#civilian military

[communistkenobi]

This is moreover complicated by the fact that the [South African] apartheid state did not acknowledge itself as engaged in a war. The apartheid state in the late 1970s saw itself as engaged in a ‘total onslaught’, preferring to refer to its ‘enemy’ as terrorists rather than declaring an outright war. According to Cock and Nathan, the choice for the apartheid state to define the conflict as unrest or terrorism as opposed to war implied that liberation movement fighters were denied the prisoner of war status granted by the Geneva Protocols to those engaged in war against colonial powers.

— Women combatants and the liberation movements in South Africa (2015) by Siphokazi Magadla

its refreshing to see this so plainly laid out in writing. a terrorist is just someone the state has decided has no rights

[usnatarchives]

Civil War in Focus – Mathew Brady’s Photography 🎩🥁

A century before smartphones, Mathew Brady and his team pioneered war photography. Brady (1820s–1896) organized dozens of photographers to document the Civil War – from bloody battlefields to stoic portraits. The National Archives holds thousands of these glass-plate images in the Brady collection (many originally War Dept records).

Brady’s photographs fundamentally changed how the public saw war. For the first time, civilians could see the reality of camp life, the aftermath of battles, and the faces of soldiers.

President Lincoln credited Brady’s portrait of him at Antietam with helping win re-election in 1864 (saying "Brady and the Cooper Union speech made me President.")

Brady’s crew didn’t just photograph battlefields but everyday stillness and the daily grind of camp life for soldiers and crew.

Field kitchens were a favorite Brady subject – this rare stereo image shows Army cooks preparing stew in big cauldrons over fire pits.

Mathew Brady’s photographs are freely accessible in NARA’s Catalog. See faces of named soldiers, panoramic ruins of Richmond, or the eerie stillness of Antietam right after the fight. It’s a 160-year-old visual archive that still speaks volumes about honor, sacrifice, and the birth of photojournalism.

[taxinealkaloids]

two b-list sons of God and a second-rate resurrection

[sketchyfandomgirl]

Simon Riley has a Medusa tattoo. It’s never seen since he keeps it hidden beneath his clothes at all times. But it’s small, and almost easily missed at first glance. Only a few select people know about the tattoo.

Like you.

Simon trusts you the most out of everyone he knows. Probably more than his best friend Soap. Probably even the Captain. You knew Simon the longest by almost more than a decade, as you grew up together after your family moved to Manchester.

You were there when he decided to enlist in the military. Being there to see him off, attending his graduation from boot camp and tapping him out alongside his mother.

He trusts you a lot. Enough to be an emergency contact if anything were to go wrong.

You got a call, all the way from America, in Texas if you can believe it, that one Simon Riley has been found near the Texas-Mexico border half dead and was in recovery. So you booked a flight to Texas that very night. Wasn’t Simon supposed to be on some covert mission? What the hell happened?

Simon was reluctant to talk about what happened, but he eventually opened up about the horrors he endured while he was captured by Roba.

The violence, especially the sexual abuse that Simon wouldn’t even tell his assigned therapist. You were Simon’s safety, his most entrusted person who he could be more open with.

It would take years to help him heal.

But eventually, he did start to heal from the process, and asked you to come along with him to a tattoo appointment.

It was there, Simon’s sign of addressing his pain was finally closing to an end, did he get a Medusa tattoo.

[lajanbien6]

We keep our heads high and stay strong and even more willing with every obstacles that emerges ✅💪🇺🇸

[unbfacts]

[wojakgallery]

do you have any brazil related wojaks?

Yes:

Title/Name:  Brazilian Wojak Collection Wojak Series:  Doomer (Variants), Feels Guy (Variants), Yes Chad (Variants), Boomer (Variant), Twinkjak (Variant), Doomer Girl (Variant), Soyjak (Variant), Animal (Variant). Main Tag: Brazilian Wojaks Wojaks' Description: #1 - Brazilian Doomer Music in Rio #2 - Pedro II - Peter II of Brazil #3 - Lula da Silva #4 - Chad Jair Bolsonaro #5 - Brazilian Boomer #6 - Brazilian Twinkjak #7 - Brazilian Doomer Girl #8 - Pelé #9 - Jair Bolsonaro #10 - Chad Lula da Silva #11 - Brazilian military soldier #12 - Brazilian Soyjak Monkey #13 - Bolsonaro Supporter #14 - Brazilian Doomer in a favela Images by unknown, except for: Brazilian Boomer [Source Here] Brazilian Doomer Girl [Source Here] PS: These 2 wojaks in the links above are up for sale as posters and prints on Redbubble.com by AztecaPixels. WojakGallery Note:  Blog Political Disclaimer (link)

