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zvhiux34 · 2 months ago

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Simon Riley realizes how much touch starved he is due to his physical therapy.

Pairing: OC (Female, Dr Eavanson) x Simon "Ghost" Riley

w.c: 2.5k

Warning: Fluff, a little twisted Simon I guess, a small sexual inuendo. English it's not my first language.

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Due to his work, Simon Riley is a man accustomed to looking death in the eye, but his skill has helped him dodge it, avoid it, and even mock it to the face a few times.

But what he could not escape, no matter how hard he tried, was the pain.

Although adrenaline and satisfaction also accompanied him, sometimes, when he and his team completed a mission.

But those pleasant sensations went away when the pain knocked on the door. It was always there, like the shadow of a bad thought.

At least it reminded him that he was still alive, and not just another «Ghost» wandering through the valleys of violence.

A few months ago, while he was deploying a mission to capture one of many criminal gangs in Afghanistan, Simon and his team were cornering the leaders when suddenly one of those damned people managed to hit a bullet in his right shoulder, almost hitting his shoulder blade.

It was incredible how such a small object could transmit such a heartbreaking sensation that reached half of his body.

Fortunately, that did not prevent the capture of those scum, but the price of pain was quite expensive to pay.

The pain is what brought him here, in a seat in the waiting room of your medical office. Although the doctor successfully removed the bullet, the impact affected several muscles in his shoulder which prevented him from handling his weapons with the mastery that characterizes him. Therefore, they gave him a medical leave to recover, away from the battlefield.

Simon snorted in annoyance at the memory of his superiors demanding him to take the leave. They also recommended a doctor specialized in traumatology in his homeland, in England, who could carry out his therapy.

As hard as it was to accept it, he knew he needed therapy, so his body would be in optimal condition, just like before.

-Mr. Riley? -The receptionist, a middle-aged woman behind her desk, caught his attention- You can now go into the office, Dr. Eavanson is waiting for you.

Simon stood up from his seat and walked to where the woman indicated. He carried his hands in his pockets as she knocked lightly on the door and then opened it.

Simon didn't know what to expect, he thought you were a gray-haired man who was in charge of this office.

But there you were, a mirage of a delicate figure behind your desk visualizing something on the computer. Seeing you again, Simon felt something tense inside him, the receptionist closed the door behind her, leaving the two of you alone.

You raised your gaze to where he was and smiled kindly at him, Simon didn't know what to do, he was frozen, for a second he thought you had caught him and knew all the paralyzing sensation you caused him in just a few moments. "What's happening to me?" he thought to himself.

-Mr. Riley, right? -Finally, your welcoming voice broke the walls of silence. Simon was able to escape from his trance to nod slightly.

-It's nice to meet you, I'll take care of you today. I was reviewing the X-ray plates of your shoulder along with the medical file, I see that you have an injury in the supraspinatus muscle. Is that correct? -You got up from your seat and took a few steps to approach your new patient, Simon, but he, the lituanent who led a group of soldiers with the same strength and violence as he possesses, and who had experience in fighting against equal or worse subjects...

He took a step back at your approach, as if it were by instinct.

You realized that gesture, and then looked at him a little strangely.

Simon cursed himself inwardly. He was acting like a stupid teenager, or worse, like an antisocial who doesn't know how to deal with people, he had to do something.

-Yes. -He answered, finally while composing himself- That's right. The doctor who treated me in the camp made the same diagnosis... And therefore assigned me a series of therapies.

He almost let out a sigh of relief when he saw your face lose the signs of strangeness that you had shown a few seconds ago.

It was strange, normally he didn't pay attention to what others thought of him.

His mind began to search for an answer to the question that formed inside him. Why was it different with you?

-That's right. -You affirmed with the same smile.-Fortunately, in cases like his, recovery is guaranteed if you undergoes a series of therapies.

Simon nodded as he listened... while he used an effort to contain the desire of his eyes to travel something further below the borders of your face, he didn't want you to notice him doing that, while you looked at him straight in the eye.

-But first, I have to examine you. Could you undress and sit down on the stretcher, please? -Suddenly all of Simon's thoughts fell silent, as you pointed with your head to the stretcher that was on the right side of the room. And a coat rack to hang clothes.

«Shit» when he saw you he had totally forgotten that he had to undress in front of the doctor who was going to treat him.

He just didn't take into account that it was going to be someone like you.

In those microseconds where he tried to dilute his little panic, he glanced at you while you were checking something on your iPod.

You didn't seem to give the matter any big importance, anyway, for you it was just another body to check.

But for him, it was a body formed by years of work, but it was also full of tattoos and scars, in which each trace of them contained hundreds of stories. Some he still knew by heart, others... Not only were they too obvious, but the memory was also very present.

But the problem wasn't him, he wasn't embarrassed at all by his appearance, the problem was you... He didn't know how you were going to react to seeing a body like his, nor... Nor if you were going to like it.

He couldn't just stand there either.

Simon started by removing his black jacket, feeling the bother sensation by his right shoulder, then finishing with his long-sleeved shirt of the same color. He hung them on the clothes rack, and proceeded to sit on the strecher, feeling it soft at the same time he heard the squeal beneath him.

He assumed that was what announced to you he was ready for the evaluation. You put your iPod on your desk and went straight to where he was.

There, Simon's eyes escaped from their prison to be able to quickly and discreetly explore a little more of what he had already been able to capture.

You were smaller than him, without a doubt, even when he saw you sitting at the desk he realized. You barely reached the height of his chest.

His honey-colored eyes lowered a little more, until they met your neck. It was firm, not willing to allow your head to look down at any eventuality, and the skin that protected it looked so soft and delicate.

Simon wondered how many times you had covered it, not only from the cold weather, but to protect it from the curious glances the love marks made by some lucky indiscreet lover to whom you allowed such audacity.

Although you were not carrying any by now, he made sure of that.

His eyes lowered further, and found the protective layer that was your white coat and the blue uniform, those in your profession usually wear.

He did not deny he was only a little disappointed, since his imagination would have to cooperate to draw the shapes hidden beneath the layers of fabric.

But it did not matter, the best part was in front of him, totally accesible to his sight.

Your face.

-Well, I am going to examine the state of your shoulder with a series of movements to evaluate its condition - You announced, while you positioned yourself in front of him.- It is important that you let me know if you feel any pain, since that way I will know what type of therapy will be the most appropriate for you, okay? -You looked into his eyes to get his approval, Simon looked back at you and nodded.

-Okay.

-Perfect, let's get started.

You took the wrist of his right arm, and raised it slightly while your other hand gently rested on Simon's affected shoulder.

-I'm going to move your arm in a circular motion.-You announced again to begin to make the movements, gently.- From one to ten on a pain scale, how do you feel it?-She ask him.

Nothing could prepare him when he felt the touch of your soft fingers on his rough skin. He had to use an effort to contain the small exaltation that his body emitted.

Until you began to move his arm in a circular motion.

The sensation that the movements caused on his affected shoulder reminded him of the reasons why he was right now here, the pain was not as intense as the days after his operation. But it was still very annoying, he tried not to let the pain be reflected in his gestures.

-Seven. -He confessed.

-Perfect. -You snapped. You left his arm in the original position.- I'm going to repeat the procedure with another exercise, the conditions are the same. -You assured him with your voice that he felt as velvety in his ears.

You took his right arm wrist again, except this time you gently bent his arm until you were directing his hand towards his left shoulder, where your other hand was resting.

To do this, you had to put your arm around Simon's back, who was a significantly larger person than you.

But the one who was aware of all this was him, who felt his breathing stop for a moment, as he felt your delicate arm surround the skin of his back, which he felt was getting warmer and warmer.

While your chest was only centimeters away from coming into contact with his skin.

After months and months of combat, where many times he faced each other in hand-to-hand combat, using the power of his strength to weaken the enemy or using his perfect technique in the execution of weapons, where many times his opponents responded with scratches, bruises, blows, or even bullets, like the last time.

This was the first time he felt how physical contact with another person... did not imply some kind of harm to him.

And suddenly he realized, he realized after all these events how much he needed at least some small kind touch after the sea of violence he subjected himself to day after day.

He felt his heart ache a little below his chest.

Simon looked back at you, and imagined how he took advantage of the position to take you in his arms and place you on his lap, while you allowed his mouth to finally capture yours in an almost suffocating way, but you responded in the same expectant way as he did.

-From one to ten on a pain scale, how do you feel? -Your voice takes him out of the perfect imagination in which he was submerged, he answered quickly to pretend he never imagined such scenes with you just a few seconds ago.

-Six.

-Perfect. -You answered with your warm smile.

And so the first therapy session with you passed, where Simon had to honor his good sense of self-control, and for the first time in his life he realized he was almost on the verge of losing it.

-Very well Mr. Riley, you can put your clothes back on now. -You kindly indicated while looking into his eyes, Simon did as you asked, surprised that time had passed so quickly- As I suspected, the injury from your wound does not present a depth that supposes a serious magnitude, fortunately -You went to your desk to record with your computer the physical examination that you performed in detail- Therefore, you have been prescribed two sessions of physical therapy including interferential therapy for five weeks starting next Thursday.

Next, you removed two copies of the prescription from the printer. You gave a copy to Simon, who was already dressed and in front of the desk, which he took very willingly.

-On the prescription, write down two painkillers that will help you a lot with the pain and the necessary doses.-You indicated.- That's all for today, we'll see each other next Thursday, Mr. Riley, take care, and if you have any questions, you have my phone number that you can call- You assured, then getting up from your chair and offering him your hand as a momentary farewell, which Simón gladly took.

Since it was the last trace of contact with the one he would have to survive until his next meeting.

-Thank you very much for everything, Dr. Eavanson. See you next Thursday.- He said in farewell, then opening the door that separated him from the outside world... From you.

Darkness had already fallen over the city, and Simon was inside his apartment with the light off, on his bed, ready to finally rest. He had already taken the medicine you recommended, and for the first time in months, his shoulder was no longer bothering him so much in this position.

With his head on his pillow, he began to think on today's events.

After thinking for a while, he discovered that what happened a few hours ago had never happened to him before, until he was under your touch.

And he didn't understand why, certainly the last mission was one of the longest he had had in his career, where the only people he saw daily were his teammates.

It is true that he couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him in such a delicate and kind way.

And well, he had already gone on long missions before... And he had also touched other women in the past, and they had touched him too.

But none of them caused him the slightest bit of what you did. Even though they had only known each other for less than half an hour.

And after thinking, and thinking without coming up with any logical answer, he simply stopped looking for an answer, and dedicated the last moments of his day to enjoying the beautiful moments he spent with you in the walls of your doctor's office.

And with that he posed a question that perhaps would never have a clear answer: How would you react... if Simon lost the self-control he had left?

What would you think of all the things he had done with you inside his mind without you knowing?

Without a doubt, he was going to attend all his therapies.

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I'll be glad for any sugestion 💘.

