#afghanistan situation

[chussy]

if your country is a part of NATO then joining your country's military is fucking psychotic imo. like you could just get sent to die whenever and wherever the americans want you to die in the name of profit. genuinely insane to put yourself in that situation

[navramanan]

Wish i could come up with an instant good response when an islamophobe harrasses me but all that happens is i think of a very stupid response, end up not saying anything at all and keep walking to get out of that situation

[toshkakoshka]

hey guys! planning on doing a lot of readings for a story i want to write, it’s a far cry fanfic taking place in west asia and is abt US invasions/involvements in west asia, so if anybody wants to help in giving sources (advice and personal experiences especially if you’re west asian also helps!) feel free to send them to me!

note: i AM currently reading on west asian issues regarding that whole deal, plus interferences from israel. i just need to know if there’s anymore sources i can find so i can read more!

[queer-scots-geordie-dyke]

There really is no better example of the racism of low expectations when certain far leftists criticise condemnation of the fucking Taliban as “peak white liberal feminism.” Women and girls in Afghanistan are being systematically removed from public life, denied the right to education, freedom of movement, of dress, even the right to speak in public or to each other. Animals have more rights than women under the Taliban.

And then you have these arseholes saying it’s imposing Western cultural mores on non Western societies to care about the welfare of these women, as if Afghan men couldn’t possibly be expected to know how to treat women like fucking human beings and they have the audacity to hold themselves up as “anti racist.” You’ve clearly shown what an incredibly low opinion you actually have of non white and non Western cultures if you think the situation in Afghanistan is remotely normal or indicative.

It’s absolutely putrid.

[lumsel]

David McBride is I think the funniest whistleblower in history, in a very dark sort of way.

Military lawyer David McBride is mad that the SAS keeps getting "wrongfully accused" of war crimes. He thinks the whole thing is all trumped up political bullshit and the investigations into them are illegal. The boys out there are just doing their jobs, but the top brass keep breathing down their necks casting aspersions on them.

He gets in touch with investigative journalist Dan Oakes to try and get his story out about how awful their treatment has been. He hands over a trove of classified military documents to support his case.

Dan Oakes takes one look at these documents and goes what the fuck. these guys are doing insane amounts of war crimes.

Oakes releases a bombshell article 12 months later about war crimes in Afghanistan, making a compelling case that they should be investigated harder over their conduct, essentially the exact opposite story that McBride wanted him to write.

The Australian Federal Police work out pretty quickly that McBride was the one who leaked those files to the press, and he flees to Spain for a time but eventually returns to Australia and is arrested. He faces time in jail for leaking the files.

Fortunately for him he also finds a trove of supporters. They help raise money to pay his legal fees and protest to raise awareness of the miscarriage of justice held against him. Unfortunately, this support is mostly predicated on the premise that he bravely risked it all to spread the word about the horrible crimes the SAS had been committing. He would prefer to correct them about this, but he is not really in a position to refuse their help.

It is something of an awkward situation.

[tamamita]

Palestinian bloggers on here seem to mostly be pretty anti-Assad even in the context of what's going on now, what's up with that?

There's nothing wrong with being anti-Assad. It's not a matter of whether one is being pro/anti-Assad. Assad wasn't "good", he was terrible and made decisions that would make anyone hate him, and nobody can deny that. It's a simple application of materialism in which we can analyse the situation and what would be the best outcome, and there is no doubt that once the Sunni majority and the other rebel factions have finished celebrating, there are other issues they're gonna have to face. You got a fundamentalist group of Sunni Muslims that aspire to establish an Islamic state and a minority of secularists that wish to establish a democratic state. This is not gonna end in a simple compromise. No religious minority in Syria is hopeful of these developments. They're the only ones who are scared.

It's interesting because even the late Syed Hassan Nasrallah (ra) came with the same conclusion. He did not like Assad and supported the Syrian people's aspirations, but he did not prefer an alternative regime ruled by a bunch of former ISIS/Al-Qaeda Takfiris backed by the West. This is exactly what happened in Afghanistan after the Socialist government was overthrown - there was a civil war with no favourable outcome.

[janus-borne]

When I sent this to my queue a few weeks ago, I didn't realize at first that this is part of a project that a close family member of mine has been a part of for several years now. It's something I really urge people, especially Americans, to learn more about. It was made by Jenn out of the pulped remains of the outfit she wore on the plane fleeing Afghanistan to the USA. There was a whole auction of work like this to support helping Afghan women like Jenn safely transition to civilian life so far away from their homes and families. There's a real sense of sisterhood and survivalism, and pieces like this were made as a step toward healing. There's more information through the auction link if you're curious, but it's something that just hits me in the gut every single time as it's all really beautiful, engaging work.

Jenn Hassin - Sisters of Solidarity, 2023

[dubiousdisco]

What is brazils viewpoint on illegal immigrants. Do they deport?

In Brazil, all immigrants have the same rights to education, health and work, whether they are refugees or not.

There are also some ordinances that provide for residence authorization for some specific nationalities.

ex haiti, venezuela, syria, afghanistan

There are no illegal immigrants. they may be in an irregular situation in the country, that being, not have an appropriate documentation for their situation. To live regularly in Brazil, you must have a residence permit. Not having the right document does not make a person a criminal, as this infraction is administrative. They will be able to resolve this situation and then be allowed to reside in Brazil. (source in pt)

The Constitution prohibits the extradition of native Brazilians and foreigners convicted of political or opinion crimes. Naturalized Brazilians can only be extradited for common crimes committed before naturalization or in the case of drug trafficking.

Deportation, provided for in Law 13,445/2017, known as the Migration Law, consists of the compulsory removal of a person in an irregular migration situation in the country. It results from an administrative procedure and is preceded by personal notification with an express list of irregularities and a deadline for regularizing the situation, in order to avoid deportation.

Also provided for in the Migration Law, expulsion is an administrative measure of compulsory removal of a migrant or visitor from Brazilian territory and impediment of re-entry into the country, for a determined period. What can give rise to expulsion is conviction for genocide or crimes against humanity, war or aggression, as well as the commission of an intentional crime, when there is intent, punishable by imprisonment. (source in pt)

Brazil has progressive and open immigration laws that allow migrants and refugees to quickly receive regularized status and apply for formal employment.

(Source in english)

Ministry of justice will restringe entry of immigrants without visa (in Brazil) source in pt

that's all i could find. there was a rise in deportation during 2020 (covid), 26901 when in 2019 it was 36. it is not usual.

the only personal experience i can share is that a lot of haitians live here in my city after 2018 and a lot of venezuelans arrive constantly, some start living here. and yeah never heard of them being deported from here personally

[cece693]

Personal Bodyguard

pairing: tony stark x male reader tags: you can't tell me Tony isn't bi or at least experimented in his youth, you become his personal bodyguard after the cave fiasco and iron man revelation, enemies-to-friends-to lovers, Tony really needs a hug, reader is set to become his friend (and more), military background

You’re used to working in tense environments. The military taught you that complacency is death and that vigilance is survival. You’ve seen your fair share of conflict, learned to read people and situations at a glance. That’s probably why Pepper Potts sought you out after Tony Stark’s dramatic return from Afghanistan. She looked you up and down with calculating eyes, recognized a bit of herself in your “don’t mess with me” attitude, and decided on the spot—you were the best candidate to protect Tony Stark from himself, and from the new, dangerous world he was plunging into.

Tony’s penthouse overlooks the Malibu coastline, the sun reflecting off the ocean waves and onto polished floors. There he stands—fresh from the workshop, grease on his tank top and that lopsided grin that only half-masks the shadows under his eyes. He spots you, sizes you up, and crosses his arms. “Pep, this is the solution you found?” Tony gestures at you dismissively. “A glorified babysitter?”

Pepper forces a polite smile. “A bodyguard, Tony.” You don’t rise to his bait. The best reaction here is none at all—just a stony expression. Let him get it out of his system. He cocks an eyebrow at your silence, clearly expecting some snark in return.

“Fine,” he says, turning on his heel. “Follow me. Or don’t. Whatever." Pepper shakes her head apologetically as she goes to leave. Before she goes, she places a hand on your shoulder, giving you an unspoken good luck. You already know you’ll need it.

Tony tries his best to make your life difficult. He’ll disappear from his home at odd hours, use his snark to try and aggravate you, or do something reckless like attempt a suit flight test above the Malibu cliffs. However, you're never that far behind and your patience is endless. One night, he’s just touched down too hard in the Mark II, crashing through his garage and damaging several of his expensive cars. You rush in, weapon at the ready, scanning for threats.

