#and roll into Afghanistan and then Iraq

[mimsyaf]

It’s often weird being a Gen Xer on the hellsite but never more than on 9/11.

[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

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Lacking Data

Collecting data and seeking insight in everything significant to his work, has always been Sherlock’s highest priority. And he’s been quite successful in his endeavours too. But when it came to personal matters regarding himself and romanticism, he declared defeat. Which he didn’t bother to linger on. Until one day, when he met a man, most people thought of as ordinary, even boring.

Sherlock encountered Mike Stamford one of the last days of January. When Mike asked how he’d been, Sherlock told him he was searching for someone.

“Dead or alive?” Mike asked with a grin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes exasperated.

“I could use a flatmate. Preferably a living one,” he retorted dryly. “But…”

He trailed off, and Mike prompted him to complete the sentence.

“As you know, I’m no easy man to be around. I can’t think of anyone wanting to share quarters with me.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Sherlock. I’m sure there’s someone out there that match your criteria,” the doctor assured him.

Sherlock just scoffed and turned back to the microscope.

***

The experiment proved to be fruitless, so he sent Molly to get him coffee. When the door opened, far too soon for it to be her, Sherlock startled. He was not prepared to see Mike again, but what made the detective almost lose it, was the man Mike brought with him.

Ex-military. Doctor. Psychosomatic limp. Deployed somewhere warm.

Slowly, Sherlock approached Mike’s old friend from medical school, John Watson.

His face was open, trusting. He didn’t hesitate when Sherlock said he needed a phone, which he really didn’t.

“Here. Take mine.”

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

Sherlock didn’t need to seek insight. All of it was clear as day to him. Served on a silver plate. The phone told him the rest of the story. 

Granted, he’d been wrong about Harry, which John told him about the day after.

“There’s always something,” Sherlock muttered under his breath.

John just looked puzzled, but mostly awestruck. Not one word of mockery, distaste, or anger. Just: Amazing. Extraordinary. Brilliant.

When Sherlock told him what people normally said when he deduced them to shreds, John frowned and clenched his fist, the one not holding his cane.

It seemed like he was ready to punch the people who told Sherlock to piss off.

“Where have you been all my life?” he wanted to ask the remarkable man, but Sherlock was too afraid, so he stayed aloof, playing the sociopath he claimed to be.

***

Despite Angelo’s rather boisterous appearance, Sherlock always felt a calmness fall over him when he was around the man. He wanted to show John off to his Italian friend, and simultaneously letting John see a different side of Sherlock. It was a risk to let his guard down, but if his calculations were correct, the outcome would be glorious.

So, instead of biting John’s head off when he subtlety asked about Sherlock’s romantic preferences, he answered truthfully.

“Yes, John. I am unattached. Just like you.”

Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off John’s tongue. It wet his lips continuously during the meal, and Sherlock wanted to taste it. The lack of data of how it would feel to kiss John and to be invaded by that rosy piece of flesh, almost drove the great detective mad. 

***

The chase through the city had never been so intoxicating and thrilling. John was right behind him, his cane safely taken care of by Angelo.

“Welcome to London.”

The American passenger in the taxi couldn’t believe the politeness of the British police, and Sherlock felt dizzy just listening to John’s incredulous laughter at the insane encounter.

They were breathless and giddy when they locked the black door of 221 Baker Street behind them.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done!”

“And you invaded Afghanistan.”

A knock on the door. Sherlock gestured for John to open.

“It’s for you.”

John’s astounded look when he returned with his cane, brought by Angelo, made Sherlock’s stomach do a somersault.

“How?” John said and shook his head in disbelief.

He leant the cane on the wall and approached Sherlock carefully. When he stood toe-to-toe with him, John took a hold of Sherlock’s upper arms.

“You,” he said softly. “Do you even know what you’ve done to me, for me? How am I ever going to repay you, thanking you for letting the sun into my life again? For making me want to live.”

Sherlock just stared down at John, unable to grasp what he meant. He’d done nothing out of the ordinary. Well, to be fair, the idea of visiting Angelo’s had been a whim. Not at all planned beforehand. He was a bit perplexed that something impulsive could make such an impact. 

When Sherlock asked about that, after their fifteenth kiss, John told him he was wrong.

“It wasn’t dinner, Sherlock. I’ve been in that situation lots of times. It was the chase that made me feel alive and useful. Not that dinner wasn’t lovely, because it absolutely was, but it seems that running after you is one of those things I’m suddenly addicted to. Just as that sinful mouth of yours.”

And with that, their sixteenth kiss was a fact.

------------------------------------------------------------

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[germiyahu]

Not too thrilled that my other post is getting so many notes when I'm not satisfied with it for a multitude of reasons. Let's have a do-over, hopefully much more succinct and to the original point.

When Palestinians, actually basically all Arabs, or all Muslims, say "Jerusalem is holy to us it is the 3rd holiest city in our religion." The White Western Leftist (WWL) will say "That's so valid your religion is so interesting and beautiful Hamas did nothing wrong I love the Houthis!"

But if a Jew ever rebuts "Jerusalem is holy to us as well, it's our holiest city, basically the only one we have," the WWL will probably roll their eyes, scoff, probably say something like "Okay but like why are you still using your outdated Zionist death cult to justify colonialism? You really think the Bible justifies killing millions of Palestinians?" and start going on and on about how Judaism invented everything bad about Christianity.

My hypothesis: These people are not allies to Muslims (Palestinians). They are condescending to them. They are throwing them a bone because they feel bad about how the Muslim world has been treated, well ever since Sykes-Picot, but especially post 9/11, the Patriot Act, The War on Terror, Iraq, Afghanistan, the Drone War, Libya, Nato, The Arab Spring, the list goes on. They don't think Muslims are capable of building the kind of societies they want, not without their gracious help. They don't think Muslims should have the same ideals of democracy and human rights, because they don't expect that from the Brown People. They won't ever hold them to such a standard because "Ugh where do we get off lecturing them?" even though they would never think this of Jews.

These people are not equals to Jews, something something Sartre they think they are both superior and inferior (which makes them superior). They are not just trying to hold their fellow citizens of the world to account. They are trying to put Jews in their place. They are projecting their religious trauma onto Jews because they do not understand Judaism. They see Judaism as Power. They are trying to delegitimize Judaism as a religion (and it is a religion, including the parts of religions that give atheists the "ick," including a lot of mysticism). They are trying to caterwaul about Jews being responsible for the world's ills and that they expect Jewish People to be better than this. To evolve beyond religion and community and affiliation and identity. They want Jewish to be nothing more than a box ticked off on a census. A neat little factoid about yourself, like how your neighbor Cheryl has Norwegian ancestry.

My only conclusion is that these people find Jews and Judaism repulsive, and they find Muslims and Islam primitive. Unlike their parents' generation, they appreciate the primitive. It is noble savagery to them. Unlike their parents' generation, the comparatively cosmopolitan modern secular Western sheen of Jewry (applied to Jews against their will) is not something that we almost lost from the world, but an annoying holdover of what we almost successfully purged from the world.

Because remember, while they hate their parents and everything they stand for, they still deep down want Daddy's approval. So it makes perfect sense why the psyche would displace anger and trauma and all that caused by Christianity, and look elsewhere to place blame. It falls at the feet of Jews and Judaism. Because my culture could never, there has to be a missing puzzle piece that could explain- oh there it is. The Jews did it. And wow look how easily this can slot in with every other antisemitism conspiracy theory.

The audacity to think I could make a shorter version of that post 😂 But basically it's this: The WWL, the Zoomer Left, the Tankies, whatever name you call them... they think that they can "save" Muslims by offering up Jews, and the terrorist fascist fundamentalists like Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis, they're on board. They're all in. Normal ass every day Muslims/Palestinians? They just want peace, they just want rights, they just want sovereignty. The WWL is not interested in that perspective.

They have not once in their lives thought of what they could possibly do in terms of reparations. No no, tweeting and marching for a weekend are quite enough. They have not once in their lives turned inward and self reflected on the ways they benefit from and their own role in these systems of supremacy, that have harmed Muslims around the world. Jewish blood is more than enough to pay for operation Iraqi Freedom. Jewish lives are a fetching price to assuage the Westerner's guilt. You know since they have so much trouble turning inward and reflecting on their own contribution to Islamophobia, it might do them good to practice a little תשובה... but I don't know 😌

[noforkingclue]

The Body in the Library (Sherlock Holmes x reader)

Summary: when you fid a body in the library there's only one person you know to call. Such a shame that the two of you cannot get on.

