meant to be. No matter how much time has passed, and no matter what plans are formed against them or promises are made. I guarantee when it’s the one, Y/N, you’ll have no hesitations. You might fight it, but it won’t change anything. No amount of fighting off what’s meant to be will make an ounce of difference.”

You snorted because you remembered her saying the same thing a few weeks ago on this very beach. She’d known all along. She must have known you knew because her smile was warm.

“It’s a sixth or seventh sense. You’ll see when you become a mother whenever that may be, sooner or later, or sooner.”

You busted out laughing so loud that your laughter carried in the wind and out to sea.

“All I’m saying is he can’t do any better than you,” Lisa added, making you laugh harder, a laugh she joined in on.

~~~~~~~~

-Chris-

After another sleepless night, he was in a shit mood and feeling like he was going through some form of withdrawals. He’d grown so accustomed to seeing your face every day or rolling over and bumping into your body that not doing it felt strange, incomplete sort of. When he recognized those feelings, he began to feel angry. He didn’t know what he was angry at, the fact that you’d rejected him or the fact that you hadn’t even given him a chance. He knew you felt something. You had to. Every time he looked into your eyes, he saw something there. You spoke very little about your feelings, but he remembered the words you had said that last night when he’d asked you what you were thinking.

“You. Always only you.”

Maybe he was grasping at straws, but that meant more than what it sounded like. He felt it.

“I told you that you’d like her,” Megan’s voice infiltrated his thoughts.

“Sorry, what?”

“Where are you? For the last few days, you’ve been here but not here.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, then shrugged. “I’m here.”

“Okay. Have some fun tonight. It’s not really work,” Meg advised.

He sighed and looked himself over in the mirror. After a Zoom call with Letecia that lasted about thirty minutes, he was able to get a better feel for her. She was beautiful and funny. After thirty minutes, he wasn’t rushing off the call, so he bit the bullet and suggested dinner that night, all with the ideology there was no harm in a meal in mind.

“It’s just a quick dinner, Meg. No one is putting rings on fingers.”

“Don’t rule it out,” Meg sing songed.

It still felt disingenuous, and maybe that was why he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but he’d made a commitment, and he was a man of his word if anything.

“The car will be downstairs in about ten minutes, so knock em’ dead,” Meg said, winking at him as she walked out of his room.

Once alone, he was finally able to take a breath. Hitching his hands on his hips, he hung his head low and sighed again. “Get your head in the game, ya’ clown.”

He heard the ringing of his phone, and he felt it was someone from his team or even Meg trying to pump him up. When he looked at the screen, it was a number he didn’t recognize.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

He wasn’t in the mood for some robocall. Just as he was going to hang up, he heard sniffles.

“Who is this?”

“I’m sorry.”

He’d recognize your voice anywhere. The war within him began. Part of him wanted to console you and push aside any hurt he felt to make you feel better, but the other half was what kept him quiet. He didn’t want to make this any easier. He supposed it was a little of that resentment seeping through. The silence stretched from minute to minute until neither of you had spoken for a full five. Every minute the war within him waged.

“What do you want?”

“I—I--,” you stuttered before sighing and sniffling some more. No words actually came out.

Another minute of silence passed, and it was his anger and annoyance that piqued, not his sympathy.

“Y/N, what!?”

“I fucked up,” you shouted, then immediately got silent again.

“I fucked up bad, and I’m—I’m sorry.”

He took a slow breath in and tried to get control over the part of him that wanted to yell. As a child, Mary-Go-Rounds were his least favorite carnival ride, and nothing had changed.

“Did you hear me, Chris?”

“I heard you. I’m just—what do you want from me, Y/N?”

He walked to the seat by the window and dropped his head in his hand.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I let you bring me as close as you want, then you tell me to back off and give you space. I am kind and respectful to you, and you push me away and tell me about my whorish ways. I treat you with nothing but care and love, and you tell me to shut up pretty much. I don’t—what do you want from me?”

“I have a lot going on right now. I, there’s so much you don’t know and understand about me and my life, and I--.”

“—So tell me. I don’t know where along this path you thought that all I care about is sex, but that’s wrong. It’s never been about sex with me—us. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Silence. The only thing he heard was the return of your sniffles. A few moments later, you cleared your throat.

“I care--about you.”

The hiss of his breath slipped out, but it was an accurate depiction of his frustrations.

“Care about me? Wo--Okay. Has the last few weeks meant anything to you?”

“Chris,” you whispered.

“See, I don’t even need you to say the words back. A few days ago, I was wrapped up on that, but tonight it’s not—I felt that maybe I’d been rushing you, and I didn’t even mean to say them, but more and more, I just feel like a fucking idiot when it comes to you. I’ve been this—open book to you, and you’ve shown me next to nothing. So I guess I need to know once and for all, plain as day. Has the last few weeks meant anything to you?”

This time your silence was louder than anything he’d heard. After ten seconds, he should have hung up, but he sat there for a minute, then two, all the while, his heart just broke.

“They do mean something,” you whispered.

He felt like a contestant on some gut-wrenching game show, and he was on the edge of his seat and filled with so much anxiety.

“Do you want me, Y/N?”

You sighed loudly, then whispered his name.

“All you have to do is choose me like I’m choosing you,” he finished.

There was rustling and muffled voices that he couldn’t quite make out. What he could make out was your last name, and the words “case” and “update.”

“I gotta go. I can’t do this right now; I really can’t.” You were crying.

Then the call ended. He sat there for several long minutes going through so many different emotions, pain, sadness, confusion, hope, then anger. That was the emotion he left his room with, anger. Long gone were the words of his mother’s text from earlier, “Don’t make permanent decisions with temporary hurt feelings.”

At dinner, Letecia was great. She was funny, charismatic, sweet, and flirtatious. They talked about each of their experiences in the business, which led to talk about what different directors and producers were like, which led to joking about them. The conversation easily flowed from one thing to the next with little to no awkwardness. Still, his mind was distracted. He kept replaying the conversation he’d had with you barely an hour ago. When his brain couldn’t make sense of it, he moved on to comparing you to Letecia.

He compared your voices. Hers was more high pitched, yours softer. He compared your smiles, yours more genuine and bright, hers looked freer. He compared your eyes. He liked yours better. He compared your scents. They were both pleasant, yours won out, but he was not against hers. By the time dinner was finished, he knew Letecia didn’t stack up to you. He knew it with every fiber of his being, but there was something in him that had him progressing with the night. He could see her attraction to him, and he had to admit that he liked being wanted.