M A S T E R L I S T

#cod mw2 #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #fluff

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aliteralchicken · 13 days ago

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aliteralchicken I must know when the military tried to recruit Tim

Robin 138-147, it’s bad, the only reason I’ve reread a few of them is because Laura’s in a few issues, the context is that penguin has been hiring assassin after assassin against Tim and Cass, for the soul reason of its easier to hire assassins for a job they won’t be able to complete than to hire new muscle

one of Tim’s would be assassin’s, the rising sun archer (my personal fav, the arrowfam should steal her from this terrible comic) is found tied up with no explanation, Tim’s been dealing with a lot of would be killers lately so upon seeing a guy waiting for him in military uniform immediately after trying to deal with the penguin he immediately does the reasonable thing and attempts to beat the shit out of him

the two fight for a little while before the guy admits that he’s the one who tied up the rising sun archer and since Robin has been fighting new assassins every night he needs an ally, this distracts Tim enough to be knocked out and then they bring him back to his robins nest

He and Bruce talk and Bruce tells him that the veteran is actually some kind of supernatural being, born fully grown on the battlefield and has been fighting in every war for the last two hundred years at least, this may or may not be completely true, but there’s definitely some truth in it

Tim leaves the veteran a note that he wants to talk and then gets a new would be assassin, this time a part dog part man named junkyard dog who’s got an army of rabid canines, Tim knocks them out with gas and and the military squad snipers the rest, after the battles over the veteran says he wants to recruit tim

Tim has a very chilly first meeting the lieutenant before meeting the others, one of whom is actually a robot who Tim collected the comics of as a kid because that’s a way they keep undercover, by making comics

eventually they get to the actual offer, leave batman and join a special branch of the military, that way he’ll be able to fight legally, he asks why not just recruit batman and they say because no because he likes giving orders

Whereas Robin is used to taking them, they did try to recruit nightwing back when he was robin as well

They ask to spar with Tim, they tell him there’s actually been five worlds wars (ones happening right at that moment apparently) this is a terrible distraction because Tim wins the soar against both of them anyway

Tim talks to Bruce about the offer, says he’s going to think about it, then the veteran joins asks if he wants to join them on a mission, this ends up being to Afghanistan where there are…demon eggs

…and they fight demons

Tim saves the lieutenant who kisses him (grown woman, pedo, I told you it was bad)

there’s the omac event, they team up again alongside ragman, blue devil and nightshade and the molars find out the people they’re shooting are civilians, then they team up to fight a bunch of metahumans

Bruce is like you promised you’d never recruit my agents again, the veterans like nuh uh you told me not to I never said I wouldn’t and anyway robin is absolutely 100% gonna join me

and then he doesn’t

#tim drake

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raina-at · 6 months ago

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Hero

When John was a child, he read voraciously. His home wasn’t very welcoming, and his life was unpleasant enough that escaping into the many worlds contained in the local library was more than tempting, it was life-saving.

He read fantasy novels about adventurers saving their world with courage and magic, he read spy novels where cunning people faced each other over a wall dividing the world into East and West, he read historical novels and myths about noble ladies and their knights, he read crime novels about brave detectives protecting the innocent and bringing the guilty to justice.

His fantasy worlds were full of heroes, even if his real life lacked them to a painful degree. Nobody came to save him and Harry when their father turned physically abusive as well as verbally. Nobody saved their mother from wasting away from an illness that took her joy, her hair, her body, and finally her mind. Nobody saved Harry from the bottle.

Nobody ever saved John from anything. So he joined the Army, where his job description was saving people. He felt at home there, among people who risked their lives daily to keep each other safe, where the first rule was to have each others’ back. Always.

The Army gave him stability, purpose, family, protection.

One bullet ended his life in the Army, and came very close to ending his life, period.

Afterwards, he wasn’t exactly grateful for his survival. For many months, he wishes he had died there, bled out on the sands of Afghanistan. What use was he now? To anyone?

He wanted to end it. He wanted it to end.

Sherlock found him not quite at rock bottom, but very, very nearly there. Sherlock pulled him out of the fugue state of self pity he was trapped in, making him realise that he still had something to contribute. He couldn’t save brave soldiers anymore. But he could save Sherlock Holmes.

That first night his hands were steady as he shot Jefferson Hope so Sherlock could live. And he discovered that he very much wanted to live, if life could be like this. Walking the battlefield with Sherlock Holmes.

So yes, he idealised Sherlock. He never said so, but Sherlock was his hero. Sherlock saved him, gave him purpose, gave him a home. He felt useful by Sherlock’s side. He felt needed. Wanted.

It’s not that he didn’t see Sherlock’s flaws, his rudeness, his unwillingness to do the dishes, bill clients, pick up the milk, his abrasiveness, his entitlement. His disregard for the feelings of others. But he also saw Sherlock’s unexpected kindnesses, his generosity, his sense of humour, his charm, his fierce intelligence and voracious curiosity, his secret strength, his hidden heart.

The problem is that he put Sherlock on a pedestal. He took Sherlock’s moral failings and shortcomings personally, because he made Sherlock his mission. Saving Sherlock Holmes—from killers, from fans, from himself—had become John’s new identity. Sherlock’s work, Sherlock himself, had to be worth John’s devotion, had to be worth John’s service, because if he wasn’t, what did that mean for John?

John believed in Sherlock when he jumped. He believed in Sherlock while he was dead. He kept believing in Sherlock, the genius, the story, the myth he created himself through his blog and inside his own heart, even when the grief nearly killed him. But Sherlock was worth it. He was worth the pain, he was worth the grief, he was worth John’s broken heart and his shattered life.

Then Sherlock came back. And John’s temple, where he kept his memories and his faith, his grief and his love, his pedestal of illusions shattered into a million pieces.

His hero had betrayed him. His hero had lied to him. Had departed to parts unknown, on missions John wasn’t allowed to share, wasn’t even allowed to know about.

Sherlock didn’t need him. Sherlock didn’t want him. Sherlock had left him behind. Sherlock hadn’t saved him, he’d fished him out of the used bin and then tossed him right back in there.

It hurt in a way not even Sherlock dying had. Because when Sherlock died, John could still believe in him. But now…

Shattered illusions are hard to forgive. Sherlock’s return made John feel not only unwanted, unloved, and deeply betrayed. It made him feel stupid.

It took him a while to admit that, even to himself. How disappointed he was in Sherlock, his saviour, his hero, the cause he had fought for. And how deeply unhealthy it was, to put all of that on Sherlock’s shoulders, to be his friend, his cause, his everything.

It took him an even longer time, and it took them both hitting a rock bottom so ugly John still shies back from thinking about it, to realise that Sherlock had made the same mistake. That he, too, saw John as his saviour and his cause. That Sherlock, too, had confused and conflated John Watson, the cause he fought for, and John the living, breathing person with autonomy and flaws.

John isn’t anyone’s hero. And Sherlock isn’t, either. They’re flawed, human, flesh-and-blood people who happen to love each other deeply and devotedly. They can’t save each other. They can only save themselves.

So, one day, John gathers his courage and his wisdom and his love, and he says, taking both of Sherlock’s hands in his, “I don’t want to be your cause. I just want to be yours. Are these terms acceptable?”

Sherlock blinks, and smiles, and says, “On one condition. I get to be yours in return.”

John smiles and presses a kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “I think that can be arranged.”

----

Tags under the cut as always. Please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

I'm sad it's almost over... Friday is the last day! I can't believe how quickly May has gone. What a ride...

Just a quick reminder that I'm collecting all my prompt ficlets here on AO3.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #may prompts 2024 #mayprompts2024 #johnlock fic #ficlet #hero

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edosianorchids901 · 16 days ago

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On Moonless Nights

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "singing in the candlelight"

Cw: war and injury-related PTSD

Night after night, the battlefield invaded Watson’s sleep. Sometimes he was haunted by the fighting itself, with the whistle of bullets, cries of wounded soldiers, the urgency of an army surgeon to get his patients to safety. Those dreams were upsetting, but manageable.

There was another sort of dream, though, one that left him shaken and frequently incapable of getting back to sleep at all. That nightmare, which returned all too often, concerned his war wounds.

Tonight’s dream had started like the others, with the battlefield itself. And then the sharp, searing pain in his shoulder and thigh, the sound of his own screams, the smell of his own blood. Other doctors working on him, trying to put him back together while he screamed and screamed and…

And then there was singing, soft and soothing. It drifted through the dream, across the battlefield and through the field hospital, a strange serenade that interrupted even the pain.

Watson jolted awake, heart racing, but it was hard to be terrified when he was so confused. Why had there been singing? Had his sleep become so disturbed that he had started singing in his sleep?

Then he felt the gentle hand on his aching shoulder, and saw the flickering candlelight. Still in a daze, he turned towards the light. “Mr. Holmes?”

“Quite right, my dear fellow.” A gentle smile curved Holmes’ lips. “There is no need to fret. You are at Baker Street, and exceedingly far from Afghanistan.”

Afghanistan was far away, yes, but still so present in Watson’s mind. He could still smell the blood, and pain throbbed through his shoulder and thigh. “My wounds…”

“Are no doubt paining you because you have been extremely tense. I presumed you were having bad dreams again, and thought I might be of some assistance.”

Watson blinked at him. The candlelight cast heavy shadows across Holmes’ sharp features, but his keen eyes gleamed. “Again?”

“You have bad dreams nearly every night, so far as I can tell.” Expression intent, Holmes touched a finger to his lips and studied Watson. “I wonder whether you would be better off if you did not have to ascend the stairs before bed, and thus aggravate your injuries? Perhaps we ought to exchange rooms.”

“I do not think that is the problem, my dear chap.” The pressure of fear lifted from Watson’s chest, and he smiled as he struggled into a seated position. “I had nightmares at my previous lodgings as well.”

Holmes frowned, studying him. “They have not worsened since you and I began to share rooms?”

“Not at all.” They had been here together for some months now, and participating in Holmes’ cases was strangely helpful. It had given Watson something to do rather than just drifting, and Holmes was fascinating if strange company. “They have improved, actually.”

“Ah!” A lightning fast smile flashed across Holmes’ face before his expression sharpened to curious concern. “Tell me, is there anything I might do to be of assistance?”

Watson eyed him, recognizing the intense look. “I am not a case to be solved, Holmes.”

Holmes chuckled and sat back, rubbing his hands together. “Pray forgive my curiosity. I have been told that I am somewhat lacking in my understanding of social conventions.”

That was certainly true, although Watson could not mind. In many ways, Holmes was deeply reserved, unwilling to speak of his own emotions and often failing to participate in the usual social call and response. He often did not seem to realize when he ought to say thank you, or that he should respond to a simple “good night”.

But he did show his care in other ways, from sharing his interests to purchasing favorite cigars for Watson. This current barrage of questions, if awkward, was well intended.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Watson said, massaging his shoulder as he leaned back against the headboard of the narrow bed. Afghanistan seemed further away now, at least, for it was hard to think of the battlefield while so distracted by his friend practically vibrating with eagerness. “My dreams are just to to be expected, and I don’t believe they can be solved as easily as you solve murders.”

Holmes let out a short gust of laughter, then folded his hands together in his lap. He had perched as lightly as a bird on the edge of the bed, and still looked as if ready to spring into action at any second. “Yes, I fear I am a little more skilled at solving murders than at friendship.”

“Holmes, that’s not true at all! You’re very good at friendship.” Watson couldn’t help smiling at the look of surprise on Holmes’ face, although it made his heart ache a bit. They had both been very alone until now. “A little unconventional, but that is not a bad thing.”

“Well, well. It occurs to me now that my singing to you may have been a somewhat strange gesture.” Holmes’ expression tightened, as if he was annoyed with himself. “I was merely concerned by the length of your nightmares, and uncertain if touching you at once might prove startling.”

“It was a very effective means of waking me up. I… I was very frightened.” It was strange to talk so openly about this, to discuss his dreams and feelings even in passing. But Holmes, despite his own reticence, was easy to talk to. “I am very glad you roused me. But how did you know I was having nightmares?”

“Your bed creaks in a certain way when you tense, and I have something of an abnormally acute sense of hearing.” Holmes smiled, then swiftly stood, picked up the candle, and gestured to the door. “Would you care to share a pipe and some conversation?”

It was certainly better than going back to sleep, and to the battlefield. “I would like that very much.”

#granada holmes #sherlock holmes #john watson

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meetinginsamarra · 6 months ago

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mayprompts2024,#20 do-over

Apparently there will be another AU happening. No beds but tats.

A Tattoo Shop AU.

I've no idea where this will go so I'll surprise us all. LOL

+++++

White Pony Tattoo - Part One (do-over)

Dr John Watson stood in front of 221 Baker Street and – for the first time in a very long time – felt anxious.

He was wondering why this actually happened to him right now. The London afternoon was mild and sunny, summer was about to begin and yet, an aura of foreboding seemed to hover around the well-kept Victorian building.

John shook himself mentally. This was completely ridiculous. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was no danger.

For God’s sake, he had fought for Queen and Country in Afghanistan, had saved several lives and countless limbs in the field hospital and also on the battlefield under heavy fire. He had not felt anxious then. Wary, yes. Cautious, of course. High on adrenaline, surely.