Author's note: well, why not? A returning hyperfixation is still a hyperfixation.

It was when the mobile rang for the fifth time that John finally lost it. He slammed down his paper and marched over to Sherlock’s mobile. On the first ring, Sherlock had glanced at it and practically threw it across the room. It was only by chance that it happened to land on the spare chair and Sherlock had abruptly left soon after. That hadn’t stopped the mystery caller though.

“Hell-“

“Holmes,” a voice barked down the line, “why the fuck did it take you so long to answer your phone. There’s a body in my flat and I’d thought you’d like to see it before I call the police.”

“Err… a body.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then the person said.

“Who are you?”

“I think I should be asking you that.”

“You picked up a phone that doesn’t belong to you. Did you steal it?”

“Of course not!”

It was at this moment that the front door slammed shut and John heard familiar footsteps running up the stairs. He was going to hang up but the person on the other end of line was describing a very brutal murder and he found himself unable to. When Sherlock flung open the door the two of them stared awkwardly at each other.

“Hello?” the person said again, “are you still there? I mean, there is a dead body in my flat and it’s hard to get blood out of hardwood floors. Well, at least from what I understand.”

*

“So,” you glanced over at John, “How do you know Sherlock.”

You grinned at him as you filled up the kettle and put it on the boil. You hopped onto your countertop and said,

“Cuppa?”

“You also seemed to be very calm about this.”

You paused for a moment before saying slowly,

“Where is Holmes?”

“Still in your living room.”

“Then he can’t hear us,” you said, “the truth is I’m freaking the fuck out about this. I mean, there’s a body in my flat. How often does that happen?”

“You’ll be surprised.”

“I’m just keeping up appearances in front of Sheer Luck. You know him. You can imagine how insufferably smug he’d be to see me that unsettled.”

John’s lips twitched at the nickname. He folded his arms and you swung your legs back and forth as the two of you waited in agonising silence for the kettle to boil. Eventually you shattered it by saying,

“So, was it Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John looked up at you sharply and you couldn’t help but laugh. You hopped off the counter and put some tea in the strainer and continued,

“Don’t worry, I already know. I not like them.”

“How you know?” John asked, exasperated

The kettle boiled and you poured the water into the two waiting mugs.

“If I was pretentious I would say that it’s the way you stand,” you said, “how you remained standing despite me offering you a seat. Your clothes, old but good quality. Clearly you value practicality over style. Blah, blah, blah. However, I am not like that. You want to know the truth?”

“Yes!”

“I googled you.”

You handed John his mug and at that moment Sherlock burst into your kitchen. You rolled your eyes at him and he took John’s mug from him.

“That’s not for you.” You snapped

Sherlock ignored you and took a sip. You clicked your tongue and handed John your mug. He tried to offer it back but you shook your head.

“So, what do you think of my little problem.” You asked

“Is that what you call it.” Said John

You shrugged and turned your attention back to Sherlock. He remain silent, taking a sip of tea, before saying,

“It’s… curious.”

“High praise,” you said with a smile, “I’m glad you said that. Although it shouldn’t be too hard to solve.”

You grinned at John’s shocked reaction and Sherlock’s raised eyebrow. You turned your back on them as you filled your own mug with water.

“Although if I didn’t know who already done it, it would be a lot harder to solve.” You said

It was at that moment that you heard banging on your front door.

“And that would be the police.”

Sherlock gave you an affronted look and said,

“You called them? Then what was the point of wasting my time with this.”

“I gave you the heads up,” you said with a shrug, “not my fault you chose to ignore my calls. Maybe you could answer the door? I’m sure Anderson will be there and I’m also sure that he’ll be so pleased to see you.”

At your smug look Sherlock turned on his heel and marched towards your front door. Whether it was to get away from you or to rub it in the faces of Scotland Yard that he was here first, you didn’t know. Still, now he was out of your space you could finally relax.

“You two really don’t get on.” Said John

“Does he get on with anyone?”

“I do.”

“You seem to be the exception.”

“And what did you mean, you already knew who did it.”

“Ah that,” you laughed and sat down, “well you see John, I recognise this murder.”

“You… recognise it?”

“Yeah.”

You leant across your table and shifted some books. When you found the one you were looking for you tossed it over to him.

“I’m an author,” you said, “mystery which is part of the reason why we don’t get on.”

“Death is on the Cards,” said John, “yeah, I’ve heard of this.”

“Body found in the library of a mystery author’s home,” you said, “head smashed in with a candlestick. If I’ve seen the similarities then so has Holmes.”

“Still doesn’t explain how you know who did it.”

“Oh that’s easy. The person who committed the murder was the detective who inspected the crime scene.”

[probablyasocialecologist]

Unconventional warfare constituted the US method of choice to weaken or overthrow unwanted governments. It was designed to “roll back” governments deemed detrimental to US interests and those of global capital. Such strategies depended almost entirely on para-institutional complexes. US agencies liaised with and coordinated complexes of local collaborators, insurgents, militias, “secret” armies, mercenaries, private air-military contractors and other para-institutional forces to influence the political and economic orientation of foreign states. These efforts to weaken unwanted foreign governments or towards regime change extended around the world to countries such as Albania (1949–53), China (1949–60s), Burma (Myanmar) (1951–53), Tibet (1959–60s), Iran (1953), Guatemala (1954), Syria (1956–57), Egypt (1957), Indonesia (1957–58 and 1965), Iraq (1963), North Vietnam (1945–73), Cambodia (1955–70), Laos (1958–63), Cuba (1959–present), Chile (1964–73), Greece (1967), Bolivia (1971), Zaire (1975), Angola (1975, 1980s), Seychelles (1979–81), Libya (1980s), Grenada (1983), South Yemen (1982–84), Nicaragua (1981–90), (Afghanistan 1979–89), Fiji (1987), among others.

Andrew Thomson, Outsourced Empire: How Militias, Mercenaries, and Contractors Support US Statecraft

[ketrindoll]

"Putin's War", they tell me. *smirks and rolls eyes*

This Putin is one hell of a guy, I gotta say. He's more impressive than Santa Claus who delivers presents to all the kids around the world in the dead of night before sunrise on Dec. 25.

In addition to being the president of Russia, Putin is also a foot soldier booby-trapping an empty home in occupied Ukraine, a fire controlman on a Kilo-class sub in the Black Sea launching Kalibr cruise missiles at Odessa's grain warehouses, a pilot of a Tupolev bomber launching a Kh-101 cruise missile from Russian airspace at the children's hospital in Kyiv, a "camp counselor" at a "summer camp" near Vladivostok for kidnapped Ukrainian kids, a smug civilian from the Russian hinterland who's moving in as a squatter into an evicted Ukrainian's apartment in Mariupol, and a military doctor harvesting organs from Ukrainian corpses.

When will enough Westerners wake the fuck up and tell it like it is that the invasion of Ukraine since February 20, 2014 has been the Russians' war instead of some one-man-show called "Putin's War™"?

It bears repeating:

● No one calls the German invasions of the rest of Europe in WW II "Hitler's War".

● No one calls the Japanese invasions of the rest of Asia in WWII "Hirohito's War" or "Tojo's War".

● No one calls the Russian invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 "Brezhnev's War"

● No one calls the American invasion of Iraq in 2003 "G.W. Bush's War".

● Even right now no one calls war in Palestine "Netanyahu's war"

Make it make sense how the Russian invasion of Ukraine since 2014 is "Putin's War"???

How come everyone else is collectively responsible, but not ruzzians who are committing horrible, incomprehensibly unhuman acts???

ALL RUZZIANS ARE GUILTY FOR GENOCIDE

ALL RUZZIANS ARE GUILTY FOR WAR CRIMES

ALL RUZZIANS ARE GUILTY FOR THIS WAR AND ALL OTHER IMPERIALIST LAND-GRABS

[ibroughtyoumybullets]

something odd ive noticed when i go to a random celebo-of-a-certain-type's wikipedia article if theres a politics section it'll be like: quote from 2005: george bush sucks i hate that guy and we need to leave iraq and afghanistan quote from 2009: homophobes are dumb and bad for the country quote from 2022: cancel culture is an evil monstrosity, the kweers are going to be the death of us all, i think killing (brown) people for oil is cool.

like what is that. for real actually whats going on there. is it some combination of continued exposure, money, and power eating away at their souls until they're toeing whatever party line will keep good drugs and good jobs rolling in? or is it that these people are actually attention hungry contrarians that will say whatever can be deemed 'unpopular' or 'counter-cultural' (regardless of how true that may be in the wider, general opinion at the mo) because their politics actually boil down to 'i like to make people angry because i wasn't hugged enough as a child and now i make that other people's problem'?

i guess it could be Literally reactionary. in that by 'of a certain type' i mean celebs with vaguely* sticky pasts who have faced a modicum of media or public backlash when that past has come up in conversation. and instead of being able to listen, process, and grow from that criticism they crouch down into the uglier parts of themselves - in part because other, shittier people have given them a handful of validating words and support and told them they've actually never done anything wrong ever and anybody who criticizes them is a filthy commie kweer snowflake. and its easier for the ego to decide the latter group is right.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

War of the Heart - Chapter Eight (Final) | Luke Alvez x Fem! Reader

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary - Spencer is finally released from prison and the two you have a long overdue talk. Will he convince you that you’re making a mistake with Luke before it’s too late?

