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fangdokja · 1 month ago

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i keep rereading your yan marine corps! x fem reader. what was reader's role that she had to follow the marine's... adventure?

"You’ll never escape me—not when I’m the only one keeping you alive."

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where death is mercy and survival means suffering, he claims you as his, promising protection through fear, control, and a twisted love that will leave you questioning if escape was ever truly possible.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Marine Corps x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #2 - The Devil Who Saved You

♡ Word Count. 3,153

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, descriptions of gore and human suffering, themes of violence and dystopia

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

♡ A/N. I'm glad you enjoyed it :)). I'm surprised you're rereading it a bunch. But, I guess people do technically reread anyway. Sorry, slipped out of my mind. It just makes me happy seeing underrated works get credit, whether fandom or other stories I've written. So, thank you. Anyways. Technically, this was an ask. But it's a nice idea, and I've already had it in my drafts since before. I was just postponing lore dump with Yandere! Marine Corps, due to other works. Anyways. All I knew before, in all honesty, is that it's war time. But, time to pull out the fantasy skills and world build! Wooh! And to be honest, I'm hungry to write some gore crumbs like my familiar writing style, ahh. So, here, I present to you lore backstory (well technically part of the backstory). Hope you all enjoy it (also, sorry I talk a lot in notes).

♡ Music. Levee & Brick (Down to This) by Graffiti Ghosts

The world had fallen into an abyss so deep it seemed there was no end to its descent. The wars that came before—those waged for borders, ideologies, or resources—were merely preludes to this ultimate collapse. What erupted now was not war; it was annihilation. A calamity that turned cities into craters and humanity into prey. Every shred of civility burned away in the endless fires of desperation. The air was thick with the ash of the old world, a grim veil that painted the skies an eternal gray.

You had lived a different life once, one of relative normalcy in the dwindling days before the collapse. Back then, you had a future, a purpose, something as simple and human as hope. But that had been stripped away when the world’s powers unleashed devastation so complete it birthed horrors no living creature could comprehend. Technology had become a weapon of eradication, bioweapons and nanotech turning survivors into deformed creatures of flesh and steel, feral and mindless, hunting whatever moved. Rogue factions—remnants of militaries, mercenaries, and scavengers—rose like carrion birds, preying on the remnants of humanity.

In this hellscape, survival was no longer a matter of luck but of submission. Submission to those strong enough to carve their will into the earth and impose their dominion. He was one of those few. A towering force of unyielding violence, a soldier molded by decades of carnage, by a war that had reshaped him from a man into something closer to a machine of flesh and blood. The United Corps, once a venerated military institution, had fractured into splinter groups, each operating like a self-contained warlord’s regime. He was among their best—a leader, an executioner, a strategist, and now your captor.

You were assigned to him by pure chance—or perhaps cruel design. In this new order, value wasn’t measured by money or power but by the usefulness of flesh and mind. And you had been marked as useful. Perhaps it was your background—your knowledge, your resilience, or simply the misfortune of catching his attention when your convoy was intercepted by his unit. The corps didn’t merely take prisoners; they assessed, dissected, and consumed whatever remnants of humanity they deemed salvageable.

And he deemed you salvageable.

There were no illusions about the nature of his claim over you. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t mercy. It was obsession, possessive and cruel, born of a warped sense of necessity. “You belong to me now,” he had told you in that deep, unrelenting tone, the heat of his breath warming your face even as the chill of his words froze your soul. “Out there, they’ll rip you apart for the scraps on your bones. With me, you’ll live—if you behave.”

The battlefield was safer than the no-man’s land outside his dominion. That was the most damning truth. To run from him was to dive into a living nightmare where survival wasn’t a goal but a punishment. Outside his protection, death was not granted quickly.

You’d seen it. You’d heard the screams echoing through the wastelands, watched the crude factories churn with suffering. He’d forced you to look once, pressing your face against the window of a blood processing plant as tears streaked down your cheeks. “This is what’s waiting for you if you run,” he had whispered, his voice devoid of sympathy. “With me, you’re mine. Out there, you’re theirs. Decide.”

────────────

The smell hit you first. It wasn’t just the copper tang of blood; it was the rancid stench of rotting flesh mixed with chemicals—formaldehyde, acid, and something sour that clawed at the back of your throat. You gagged, instinctively raising a trembling hand to cover your nose, but he was quicker. His large, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your arm back down with enough force to make you whimper.

“Don’t look away,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating like a distant explosion. “You need to see this.”

You didn’t want to see. You didn’t! But he held you there, his unyielding grip on your wrist a silent command. He stood just behind you, close enough that his breath fanned across the back of your neck, hot and suffocating.

The factory loomed before you like the mouth of some great beast, its jagged, rusted metal teeth glinting in the dim light of the sulfur-stained sky. The air outside had been foul, but inside, it was worse—a miasma of decay and despair.

The conveyor belts stretched endlessly, carrying bodies in various states of disassembly. Some were intact, their limbs hanging limply as they were dragged by crude metal hooks. Others were barely recognizable—mangled flesh and shattered bone mashed together in a grotesque parody of humanity. You tried to look away, to focus on the machinery, but even that was a nightmare of grinding gears slick with gore.

A loud, wet squelch drew your attention to a nearby station. A corpse—a woman, or at least what remained of her—was hoisted onto a steel slab. Her eyes were still open, glassy and staring, as if frozen in the moment of her death. A mechanical arm descended, its blade glinting dully under the flickering industrial lights. It carved into her chest with a precision that was almost surgical, splitting her ribcage open to reveal the organs beneath.

You felt bile rise in your throat as another arm extended, pincers gripping her heart. It yanked the organ free with a sickening suction sound, sending a spray of blood across the walls and floor. The heart was deposited into a waiting vat, where it joined dozens of others, floating in a viscous, murky liquid.

“They don’t waste anything,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion, as if he were explaining the workings of a simple machine. “Every part has a purpose. The skin for leather. The bones for tools. The organs for… whatever the hell they need them for.”

Your knees buckled, but he caught you, his arm snaking around your waist to keep you upright. “No,” he hissed, his breath hot and sharp against your ear. “You don’t get to faint. You’re going to watch. You’re going to understand.”

A scream tore through the air, high-pitched and raw, and you realized with horror that some of them weren’t dead. Your eyes darted to the source of the sound, landing on a man thrashing against his restraints as he was dragged toward another station. His legs were gone, severed at the thighs, and the stumps had been crudely cauterized to keep him alive.

“Please,” the man sobbed, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Please, just kill me. Just—”

The blade came down before he could finish, cleaving his remaining arm from his body. His scream turned guttural, the sound of a soul breaking, before it was cut off entirely by a needle plunging into his neck. The liquid injected was thick and black, spreading through his veins like oil. His body convulsed violently for a moment before going still.

You turned your head, choking on a sob, but he gripped your chin and forced you to face the scene again. His fingers dug into your skin, bruising and relentless.

“This is what happens without me,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “You think you can survive out there? Think you can make it without my protection? Look at them!” He shook you slightly, as if to drive the point home. “This is what you are without me—meat.”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and shameful, as you stared at the conveyor belts and the countless bodies reduced to parts. You couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the nausea that twisted your stomach into knots.

Another scream pierced the air, this one an elder's. Your head snapped toward the sound, and your heart plummeted. A thin figure, frail and sickly, was strapped to a table, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on the approaching machinery.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”

The machine didn’t care. The blades descended, and you squeezed your eyes shut, the image burned into your mind even as you tried to block it out.

He didn’t let you escape even that. His hand tightened on your jaw, forcing your eyes open. “Don’t you dare look away,” he growled. “This is reality. This is what’s waiting for you if you run.”

You broke then, sobbing uncontrollably, your body wracked with shuddering breaths. He held you there, unyielding, until you were too weak to fight. Only then did he pull you close, his grip on you shifting from punishing to possessive.

“That’s right,” he murmured, his tone softening in a way that was somehow more terrifying. “You understand now, don’t you? You’re mine. And as long as you’re mine, this will never happen to you.”

His lips brushed against your temple, a mockery of comfort as he whispered, “But if you ever forget, I’ll bring you back here. And I’ll make you watch again.”

────────────

The battlefield stretched like a bleeding wound across the earth, jagged trenches carved into the mud and ash. The remnants of what had once been cities were nothing more than skeletal buildings clawing at the smog-choked sky. The air was thick with the acrid tang of burning fuel and the gut-wrenching stench of charred flesh. Bomb craters bubbled with viscous, oily water that gleamed under the pale, radioactive sun. It was a place where hope had been smothered, where humanity’s last breaths came in choking, gurgling gasps.