He had been shot in the shoulder while he was on a scouting mission with his team and had woken up in his own field hospital. When his fellow army doctor had disclosed to John in blunt medical terms that he might lose his arm, then John had been frightened.

After a long rehab process the arm was functioning again but John had been honourably discharged because of an intermittant tremor in his hand that made him unsuitable to work as a field surgeon.

Two years ago, John had returned to London and after struggling for three months he had found work as a physician in a local clinic. He had soon met a wonderful nurse named Mary Morstan, fell in love with her and they had married quickly.

Which brought John back to the reason why he was standing in the middle of the pavement in front of 221 Baker Street, staring at the tattoo shop like a village idiot.

The tattoo on his right upper arm needed a do-over.

“White Pony Tattoo” was not what John had expected. It was located in a small shop with a red awning above its single window. There were no flashing neon signs or colourful and enlarged pictures of tattoo designs the artist had created. No advertising of the shop’s services whatsoever. Everything was clinical and sterile, even off-putting. Had it not been for the single metal sign placed in the middle of the window, no one would have thought a tattoo shop would be behind it.

Maybe it was the sign that made John feel so anxious.

It read “White Pony Tattoo” and showed a stylized white running pony on its right side. On the left the sign read “no arguing, no crying, no boring designs”. This did not bode well. Just by the look of it, John would never have thought about setting a foot in there.

Yet, John had done his fair share of internet research to find the best tattoo shops in London because he really did not want some would-be tattoo artist botch up his skin.

White Pony Tattoo had topped several lists. The only shortcoming that people regularly mentioned was that the artist was capricious. The lesser polite said that he was a total dick. However, Sherlock’s – John assumed it was a pen name -artistry was highly acclaimed and he had won several competitions over the last years. Getting an appointment was difficult and being accepted as a client was even more so. But sometimes, when Sherlock was interested enough, he accepted walk-ins.

John straightened his back, raised his chin, took a deep breath and opened the door of the tattoo shop. A melodious door bell chimed and announced his presence.

IIt was cool and dim inside the shop and it smelled faintly of a fresh lemon fragrance. A thick purple curtain behind the wooden counter closed off the rearmost part of the shop. Quiet classical violin music played in the background.

“Hello?” John called out, taking off his jumper to let his tattoo show. “Is there anybody here?”

The curtain moved and a man stepped up to the counter. It was easy to recognize Sherlock from the few pictures John had seen on the internet.

“Hello, I’m here for a do-over…” John began.

“Shut up.” Sherlock commanded. His baritone voice was silky and opulent just like the luscious black curls that framed his aristocratic and unusual face.

John was so surprised that he closed his mouth with an audible plop.

Sherlock’s eyes roamed over John’s face and upper arms, then the rest of his body. Piercing blue grey eyes took in every detail, precise like an x-ray machine or better, like a computer tomograph. They missed nothing, pinning John to the spot and stripping him down to his very bones, unable to hide anything. It was uncanny. Disconcerting.

“Firstly, it’s called a cover-up, as you should very well know.”

Sherlock chided, frowning. His voice rumbled like the high-end engine of a race car and filled John with an unknown desire.

“Secondly, I’ve already deduced what you want. I won’t do it because it’s boring.”

+++++

The one(s) who know and tell me where the shop's name comes from will get a cameo in this AU (nothing bad, I promise). Are you game?

tagging @peageetibbs @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @raina-at

#mayprompts2024 #my sherlock fanfics #white pony tattoo #prompt number 20 do-over #no beta we die like (wo)men

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ltash · 3 months ago

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Desert Rose

Last part

Captain Price stood at the head of the briefing room, his arms crossed, a sombre expression etched into his weathered face. The low hum of the base's activity buzzed in the background, but inside this room, the air was thick with tension. Ghost and Palwasha—now Shay—sat across from him, their attention fixed on the Captain.

“We’ve got a situation,” Price began, his voice gravelly. “Intel suggests Konni forces are operating in the Russian tundra, gathering resources and rallying their troops. Command wants them extracted, quietly and efficiently. This mission is off the books.”

Ghost leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing behind his skull mask. “Why us?”

Price shot him a hard look. “Because you’re the only ones I trust to get it done. No backup, no support. Just you two. I need operatives who can move fast, think on their feet, and handle themselves in hostile terrain. That’s you and her.” He nodded toward Shay.

Shay sat quietly, her mind racing as she processed the information. The Russian tundra was brutal, unforgiving. A frozen wasteland filled with dangers, both natural and man-made. She looked at Ghost, whose calm demeanor only made her more determined to prove herself.

“I’m in,” she said, her voice steady, though her heart was pounding. This was her first major mission, and she wasn’t going to let fear show.

Ghost turned to her, his gaze unreadable. “You sure?” His voice was low, but there was no doubt about his concern.

She met his gaze with determination. “I said I’m in. I’ve faced worse.”

Price nodded in approval. “Good. The mission is straightforward. You’ll be inserted by chopper fifty clicks outside the target zone. From there, you’ll make your way to the extraction point and neutralize any Konni forces you find. They’ll be well-hidden, so stay sharp. And remember, this is black ops. No one knows you're there. If you get caught, you're on your own.”

Ghost tilted his head, his voice calm but cold. “And the extraction?”

“You’ll be picked up at the rendezvous point once the mission’s complete,” Price replied, sliding a folder across the table. “This has the exact coordinates. You’ll have thirty-six hours to get in, complete the objective, and get out.”

Shay picked up the folder, flipping through the pages. Maps, intel, photos of the terrain. It was bleak, snowy, and treacherous. She felt a knot form in her stomach but pushed it down.

Ghost rose from his seat, his posture relaxed but ready. “We’ll get it done.”

Price’s eyes softened slightly as he looked at them. “I know you will. You’ve got one hour to gear up. Make it count.”

As they left the briefing room, Ghost glanced at Shay, his voice quiet but firm. “This isn’t a game. The tundra’s a different kind of battlefield. Cold, isolation... it messes with your head.”

Shay gave him a curt nod. “I’m ready, Ghost. I can handle it.”

He looked at her for a long moment, as if weighing her words. Finally, he nodded. “Let’s hope so.”

The clock was ticking, and they had a mission to prepare for.

The mission was simple enough on paper: extract the Konni soldiers hiding in the Russian tundra, far from the reaches of Task Force 141’s usual operating areas. Ghost and Shay, formerly Palwasha, were the chosen pair for the task, a solo mission in the unforgiving cold.

As the helicopter touched down quietly on the frozen terrain, the frigid wind cut through them like knives. Shay pulled her hood tighter over her head, her breath fogging in front of her as they moved silently across the tundra. The cold seeped through her layers, sharp and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the heat of Afghanistan she had known all her life.

Ghost moved ahead of her, a shadow blending seamlessly into the white expanse, his movements purposeful and calculated. She followed closely, her heart racing despite the cold. They had trained for this, prepared for the ambush, and within minutes, they reached the Konni hideout nestled in a cluster of trees.

It didn’t take long for them to execute the extraction. The Konni soldiers were caught off guard, their defenses scattered and weak in the harsh conditions. Ghost was swift and efficient, neutralizing the threats with lethal precision while Shay provided cover, her fingers numb around the trigger of her rifle.

By the time the extraction was complete, the tundra was silent once more. The mission was a success.

As they made their way to the safehouse, the cold intensified, and Shay could feel the sharp bite of it in her bones. The wind howled through the trees, and despite her best efforts, she began to shiver uncontrollably. The chill was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and her body, accustomed to the searing heat of the desert, struggled to cope.

When they finally reached the cabin, a modest structure hidden away from prying eyes, Shay’s entire body was shaking. She could barely feel her fingers as she fumbled with the door, Ghost right behind her.

He noticed immediately.

Inside, the cabin was a simple, insulated space, but the cold still clung to her, refusing to let go. Ghost wasted no time. He threw his gear down and immediately moved to the wood-burning stove in the corner, lighting a fire. Shay stood in the middle of the room, her teeth chattering as she hugged her arms around herself, trying to warm up.

Ghost turned, his eyes narrowing as he saw how badly she was shaking. Without saying a word, he walked over to her, his presence commanding but calm. He pulled her toward him, his arms wrapping around her tightly, drawing her into his warmth.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “Should’ve known this weather wasn’t for you.”

Shay tried to smile, but her lips were numb. “I wasn’t exactly prepared for this.”

Ghost pulled her closer, his strong arms around her like a protective shield. Shay’s body trembled against his, but slowly, the warmth of his embrace began to seep in, calming her shivers.

“You’ll warm up soon,” he said softly, his breath hot against her ear. “Just stay close.”

Shay leaned into him, her cheek resting against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The cold was still there but less biting now, dulled by the heat of his body. Ghost’s hands rubbed her arms, his touch firm but gentle, coaxing the warmth back into her skin.

The tension between them, always simmering beneath the surface, was undeniable now. Shay lifted her head, her eyes meeting his, and for a long, quiet second, neither of them moved.

The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room as Ghost’s hand moved to cup her face, his fingers brushing against her cold skin. His eyes were dark, filled with something unspoken, something that had been building between them for days, weeks even.

Shay’s breath hitched as she leaned into his touch, her body responding to the heat of him, the closeness of him. The world outside faded, and all that was left was the warmth they shared in that moment.

“Ghost,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her lips trembling not from the cold but from the electricity sparking between them.

He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at her, the way his hand lingered on her cheek, said everything. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head, his lips brushing against hers, soft and tentative at first, as if giving her the chance to pull away.

She didn’t. She kissed him back, her body pressed against his as the fire crackled beside them, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The kiss deepened, the warmth between them growing stronger with every passing second.

He gently pushed her back against the wall, his hands cupping her face, the cold now a distant memory as the heat between them intensified. Shay felt her heart racing, her fingers curling into his jacket as she pulled him closer, her body aching for his touch.

But then she hesitated, pulling back slightly. “I—I can’t, Ghost,” she whispered, looking away shyly, her face flushed.

His expression softened, his touch tender as he gently lifted her chin, guiding her gaze back to his. “Shay, it’s alright,” he said softly, his voice a soothing rumble. “There’s no rush.”

The cabin's silence was tinged with a comforting warmth. Ghost’s fingers lingered on her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tiny crease of worry from her brow.

“You’re shivering, Shay,” Ghost spoke softly, his tone imbued with unmistakable care. “Why don’t we get you warmed up a bit?”

Shay nodded, her eyes still avoiding his as she murmured, “I just want to spend some time with you, Ghost. Can we… cuddle?”

He gave her a small smile, nodding slightly. “Of course, Shay.”

Gently, he guided her toward the bed in the corner of the room. He pulled back the covers and motioned for her to get under them. Once she was settled, Ghost climbed into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her. His heat radiated against her, a soothing blanket in the cool room.

Shay rested her head on his chest, wrapping an arm around him. “You know,” she said softly, her voice muffled against him, “I never thought I’d be here with you… like this.”

His fingers traced featherlight patterns on her back, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Neither did I.”

There was a pause, a silence that stretched between them, filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Ghost’s hand rested on her back, his touch steady and comforting.

“I never expected to… feel this way,” he confessed quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shay lifted her head slightly, her eyes meeting his. “What do you mean?”

Ghost hesitated, his gaze holding hers for a long moment. “You changed me, Shay,” he said softly. “You make me feel something I thought I’d lost.”

Her heart quickened at his words, and she smiled up at him, her hand resting on his chest. “You’ve changed me too, Ghost.”

He looked at her, his eyes filled with something raw, something vulnerable. “I never intended to let anyone in… but with you, everything just feels…”

“Feels like what?” she whispered, her voice soft and encouraging.

“Feels right,” he finished, his voice low, filled with an honesty that caught her off guard.

Shay’s fingers gently brushed through his hair, her touch light and tender. “I never thought I’d leave Afghanistan behind,” she said quietly. “But you were always there for me, Janaan.”

Ghost’s gaze softened, the tenderness in his eyes unmistakable. “You’re stronger than you know, Shay,” he murmured. “And you didn’t do it alone.”