A/N - and we reach the end! Also I am aware Luke was also given time off after the Scratch debacle but let’s just roll with it.

Category - heavy angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Content Warnings - a brief summary of the prison arc including mentions of Lindsey and Cat and mentions of Scratch kidnapping Emily and his and Walker’s death, swearing, and finally(!) a happy ending!

WC - 3.4k

Chapter Eight

2010 - Diyala, Northeast Baghdad 

“So,” he spoke, stepping inside your unit for what would be the final time. “I guess this is the end of the road.” 

“I guess so.” You shrugged, placing a handful of toiletry items in the open box. “I’m being picked up to go to the airport in a half hour.” 

Now normally Luke would take any opportunity to get you into bed, even if you’d only had ten minutes he would have made it work. So when he sidled over to you and simply wrapped you in his arms, you knew this must be breaking his heart. 

“You’re really leaving?” He held you close, resting his chin on your head while you snuggled against his chest. 

“I don’t really have a choice.” It wasn’t strictly untrue. You didn’t have a choice, not if you wanted to maintain your sanity anyway.

Luke wanted to say something, tell you that he knew you’d requested the transfer and ask you why, but honestly, he wasn’t sure he could handle the answer. So instead he just held you tighter. 

“I really am going to miss you.” He whispered. 

“You going soft on me, Sarg?” You pulled back a little so you could look up at him. “We’ll still talk, that’s what phones are for. And the timezones in Iraq and Afghanistan are only a few hours different so we can talk whenever we like.” 

“I know.” He nodded. “But why does this feel so definite? Why does it feel like I’m never going to see you again?” 

You smiled a little wistfully at him and got on your tiptoes so you could place a tender kiss to his lips. 

“Sarg, if it was meant to be, it will find a way.” 

“Now who’s going soft?” He laughed but it was filled with sadness. 

The two of you stood there for several more minutes, wrapped in each other's embrace. A part of you suddenly didn’t want to go. Sure things with Luke were intense but was that such a bad thing? He loved you with every fibre of his being and you loved him back with the same fire. Why were you running from the only thing that had ever made you happy? 

There was a knock on the side of the container and the two of you sprung apart rapidly. Seconds later a head poked it way inside. 

“Time to go, private.” The man nodded for you to follow him. 

You exhaled heavily through your nose, straightening your back and raising your hand to your forehead in salute.

“It’s been an honour to serve for you, Sergeant Alvez.” 

Luke mirrored your stance, saluting you back even though his heart was shattering in his chest. 

“The honour was all mine, Private Y/L/N.” 

You collected your things and headed to the door, allowing yourself one last glance back at Luke. You caught him wiping his eye but when he saw you looking he forced a smile and mouthed four simple words. 

“Goodbye and good luck.” 

***

Present - Washington, DC

Everything after your night with Luke seemed to happen at lightning speed, thankfully keeping your mind busy, away from thoughts of him. The following day you’d received a call from Emily to tell you that during his cognitive, Spencer placed a woman in the motel room, not Scratch. And days after that his moms new nurse brought her to visit him and it all spiralled from there. 

Not being a part of the team anymore you had to sit on the sidelines while they tracked down Lindsey Vaughn and proved Spencer’s innocence. You heard second hand of how Spencer had to face off with his arch nemesis Cat Adams in order to save his mom. And just when it all finally seemed to be over, Scratch did rear his ugly head, killing Walker and kidnapping Emily. 

You wanted to help, you wanted to help so badly but you knew you’d be more of hindrance and that you couldn’t see Luke again for your own good. Garcia kept you apprised of everything, while you literally sat on the edge of your seat feeling utterly useless. 

But of course, the team was great at what they did and they found Emily in time. Scratch was dead and according to Garcia there was speculation that Luke may well have pushed him off that ledge despite his protests otherwise.

Honestly, you wouldn’t have even blamed him, you might have even done the same. 

Then everything got quiet. Most of the team was all given time off while Luke and IRT’s Matt Simmons held down the fort. And it was only then that the weight of everything came crashing down on you. 

You’d quit your job. You’d pushed Luke away for the final time. You were alone and you had nothing left to occupy your mind. The spiral was inevitable and you knew it. 

When Spencer called you, asking to see you, you were surprised to say the least. You weren’t sure entirely what he wanted as he was particularly vague on the phone but it was the bare minimum you could do to hear him out. So you invited him over. 

The last time you’d seen him was at the BAU after bringing him home from Mexico and it honestly felt like a different life time ago. The air was awkward and slightly tense between you as you let him inside your apartment. He tentatively stepped inside and you motioned him over to the couch where you both sat down. 

“I just want to say, I’m sorry I never visited while you were at Milburn.” You blurted out, toying with your hands in your lap.

“It’s ok.” He shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I didn’t put you on my visitation list anyway.” 

“Well now I’m glad I didn’t make a drive up there.” You laughed a little. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.” 

“Yeah.” He nodded a little sadly. “You left the BAU.” 

“I did.” 

“There’s a lot of rumours flying around as to why.” His eyes sparkled slightly. 

“I can only imagine.” 

“And I can only assume the only truthful rumour is that you left because of Alvez.” 

“You don’t need to be a genius to figure that out.” You smirked. 

“I need to know everything, Y/N. No more lies.” 

“Ok.” You agreed, because after everything it was the least you owed him. 

He frowned in confusion when you got up from the couch and watched you walk over to your desk and retrieve something from the top drawer. When you returned, you opened your palm, a small silver ring nestled in your hand. 

Spencer looked between your eyes and the ring, the cogs not taking long to slot into place. 

“You were engaged?” He croaked, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Not entirely.” You sighed. “It was a promise ring. He was promising that one day he would ask me to marry him and I was promising that when that day came, I’d say yes.” 

“So what happened?” He scrutinised you as you closed your fingers around the ring. 

“Loving Luke is…stressful isn’t the right word. Draining? Exhausting? I loved him with such intensity that everything else in my life fell by the wayside. He was literally the only thing I could think of. I was losing focus in my work, putting my career second to my feelings for him. I think I loved him too much.” You exhaled, clasping your hand tightly and feeling the ring digging into your palm.

“Wow,” Spencer chuckled softly, making you frown. “With all due respect, that’s got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“There’s no such thing as loving someone too much.”

“That’s what Luke said.” 

“And he’s right.” Spencer continued to laugh. “Love is supposed to be intense and consuming. If it isn’t, it isn’t love.” 

“This was…this was different.” You shook your head. “We had a volatile relationship that seemed to stick to the same destructive cycle. We’d get into a fight, we’d try to make up by having sex and then we’d just fight again.” 

“So break the cycle.” He said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Love isn’t rocket science Y/N. If something doesn’t work you fix it, you don’t run off just because you get scared.”

“Who said anything about being scared?” You scoffed, putting the ring down on the coffee table before you crushed it into dust. 

“It’s very clear you push Luke away because the idea that someone could love you so much scares the crap out of you. And that’s understandable, love is scary. But it’s also the most amazing thing in the whole world.” He smiled a little wistfully.

“Are you really sitting here trying to convince me to be with Luke when he’s the reason we broke up?”

“I understand the irony.” He nodded. “But I do want you to be happy. I had a lot of time to think while I was in prison and I realised that you were never really happy with me, not the way you should be. You never looked at me like you look at him.” 

“Spence, I’m so sorry.” You pulled a face.

“No, no I didn’t mean that in the pathetic way it sounded. I’m just saying, don’t settle for mediocre when it comes to love. Trust me when I say, you want that intense, all consuming love. That’s when you know you’re doing it right.” He offered you another smile, pushing himself up from the couch. “But hey, what do I know? I’m only a genius.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh as you got up as well, the two of you heading towards the door. 

“Do you have any plans? You know like, life after the BAU?” 