He stood before you, his shadow long and oppressive, a monolith of muscle and bloodied steel. His armor—if you could call the piecemeal, blood-streaked remains of his tactical gear armor—clung to him like a second skin, the fabric worn thin and blackened with soot. In his hand, a rifle dangled lazily, as though he didn’t need it. And he didn’t. He was a weapon unto himself, his body and mind honed by decades of violence, cruelty, and war.

“Do you remember this place?” His voice was a low rumble, scraping against your nerves like a blade dragged across bone. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, bore into you with a force that made your knees weak. “Where I found you?”

You nodded faintly, though you didn’t trust your voice enough to speak. Your silence wasn’t just fear—it was a learned response, a survival tactic you’d mastered in the years since he’d claimed you.

“Do you know what they were going to do to you?” He crouched, bringing his face level with yours. His presence was suffocating, his frame dwarfing your own. His voice dropped lower, almost tender, as though sharing a secret. “No, you don’t. You only saw what they let you see. Let me show you the rest.”

He yanked you forward, his grip on your wrist unyielding, and led you toward the edge of the battlefield. The ground squelched beneath your feet, a revolting mixture of mud, blood, and something viscous that you didn’t want to identify. In the distance, the ruins of an old hospital came into view. The building leaned at an unnatural angle, its walls crumbling but still intact enough to conceal the horrors within.

“You’ve seen death,” he said, his tone conversational, as though discussing the weather. “But you haven’t seen what people do when death isn’t enough. When they want to break you first.”

The interior of the hospital reeked of antiseptic and decay. The sterile smell of chemicals clashed with the unmistakable odor of rot. The walls were streaked with dark stains, their origins uncomfortably clear as you stepped over discarded limbs, the flesh marbled with gangrene and crude surgical scars.

In the first room, a soldier lay strapped to a gurney, his body contorted unnaturally. His chest had been split open, ribs wrenched apart like the wings of a grotesque bird. His heart was missing, the cavity where it had once beat filled with a tangled mess of wires and tubing. The machinery whirred softly, pumping fluids through his veins and forcing his lungs to expand and contract in shallow, mechanical breaths. His eyes were still open, rolling wildly in their sockets as they locked onto you.

“He’s alive,” the man behind you whispered, his voice a mix of mockery and menace. “Barely. They like to see how far they can push the human body before it gives out. Sometimes they even stitch people back together, just to see how much more they can take.”

You gagged, your stomach lurching violently, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face the horror. “Don’t look away,” he commanded, his tone sharp and unyielding. “You need to understand. This is what was waiting for you.”

He dragged you into another room, this one colder, darker. Rows of tanks filled the space, each containing a murky, greenish fluid that distorted the shapes inside. At first, you thought they were bodies, but as you moved closer, you realized they were something worse. Limbs were fused together in impossible configurations, heads sprouted from torsos without necks, and eyes blinked independently in faces twisted beyond recognition. The creatures floated listlessly, their expressions a grotesque mix of agony and confusion.

“Human experimentation,” he explained, almost lazily. “They weren’t trying to kill you. They were going to use you. Turn you into something like this. A weapon. Or worse—a resource.”

You stumbled backward, but he caught you, his arm curling around your waist with a possessive strength that left no room for escape. He pressed his lips to your ear, his voice a dark caress. “I killed them all for you. Do you see now why you belong to me? Why you owe me your life?”

He pushed you onward, through rooms filled with horrors you couldn’t have imagined in your darkest nightmares. A man impaled on a series of metal rods, his skin flayed back to expose muscle and bone, still breathing through a series of tubes jammed into his throat. A woman with her limbs replaced by crude prosthetics, her mouth sewn shut but her eyes screaming. People of all ages locked in cages, their bodies twisted and deformed, their cries muffled by gags soaked in blood.

“This is what humanity has become,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “This is what I saved you from. You were a prize to them. A rare find. They would’ve broken you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You fell to your knees, the weight of it all crashing down on you. He crouched beside you, his bloodied hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, were filled with something dark, something terrifyingly close to affection.

“Don’t forget this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Don’t ever forget who saved you. Who you belong to. Because without me…” His voice trailed off as he gestured toward the carnage around you. “This is all you’d ever know.”

You sobbed, the sound muffled against his chest as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was as suffocating as it was unyielding, a cage that you could never escape. And yet, in that moment, you clung to him, because the alternative was too horrifying to bear.

────────────

So you stayed.

Not because you trusted him. Not because you wanted him. But because the alternative was infinitely worse. And yet, staying came with its own horrors, its own chains. His obsession didn’t shield you from his cruelty; it only redirected it. He was a man who didn’t just command obedience—he demanded submission. Every glance, every word, every trembling breath was a reminder of your place beneath him. When he touched you, it wasn’t with gentleness. His hands were calloused and bruising, gripping and claiming, leaving marks that would never fade.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he would say when your eyes filled with defiance or despair. “You’re still alive because I allow it.”

The world outside was dead, a barren wasteland of mutilation and starvation, yet with him, the torment was suffocatingly personal. He didn’t just want your compliance; he wanted your surrender. His words were a scalpel, cutting into your psyche with surgical precision. He would pull you close, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he whispered promises of protection intertwined with threats so visceral they made your stomach churn.

“You’re mine,” he’d say, his hand resting possessively on your throat. “Every inch of you. Every thought. Every breath. Try to take that away from me, and I’ll show you what real pain feels like.”

There were moments when his control slipped, when the line between protector and predator blurred beyond recognition. He would keep you close, his body a cage of muscle and violence, his gaze piercing through your facade of composure. The way his hands roamed wasn’t tender—it was invasive, a reminder that he could take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

And yet, you didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Resistance wasn’t a choice. Not here. Not with him.

The world outside was unlivable. The world with him was unbearable. Between the two, you chose to endure.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring

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planesawesome · 2 months ago

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Grumman A-6 Intruder an American twin engine all-weather attack aircraft designed by Grumman for the US Navy and US Marine Corps.

The Intruder was conceived in response to a 1957 Bureau of Aeronautics requirement for an all-weather attack aircraft to replace the A-1 Skyraider it was required to perform Navy long-range interdiction missions and to have STOL capability for Marine close air support. Her first flight was April 19, 1960 and was introduced into service 3 years later in 1963.

The A-6 was the first Navy aircraft with an integrated airframe and weapons system. It's 2 man crew (Pilot and Bombardier/Navigator) operated in side by side seating. The A-6 had a staggering 18,000 lb (8,200 kg) payload with an equally impressive 1,010 mile (1,626 km) unrefueled range with max payload, her max speed was 640 mph (1,040 km/h) and cruise speed of 474 mph (763 km/h.) The diverse array of air to surface ordinance the Intruder was capable of carrying included nearly every iron/ cluster bomb in the US Navy/USMC inventory, later on nearly every LGB (Laser Guided Bomb) including the rocket powered AGM-123 Skipper LGB, the AGM-62 Walleye, AGM-65 Maverick, the AGM-84 Harpoon anti ship missile and AGM-45, AGM-78, and AGM-88 HARM Anti Radiation missiles (for eliminating enemy SAMs and Radar installations) ADM-141 TALD (Tactical Air Launched Decoy) And could even carry AIM-9 Sidewinder AAMs for self defense. In addition to the wealth of conventional weapons the A-6 was capable of carrying B43, B57 or B61 Nuclear weapons, and would have delivered them with toss bombing techniques.

In the early 1970's 90 A-6's were converted to KA-6D Tanker aircraft to replace the KA-3B Skywarrior tankers.

Nearly 700 A-6 Intruders were built for the USN and USMC and that's quite a significant number given there were no foreign customers. The Intruder served from 1963-1997 with the US Navy (USMC retired their A-6's 4 years prior in 1993) a 34 year career. The A-6's intended replacement the A-12 Avenger a stealthy flying wing never came to be and in it's stead the F-14 Tomcat with LANTIRN pods took up the precision strike mission until itself being replaced by the F/A-18E Super Hornet.

#military aircraft #military aviation #aviation military pics #us navy #Grumman A-6 Intruder

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marvellous1917 · 11 months ago

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Icarus Falling Far From.

(Part 4)

Pairing: mob!bucky x tattoo artist!female!reader

Summary: Bucky comes face to face with the ones fucking his shit up, he’s all stressed and the reader just wants to make out.

Warnings: mentions of crime (guns,drugs,murder [he’s a mobster babes]), swearing, guns, reader being threatened with a gun (oops), threat of violence, talking about feelings (ew), think that’s it-if I’m missing any let me know.