[ehhgg-art]

i hear a lot of talk about wash and a service animal but what about caboose’s service dog freckles?

after everything caboose has gone through likely without proper treatment or medical attention (i mean, we’ve all watched the show, right??) he probably has some underlying issues (“not to self diagnose but i think something is wrong” type of situation).

and so maybe once everything has calmed down and they all get back to earth tucker sets caboose up with some health professionals and helps him get a service dog (i’m thinking a shepherd of some kind. caboose could match their high energy).

and caboose loves the dog very much :) i think he might have put Freckles The Robot in retirement once he got to back earth since it’s not really acceptable to carry a gun into a grocery store like that. and since Freckles The Robot was really his support through a lot of traumatic events he had a hard time adjusting. but now he has Freckles The Dog !!! who he can play real fetch with and can go with him to the grocery store :)

[mylovesstuffs]

I have Jeonghan’s wolfcut. I AM JEONGHAN WITH A WOLFCUT. Unless he’s bald right now for the military (rip) but YOU GET THE POINT.

I LITERALLY JUST SHOWED MY HAIRDRESSER TWO PICTURES OF JEONGHAN WITH HIS WOLFCUT THINGY [I didn't say anything just showed pics] AND THEY DID THEIR THING… AND NOW MY HAIR LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE A MIX OF THOSE PICTURES. IN REAL LIFE. ON MY HEAD.

I always thought he looked insanely good with this haircut, and now, I HAVE IT. Missed and loved Jeonghan too much, clearly.

Now I can say I once walked into a salon, pulled out Jeonghan, and walked out AS HIM.

[mueritos]

i hope we continue to see more protests within the US military. i see a lot of leftists and folks who are anti-military who have such an open disdain for the people who are in the military, yet neglect to considering the conditions this country makes to produce ideology, poverty, and the illusion of choice to make all kinds of people choose to enlist in the military. You ever see those videos of ROTC kids recording each other asking why they joined the military and everyone's like, "healthcare", "it helped me go to college", "I was bored" or "free ptsd lol". I hate to remind everyone but folks who are in the military are people, too, and they are the same victims and perpetrators of violence as the rest of you, we have all been shallowly conditioned to view each other as enemies just because one person is wearing army greens and the other is not.

some of the biggest anti-war advocates are those who engaged in war. Veterans who genuinely believed they were protecting the US against "terrorism" come back with blood on their hands, and they choose to realize that it was US imperialism that forced them to carry out violence, instead of doubling down and shielding themselves from the fact that they too are capable of atrocities... This is a class of people who are intentionally conditioned to be as poor and as ideologically aligned to US imperialism so that the military has a never-ending pool to send their youth to destroy other country's youth. The only people I have ever heard say "do not join the military" are those who ARE military.

This is in no way to ever excuse or explain away any of the atrocious war crimes and violence this industry and its people have committed against others. What I am saying is that we absolutely cannot cast aside the individuals who have been victimized within US imperialism, even if they are wearing army greens. I was speaking with my Palestinian classmate last week and another classmate--a member of the US air force-- walked up to me and struck up a conversation. My military classmate showed me her new bird, bid both of us goodbye, and left. My Palestinian classmate asked me if I was close with her, and I said we talked quite often, and she said, "I never met a person who's in the military. I still hate the military, but I never knew that they did, too. I didn't realize that they were also victims."

If my Palestinian classmate--one who is actively watching her own community die--can understand that it is not individuals who are the problem but it is in fact systems, US imperialism, white supremacy, capitalism...why can't we all? And she has EVERY reason to hate any individual military member. A lot of online activism just creates more barriers. if your optics look bad, complicated, or contradictory, you are cast aside. Everyone has got the be the perfect activist, you can never make a mistake or share a half-baked thought, you should always believe every word from a marginalized persons mouth (because being marginalized doesn't mean you're not entrenched in white supremacy too!) and you should never question what you see...Do you know what you sound like? The very imperialists who are convincing poor whites to vote against themselves. Perfectionism is white supremacy. Black & white thinking is white supremacy.