When they left the restaurant, they climbed into the waiting car together and laughed the entire way back to his hotel, a suggestion of hers he hadn’t objected to. Once they pulled up to the hotel and began walking to the entrance, Letecia leaned to his ear and whispered something flirty that told him where the night was headed. As soon as they’d gotten comfortable in his room, he got her a drink, and they talked a little more before she’d made a move to climb on top of him. Letecia pulled him into a flirtatious kiss, one he didn’t pull away from. She took his hand and placed it on her ass, taking the lead. It was like this was a first for him. His actions were slow and delayed. Nothing felt natural, and he hated it only felt that way with you.

As if to prove something to himself, he held Letecia’s head steady and kissed her with intent to forget your face. Her moans filled the room, and soon she was sliding odd his lap to sit on the floor between his legs. He watched as she unbuckled his pants and helped him lower his pants. Once the garment was at his ankles, Letecia wasted no time lowering her mouth onto his shaft. A groan escaped him as he watched her bob on his length, all the while slurping against his skin. It took him several minutes to get into the groove of what she was doing because his focus shifted perilously between her and you. No matter what, you resided in his head.

The feeling of doing something wrong constantly nagged him, distracting him from feeling much of anything though Letecia tried her best to draw a reaction. He dropped his head back, hoping that maybe not looking at her would help matters. It didn’t. His memories fluctuated between you doing the same things to a different reaction and the reality before him. He tried to forcibly get his head right, reminding himself that he’d done this plenty of times, and it shouldn’t have been hard. Even that didn’t help.

When Letecia stood before him to remove her burgundy dress, he skimmed her body, taking in every detail. It was underwhelming when he thought back to you, and the sight of her, while beautiful, didn’t excite him. She came closer and kissed him teasingly before walking behind him. When he looked back, he saw her crawl onto his bed then lie down to spread her legs, showing him what he could have. It was decision time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#quarantine: a love story fic #q23 #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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guiltgoreglory · 3 years

Text

Heat Waves (Chapter 1: A Warm Welcome)

(Very) Brief Summary: Reader is a government contractor joining the team in Benghazi. (Eventual Tanto x Reader) (2,684 words)

Chapter 2

Foreword: In this series, the reader will be loosely based off of Nikita from the TV show Nikita (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nikita_(TV_series)). The reader has an extensive background in black-ops and is currently an independent contractor working with the department of defense in coordination with the executive branch. If you have any questions about the character, feel free to reach out to me and I can clarify. The story will generally follow the plot of the movie with the exception of a few scenes. Lastly, the POV will shift throughout the story, a change in POV will be signaled by a line.

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I have a full plot already set up but it has been a long time since I’ve written a fic. I’m so sorry if the writing is kinda shitty but I really wanted to get it down in writing. I hope you like it!

You closed your eyes and rested your head against the headrest, trying to find an ounce of comfort in the cramped seat. The dull hum of the plane was cut through by various murmurs amongst the travelers. After a minute or two, you deemed the effort fruitless, letting out a frustrated sigh. Instead, you opened your eyes and looked out the window, watching as the monotonous view trailed by. For the next several weeks, maybe even months, you’d once again become acclimated to discomfort. This shitty seat is probably as good as it gets, you thought. The department will likely have you shacked up in some storage closet on a grimy 20-year-old cot. You have had worse and at least you’d be occupied.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Silva shift. You turned, watching him from a row back, across the aisle. He grimaced as he took off his wedding ring, putting it into a small metal container. He didn’t appear to notice your gaze as you turned your attention back to the window, the heat already radiating in. You felt sorry for him. Leaving people behind is never easy, especially kids. Luckily, you didn’t have that problem.

As the plane began its descent you skimmed the team comp in your head. You’d been thoroughly briefed on the contractors, on top of all the research you had done on your own. You were joining alongside Jack Silva. A family man in real estate. Pushed to fly back overseas for the money to support his family. From all that you had seen, he’s a good guy. He seemed to be good company. It’ll be nice to not be the only strange face, you thought.

You readied yourself. Benghazi is far worse than most believed. Ever since the department even suggested you might be helpful here, you’d been keeping track of the chaos. It was only a matter of time before it erupted into a full-blown civil war.

As the landing zone came into view you checked your hijab, making sure not a hair was out of place. You wore a casual white button-down shirt with a gray tank top underneath. You unfolded the sleeves, covering as much of your skin as possible. Given the heat, you’d love to run out in something a little more breathable, but the beige cargo pants would have to do. Next, you checked your “cello” case that sat in the seat next to you. Moving the strap towards you for a quick and effortless disembark. Being you had its perks, one of which was bringing some of your own firepower.

You cracked your neck as a familiar ding came over the com.

“Welcome to Benghazi.”

The two men settled into the car, watching over all the civilians walking past. Rone leaned forward, pulling a handgun out of the back of his pants. “It’s loaded.” Jack accepted the gun readily, cocking it within his lap.

“How’s the team here?”

“Good. Three ex-marines, one ex-army ranger. It’ll be nice to have some more team guys around.”

Jack briefly glanced back at Rone. “Guys?”

“Yeah. We’re waiting on one more before we head out.”

“You work with him before?”

“Nope. Defense department assigned her.”

Jack furrowed his brow slightly, pursing his lips in surprise. “Alrighty then, what’s she look like?” Jack looked more intently for another westerner standing out like a sore thumb.

“No idea. I’ve been told that she will find us.”

“Oh how ominous.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lip.

Rone hummed in agreement as he eyed the rearview mirror. Out of the crowd, a body began to beeline towards the car. “Think that’s her.”

Jack nonchalantly stretched, turning towards the back of the car to catch a look.

You approached the dust-covered truck, already craving shade from the burning sun. Your sunglasses did little to protect your eyes from the glare off of the ground. As you got closer, you could see Tyrone eying you from the side mirrors. You adjusted the straps of both your cello case and your duffel, making sure not to make any sudden movements. You made your way to the driver’s side door, turning to face him. “You Tyrone?” you asked, knowing full well it was.

“Yes, Ma’am. And you are?”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Hop in.”

You nodded, moving back towards the rear of the car. Swinging the back door open, you threw your stuff onto the ground next to the seat. Leaving just enough room for you to climb in. As you sat down, you angled yourself towards Jack so that you could have a proper introduction. He noticed your movement, turning back to face you. He reached out his hand for a handshake.