Word count: 3.9k ish

A/n: hey guys, hope you enjoy this shit lmao, I truly have absolutely no idea where I’m going with this.

(This is not beta’d we die like men.)

Part 3 : Icarus Falling Far

Masterlist

————

Bucky’s thoughts in italics

Readers thoughts in bold

————

Fuck.

Fuucckk.

“It’s you.” Bucky states, his voice steady, hiding the confusion running through his head.

“It’s us,” Frank responds, “gotta be honest, we’ve had a lot of fun fucking up your shit.”

Frank stood with a smug smirk on his face, while the man with the buzz cut, and with scars covering his face, the light outside casting a grim portrait, stands with a big grin - both completely unaffected by the gun being pointed at them.

“Does she know?” Bucky asks, years of being screwed by people he trusted rearing back and kicking his trust issues into his gear.

Please say no, please tell me she’s not a part of this.

No. Not her.

“Y/n? Bet it break your cold heart if we said yes, huh?” Billy quips, with that stupid grin now a permanent fixture on his face. “That sweet pretty girl you though actually liked you, was actually just getting us this in, see we have proposition for- ”

“DOES SHE KNOW?” Bucky lets his voice rise, tired of the games the other men were playing.

“No, and we are gonna keep it that way you hear me, don’t drag that kind girl into this cruel world.” Curtis states, stepping forward as if to cut Billy off from responding.

Shit, I can’t let you look down and see me waving a gun in your friends faces.

“She doesn’t need to know. She’s not made for this world, not like us. So how about you put the gun away before she starts looking out that window.” Frank says, eyes flicking to your window to make sure you’re not witnessing this tense conversation.

Bucky slowly lowers the gun into his pocket, but keeps his hand tight on the weapon, just as a precaution.

Please be true, to whatever bastard higher power up there, please be true.

“Not like us?” Bucky says, parroting the other man’s words, “in what world are we the same?”

“Well I mean you and Curtis probably share the most similar physicality,” Billy states, chuckling a little at his own joke.

Bucky’s eyes flit to the quiet man on the left, recalling his earlier thoughts.

“What Bill means to say is that I know what’s it’s like to loose a limb in combat-”

“I didn’t loose my arm in combat.” His voice was deep and unwavering, even while the horrid memories came to the front of his mind, “you have no idea what I went through.”

“We know some. Rumors fly in the military.” Franks states, “we were all Marines together, and after Curtis lost his leg, I became a Navy Seal and Bill here became a Scout Sniper for the Marine Corps Reconnaissance. We’ve had our fair share of being screwed over by those in authority.”

“Am I supposed to give a shit? All that crap is behind me, what I care about is my business now, the same business that you three have been fucking up for the past week. So what the fuck do you want and what the fuck does Y/n have to do with it?” Bucky growls out, his patience slipping.

“We mean no harm, not to you, and especially not to Y/n-”

“I’m supposed to believe that, you used her to get to me right? If you cared about her you wouldn’t have done that-” Bucky begins before he gets cut off.

“Don’t you dare say that we don’t care about her!” Billy almost shouts stepping forward before stopping when Bucky brings the gun out of his pocket and lets it rest by his side.

“Y/n is one of the few things in this world we care about, she’s family okay, and we would never hurt her-” Curtis says

“Really, then how would you say she’s gonna feel if I go back to her apartment and tell her all about this, huh?” Bucky calls back

“You’re not gonna do that though, are ya? Because you know if you did, it’d break her heart, and you don’t wanna do that do ya Buck? Not when ya like her so much?” The words come from Billy, the annoying grin back in his face.

“What make you think I care that much?” Bucky says, even though his thoughts state the opposite.

I do. I do care.

“If you didn’t you would have shot us already.” Frank responds with a very valid point.

That makes Bucky clench his jaw and tense his gun wielding hand.

“All we want is a business meeting okay, talk about a potential partnership.” Frank stars crossing his arms, staring unklinking at Bucky.

“A partnership? It’s gonna take more than you fucking up a few things for me to even think about considering that. And what the hell would I get out of a partnership with you three?” Brucky responds, seriously considering just shooting the three men dead on the street.

“Well that’s something we can talk about later, but just so you know we have our hands in some business ourselves and more than enough bodies to keep our shit going, but we’d all be a hell of a lot richer if we worked together” Curtis states, shifting his weight onto his good leg.

“Plus just think about how happy our girl will be if we all got on.” Billy chimes in with a quick wink.

Our girl. OUR girl? God I wanna shoot these assholes.

Bucky keeps his calm facade up, unwilling to show the man that his words affected him.

“Fine. Be at the Comandos bar at 8 pm tomorrow, just you three, no weapons.” Bucky responds, wanting this conversation to be over.

The three men share quick look’s between themselves, and then Frank steps forward with his hand out towards Bucky and says “We’ll be there.”

Bucky doesn’t even look at them before turning quickly and walking back into the building, pulling out his phone to call Steve.

Frank chuckles, puts his hand down and turns to get in the car.

“Think he’ll tell her?” Curtis asks.

“Nah. He likes her too much.” Billy replies, while opening the door and getting in.

—————

What the hell is taking him so long? God I hope the boys didn’t catch him and give the whole ‘if you hurt her we’ll kill you’ talk. The boys are scary but Bucky’s a damn mobster.

The heavy knock on the door stops your pacing, and cause you to run to the door and pull it open to see the aforementioned mobster.

He doesn’t even say anything before barging in, kicking the door closed behind him while his hands go straight to the sides of your face, pulling your lips to his. His grip is gentle, but his mouth is bruising, his teeth nipping your bottom lip.

You pull back to catch your breath, leaning your forehead on his and catching your breath.

“Not even a hello? You missed me that much?” You flirt quietly, whispering into his mouth, hand clutching his waist through his coat.

“More than you know darlin’ I needed to see you…and touch you,” Bucky responds, silently thinking I needed to make sure you were okay.

Oh please do.

“All I’m hearing is the big bad mobster saying he needs me” you tease, praying he didn’t take offence, yeah he’s sweet and lovely but I’ve only gotten a tiny glimpse at the other side of him.

“Is that how you see me?” He leans back to his full height, staring down into your eyes, dropping his hands to his sides.

Shit.

Bucky grips your wrists and takes your hands off his body, moving them into his metal hand, the surface cold on your skin. You scramble to respond, wanting to tell him you thought the opposite, but his flesh hand moves to his pocket before you can talk.

“Big bad mobster huh? Oh doll you have no idea,” he says with an indiscernible look on his face, pulling out his glock.

Oh fuck, I was only teasing.

“Wait Buck-“ you start before he cuts you off.

“Y/n…Are you scared of me?” He asks, his grip on your wrists loose enough that you could get out of his grip if you wanted to.

You didn’t move. Looking into his eyes, an overwhelming feeling of calm takes over, the blue of his eyes the same as the sky after a storm.

“…no. I’m not.” I probably should be but apparently I’m crazy.

“Do you think I’m bad?” He asks.

All the stories, all the rumours, the memory of your first meeting, and the call he took in the shop come flooding to the forefront of your mind. That he’s a man with no mercy, cares for nothing and no one - except money, sex, and violence.

“…not to me.” You answer.

He pulls his arm up, holding the glock in between your faces, showing it to you. The bottom of his tattoo- your tattoo- sticks out from under his sleeve.

A normal person without a broken brain would take this as a threat. Why am I attracted to this?

He makes eye contact with you over the barrel, turning his hand and resting the muzzle on your cheek, but there is no fear in you, you can see his trigger finger resting on the side of the barrel.

“Do you trust me Y/N?” Bucky asks, his eyes not moving from yours.

You take a second to think about it.

The man is a fucking mobster for Christs’ sake. He’s a criminal, a gun runner, a drug trafficker, and not to mention a killer. His kills have hit the news before, no evidence proving it was his organisation, but everyone knows. It doesn’t matter if it was Bucky that pulled the trigger, held the knife, planted the bomb, nothing happened that wasn’t on his order. Can I really trust a man like that?

Your hesitation to answer has an effect on Bucky. He moves the gun, dragging it down your neck and resting the muzzle in the dip of your collar bone. You look down at his hand, finger still nowhere near he trigger.

“Y/n.” He calls quietly. Your eyes jump back to his and he speaks again, “do you think I would ever hurt you?”

That question has an answer you don’t have to think about.

“Not unless I did something to deserve it.” Your attempt at humour was immediately seen to be the wrong answer.

He sticks the gun back in your face, muzzle pushing between you lips, scratching your teeth. The movement causes your eyes to go wide, fear slipping onto your face.