I'd rather have a military member who genuinely believed in the US imperialism machine but was disillusioned after being deployed as my comrade than some leftist who cherishes the performance of "being a good person". I don't want "good people" in our movements. I want humans who care. I want humans who make mistakes and who learn from them. I want humans who accept the messiness of a person. I want humans who hold others accountable and allow themselves to take responsibility for their actions. I want people who change for themselves and others.

fight systems, not individual people. we can change each other, but if we're too preoccupied looking like the World's Perfect Activists, we will only consume each other alive. Connect to your fellow humans, forever and always.

[dykedvonte]

Ulysses obsession with the Courier is a special type of sad to me cause the Courier’s part was so important but so unwitting. They had no idea what was in the package they delivered and neither did he. Neither had an idea of what it could’ve done and the Courier was only caring out their job (mind you the Courier could be killed via notes in the express contract if they don’t). To them it was just another regular delivery to the divide and one that they likely thought would help, just like all the ones before.

It’s so tragic for Ulysses to hold so much ire to the Courier when it really was the case of it could’ve been anyone. Anyone could have delivered that package but they did and so he focused the blame on them and it destroys what he is trying to instill in the courier on a fundamental level.

[comikas-fandom-dump]

Exist civilians (non-ninja) in Konoha? Or everyone in Konoha is part of a family of ninjas and work as a ninja or will become a ninja?

Does Konoha Have Civilians?

(Or: Does Konoha have any permanent inhabitants who never trained as shinobi?)

As far as I know, neither the manga nor Kishimoto himself have ever made any explicit statements regarding such. That being said, I find this line from Shikamaru to have some strong implications:

"The whole reason I became a ninja in the first place was so I could live my life the way I wanted..."

He talks about "becoming a ninja" as though it were a voluntary choice he made, meaning that Konoha has no such thing as a military draft in the present day. On the contrary, hurdles are put into place every step of the way. Aside from only 33% of cadets even making it out of the academy (unless there's some sort of fanmade boot camp), some kids don't even get to enroll in the program.

Now, the problem is that none of this 100% disproves the possibility that all of Konoha's inhabitants might attend the Ninja Academy, only for future civilians not to graduate. However, both financially and logistically, providing alternative curriculums right from the get-go would only make sense (like, why hold back a kid from learning maths if they can't do ninjutsu?). Hence, in Boruto (Episode #35), there's a "general middle school curriculum" and while civilians sometimes do attend shinobi academies, it is only for bonus points on their resume.

For the nerds:

I also made two private/draft posts going through some world-building considerations and calculations further proving my point. If you have thoughts on any of the two, feel free to share them on this post instead. Since the current links lead to drafts, they might be broken. If so, either a) check if you are viewing this post through a reblog because the original post may have already been updated b) ask me to update the link.

[daisydeacks]

Neighborly

A/N I just realized I never posted this to Tumblr :3 so I'm gonna! Chapters 1 thru 3 under this - John Price x f!reader NSFW Ao3 Link

The two of you had yet to cross any sort of real line other than ‘just really good friends,’ scared to ruin the tightnit friendship.

Just ‘really good friends’ who drunkenly make out on one of your respective couches before muttering about alcohol and influences before retreating back into their respective homes.

Or the dozens of handfuls of times the two of you had been unable to sleep and curl up with the other in the dark of the night. Two touch starved people content to hide away with each other.

or

You and John Price are neighbors.

Chapter 1

You gasp into your hand as your fingers rub tight circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back as your hips rocked and bucked against your own ministrations, that familiar band growing tight low in your abdomen as you muffle whines into your fist. Your legs begin to shake, your heels digging into the mattress- 

Your phone rings suddenly- loudly . A detached wail tears itself from your throat as you lose it, lose the knot in you that was ready to snap at any second. You throw your hand to your bedside table, misty eyes glaring at the screen.

RESTRICTED NUMBER

Oh. Oh no.