“Jack Silva”

You took his hand. “Y/N.”

He settled back into his seat as Rone started the car. “Just Y/N?”

“Just Y/N.” You affirmed.

As Rone made his way through the city they began to catch up, making friendly jabs at each other. You yanked your duffel towards you, rummaging through the various clothes. You could feel Jack’s eyes peeking at you ever so often through the mirror, making sure you weren’t doing anything unsavory. Trust is earned. Finally, you found your shoulder holster. You unbuttoned your shirt, throwing it on the seat beside you. You put on the holster, adjusting the straps as needed so that it sat comfortably. After you were satisfied you again began to look through your luggage, pulling out two black pistols. You loaded a magazine into both of the guns. The sound quickly drew the attention of both men as the conversation briefly paused before they returned to their conversation. You paid them no mind, knowing that any response would probably make them more antsy. You then cocked them before placing them within your holster. Grabbing your shirt, you put it back on, leaving it unbuttoned. It was opaque enough to conceal your firearms as long as no one looked too close.

“So, Y/N,” Rone directing the conversation towards you, “The Defense Department didn’t tell me much about you. What branch you from?”

You turned from watching out the side of the car. “Covert operations.”

That definitely piqued his interest. Jack let Rone do the questioning, but it was clear he was just as curious as him.

“Alright. SEAL Team?”

“Uh, no. It’s a little more complicated.”

“Oh I get it, you’re on some James Bond shit huh.” He chuckled to himself as you smiled and rolled your eyes.

“Pretty much.”

Rone left the questioning there, knowing he’d probably not get much more of an answer, at least not until you’d come to know him a bit better. The two of them shared a look before the car came to a sudden stop.

“Shit. No, no, no, no, no this isn’t good.” Rone’s body tensed as he assessed the situation.

Civilians began to run around the car, whimpering in fear. You straightened up, readying for a shit show. You positioned yourself in the middle of the back, between the two men so you could see as much as possible through the windshield.

“Fuck.” Rone’s discomfort quickly seeped through his cool resolve. “Who the fuck are these guys?”

“What do we got?” Jack stayed still, his eyes scanning over the various armed men.

“Brigade we coordinate with, February Seventeenth Martyrs. This ain’t them.” He looked back past you and he switched into reverse. Moving back a few feet, the path was blocked and the car jolted forward. “Shit we’re boxed in.”

You settled on your knees, carefully unclipping the straps keeping your guns in place, just in case. Both men leaned out of the window. Jack looking up towards the man on the balcony readied to run.

“We bailing?” He asked, voice calm and collected.

Rone, giving no response, pulled out his radio. “Base this is Rone. Come in, over.”

“This is Base, go Rone.”

“I’m in a Jam off Fifth Ring Road. I’m lookin’ at about 8 armed tangos here.”

“Copy that, sit tight.”

“Sit tight, that’s great advice.” Everyone in the car became increasingly more agitated as the armed militia made its way in your direction.

You took a deep breath. “If we’re bailing we gotta do it now.” You glanced at your bags. You could leave the duffel. There wasn’t anything particularly important in there. The case on the other hand couldn’t be lost to a rampant terrorist cell, if you did, the government would be up your ass about it for at least another 10 years. You fidgeted slightly, knowing that the opportunity to flee was about to pass.

Jack clenched his jaw. “They got a KPV.”

Fuck this is bad.

“Base we ain’t got all day.”

“Hey, Rone. They’re trying to get Feb 17 to back you up, but we’re coming.”

Deeming that transmission utterly useless, Rone whipped out his cell. “Oz I’m in a jam of Fifth Ring.”

“Ty.” Jack interjected as the men became uncomfortably close.

“Rone, 17 Feb QRF is being alerted.”

“Fuck that, the only Quick Reaction force I want is my guys.” Without an immediate response, Rone continued on. “Send them. I want my guys.” He said more adamantly.

“Negative, Rone. Just hang in there.”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear. I’m looking at multiple radical insurgents with AKs and a 50-cal technical set to blow my rover all the way back to Zimbabwe. Over.”

You watched as a man dressed in a disheveled suit made his way around the vehicles and debris. He’s the big guy.

“It’s not my call, brother.”

Goddamnit. Looks like we’re either talking our way through this, or we go out quick. The thought gave you the slightest bit of comfort.

Rone looked towards Jack frustrated. You could sense he felt an inch of guilt for getting his friend stuck in this hellhole.

“Here we go.” Jack said nonchalantly as he could given the circumstances.

You crossed your arms, giving yourself easy access to your handguns without looking too conspicuous. A man stood at the front of the rover, yelling something you couldn’t understand. He pointed his AK right at you, maybe it wasn’t on purpose but you couldn’t help but mentally scoff. Well, that’s not very nice.

“Welcome to Benghazi.”

The man in front banged on the hood as the leader moved towards the driver’s side window. Jack raised his hands up innocently as Rone smiled at the man.

“Salaam.” Rone raised his badge up to the man in the suit as he gazed at him incredulously. “Libyan visa. Official. Libyan government.” The leader looked him up and down.

The guy with the AK was now in Jack’s face. His gaze shifted forward, doing his best to remain calm despite the barrel of a gun being inches from his forehead.

“Friendly? Hm? Friendly?” Rone again gestured with his badge.

Rone whatever game you’re playing it better fucking work because last time I checked a friend of Al-Qaeda is no friend of ours. You did your best to blend into the back of the car, feigning as the harmless woman.

“Pull over for inspection.” The leader said sternly.

Rone shook his head. “No.”

“Pull over for inspection!” He was now angry, his voice shaking with every word.

Alright, this is how it’s gonna go. You crept your hands slightly closer to your guns.

Rone’s voice remained steady. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

The man at Jack’s door yelled once more. Banging his palm against the dirty surface. Then the slightest movement came from Jack.

It’s showtime. You thought. You gripped your pistols and whipped them forward, pointing them as the secondary soldier positioned at the front of the rover. Jack and Rone acted similarly with Jack’s gun pointed across at the leader, and Rone’s gun pointed at the soldier beside the door. The soldier at the front adjusted his AK, pointing it more fervently towards the car.

“Look up.” Rone pointed towards the sky with his empty hand, never moving his gaze from the leader’s eyes. “Go ahead, look up.” Some of the aggression left the leader as he looked towards the sky, confused. “You see the drone?” The man looked back down. “No? That’s okay. The drone sees you.”