“Did you do something to deserve it? Have you fucked me over Y/n?” His voice is tense, deadly serious, an unstable look in his eyes, his metal hand tightening on your wrists.

You lean back a little to answer, “…no, no of course not Buck. What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

He stares at you for what feels like hours, his face perfectly still, not giving anything away.

She doesn’t know. She truly has no idea. Thank fuck.

He drops the gun and lets go of your wrists, taking a few steps back, giving you space.

“I’m sorry doll, I’ve just had very hard day, some new information was given to me and it’s fucked me up a bit. I’m sorry Y/n, truly I am, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” His hands run through his hair, pulling at it harshly. “Shit darlin’, what the hell was I doing?” He mumbles the last bit to himself.

“Buck..Bucky, hey calm down, it’s okay-” you start before he talks again.

“It’s not okay! I just put a fucking gun in your face.” He keeps rambling, seeming like a whole other person than he was a minute ago.

“Buck! Stop, stop jabbering,” you grab his wrists, taking his hands from his hair and pulling him towards you.

He stops talking, and stares at your hands in his, the metal of his prosthetic shining a stark contrast against your skin.

You take a second to look at him, eyes studying his face. He looks worried, and a little scared.

Huh, didn’t know a mobster could get scared. Is he’s scared of me and what I’m gonna say… or is he scared of himself?

“You don’t scare me Buck…you probably should, but you don’t. ‘Cos you’ve been nothing but good to me, even a minute ago when you were acting weird, I knew you weren’t gonna do anything-”

“How? How did you trust me to not hurt you, when I was waving my glock in your face?”

“You had your finger on the barrel”

He’s silent for a few seconds, thinking over what you said. He takes a deep breath, meeting your eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” Bucky responds.

“Then don’t say anything.” You say, the imagine of him with a gun in his hand fresh in your mind.

That whole episode should not have been as hot as it was. Shit I’m fucked up.

Bucky stares at you (he does that a-lot), unsure of his next move.

“Kiss me, dumbass.”

He moves before you can blink, his hands gently grabbing your face and pulling you to him. His kiss takes your breath away, gentle but firm. Your hands grip his elbows, encouraging him to keep going.

He takes the hint (thank fuck) and splits your lips with his tongue, his nose pressed hard against your cheek. He moves his hands down to your hips, gripping hard. Your hands grip the back of his head, fingers playing with his hair, tugging at it slightly when he completely deepens the kiss, your tongues tangling together. He lets out a quiet groan at the feeling, taking his left hand off your hip and tensing it by his side. You break the kiss when you feel the loss of his touch.

You take a second to catch your breath, Bucky leaning his head against yours.

“Why did you take your hand off me?” You ask.

“What?” He responds, the small dazed look on his face making you chuckle a little.

“Your hand, I liked it where it was.”

“Oh..that. It’s uh..it’s pretty strong, I can’t tell how hard I’m holding something, I can’t feel it so I tend to hold things a bit too hard… I broke like 5 cups in the past week-” he answers, stuttering his way through the sentence.

“Stop talking Buck, and you say I ramble,” You say, putting your finger to his lips. He stops talking, and you continue, “I trust you Buck, I’ll tell you if you’re holding me too hard. Plus I like it a little rough.” You finish with a wink at him, pulling his hand back to your waist.

He drops his head back, eyes closed and takes a deep breath in. He mumbles under his breath something that sounds like ‘god you’re perfect’, then he crashes his lips back into yours, both hands tightening on your hips.

He moves faster now, more intense with his kiss, his teeth scraping yours slightly and he presses you backwards, walking with you until you bump into the wall, his flesh hand stopping your head from hitting it.

Aww how sweet. The thought is thrown from your head when Bucky drops his head and presses kisses to your jaw, his hand curling in your hair to pull your head back, exposing your neck to him.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, as he licks a long stripe up your neck, nipping at the pulse points he finds. Your hands drop to his hips and pull him flush to you, groaning when you feel how much you’ve affected him. He kisses his way back to your lips, his metal hand moving to rest on the side of your neck, thumb resting in the front of your neck. Bucky gives you a long hard kiss then pulls back breathing hard.

“God girl, you are gonna be the death of me,” he whispers, lips brushing against yours as he talks.

“Fuck I hope not,” you respond, pulling his hips tighter against yours making him choke back a groan at the feeling.

His phone starts to ring.

Fuck off.

You pull him to you again, lips trailing across his jaw.

“Shit doll, wait a second baby-” he starts before you cut him off.

“Wait? Wait for what Buck, you don’t want me?” You tease, brushing your nose along his.

He crashes his lips against yours, his ringtone fading as his kiss overtakes your mind. Bucky pulls back after a few seconds, growling softly before stepping back to pull his phone out of his pocket.

“Are you seriously gonna answer that?” You ask, incredulous to his action.

“I have to darlin, could be an emergency,” he answers, taping the screen to answer. He puts the phone to his ear and says, “talk to me.”

You ignore his conversation, grabbing his metal hand to inspect it. The plates shift as you turn it over to look at the palm.

What an incredible feat of engineering, I wonder how it works. And how it feels-

Your dirty thoughts are cut short as he pulls his hand out of your grip, turning and taking a few steps away from you. His voice is quiet, probably to keep you from hearing whatever illegal shit they were discussing.

You jump when he shouts.

“THE FUCK? Rogers you get them to find more information on those shitheads, or I swear to fuck I will rip their fucking hearts out. I don’t care anymore, this shit needs to stop right the fuck now!” He stops his tirade and listens to ‘Rogers’ on the other side for a few second before he starts up again, “I know that asshole…one of the fuckers is married, find the wife… I have no idea if she’s involved man, I doubt it but she’d be good leverage… and get me some more information on their business so I’m not going into this shit show unprepared.”

That gets your full attention. Find the wife? Leverage? And do what? Threaten her? Hurt her? …kill her?

A shiver rips its way down your spine at that thought.

Would he do that? If she’s not a part of the issue, would he still hurt her? He already proved he’d hurt anyone that fucked him over, proved that when he stuck his gun in my mouth.

“Yeah…I know, get Stark on it, send Talia and Barton out too, see if they can get any news on the street… tell Barton to keep his cool, I don’t need anymore shit right now” Bucky says, switching the phone to his metal hand, using his flesh one to pull at his hair again.

His back is still turned to you, his coat stretches over his shoulder, the back rising with his hand in his hair.

He has a gun in his waistband.

Your eyes flit to the glock he drop on the floor earlier, and back to the one tucked in his waistband.

Is two guns really necessary?

Your answer comes with his next sentence.

“Fuck Steve I know that…you think I got this far without any personal protection? I’m good if anything happens man but I don’t think it will, they seemed pretty insistent on the fact they meant no harm..”

He continues to talk for a minute until he ends the call with a quick “get it done Steve, or we’re all fucked.” He places the phone back in his pocket, takes a few deep breaths and turns back to you with a tense look on his face. He takes another deep breath and steps towards you. Without meaning to you take a step back, hitting the wall behind you. Bucky stops as soon as he sees your movement.

“Sorry about that sweetheart, didn’t mean to upset ya.” He says, his voice quiet and calm, as if he was talking to a injured dog.

You let the silence linger for a second, deciding whether or not to ask the question that was begging to be said.

Fuck it.

“What are you going to do to her?”

He tilts his head at the question, unsure of what you’re talking about.

You take pity on his confusion.

“The wife? What are you going to do when you find her?”

Something settles in his eyes, his mouth twisting into a grim line.

“Nothing…unless I have to.” Bucky responds.

His answer does nothing to calm your pounding heart.

“You mean you won’t do anything unless you find out she’s involved?”

“Yes.”

“So you won’t do anything if she’s not a part of …whatever it is?” You ask.

“That’s right.” He nods with his answer.

“Except use her as leverage?”

He’s silent for a moment, and sighs as he rolls his left shoulder. He doesn’t break eye contact, and he’s completely resigned to whatever his answer is about to be.

“If I have to.” There is no lie in his voice, no guilt or remorse in his eyes.

Holy fuck. There’s the soldier again, the man with no mercy, does whatever he needs to come out on top.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

He wouldn’t hurt me. Would he?

He answers like he heard your thought.

“It’s business doll, we do what we have to do. Sometimes it’s rough and bad and awful and yes, people get hurt. Sometimes even innocent people get hurt. But I will never apologise for being the one that does the hurting, me and mine have had our fair share of getting hurt, and I’d rather hurt and use some people I don’t care about, than watch my people, my family, get hurt. I will not allow that to happen, not when I can to something about it.” He stands straight, like a soldier. The conviction in his voice actually makes you feel calmer.