He lifted a hand to her cheek, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “You taught me to trust, to open up… to feel.”

“And you taught me to break free,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. “I was living in a box until the day I met you.”

Ghost smiled, his hand cradling her face. “You were never meant to stay in a box, Shay. You’re meant to fly… and I promise, I’ll be here to catch you when you fall.”

Shay smiled back at him, her heart swelling with love. She leaned in, gently kissing his cheek, her lips brushing against his skin. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ghost.”

He closed his eyes at her touch, his hand resting on her back. “You’ll never have to find out,” he whispered, his voice a soft promise.

The room was quiet, the fire crackling softly as they held each other. Shay rested her head against his chest once more, her body relaxing in his embrace.

Ghost pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “You should get some rest,” he murmured. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Shay nodded, closing her eyes as she nestled against him. “I love you, Ghost,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I love you too, Shay,” he whispered back, his arms tightening around her as they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

Shay had always been a warrior, a fighter who had known nothing but battle and survival for most of her life. She had fought against the world, against her past, against everything that had tried to hold her back. But here, in Ghost’s arms, none of that mattered.

In his arms, she wasn’t the fierce freedom fighter of Afghanistan. She wasn’t Palwasha, the woman who had fought tooth and nail for her people.

In his arms, she was simply Shay. And she was his.

As she rested her head against his chest, her body relaxed completely for the first time in as long as she could remember. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the warmth of the flames enveloping them in a cocoon of safety and peace. For once, the war outside seemed distant, the battles they had fought mere echoes in the night.

Ghost held her close, his arms wrapped securely around her, his breath steady against her hair. He knew the strength she carried, the fierceness that lay within her, but in this moment, she was his to protect, to hold, to cherish.

She had been a warrior her whole life, but in his arms, she was more than that.

In his arms, she was only his.

Part 2

Part 1

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mswyrr · 4 months ago

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Hotd finale leaks final thought

And no it's not ooc that wartime causes spikes in domestic violence. That is a known thing! That is part of the realities and why imo this is an antiwar narrative.

People keep wanting the story to play pretend and lie to us like war is a fun time or anybody wins one. But nobody does. Especially not a civil war. It gets inside you - it eats people and families alive. Men vent their stress on the bodies of women in their families like dae/mon and aemond both have.

"Oh it's a soap opera." That sounds so damn naive to me as someone who grew up near a military base during the Iraq and Afghanistan wars and studied the mental health fallout of ww2. Men at war engaging in dv is a predictable thing. It's part of why war is and always will be *shit*.

I know us media has been largely very naive/positive about war since post 9/11 (it's stark compared to the wideapread antiwar pop culture during and after vietnam) but that doesn't mean it's a bad story when a show tries to be antiwar.

Hotd shows the horror of the battlefields. And the horror of what men behave like inside their own homes. There's no such thing as a winnable war. Only survivors. And the survivors are changed for the worse by it.

Sometimes their grasp (themes and goals) exceeds the reach of their writing talent (tho the writers strike hurt this season) but what it's aiming for is good

edited to add:

In the archives, I saw stories like a teenage boy coming home from war and beating his own mom - not a bad kid. A good kid nobody ever expected that kind of behavior from.

It's "OOC" for aemond? It's the miserable, pitiable story of how once you go to war it doesn't stay outside of you.

It's awful that a boy who was bullied and just wanted to please his Mom once has become this - but it isn't inherently "ooc" as a storyline to explore.

#hotd leaks #hotd spoilers #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd meta #my meta #house of the dragon

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endless-summer-soldier · 1 year ago

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dr. feelgood - chapter four

pairing: Surgeon!Bucky x SurgicalIntern!Reader

summary: Y/N has a one night stand with a handsome stranger the night before starting her new job as a surgical intern. Little does she know, the handsome stranger also happens to be her new boss

warnings: must be 18+, drinking, some surgery descriptions, smut, self-pleasure, praise kink, very minor character death, unprotected sex, rough sex

word count: 2.1k

series playlist: here

taglist: @sebsgirl71479 @ozwriterchick @notmeddy @drewsuncrustables @lokidokieokie @hextech-bros @nats-whore @m4nulup1n @arcanebabe @tanyaspartak @jackiehollanderr @princezzjasmine @fallenlilangel99 @pono-pura-vida @mavrellover91 @milanaasblog (message me to be added!)

series masterlist

It had been two weeks since the “incident” with Bucky. I had been avoiding him as much as possible but managed to keep things professional when I did have to interact with him.

Today most of the interns were sitting in the gallery preparing to watch Dr. Stark perform an open heart surgery. This was the most intense surgery since I started and we were all eager to watch his technique.

As Stark finished scrubbing, he entered the OR and started dancing around the patient, jamming to Metallica. And then I smelled it. Honeycrisp apples. I had an immediate reaction, remembering my tryst with Bucky, and I felt my underwear dampen ever so slightly.

“Did I miss anything?” Bucky whispered in my ear, as he took another bite of his apple.

“He’s just getting started,” I replied, refusing to look at him.

Stark cranked up the music as he called for the ten blade.

“Why don’t we get to listen to music and dance in your OR?” I joked.

He scoffed, “I hate that he does this. He loves to put on a show and entertain. He’s brilliant but he thinks more about himself than his patients.”

“Mmm,” I said, snacking on a pretzel and trying not to engage further.

“When I was in Afghanistan, there was no music. Hell we barely had the proper tools. We were operating on the battlefield with whatever we could carry on our backs. And he will never understand that. So yes, it drives me crazy that he takes all this for granted.”

He seemed worked up and he made a really great point. While it seemed fun to be in Stark’s OR, he did seem a little flashy considering he was conducting heart surgery.

“How long did you serve?”

“I was enlisted for twelve years, but some of that time was spent in medical school. I was overseas for…six years.”

“Thank you for your service,” I said, looking at him for the first time.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

“As fun as it looks in there, I’d much rather be scrubbed in with you,” I said. It was a genuine comment, not flirty. I respected that he valued everything at his disposal and worked with the sole interest of the patient in mind.

“You just like watching me scrub,” he flirted, changing the tone.

“There’s nothing I like more than a clean man,” I joked. He genuinely chuckled and took another bite of his apple.

As Stark continued on with the surgery, he kept looking up at his crowd and making eyes with all of us, as if showing off. I could practically feel Bucky rolling his eyes next to me. A few minutes later he leaned in and said, “I think I’ve had enough of this.” I felt him stand up and leave the room, bored with the procedure. I found that I wasn’t far behind him. Bucky had shown a light on this surgery that I hadn’t thought of before. And so, I finished my bag of pretzels and left to go check on some of my patients.

As I reached the nurses’ station, Bucky appeared at my side and said, “We got a case coming into the ER. A homeless man was sleeping in a dumpster and got picked up by a trash truck. Multiple injuries, you want in?”

“Absolutely.”

It was my first bad day in the hospital. It was bound to happen eventually, but I didn’t think it would impact me this much. I was assigned to Dr. Strange’s service today to complete a tumor resection. Our patient’s name was Jarvis. Despite having the name of a butler, Jarvis was in his early forties and was an absolute delight of a patient. He was polite and asked good medical questions, but he also made an attempt to get to know all the doctors and nurses tending to him. He shared with me that he was a computer programmer and was fascinated by all the technology we used at the hospital. He somehow managed to gain the respect of Strange, which was impressive considering most doctors in the hospital hadn’t even tackled that feat.

And after spending the last week in the hospital, greeting me warmly every morning, he died in surgery. I knew better than to get attached, and I wouldn’t say that I was, but I was fond of the guy. He was young and had his whole life ahead of him. He was planning to express his feelings to the woman he was secretly in love with after his surgery. But he would never get that chance; he wouldn’t wake up. Strange called time of death cavalierly, as if we hadn’t been joking around with him hours before. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to dissociate like that.

After my shift ended, I went to Pym’s, the bar across the street. The last thing I wanted was to ponder my thoughts alone in my apartment.

“Whatcha havin?” Scott, the owner of the bar, asked. A lot of the hospital staff frequented the establishment which meant we were all on a first name basis with Scott.

“Tullamore Dew, neat.” Scott gave me a surprised look before pouring the Irish whiskey.

“Long day?” he asked.

I nodded, “Something like that.” He gave me a sad smile and added a little extra to the rocks glass in front of me.

“Thanks Scott.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.” He read people so well. When I came in with a smile on my face and ordered tequila, he would chat with me and ask about my life and the hospital. But today he gave me some space, which was appreciated.

I took a long swig of whiskey and let out a deep breath, trying to forget the events of the day.

“Drinking whiskey? That can’t be good.” I felt someone sit in the seat next to me and glanced over to find Bucky.

“Hi Dr. Barnes,” I said, turning my attention back to my drink.

“Doll, we’re outside of work. Call me Bucky.”

“Yeah whatever,” I muttered. He flagged down Scott and pointed to my drink, as if to say I’ll have what she’s having.

Once the drink was in front of him, he said, “So what are we drinking to tonight?”

I stayed quiet for a while, searching my whiskey for answers, before I decided to talk.

“Does it ever get easier?” I asked, turning for the first time to face Bucky.

He looked into my eyes and seemingly understood my predicament.

He shook his head and looked down to his drink, “No it doesn’t.”

“I just didn’t think it would be this hard, you know? They covered all this in med school. We talked about the emotional toll this job takes and we practiced breaking the news to family members, but…I don’t think anything could’ve prepared me for the real thing.”

“It’s by far the worst part of the job. And everytime it happens, you feel like shit. Sometimes it's worse than usual. And then sometimes you sort of become numb to it. But no matter how numb you get, there will always be another case that makes you question your career.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” I asked, taking another sip of my drink.

“Hey, I’m just telling you the truth.”

“I do appreciate that. Better than sugar coating it.”

“There is one thing I’ve found that helps me.”

“What’s that?”

“I either come here or I make myself a drink at home. And I think about that person’s life. The highs, the lows, their family, friends, and then I think through the surgery. And I ask myself, is there anything I should’ve done differently. Sometimes there are things you could’ve changed, other times it was bound to happen. And you learn from it. You give yourself time to be upset, let it out. And then you move forward.”

His advice was oddly insightful.

“You're welcome for sharing that, by the way. Took me years to get into a good routine. And maybe that doesn’t work for you, but you need to find a way to reflect productively.”

“Thank you, really.”

“Do you want to talk about them?”

I nodded, “His name was Jarvis. He was an absolute pleasure to be around. He was so respectful of everyone working on his case. He never buzzed the nurses when he needed something because he knew how busy they were and he didn’t want to give them more work to do. He asked really insightful questions when we walked through the procedure; he had clearly done his research. And everytime I went in to check on him before the surgery, he asked me how I was doing. He asked what my plans were for the evening. He saw me as a human being, not just a doctor.”

“What was he in for?”

“Brain tumor. Not easy to remove, but Strange was confident he could get it. And he was close, but…” I couldn’t continue, and Bucky seemed to understand.

I was surprised to feel his hand on my back, gently rubbing up and down.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Thanks for sitting here and listening to me.”

“Any time. And hey, just remember how many people we do help. This job isn’t easy, but the wins are what keep us going.”

I nodded and finished my drink, and thought about my next move.

“You heading home?” he asked me. He had nearly finished his drink.

“I’ll stay for one more,” I smiled. He nodded and called to Scott, asking for another round. “Why don’t you tell me about your day?”

“Oh well, strap in because you are about to be very impressed.” I appreciated him changing the mood to one of levity. It served as a great distraction, even if he was over exaggerating his successes. He continued to throw in jokes, and compliments, in an attempt to make me smile, which worked like a charm.

We spent the remainder of the drink talking about the surgery he completed that day. I asked him questions and pictured his procedure in my head, wishing I had been with him in the OR instead of assigned to Strange.

Our glasses were empty and Bucky instinctively handed over his credit card to pay for our rounds, despite my protests. “You’re an intern, I know how much you make. Take the free drinks,” he argued. He settled up the bill and we collected our things, departing our local bar.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked me.