Nice play, Rone. You thought to yourself. A couple of Americans? No problem. We don’t pose that much of a threat. But good ol’ American air support? Now that carries a little weight.

“Sees your face. We know who you are.”

Jack, facing the soldier at his door, swallows hard. Keeping with Rone’s power play, he maintains eye contact.

“If anything happens to us, your home, your family, boom, gone. Give us the order to let us go.”

Jack, looking past the AK in his face, doesn’t flinch as the soldier gestures with his gun.

“I want the car!”

Within a brief moment, Jack and Rone switched their aim, with Jack now pointing his handgun at the soldier and Rone at the leader. You flinched ever so slightly at the movement, but you remained steady, watching for any worrisome movement amongst the militia. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You ignored the harsh metal of the rover digging into your knees. This was your guys’ only shot to make it out of this cramped alley. They had to think your little caravan of three had the power of the entire U.S. military revolving overhead when in reality, you were just three Americans with a couple of guns in the middle of fuckin nowhere.

“No, I’m not gonna do that.” Jack shakes his head, leaning forward towards the man. The energy around the car was beginning to shift. Despite the KPV having enough firepower to destroy your car, and about 5 cars behind you, you three possessed the upper hand. They recoiled at the barrel of your guns, not the other way around.

The leader’s eyes began to soften, his harsh exterior falling at the thought of losing everything. For a moment, you actually pitied him. “I earn the right to decide the future of my country.” You understood the sentiment behind his words. Once again the U.S. had shoved itself into the center of a country, with no right to do so. But you, and the men sat beside you, just wanted to keep others safe. You had no agenda.

“You’re talking to the wrong guy. How willing are you to die for your country? I’m ready to go right here, right now.” Easy, Tyrone. Don’t push it too far.

The leader’s frown deepened as he considered the weight of Rone’s words. He slowly backed away from the car. “Leave here. While you still can.”

You stopped yourself from relaxing your figure even though it felt like the weight of the world had just been lifted off your shoulders. Rone leaned back into his seat, beginning to maneuver the car between the debris. Jack slowly lowered his pistol to the door as the car inched forward. You followed suit and lowered your guns into your lap. You could hear the leader yelling to his men, and their posture relaxed enough to show they weren’t an immediate threat. Air filled your lungs for the first time in what felt like 5 minutes, before you looked behind through the dusty back window, making sure the leader was true to his word and you weren’t about to get shot in the back. You settled back onto your seat, leaning back against the warm metal. You debated holstering your weapons but decided it was best to have them at the ready until you were within the walls of the base.

“We got air support?” Jack’s voice was calm but demanding. You knew the answer to his question but left Rone to give him the bad news. Rone didn’t take his eyes off of the road as he did his best to make it back to base in one piece.

“We don’t have any fucking support.”

#Tanto x Reader #Tanto/Reader #Tanto x Y/N #13 Hours #Pablo Schreiber #Tanto #Kris Paronto #Kris Paronto x Reader #Kris Paronto/Reader

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bolinshipskorrasami · 4 years

Note

nonono, please continue

So... I’m assuming this ask is referring to my OP about Catra’s love language being Quality Time and Adora’s being Acts of Service? Well you and @hatzilla requested this, so here you go... sorry it got a bit long...

I wanna start by clarifying that people have a Love Language they use to express love and people also have a language they most readily receive. These two aspects are not always the same. My OP is about how Catra and Adora express their love, rather than how they receive it, so I will stick mostly to that.

Catra & Quality Time

Let’s first look at some things Catra has said to Adora throughout the series:

“Because you left me.”

“This is what you left me for?”

“Shadow Weaver left me for you?”

“We used to have those… sleep overs, me and Adora.” (to Glimmer)

“Adora wait… please… stay.”

“Of course I’m coming with you, dummy.”

For Catra, I think it’s pretty straight forward that she is Quality Time in both how she expresses and receives love. I want to acknowledge this is closely tied with Physical Touch, as someone else’s post pointed out – but while she is super affectionate/touchy with Adora, I think the quality time together weighs more heavily in her mind given how much she talks about Adora staying or going.

Catra’s whole arc started off and revolved around being PRETTY upset when Adora runs off to join the Rebellion. Additionally, anytime Adora was spending time with someone else – Lonnie when they were kids, Glimmer and Bow when they were older – Catra felt deeply hurt and well, jealous. Yes, this can be tied up with her abandonment issues and feeling second best, sure. But note that the specific trigger is Adora spending time with someone else. Time with Adora means a lot to Catra. They are shown being pretty much attached at the hip throughout their lives. They have a rooftop place where they just, hang out looking at the sky/ Fright Zone for crying out loud!

She goes to Princess Prom – she did not have to do that to accomplish her goals, but she wanted to see Adora. She wants to spend time with Adora, even when she’s mad, even when things are at their most confusing or tense between the two of them, Catra can’t give up the chance to see her and be in the same room as her. She also just, wants Adora’s attention – she constantly taunts her throughout the night and Catra revels in it, even if the attention isn’t positive. See also – the time she captures Adora after corrupting her, in an attempt to turn her into a “Horde Weapon” to use against the Rebellion.

I always see people talking about all the times Catra tried to “kill” the best friend squad but honestly, Catra had plenty of opportunities to eliminate any of them. Largely, her tactics have always included separating them or taking Adora back to the Hoard. She was constantly trying to bring Adora back to her – albeit in very unhealthy and damaging ways.

And of course, all of Season 5, she barely leaves Adora’s side once she’s rescued. She even comes out to spend time with the Best Friend Squad, despite you know, the awkwardness. It’s a show of love to Adora, and an attempt to show she can change the way she expresses that love. Because Quality Time doesn’t mean you can’t include other people.

Come to think of it, Catra’s whole love language makes sense if you know anything about cats – they say the biggest way cats show they love you is by being in the same room with you while you’re doing things.

Adora & Acts of Service

Now Adora’s Acts of Service – or as my partner and I like to say, the “Do-ers” - is much harder to pin point, but again, let’s start with some things she’s said:

“We can fix this.”

“I have to do this.”

“I’m going to take you home.”

“I keep checking on her. Do you think I should go check on her again? But what if she wakes up and needs something? I’m just gonna go check on her…”

Notice Adora is always saying what she’s going to do for a person. For Adora, feelings = actions. When growing up under Shadow Weaver, she is obedient and does everything asked of her. She fights for her home Etheria, which she loves. She protects Catra, Bow, Glimmer – I mean, everybody really, in various ways. When Catra gets bummed out about Adora getting promoted to Force Captain and going to the front lines without her, she goes and steals a ship and takes Catra out for a ride. She runs to Light Hope in an attempt to learn more about She-Ra’s powers in order to heal Glimmer when she is glitching.