Assuming I’m someone he cares about, I should be fine, right?

It slips off your tongue before you can catch it.

“Do you care about me?” You shift your weight as you talk, unsure if you actually want to hear the answer.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” He states, his tone steady.

“Say it properly,” you demand, crossing your arms over your chest, a subconscious way of protecting yourself, “I need you to say it properly Bucky.”

He shifts his weight now, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Yes… I do care about you,” he answers, clearing his throat in the middle of his statement, “do you care about me?”

You were unprepared for him to flip it back on you.

“I need you to answer truthfully Y/n. Do you care about me, as I am? The ‘big bad mobster’” he says, taking a step closer to you, and taking another when you don’t move away from him.

“The man who broke into your flat to threaten your roommate who owes me? The one who was going to shoot your friends dead on the street? The one who stuck a gun in your face? I’m a killer Y/n, a fucking mobster, and I’m not changing any time soon. Do you care about me as I am?” He asks, reminding you of the shit he’s done since you met him, not even counting the things you haven’t heard about.

You take a second to consider his questions.

I think I do, how fucked am I that I do?

You finally clock what he said.

“You were going to shoot who dead on the street?!”

————

hehehehe I feel like an evil mastermind.

If you are not tagged here- I either will tag you in a separate post- or I cannot tag you for some reason.

Tags:

@shuriri4life @calwitch @goodkittyspost @iateall-yourcookies @miss-i-ship-it @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @anawhitethorn @radiator-hands @tripletstephaniescp @yeahimcrying @shifting2places @1-800-bxrnes @fandomsfallnomore @bushtail @ghostofwinter @missdarlingsb @amiets2 @leabunny @justmarlen3 @bofadeezs @jehduxi @grey107th @king-of-spades-aroace @sebismyhubby @princezzjasmine @sebastianswhore @cluckityduck

@sleepyghostygirl @starlightaurorab @where-the-river-bends @imagines-of-the-fandom @bigenargy @uraverageatiny @squeezyvalkyrie @mylifeispainandiloveit @mrvlxgrl @bopbeepboopbopbeep @yvessaintmuerte @thecubanator2 @flubblubbb @teambarnes72 @ria132love @rivthejellyfish @mybakubaby @blue-chup @goatsmcgee @facinated-lemon @daddylorianisastateofmind @buckybarnesb-tch

#mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky fic #mob!bucky x tattoo artist!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x female!reader

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chiefdirector · 1 year ago

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Waiting | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

True to his word, Tim held back and stayed in an unmarked vehicle down the street from the house that the cartel were using as a basis of their operation. It was the same one that Tim and (Y/N) had raided only three years prior. Even he could admit that it was almost poetic that it was on this property, three years ago, his and (Y/N)’s fate had been decided by Regina Diaz, and it would be here that their fate would be unsealed. It had come full circle, almost anyway: Tim was in no position for a premature celebration. So he and Chen watched and waited as they had been told to do.

“Tim…?” Lucy said, timid as she was when she had first become his rookie. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, boot.”

She pulled at her collar, trying to pick the right words. She knew that Tim could be prickly and defensive at the best of times, so today his guard would be up tenfold. However, she could also see right through the walls he worked so hard to keep up. “You know, it’s okay to be nervous. Considering how drastically things have changed these last few days.”

“Why would I be nervous? I trust (Y/N), she’s smart, she has survived this long.”

“Then why haven't you put your wedding band back on?”

Tim didn’t respond, instead he turned away from Lucy’s concerned looks and towards the house. The rest of the team assigned to the raid had not shown up yet, they weren’t scheduled to come until the primary watch team gave the command. The primary team were in a van on the opposite side of the street, parked only a hundred yards away from him and Chen. They were almost directly in front of the house, waiting to see if any form of action began before the police troops arrived.

If Tim had been in that van like he had wanted to have been, he would have seen a figure in a dark hoodie move around the side of the house and down the patch of grass that leads to the backyard. He would have flagged it up as suspicious, he would have recognised the hoodie as one of his own, the one that (Y/N) always stole from him. He would have noticed her entering the grounds.

“I didn’t-” Tim started, stopping when the words got stuck in his throat. He looked back to Chen who smiled softly, nodding her head to allow him to continue. “I didn’t put the ring back on because if this goes wrong today, I don’t think I would have the strength to take it off again.”

—--

As the sun began to go down, the radio in between Tim and Lucy finally sounded out with Harper’s voice as she gave the order for the operation to begin. Within seconds, police officers from multiple Wilshire divisions appeared, some on foot and others in their shops. Two SWAT teams approached shortly after. Their synchronised movements were something to gawk at as they silently fell into formation to breach the property. From where they had parked their car, Tim could see Lopez, West, and Nolan leading the front of the operation alongside Sargent Grey.

It didn’t take long for the signal to breach the property, when he heard the command go out of the radio, Tim held his breath for a second before closing his eyes. In all of his years on the force, or even before during his time serving in the Marine Corp, he had never felt so nervous, so out of control.

“Tim, you need to breathe, it’s going to be okay.” Lucy placed her hand on her Training Officer’s shoulder. His eyes snapped open. In that moment, Lucy saw something change in his eyes, the panic that encompassed him only a few moments prior had disappeared.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do. You got the best cops in the city going in there right now. It will be okay, you have to trust that.”

“How can I? Last time we were here, we thought it was okay. Look what happened!”

“Tim, they will call us in when they have secured the place.”

Bradford turned to respond but was interrupted by the sound of bullets being shot. Instinctively, the two patrol officers reached for their weapons in case they needed to pursue anyone. Moments later, the radio rang out again. This time it was Lopez speaking. “I need multiple RA units to my location. We have casualties, three not conscious, not breathing; we also have one identified female, police detective, gunshot to shoulder, not wearing a vest. She is conscious and breathing.”

Before Angela had finished giving the report on the radio, Tim was out of the car, sprinting towards the house, gun still in hand. His mind was going a mile a minute, he knew that everybody who was a part of the bust today would have been wearing a bullet-proof vest. The only police personnel who would have been without one would have been (Y/N). She would not have had the resources to get one beforehand, she would have gone in without one.

Air got stuck in his throat as he breached the property line and burst through the front doors. He barely noticed Chen running behind him as he began to sweep the property for (Y/N). It did not take long for him to find her.

She was surrounded by multiple cops, some were searching for something that could aid her until the RA unit arrived, others stood back watching her from where she was crumpled to the ground. Tim barged his way through the crowd, falling to his knees at her side. He barely registered Angela next to him, holding some scrap material into (Y/N)’s shoulder to stop the bleeding.

His eyes darted all over her form, looking for more injuries. He didn’t notice anything major, except from a few scratches on her face. He then focuses on her shoulder, he couldn't see the wound under Angela’s hands but he saw how her blood had spread down her arm and soaked into her jacket and shirt.

He tentatively reached down to move the hair spread across her face, “Hey baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.” He tried to reassure her, but as the words spilled from his mouth he knew that his words were for him also, to remind himself that she was here, that she was real. He was not going to leave her side, not now, not ever.

(Y/N) slowly turned her head to face her husband as she heard his voice for the first time in two years. He looked older, the lines in his face had set in. The crease between his eyebrows had grown, but his eyes were the same. She never thought that she would see them again, she never thought that she would see Tim again at all.

“Tim…” (Y/N) tried to speak but her words were cut off by blood rising through her throat. She choked it back down again with a pained expression. Before she tried to speak again, her eyes rolled back into her head as she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Part Six | Part Eight

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424

Tags are open :)

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie #the rookie fanfic #chiefdirector #bottom of the river

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usarmytrooper · 2 years ago

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Enlarged by 3x and enhanced image for clarity.

#shirtless #muscle #jock #military jock #military #u.s. military #u.s. marine corps #us marines #marine corps #marine #jarhead #dog tags #military uniform #weapon #rifle #barracks #photo enhancement #photo enlargement

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askarsjustsoswedish · 3 months ago

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GENERATION KILL - MILITARY TERMINOLOGY AND SLANG USED IN THE MINISERIES (Part 2, N-Z)

N.J.P. (Non-Judicial Punishment): next to a court martial, the most severe form of punishment to which a Marine can be subjected. It usually involves a loss of rank and pay grade.

Navy Hospitalman, Doc Bryan: the medic, though medics in the Marine Corps are technically part of the Navy’s hospital corps and are never referred to as “medics” but as Corpsmen.