“Right now I’m just enjoying having a little time to myself. My old unit chief at the DC Field Office obviously heard about my resignation and she reached out, said I’d always have a place on the team.” You opened the door for him. 

“Well, maybe we’ll run into each other from time then.” He stepped out into the corridor. 

“Or you know, we could hang out sometime, on purpose not just for work.” 

“I’d like that.” He nodded. “And remember, Y/N, never let fear decide your fate.” 

“I forgot how wise you are, Doc.” You smirked, leaning against the door jamb. 

“No you didn’t.” He smiled back at you briefly before turning away and heading for the stairs. 

You watched him go, mulling over his words and knowing if anyone was right about the situation, it was Doctor Spencer Reid. 

You turned back into the apartment, rushing through to your room to change and quickly grabbing up the ring along with your keys and phone and hurrying out again before you talked yourself out of it. 

***

To say Luke Alvez was exhausted would be the understatement of the century. The past few months had seemed to go on for years, the day he joined the BAU felt like a complete lifetime ago. Between Spencer’s incarceration, capturing Mr Scratch and keeping the department afloat with Simmons while the rest of the BAU took time off, he felt as though it had been months since he’d gotten a decent night's sleep. 

But work kept his brain active, it kept him too busy to spend time dwelling on you and the pain caused by the way you’d finally ended things. One day he was going to have to deal with it, let himself feel every shatter of his heart. But today wasn’t that day. 

It was really late by the time he got home, he supposed it was more early than late as it was ebbing into the early hours of the morning. Roxy was with his neighbour, he’d get her in the morning before his run. 

He stifled a yawn as he unlocked his apartment door, ready to crash and burn as soon as his ass hit the bed. He got inside and shucked off his jacket but before he could get out of his shoes, something caught his eye.

His dog was curled up on the couch, asleep, her head buried under the arm of the human who slept at her side. You were dressed in full fatigues, boots on the floor next to the couch and your feet tucked up beneath you. The sight made his heart melt, something he’d imagined so many times before but never expected to be a reality. 

But why were you here? Why were you asleep on his couch with his dog in your army uniform? 

He shuffled closer to the couch and you stirred a little, you always had been a light sleeper. You rubbed your eyes with one hand, the other lost somewhere in Roxy’s thick fur. You blinked a couple of times before your eyes landed on Luke. 

“Oh shit, did I fall asleep?” You jumped to your feet, startling Roxy a little but she quickly settled back down. 

“Yeah and in case you hadn’t noticed, not in your own apartment.” Luke frowned at you. “How did you get in here?” 

“Well you see, I came over and I knocked but obviously you weren’t home so I just kinda sat outside for a while. And then your neighbour, Mrs Perez, she found me and told me she had your spare key and did I want it and also did I want to take your dog back. I didn’t know you had a dog.” You rambled. 

“Uh yeah…that’s Roxy.” He scratched the back of his neck. 

“Oh it’s a she. I’ve been calling her Rambo.” You shrugged. “I guess me and Ram…Roxy fell asleep waiting for you.” 

“And why are you waiting for me? In your fatigues?” His frown was so deep he worried he might cause permanent lines in his forehead but he was so confused. 

“Because I can admit when I’m wrong.” 

“Can you? Because I didn’t know that about you.” 

“I didn’t say it came easily to me.” You rolled your eyes. “I was scared, Luke, petrified really. I was scared because the way I feel about you is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I thought that a love so intense was a bad thing but I think I might have been wrong. 

I think I thought I could either have love or a career, that my brain wasn’t equipped to handle both of those things. My mom was a doctor, I’ve never told you that before, but she was. Was. Until she met my dad and I guess he wanted her to be this homemaker or whatever so she quit. Just like that. She gave up everything for him and I promised myself I’d never be like her. Yet in trying not to become her, I inadvertently did. I left Iraq of my own accord, I quit the BAU, just so I didn’t have to see you everyday. I guess it never really occurred to me that I could have both, because my parents' relationship was the only thing I had to base it on. 

I’m an only child and I’ve never been close to my family and when I met you, it was the first time I ever felt loved. And that scared me, I grew dependent on you and that made me feel weak. But actually now I think about it, it’s quite the opposite. You were my greatest strength, my one true ally. The only man to ever see me for who I am. I know this is probably all too little too late, but I thought at the very least I owed you an explanation.” 

By the time you finished talking you were out of breath. The whole drive here you’d been rehearsing this speech in your head, and you had to get it all out before Luke said anything to steer you off track. 

He stared at you the whole time, processing every single word you said carefully. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed deeply.

“You hurt me consistently, over and over again. And each time was more painful than the last. How do I know you aren’t going to do that again? I can’t take another blow, Y/N, it might actually kill me.” He looked so broken at that moment and you hated yourself for putting him through this. 

You saw in his eyes the extent of the damage you’d done to the man standing before you, the man who had only ever loved you unconditionally. You knew this had to be it, you had to be sure otherwise there may be no coming back for Luke again. 

You took a tentative step closer to him, shoving your hands in the pocket of your old army jacket. 

“You don’t know, not for sure. I can stand here and promise you that I never intend to hurt you again, that I love you and I’m sure I always will. But nothing in life is guaranteed, Luke. What I can guarantee, with absolute certainty as I stand here right now is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Every fucking day from now until enternity.” You’d started to cry heavily, as if a damn had broken behind your eyes. 

Luke’s own eyes welled up as he struggled not to reach out and grab you. 

“Why are you wearing your fatigues?” He found himself asking. 

You looked down at yourself and despite your tears you started to laugh. 

“I don’t know. I guess maybe I was hoping it would remind you of the girl you fell in love with and not the crazy person I’ve become.” 

“You’ve always been a little crazy.” He cracked a smile. “But that’s part of why I love you. And I want to spend every damn day from now until eternity with you, crazy and all.” 

“You do?” You sniffed, bottom lip quivering slightly. 

“Always have.” He shrugged. 

You smiled brightly, maybe for the first time in years and withdrew your hands from your pockets. You turned one over and unballed your fist, revealing the dainty silver ring cradled inside. You looked up at Luke with a small shrug. 

“You promised.” You proffered it towards him. “You promised me one day you’d ask and I promised I’d say yes.” 

Luke’s tears overflowed now as he nodded his head, picking the ring up between his fingers. His heart hammered against his chest and his stomach coiled with knots as he slowly lowered himself to one knee in front of you. 

“This was far from how I ever planned on doing this.” He smiled through his tears. “There was meant to be dinner and rose petals and a freaking string quartet.” 

“I don’t care.” You shook your head. “Just ask me. Just finally ask me the damn question.” 

“Ok.” He took hold of your left hand and brought it to his lips to kiss the back of it before looking up into your eyes. “Y/N Y/L/N, this has been the longest time in the making, but will you marry me?” 

“Can I think about it?” You teased him with a giggle. 

Luke smirked at you, giving your hand a playful tug. 

“I swear to god, private…”

“Alright, alright!” You laughed with a roll of your eye. “Yes, ok? A hundred, thousand times yes. Yes I will marry you, Sarg.” 

“About damn time.” He slid the ring on your finger before pushing himself up, grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you. 

You slung your arms around his neck, holding onto him for dear life, too afraid to ever let him go again. The kiss was different from any the two of you had ever shared before. It held a deep understanding that no words could accurately communicate. 

It was the acknowledgment that the two of you had put each other through hell in your own ways, and the comprehension that to make this work things needed to be different this time around. It was acceptance that you both needed to try harder, to be better for one another if you stood a chance this time. It was the final admittance of two people who were unfathomably in love and couldn’t live without each other. 

You and Luke would surely still have your ups and downs, life wasn’t perfect after all. But at long last the war was over, you could finally stop fighting. You’d reached your armistice, in agreement to end all conflict and ceasefire. From the Iraqi desert to the front lines of your heart, your turbulent relationship had come this close to destroying you both. 

But a soldier never quits no matter how arduous the battle. And Luke Alvez was more than worth the fight. 

Taglist

@carolinesbookworld @wooya1224 @littlebeanwrites @randomramblings @telepathay @lukealvezswifey

[blood-mocha-latte]

c, s, and v for hbowar ask gameee <3

erin beloved!!!

hbo war ask game

c. which show did you enjoy, but don't engage with the fandom of?

although i think generation kill is probably the best produced of the show with the most interesting characters, i sometimes have trouble engaging in the fandom because of the connections i have to the iraq-afghanistan war lol

s. tag a blog you don't often interact with, but love the content they make.

i don't interact with @ww2yaoi a whole lot, but their webgott posts are mwah <3

v. post a snippet/wip/headcanon involving any one of the shows.

stepping AWAY from the luztoye week wips to go back to my beautiful post war little talks <33

He ran a hand across the span of his bare back, mouth hooking up carefully at the soft, relieved exhale that he gathered in his palm.