“Relax,” Tony says, struggling to peel off the broken armor. “It’s just me doing some, uh, routine test improvements.” You exhale slowly, then calmly dismantle your sidearm. No threats—except the one Tony poses to himself.

“You know,” you say eventually, picking up a piece of the shattered gauntlet, “if you keep messing around with these half-finished upgrades, eventually I won’t just be your bodyguard. I’ll be the one scraping you off the ground.”

Tony stares at you, momentarily struck by the genuine concern in your voice, before clearing his throat. “Point taken,” he mutters, but for the first time, he seems less antagonistic—and almost thankful.

The slow thaw between you and Tony continues. He starts sharing details of the Iron Man suit, half to show off and half because he’s realized you’re more at ease when you know everything that’s going on. You learn that behind the smug exterior, Tony is propelled by guilt, determination, and a heart that aches to do genuine good. And for your part, despite your initial refusal to get personally involved, you find yourself caring about him—protecting him matters, but so does understanding him.

Late nights often find the two of you in the workshop. Tony’s hyper-focused on some new repulser tech while you stand guard, occasionally offering your own insight to whatever he was working on. You’d never guess Tony would be the type to listen, but he does, especially when your suggestions keep him from blowing up half the lab. He’ll acknowledge your tips with a half-smile, or a nod that says more than words.

Pepper noticed the shift. She’d smile at you in passing, relief evident in her eyes. She once patted your shoulder and said, “You’re good for him. He trusts you, and that’s not something I say lightly.” Rhodey, Tony’s closest friend, warmed up to you fast. He appreciated having another military mind around. When Tony got lost in his own arrogance, Rhodey and you would share an exasperated look.

Then everything changes again when Tony becomes an Avenger. Suddenly, it’s not just small-scale threats or paparazzi you have to worry about—it’s cosmic forces, alien invasions, global catastrophes. You do your best to keep Tony safe in these new, unpredictable situations, but it’s a challenge.

The Avengers team is a powder keg of personalities. Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, openly clashes with Tony over leadership and moral ideals. You see how the tension weighs on Tony; he deflects with sarcasm, but you’ve come to know the signs of when he’s hurting.

One night at the tower, you’re standing off to the side while Tony and Steve butt heads—again. "Take away the armor," Steve says, voice steely, "and what are you?" The words hang in the air. Tony’s jaw tightens, and you can practically see his heart sink. It’s a cheap shot. And it’s wrong. You step forward before Tony can snap back with a trademark insult. There’s a calm coolness in your voice, the kind that hushes even the Captain.

“Tony Stark is the mind that built that suit,” you say evenly. “He’s the one who sees solutions where everyone else sees dead ends. If you take away the armor, you’ve still got the man who pulled himself out of a cave and saved his own life with scrap metal—because that’s who he is. He’s more than the suit, Rogers, and you know it.”

Steve meets your gaze and steps forward, but you aren’t intimidated. There were lines you simply wouldn’t let him cross, not tonight, not after he delivered that cheap shot at Tony without even knowing him. You can see Tony stiffen beside you, as if ready to jump in—or bolt. But you’re not about to let Steve’s words cut him down.

“Think very carefully about what you say next, Rogers,” you warn, voice low and steady. “Because none of you would be here—Avengers, Stark Tower, anything—if it weren’t for this man. Armor or no armor.”

For a split second, you can feel everyone’s eyes on you. Clint shifts uneasily near the back, Natasha straightens from her casual lean against the wall, and even Bruce lifts his head from the tablet he’s been absorbed in. Steve’s jaw tightens; he clearly didn’t expect you to stand your ground so bluntly—and you don’t care. Your top priority is Tony’s well-being, not theirs. With nothing more to say, you turn on your heel and head for the workshop.

By the time you reach the corridor leading to Tony’s private workspace, the echo of your own footsteps has become a steady, reassuring beat. Only then do you register the soft tread following behind you. He’s close—but conspicuously silent, which is out of character for a man who thrives on quips and banter.

“Sir, you have arrived at the workshop,” Jarvis’s polite voice chimes overhead, and the door slides open with a hiss.

You step inside and finally turn around. Tony lingers just past the threshold, his eyes lowered. His silence seems almost heavy, like he’s struggling to find the right words. “I never asked you to defend me,” he murmurs. “But you…you did. Why?” The workshop’s lights glow softly, illuminating half-built armor pieces and scattered blueprints. You let the sound of humming machinery fill the short gap before you speak.

“Because you needed someone to,” you say simply, though your voice carries an undercurrent of heat—residual frustration from your confrontation with Steve. “And because I wanted to.”

Tony’s gaze flickers upward—he looks uncertain, almost disarmed. “I can handle myself,” he says, though he doesn’t quite meet your eyes. It’s a weak protest, more habit than conviction.

You exhale, crossing your arms. “I know you can. Doesn’t mean you have to face it alone. Especially when the hits are coming from the people supposed to have your back.”

“You caught me off guard,” he admits, voice low, “standing up for me like that. Especially in front of the team.”

You stand your ground, letting the seriousness of the moment settle in. “You act like I never stand up for you.”

A wry huff of laughter escapes him. “Not the same way. Usually, you’re telling me not to blow up half my lab or reminding me to eat something other than coffee. This time you had my back when it counted.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” you ask, tilting your head. “I’m your bodyguard, Mr. Stark. That means I protect you—against outside threats and inside threats too. Even if that threat’s a super soldier with a knack for colorful speeches.”

“So that’s it?” he asks, a thin note of vulnerability in his tone. “You did it because it’s your job?” You take in his tense posture—shoulders rigid, hand flexing at his side. Tony’s never been good at showing his more vulnerable edges. Carefully, you move closer, letting your voice soften.

“Let’s get one thing straight. Defending you isn’t just me ‘clocking in.’ I do it because I care. Because I know you’re more than just the suit, no matter what Steve says.” Tony looks up at you in surprise, but you're not done yet. "If this was just part of my job, I wouldn't be spending all my free time down here with you. I would've jumped at the chance to quit when you offered it on a silver platter."

Tony cracks a half-smile, remembering when he outright tried to bribe you to quit, and you surprisingly rejected his offer. The money could've set you for life, supported you and a family if you so desired, but you simply shook your head and informed him about a meeting he had in the morning.

Tony moves closer, so close you can count the faint freckles along his cheekbones. “I hated the idea of having a bodyguard,” Tony admits, voice low. “But I’ve come to realize how much I needed you.” Your heart stutters, unsure of how to respond. Tony swallows thickly, looking uncharacteristically unsure. There’s no witty remark, no deflecting sarcasm. It’s just him, raw and honest, baring feelings you never thought he’d share.

“You’ve become one of the closest people in my life,” he continues. “I trust you in ways I don’t trust anyone else. Hell, Pepper might be the only other person who gets me anywhere close to this.” He hesitates, eyes flicking to your lips before returning to your gaze. “And…I’ve been trying to figure out how to say I might—well—I feel something for you.”

Your stomach flips, warmth blooming in your chest. There’s something surreal about this: Tony Stark, the man who refused to even acknowledge your presence at first, now openly admitting he cares—that he wants something more than just having you as security detail.

A ghost of a smile curves your lips. “I might feel something for you, too.” Tony’s grin is immediate—relief and mischief dancing in his eyes. He leans in, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades.

“Do I have to make an appointment to kiss my bodyguard,” he murmurs, “or is this—” You cut him off by closing the distance, your lips finding his in a slow, tentative kiss.

[radfemsiren]

Remembering my Afghani American best friend from my islamic elementary and middle school whose dad would get drunk every night and beat the shit out of her mother. She begged and begged for sleepovers because strangers in the house would make him leave, and I never told my parents about the situation (I lied and said she had no father or brothers) because I loved spending time at her house and staying up the whole night doing all the things we weren’t allowed to do that was “haram”… watching rated r movies, playing horror computer games, dancing to music videos on YouTube, cat walking in heels and makeup, scaring ourselves with creepypastas.

I remember we had a million stupid ass discussions about who the purple guy from five nights at Freddies was, or what a slenderman proxy meant, or if there were illuminati signs in Katy Perry music videos, or if emo drawings of Jeff the killer were hot. We’d whisper fight if Beyoncé or Lana del Rey was a better singer, or if teen wolf or maze runner had cuter boys. She was team Beyoncé and teen wolf.

We had to constantly be separated in school for talking, and we hated the creepy janitor and would throw wads of wet paper towel on the bathroom ceiling for him to clean up later. We got into so much trouble together, and would always smirk at each other in detention when we got yelled at. We’d shoplift lipsticks from the mall, and throw away expensive Quran transliterations from school, and sneak into the teachers break room and steal handfuls of ice and throw them on the imam/principal’s desk when he was gone to ruin his paperwork.