Negligent Discharge: accidental firing of a weapon; aka N.D.

Nine-lines: a procedure for directing air strikes on ground targets.

No salute zone: forward areas where officers are not to be acknowledged with salutes, in order to conceal rank from potential enemy observers.

O Dark Hundred: until darkness falls. Note: “O dark 30” typically means half an hour before dawn, or any ridiculously early hour of the morning.

Oakley sunglasses: surfer sunglasses worn by just about all Marines in Iraq. Iraqis believe Oakleys give Marines X-ray powers to see through women’s clothing and are a constant source of tension.

One M.E.F. (First Marine Expeditionary Force): the overall Marine invasion force in the Middle East, which comprises the First Division (ground troops) under command of Gen. Mattis, the Air Wing and a logistics battalion. The entire One M.E.F. is under the command of General James Conway.

Oscar Mike: “On the Move” from the phonetic alphabet.

Overwatch: a position that offers protective fire for a given area.

“Paint me”: to paint something is to shine one’s gunsight laser designator on a target in preparation for shooting it.

PAS-13 Thermal: a night vision device, about the size of an old video camera, that can see heat signatures. Note: A single device is usually referred to in the plural, e.g. ,“Pass me the thermals” refers to one device.

Pec-fours, Pec-thirteens: night and infrared vision scopes.

POG (Person Other than Grunt): a pejorative term for anyone who is in the rear echelon and therefore not in a recon or infantry unit. This is one of the most insulting terms in the Marine Corps, almost the equivalent of the “N” word. Note: POG is pronounced with a long “o.”

Police: to clean up or correct, as in “Police your tent,” or clean it up. (1-16)

Psy-Ops: Psychological-Operations units, which in Iraq relied on leaflets, radio and loudspeaker broadcasts to encourage enemy forces to surrender.

Pyro and Smoke protocol: codes involving use of smoke grenades and flares.

R.C.T. (Regimental Combat Team): a super-regiment of about 7,000 Marines; the First Division consisted of three RCTs – RCT 1, RCT 5 and RCT 7 – plus First Recon, which operated on its own.

R.C.T. One (Regimental Combat Team One): a motorized, armored infantry regiment of about 7,000 Marines.

R.O.E. (The Rules of Engagement): the all important, ever-changing and always ambiguous rules governing when a Marine may fire his weapon.

R.T.O. (Radio Transceiver Operator): radioman, the most important guy on the team and usually the calmest and smartest next to the team leader. (1-23)

Rack: nautical for sleeping area.

Ranger Graves: sleeping holes dug by marines to protect from shrapnel and gunshots.

Raptor: radio call-sign for First Recon’s Charlie company.

Recon Mission: a reconnaissance mission performed specifically by Recon Marines who are the Marine Corps special forces; there are only a few hundred Recon Marines in the entire Corps.

Red-Con One: a loaded weapon with a round in its chamber, but with the safety on.

Revetment: crude fortifications made from earth or concrete or sandbags.

Ripped Fuel: brand name of a popular over-the-counter stimulant, banned by the military but widely used.

RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade): anti-tank rocket first developed by the Germans as the “panzerfaust,” then adopted by Soviets and as common to Iraqi forces and insurgents as Skittles candies are to Marines. Not very accurate, but devastating when fired in mass by five- or ten-man RPG teams. RPGs were famously used to bring down U.S. Army Blackhawk helicopters in Somalia.

S.O.P. (Standard Operating Procedure): S.O.P. is sometimes informally used as a synonym for common sense.

Saffwon Hill: a low hill on the Iraq side of the border with Kuwait, believed to be the locale of a dug-in Iraqi division.

Sapi plates: 12-inch square ceramic plates worn in front and back of one’s flak vest, rated to stop the enemy’s preferred 7.62 round.

Schwack: to kill; origin believed to be a popular video game.

Screwby: either “That sucks,” or “That’s really cool,” from Cpl. Stafford’s personal hip-hop lexicon.

Senior NCOs: anyone from staff-sergeant to Sergeant Major. Corporals and Sergeants are also NCOs, but they are never referred to junior NCOs, simply as NCOs. (1-18)

Sergeant Major: the highest possible rank a non-commissioned officer can earn in the Marine Corps; invariably a ball-buster who speaks in a semi-illiterate southern sounding accent no matter where he is from. This battalion has just one Sergeant Major.

Shamal: hellacious wind and dust storms endemic to Iraq.

Sit-Rep: situation report:; often used as a more confusing way to say “situation.”

Skittles: chewy fruit-flavored children’s candy, which is a dietary staple in U.S. military.

Slackman: team machine gunner, armed with a SAW.

Snatch: a specific Marine term for abducting an enemy combatant in order to gather intelligence.

Soft Cover: same as a boonie cap. Note: the word “hat” does not exist in the Marine Corps; anything you place on your head is a cover.

Sparrow: a small reaction force held in reserve while another unit attacks; an “eagle” is a large reaction force.

Spread load his excitement: to calm down; from the tradition of foot patrols spreading a heavy load equally among all troops.

T-55: Soviet-era tank ubiquitous in Iraq; older and much less feared than the newer, but less-common T-72 Soviet tanks also in Iraq.

TAD-two, TAD-three: Tactical Air Direct radio bands for communicating directly with pilots in attack aircraft.

Task Force Tarawa: a four thousand-strong Marine unit outside of the First Division Command Structure. This American unit was initially put under the command of the British at Basra, then moved north to Nasariyah.

Team Leader: the sergeant in command of each combat team. Fick’s platoon is divided into three teams, but spread across four Humvees (not counting Fick’s command vehicle, the fifth Humvee). Since Fick’s platoon is a special forces unit trained in coastal raids, they have no experience with Humvees. Technically each team has a specialty, with team one being the dive (or SCUBA) team, team two being the boat team and team three the para-jump team. But here, ironically, they are all in a desert.

The Three: the battalion’s intelligence unit.

T-rats: T-rations; pre-manufactured military food heated and served in mess halls of forward units.

Triple-A: Anti-Aircraft Artillery; towed or self-propelled guns designed to shoot down aircraft but often used by Iraqis against American forces on the ground.

Two o’clock: direction of enemy forces. Orientation of the lead vehicle puts 12 o’clock at the center of the hood and six o’clock at the rear.

Two-Oh-Three: an M-203 grenade launcher, which is a single shot self-propelled weapon mounted beneath the barrel of a standard Marine rifle. The M-203 fires the same 40mm round as the M-19.

Unfucking: a verb peculiar to the Marine Corps meaning to get out of a fucked-up situation.

U-two: a reference to venerable U2 spy planes.

Victors: vehicles. The military uses the phonetic alphabet as a shorthand code: the phonetic alphabet replaces letters with words, i.e., Alpha, Bravo Charlie, Delta, Echo. These phonetic word for each letter of the alphabet can be used to replace any word starting with the corresponding letter. Hence, vehicle becomes “victor,” terrorist becomes “tango” and white trash becomes “whiskey tango,” as in, “He grew up in a whiskey tango trailer park in the Ozarks.”

Whiskey Tango: white trash, from the phonetic alphabet version.

Zil truck: Russian-made truck popular in Iraq.

#generation kill #hbo #military terms and slang #2 of 2 #n-z #gk #ajss13 #gki

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rahleeyah · 7 days ago

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I was taking night classes at the local community college during the Obama/Romney election. I was the youngest person in every class by 20 years; it was all adults, predominately Black women, who had jobs and kids and were in the process of changing careers and looking to improve their circumstances, just like me. We were all poor; I was clearing $12-$14k a year, sleeping on the floor and putting gas in my car $5 at a time. I was buying cigarettes with loose change. It was a rough time.

The thing about people who teach at community colleges, at least around here, is they don't make shit. Pennies. Like maybe $1,000 a class a semester. There's no such thing as tenure. So for the most part they either have day jobs or are retired. I was taught by an active duty police detective, a public defender, a magistrate, and people who were actively employed in my field. Including this one lady.

I said up top this was during Obama/Romney. Picture if you will, a classroom in which there are ~15 Black mothers aged 45-60, and one 22 year old white lesbian, in 2012. Imagine what happens when you put a 50 something year old white Republican Christian nationalist "in charge" of this particular group of people. Carnage, is the answer.

She kept trying to talk about politics, which always exploded spectacularly in her face. I've never been in a classroom that was this antagonistic between the students and the teacher. At one point we had to give presentations on federal laws, and just to fuck with her I did DOMA, and my classmates asked really smart, insightful questions during my presentation and ended up asking the teacher essentially wait a minute, you support this? What's wrong with you?