“I was starting to get worried.” George murmured into his pillow, not bothering to turn over, and Joe dropped an absent kiss to his bare shoulder before backing away to rest more fully on the mattress, shifting to take off the prosthetic and shoe.

“I got held up.” He rasped, setting the prosthesis against his nightstand. “Roman architecture, and all that.”

George rolled over, hand finding Joe’s lower back and rubbing circles into his skin. “Delightful.” He muttered, deadpan, and Joe leaned back into the bed, George’s arms going around his neck as he did. 

“How’re you feeling?” Joe asked, throwing his own arm over George’s waist, and George sunk into him with a relieved hum. 

“Better.” He murmured, breath warm against Joe’s neck. “The sink’s torn apart, though.”

He pressed his mouth to the gentle spot behind George’s ear, suppressing a smile. “I saw that. Putting it back together tomorrow?” 

“Mm. Then I’ll move on to tearing apart the rest of the apartment. How attached are you to the couch?”

“I could probably learn to live without it.” Joe said dryly, George pressing his forehead to the column of his throat, hand curling at his collarbone.

“I’ll tell it to count its days.” He murmured, tilting his head up just enough to nudge Joe into a kiss. “Hey, you.”

[mariacallous]

Election day could have been a violent tragedy. Just two weeks before Americans went to the polls, US officials confirmed that Islamic State-Khorasan (IS-K) was behind a thwarted terror plot. A twenty-seven-year-old Afghan man, who had resettled in the United States after the US withdrawal from Afghanistan, had planned to carry out a mass shooting targeting large groups of people on November 4. IS-K, an affiliate of Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham (ISIS), had been in direct communication with the would-be attacker. 

IS-K was formed in 2015 and operates in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Central Asia. Initially, the group seemed to focus on recruitment and on conducting attacks within Afghanistan. The group experienced a slowdown between 2018 and 2021 because of US and Afghan military operations targeting the group in Afghanistan. The Taliban, too, fought against IS-K during this period. However, after the US troop withdrawal in 2021, the Taliban became the only force combating the group on the ground, which allowed the terrorist organization to regroup and build operations in Afghanistan and beyond. With this resurgence, IS-K seems to have pivoted its strategy away from attacks within Afghanistan to a more global agenda.

In the first half of 2024, IS-K carried out three successful attacks abroad that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of civilians in Iran, Turkey, and Russia. The attack in Moscow on Crocus City Hall, which claimed the lives of more than 140 people, made headlines and stoked fears of a resurgent and coordinated global IS-K threat. The success of the attack might also provide motivation for the group to attempt similar mass casualty attacks elsewhere. 

In addition to these attacks, there have been a number of publicly disclosed foiled plots and arrests connected to IS-K across the globe. Authorities reportedly disrupted IS-K plots to attack the Olympic Games in Paris and Taylor Swift concerts in Austria this past summer. In August, a United Nations official called IS-K the “greatest” terror threat to Europe. And the threat is not only in Europe; eight Tajik nationals suspected of connections to ISIS were arrested this year after entering the United States. 

IS-K is simultaneously increasing its online propaganda output and tailoring it to a wider audience. Last summer, IS-K began releasing more multilingual content, with an uptick in Uzbek- and Tajik-language materials in particular. Shortly after the Crocus City Hall attack, a media group connected with IS-K created a new Tajik-language magazine, a change from its infrequent and low-profile usage of Tajik in previous materials. 

US officials have reported that the group has rolled out a “sophisticated propaganda campaign” targeting disaffected individuals in the Muslim diaspora to carry out attacks in Western countries, including in the United States. This represents an expansion from previous recruitment efforts in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Central Asia. On top of the group’s new efforts, Israel’s war in Gaza has also likely contributed to radicalizing a new generation.

There is another change that further complicates US and European counterterrorism efforts: Russia is making the IS-K threat worse. 

Two weeks before the Crocus City Hall attack, the United States alerted Russia about the possibility of an impending terrorist strike on large gatherings in Moscow. The public warnings and private communication on the matter with Russian authorities in the lead-up to the attack proved futile. Only three days before the tragic attack, Russian President Vladimir Putin acknowledged the warning, citing it as “propaganda” meant to “intimidate and destabilize” Russian society.

Intelligence sharing has been an integral part of counterterrorism efforts since 9/11, and the United States and Russia have successfully cooperated on the issue in the past. But the deterioration of US-Russian relations amid the Moscow’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has resulted in a greater blind spot in the US response to the global threat of IS-K. It remains unclear whether Russia simply didn’t trust the Western tip or failed to react effectively to it, although both constitute a faulty policy with deadly consequences.

In addition, most Central Asians recruited to IS-K have been radicalized in Russia. For decades, Russia has been a major destination for Central Asian migrants seeking work, but the harsh living conditions, economic struggles, and widespread hostility they face there make this population more vulnerable to extremist ideologies. Central Asians, particularly Tajiks, have been involved in much of IS-K’s recent activities, with some experts estimating that they may make up as much as half of the group’s recruits. With Russia a fertile recruiting ground for Central Asians, who make up much of IS-K’s ranks, Moscow’s counterterrorism policy would play a key role in mitigating the threat. 

In response to the March attack, Russia has tightened restrictions on Central Asian migrants. In the summer, the State Duma passed a new batch of laws that curb the rights of migrants, while raids against migrant communities have become more frequent. These official actions, accompanied by increased instances of xenophobia on the street, contribute to a growing hostile environment for Central Asians in Russia. These hardships, which have pushed some to extremism already, will likely worsen as Putin’s crackdown continues, leaving an already vulnerable population even more exposed to IS-K’s recruitment pitch. 

Russia has shown no clear intention to effectively tackle the growing threat of IS-K. The Kremlin has blamed the Crocus City Hall attack and others on the West or Kyiv, likely as an attempt to deflect responsibility for failing to stop the attacks. Moscow remains an unreliable partner with a diminishing willingness to engage in counterterrorism cooperation while pursuing ineffective policies to mitigate this threat. Indeed, its policies likely created more fertile ground for recruitment in the country. 

US policymakers should expect a growing blind spot coming out of Russia resulting from Moscow’s ineffective counterterrorism measures and increasingly hostile policy to a population already vulnerable to extremist recruitment. Russia cannot be relied on to deal with this threat, which makes the attention of the United States and its allies on this issue all the more urgent.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Paul V. Fontelo at Roll Call:

Rep. Bill Pascrell Jr., a New Jersey Democrat first elected to the House in 1996, died on Wednesday, his office announced on X. He was 87 and would have been the oldest member of the House if reelected in November.  “Bill fought to his last breath to return to the job he cherished and the people he loved,” the post said. “Bill lived his entire life in Paterson and had an unwavering love for the city he grew up in and served. He is now at peace after a life time devoted to our great nation America.” A veteran of New Jersey’s brand of politics who dominated his home Passaic County, Pascrell was known for his pugnacious demeanor in promoting tax enforcement and ensuring “tax fairness” for all income levels. To achieve that, “everybody’s got to pull on the rope the same,” he said.

An Army veteran and one-time semi-professional baseball player, Pascrell was a teenager when his uncle took him to his first ward meeting in the city of Paterson, then a factory town with a thriving textile business. The rough-and-tumble political arena left an impression on Pascrell. “There’s a lot of fist fights … I’m gonna like this,” he recalled in an interview. “I did. I stayed with it since I was 16 years old.” While he saw far fewer physical melees between parties in Congress, Pascrell said he stuck by the lessons he learned from his first exposure to politics. “See it through or else don’t start it,” he said. And when you are in a fight, “never yield.” In the 118th Congress, Pascrell was the top Democrat on the Ways and Means Oversight Subcommittee, having previously spent more than two years as the panel’s chairman. He and fellow Ways and Means Democrats scored several victories in the final months of the previous Congress, including enacting a major tax and social spending budget reconciliation law and, after years of legal battles, acquiring six years of former President Donald Trump’s tax returns in the lame duck session after the 2022.