You flush deeply as you realize that you’re panting, the hand that was once nestled between your thighs quickly wiping against your stomach as you move to sit up in your bed. You swallow air as you adjust yourself, ears almost ringing as you press the green answer button on the screen. 

“H-hello?” You cough, adjusting against the headboard as the stickiness between your legs starts to become just noticeable enough to be mildly irritating. 

“Y/N?” The voice- his voice- comes through the speaker with a richness you’ll never adjust to. A shiver rolls through you as you smile. 

“John,” You reply before forcing yourself to sit up straight on your bed, legs crossing. You smile as you hear his gentle sigh, followed by a just as soft laugh at the sound of his name from you. 

“Did I catch you at a bad time, sweetheart?”   

You feel yourself warm at the pet name. Your smile softens as you press the phone closer to your ear, your free hand falling down to pick at your sheets. Need to wash these tonight the voice in your head mumbles as a quick thought. 

“Mm, not bad enough that I didn’t answer.” The frustration from earlier was rapidly melting with your conversation; you knew it was him as soon as you saw the number was hidden. “How are you doing?” 

“Ah,” He sighs, and you hear him shuffle on the other end of the line, papers being moved and rustled in the background, “The usual, I s’pose. Paperwork and the matter at the moment.” He’s silent for a few moments. “Should be home in a few days,” he adds quietly. You arch your eyebrows at that, teeth immediately sinking into your bottom lip. Your stomach does an anxious flip at the thought of seeing the man again.

John was a neighbor of yours in the building, his little slice of personal space located just across from your own. The two of you met when you were originally moving in. 

He was leaving when you first ran into each other, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder as he shoved himself through his front door. He somehow seemed entirely too large for the regular sized door, the sight of him and the bag squeezing through the frame causing you to bite back a laugh as the man cursed lowly under his breath.   

You had stopped in front of your own door to watch him, your arms carrying a cardboard box. Your gaze immediately zoned in on his toned biceps, arms and shoulders flexing almost obnoxiously under his thin shirt as he threw the bag back over his shoulder while he attempted to lock his door.  

He had glanced back at you with a breathy laugh, blue eyes a beacon under the oh so silly tilly hat placed on top of his head, teeth bright against his beard. “Ah, sorry,” he straightened as he turned towards you and it was then you could really admire his height, “‘m John. You must be the new neighbor, yeah?”   

You felt your face burn as you stared up at him, your eyes wide as you took him in. You blinked after a moment, shoving a hand out awkwardly from under the box in your arms. “Y-Yes! Yes, I’m Y/N,” You rushed out, a nervous smile tugging at your mouth. “It’s nice to meet you, John.”   

John’s grip on your hand had been gentle yet firm. From there the two of you were almost inseparable when the man was home or on leave, although the two of you had yet to cross any sort of real line other than ‘just really good friends,’ scared to ruin the tightnit friendship. 

Just ‘really good friends’ who drunkenly make out on one of your respective couches before muttering about alcohol and influences before retreating back into their respective homes. 

Or the dozens of handfuls of times the two of you had been unable to sleep and curl up with the other in the dark of the night. Two touch starved, lonely people content to hide away with each other. 

You felt another wave of warmth wash through you, this time of comfort. 

“A few days, huh?” You can’t hide the smile in your tone, the hint of relief. 

John hums through the receiver. After a beat of silence he speaks again. “ Been thinkin’ about that chicken soup you made that one time last year.. .” His tone is innocent as he trails off. 

You roll your eyes as a blush burns at your cheeks and ears before you focus on the window in your bedroom. Fat droplets of water continue to splat themselves against the glass. You could make it again for him, the weather was right for it and it was easy enough- just left to simmer all day in your crock pot while you were at work or cleaning. 

“Oh?” You hum as you prop your chin on the palm of your hand, elbow digging into your leg. “Have you now? The MREs not cuttin’ it anymore?” Your tone is teasing as you grin. John groans and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out from your chest at how broken the sound is. The two of you are quiet after a few moments before you sigh softly. You hesitate before you speak again. “I miss you.” Your voice is quiet; you were always nervous to admit that to John, unsure of where you stood in his life. 

You hear a similar dejected sigh come from the man on the other end of the phone. “ I miss you too, love. ” 

Your lips twitch in a sad smile at the response, your sheets shuffling as you move to bring your knees to your chest the best you could. You frown as you stare at your pruney fingers, your previous acts almost forgotten. You get off of your bed with a huff, the frame creaking under the shift in weight. 