I moved away like I always had to do with my constantly migrating family and we lost touch. The last time I saw her in person was when we were still kids at her brothers wedding. I was laughing while I tried to ask her why the bride kept changing into different brightly colored dresses throughout the night. She wasn’t listening, and she burst into tears and cried about how her brother was just like her father and did every horrible thing he did. I held her and squeezed her so tight I thought her bones would break.

I recently tried to reconnect with her again but she’s already married, pregnant, and has abandoned social media and texting because it’s “haram.” Trying to talk to her was like speaking to a stranger… she had no interest in any of the things we would spend hours playing with before. “Islam is important to me now, I’m a new woman. We were messed up kids, it’s time to grow up.” She told me to never contact her again and hung up the phone.

Sometimes I feel like I failed her, and sometimes I understand that I was a girl trying to survive too.

One day I’ll save money to travel back there and talk to her in person. I’ll snap her out of it. We’ll spend all night up together again doing every terrible thing our teachers and parents and religious leaders warned us against, and laughing the whole way through it. We’ll get kicked out of bars and get into trouble and snicker our way through it all, knowing we’ve already won. I still have her dirty, worn, my littlest pet shop horse she gave me when we first met. I hold it in my hands when I see news of the what’s happening to the women of Afghanistan, and I feel like I’ve failed her again. That I’ll forever be stuck an immature child and her a miserable adult, both of us doomed, unable to be saved from our fates in the end.

[rcmclachlan]

Joining the 8x16 spec fic party. MCD warning!

+

Red Over Red

Buck/Tommy

Summary: Ships not under command identify themselves by showing two all-around red lights, one above the other.

Read on AO3

+

It takes Tommy maybe two minutes tops to do a post-flight check. It's so routine at this point in his career that he could do it in his sleep if someone would let him, but ever since Nico accidentally trafficked elephant tusks to Sacramento two years ago, napping in the cockpit has been strictly forbidden.

He's just about to take a look at the alignment of the skids when he hears his name. He turns to see Dana coming over. The blankness to her expression isn't what gives him pause, because that's just her face, but the fact that she's jogging.

Tommy's worked with Dana for eight years now and she has never moved at anything but a deliberate, sedate glide, no matter the situation. He once saw her stroll through the collapsing hallway of a building that was being actively consumed by a five-alarm fire like she was taking a leisurely hike through the Cucamonga.

As she hauls ass across the tarmac, he sees Dana's normally perfect finger waves are completely disheveled, and that fills him with more dread than anything this job or Afghanistan could possibly throw at him. She has her phone in her hand.

The moment she comes to a stop in front of him, her expression shifts to something resembling mild distress, which means that either half of L.A. was just sucked into an open fault line, or—

For a second, he thinks the klaxons are going off, or someone set off the fire alarm in the main hangar, because there's a high-pitched ringing in his ears that is trying to worm its way down into his vagus nerve and make him puke. Everything goes fuzzy, then slowly the knob turns until clarity comes back. He's bent at the waist, hands gripping his thighs, and Dana's the only thing keeping him from toppling over. Dizziness has him in a half nelson.

"Head between your knees, Kinard," she instructs quietly. "That's it."

He thinks about standing in line at DJ's Smoke Shop & Market weeks ago, bouncing on his heels while waiting for the guy in front of him to finish picking his lottery tickets, and trying to remember his nonna's recipe for home fries. The bottle of Prosecco he'd grabbed on a whim had been burning a hole through the basket and was probably cooking the eggs he was going to drop $13 on, but he couldn't stop looking at it. All he wanted to do was pop the cork and pour it into a pair of flute glasses he'd probably have to locate and unpack. Which sounded like a lot of work when it would be so much easier to simply pour the champagne into Evan's mouth and drink it off his tongue.

He thinks about Evan looking him in the eye and declaring he didn't need to feel anything for the people he slept with.

He thinks about living in a world where Evan Buckley isn't.

"Say it," Tommy chokes out, clenching his jaw against the sour crackle deep in the bone. He's going to be sick. He's going to— "You have to say it."

Dana places a gentle hand on his back. "It wasn't him, Kinard. Not him. Buckley's fine."

Sinuses burning, Tommy drops his head back down and takes a shuddering breath, nodding. Not him. Not him.

The thought of Evan dying, of Evan being dead and gone and higher than even Tommy can fly, slips every time it tries to catch a foothold in his brain. He refuses to even entertain it. This is a man who's survived being crushed by a rig, a tsunami, a pulmonary embolism, a lightning strike, among other things, and is still hungry for anything the universe might throw at him. And despite its best efforts, the universe is never going to get Evan to flinch first.

Clearing his throat, he ducks away from Dana and wipes his cheek with his shoulder. Their flight suits are polyester, so the evidence of this will dry fast. She won't say a word to anyone else.

"Who was it?" It comes out like it's being dragged over broken glass and he coughs to try and clear out the clog. "Oh god, it wasn't—it wasn't Howie, was it? Hen?"

When Dana doesn't answer, he looks up to find she's just holding out her phone to him.

He watches the duration of the call tick on, then squints at Dana. "Why do you have Eddie's number?"

Edmundo Diaz 03:51

"Is that the question you want to ask right now?" she asks, like she didn't politely goad Eddie into nearly putting his fist through a wall the last time they were in the same room.

Off kilter and still a bit dizzy, Tommy straightens up and takes the phone.

"Eddie? Who was it?"

He takes a deep breath in and holds it.

+

Despite the AirOps hangar being at least three times its size, the 118 station has always been larger than life. When Gerrard was in charge, every day it felt like walking into the gaping maw of some primordial beast, swallowed whole to be slowly digested, burned away over the course of a shift, until it spat him out just so he could do it again the next day. That he kept going back says more about him than it does about Gerrard.

The slew of interim captains they were saddled with after Gerrard felt like intermission, like they were just waiting for the second act to start. From the moment he stepped out of the rig and slapped a twenty into the pot to bank on his own odds, Captain Nash was there to stay. And he tamed that hateful creature enough that Tommy was able to leave every shift completely intact. 

Tommy stands on the sidewalk outside the bay and stares at the closed doors. When Tommy had been there, Bobby refused to close them.

"I don't like the look of a closed door. I don't like what it implies," Bobby had said when Tommy awkwardly asked about it. "I want everyone to know they're welcome here, day or night. I want them to know it's safe for them to be here. The doors stay open. Captain's orders."

Swallowing, he walks over to the regular entrance and lets himself in.

Normally you can hear the crew shouting and laughing from half a block away, and there are always people milling about, doing chores, fixing things, coming outside to shoot the shit with passersby. Tommy always loved the sound of it. He loved how tight-knit they all were, but also how willing they were to bring someone new into the fold. The handful of times he picked Evan up after his shift, Tommy would end up talking to at least four different people, which would always eat into their date nights. They had to cancel a reservation once, but it felt worth it just to be able to walk back to his truck with that warmth in his chest, with his cheeks aching from smiling and laughing so much. Evan never complained. If anything, he was happy to stay there a little longer himself.

Now the bay is so silent that Tommy can hear the racing of his own heart. Anyone else would think the place had been deserted.

As he walks past the parked rigs, he spies a few people from B-shift. Ravi has Moore wrapped up in his arms and is resting his chin on top of her head. Hoang is wiping down a hose coupling with jerky, inefficient movements, breaking away to dab at her cheeks with the cloth.

Ravi looks up and his soft gaze sharpens the second it lands on Tommy. This must be what a deer feels like right before the truck hits.

After a moment, he gives him a nod, which makes Moore's head bob a little, then tilts his chin toward the administrative offices.

Shaky, Tommy nods in thanks and heads in that direction.

With every step, the world gets a little grayer, a little darker, and he feels a bit like the prince in Sleeping Beauty, hacking away at endless, twisting brambles that are doing everything they can to slow his momentum.

It feels like he's been fighting for a year without a single moment's rest by the time he makes it to the admin section. When he sees who's hanging outside the office with NASH on the door like a guard dog, texting on his phone, Tommy wishes he'd taken a moment to catch his breath.

He must make a noise or something, because Eddie jerks like he's been startled awake and claps eyes on Tommy. Pocketing his phone, Eddie peels away from the wall he'd been trying to sink into to offer his hand to Tommy like nothing's changed between them.

"Thanks for coming," Eddie says, quiet, almost choked. It sounds like he even means it. "I wasn't sure—"

Tommy can't bear to hear the rest of that, so he takes Eddie's hand in his own and pulls him in for a quick hug. "Of course I came. Of course. Don't thank me for—there was never..." He takes a breath, steps back, and tries again. "H-How are you holding up, man?"