I thought about protesting, declaring myself an independent woman who could care for herself. But I found I didn’t have the fight in me today.

“Sure,” I smiled. We walked toward the parking lot of the hospital in comfortable silence. When we reached my car, there was a moment. We looked at each other and I could sense him reading me, trying to figure out his next move. The tension between us was high, and I genuinely considered giving into my pining. It would be nice to have some company tonight, even if it was just to share a glass of wine and partake in some innocent cuddling. But there was nothing innocent about Bucky Barnes, and inviting him into my home would be like asking in a vampire: my defenses against his seduction would be useless and I’d wake up with bruises on my neck.

“Thanks Buck,” I eventually said, unlocking my car.

“Any time,” he said, as he took a careful step backwards. “You working tomorrow?” he added.

I simply nodded and gave him a soft smile.

“Good, I’m requesting you for my service. We’re gonna save some lives.”

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t sleep. I contemplated another whiskey, but was keen to avoid a hangover in the morning. Instead, my eyes were affixed to the ceiling as I half-heartedly listened to a podcast in an attempt to lull me to sleep.

What puzzled me was that I wasn’t up thinking about Jarvis, I was thinking about Bucky. He provided the exact support that I needed in my moment of despair, proving he was more than just a good lay. Suddenly, the line between personal and professional didn’t seem so clear.

Sure, it was unethical to get involved with a superior, but it must’ve happened in hospitals all the time. Surgeons spend a majority of their time in the hospital, fraternization must be commonplace. It didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore. Who cares about what other people think, shouldn’t my happiness come first?

Before I realized what was happening, my fingers were inside of me and a moan was escaping my lips. Bucky was on my mind, in every position imaginable. Pumping vigorously, then slowly. His lips on my neck, his tongue circling my ear. His musky scent penetrating my nasal cavity. The thought of it was all too much, and I came undone so easily. As I was gently overcome by sleep, I knew that things had changed and I was in trouble.

next chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes doctor au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you

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cantorpike · 5 months ago

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Dear Friend,

When I was a teenager, I told my dad I wanted to be an actor. In response, he gave me the only piece of advice he ever offered me—“Learn to play the accordion.” And he was serious. He said, “You can always make a living with an accordion.”

Because I ignored his advice, I never found out if he was right. Instead, I’ve lived 80 creative years pursuing acting and photography, and working as a director and poet.

If I had listened to my father, and hadn’t done any of those things, chances are you wouldn’t have recognized my name and you wouldn’t be reading this. Now that you are, I’d like to ask you to consider what I have to say. I reach out to you as someone who is troubled to see the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians continue apparently without an end in sight.

In fact, there is an end in sight. It’s known as the two-state solution—a secure, democratic Israel as the Jewish State alongside an independent Palestinian state. Even Israel’s nationalist Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, has come to see this as the shape of the future. The problem is how to reach that end point. It’s something we should be concerned about—not only as world citizens, but as Americans.

You might recall the episode in the original Star Trek series called, “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield.” Two men, half black, half white, are the last survivors of their peoples who have been at war with each other for thousands of years, yet the Enterprise crew could find no differences separating these two raging men.

But the antagonists were keenly aware of their differences—one man was white on the right side, the other was black on the right side. And they were prepared to battle to the death to defend the memory of their people who died from the atrocities committed by the other.

The story was a myth, of course, and by invoking it I don’t mean to belittle the very real issues that divide Israelis and Palestinians. What I do mean to suggest is that the time for recriminations is over. Assigning blame over all other priorities is self-defeating. Myth can be a snare. The two sides need our help to evade the snare and search for a way to compromise.

This is the message that Americans for Peace Now seeks to spread. I’m a strong supporter of APN and the work it does. It is a leading voice for Americans who support Israel and know that a negotiated peace will ensure Israel’s security, prosperity, and continued viability as a Jewish and democratic state.

The Middle East is only getting more tumultuous. The upheavals throughout the region show that what happens in the Middle East can’t help but affect us in the United States. This year, we’ve seen oil prices rise sharply and America become involved militarily in Libya. The cost to American lives and our economy continues to rise at a time when unemployment and deficits are sapping our country’s strength.

“If we can solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, then that will make it easier for Arab states and the Gulf states to support us when it comes to issues like Iraq and Afghanistan. It will also weaken Iran, which has been using Hamas and Hezbollah as a way to stir up mischief in the region.”

Those are the words of candidate Barack Obama in 2008. And although they’re just as accurate today, time has not stood still.

We’ve also seen a marked increase in violence: a Jewish family was murdered in the West Bank and a woman was killed in a bus bombing in Jerusalem. A rocket attack on southern Israel from the Hamas-controlled Gaza Strip resulted in a school bus being hit and a teen died of his wounds. Israel, in turn, has retaliated. We need strong American leadership now to pivot from the zero-sum mentality of violence to an attitude that focuses on the parties shared interests: security and prosperity.

If you’ve learned something from this letter, I’ve succeeded in my preliminary task. Now I ask for your support to continue APN’s educational efforts in this country—to spread the message that there is a peace solution, and to let Congress and the White House know it’s preferable for America to be part of the solution than to be drawn into another conflict.

There is a sizable number of influential voices in Israel saying the same thing. In April, a group of 50 prominent Israelis, including the former heads of the Mossad (Israel’s CIA), the Shin Bet (its FBI), and the military, issued a call for two states for two nations. Their plan includes a Palestinian state alongside Israel with agreed-upon land swaps. The Palestinian-populated areas of Jerusalem would become the capital of Palestine; the Jewish-populated areas the capital of Israel.

These experts are not naïve. They know that even if the Palestinian pragmatists of Fatah reconcile with Hamas, there will be extremists who will try to sabotage any future peace deal. They know how to deal with violent extremists. These people were entrusted with Israel’s security and are saying that the work they did alone isn’t enough to bring Israel security. We cannot know yet what this unification of Hamas with Fatah means and we have to wait and see what emerges. Regardless, the principle of establishing two independent states, one Jewish and the other Palestinian, is still critical in this region for both Israel and the Palestinian people. That is the goal, to support the rational and moderate course.

Their action plan echoes the 348 senior Israeli reserve army officers and combat soldiers who came together in 1978 to urge their government to sign a peace treaty with Egypt. They formed Shalom Achshav, Israel’s Peace Now movement which APN provides nearly 50 percent of their funding.

Peace Now’s activities and programs—such as Settlement Watch, the ongoing monitoring of settlement construction on the West Bank—keeps peace on the world’s agenda. Peace Now gathers and publishes detailed information on settlements and is widely cited in Israeli and international media as the foremost authority on settlements. Peace Now is likewise well known for mobilizing demonstrations and organizing grassroots pro-peace activities. Innovations include an interactive online map of the settlements, “Facts on the Ground,” also available as an app for iPhone and iPad developed by APN applying Peace Now’s courageous work.

Like those Israelis who issued the peace plan, the members of Peace Now have their boots on the ground. They serve in Israel’s military reserves and see every day what life is like without a negotiated peace with the Palestinians.

That’s why I’m a supporter of APN and Peace Now.

I hope you’ll join me, and lend your voice to the influential and credible peace lobby that exists here as well as in Israel. Please give the tax-deductible contribution you can afford.

Dare I say it? It’s the logical thing to do.

Leonard Nimoy

5/11/2011

#i'm gonna start rbing this every time a star trek blog is antisemitic to me for i/p reasons. leonard nimoy would be deeply disappointed in #some of the stuff y'all are saying. have some compassion for your fellow humans #peace activism #leonard nimoy #radical compassion #eretz yisrael #this letter made a tangible difference when it was published and helped direct a lot of money towards apn and peace now #long post #jewish star trek

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alwaysshallow · 1 year ago

Text

coffee at midnight, part 5

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

After a time that you've spent on a mission, it's time to relax a little. (3,5k)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

AO3 version

Being on obligatory leave was weird for you.

It's not like you were a workaholic (well, maybe a little) – you appreciated free time if it was given, most of the time, even if it was weird. You were used to battlefield, to keep your eyes open and being on alert, so when you were at home, every little thing distracted you. Knocking to your door, wood cracking, everything had your attention, which was... irritating, but you got used to it after being at home for more than two days.

But you've had at least two months of sitting at your ass in the apartment. You needed something to do, or else you'd get crazy; mostly you kept yourself busy, having a purpose. Certain routine.

Maybe that's why military was so good for you – because you had one thing in mind. Being the best version of yourself, and in that category was a lot of different things. Protecting, killing if you need to, making people feel safe, risking your life multiple times. Adrenaline usually pumped in you like crazy, but it was your jam, no one else's.

As Laswell's daughter (adopted, but that really didn't matter) you were raised like that – to be the best to not give a shit, to believe in your capabilities. She'd remind you multiple times, and every time you replied with small smile and "I know, mom". You wouldn't ever actually forget the talk she gave you when she found out you want to follow her path.

Million questions if you're sure, if you know what you are doing. And you knew. It wasn't only because Kate taught you that way, to help people, to bring good out in this world. It was a fascination about the job, begging her in your teenage years to bring you somewhere; she didn't, her limit was you meeting price. Fifteen and curious, you asked him like crazy about his missions, and he answered your every question with undeniable amusement in his eyes.

Not because you were nosy, but because you were so curious. So, so curious, and it somehow made him happy.

Despite those talks that you're good for everything, it was hard to believe, while you had to prove yourself in front of everyone, work twice as hard and sometimes it wasn't enough too. No matter how beaten up you were, how tired you were.

It wasn't a secret that women in military had a tougher route than men, and you liked to be delusional about it until you weren't actually here. The amount of sexism you experienced, inappriopate comments about where your place is, you couldn't keep up with counting.

Kitchen was their answer, of course. You ignored them most of the time, in military no one would survive without thick skin, but... sometimes it got to you.

Especially when tasks were based on teamwork.

You hated moments where they acted like nothing's wrong in front of your supervisor – the minute she or he was gone, situation changed dramatically and you apparently weren't a comrade, but "just a woman". Climbing somewhere with them a bit lower than you occured in comments about your ass, shooting exercises with trying to get a rise out of you when they tried to correct you.

It was nice experience though, shooting lessons, when you hit ten point mark, and they just watched with a bit open lips. The satisfaction was insane, considering that they almost got them all too.

Almost, a key word.

Some were actually nice – it wasn't like all of them bugged you and you hated the entirety of men in military. It was just... the effect of those toxic ones, like everywhere; one person that behaved badly, could give an ick. You started being reserved, sticking to women friends (which was hard too, not only because of number but also because of competition) and men that were normal.

As normal as you could be in military.

With time, they got bored and you could function better. Could be as well the effect of the first mission in Afghanistan since from that time they treated you like a human. They were so eager to go, and after coming back several months later, they seemed like different people.

War changes everyone, you were different too. Listening about war, training; something completely different than actually taking a part in it. Pictures of buildings in pieces were nothing, comparing to real life experience, where you marched with weapon in your hand, experiencing real life tragedy.

Sometimes you wondered where people failed – a war like this shouldn't happen, ever.

Over time, military gave you an opportunity to learn something; specialize, as they said. Your mums told you that taking their money is more than responsibility (you couldn't do anything else but laugh at it), so you took something. Something that was interesting enough to dip in – and that was on being IT specialist with a bit of Cyber Operations.

All in all – hacking, protecting your own systems and going through others without being caught was something that you absolutely loved and the fact military paid for it was more than rewarding. It was something you were good at, your skills were your baby to care about and be proud of when someone needed your help; even if it was late at night and you were already sleeping. Firewalls to crack, intel to get, everything could wait. Adrenaline in your veins pumped even more when you had to do it in a field, a gun in your free hand, while another cracked the code.

Happened a tad too much, but you managed – those capabilities brought John Price to you, proposing you the job, not because of his friendship with your mother, but because you were good. Good with your shooting skills, cooperating. Because you had something that he needed very much.

Best compliment you could get, so that's why you were more than confused what to do in your spare time. Two whole months (or more) without being in the field, where you belong.