Pascrell waged a long campaign to tax “carried interest,” a form of compensation for investment fund managers that is not taxed like ordinary income, a situation he called a loophole that allows rich individuals to avoid fair taxation. He repeatedly introduced legislation to change inheritance rules as well. His bill on the so-called stepped-up basis would have changed existing tax law so that when someone dies and passes on property, the inheritor would pay capital gains taxes based on the fair market rate of the inherited assets, with a few exceptions. Pascrell’s position on the Ways and Means Committee also gave him a platform to fight to restore deductions for state and local tax payments, which Republicans capped in their 2017 tax law. The cap on the SALT deduction hit people in the top income brackets hardest, but in states with high local property and income taxes such as New Jersey, it was also felt by less wealthy families. As a result, Pascrell framed his tax proposals as benefiting the middle class.

Representing a manufacturing-heavy district, he was a close ally of labor unions and focused on ensuring that countries trading with the U.S. complied with international labor standards.  One recurring bipartisan cause for Pascrell was research on and treatment of brain injuries. Inspired by the plight of a constituent, he co-founded the Congressional Brain Injury Task Force in 2001. The issue took on added importance after the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks because of a spike in veterans returning from Iraq and Afghanistan with wounds from improvised explosive devices.  Pascrell was born in Paterson, N.J., where his Italian immigrant grandparents settled. His father worked for the railroad. The first member of his family to go to high school, Pascrell was an all-state third baseman, played semi-professional baseball for a team in Clifton and tried out for the Philadelphia Phillies after finishing his schooling in the early 1960s. 

New Jersey Congressman Bill Pascrell (D-NJ) died today at the age of 87.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

It is in the Details

He had always been meticulous, even as a child. It was his brother who taught him to observe and to keep an eye out for tiny details. 

“The more subtle, the more elegant people will find you. Whether it is your attire or your movements. That way, they will not question your ulterior motives,” Mycroft told him.

Sherlock considered this, and when Mycroft bought him the Belstaff and had added the red buttonhole, he understood. It added an eye-catching sophistication to the garment. The fact that it was one of a kind, made it even more special.

Before he attended his first official crime scene, Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, used a fair amount of his inheritance on expensive hair products, had a bespoke cologne made, purchased Italian leather shoes, and spent an agonising hour at one of Savile Row’s tailors to have his measurements taken.

“Only blue and black suits. A dozen white shirts. Two of the aubergine ones over there. Two of that shade of blue. No ties.”

The tailor didn’t even bat an eyelid when Sherlock made his order and insisted that everything should be tightly fitted.

“I need to breathe, but that’s about it.”

“Of course,” the tailor replied.

***

“Who are you, and what have you done with that high as a kite kid who turned up and solved a crime for me last year?” Greg Lestrade asked when Sherlock strode towards him.

“Gone. I’m clean as of last month. Just what you commanded, detective inspector,” Sherlock drawled. “Now, where are the bodies?”

Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson weren’t as easily dazzled by his newly invented persona, but Sherlock saw them as irrelevant, so he didn't care about being offended by their snarky comments.

***

“Just look at you,” Mrs Hudson cooed when Sherlock knocked on her door.

Her favourite colour is still purple. Recently been to the hairdresser. Didn’t get that cat after all.

“Hello, Mrs Hudson. Lovely to see you again. Are you still renting out the upstairs flat?”

“I take it you are interested,” the elderly woman said and winked. “Don’t you think it’s a bit big for just you. A flatmate would be nice. What do you say?”

“Who would tolerate living with me?” Sherlock answered with a grimace.

“Oh, come now, Sherlock. Deep down you’re as fluffy as a plushie,” she stated.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went upstairs to take a proper look at 221B.

It was cluttered, but the atmosphere was cosy, even though it hadn’t been inhabited for several months. 

It feels like a proper home, but do I want to share it with another man? I’ve never lived with other people than my family before. None of my peers tolerated me for more than a few minutes at a time. I find it hard to believe that somewhere out in the London streets, a man walks around willing to share this flat with a pompous and infuriating git as myself. It would be nothing short of a miracle if that was the case.

***

“Sherlock, meet an old friend of mine, John Watson,” Mike called out when he walked into the lab.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the fair-haired man. To Sherlock’s astonishment this John Watson offered to let him borrow his phone when Sherlock asked Mike for his, even though he knew it was safely tucked into his coat pocket.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The awe in the man’s eyes, made Sherlock look away quickly to hide his own confusion. No one had ever gazed at him like that.

“Who said anything about a flatmate?” John asked when he’d gathered himself after Sherlock’s rapid deductions about his career, family, and wound.

“Mike did,” Sherlock explained and put on his coat and scarf with deliberate movements.

Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at my hands and neck, John Watson.

***

“Will you be needing the upstairs bedroom?” Mrs Hudson asked when she followed him and John into 221B the next day.

John blushed but didn’t answer, which was quite promising.

“We’ll let you know,” Sherlock mumbled.

“We have all sort around here,” she assured them before she went down to her own flat.

John placed his cane by the red chair and wandered around to look at all the eccentricities the flat had to offer. The more he walked around, the less he limped, much to Sherlock’s satisfaction.

“Yes, I think this will do just fine,” John said and made himself comfortable in the upholstery chair.

***

“How did you get glitter in your hair?” John asked two days before Christmas later that year.

“I went to Liberty’s to buy some decorations for our tree,” Sherlock said.

“What happened to the Grinch I moved in with in February?”

“He fell in love with an ex-army doctor with a psychosomatic limp,” Sherlock quipped.

“Did he, now,” John murmured and circled his arms around Sherlock’s waist.

Sherlock hummed and bent down to kiss John softly.

“Noticed anything else?” he asked innocently and a bit breathless when they parted.

“I did actually. You’ve been to your tailor,” John said with a broad smile.

“Tell me,” Sherlock purred and sucked John’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“Just spotted some small things. Your shirt isn’t tucked into your trousers in its usually way, one button is only half buttoned, and your left trouser leg has a – “

Sherlock interrupted John’s deductions with a passionate kiss. He looked down into the blue eyes and it felt like he was drowning in a sea of adoration.

“You are a marvel, John Watson,” he whispered.

“Just paying attention to the details that are out of order,” John shrugged, a bit embarrassed by such praise.

“A shame you only catch such details when it comes to me and not at crime scenes.”

John slapped Sherlock’s arse, called him a brat, and went to make tea, while Sherlock decorated the tree.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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[aintgonnatakethis]

SGA Sheppard-gives-Kolya-to-Todd?

his boy's a fucking queer?

I couldn't decide which sounded more interesting

Thanks for the ask, @wyked-ao3! 😄

Sheppard-gives-Kolya-to-Todd now finally has a name and a first chapter posted! bodies in my closet which I added the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat to as a promise to myself to actually follow through on what I want this fic to be: an exploration of Sheppard's dark side. As currently all he wants to do is make out with Todd which, while is an understandable position to hold as well as a nice add-on, isn't what I'm going for overall.

What Sheppard needs to let his darkness out is an enabler. On Atlantis he's surrounded by good people who keep him on the straight and narrow through a mixture of support and pressure (what I mean by 'pressure' is Sheppard feeling pressured to live up to their expectations for what sort of person he should be). I think this is very well shown when he and his team are onboard Todd's hive and he won't give Todd an inch of ground even as Todd is clearly begging for help. If they were alone, I believe Sheppard would be much more willing to provide assistance, but in front of the others he has to 'save face'. Like when he says to Todd "every time we work together I feel like there's a live grenade in my pocket". He would never have said that if there'd been someone else - anyone else, even a stranger - in the room with them, because he's admitting to a weakness: 'I know you're dangerous and I'm going to risk helping you anyway'.

"You're a prize bull, Sheppard. I hope the ride was worth it."

his boy's a fucking queer is inspired by the song the lyric's from: He's So Good by Trash Boat, and is pre-canon SGU, way back when Telford and Young were young men (ages aren't specifically given but mid-to-late twenties, perhaps early thirties at a stretch). Telford stumbles across Young making out with a man. Now, back in those days trading handjobs was common place (yes irl not just in my headcanon lol) because there were so few women on base - if any - and there were often long periods where everyone wasn't even allowed to leave the base at all. So it was viewed by the majority as Not Gay, just something you did to get by.

Kissing, however? Hmm. Telford reacts extremely poorly, and so far it's left open to the interpretation of the reader whether that's because he's jealous, wants Young for himself, and has internalised homophobia about the whole thing, or whether he's just straight up homophobic. But it gets angsty and hate-crimey so it's heavy reading, perhaps even to a more serious degree than the torture in the above Kolya fic, purely because a large section of the people who engage with fandom are queer in some way and therefore will be feel more personal connection to a hate crime over the torture of a "bad guy".