I think Adora says it best when she tells Glimmer “I’m more the punch-out-my-feelings kinda guy.” She isn’t the best at talking things out – I think largely because she isn’t terribly in touch with her own feelings, desires, etc. But she CAN anticipate other people’s needs and wants and act on them! She’s also all about those grand gestures (sacrificing yourself for the people you love? That’s definitely an Act of Service, even if not the most ideal approach there, Adora.)

To bring it all back together, if Catra is just looking to spend quality time together and never leave each other’s side while Adora is running around trying to show how much she cares in various ways, they are going to miss the mark when it comes to each other’s feelings. Catra is all “honey, come to bed and let’s talk and cuddle” and Adora is all “Ok babe, just a sec, I gotta fix the sink and change your oil, and-” well you get the point, I hope.

You can see growth for both of them here, of course. When Shadow Weaver comes back in S5 and upsets Catra, Adora goes after her and uses a combo of words of affirmation and physical touch to coax her back in, instead of charging ahead without her. She also goes after her when she leaves in the middle of the night. Catra, to her credit, spends time with the Best Friend Squad. She makes room for Adora’s other friends in their lives. And even agrees to a space road trip with them. She also stays while Adora Does the Thing. It’s cool to see the ways in which they have made room for each other’s wants and needs in the final season. And I think they will continue to do so <3

#catradora #otp:stay #meta #ask

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curvynerdfan · 4 years

Text

Bookkeeper and the Biker

Thank you @xx—day-dreamer—xx for requesting and being patient! This piece was a lot of fun to write but took forever, sorry about that. I hope you like it! 💕

Also sorry for the overload of samcro gifs lol! I just love when you find gifs that fit the storyline

Jax x Reader

Y/N felt like her heart was gonna jump out of her chest. She was headed home. Well, her hometown, she hadn’t been “home” in over ten years. Her dad was killed on a run when she was sixteen and her mom used the opportunity to get her out of Charming. Not that Y/N wanted to leave. She always saw the club as her family but her mom despised SAMCRO after her dad passed. Y/N thought her mom blamed the MC for her dad’s death.

Y/N had flourished in her time away from Charming but still felt like something was missing. So she was going back. Over the past ten years, Y/N had grown her skills and felt confident in her decision to come back.

She loved growing up in Charming. She could remember running around the autoshop with Jax and Opie, driving Gemma insane because it wasn’t exactly safe. The clubhouse took hide-n-seek to a whole nother level and family dinners were her favorite club activity.

She called Gemma about a year ago and the mama bear of the club was ecstatic. At that point Y/N had no plans to move back. She just missed the rest of her family. They reminisced and caught up on each other’s lives. Gemma let her know how the club was doing and Y/N kept her second mom up-to-date on her life.

At some point, Y/N mentioned that her dream life consisted of running her own eclectic bookshop and living above it. She never thought her dream would become reality but Gemma had other plans. A two story shop in downtown Charming popped up on the market and momma Gemma called Y/N before a sign was outside the building. Once Gemma sent her all of the pictures and told her the price, Y/N snatched it up. While she had some savings, the purchase price was being covered by money her dad had left her in his will.Plus, her association with the clube convinced the owner to lower the asking price. She was given access to the fund when she turned 25 and she couldn't think of a better way to spend her money than to pursue her dreams. She even had money left over to purchase books and some furniture for her new place without dipping into her own savings.

Gemma told her she could stay in a clubhouse dorm until her apartment was set up. She pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow and parked her car. Y/N felt the anxiety build and took a few deep breaths to settle her nerves.

“There is no reason to be nervous. It isn’t like you abandoned Jax or Ope. Hell, they may not even remember me, no biggie, no pressure”, she mumbled to herself, “Gemma invited you. No one goes against Gemma, right? And it’ll be nice to see my SAMCRO family. It’ll be great!” Y/N said, but she didn’t feel as confident as she sounded.

She opened the door and quickly stepped out before she could change her mind. Once completely out of the truck, she stretched her arm up high and arched her back. She grabbed her backpack and her duffle bag and locked up her truck before heading to the office to look for Gemma.

“Can I help you lassie?” A dark-haired Scotsman asked.

“Umm, yes please. I’m looking for Gemma.” she said.

“Ah, is she expecting you?” he questioned.

“Yes, you can just tell her Y/N is here.”, she clarified.

The Scotsman disappeared around the corner and Y/N took the time to take in her surroundings. Very little had changed. The Teller-Morrow signage was rusted and worn in some places, there was newer equipment It also looked there were members in SAMCRO than before based on the number of bikes parked in front of the clubhouse.

“Y/N! There you are baby!”, Gemma shouted as soon as she walked into the office.

Y/N couldn’t help but squeal when she launched herself at Gemma. They had always been close as she was growing up. Gemma taught Y/N how being a nerdy, tomboy didn’t mean that she wasn’t a beautiful badass too.

“Hey, momma.” she said when Gemma squeezed her tight.

Gemma leaned back to look her over and then kissed her cheeks in greeting before pulling Y/N out of the office and across the parking lot, ranting and raving about how great it will be to have a powerful woman back in Charming. Y/N just giggled and let herself be dragged around.

The momma bear had cleaned up a dorm for Y/N to have for however long she needed. While it still looked like a typical clubhouse dorm, there weren’t any posters of naked women or trash scattered around the room. There was also a gift basket of goodies on the bed for her.

Y/N hugged Gemma, “Thank you for going through all this trouble for me. I am happy to be home.”

“Not any trouble at all sweetheart. You’re not the only one happy that you’re back in Charming.I know Jax has been asking about you for a while!” Gemma said, nudging Y/N with an eyebrow raise.

Y/N’s face flushed, “Don’t start with that Gem! Neither one of us should get our hopes up.”, she mumbled.

Y/N has always been close to Jax and Opie but Jackson never fall into the brotherly category. She didn’t want to get excited about the idea of a relationship with Jax and possibly ruin the amazing friendship they have. Plus, she didn’t think she was his type. Gemma said he dated Tara for several years and was really hung up on her when she left. From what Y/N remembered, Tara was always snooty, looked down on the club, and had no desire to live a small town life.