Wasn't the easiest to turn your routine upside down. From active and in field, to resting and at home, but things were easier when you started watching your show that you abandoned a while ago; of course because of work. Minutes turned to hours of binge-watching Criminal Minds (comes with a job, right?) and ordering something from your local restaurant every now and then because you didn't feel like cutting.

Especially with your arm that still shook a bit and your actions could result in a very bad way, so you chose the safest option for your own safety.

Two weeks passed longer than you expected though, and you're just... well, not only mad, but also bored to hell. You even texted your mother if they don't need any digital help or something, just something to keep yourself busy with because, frankly, you were ready to work again, to go out, to shoot.

Not your arm, though. Your arm was pretty mad at you most of the time and it happened to strike you every now and then, when you forgot your meds.

Mostly, the good thing about your days were when something interesting in TV shows happened or if you were waiting for a food delivery guy that knew you probably better than his own mother at this point. Every little knock to your door was loved, and every time you opened with enthusiasm and a small smile.

Except that one time, after almost two weeks, it wasn't a delivery man with your Thai food that you've waited so patiently for almost an hour.

"Evenin', Rosa. Missed me?"

When you made him his coffee (with insane amount of sugar and caramel with whipped cream on top of it, just as he liked it), he told you everything that happened during your absence. Spots that were on map found by you were their magazines, loads of stuff in here; weapons, other plans, some stuff that Price had to translate and check, but it was valuable.

You couldn't be more satisfied when he told you this, feeling like a kid on Christmas day; less happy you were when he remarked that they don't need your help and your captain pretty much sent you his regards.

Not what you liked, obviously, but it was something.

After explaining one thing, it came down to another – what he was actually doing here since it was still a full-ass mission, not a vacation. Hell, you won't forget the lazy smile he gave you back then, his head tilted to the side.

He looked like a Cheshire cat.

"'s my duty off the field, keepin' you all safe 'n cozy." he winked, ruffling your hair. "Y'know, gotta take care of my girl, yeah? Sucks without your ass around."

You barely managed not to roll your eyes. "Just tell me."

"That's the pure truth."

Well, it wasn't. After laughing at your reaction once again, he told you about Price saying something about sending some of the boys on "vacations" to regenerate properly – boys, Gaz and Soap only. In normal circumstances, it wouldn't be even an option, but since they called a special unit to help them earlier, they had even too many people, so he decided to treat the youngest.

Considerate of him, really. Another reason Soap believed in, was sending him home to take care of you, but you just laughed at that. He didn't know how to take care of himself, taking care of you? Hell, it sounded like a fable that you're feeding kids with.

At least, you thought like this until the next day, when he showed again at your door with groceries in bag, his smile wide. He was gonna cook for you, and the minute you opened, he entered your apartment like it was the most casual thing ever (it was). You said nothing, when he opened fridge and complained on amount of everything, asking how could you eat so little.

You were eating quite normally; Johnny, on the other hand, had eating habits that occasionally horrified you, but given his profession and his strength... everything explained itself.

What horrified you more though, was his cooking skills. Not like they were bad, but you really didn't want him around fire or things that he could easily burn; that's probably why you've decided to make simple sandwiches with him.

Well, it wasn't quite making from your side, considering you only gave him a few ingredients or told him where your knives were. He wouldn't let you do a damn thing, and even if it irritated you badly, he literally couldn't care less.

"'m here for you, hen. Don't complain." he pointed at you.

You'd lie if you'd say you didn't enjoy it, Soap's company; you were almost grateful that Price sent him on leave. That guy wasn't only a walking chaos, but made everything around himself like it, and that was exactly what you needed. Exactly what you needed to break with that boring routine, driving you crazy. Burnt eggs, a lot of dirty plates (he promised to take care of it later, and you both knew the best he's gonna do, is just loading the dishwasher), TV shows that you loved to comment with him. He always had snarky comments about contestants in Rupaul's Drag Race, even if he stated million of times that show is lame.

Yet, he watched with you, so both of you were lame in a cute way, which you were oblivious of. In your dictionary, a word cute, applying to you and soap, didn't exist.

What was shocking in that second visit, was the fact Soap didn't feel like going anywhere from your couch after you've decided to go to sleep. Instead, he asked if you have a sparrow pillow and something to lie on.

"It's not like you have to stay here with me. I'm perfectly capable of staying on my own. Been doing that for almost two weeks now" you said, as with his help, you transformed couch into a cozy place to sleep.

"Mm, just missed ya ass, lass." he pointed at you. "Insufferable little witch you are, y'know?"

"Oh, you love me for that." you rolled your eyes, chuckling.

It shouldn't be surprising to you that "one" time went to multiple times.

Every time he had an excuse to stay – he either was feeling dizzy and heavy after eating something, wanted to spend more time with you or just help you in every day activities. One day he even had a good point; you had to visit the doctor, and he intended to drive you here. Your arm was still too weak, and you needed to rest it, not possibly injure it more since a desire to be back in field was enormous.

With him staying at your place though, came a little more than just his presence – his things. At first it's hard to notice – toothbrush next to yours in cup, some of his clothes, it all felt necessary, he stayed at your place, after all. You started to notice after a few days, though; his PlayStation next to your TV with various games, his clothes in your closet. He even asked you one day if you have better space to place them.

It all felt like he's moving in, not just staying on accident, testing his luck. This motherfucker knew his way with you, and used it all the way, testing your patience because he loved to play with you. Not only competing in games, shooting, military trainings, but in real life.

"You know, your shower head is acting up. Pressure should be high, it's barely coming out at times" Johnny called out from the bathroom. "A man wants just to shower and he can't do it properly."

You laughed, rolling your eyes to yourself. His shower routine. "Annoying, isn't it? I usually don't have time to fix it or call anyone, so..." you shrugged.

"I'll fix it. Not really something to call people on" he huffed, almost offended at your statement; it's something he usually did. Soap didn't really believe in hiring someone to do things, he was sure that he would do these things himself, and not only he'd save money, but he will do it better.

"You will? You know" you turned around, to face the bathroom door "I don't want you to mess it up even-" your voice catched in your throat, mind going completely blank, when you saw him. It felt like God was testing you; Soap in nothing but just white, plushy towel, loosely wrapped around his hips. Any time it could slip and leave you with him all for yourself.

The thought made your cheeks burning hot a little, especially the moment he cocked his eyebrow and leaned against the wall, smirking. He knew how he looked like, how he could easily use it against you, not really trying. Soap's abs and sculped body luring you in, due to years of hard work, military and simply taking care of himself.

A lot of scars just added to image.

"-even more." you finished your previous sentence, clearing your throat.

Somehow, it was very amusing for him, to see you like this. You weren't the type to blush, not in the slightest – after all, you saw everything before; for example, when you stitched him up. How was it different than other times? Military is full of pictures like that.

Yet, there you were. Acting like a girl that saw a man first time without pretty much nothing but a towel, even if the truth was far different from it. Soap was just an eye candy, whether you liked it or not, and it was a big trouble in times.

For a time like this, for example, when he was in your apartment, trying to take care of you, with your towel, using your stuff. His scent was everywhere.

"'m experienced in making things better, don't you worry your pretty head about it" he hummed, placing his hand on your cheek. It looked funny; how big his hand was, but it brought so much comfort to you, that you closed your eyes. "'m gonna take care of my girl, yeah? I told you already."

Nothing came out from you, but just a simple nod. He was so good with words when he wanted to, and you were like a lost puppy, listening to them all, with hope that he meant every one of his promises. And he did – always, if it came down to you, you knew it.

"Good. Now, you have this popcorn ready? Fast&Furious starts literally any minute." he nudged you with his hip, casually taking a sit on the couch.

"Don't you want to put your clothes on first?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Mm. Do I?" he mimicked you, standing up. "Yeah, yeah. Gonna do it, hen, I don't want to deprave you more" Soap whispered to your ear, his body hot, almost skin to skin level. You inhaled some air, sighing just when he disappeared into your room to take his clothes.

It was supposed to ease you, his presence in clothes, but you still had that image of him in that towel only, when your head was leaning against his shoulder during the movie.

xxx

"Him? Helping in kitchen? Cleaning? I had to convince him for months to do that when he lived at my house!"

Since Johnny's mom was finally back from her trip in Spain, he called her in the morning – a simple talk, he said, when you handed him a cup of coffee, still in your pyjamas. You pretty much didn't want to interrupt them, but the moment she asked about you, you had no other choice than participate in discussion as well.

She knew you; impossible not to, considering that you and Johnny were friends for more than a year, serving together, in the same team. You loved talking to her, and she loved talking to you; somehow, you always had topic to talk about (besides her son's behavior, she asked every time – and every time you exaggerated, just to rile him up). Apparently, baking and making ceramic things were something that made your bond go stronger. From time to time, she sent photos of her pottery, and every time, with a warm feeling on your heart, you responded., asking her about technique and stuff like this.

If that would be possible someday, you wanted to meet her so bad, as well as his two sisters. Soap loved his family more than anything in this world, being a big, protective brother, even if his sisters were teenagers, you loved seeing it. Seeing him calling every time he could, seeing him with that little smile when his mom talked about sending him some stuff because he lost weight and he needs to come back to Scotland as soon as possible so she will change that.

More than adorable, honestly.

"Mm, I think the key is to tell him not to do things. Then, he does all that" you laughed, playfully nudging Johnny who rolled his eyes at your implication. "What? Just saying!"

"'st sayin', mhm." he nodded. "I can help when I have to, thank you very much."

"You almost burned my kitchen" you started, chuckling again when he gave you the look "but we appreciate it, yeah."

"Yer just mean. 's all" he pointed at you, wrapping arm around you swiftly, which brought you two closer. His touch almost burned some weird feelings in you, but you brushed them off, smiling to Soap's mother, when her head tilted to the side with a curious expression.

"She's just speaking her mind, John" she laughed, squinting her eyes suddenly.

"You good, ma?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just looking, your hair seems longer?"

He shrugged. "'s normal, I haven't had time to trim it in deployment. Will think about it later"

Conversation ended after another twenty minutes; apparently it was time for her favorite TV show, so Soap ended the call. You sat next to each other in silence for a few minutes, in your phones, scrolling through pages.

"I used to cut my hair in high school" you started, your eyes on his hair "I can cut yours, if you want."

Soap laughed, shaking his hair. "No, thanks."

"Why? It's not like you can't trust my skills!"

"Oh, a ken that. You have a bit wobbly hand, though" he grinned at your eyeroll "and, I think I might keep it this way for a while."

You raised your eyebrow. "You love your mohawk. Thought you're gonna keep it for years, even if you're gonna be a captain or something."

"Aye, probably. 'st testing my options, hen." he stood up, straightening his posture. "Gonna do coffee for us. Pick a movie." he smiled, kissing the top of your head; your cheeks burned red.

You tried to focus on picking a movie, not how the whole gesture made you feel all tingly, but it was almost impossible.

#john soap mactavish #mw2 #soap imagine #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x you #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap fluff #johnny mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x reader #call of duty #cod soap #cod fanfic

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mariacallous · 6 days ago

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Doubts over sustained U.S. support for Ukraine long predated Donald Trump’s victory in the presidential election, and they have raised concerns over Kyiv’s ability to sustain its defense against Moscow’s war. These concerns have overshadowed another important dynamic in an already complicated conflict: the increasing involvement of East Asian powers in a European war. Besides the recent arrival of at least 10,000 North Korean soldiers on the Russian side, the evolving roles of China, Japan, and South Korea raise the question of whether a widening proxy war is being fought in Ukraine. By all indications, the answer is yes: The war is setting a new precedent for Indo-Pacific nations to compete for their interests on the global stage.

A proxy war is when two countries fight each other indirectly—by supporting warring participants in a third country. Classic examples from the Cold War era include the Congo crisis in the 1960s and the Angola crisis in the 1970s, when the Soviet Union and United States each backed warring factions in a civil war with money, weapons, and sometimes troops from yet other countries but never got directly involved in combat themselves.