"About as well as you'd expect," Eddie says with a damp chuckle. He drops his head and heaves a sigh that Tommy can feel in his own lungs. "I'm grateful I was already here. The way I feel and probably look right now? They'd never have let me on the plane."

Tommy doesn't remember how he navigated Sea-Tac after his dad died. He honestly can't believe Jet Blue let him board, either.

"Has anyone heard...?" He doesn't know how to finish the thought, but luckily Eddie's always been perceptive. He was always on Tommy's wavelength.

"Not yet. Athena ID'd the b—" Eddie bites off the sentence suddenly and swallows the rest of it down. Tommy can taste the rot in the word anyway. "She confirmed it was him."

Tommy closes his eyes and tries not to think about the unshakeable Athena Grant pulling the white sheet off the love of her life.

He clears his throat. "Where are... where are Hen and Howie?"

"Hen went with Athena," Eddie says. "She left hours ago, so who knows. Chim's... Chim couldn't stay. He couldn't... it's worse for him, you know? He's been here the longest."

The idea of the 118 without Bobby is almost too much to bear, but the 118 without Howie Han makes Tommy want to rip his own throat out. 

"And... and where's..." Tommy clenches his jaw, then relaxes it deliberately. "Where is he, Eddie?"

Eddie answers by rapping a gentle fist against the wall he'd been standing against. Bobby's office.

"He's been in there for a while," Eddie murmurs, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. "Athena called him a while ago and he's been in there ever since. He won't come out. I tried to get him to eat something, but..."

Eddie shakes his head, then shrugs. His shoulders drop like someone cut his strings.

"And you think I...?" Tommy hates himself for even asking, because this isn't about him. He wishes he could grab the words out of the air and stuff them back down his throat, but they float away like clouds.

Thankfully, Eddie doesn't call him a selfish fuck. Instead, he musters up a little smile as he mockingly says, "I don't think, I know. So try to forget you're a fucking idiot and just get in there, would you?"

Huffing a laugh, because damn. Despite everything, including the low-grade jealousy that he can't seem to treat no matter how much he tries, he really missed this asshole.

Tommy reaches out to squeeze Eddie's shoulder, then he steps around him to get to the door.

It brings him up short. The door is closed. The bay doors are one thing, but Bobby's office door was never shut. It makes him a little nauseated just looking at the way it doesn't quite line up with the frame.

Through the window, he sees Evan, and his heart breaks at the way his body curves in on itself, hunched over Bobby's desk like an animal trying to hide a wound. A renaissance painter couldn't have captured such despair. Heartbreak of the Favored Son, oil on canvas.

Tommy has no idea what kind of reception is waiting for him on the other side of this door, but Eddie seems sure Tommy won't be turned away. He wouldn't have called Tommy if he thought it'd be for nothing.

"He needs you, man," Eddie had said on the phone.

He takes a deep breath in and holds it, and opens the door.

Almost immediately, Evan lifts his head, like he can tell who it is by the way the knob turns, and his expression is such a miserable mix of relief and devastation that Tommy doesn't stop to second guess himself. He doesn't need to. By the time he gets around the desk, Evan's already throwing himself into Tommy's arms.

"You're here," Evan sobs, clutching at him like he's afraid Tommy might disappear. There will be bruises everywhere he touches Tommy come morning. "Oh thank god, you're here. T-Tommy—"

"I'm here and I'm not going anywhere," Tommy whispers frantically into his hair, tightening his arms. "I've got you. Evan, baby, I've got you."

A tiny voice in the back of his mind hisses at him to close the door so no one else can see this, but he ignores it in favor of holding Evan tight enough that their bodies might soon start to merge together.

There are only open doors here. Captain's orders.

[justabigassnerd]

Reunion

Pairing - Tim Bradford x reader

Word count - 5,766

Warnings - inaccurate medical, military, and police scenes, sexist comments, mentions of domestic abuse, gun violence, blood, swearing, teeny bit of angst

Summary - years after the last time Tim Bradford had seen you, you turn up at Mid-Wilshire as his rookie

A/N - hey y'all! so so sorry it's been a while with no fics. I truly have no excuse and I hope the wait was worth it. this was an anon request so I truly hope this was worth the wait and I did your idea justice. I won't ramble but as per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

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Most people who worked with Tim Bradford knew about his past in the military. They knew he had served on two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. But they didn’t know about you and the friendship he had with you. You had served under Tim’s command on both deployments and had been his clear favourite of the whole regiment, but after an event, the two of you ended up parting ways against your own wishes and left Tim believing he was destined not to have nice things.

That was until one fateful day when you stepped into the Mid-Wilshire station.

You had arrived bright and early ready for roll call. You had just completed your time at the police academy and now you were reporting for duty on your first day of being a rookie. Upon entering, you got directions to the locker room and made your way to your allocated locker to change into your uniform before making your way out to the rec room and sitting in the front row with the other rookie. You recognised the older rookie from your time in the academy but your paths hadn’t really crossed often. You used the opportunity to get to know your fellow rookie while the room filled up before Sergeant Grey stood at the front of the room to begin the roll call. After he had gone through the normal briefings for the day, Grey turned his attention to you and the other rookie sat in the front row.

“As you can see we have two new rookies. If you could please stand up and introduce yourself and then I’ll assign you to your training officers.” Grey says as you both nod, bracing your hands on the table in front of you and easing yourself to your feet.

“I’m y/n l/n. It’s nice to meet you all.” You say, briefly surveying the room yet somehow missing Tim’s presence entirely and his reaction to realising it was you. Tim watched you quietly, unable to believe that after all these years of no communication, he was finally seeing you again. All attention then landed on the other rookie who introduced himself as Larry Macer, excitedly explaining how Officer John Nolan had inspired him to join the LAPD despite his age but as he rambled on excitedly, his hand moved to his gun belt and accidentally set his gun off, sending the bullet through the window and narrowly missing an officer who was walking by. After the situation had been calmed, Sergeant Grey turned to you.

“Officer l/n, your training officer is Officer Bradford. Go and get acquainted. Officer Macer? My office. Everyone else is dismissed.” Grey says, glancing at you briefly before turning his attention to Larry, missing how your eyes widened before you looked over your shoulder, locking eyes with Tim who offers you the faintest of smiles and a nod before you turn back around, offering a sympathetic smile to Larry before joining the rest of the officers in getting up from your seat and making your way to where Tim was waiting for you by the door, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi.” You say softly, not knowing how else to start a conversation after so long.

“Hi,” Tim replies, regarding you with a soft look you haven’t seen in years. As you go to open your mouth to say something to you, he cut you off.

“You should go and get the war bags, I’ll meet you by the shop. We can talk later.” Tim says quietly, making you nod as you go to get the things you need before you start patrol. As you wait, you’re approached by a female officer who smiles and introduces herself as Lucy Chen.

“I see you have Tim as your training officer. If you need someone to talk to after your patrol with him I’ll happily talk with you. He used to be my training officer so I can understand the frustrations that come with training under him.” Lucy says, making your eyebrows furrow slightly, you weren’t ready to spill that you already knew and had worked with Tim in the past but Lucy was describing someone who didn’t sound like Tim at all. Sure Tim had been strict when he needed to be but you couldn’t imagine needing to rant to someone about it.

“Is he that bad?” You ask innocently as you wait to get your bags.

“He has this tendency to give his rookies these ‘Tim Tests’ and it basically forms his whole opinion of you. He doesn’t even give you a warning he just does them. He didn’t even let me drive for the longest time. If it feels like he’s getting too much you can always talk to me.” Lucy offers kindly after explaining what she had to endure.

“Well thank you, Lucy. I’ll be sure to let you know if I need someone to talk to.” You say with a smile as you take the bags handed to you, nodding at Lucy before you head over to where Tim is waiting for you.

“You ready?” Tim asks, arms folded across his chest as you nod, adjusting the bags on your shoulders. Tim then leads you out to where the shop is, explaining certain components as you take in the sight of the vehicle, listening to every word he says. Once Tim told you everything he told every rookie, he looked at you with a smile.

“You drive,” Tim says, tossing you the keys as you catch them quickly, a look of shock covering your face. After what Lucy had said you hadn’t expected Tim to allow you to drive already.

“Thank you.” You mumble softly, loading the bags into the trunk of the shop before making your way to the driver's seat, climbing into it and starting the engine while Tim climbs into the passenger seat. As you begin your patrol, you can sense Tim’s slight awkwardness but he was trying to act normal.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Tim asks quietly as you glance at him out of the corner of your eyes.