“Baby, you know me, I wouldn’t lie to you. Jax has been head over heels for you from the get go. He kept asking if you remembered him, how you were doing, how he can help you find your place here. Hell, he stocked that top drawer over there with Reaper and SAMCRO shirts so anyone new knows you are important to us. I would wear one of those tonight if I were you!”, Gemma suggested, “Give him a chance before you close yourself off again”

Y/N nodded and decided not to argue when Gemma gave her that all knowing look. Gemma helped her unpack your bags before leaving the dorm. Y/N used the hours before the party to lay on the bed and order more materials for her shop. When she had about an hour before the party’s start time she decided to take a shower and get dolled up before joining the excitement.

After her shower, she rummaged through the drawer that was handpicked by Jax. Y/N ended up grabbing a black “fear the reaper” t-shirt, a pair of her ripped jeans and some old sneakers. Y/N knew better than to wear nice shoes to a SAMCRO party. Y/N decided to tie the t-shirt up so it showed a little bit of her mid-riff and enhanced her natural curves. She dried her hair and applied basic makeup before heading to the party.

Y/N weaved her way in and out of the crowd of club members, their old lady’s, croweaters, and wannabe bikers. She made it to the bar and ordered a double before making her way to Gemma. She was starving and knew the momma bear could direct her to the food.

“Damn babygirl! You are just trying to give these boys a run for their money huh?”, Gemma said approvingly, “Atta girl!”

Gemma fixed her up with a full plate and got her settled in with Tig and Piney. Y/N caught up with the guys and dug in on the delicious food Gemma cooked. All of the sudden to mammoth arms wrapped around her from behind and lifted her into the air.

“What in the world!”, Y/N squealed.

A hefty laugh was the only response she received before she was dropped back down onto her feet. She spun around quickly and then gasped.

“Opie!” her shout pierced his ears and he flinched.

“Damn, you still have pipes!”Ope exclaimed as he wrapped Y/N up in a hug.

Y/N and Opie spent the next thirty minutes talking about life and joking around. Opie knew she was moving back so it wasn’t a surprise, but it was finally true now that she was in front of him. He was going to get married soon and wanted her to be there on his special day. Y/N and Opie had always agreed on the simpler things in life. They wanted to find their person, fall in love, get married, have kids, and live in Charming surrounded by friends and family.

Y/N gave Opie a hug and promised to visit more. The noise was getting to her though, after such a long drive the party wasn’t really her scene. She made a quick stop at the ladies room before getting a refill at the bar.

Jax made his way through the party, greeting members and partygoers as he made his way to Opie. His friend had a massive grin on his face and Jax couldn’t help but laugh. It was rare for the giant man he thought of as a brother to look like a silly puppy.

“What has you smiling so big, brother?” he asked, looking over.

“Y/N” was Opie’s one word response.

“Where?”, Jax couldn’t hold back his excitement.

Opie laughed and reached out to physically turn Jax around. His best friend laughed even harder when Jax’s jaw dropped. She was stunning. Y/N was still the beautiful girl he grew up with but he could tell she was more confident and her curves had developed even more. She was wearing one of the shirts he had picked out for him. That caused an odd sense of satisfaction. Y/N got her drink from the bartender and made her way down the hall and away from the party, more importantly away from him.

Opie slapped his back, “What are you waiting for man? Go get your girl!”

Jax felt his cheek warm and shook his head before swaggering after her. At some point she drifted out of his sight. Jax wracked his brain for where she could have snuck off too. After checking her dorm and finding it empty, he realized where she was. He climbed the stairs but paused before opening the hatch to the roof. What was he going to say to her? He hadn’t seen her in almost ten years. His mom assured him that she would reciprocate his feelings but how do you tell your childhood friend you want to be more.

Y/N jumped when the hatch creeped behind her. She didn’t think anyone would find her up here, but if anyone could it would be Jax or Opie. To her surprise, it was Jax. ‘Dear lordy, he is even hotter now,ah and that clenched jaw oof’, Y/N shook her head to clear her mind.

“Jax, you found me.” She whispered in awe.

It was real now, she was really in front of him “Y/N… of course I found you.”, he said with a sigh.

“Wow! I mean, you look really good, umm, not that you have ever looked bad. Well i guess you look bad in the baddass biker MC VP kinda way, congrats by the way. You don’t look bad ugly, not that you have ever looked ugly, you still take my breath away. I am not some flustered sixteen year old anymore and,” Y/N paused awkwardly, “ Oh my god, that is not how I wanted this to go. It’s been such a long time.I’ve missed you and your mom said you missed me to but now I’m not sure because all you’ve done is stare at me so far, so maybe your mom was wron-” Y/N paused when lips were on hers.

She could feel Jax’s lips smirking against hers, “I missed you too”, he whispered before kissing her again.

Y/N hummed, pulling away from him, “That is the best way anyone has ever made me shut up”

She leaned against his chest before looking up at him again, “What does this mean, Jax?”

“Are you really staying this time?”, he asked.

Y/N nodded, smiling at the sheepish look on his face.

“Then, I want to make you my old lady someday. For now, we can just see how things go. I always pictured us ending up together, but I don’t want to force anything. Biker and a bookkeeper, who would’ve thought?” He smiled.

“I did”, Y/N grinned.

She pulled on Jax and had him join her on ‘their ledge’. He chuckled gently in her ear as he wrapped an arm around her. He couldn’t wait to see where this was going to go. The idea of the bookkeeper and the biker felt good.

Taglist: @justahopelessssromantic

#sons of anarchy imagine #request #jax teller #jackson teller #gemma teller #chibs telford #tig trager #opie winston #samcro #sons of anarchy #samcro imagine #sons of anarchy request #jax x reader #jax oneshot #momma gemma #big brother opie vibes #bookkeeper and the biker #my work

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detroitbydark · 4 years

Text

Characters: Hound/OC

Summary: when life (or Thire) gets him traffic duty, Hound makes the most of it.

Warnings: None

A/N: I shouldn’t be starting a new work. I really shouldn’t. I also shouldn’t have decided to write a oneshot, talked to @skdubbs and have four chapters plotted out.

This does take place in the Fox and Mouse verse (around chapter 6 if I remeber correctly).

————

“From Kessel to Kijimi, this is Nuna Skii flying you through the dark hours of the night. I’d like to give a shout to-.”

Hound hunches forward over the handle bars to the GAR issued speeder. Traffic Ops. Kriff.