The class after the "the Marine Corps' preferred weapon is the bayonet" debate was pure fucking comedy gold.

Anyway, there's one particular event from this class I remember almost every time I'm behind the wheel of my car. In an attempt to like idk seem more relatable or something one day the teacher was complaining about traffic. And she said something to the effect of gosh I hate it when a light turns green and the car in front starts off so slow and then they start going much faster later. And I think she was trying to say she didn't like it when people weren't prompt to react to the green or took their sweet time to get up to speed or were inconsistent about their speed or something but in the moment that wasn't what it sounded like at all.

One of my classmates looked dead at this lady and said "you got beef with the concept of acceleration?"

And now pretty much every fucking TIME a light turns green I think about that interaction. You got beef with the concept of acceleration?

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girlactionfigure · 7 months ago

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THURSDAY HERO: Barney Ross

Dov-Ber Rosovsky was a world-champion boxer and injured World War II hero whose fierce Jewish pride made him an icon to American Jews.

Dov-Ber was born in New York in 1909, the son of a Talmudic scholar who fled to America after surviving a pogrom in Belarus. Dov-Ber grew up in Chicago, helping out in his father’s small grocery store in a poor neighborhood and studying to be a rabbi.

His life was changed forever when his father was shot dead resisting a robbery at his store. Dov-Ber’s mother suffered a nervous breakdown and the kids were farmed out to foster homes.

Dov-Ber became bitter and angry. He turned his back on religion, changed his name to Barney Ross, and took a job working for Al Capone. Barney’s goal was to make enough money to buy a house and reunite his family. He soon became such an effective street fighter, however, that he gave professional boxing a try. Strong, fast, and determined, “Barney” became a world champion in the three different weight classes. He was known for his exceptional stamina and his street smarts.

In the 1930’s, when Hitler was rising to power, Barney Ross became a hero to American Jews by showing pride in his heritage and taking a public stand against Nazi Germany. He was determined to end each fight on his feet to show that Jews fight and don’t go down. In Barney’s final fight, he defended his title against fellow three-division world champion Henry Armstrong. Barney got brutally pummeled and his trainers begged him to let them stop the fight, but he was determined to stay on his feet. He’d never been knocked out in his career and wasn’t going to start now. He retired from boxing in his early 30’s with a record of 72 wins, 4 loses, 3 draws, and two no decisions, with 22 wins by knockout. He achieved his goal of having no career knockouts.

After retiring from the ring, Barney/Dov-Ber enlisted in the US Marine Corps to fight in World War II. The Marines wanted to keep him stateside as a celebrity morale-booster, but Barney insisted on fighting for his country. He was sent to Guadalcanal in the South Pacific. During his time in Guadalcanal, Barney became friends with Chaplain Frederic Gehrig. Father Gehrig found an old pump organ on the island, and Barney was the only one who could play it. On Christmas Eve, before Barney and his fellow Marines were to go to battle, Gehrig asked him to play “Silent Night” and other Christmas songs for the troops. Barney happily obliged, finishing off the concert with “My Yiddishe Momma,” the song he used to play when he entered the boxing ring. Father Gehrig would later describe Barney Ross as a “national treasure.”

One night, Barney and three other soldiers were trapped under enemy fire. All four were wounded but Barney was the only one able to continue fighting. He gathered his comrades’ weapons and fought 22 Japanese soldiers, killing them all. Two of the American soldiers died, but Barney carried the third man to safety, even though the soldier weighed 230 pounds, while the wounded Barney weighed only 140! For his courage, Barney Ross was awarded a Silver Star and a citation from President Roosevelt.

Barney was hospitalized for his battle injuries, and the pain was so bad that he became dependent on morphine. After the war, he returned to America and opened a bar lounge. However, his drug addiction intensified as he turned to heroin, which was easier to obtain than morphine. Barney became hooked on heroin, an addiction that cost him $500 a day, as well as his marriage, his business and his life savings. Finally he hit rock bottom, and checked into a veteran’s recovery facility. He kicked his habit once and for all, and became a public speaker who educated high school students about the danger of drugs.

In the 1960’s, Barney made his living as a celebrity spokesman. After a brutal struggle with throat cancer, Barney Ross died in 1967 at age 57.

For his wartime heroism and for modeling Jewish strength and pride, we honor Dov-Ber “Barney Ross” Rosovsky as this week’s Thursday Hero.

#Thursday Hero

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67-romeo · 8 months ago

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Isn’t she pretty? The AH-1 or simply known as “The Cobra”.

The AH-1 was developed using the engine, transmission and rotor system of the Bell UH-1 Iroquois, which had proven itself to be a capable platform during the Vietnam War. It was produced in response to fulfil a need for a dedicated armed escort for transport helicopters to give the latter greater survivability in contested environments. Accordingly, the AH-1 was a dedicated attack helicopter, featuring a tandem cockpit, stub wings for weapons, and a chin-mounted gun turret. The first examples of the type entered service with the United States Army during 1967; other branches of the US military also opted to acquire the type, particularly the United States Marine Corps.

For several decades, the AH-1 formed the core of the US Army's attack helicopter fleet, seeing combat in Vietnam, Grenada, Panama, and Iraq. In US Army service, the Cobra was progressively replaced by the newer and more capable Boeing AH-64 Apache during the 1990s, with the final examples being withdrawn during 2001. The US Marine Corps continues to use a highly modified, heavily upgraded Cobra designated the AH-1Z Venom. It’s is the pinnacle of achievement so far as the capabilities of the Cobra are concerned.

Surplus AH-1 helicopters have been reused for other purposes, including civilian ones; numerous examples have been converted to perform aerial firefighting operations.

#cobra

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sgt-tombstone · 8 months ago

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CoD Military Realism References

UPDATED 05JUL24

For those of you who want to take your fic writing realism (or general military knowledge) to the next level, here is a compilation of real-world, declassified military documents ranging from field manuals to military academy graduate theses all pulled from the Internet Archive. If you're looking for something specific, I highly recommend browsing through their military collection, as they have handbooks on every military topic imaginable, including specific weapons and military operations.

All of these are incredibly outdated because all of the in-date stuff is still classified. That being said, some of these are more outdated than others. Use them at your own discretion and don’t feel obligated to make every detail of your fic entirely accurate. Fic writing is supposed to be fun for everyone involved. Don’t let the real world intricacies of the military distract you from making those military men kiss sloppy style 🖤

The resources that I personally find most useful are highlighted in blue but all of them have lots of valuable information. Read at your own discretion; the vast majority of these are official military documents and could contain shocking/triggering details.

General:

Department of Defense Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms (DoD, 2001)

Good for looking up military jargon you don't know

Acronyms: pgs 488-606

Dictionary of United States Military Terms for Joint Usage (DoD, 1950)

Basic Training and Care of Military Dogs (US Army, 1972)

Military Working Dogs (US Army, 2005)

Good for any fics including our bestest boy (Riley)

Includes overview of training, administrative details, various jobs, and vet support for military dogs

Infantry Rifle Platoon and Squad (US Army, 1992)

provides doctrine, tactics, techniques and procedures on how infantry rifle platoons and squads fight

chapters covering doctrine, tactics, techniques and procedures, and includes a tactical standing operating procedure

State, Official, and Special Military Funerals (US Armed Forces, 1965)

Handbook for Next of Kin of Army Prisoners of War / Missing Personnel (US Army, 1972)

designed to provide important information in limited detail to the next of kin of missing and captured members in order to promote a better understanding of Department of the Army policies and procedures

unfortunately relevant for our favorite sudsy sergeant and his family :(

Communication:

Hand Signals

Radio Operator's Handbook (US Marine Corps)

Chock full of jargon and technical details that will unfailingly make you sound like you actually work with radio tech

Not recommended for anyone looking for a general overview

Tactical Single Channel Radio Communications Techniques (US Army, 1987)

See above

Combat Skills:

Combat Skills of the Soldier (US Army, 1984)

tells the soldier how to perform the combat skills needed to survive on the battlefield. These are basic skills that must be learned by soldiers in all military occupational specialties (MOS)

Great overview of camouflage, fighting positions, movement, communications, first aid, etc.

Hand to Hand Combat (US Marine Corps)

A little goofy but hey, hand to hand combat stays relevant, no matter how old the information is

Combat Training with Pistols and Revolvers (US Army, 1988)

Close Combat (US Marine Corps, 1999)

provides the tactics, techniques, and procedures of Marine Corps close combat

provides both the lethal and nonlethal close combat techniques needed to handle the situation responsibly without escalating the violence unnecessarily

Explosives and Demolitions (US Army, 2007)

the reference manual for explosives and demolitions procedures that support combat operations, as well as, peacetime training missions requiring demolition applications

Soap's favorite document (he'd probably know it front to back)

You know it's good when the table of contents is almost 20 pages long...