“Tim, I’m not sure this is the time to have this conversation.” You say, feeling bad that you’re cutting the conversation off before it can even start but you knew that you and Tim needed to sit down if you were going to have a conversation about how long it had been since you last spoke.

“You’re right. We can talk properly on our lunch break.” Tim agrees with a nod, realising that you were right and that he needs to focus on teaching you and not let his emotions get in the way.

“I have missed you.” You then say softly, smiling briefly as you look over at Tim who smiles back.

“I’ve missed you too.” Tim then says before focusing his attention on his surroundings. You continue to drive around until you hear a call come through on the radio regarding a report of loud noise coming from a house that had neighbours both suspicious and annoyed. You accepted the report since you were in the area and made your way to the house. As you pull up outside the house, Tim quickly questions you on the protocol of how to approach this situation and judging by Tim’s smile, you had got the answer right when you replied. With confidence that you know the protocol, Tim nods and gets out of the shop.

“I’ll take the lead on this one, just to get you used to these types of calls,” Tim says as you then get out of the vehicle. You join Tim by his side and follow him to where one of the neighbours has been waiting for your arrival.

“Thank you for getting here so quickly, officers. They’ve been so loud and it’s not only disturbing the neighbourhood but I’m concerned about what’s happening in there.” The lady says quickly, rambling as you pull out your notebook, beginning to make notes as she talks, making sure you get her name as well.

“Okay, we’ll check it out, ma’am. You can go back inside now.” You say with a polite smile, gesturing for the woman to head back into her own house so you don’t have to worry about her getting involved in any altercations if the reported neighbours turn violent. After the lady goes back inside, you and Tim approach the door, hearing faint shouts inside. You and Tim exchange a glance before Tim lifts his hand to knock on the door, silencing the yells as you both wait for the door to be opened. Soon enough, a burly man opens the door, arms folded across his chest as if he is trying to intimidate you and Tim with his muscles.

“Hello, I’m Officer Bradford, this is Officer l/n. We got reports of some loud noise and your neighbours had complained. Is everything okay?” Tim asks, introducing both himself and you before explaining why you’d turned up at his front door.

“Everything’s fine. Just watching a football game you know how it is right Officer?” The man says to Tim with a forced laugh. Tim nodded slightly, his eyes flicking over the man's shoulder as you both caught a glimpse of someone moving behind him.

“Is there anyone else in the house we can talk to?” You ask, acting as if you hadn’t noticed the movement behind him and focused back on him as he shakes his head.

“Just me.” The man says as you see more movement coming from behind him.

“I’m sorry. I keep seeing something moving behind you. Is there someone else?” You ask again and the man whips around to see who you are talking about before turning back to you with a faux smile.

“Oh, that’s no one.” He insists.

“Well, I’d like to ask them a couple of questions if that’s alright.” You say, glancing over his shoulder once more, missing how his expression shifted.

“It’s no one so you don’t need to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. You just stick to standing there looking pretty, sweetheart. That’s all you women officers are good for anyway.” At his words, you clenched your jaw, unable to believe what he just said to you.

“Alright, who’s in the house?” Tim asks, ready to step forward but before he can, the man lashes out, shoving you aggressively and sending you stumbling back, your hip slamming strongly onto the wooden bannister on the porch steps making you wince as a strong wave of pain shoots through your hip. Tim was quick to grab the man before he could make a run for it, quickly pinning him to the floor and pulling his hands behind his back, reading him his rights as he handcuffed him.

“Are you okay?” Tim asks, looking up at you with worried eyes when he sees you holding your hip with a pained expression.

“No, I’m not. Get off me!” The man grumbles, attempting to wiggle out from under where Tim’s knee was digging into his back.

“Shut up. I’m not talking to you. y/n, are you alright?” Tim says, at first directed to the man squirming before returning his attention to you.

“I’m fine.” You reply, your words slightly forced as you straighten up, trying to hide a wince at the movement.

“Go and check the house while I load this asshole into the shop. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Tim says, getting up and hauling the man to his feet and leading him to the shop as you carefully pull your gun from your holster as the pain begins to fade.

“LAPD, is there anyone in here?” You call out as you enter the house, your hands steadying on your gun as you glance around the rooms, continuing to call out as you walk around.

“I’m coming out.” You hear a timid voice say and you wait as a woman exits one of the rooms you hadn’t checked yet. As she stepped closer you could see her bruising eye and the drying blood on her lips.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Come here so I can check you out.” You encourage gently, returning your gun to your holster and gently encouraging the woman over and leading her to the kitchen so you could wet some kitchen roll and gently wipe the blood away from her lip.

“Is Kevin-?” She starts tearily, choking on her words as you shush her gently.

“Hey, let’s not worry about him right now. What’s your name?” You ask quietly, changing the subject to try and calm her down.

“Diana.” She sniffles, a tear slipping down her cheek as you throw the bloodied paper towel in the nearest bin you can find.

“That’s a lovely name. I’m y/n.” You say gently introducing yourself to Diana with a soft smile.

“What’s going to happen?” Diana then asks fearfully, looking around as if Kevin was going to appear out of nowhere.

“I’m going to call for someone to come and help you and then my training officer and I are going to take Kevin to the station.” You explain carefully, watching as Diana wipes at her eyes, wincing as she rubs against the bruising. You take a second to step away from Diana, radioing for an ambulance and additional officers to head to the hospital with Diana to get statements and make sure she’s okay. You quickly get a response and you take Diana out to sit on the porch steps while you wait for the other officers and the ambulance to arrive. Soon enough, Lucy and another officer arrive, approaching when you wave them over. You get up from the porch steps, telling Diana to stay put while you get Lucy up to date.

“What’s happened? Is everything okay?” Lucy asks as you approach them.

“Tim and I got a report of yelling from this house and from the looks of things the man Tim’s loaded up into our shop had gotten physical with Diana. I’ve called for an ambulance just to get her checked over because I don’t know if she’s hit her head or anything and if it’s okay I’d feel better leaving her with some other officers to take any statements while Tim and I get that asshat back to the station.” You explain watching as both of them nod.

“You got it,” Lucy says, smiling softly as she glances over at Diana who is wiping her eyes.

“Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself yet. I’m Jackson West.” Jackson introduces himself quickly, shaking your hand as you smile, introducing yourself in return.

“How’s it been with Tim so far?” Lucy asks, her eyes flicking over to Tim who is leaning against the shop, arms folded as he watches the interaction carefully.

“It’s been fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” You say with a smile.

“Really?” Jackson asks incredulously, thinking back to when he had a patrol with Tim.

“y/n! Let’s go!” Your conversation is cut short by Tim calling out to you.

“I’m coming!” You reply, bidding a quick goodbye to Lucy and Jackson before crossing to where Tim is waiting for you. You approach Tim with a smile, your smile faltering when you see Tim’s concerned expression.

“I know I asked you earlier but are you okay? I saw you wincing after he pushed you.” Tim asks, concerned.

“I’m fine. It’s just where… well you know. We can talk about it later.” You say, nodding to assure Tim that you are okay.

“You good to drive?” Tim then asks.

“Yep.” You say as Tim nods, gesturing for you to get behind the wheel as he rounds the car to get in the passenger seat.

“Is he seriously letting her drive?” Lucy asks, looking over at Jackson to confirm they are seeing the same thing.

“Looks like it,” Jackson says, sparing a brief glance over at the shop before focusing his attention back on Diana.

“He never let me drive,” Lucy grumbles, watching as your shop pulls away and begins to drive off, leaving Lucy and Jackson to handle everything while you head back to the station.

It only takes you half an hour to get back to the station, but the whole time you had to put up with Kevin and his abundance of sexist comments he continually aimed at you. He was even undeterred by Tim’s threats to tape his mouth shut and by the time you reached the station, you were ready to be rid of him. Once you had processed him, you shoved him in the nearest cell.

“Aw come on sweetheart. You’re so uptight about nothing.” Kevin says, a cocky smirk on his face as you roll your eyes shutting the cell door on him and heading over to Tim.

“You handled that well,” Tim states, his smile small and supportive as you nod.

“It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with sexist assholes. You knew that though.” You say, receiving a nod as both you and Tim remember the ways some other soldiers had treated you.

“Look, let’s patrol a little more and then we can grab some lunch. Sound good?” Tim says, clearing his throat and gesturing with his head for you to follow him which you do so with a small smile. You follow Tim back out to your shop, both of you climbing into the vehicle and continuing your patrol. The patrol was relatively calm, you pulled over a few reckless drivers and stopped a car theft before it could even happen. By the time your lunch break rolled around your stomach was growling and desperate for food. You decided to head out to the food trucks near the station and you and Tim both ordered your food, as you reached to get your money, Tim quickly pulled out his wallet and paid for both meals.