It would teach him to make a bet with Thire. Then again, how was he to know that the Commander actually had it in him to bag the cute little secretary that took up guard duty outside of his office door.

Obviously not Hound.

The ARF Sargent sighs before turning the radio up. He’d rather be back in his barracks with his massiff at his feet than clocking for speeders and traffic violations. It wasn’t that it was below him it was just… well it was below him. He didn’t go through recon school to be looking for our of date tags.

At least he got to listen to his favorite radio show.

“-and more of that sweet jizz music coming from Dantooine as a special favor to my boys in the 332nd”

Nuna Skii’s show on Independent Republic Radio was a favorite of many a trooper. Overnights were osik but the sweet smoky sound of her voice and the frequent shoutouts - often laced with innuendo - were definitely one way to pass the time. And if her voice was stored in the spank banks of half the troopers in the GAR? Well, that was just an added bonus to her show.

“Just you, me and an empty sky lane tonight, eh Nuna?” He asks the radio.

“How about we take another deep dive into an absolutely delicious track, yeah?”

“You could sell me some ocean front property on Tatooine and I'd pay top dollar. Hit me with it, babygirl.”

He only does a handful of stops and doesn’t write a single ticket for the next six hours.

———

She was so karking tired. Like, tired was an understatement. Half-dead might be more correct. She needed atomic grade caf or a bed to pass out in immediately. Glancing at the near stalled traffic in front of her, Nuna can’t help but think she wasn’t going to get either anytime soon.

The joys of working nights.

She really did love her job. To be a young holoradio jockey and have a spot on any station on Coruscant was pretty damn amazing but to have it on IRR? probably the single coolest station in the core worlds? It was a dream come true. Most of the time.

A yawn escapes her lips and her speeder rattles ominously underneath her.

“Oh- no, no, no.” She mutters looking down at her gauges. Warning lights flash brightly. She’d just gotten the kriffing thing out of the shop last week. They were supposed to have fixed the thrusters. The bike leans to the right and Nuna feels the tell tale swoop in her stomach from a sudden drop in altitude. It wasn’t much more than a few feet but if it was anything like it was the week before she needed a landing platform. And fast.

The early morning light bounces off the transparisteel buildings around her as she tries to find the nearest safe bet. Her speeder bike coughs once and jerks again, jostling her helmeted head. She sucks in a sharp breath as it pulls hard, dragging her from the skylane and into open air. It’s a struggle to keep the thing upright as she tries to guide it in for a landing on the nearest platform. Lights flash in her rear view.

“Really? Really?!” She hisses to herself as her muscles strain to keep the bike on course.

She manages to land the malfunctioning speeder, the ungainly pile of scrap plopping down with all the grace of a pregnant nerf.

The Coruscant Guard bike, all sleek lines, gunmetal grey and cherry red accents lands feet behind her.

Hers makes one last wheeze and cuts off. The good thing is, she’s wide awake now. No caf needed.

“Ma’am?”

Nuna turns to see the visage of snarling maw cocking it’s head in her direction.

“You ok?”

She swallows hard. It was a known fact within her small circle of friends that Nuna Skii - the real Nuna Skii not the sex kitten holojockey- was absolute mush for a guys in uniform and the one stepping closer was definitely one that would make her heart pump harder if it weren’t already for the adrenaline of a near death experience. If there was a name for kink involving men in helmets Nuna had it.

“I- uh- yeah” she takes a deep breath because now was not the place and certainly not the time, “I’m good”

The trooper's head cocks the opposite direction as he points toward her handlebars. “You know you're ok to let those go now, right?”

A nervous laugh escapes her lips. Her hands feel stiff from the exertion of the landing and she wiggles her fingers, forcing the blood back into them as she pulls them back toward her. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem. Can I see your identichip and registration?”

Nuna gives him a blank stare for half a second, eyes moving almost comically from his outstretched hand and back up to his helmet. His free hand rests at his kama, index finger tapping idly. He’s got to be kidding, she nearly died and he was going to-

“You're going to give me a ticket?” She pulls her helmet off with little fanfare and hangs it from the handle bars. “Really? I nearly died and now I’m getting a ticket?!”

The trooper holds both hands up, “Easy there. No one said anything about a ticket. Just because you broke about three different traffic codes and at least two vehicular safety ones...” he lets the implication of what he’s said hang in the air.”

Nuna pulls the requested items out of her bag and hands them to the trooper with more aggression than needed but, damn it all, she was so tired she could cry and now she had to deal with a broke down speeder. Again.

She watches as the trooper looks down at the identichip and then back to her. Once, twice, three times.

“Is there a problem?”

“You’re Nuna Skii- I mean like the real Nuna Skii?” The tone of his voice has changed and he almost seems… excited?

“Uh yeah, guilty as charged. Listen, is this going to-“

“Say, ‘flying you through the night on IRR.’”

“Is this part of your usual traffic stops?” Nuna raises a brow at the trooper. Really? Did it ever get strange enough. She swings a leg over the seat and moves to stand. Her legs shake underneath her and tall, excitable and toothy holds out a gloved hand.

“Here, let me help you.”

She takes it because falling flat on her face really doesn’t seem like something she wanted to add to her laundry list of problems this morning. When she’s standing at her full height, which was substantially shorter than the solid wall of clone trooper in front her, she looks up.

His hand moves to the back of his helmet and rubs gently, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound demanding.” He says almost bashful. “It’s just that if-“

She takes pity on him. “From Corellia to Canto Bight, flying you through the night on Independent Republic Radio”

He stands frozen for a moment. Nuna squirms under the unflinching state of his visor until finally-

“Holy Fett! It’s really you! Listen! I- I mean we- the Guard- we’re like your biggest fans.”

The wind whips up through the levels ruffling the hair on her head, deep lilac colored wisps work their way into her mouth and she spits uselessly before reaching up and using her fingers to remove them. “That’s great really-“

Her hands go to her hips. Was this guy for real?

“Hey, I know a guy that does towing. He’s kind of a di’kut but he owes me a favor. I could get your ride towed where you need it. I mean, if you want?”

“Like, for free?” She clarifies.

The trooper looks down at her as if that was a given, “well, yeah.”

“And you want what in return?” Nuna fidgets. This is where the guy becomes a dirtbag and asks for something. He hands back her identichip and registration before reaching up and popping the seal on his bucket. He gives her a lopsided grin as he slips the helmet up his arm. Kriff. He was cute. His dark hair is cut into a floppy Mohawk. A stray curl of it dips down across his forehead and he offers her a lopsided grin. He is about as intimidating as a puppy.