Not all proxy wars look alike or follow the standard pattern. Sometimes, an outside power’s support for one side leads that power to intervene directly. Think of the United States’ gradual involvement in the Vietnam War or the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan to prop up the embattled government there. Even as the military efforts of their proxies waned, the United States and Soviet Union maintained their participation in an attempt to prevent a victory by the other superpower’s proxy.

Russia’s war against Ukraine has all the trappings of a proxy war. The Kremlin has clearly articulated its view that Ukraine has no agency as an independent state and that the target of its invasion is the West—specifically, the United States. Members of NATO and several other Western-aligned countries, in turn, are supporting Ukraine with weapons deliveries. The West’s intention may be Ukraine’s defense, but its efforts are necessarily directed at Russia. By forcing Putin to fail in his goal of subjugating Ukraine, Western support for Ukraine undermines Russia. U.S. Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin suggested as much, admitting that “we want to see Russia weakened.”

But what about East Asian states’ involvement on each side of this war? Is this a proxy war for them, too? If so, to what end?

Start with Russia’s supporters. Despite China refraining from overtly providing Russia with weapons, it has worked to ensure Moscow’s ability to continue its war. Not only has it opposed Western sanctions, but it has also used its diplomatic connections in the global south to prevent a broader condemnation of Russia. Importantly, China has stepped in to prop up the Russian economy and defense industry to ensure that Russia can withstand Western sanctions and supply its military. Russia now imports most of its battlefield goods and critical components from China; according to U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken, China now supplies Russia with about 90 percent of its microelectronics imports and 70 percent of machine tool imports. According to customs data, Beijing ships more than $300 million worth of dual-use goods to Russia every month. As if to fire yet another warning in NATO’s direction, China this year participated in military exercises in Belarus, only a few miles from the Polish border.

North Korea has taken a far more direct approach. It was one of only five countries that voted against the U.N. General Assembly resolution opposing Russia’s aggression, and last week Pyongyang ratified a military alliance that pledges either country to aid the other in case of attack. North Korea has provided Russia with artillery shells and ballistic missiles to support dwindling munition stockpiles. But the most escalatory step occurred last month, when North Korea sent about 10,000 troops to Russia, some of whom are now reported to be fighting the Ukrainians in Russia’s Kursk region.

To support Ukraine, two stalwart U.S. allies have stepped in, albeit with much smaller steps: Japan and South Korea. Early on, Japan coordinated sanctions against Russia with Western partners. Tokyo also provides direct and indirect assistance to Ukraine, including nonkinetic military equipment—including vehicles, flak jackets, and reconnaissance drones—as well as some $12 billion in other aid, making Tokyo one of Kyiv’s top bilateral donors. Japan also revised its restrictions on weapons exports, enabling the transfer of Japanese-manufactured Patriot missiles to the United States, thereby helping to ensure U.S. stockpiles remain stable even as some of this equipment is sent to help Ukraine. And diplomatically, Japan has used its connections to act as a convening power to help Ukraine. During Japan’s 2023 G-7 presidency, for example, then-Prime Minister Kishida Fumio extended invitations to various countries from the global south so that Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky could engage with their representatives at the group’s May summit.

While South Korea, too, has refrained from delivering weapons to Ukraine, it has provided substantial humanitarian aid and other nonlethal support, such as mine-clearing equipment, body armor, and helmets. It has also joined in economic sanctions against Moscow. And like Japan, it has replenished U.S. weapons stocks, supplying the United States with artillery shells and thereby freeing up Washington’s ability to send shells to Ukraine. Similarly, South Korea has greatly increased defense exports to Poland, part of which backfilled the latter’s deliveries to Ukraine in the early days of the war. Following the news of North Korean troops arriving in Russia, Seoul is now considering a greater level of support, floating the idea of directly supplying Kyiv with defensive and offensive weapons.

The motivations of these four East Asian actors have all the hallmarks of their being involved in a proxy war. Both Beijing and Pyongyang have an overarching strategic interest in seeing Moscow prevail. Both share Russia’s vision of a post-Western world order, in which the United States and its allies are weakened. Chinese President Xi Jinping and North Korean leader Kim Jong Un see Putin as an ally in a global struggle against the West, which makes supporting his war in Ukraine a strategic imperative.

Similar proxy war motivations hold for Tokyo and Seoul. As a status quo power, Tokyo has a strategic interest in ensuring that the existing order does not falter, including the post-World War II proscription of changing borders by force; as Kishida famously warned, “Ukraine today may be East Asia tomorrow.” Seoul—in addition to its concerns about the new military alliance between Pyongyang and Moscow—is also motivated by a need to thwart attempts to change the status quo through coercion. Echoing Kishida, South Korean President Yoon Suk-yeol told The Associated Press last year that “the war in Ukraine has reminded us all that a security crisis in one particular region can have a global impact.” Together, their actions to help Ukraine prevail also aim to send a message to China and North Korea that any attempt to forcibly change the status quo comes with dire consequences.

Granted, the level of support we currently see from the East Asian powers will likely be a function of how committed the United States and Russia remain in the months and years ahead. Trump’s return to the White House could result in changes on the battlefield—but not necessarily in the nature of Indo-Pacific involvement. Trump has already said he could end the war in a day but has not provided details. If he can—and both sides accept the outcome—then the proxy war ends. If he cannot and the conflict continues in some manner, so does the proxy war, but the level of commitment may change. In a situation where the United States stops supporting Ukraine but European NATO members step up, it is likely that Japan and South Korea would also continue their support; their interest in pushing back against aggressors would be unchanged. However, their support could be reduced, since some of their activities have come as a request by their U.S. ally.

It is hard to see China and North Korea reducing their involvement, given that their support could help Russia succeed and advance their strategic goal of destroying the existing order. Short of a mutually acceptable end to the war, changes in the degree of U.S. involvement under a second Trump administration will not alter the fundamental proxy war constellation: All four East Asian powers are supporting a third party to undermine their competitor’s ability to undermine their national interests.

While this indicates that the security challenges in East Asia have, in part, been exported to Europe, the more concerning element is the fact that their participation adds an element of uncertainty and potential escalation to the conflict in Ukraine. Beijing, Pyongyang, Seoul, and Tokyo are supporting their respective partners on European soil in order to wage a much broader struggle over the future of the international order. This, in turn, indicates the extent to which the war has become global—and has set a new precedent for how Asian nations compete for their interests in other parts of the world.

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911nmg · 1 year ago

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Bring me out of the dark

Winterwidow/ Buckynat - normal life AU

Dual POV

Art by the incredible @burninblood

Summary:

As an aspiring ballet dancer Natasha Romanov didn't get to have many friends growing up, now, aged twenty-two, her flatmate Maria wants to solve it by introducing her to "the family", also known as the dorks of her friends, however childhood scars are still tearing her apart.

Bucky Barnes is not doing so well since coming back from Afghanistan, now disabled and with severe PTSD he doesn't even bother to hang out with Steve or Maria anymore, until he does.

When both meet they start a cat and mouse game that slowly tores away at their walls, but, can two damaged people bring each other out of the dark or are they destined to spiral into darkness?

Chapters:

Starring role - Natasha's POV

Can't sleep! Can't breathe! - Bucky's POV

Control - Natasha's POV

R.I.P. to my youth - Bucky's POV

Game of survival - Natasha’s POV

Unsteady - Bucky’s POV

Shadows - Natasha’s POV

Run boy run - Bucky’s POV

Demons (part I) - Natasha's POV

Demons (part II) - Natasha's POV

Battle scars - Bucky’s POV

Human - Natasha’s POV

Safe and sound - Bucky’s POV

Everything is lost - Natasha’s POV

Where do we go from here? - Bucky’s POV

My heart's grave - Bucky’s POV

I didn't ask for this - Natasha’s POV

Can't help falling in love with you - Bucky’s POV

Haunting - Natasha’s POV

Meet me on the battlefield (part I) - Bucky’s POV

Meet me on the battlefield (part II) - Bucky’s POV

Nightmare - Natasha's POV

Silence looks good on you - Natasha's POV

If I didn’t know better - Bucky's POV

Sanctuary - Natasha's POV

As the world caves in - Bucky's POV

What was I made for? - Natasha's POV

Animal I have become - Bucky's POV

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#winterwidow #buckynat #normal life au #bring me out of the dark #tw: dark content #hurt/comfort #angst #fanfiction

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rametarin · 29 days ago

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Okay. So. Why DID American society vote for George W. in 2000? I'll tell you.

Last night I saw a youtube video I will not repeat that seemed to imply that if we had social media of today back in the late 90s, W. Bush would've never become president, "because facts would've come to light educating the voters."

This is such an incredibly naive and astonishingly ignorant thing to say, and it assumes the only reason people voted for any candidate was because they just didn't know what they stood for or what they believe or what that means for a candidate. That they were just a bunch of clueless bumpkins with no agency nor education nor drive and position of their own in the process, they just voted based on shallow 30-second "candidate good, theirs bad." and nothing else.

I am 40. We've been in a post 2000 George W. Bush presidency for more than half my life, at this point (Jesus Christ....)

Lets remove the hindsight is 20-20 of the Iraq War, Afghanistan, New Orleans and FEMA fiasco of the George W. Bush presidency for a minute. None of that stuff has happened yet.

It's the year 2,000. Bill Clinton is leaving the White House. People have been talking about George W. Bush, son of George HW Bush, since he threw his had in, the summer of 1999. People have known of Bush since his father was president.

American Society in the 90s was.. decompressing. That's worthy of a few paragraphs in and of itself.

First and foremost, American Society from the 40s to 91 raised its children, lived and became mature and grey on the premise that there were two major forces on earth at the time. The Americans embodied The West. New, free of classic imperialisms, dictators, private property owning, personal liberty loving. And, then there were the Soviets, whom followed principles that ideally envisioned a more purist, Marxist idea of law and society, where the state ("Society") owned everything and people lived equally under that.

The Soviets were ready and willing to steamroll over the rest of Europe to "save it" from capitalism, as evidenced by their massive fleet of, "steamroll immediate neighbors before unnamed enemies from afar can even get their boats in the water" tanks and heavily armored vehicles. And their tens of thousands of big, heavy tanks and demolition vehicles. They claimed they needed a massive land army and heavy tanks for "self-defense." And sycophants and sympathizers for the USSR outside of it claimed the Americans were the aggressors, imperialist and militant. Sometimes they would say that in comparison to the Soviets, as if the Soviets were just intellectuals, and sometimes they'd just say it as critique of the US as negative qualities that miraculously disqualified the US, but not the Soviets. Some real "you can't get me for things I haven't said, but there's lots of quiet parts not spoken here" stuff.

The Soviet Union was a shitshow of mismanagement and idealism and a circus of corruption that finally shit itself when its dreams died, after decades of careful propaganda and grassroots guerilla informational war that tried to disparage the American military's capabilities went up in smoke, as the Sadam Houssein regime got absolutely righteously SPANKED in the most photographed and video recorded war to exist at the time. Where the American Abrams and the British Challenger absolutely decimated 3,300 Iraqi T-72s and similar Soviet made tanks, and lost 30 tanks themselves. And even then, most of those were lost to accidents like falling off bridges, or friendly fire. So the Iraqi regime can only count 10 Coalition tanks. That's a KD ratio of about 1:330.

So good job on that one assessing the Soviet war capabilities, experts. Reformists stay winning, I guess. If you're hearing the laughter of children reverb through the battlefields of Ukraine, that's my voice from 33 god damned years ago at the propagandists that declared the US entering Iraq would just be a sandy version of Vietnam, where we do nothing but try and occupy and die by the thousand per year unable to meet any objectives or hold territory in the face of supposed superior Soviet armor.

And after their biggest trump card was exposed as a limp dick, which the Soviets always relied on to feel secure and content that, at the end of the day, even if the Americans and Western Europeans lived easier, more free lives, at least the USSR had the security of military supremacy, the Soviet delusion collapsed under itself and the entire dream just DIED. Matrix rejected, Soviet citizens disillusioned.

That's not hyperbole, after Saddam's thorough SPANKING that didn't even last an entire changing of the seasons before we swept up and went home, the Soviet Union croaked. Was it the final nail in the coffin? The final insult that did it? The disillusion, on top of the economic problems? I'd say it had something to do with it.