Camouflage, Concealment, and Decoys (US Army, 1999)

intended to help company-level leaders understand the principles and techniques of camouflage, concealment, and decoys (CCD)

Military Diving (US Army, 1999)

Likely the longest resource on this list

Incredibly in-depth; probably only useful if you're writing an entire mission underwater or involving serious diving

Combat Diving (Canadian National Defense, 2002)

contains the information required for the planning and execution of combat diving operations

A far more accessible resource for diving information than the Army diving manual (the Canadians know how to be succinct lmao)

Night Combat - Historical Study (Center of Military History, US Army, 1986)

Scouting and Patrolling (US Marine Corps, 2000)

provides the doctrinal foundation and the tactics, techniques, and procedures for scouting and patrolling from the fire team to the company level. Although the information focuses on infantry units, much of the information is also applicable to combat support units that are assigned patrolling missions

Officers:

Staff Duties in the Field (Canadian National Defense, 1995)

describes procedures for staff work prepared in support of field training exercises and for the planning and conduct of land force operations

Notes for Officers and NCOs on Methods of Instruction (School of Infantry, 1946)

A really cool teaching manual for officers and NCOs who are in charge of instructing new recruits. Doesn't outline what to teach so much as how to teach it

Army Non Commissioned Officer’s Guide (Us Army, 2002)

provides noncommissioned officers a guide for leading, supervising and caring for soldiers. While not all-inclusive nor intended as a stand-alone document, the guide offers NCOs a ready reference for most situations

people always forget that Soap and Gaz are leaders in their own right, with soldiers of their own to command (or at least they would've before joining the 141). This is an excellent guide for how they would act in a leadership position

Commander’s Tactical Handbook (US Marine Corps, 1988)

contains reference material frequently used to organize, plan, and conduct Marine ground combat operations. Its intent is to assist small unit leaders functioning at the company level and below, but it also serves as a field reference guide for all Marine leaders

Intelligence Officer's Handbook (US Army, 1998)

Probably not really relevant for anyone's fics; the 141 doesn't work in intelligence, and this handbook is for specific units within the US Army. An interesting read, though

Types of Operations:

Terrain:

Mountain Operations (Canadian National Defense, 1976)

Combat in Built-Up Areas (US Army, 1992)

Desert Operations (US Army, 1993)

Jungle Operations (Canadian National Defense, 1978)

Ground Combat Operations (US Marine Corps, 2002)

provides the doctrinal basis for the planning and execution of ground combat operations for ground forces

River Crossing Operations (US Army, US Marine Corps, 1998)

Mountain Operations (US Army, 2000)

Training for Urban Operations (US Army, 2002)

Guerrilla Warfare Tactics in Urban Environments Master's Thesis (US Army, 2003)

Not really an urban environment guide; explores whether or not the US Army needs better guidelines for urban warfare tactics

Other:

Guerrilla Warfare and Special Forces Operations (US Army, 1961)

Kill or Get Killed: Riot Control, Techniques, Manhandling, and Close Combat for Police and the Military (US Marine Corps, 1991)

Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Defense Operations (US Marine Corps, 1998)

Doctrine for Special Forces Operations (US Army, 1990)

Raid Operations (US Marine Corps, 2002)

Land Force Information Operations (Canadian National Defense, 1999)

describes a multidimensional concept used by the Army to achieve success across the continuum of operations. Information Operations (lO) is an essential combat function that must be integrated with the remainder of the combat functions to maximize combat power

describes the concept in detail, and outlines how lO relates to other combat functions and contributes to the success of commanders on the battlefield

Scout Platoon (US Army, 1999)

describes how the scout platoon conducts its primary missions, reconnaissance and security

focuses on the principles of platoon operations and on the tactics, techniques, and procedures (TTP) the platoon uses to acquire information and provide security and protection for other units on the battlefield

covers a variety of supporting tasks and operations the platoon must perform or coordinate, either as part of its reconnaissance and security missions or as assigned by the commander

Engineer Reconnaissance (US Army, 1998)

Operations in a Low Intensity Conflict (US Army, 1992)

provides tactical-level guidance to brigade and battalion commanders and staff officers for planning, controlling, and coordinating combined arms operations in a low-intensity environment

focuses on tactical units' tasks and missions across the operational continuum just short of declared war

Counterguerrilla Operations (US Army, 1986)

Counterinsurgency Operations (US Marine Corps, 2004)

Medical/Survival:

Basic Medical Information:

Basic Medical Terminology (US Army)

Special Forces Medical Handbook (US Army, 1982)

Aidmans Medical Guide (US Army, 1973)

Medical Platoon Leaders' Handbook (US Army, 2001)

Basic Human Anatomy (US Army)

Basic Human Physiology (US Army)

Basic Patient Care Procedures (US Army)

Force Health Protection Nutrition and Exercise Manual (US Navy, 1999)

Treating Wounds in the Field (US Army)

Combat Life-Saver Medical Tasks (US Army)

Medical Interoperability Handbook (ABCA Armies, 2000)

Combat Stress (US Marine Corps, 2000)

Combat Stress Control in a Theater of Operations (US Army, 1992)

Self Aid and Buddy Aid (US Army, 2000)

Taking Vital Signs (US Army)

Preventive Medical Services (US Army, 2000)

Food Service: Army Rations, Food Packets and Supplements (US Army, 1968)

Treatment of Biological Warfare Agent Casualties (US Armed Forces, 2000)

Physical Readiness Training for Combat (US Marine Corps, 2004)

Specific Scenario Survival:

Summer Survival Course Handbook (US Marine Corps, 2002)

Winter Survival Course Handbook (US Marine Corps, 2002)

Basic Cold Weather Training (Canadian National Defense, 1974)

Soldier's Handbook for Individual Operations and Survival in Cold Weather Areas (US Army, 1986)

Basic Cold Weather Manual (US Army, 1968)

Combat Water Survival (US Marine Corps, 2003)

Ordnance Materiel in Extreme Cold Weather 0 to -65 F (US Army, US Air Force, 1959)

Map Reading and Land Navigation (US Army, 2001)

Survival, Evasion, and Recovery (US Armed Forces, 1999)

A really cool survival guide; recommended read for anyone

chock full of fun and useful acronyms

What to Expect if You Get Shot

Finding Your Direction When Lost

Medical Aspects of Chemical and Biological Warfare (US Army, 1997)

Medical Evacuation in a Theater of Operations (US Army, 2000)

provides the philosophy of and doctrine for medical evacuation in a theater of operations (TO)

Tactics, techniques, and procedures for accomplishing the medical evacuation of sick, injured, or wounded soldiers are included

Environmental Injuries: Snakebite, Arthropod Bite/Sting, Plant Contact, Heat/Cold Injury (US Army)

Snipers:

Sniper Training (US Army, 1994)

The best sniper reference on the list

Not necessarily up-to-date but provides an excellent overview of every aspect of sniping, including equipment, ammunition, marksmanship, the effects of weather, field techniques, sniper positions, observation, mission prep, communications, tracking, etc

Sniper Training Program (US Navy SEALs)

Modern Snipers (2016)

Counter Sniper Guide (US Army)

Regardless of what we may call him, the individual who is shooting at police, firemen, soldiers or citizens is certainly dangerous. In order to counteract, we must employ a trained individual whose knowledge and skill fall within the dictionary description of a sniper, whom we shall refer to throughout the manual as a COUNTERSNIPER

Super badass ngl

Sniping (US Marine Corps, 2004)

Good explanation of sniper teams, equipment, training, skills, etc with helpful tables at the end

Special Operations Sniper Training and Employment (US Army)

Useful appendices at the end

Scouting, Patrolling, and Sniping (War Department, 1944)

Terrorism, Counter-Terrorism, and Intelligence:

Understanding and Surviving Terrorism (US Marine Corps, 2001)

Counterterrorism Handbook (2002)

Emergency Response to Terrorism (USDoJ, 1999)

Aptitude for Destruction: Organizational Learning in Terrorist Groups and Its Implications for Combating Terrorism (RAND, 2005)

Countermobility (US Army, 1985)

Counterintelligence (US Army, 1995)

Intelligence Preparation of a Battlefield (US Army, 1994)

#call of duty #cod #cod writing reference #military writing reference #declassified military documents #declassified military handbooks #declassified military field manuals #tombstone's epitaphs

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