I tried to stop myself from launching off "bad guy" and put this in the tags because it's not strictly tied to the fics, but I couldn't help myself. Sorry. 😂

So. What does 'bad guy' really mean? How has western socialisation affected our views on the subject? Is Kolya a bad guy or someone in a terrible situation? Can you blame any of the 'bad guys' in Pegasus for what they do? They've been subjugated and terrorised for ten thousand plus years. Wouldn't any of us do anything to escape that or even have just a single scrap of safety amongst the horror? Like I don't blame Ronon for never accepting the Wraith in any way shape or form because they slaughtered his entire planet and on the other side of things I don't blame the individual Wraith for killing because the only other option available to them is death, and any species will do incredible things in order to survive. I'll chuck the Iraq-Afghanistan comparison in there too: the Genii as a whole and Kolya as an individual are only the way they are because of Wraith oppression, much like when Western troops roll into places they should not be in and start killing the local populace - they create resistance groups and lend credence to existing ones because people are watching their families die. If someone came into my home and killed my family I'd want to kill them too. I know the eye-for-an-eye viewpoint isn't a healthy one for society and overall I am a prison abolitionist and rehabilitation-focused person, but that's an easy stand to take when I don't have skin in the game, ya know? 🤷‍♂️

Back to the fic! I haven't worked out the ending yet - it's one of those short stories that I get distracted away from halfway through and leave unfinished for a while unless someone expresses interest in the idea - but I don't think it's going to be a happy one.

Everett goes white as a sheet. Telford's never actually seen anyone have the colour drain from their face at such a rate before. He's always imagined it's the response duty-death informers get, calling to the house of some unfortunate serviceman's wife, who knows as soon as she sees a man in uniform who's not her husband at her door.

WIP Name Game

[rametarin]

Fully support the state and nation of Ukraine, here.

I put it behind a screen because this is a long one. Feel free to skip if you don't want to read.

And I want to see Putin's Russians ejected from every former piece of Ukrainian territory, currently occupied by the Putin regime. I want to see the Russian military beaten into a pile of wood stove parts until there's nothing left but infantry and small arms faced against abrams tanks and challengers and leopards threatening to blow them to hell.

I want to see Crimea wrestled back and a gun held to Putin's Russia's head if it so much as sails anything heavier than a non-military fishing trawler in the black sea. And when the conflict inevitably freezes, Crimea will not be on the table of negotiations.

Because this is not negotiable, motherfucker. Losers don't get to make demands, least of all losers that launch attacks to seize land and annex territory. I want to see Russia be forced to sign into law consent they won't invade not just Ukraine, or any other nation, "in the interests of protecting Russian speaking minorities." At best, set up programs so Russian speaking minorities can "repatriate" back to Russia, leaving behind their real estate and property and go back to the motherland.

That's why I celebrate whenever Ukraine blows up a Russian tank or knocks a Russian helicopter or plane out of the sky. Not because I don't like Russians, as people. It's one less tank and one less helicopter and one less plane that could be use to bulldoze nations and communities. One less battalion from a hostile power that wants to devour up the land and the people and tell them they will be Russian or they will die.

One less T-72 rolling across the Georgian soil to menace Georgians. One less, "peace keeper" mission parachuting into Khazakhistan. One less Chechen infantry brigade bandying about the middle east. One less pilot blowing up hospitals in Syria and Lebanon.

The War in Ukraine isn't just Ukraine fighting for itself, it's also the entire western world feeding a former Soviet nation the means and arms to just beat the last vestiges of the old Soviet Union out of the Russian state. And I mean that in both a spiritual, metaphoric and LITERAL sense, as tens of thousands of Soviet war machines just get purged and blown up by the last legs of the shelf life of European and American arms that were built to fight land wars that they expected the Soviet Union would kick off.

I'm sad that a quarter of a million Russian soldiers had to suffer this, but that's just the way nations and states go.

Unfortunately for Russia, Putin is really trying to devote his country's economy into this venture. There is no turning back, now. They had their sunday punch, and they blew it in the first year.

Honestly, after a little walk through Russian history and culture, I kind of feel like the west dragging its feet on helping Ukraine as much as we should've, was purely just playing Russia like a fucking harp. Making Putin think that the, "decadent west" didn't have the stomach for a protracted foreign war or aid. That we were too tepid and depleted from Afghanistan and Iraq for a protracted war, or even aid to Ukraine, or any other nation it tried to gobble up.

That couldn't be further from the truth. The US is by nature individualistic, and that brings with it a certain level of isolationism. The thing that compels US culture into being a rage monster that lurks, is regimes like Russian Imperialism lurking. And it has been lurking through the entirity of American existence. But US culture also understands the value of biding time and extolling the least effort for maximum results. It was never a question of if the US would support Ukraine, it was a question of when and how.

But that unsurity combined with the bias of Putin's Russia truly desiring to gobble up former Soviet States (to say nothing of the rest of Europe) was enough to embolden him and those sycophants that support him in Russia, which just meant continuing to commit resources, as opposed to packing up and running away at a crucial time if it looked like it was going to get too hot. Putin's Russia gambled, and it is going to lose. It's just a question of how badly, at this point.

Hemming and hawwing confirmed Putin's bias that he was free and clear, if he could just scramble and accomplish it before the west came to a negative decision. And whether it was intentional as a strategic weapon or not, I've been laughing my ass off this entire time about it. It's downright cartoonish. Putin's Russia scrambles and acts dangerously trying to seal the deal like this is a sprint and not a marathon while the US just sits there pretending to deliberate on what it should do.

And in the meanwhile Ukraine helps launch the tank battalion's space program by blowing their turrets skyward. Elminating the enormous buildup of machines.

Russia biting off more than it could chew here and hoisting itself by its own petard will mean the entire world worries less about the Russian mob and the government that is symbiotically linked to it. Because there won't be that threat of thousands of tanks and armored personnel carriers behind a national interest by a nuclear power.

This war is Russia's to lose. At any time, it could decide to just give up.. go home. Cease fighting. Stop trying to annex territory that is not Russia. But it won't. And it chose to be an aggressor. That means, it has to devote lives and arms to accomplishing that. Russia literally can't stop until everything of theirs is crushed, like a cargo freighter running aground with millions of tons of goods, the momentum of which driving it hundreds of feet inland through rock and dirt.

And the thing the world has feared for literally centuries now is Russians mobilizing to zerg rush their neighbors, or meddling in other nations to bully them into submissions and secure resources for Russia.

Imagine the local street bully that was so proud, so aggressive and antagonistic because he found daddy's revolver, tripped and lost it down a storm drain. People never bothered them, because they knew the stupid asshole would eventually turn around and start wagging the gun around. Even those that also carried didn't like it, because they don't want to have to shoot them. That's Russia.

Even better, Ukraine isn't a nuclear power. It's a non-nuclear nation on Russia's doorstep. They literally CAN'T just start nuking Ukraine without that fallout existing on their doorstep. They CAN'T just threaten the trump card with any teeth behind it, because Moscow is the crown jewel of Russia. Anything that'd even threaten nuclear vapor wafting into it would be unacceptable. Their biggest terror weapon is useless.

The absolute most avoidable fate imaginable, and Putin's Russia just leaped into it. In such a way that it's impossible to tell if it was hubris or suicide.

The fallout of this will be Russia is required to absolutely start from scratch with its military. This means at least 10, probably closer to 20-30 years of reform to get the nasty shit out before it's even in a position to not be rubble anymore. It has been less than 35 years since the Soviet Union itself fell.

Ukraine refusing to roll over and die presents the world with an absolute banger of a position: Seize Russia's nuclear weapons, then start imposing reforms on it at the end of a sword, since Russia's is broken and ineffectual now. This may even include breaking up the Russian Federation into different, disparate states.

We may just be starting to see the emergence of whole new countries and the disarmament of Russia as a nuclear state. That leaves China alone as the sole other superpower on earth, and it itself is not doing so well.

As a kid of the cold war, people born after 2000 probably can't really fathom the excitement of this moment.