And in the west, our Very Progressive People(tm) have always had a kind of crypto-relationship with anticapitalists, open or crypto-Marxists and all of them liked to hide under liberalism. Not Big L Liberals themselves, but predatorily mimicing it. Even if they wanted liberalism to mean opposition to what they saw as the thing permitting racism.. which.. surprise surprise.. was capitalism.

But the thing is, they're pseudo-intellectuals. They did not want the stigma of openly stanning for socialism or communism, most of the time. They instead chose to convey themselves simply and purely as positive things. Like being "anti-racist," or being "anti-sexist." Wink wink. The fact they intrinsically tied these things to capitalism and western society, to where in order to be good and not oppressive you'd have to destroy and replace western society in its current form (its entire legal system and economic system) was kind of a lower rabbithole you had to go through. They'd still tout themselves as being big fans of justice and equality, even if unknown to you those words had MASSIVE asterisks that departed from the encyclopedic definitions of those words. And unless you were in their vibe and indoctrinated and agreed with them, they weren't about to tell you that.

But the trick was, how do you secretly get Americans to more easily agree with you without even knowing what they're agreeing to? How do you control their feelings and effectively put them down a logical and linguistic corridor so the only conclusion they reach is your logic's conclusion?

You rely on some dirty tricks. Peer pressure, gaslighting, cooking books and then braying about what an educated person you are for employing them. This was the world I grew up in. With little girls being oh-so educated by their buzz cut angry aunts and handed textbooks that were too advanced for them, but contained what amounted to proverbs and bible verses for them to throw out as platitudes and things you weren't allowed to argue with them over. ("Where's your PhD? :^)" )

So. What I'm getting at here is US Society had already been dealing with pseudo-intellectual gadflies, propaganda magazines and unscrupulous people joining publications with a political bias.

It got REALLY, REALLY egregious in the 90s. Radical Feminism was ubiquitously TERF-central, but you couldn't even argue against it as a white man, even if many of the points people like me made in the early 90s were true. Because, "you're a white MAN, you don't get to act like you know anything about feminism and what it means to be a GIRL." And they'd reject any opinion, give you no benefit of the doubt, reject any legitimacy anything you said had, because of its source.

And the thing about this is, the more they argued, the more cracks formed in the obfuscation. The less emotional impact having your younger female family turn on you as disingenuous, morally motivated weapons had on you. The more they would try to back up their arguments by citing the sources of the supposed intellectual professors and professionals they were quoting. The more their works could be scrutinized and made to bleed as men, not omnipotent narrators of science and truth.

The supposed anti-racists, supposeldy motivated by a world where no one is disrespected or made lesser by laws or policies that favored or disfavored people on the basis of race, cheering loudly for legislation that didn't discontinue racist policies, but ushered in "minority community protection" entrenchments, allowing "minorities" (almost uniformly just black people) access to free shit not because they were poor, but because they were black. In the same breath as telling white people they should not be permitted anything on the basis of their whiteness, and should, "get over" race. And in doing so, reveal themselves to not care about racism. And reveal their true values to be about treating race as class, and whites designated as oppressors. These are very different dynamics than trying to free a society from race based favoritism/disfavoritism policies.

So the "anti-racist" populists and their fringe viziers openly bragging about how they believed everybody but white people mattered, how national borders should not exist.. for America.. how they were glad millions of illegal immigrants were pouring in and would eventually be voting for their candidates in their own community's self-interests, and they'd happily vote to make sure the people paying taxes here would finance aid and benefits packages that non-Hispanic whites would not be allowed to enjoy the benefits of. Openly bragging about how "the whites have had enough." and that the poor only mattered if they weren't white.

The "Anti-sexists," which in discussions and arguments from angry radfems at the kitchen table had barked weird Gyno-Futurisms where men would be made obsolete and women would inherit society. How men were the cause and source of all wars, and under a feminist future, "society would equally share everything" and be kind and nurturing and some other shit that phased in and out depending on whether Daughter or Niece Dear felt more like being a spiritualist "witch" or an objective empirical scientist secular intellectual, that day. Where they'd demand all male spaces be made gender neutral and open to all, but open more spaces designated specifically and purely for women, with benefits for women just on the basis of being a woman, and tax the whole of society to make those happen. That women should have automatic positions arbitrarily opened up to remove any possibility women WOULDN'T be elected to share power, and loudly declaring all western art and literature featuring women was garbage, because you couldn't have good western literature and art in a society whose sexual values were garbage (this is hilariously circular and amounts to, "it's capitalist and not socialist, therefore, it's inescapably wrong.")

These were all things we learned as we sat by the supposed saccharine-swet "liberal" that hated all things sexist and racist, and beside them were their best buddies whom they shared literature with. They played Good Cop Bad Cop. They were literally being the Motte and Bailey argument of leftism. The general liberal progressive would set up the general platitudes that if you disagreed with, you were branded a reactionary or retro racist and traditionalist example of the white patriarchy, and then the radical would loudly shout you down while testing the waters of your peers for if they'd resist their own brand of spin on the subject and situations and facts they were beating you with.

So people got a taste of exactly what the very much not-liberal Progressive Leftist believed, and had in store, and through the impurity of the liberal tolerating their very not-liberal leftist friend, was going to allow to taint what should have been simple, acceptable policies.

Policies that were against relegating women to second class citizen status, policies that removed race from the equation in society and did not favor anyone or disfavor anyone based on their background, nor enshrine the importance of anyone's ethnic background.. and then promptly promised that everybody's race and background mattered, but white peoples, specifically. And then had the audacity to call people white supremacists and male chauvinists if they opposed this.

That was my childhood. Stumbling through realizing what bullshit was festering in the left, because according to their own propaganda, none of that was true or existed.

But don't get it twisted; I wasn't blind go the fact racists joined the republican party specifically to deny any benefits to people if it meant minorities would benefit too. Or the favoritism of rich people to rich people. Or the religious fundamentalists that believed in "family values" that used those avenues to push the idea of a monogamous marriage and expectation such would dominate exclusively under a Christian (or Jewish, to a lesser but not insignificant extent) lens. That was true, but not to the degree of evil the hard/far Leftist non-liberal was pushing it.

This is why George W. Bush was elected and even given a chance. Because with the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the Rodney King riots, the initial wide adoption of anti-racism and willingness to change from the propaganda of what they THOUGHT was true and the status quo, what they THOUGHT was the more left position, only to learn much of what they said were wild exaggerations, histrionic delusions and padded stats vilifying history and the status quo just to get people on their side to vote for what they wanted- which was banning guns, opening the borders, making sure people that weren't white had ample tax-payer driven benefits for the purposes of growing those demographics and securing their success at the expense of the majority. And the promise that more of this would come, the more power their fringe had in the left-wing.

This is why younger voters voted for Bush. Because the, "Racism is when white people oppress black people, Asian people and Indigenous people" crowd revealed their real face and said, "this is Leftism, and whether you like it or not, we're a packaged deal with liberals."

And the more general liberal just sat there smiling, not arguing with the radical, not confronting the radical, not disagreeing with the radical. Just playing the role of the enabling mom as the step-dad sexually abuses their child.

The black children from newly integrated suburbs with their first white friends, and their white liberal sisters that were taught from a young age that smart, progressive white girls should make sure their stupid male family members in this "stupid white supremacist patriarchal society" didn't cultivate racism, that they "challenged it' on radical feminist principles. Where at first, Sally seemed like a nice girl that had their back. But then revealed herself to just be a soapbox standing, histrionic mental abuser that would take every opportunity to get one over her male peers and show off how "anti-racist" she was, while toeing a line and trying not to overreach and destroy the delusion.

At the end of the 80s and towards the end of the 90s, those black children had grown up in a place where the white people that were trying to be courteous and respectful and open, just to get treated like shit by girls like Sally, called racist while Sally ran interference for things she didn't need to run interference for.

It's because of girls like the proverbial Sally (Social Justice Sally) that towards the end of the 90s, black people were writing N-word passes hand over fist and so many adopted a mindset (however brief) that we lived in a post-racism world. Because they saw far more accusations of racism than the sorts of racism they recognized or cared about among white people, and were offended on behalf of their white friends and community. It was so irritating and ideologically slanted and intellectually insulting, this is the origin of why the republicans got such a large spike among black people towards the end of the 90s.

Well. That, and how their very far-left peers tended to join with the likes of Farrakhan black supremacists.. And they weren't having that.

It was not because of a lack of information. It was not because we didn't have Twitter and Community Notes, or the algorithm giving us propaganda articles to read to correct misunderstandings or teach us what we didn't already know. Before the digital world and information outlets, we had sources of that information. We had pamphlets, we had reports from the government telling what we had then and what was coming, we had general ideas of where we were, and where we were going.

Put simply, people had the attitude that something was seriously wrong and rotten with the top of the democratic party for enabling and fascillitating the far-leftists, and giving them access to the platform. They were smarter than industrial wealth hogs and racists, and better able to be the +1 in any policy table.

People felt they could more easily police out the religious fundamentalists, white supremacists and financial oligarchs, while still holding policy to reflect gender and racial equality. Bush was not running on a platform of white supremacism, nor beliefs that put women back in the kitchen.

And after we experienced how the federal government handled WACO and Ruby Ridge (look those up), heard the very unflattering rumblings of what they thought of rural white Americans, the willingness to treat them like active militant hate groups and burn down their homes and kill their families over even PERCEIVED violations of federal law, and the promise of more of that to follow, the absurd crusades made to try and make firearms progressively more and more inaccessible to illegal, we figured maybe the illiberal left-wing was a bit too much of a liability to be in power.

George W. Bush was not voted into power because Americans didn't know anything. He was voted into power because Americans had too many bad personal experiences with the hanger-ons of the left, and hoped maybe the right wing could be spruced up a bit going into the new millenium.

And then the Islamic world attacked the west, financed directly and indirectly by limitless oil money and a network of interconnected cultural interests and sacred delusions, among which was the complete destruction of Israel and the Jews, and radical Islamic jyhad. And just by virtue of tackling this problem, with the supposedly anti-conflict bad press of the illiberal left not helping matters (thanks, smearists and propagandists), the right wing had to tackle Islamofascism and take the responsibility of blame for the conflict even existing at all.

As far as the public consensus, reinforced by hard-leftist propaganda goes, it's just white America trying to impose an evangelical death cult on some harmless religious and ethnic minorities in the middle east, based purely on Christian supremacism and white supremacism.

Meanwhile Obama, a democrat, willingly continued the policy of using drones to take out middle eastern Muslim mafioso families and royals, as they thinned the herds and worked to arrange peace across the Islamic world by curtailing crime bosses and radical structures of power that were leading to fundamentalist groups like ISIS and ISIL. And as messy as that looks in hindsight, just based purely on the structure of that religion and the social elements, it was inevitable. It was a question of how that was going to play out, not if it would.

Today, many countries that previously were on board with the Islamic populist belief of bulldozing Israel and getting every Jew out of it, want peace with the west and Israel, and are working to undo decades to centuries of fundamentalist conservatism. Which is the long term foreign policy goal, and has been, since even before the Ayatollah assumed Iran.

Bush, Obama, Trump and Biden all have been party to this Middle Eastern policy that has openly or secretly been dealing with the shadow war of Islamic theocratic expansionism and imperialism and terrorism as a means of physically and conquering the opposition. The idea that George Bush and the republicans just embody some warpigs fueled by manifest destiny and white supremacy is a very uncharitable reading of some very flawed individuals, with uncharitable assumptions of motivations, and the people that voted for him assumed to just be know-nothing morons that just didn't have informed consent, or malicious defenders of what is presumed the status quo, that has never been and will never truly be the modus operandi of the USA, even if some with fringe beliefs think it should.

Bush was voted in not because of ignorance or malice, but because he was an option, and at the time, they thought the opposition could be trusted with a change.

I anticipate to see more absurd takes that disagree with my lived experience. Statistically, it's inevitable. But it doesn't make it any less insulting to witness.

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