“Tim, you didn’t need to do that!” You exclaim with a disbelieving laugh, slapping his arm as his jaw drops in mock shock.

“I wanted to.” He replies as he receives his change, putting it in his wallet before returning his wallet to his pocket.

“What a gentleman. Buying me lunch on my first shift.” You tease, finally finding the courage to slip back into the familiar dynamic you and Tim had shared back in your military days.

“What can I say?” Tim shrugs jokingly as you laugh.

“Oh, so he’s buying her lunch now?” Lucy complains, watching you and Tim from across the space.

“Lucy, it’s probably not that deep,” Jackson says, trying to reassure his best friend that she’s reading too much into everything.

“No, he let her drive. She’s not complained to me about a Tim Test. He bought her lunch. And, he’s smiling.” Lucy says, listing the various things she’s noticed from the morning alone.

“Okay, so what? Do you want Tim to go around traumatising every rookie he teaches? Maybe he was tough on you because he knew you could handle it.” Jackson says, stabbing his food with his fork as he offers a reason as to why Tim was acting differently.

“No, there’s something going on between them. I’m going to figure it out because Tim Bradford doesn’t smile and here he is acting like the total opposite of himself.” Lucy says, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair as she watches you and Tim collect your food and cross to a vacant table.

“So, what have you been doing since the Army?” Tim asks curiously, beginning to dig into his food as you shrug.

“I kinda jumped from job to job. Tried a couple of different office jobs for a while but you know me I can’t sit still for anything so I needed to get into a more active job and well here we are now.” You explain, thinking back to the various jobs you had before finding yourself a job in the police force.

“I am still so sorry about what happened back on that tour.” Tim apologises, his eyes portraying every ounce of guilt he was feeling.

“Tim, you have nothing to apologise for. It wasn’t your fault.” You say, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, tilting your head to the side slightly.

“I was your Sergeant. It was my job to look after you all. And out of everyone, I let you down the most.” Tim argues, watching as you shake your head, the conversation feeling all too familiar.

“You’re also the reason I’m still alive. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.” You emphasise, getting a sudden burst of courage to reach across the table and squeeze Tim’s hand as both of you remember that day.

“How much longer did they say we’d be out here?” You ask, walking alongside Tim as your squadron patrols the perimeter outside the base you were currently living in.

“A couple more months? I don’t know we’re mostly playing it by ear right now.” Tim replies, his eyes flicking around as he surveys the area.

“Well, I suppose it’s not awful. It means I get to spend more time with you.” You say with a joking wink as Tim scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes at your comment.

“I suppose being stuck with you for a few more months isn’t the worst thing in the world.” Tim muses, cocking an eyebrow as you gasp with a smile, lightly slapping his shoulder.

“I’m a delight to be around and you know it.” You brag, looking at Tim as he lets out a soft sigh and shrugs lightly.

“You’re definitely not the worst of the bunch I’ll give you that.” Tim then says.

“You can admit it. I know I’m your favourite. Come on, I won’t tell the others. Promise.” You say, glancing around and noticing that none of the of the others were in earshot. But before Tim could even open his mouth to respond a gunshot rang out, the bullet embedding itself in your hip. You turned to Tim with a look of terror he had never seen from you before and soon enough another bullet hit your shoulder, sending you to the floor.

“Get down!” Tim yells out to his other soldiers, all of them diving behind cover as Tim pulls you behind cover with him, instantly analysing your wounds and bracing a hand over each wound, pressing down as you cry out in pain.

“I know. I’m sorry. We’ll get you out of here.” Tim says reassuringly, hearing more bullets flying and ducking down over you, shielding you from any potential harm. Tim then digs around in his various pockets and pouches and manages to find some gauze that he holds on each of your wounds, apologising again as you whimper.

“T-Tim…” You try, only to be gently shushed by Tim.

“Don’t try to talk. I got you, okay? I’ve got to make sure my favourite gets back alive, right?” Tim jokes weakly, laughing as tears begin to well in his eyes. You let out a weak chuckle of your own, instantly regretting your actions as you wince at the pain. Tim was vaguely aware of people yelling and more bullets firing but his sole focus was on getting you to safety. As the gunfire begins to quieten down, a vehicle pulls up alongside Tim and medical personnel leap out, loading you onto a stretcher as you groan in pain and as Tim goes to follow them, he’s stopped.

“Sergeant Bradford. We’ve got it from here, focus on the rest of your squadron.” They say, stopping Tim in his tracks as he’s brought back to the reality that the rest of his squadron was also there.

“Are you all okay?” Tim asks, crossing to everyone as they begin to make their way back to base, even more vigilant than they were earlier.

“All good, Sarge.” 

“Can’t believe those assholes shot y/n.” Tim gets a variety of responses from his squadron as he ushers them back to the base, not wanting to risk the safety of his squadron any further. The moment, they all made it back to the base, Tim turned to his squadron.

“Okay guys, take some time to decompress. I’ll come and check in with you all when I can.” Tim says, getting nods from everyone as they disperse. Tim then turns and heads in the direction of the medical area on base.

“Is y/n l/n here?” Tim asks the first medic he finds, thankful that it was the medic both you and him were familiar with.

“Yes. I think they’ve just finishing up with treating her. She should recover well but we’re worried about the placement of one of the bullets. She may need to be flown back home.” Mark explains, folding his arms as he explains the situation.

“Shit.” Tim sighs, bowing his head in shame as the seriousness of the situation sinks in.

“I’ll go and check on her and if everything’s all sorted you can see her,” Mark says with a soft smile before heading back to check in on you. Tim waits awkwardly for a moment, anxiously beginning to pace as a way to try and control his anxieties as best he can. As he paced, Tim made the fatal mistake of looking down at his hands where his gloves were stained with your blood, a reminder of what had just transpired. He pulled them off in a hurry, shoving them as deep into his pockets as he could as if that would make them disappear. Just as Tim shoved his gloves away, Mark returned.

“You can go and check on her.” As soon as those words leave Mark’s mouth, Tim makes his way back to where you were lying on a bed, smiling weakly at him.

“Hey, Sarge.” You mumble, eyes half closed as you look at Tim.

“Oh, now I’m ‘Sarge’?” Tim says jokingly as he eases himself down into a nearby seat.

“Hey, I’ve been shot I think I can call you whatever I want.” You joke, laughing softly which makes you wince at the pain.

“How are you feeling?” Tim then asks softly.

“Like I got shot.” You say, attempting another joke as Tim watches you with an unimpressed expression.

“Funny,” Tim replies dryly.

“Aw come on, I’m hilarious.” You say, attempting to bring a smile to Tim’s face.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Tim says seriously, making your smile falter.

“I am sorry. I should’ve paid more attention to what was going on around us.” You admit, your gaze flicking to the bed as Tim lets out a soft sigh, softening at your dejected expression.

“It’s not your fault. I’m the Sergeant it was my responsibility to watch out for all of you and I let you down.” Tim argues as you sigh.

“Tim…” You start, not knowing what else you could say to convince him that he wasn’t to blame for what happened.

“Have they said what’s happening with you?” Tim then asks, changing the subject slightly.

“They’re… they’re sending me back home. Apparently, the bullet that hit me first is pretty embedded in my hip and there’s not much they can do about it out here. They don’t think I’ll be able to come back.” You say, tears already beginning to well in your eyes.

“Like come back to active duty? I’ll be able to see you on base back home.” Tim asks, confused as to why you were so visibly upset.

“No, Tim.” You say quietly and that makes Tim realise what you meant.

“Oh…” He mumbles, his gaze flicking to the floor. He now understood that you meant that you had a high chance of getting medically discharged completely with your injury.

“I can come and visit you when I’m back stateside.” Tim offers, smiling lightly as you nod.

“I’d like that.” You say with a soft smile.

Despite that offer. You never saw Tim again. Until you joined Mid-Wilshire.

You’re shaken out of your thoughts of the past by Tim sighing lightly, shaking his head and withdrawing his hand from underneath yours, feeling unworthy of the affection you were showing him.

“I still feel awful. I said I’d come and see you once I came home and I never did.” Tim says, watching as you shrug.

“I didn’t exactly reach out either. I’m just as much to blame.” You say with a soft laugh, knowing that you could’ve easily reached out to Tim.

“But I said I’d visit you. You got discharged from the Army and I didn’t even try hard enough to contact you.” Tim insists.

“I didn’t exactly make myself easy to find.” You argue back, knowing that after you were fully discharged from the Army you practically hid away for the rest of your recovery, moping about the career you had lost.

“It seems like the world didn’t want us apart for too long though. It got me assigned here, didn’t it?” You then say, brightening as you think of the good that has come out of this.