“ You already in bed? ” John questions, hearing the sound of your bed frame. You hum as your cheeks flush again, exhaling sharply as you bend down to pick up your shorts that you had discarded earlier. 

“Just sat down when you called.” The lie leaves your mouth easily and he hums in response. Sounds of shuffling reach your ears again from his end. “Why are you still up? Isn’t it late for you?”

You sense John’s hesitation and you pause your own movements, waistband of your shorts slapping against your skin quietly as your fingers let it go. 

“I missed you.” He finally responds. His voice was low, tone soft. “Wanted to hear your voice, talk to you. Worth it to stay awake a bit longer for that in my opinion.”  

You ignore the weight in your chest, the tears that want to prick at your eyes. 

“Yeah?” It comes out as a whisper. You’re afraid your voice would crack otherwise. 

“.. Yeah.”  

You pull the phone from your ear as you inhale with a stutter, eyes still burning with unshed tears as a sad smile pulls at your mouth. “Well, I’ll get the makings for that soup and we can have it when you’re back,” you leave your bedroom, wandering towards your bathroom, “how’s that sound?” 

John breathes out a loud exhale, that beautiful, breathy laugh once again invading your senses. It almost sounds relieved. 

You can almost smell the cigar smoke that follows him like an aura. 

“You spoil me.”  

“Mm,” you shrug as if he could see it, “well, you kinda deserve it for staying alive this long, I guess. Doing what you do and whatnot. And who else is gonna?” 

He didn’t tell you much of what he did, couldn’t from what you understood, but you knew it was a Captain in the military and that he was damn good at what he did. 

“ Astute point.” He snorts and you smile at the sound, tears quickly drying in your eyes.

A knock is heard from his end of the call and he sighs. Your smile wavers. “Gotta go?” 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His voice is quieter. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”  

Your smile returns. “It’s okay. Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”  The call ends and you’re left shirtless in your dark hallway, millions of different emotions rolling through you like a storm.

Chapter 2

It’s late into the night, almost early morning as you lean against your kitchen counter, a warm mug held in your hands as you stare blankly at the cabinets across from you. You adjust the towel that sits atop your head before bringing the mug to your lips, the smell of chicken broth filling your senses. You inhale deeply, eyes slipping shut before you sip at the liquid. You swallow with a content sigh, a few exhausted tears slipping from your eyes. 

You’re like that for a while longer. Sipping, sniffling quietly, upset that you can’t sleep and that you’re still awake, but thankful your soup was still in the crockpot and ready to peck at. You’re skimming more broth off the top when there’s a soft knock at your front door. Your stomach flips at the noise and you almost wonder if you’ve imagined it until your phone buzzes on the laminate counter. 

John 3164 minutes ago: That smell coming from you?1 minute ago: Guess I’ll find outNow: Knock knock, I hear you paddering in there 

Your eyes widen at the missed messages and you hurry to the door through the dimly lit flat, fingers quickly flicking the locks on the door and swinging it open. 

John’s looking down at you with a tired smile once he’s in your sight, the circles surrounding his bright eyes more noticeable than usual. You return the smile, stepping aside to allow the man in. 

“I made soup.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you lock the door behind him, and John hums softly, easily trailing behind you through your living room and into the kitchen. The only light comes from the dim bulb above your stove, casting the small space in an almost orange glow. “Garfield or cow mug?” 

You hear a chuckle, and a warmth appear behind you as John looks into your cup cabinet over your head. “‘Now to inject a little humor.’” John reads aloud. The mug has Garfield in a little red cross nurse’s hat while holding a comically large needle, fit with his regular smile. You hear another huff in amusement before he rests a hand on your shoulder, fingers massaging for a moment before they drop. “I’ll take the cat, that’s pretty good.” 

You immediately miss the warmth of his hand. A blush burns at your cheeks and you nod and reach for the mug, a smile tugging at your lips. It almost feels foreign after sitting slack faced for so long. John grabs a spoon from the silverware drawer in your kitchen before leaning against your counter next to you, and you arch an eyebrow as you pass the mug into his hands. 