“Can I get a shout out on your show tonight? I mean, the boys are NEVER going to believe this unless you do.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it” he seems to think for a moment and his smile becomes toothy, “unless you’d like to give me your number too?”

She can feel the hot rush of embarrassment to her cheeks and hopes he mistakes it for wind burn. She ignores his comment about her number because, this fine specimen was so far out of her league it was crazy.

“So What’s to stop me from saying yes and not doing it”

“Aww come on, please? You wouldn’t do one of your biggest fans like that would you?”

“What’s your name?” She can’t handle the soft puppy dog eyes he’s giving her. It should be illegal for any dude with shoulders that broad to look so cute.

“Sargent Hound of the Coruscant Guard at your service.”

She nearly chokes. Well, that explained the puppy dog eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, Sargent.” She says regaining her composure. She looks behind him to the GAR issued speeder. “If you can drop me at my building I’ll call it a deal.”

His smile makes her tummy flutter, “I think that can be arranged.”

——-

“You’re full of it” Rule barks “Osik up to your visor!”

Hound is lounging back on a couch that is not nearly large enough for both him and the massiff sprawled out on it. Grizzer lifts his head, licks his lips lazily and lays back down. Hound scratches around the creature's dorsal spikes and the massiff kicks his back foot happily.

“I told you man. It was her. Identichip verified and everything.

“El-Tee? You hear this?”

Lieutenant Thire looks up from his holopad and the boloball game he was watching, “what?”

Rule is grinning from ear to ear, “Hound here says he helped Nuna Skii out of a bind this morning.”

“I’m not just saying it. I did it.”

Hound explains lazily. He doesn’t tell them about giving her a ride home, pretty sure he broke about half a dozen regs just having her pressed up against his back and her arms around his waist and that was before he dropped her at her building. It was early enough in the day that he doubts anyone really noticed. If they did it was worth it to have her hands clutching at his armor.

Hound had pictured Nuna Skii so many times that the fact that she wasn’t a leggy blonde had come as a shock. What she was wasn’t a bad thing, just different. Short and soft with curves in places he wished he could run his hands all over.

“Prove it!” Ryk laughs as he ambles in, freshly showered and pulling his blacks over his head.

“Should we tell ‘Em Grizz, old man? Or should we just let them eat their buckets when it happens?”

Ryk rolls his eyes as the ARF Trooper chats with his massiff. “You know he’s never going to answer back, right?”

Grizzer looks over his shoulder at Ryk.

“Aww come on man” Hound fusses. One mearty hand moves to scratch under the massiff’s intimidating jaw. Grizzer turns into the touch, nearly purring with contentment. “Just because he can’t speak basic doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand it. Isn’t that right boy. We got our own language, Grizz and I. Smartest mas’ in the whole GAR, aren’t you?”

The creatures leathery tail thumps happily in agreement.

“Don’t know about that but he certainly smells a lot better than the bunch of you.” Thire mutters turning his attention back to boloball and cursing quietly. Ryk lifts an arm smelling.

“Not me! I’m squeaky clean!”

“We’re getting off track here” Rule announces in an attempt to refocus the gathered troopers. “What we need to know is how you're going to prove you met Nuna Skii.”

“Did she sign a ticket?” Thire asks, not looking up. When Hound doesn’t answer Thire looks up.

“She was having a really bad morning-“

“You do know when you work traffic you have to ticket people at least once in a while.”

“Apparently, not the pretty ones.” Ryk cackles.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, vod.”

Ryk rolls his eyes as Hound moves to turn the radio on. Nuna’s show was starting any minute. He hoped she’d come through.

———-

Around and around Nuna spins. The wheels on her roller chair are in desperate need of oil and squeak in protest. Nuna is undeterred as she waits for the next commercial to end. Her producer glances at her through the transparisteel divider and rolls her eyes. Yes, she was a child. No, she would not be apologizing. She grabs a cold protato from a greasy Dex’s bag as she makes another loop. If her fans could see her now. She’s got on an oversized tunic and a pair of dark pants that were probably a little too tight but were way too comfortable for her to care. When she woke her hair wasn’t about to do anything for her so now it sits piled high in a sloppy bun atop her head. She was about as far away from the character she portrayed as she could get.

“On in fifteen Nunz” Tully her producer says. Nuna hurries to swallow her food and takes a big gulp of water.

“And that was the Twi’Three with their latest and I’m Nuna Skii keeping you up all night.” She purrs into the mic. “I think we’re going to go to the comms and take a few calls. Whatcha wanna let the galaxy know?”

“Hi Nuna. Long time listener. I just wanted to say that I love the show but I’m getting really tired of your pandering to clones-“

Nuna mashes the end button with gusto before sighing deeply into the mic.

“Babies and Gentlemen. My lovelies. From 2100 til 0500 five nights a week this is a trooper positive show. If you don’t like it I’d suggest you find something else to listen too. Those yummy boys in white are giving the Republic their all. I don’t see a problem with a few minutes here and there dedicated to them, do you?” She asks sweetly. “It makes me happy making them happy. You know what else makes me happy? New stuff from that Mon Cal band, Ach’tu. Coming at you after this commercial break”

———-

“Maker, I love when she does that.” Ryk groans quietly. “She could put me in my place any day.”

Rule nods, “she could read me the repair manual to my deece and I would die a happy man.”

Thire snorts, “What about you Hound. Got something to say?”

“Yeah man” Ryk lifts his head from where he was resting it against the back of his chair. “What does she look like.”

Hound offers a sly grin, “like a million credits.”

“Long legs? Big tits? You're killing us man” Rule says raising a brow, “unless you don’t really know.”

Hound laughs, “I know vod, but I’m not telling.” His brothers roll their eyes.

“For all my blaster babes and bucket bunnies happily messing with republic property. I salute you.” Nuna’s voice grabs the gathered troopers attention. Thire snorts softly, pretending as if he wasn’t listening. “Along those lines I want to send a special thanks to my new favorite Hound dog out there patrolling the sky lanes of Coruscant. Keep being a good boy and next time we meet I’ll give you a scratch behind the ears.”

The room falls silent except for the low snore of a sleeping massiff. All eyes fall on Hound. His smile says I told you so.

A good boy. Yeah, he could be very happy with that.

#clone sargent hound #tcw #sargent hound/oc #am i the official author of the coruscant guard #coruscant guard

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