“That is true,” Tim admits with a soft laugh, nodding in agreement. The two of you then spend the rest of your lunch break talking and catching up on the things you’d missed out on over the years you hadn’t seen each other. As you finish telling Tim about a story from your time at the academy, Tim checks his watch and notices the time.

“We should head back out on patrol. I’ll throw the trash out, you can wait by the shop.” Tim says, already beginning to pick up all the wrappers and packaging before you can even protest and even when you went to try and object, Tim gave you a look that shut you up before you could say a word.

“Alright.” You sigh, getting up from your chair and heading over to the parked vehicle while Tim heads over to the bin.

“Okay, Tim. What is up with you and y/n?” Lucy demands, approaching Tim and folding her arms as he raises an eyebrow.

“And what makes you think you have any right to demand that information from me?” Tim asks, an authoritarian tone slipping into his voice as he talks.

“I’m not a rookie anymore and I’m curious. You’re treating her so much better than you ever treated me.” Lucy states, watching Tim carefully.

“It’s none of your business.” Tim then says, rolling his eyes as Lucy sighs heavily.

“Please.” Lucy pleads, making Tim exhale strongly.

“Fine. I used to be y/n’s Sergeant in the Army. We haven’t seen each other in years and I know how she learns best so I’m going to teach her in a way that’ll be effective to her.” Tim says, frustrated that he’s being forced to explain himself but he knew it would get Lucy off his back and he knew that he could trust her to not spread it around. At least not too much.

“Oh…” Lucy starts.

“I taught you the way that I did because I knew it would be effective. I wasn’t an asshole for the sake of it.” Tim explains further, feeling bad that Lucy felt he was being harsh for the sake of it. He knew Lucy was a capable police officer so his harsh method had been because he knew she could do it.

“Right… I’m sorry for acting like that I was just expecting you to act the way I was used to and when you didn’t I guess it threw me off.” Lucy stammers, stumbling over her words as she apologises.

“It’s okay, Chen. Just don’t go blurting it around everywhere. I need to go back on patrol so I’m trusting you.” Tim says, forgiving Lucy for her outburst. After bidding each other a quick goodbye, Tim makes his way back over to where you were waiting by the shop and you go back out on patrol.

The rest of your patrol went relatively smoothly. You got called out for various calls and your confidence began to grow with each different call you worked on and by the end of your shift, you felt like you had a successful shift. As you got back to the station and exited the shop, you turned to Tim with a smile.

“How did I do?” You ask, looking at Tim and trying to gauge his reaction, reminding him of when he first became Sergeant and had spent time overseeing his squadron’s training and you had asked him how you’d done after practising some shooting.

“You did great,” Tim replied, exactly the same way he had done years ago when you had shown off your shooting ability.

“I can’t believe I’ve finished my first shift.” You mumble, unable to believe that your first shift was over. You had worked so hard since your injury to get into a good enough condition to be able to maintain working in such a demanding job like the LAPD and you had proved to yourself that you could do it.

After returning the war bags, you and Tim head into the locker room to get back into your civvies. When you leave, you bump into Tim once more as you head out to the car park.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Tim.” You whisper softly, smiling at him which he reciprocates. Tim’s eyebrows furrow for a moment in thought and before you could ask him what was wrong, he speaks up.

“Do you want a grab a drink with me? My treat.” Tim says in a moment of bravery, his question taking you aback for a moment before a smile breaks out across your face.

“How can I say no to you?” You reply, making Tim’s eyes widen before a large smile breaks out on his face.

“Great! Give me your number and I’ll text you where to meet me.” Tim says, and you nod, pulling out your phone and giving Tim your number. Once you have each other’s numbers you prepare to head your separate ways to get ready before heading to the bar.

“I’ll see you later, Tim.” You say before you begin to walk away, unable to contain the smile that remains on your face as you make your way back to your car.

Yes, it had been years since you last saw Tim Bradford. But he still owned your heart like he had never left. And you couldn’t be mad at him about it for a second.

Tim Tags (comment or ask to be added):

@callsigns-haze

[afloweroutofstone]

The inevitable downfall of the violent, dictatorial, neoliberal government of Assad is itself a moment worthy of celebration; yet the future of Syria is now up in the air. The hopes of the Syrian people now depend on the answers to many questions that we cannot conclusively predict right now. These unknowns include:

How will HTS function as a national government? Has their signaling towards a more moderate strand of Islamism in recent years been sincere, or was it just a show to allow them to function as the center of power in a rebel movement ranging from jihadists to secular socialists? Are they either motivated to or capable of making good on their promises of reconstruction and national institution-building out of the ashes of what now constitutes Syrian politics? Will they be a theocratic monolith like the House of Saud, a weak pluralist semi-democracy like Lebanon, a diverse semi-autocracy like Turkey, something more reminiscent of Assad’s secular nationalism, something else entirely?

Will HTS be able to establish unified control of the security situation? There is currently a lack of centralized authority, a rapid formation of new organized criminal syndicates trying to either loot or establish control over slivers of territory, and dozens of ideologically-motivated armed rebel groups with only loose loyalties to the HTS government. The Taliban government in Afghanistan is still fighting Islamic State rebels for full territorial control to this day. How long will this fighting last in Syria, and what forms will it take?

If HTS can establish control, will they be willing to be restrained in their monopoly on violence, or will they attempt to rule purely by force? This can often be a make-or-break moment for the evolution of new post-war governments.

How will the interventionist powers with a vested interest in Syria react? Russia owns a naval base and just lost an ally; the US owns a chunk of Syrian territory; Israel is already making offensive moves; Turkey is now the closest ally and sponsor of the new government; and Iran has its own proxy forces in the conflict (not to mention supply lines to other proxies in the Middle East). Is Turkey getting its first puppet state in the region (besides Northern Cyprus)? Will the new Syria be pressed in from all sides? Is it even possible for an independent Syria to emerge from this?

How aggressively will Israel pursue control over the Golan Heights? What has long been a frozen conflict is already turning hot now that Israel's sending troops in to expand its effective lines of control and double down on its (illegitimate, illegal) occupation of the area. What does HTS do in response, and more generally, how do they deal with the fact that they're now neighbors with Israel?

There are already some early signs of refugee inflows returning from the diaspora-- how widespread will this be, how quick will it be, and how it we be distributed geographically? Will states with large refugee populations pressure them into returning? There are perhaps 10-15 million Syrian people living abroad, with more than five million just in the countries immediately surrounding the nation- what happens to all of them?

Will the Kurds be allowed to participate in the post-war political process? This might seem to imply some form of formal break with the PKK in order to appease Turkey enough to participate in the official deliberations on Syria’s future. I'd be interested to hear what kind of arrangement they might pursue- maybe some form of autonomous zone comparable to that of Iraqi Kurdistan?

Will there be retaliatory violence against the Alawite minority who were favored by Assad’s dictatorship? Against any of the other ethno-religious minorities who faced violence by virtually every side of this conflict? Wars of this intensity do not vanish overnight, especially in a nation like Syria which is fractured along ethnic, religious, and political lines. HTS has made a point of noting that they believe in protecting minorities in Syria, but the test will be in how they now treat Kurds, Yazidis, Alawites, Druze, etc., etc.

[bullet-prooflove]

Recipe For Disaster: Rip Wheeler x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @alisbackalleybbq @mia1653 @privatetruths

You have a problem.

It comes in the form of a six foot three Army Ranger that you find standing in your kitchen, wearing an apron and following a recipe from one of your mother’s old cookbooks.

“Harry.” You say as you hear Rip’s footsteps on the porch behind you. “What are you doing here?”

“Making dinner.” Your ex-fiancé says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world before leaning over to adjust the temperature setting on your oven. “I thought I’d make you something special for your birthday.”

Your birthday…

That was three months ago.

You understand almost immediately what Harry’s in the midst of one of his episodes. They’ve become more common over the recent years, they often take the form of phone calls because he forgets the two of you aren’t together anymore. It’s part of his condition, a traumatic brain injury he’d received when an IED exploded back in Afghanistan. It fucks with his memory, makes him unpredictable.

Right now he’s reliving your birthday from five years ago, the one where cooked your mother’s humble pie before he got down on one knee and proposed to you in front of the fire.

You feel Rip’s presence behind you, the shift in the air as his gaze comes to land on the stranger in your home, the one with the knife in his hand. It glints wickedly in the light, reminding you of just how quickly this situation can turn if it’s not handled right.

“Rip.” You say as calmly as possible because you know that every single instinct in him is vying to take down the threat. “This is Harry.”