“Make yourself right at home, why don’t you.” It comes out as a tease, and you grab your own mug and return to his side. John feigns a hurt sound, almost betrayed, his elbow gentle poking you in the ribs. You look up with a laugh, relief flooding you at the sight of his smile crinkled eyes. “You know-” 

“I know you’re kidding.” He finishes with his own chuff before sinking his spoon into the soup he now held. “Don’t think you could get rid of me now, though, dear,” he hums as he sniffs at the soup, “this smells way too good.” He’s side eyeing you as he opens his mouth, and you watch with an insane amount of focus as the spoon enters his mouth, how his tongue is lapping at the bottom of the spoon-

You snap out of the trance as his lips close around the spoon. A moan erupts deep from his chest as his eyes slip shut and you gasp and smack his arm, causing John to cough with a sputtering laugh. “Jesus Christ, John!” You hiss, your cheeks feeling impossibly warm. “It’s fucking soup, I can’t imagine it warrents that -” 

“Oh, dear, it does .” John groans again and you scoff a laugh, your chin dropping to your chest. You shake your head before leaning back against the counter, John copying your movements. You hesitate a moment before resting your head on the side of his arm, bringing your mug up to your mouth. 

“Well,” you take a sip of the broth before looking up at John, a nervous smile wringing at your lips as how close he was, “I’m glad you like it.” 

John’s looking at you with something in his deep blue eyes you can’t quite place, his lips twitching under his beard. It has your stomach lurching, your muscles frozen, almost afraid to move; to lose the moment. You both seem to swallow at the same time before he’s leaning down, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You close your eyes, your body almost immediately melting against him. You can feel his smile against your skin before he’s pulling back, hand bringing his mug of soup towards his mouth. 

You open your eyes when he pulls away, watching him eat the soup with a small smile of your own before leaning against him once again. 

The two of you spent a good amount of time like that, enjoying each other’s company, murmuring back and forth about your respective days, how the weather is becoming colder, that more rain was to be expected. 

John returned to his own flat after a while, and you crawled into your empty bed with a sigh, face buried into one of your pillows. 

You’re not sure how long you were like that before you heard your phone vibrate from where it rested on your blanket. You throw your hand over, heart racing as you squint at the screen. 

John 316Now: Still can’t sleep. You?

You gnawed on your bottom lip, deciding your next move. 

Your fingers sent the short message easily. 

Nope. 

You felt your ears burn as the message was immediately marked as read, a little thought bubble soon appearing in the corner, signaling his typing. It then disappeared before there was a knock at your door once again. You stumbled out of bed and throughout your dark flat, easily navigating to your front door before you opened it. You squinted as the hall light peered in from behind John, the man quietly slipping in your door before closing it behind him. 

The two of you stared at each other for a few moments, eyes adjusting once again to the dark. John’s tongue ran across his teeth, his eyes focused on you as if he were considering something. You clenched your own jaw before flicking your eyes towards your hallway. 

The two of you had discussed before how touch starved you both were (although, those exact words were never used); how hard it was sometimes to sleep alone. Those conversations normally happened on nights like these, where the two of you could wake up in the morning and pretend you didn’t have such honest conversations with someone who is supposed to just be your neighbor. 

That night neither of you said a word as you walked quietly back to your bedroom, John close behind you, his warm hand enveloping yours. The two of you hesitantly curled up together in your bed, his face in your neck, your fingers in his hair. 

In the morning you woke to the sound of muffled snoring along the back of your neck, John’s heavy arm still holding you close to him. You panicked for a moment before the late night memory returned to you and you relaxed, your hand resting atop his that held you around your waist. His warm breaths caused goosebumps to raise along your skin and you allowed yourself to sink back into him, eyes slipping shut once again. 

A smile tugged at your mouth as his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer to his broad chest. Your chest felt tight for a moment before you shook your head, closing your eyes once again, telling yourself that you would worry about the consequences later.

Chapter 3

It had been over two weeks (18 days, to be exact, not that you were supposed to be counting- you told yourself) since you had heard anything from John. The last time you had spoken to him he had said he’d be home in a few days, secret promises of continuing your faux partnership once he was back lacing the short conversation. After the first week of no sign of John your stomach hurt. A few days- seven was more than a few, wasn’t it? A constant feeling of unease and nausea gripped at you tightly, your stomach and head almost always aching. You weren’t sleeping, less than you already did at least, and you silently wished you took John up on that emergency contact offer once the second week officially came.