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 9.28

Holidays

Banned Websites Awareness Day

British Home Child Day (UK)

Cabrillo Day (California)

Canterbury South Day (New Zealand)

Carrot Day (French Republic)

Carson King Day (Iowa)

Circassian Costume Day

Ethel Rosenberg Day of Justice (New York)

Fiesta of San Miguel (Mexico)

Fish Tank Floorshow Night

Flag Day (Thailand)

Frances Willard Day (Minnesota, Wisconsin)

Freedom From Hunger Day

Global Day of Student Prayer

Gold Lining Day

Gone-ta-Pott Day [every 28th]

International Day of Arnold Chiari Syndrome

International Day of Scientific Culture

International Day for Universal Access to Information (UN)

International Right to Know Day

International Safe Abortion Day

Marshmallow Twisters Day

National British Home Child Day (Canada)

National Chris Day

National Day of Awareness

National Day of Awareness and Unity against Child Pornography (Philippines)

National Good Neighbor Day

National Gordie Day

National Manufacturing Day (UK)

National North Carolina Day

National Penicillin Allergy Day

National Self Awareness Day

National Son’s Day (Canada)

National Talk Like Mr. Krabs Day (Aenopia)

National Traffic Door Day

NICU Staff Recognition Day

Popular Uprising of Naples Day (Italy)

Psoriatic Arthritis Awareness Day

Read a Child a Book You Like Day

Silver Lining Day

Teacher’s Day (Philippines, Taiwan)

World News Day

World Pet Day

World Rabies Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Drink As Much Beer As Possible Day

Drink Beer Day

International Poke Day

National Drink Beer Day

Ohio Pint Day

Strawberry Cream Pie Day

World Marmite Day

4th & Last Thursday in September

Arthur's Day (Arthur Guinness) [4th Thursday]

National Fitness Day (Ireland) [4th Thursday]

National School Parent Group Day [4th Thursday]

Remember Me Thursday [4th Thursday]

World Maritime Day [Last Thursday]

World Trenches Day [4th Thursday]

Independence Days

Czech Statehood Day (Czech Republic) Nefaria (a.k.a. Timonoucitiland; Declared; 2019) [unrecognized]

Feast Days

Aaron of Auxerre (Christian; Saint)

Alexandre Cabanel (Artology)

Annemund (Christian; Saint)

Confucius (Confucianism; Founder)

Conval (Christian; Saint)

Eustochium (Christian; Saint)

Exuperius (Christian; Saint)

Fast of Gedalia (Judaism) [3 Tishri]

Faustus of Riez (Christian; Saint)

Feast of Khepera (Egyptian Beetle God)

Festival of Wawatsari (God of Deer Peyote; Huichol, Mexico)

Fictional Character Day (Pastafarian)

Fred (Muppetism)

Hapi’s Day (Day of the Nile; Pagan)

Hazelwood Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

John of Dukla (Christian; Saint)

Leoba (a.k.a. Lioba; Christian; Saint)

Lorenzo Ruiz (Christian; Saint)

Michaelmas Eve (Celtic)

Mme. de Staal (Positivist; Saint)

Paternus of Auch (Christian; Saint)

The Prophet’s Birthday [Islam] (a.k.a. ... 

Baravfat (India)

Birthday of Prophet Muhammed (Cameroon, Kuwait, Lebanon, Maldives, Palestine, Sierra Leone, UAE)

Eid Al-Maulid Anebi (Eritea)

Eid-El-Maulud (Nigeria)

Eid-e-Milad-un Nabi (Bangladesh)

Gamo (Gambia)

Gamou (Senegal)

Hari Maulad Nabi (Cocos or Keeling Islands)

Le Mouled (Tunisia)

Maoulida (Mayotte)

Maouloud (Guinea, Senegal)

Maouloud-Al-Nebi (Chad)

Maulid (Tanzania)

Maulid Nabi Muhammad SAW 1444 H (Indonesia)

Maulidur Rasul (Brunei)

Mawleed al-Nabi (Afghanistan)

Mawlid (Ethiopia)

Mawlid al-Nabi (Jordan)

Mawlid An Nabi (Syria)

Mawlid En Nabaoui Echarif (Algeria)

Mawlid Nabi (Somalia)

Mawloud (Mali)

Mawlud Nabi (Gambia)

Mavlid Al Nabi (Cyprus)

Milad Al Nabi (Oman)

Miladunnabi (Bahrain)

Milad-un-Nabi (India, Sri Lanka)

Moulad (Iraq)

Mouled Al Nabee (Libya)

Moulid Al Nabi (Sudan)

Moulid El Nabi (Egypt)

Mouloud (Comoros, Djibouti, Niger)

Rabi' al-Awwal (Yemen)

Youman Nabi (Guyana)

Richard Rolle, Walter Hilton and Margery Kempe (Episcopal Church (USA))

Simón de Rojas (Christian; Saint)

Wenceslas (Christian; Saint) [Bohemia, Czech brewers] *

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Prime Number Day: 271 [58 of 72]

Sakimake (先負 Japan) [Bad luck in the morning, good luck in the afternoon.]

Umu Limnu (Evil Day; Babylonian Calendar; 45 of 60)

Premieres

Aqua Duck (WB MM Cartoon; 1963)

…Baby One More Time, by Britney Spears (Song; 1998)

Ballet Shoes, by Noel Streatfeild (Children’s Novel; 1936)

Blackadder Goes Forth (UK TV Series; 1989)

Blonde (Film; 2022)

Cool Hand Luke, by Donn Pearce (Novel; 1965)

DC Showcase: Green Arrow (WB Cartoon; 2010)

The Dissent of Man, by Bad Religion (Album; 2010)

Dr. Kildare (TV Series; 1961)

Eldorado, by Electric Light Orchestra (Album; 1974)

Fallen Into the Pit, by Ellis Peters (Novel; 1951)

Greedy for Tweety (WB LT Cartoon; 1957)

Hearts in Atlantis (Film; 2001)

Hotel Transylvania (Animated Film; 2012)

I Heard It Through the Grapevine, by Gladys Knight & The Pips (Song; 1967)

Looney Lightning or Nuts and Volts (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 306; 1964)

Looper (Film; 2012)

Love Me Tender, by Elvis Presley (Song; 1956)

Mildred Pierce (Film; 1945)

Night School (Film; 2018)

On Ice (Disney Cartoon; 1935)

Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone, by The Temptations (Song; 1972)

Pitch Perfect (Film; 2012)

The Professor and the Madman (UK Title: The Surgeon of Crowthorne), by Simon Winchester (Book; 1998)

The Show Must Go On or Give “em the Acts (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 305; 1964)

Smallfoot (Animated Film; 2018)

Songs in the Key of Life, by Stevie Wonder (Album; 1976)

Star Trek: The Next Generation (TV Series; 1987)

Superman/Batman: Apocalypse (WB Animated Film; 2010)

Tales from Margarita, by Jimmy Buffet (Short Stories; 1989)

To Know Him Is To Love Him, by The Teddy Bears (Song; 1958)

Tom and Jerry: Robin Hood and His Merry Mouse (WB Animated Film; 2012)

Ugly Betty (TV Series; 2008)

Welcome to the Jungle, by Guns N’ Roses (Song; 1987)

The Wild Life (Film; 1984)

A Wizard of Earthsea, by Ursula K. Le Guin (Novel; 1968)

Zoolander (Film; 2001)

Today’s Name Days

Dietmar, Giselher, Lioba, Thekla, Wenzel (Austria)

Faust, Lovorko, Većeslav (Croatia)

Václav (Czech Republic)

Venceslaus (Denmark)

Lennart, Lenno, Leonhard, Linnar, Linnart (Estonia)

Arja, Lenni (Finland)

Venceslas (France)

Giselher, Lioba, Wenzel (Germany)

Heriton (Greece)

Vencel (Hungary)

Venceslao (Italy)

Gaita, Kaira, Lana, Sergejs, Svetlana (Latvia)

Saliamonas, Tautvydas, Vaclovas, Vacys, Vientautė (Lithuania)

Lena, Lene (Norway)

Jan, Laurencjusz, Luba, Lubosza, Marek, Nikita, Salomon, Sylwin, Wacław, Wacława, Wawrzyniec, Więcesław (Poland)

Hariton (Romania)

Václav (Slovakia)

Lorenzo, Wenceslao (Spain)

Lennart, Leonard (Sweden)

Baruch, Preston, Prior, Pryor, Wenzel (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 271 of 2024; 94 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 4 of week 39 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Muin (Vine) [Day 24 of 28]

Chinese: Month 8 (Xin-You), Day 14 (Ji-Chou)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 13 Tishri 5784

Islamic: 13 Rabi I 1445

J Cal: 1 Shù; Oneday [1 of 30]

Julian: 15 September 2023

Moon: 98%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 19 Shakespeare (10th Month) [Mme. de Staal]

Runic Half Month: Gyfu (Gift) [Day 2 of 15]

Season: Autumn (Day 5 of 89)

Zodiac: Libra (Day 5 of 30)

Calendar Changes

Shù (Month 10 of 12; J Calendar)