You see the moment it dawns on him, who Harry is. His dark eyebrows furrow into frown because Harry shouldn’t be here, he should be in the VA care facility outside of Bozeman that specialises in looking after veterans with his type of illness.

“You staying for dinner Rip?” Harry asks him, his hand trembling just a little as he continues to dice the carrots into cubes.

“I…Yea.” Rip responds because there’s no way in hell he’s leaving you in the company of a man who once choked you out in the midst of a breakdown.

“Cool.” He says setting the knife down, before he clenches and unclenches his fist. “Man I do not know what’s going on with my hand today.”

You know. It’s another effect of the brain injury, a tremor that comes and goes depending on his stress levels. Escaping from the facility, making the journey here and breaking into your home, it’s all exacerbated his condition and you know what comes along with that, you still have nightmares about it.

“Why don’t I help you out there?” Rip says, stepping into the kitchen, his palm coming to rest upon the knife, pressing it flat onto the counter. “You can start lining the tin with that pastry and I’ll take care of the chopping.”

Your body tenses because you aren’t sure how Harry’s going to react to another man stepping onto his territory. You wonder if his fight or flight response will kick in, the way it usually does. To your immense surprise he concedes by nodding his agreement and  busying himself with the task at hand. The relief you feel in that moment is palpable, Rip must see it in your features as he tilts his head up to meet your gaze.

“Imogen, why don’t you make those calls.” He says gently before tipping his head towards Harry. “I’ve got this.”

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[reality-detective]

The real story behind the Benghazi attack:

Ambassador Stevens was sent to Benghazi to secretly recover US-made Stinger Missiles that the State Department had provided to Ansar al Sharia in Libya without Congressional approval or oversight.

Hillary Clinton, as Secretary of State, had facilitated the arms deal with Stevens and private arms dealer Marc Turi. However, some of the shoulder-fired Stinger Missiles ended up in Afghanistan and were used against US forces.

On July 25th, 2012, a US Chinook helicopter was shot down by one of these missiles. It didn't explode because the Taliban failed to arm it properly, but the helicopter had to make an emergency landing. An ordnance team retrieved the missile’s serial number, which led them to a Stinger missile stash in Qatar controlled by the CIA.

Obama and Clinton were in full crisis mode, so Stevens was sent to Benghazi on a high-stakes mission to recover the remaining missiles. This mission is why rescue teams were given "stand down" orders during the siege of the US Embassy.

It was the State Department, not the CIA, that had supplied the Stinger Missiles to our enemies, as CIA chief General Petraeus had refused to approve the shipment due to concerns about their potential use against civilian aircraft.

When Petraeus refused to back Obama’s narrative of a "spontaneous uprising" sparked by an anti-Muslim YouTube video, Obama and Clinton turned on him. Obama’s handling of the situation was treasonous.

This is what the investigation is about—why Hillary had a private server (to delete the evidence) and why Obama, two weeks after the attack, lied to the UN, calling it a result of the YouTube video, even though everyone knew that wasn’t true.

Additionally, the Taliban understood that the Obama administration had illegally aided the enemy without Congressional approval and began pressuring them to release five Taliban generals from Guantanamo. Bowe Bergdahl was used as a cover for that release.

Everyone knew Bergdahl was a traitor, but his exchange was used to hide the fact that the Taliban had blackmailed Obama about the unauthorized missile deal.

We have a compromised, corrupt president and a serial liar as Secretary of State. This is likely why no military support was sent to Benghazi—because the administration knew the enemy had Stinger Missiles, and using them to down military aircraft could trace back to the CIA in Qatar and the State Department’s illegal arms deal in Libya.

Share this story widely to spread the truth about Benghazi. 🤔

[apdreadful]

I’ve decided that from here forward I’m writing Tommy and Buck/Evan as long term canon. In the words of Buck himself “Who cares?!”

I get the feeling that Tommy is difficult to get really angry. Mostly based on his past. And his general roll with the punches attitude thus far. So I don’t foresee a lot of strife or fighting in his future with Buck. Except the first time Tommy experiences the after of that big marshmallow Evan Buckley doing something really dangerous and reckless..again.

And Tommy who never gets angry, who never shouts at Buck, who flew a helicopter into a goddamn hurricane in the middle of the ocean, really loses his shit this time because Buck cannot understand why Tommy is so upset that he dropped into a dangerous situation against orders AGAIN.

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from shouting “Bobby told you not to go in. He told you not to risk it. That the floors were too unstable”

“There could have been someone left” Buck replies “Someone needed to check. It had to be me”

“Why? Because you’re fucking super human? The great Buck Buckley from the 118 who scoffs at danger, has survived a tsunami, getting trapped beneath a fire truck, throwing a blood clot, and was officially dead for three minutes after getting struck by FUCKING LIGHTNING!”

“How do you know about all of that?”

“That isn’t what matters”

“I think it is” Buck takes a step toward Tommy “Have you been stalking me babe?”

Noticing the mischievous smile Tommy shakes his head “Oh no no no. You are not going to adorable your way out of this”

Bucks shoulders sag and he sighs “I’m ok Tommy. Not even a scratch”

“I can see that” Tommy lets out a deep exhale “I understand the risks of the job. I’m not like your exes who would get all distraught over you removing a cat from a tree. But for fucks sake, you are worse than the EOD guys when I was in Afghanistan with the walking - or in your case running or jumping- right into the worst case scenario with no thought of your own safety” Rubbing his forehead he continues “Evan. You’ve got a savior complex and it’s noble and selfless..”

Buck cuts him off “It’s not a savior complex. I’m not stupid. I understand that sometimes no matter what you do you can’t save them. But sometimes maybe you can, and in those cases, I just make the most sense”

Tommy crosses his arms to keep from strangling him or kissing him stupid again to shut him up “How is that? How does you possibly dying make any sense?”

“They all have people that need them. They all have someone they belong to and..” he trails off with a small shrug

And Tommy hears the words he doesn’t say. He is…expendable. And just like that all of the anger drains out of Tommy to be replaced by a something else. “Evan” he says softly.

“I know” Buck interjects “I know that people love me and they would be sad, especially Maddie. And I don’t want to die. But I don’t want someone who has someone they need, and that needs them, to die either. I couldn’t live with that”

Tommy closes his eyes. This man..How can he be so adorable and selfless, yet so completely stubborn and a pain in the ass about his own safety?

Once he calms his thoughts and finds the words he wants to say, he opens his eyes to see Evan looking at him calmly. Like he expects Tommy to see the sense in what he said.

“Evan. I know we haven’t really put a label on this. On us. But that’s because I don’t want to pressure you. I’m the first man you’ve been with and you’re still figuring out who you are, and I understand that. But let me clarify something for you. I need you to come back to me. Ok?”

Buck blinks “Huh”

“I need you to come back to me” he repeats “Like Bobby needs Athena, and Karen needs Hen, and yes like Maddie needs Chimney.

“And Jee-un. Jee-yun needs her dad”

“Yes, and in that same vein, Christopher needs Eddie” he agrees, trying not to give in to his exasperation. “I need you. I am that person who needs you to come home Evan”

Evan stops whatever he was about to say. Startled awareness creeping into his eyes..Tommy sees a mix of emotions flit across his face. Surprise, joy, fear, everything just races across that expressive face and then Evan sinks onto the barstool at his kitchen island. His hands coming up to cover his face.

Tommy’s stomach clench’s. He pushed too hard, too soon “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I do care and want you to come home but..”

Buck looks up at him “Don’t you dare take that back”

“I’m not taking it back. I just don’t want to push you”

Something else crosses Evans face at that..but he tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. “You aren’t pushing. You aren’t pressuring me. I am in this just as much as you. I just don’t know how to say what I want to say without it sounding lame and emo as shit”

“Did you just hear me? You can say anything to me Evan. Whatever it is”

Buck rolls his bottom lip between his teeth again. “I’ve never questioned why I do this…I mean it’s the whole reason I was born. To save my brother. To save Daniel. That’s what I do, that’s who I am. It’s why I became a firefighter. To be the one who saves people. The 118 is my family. And I would do anything to protect them from harm”

“I’m not asking you to stop. I would never ask that. I just want to remind you that you matter to a lot of people, and you also have someone who is waiting for you”

Bucks voice is thick “I know that. I get that. But…Nobody has ever. I have never belonged to anyone, like that”

In a sense of deja vu Tommy closes the short distance to Buck. Tipping his face up, he kisses him. Not soft and gentle like their first kiss in this kitchen. But bold and deep. Branding Evan with his mouth. Pulling back he says fiercely “You belong to me like that. For as long as you want..you belong to me and I belong to you, like that”

“I will ALWAYS need you to come back to me Evan”

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