“Just in case,” he had said, his calloused fingers massaging at your head gently. The two of you had been curled up in his bed, your head on his chest. 

“I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy, John.” You had (stupidly) responded. You opened your eyes, twisting in his hold to meet his curious gaze. “And if something did happen, how would you help from wherever you are?” 

John had frowned at that, but he knew you had a point. The two of you returned to sitting in silence as you held each other, some World War II documentary playing from the laptop on his lap.  

After officially two weeks of no contact your nausea had turned into anxiety ridden vomiting, and eating when you could stomach it. Anytime you thought of John you were rubbing your eyes with frustrated tears threatening to spill out. Each passing minute you wished you had agreed to getting the phone number from him; you were lying to yourself at the time, trying to convince each other you weren’t as important to the other as you let on.  

One of your coworkers (and friend, you supposed), Vicky, had noticed the bags under your eyes, how exhausted you seemed mentally. She rolled up next to you at your desk in her swivel chair, her shoulder bumping against yours as she slid to a stop. She watched as you continued to stare at the un-answered messages on your phone. She decided then that whoever that John was, he was missing out. You were a catch!

“Let’s go out!” Her face was suddenly invading your personal space, her tone all too chipper for being at work. You bit back the grimace that threatened to paint your features, your phone dropping to your desk before a shaking hand grabbed your mug of tea. You hid behind the mug as you forced a sip in your mouth. 

“What?” You managed after swallowing, eyeing the woman cautiously. 

“Look at you,” Vicky sighed, leaning back in her chair as she looked you over. You frowned, glancing down at yourself. “Let’s go out tonight. It’s Friday! And a three day weekend! You’ll still get your weekend if you don’t have fun.” She arched her well manicured eyebrows as she stared at you pointedly, not really leaving room for you to decline. 

You hesitated, glancing at the time and date in the corner of your computer screen. Your teeth start to involuntarily gnaw on your bottom lip. What if John came home tonight while you were gone?  

The sound of your name from Vicky causes you to jump, jolting you in your seat. You return her stare briefly before looking down into your tea. 

“Fine, I’ll-“ 

“Good!” Vicky squeals and you do grimace at the sharp noise, hands tightening around your mug. “Dress slutty! We’re goin’ out!” She giggles and hugs you, and you stiffen under her touch before she’s scooting back to her own desk. You just rubbed at your head as you sighed.

After work that night you got ready. You’re not as put together as you would be regularly, but you look better than you had been. Black dress, some make up, your hair washed and done. You’d be lying if you denied feeling even a little better just being slightly dolled up. 

The night is fast paced, Vicky’s hand constantly in yours, pulling you from bar to bar, your legs uneasy in your heels. Something you notice about Vicky, though, is that the moment a drop of alcohol touches the tip of her tongue, she’s babbling away about anything and everything. You didn’t mind it too much, really. It kept you from having to think of things to say as your thoughts grew slow and garbled as the night went on. 

At some point, in some bar, the two of you had found a little table. One of those ones with the ridiculously tall stools you have to fight your way on top of. And after about 30 seconds of staring at each other your co-worker breaks into a sloppy grin. 

“I gotta… piss.” Vicky giggles the word before she hops off her seat and quickly waddles away into the crowd. You snorted a laugh into your drink before you took the chance to dig your phone out, fingers tapping away on the screen. You open your text messages out of habit, and your vision seems to zero in on your unread messages, everything else around you suddenly blurry and out of focus. 

About a week ago they had stopped delivering altogether. You were sure it was just his phone was dead, but part of you wondered if he had secretly moved and blocked you away from his existence- or even worse, not just his phone was dead, but him- 

You felt tears burn in your eyes at the thoughts racing through your mind. You clenched your eyes shut as you locked your phone, shaking your head. You’re drunk , you angrily told yourself, hand coming up to wipe your cheeks as a few fat, wet drops fell over your lash line. It wasn’t unusual for John to disappear sometimes. That came with his line of work. 

Why should you care so much anyway? 

You’re not sure how long you’re sitting there before Vicky comes back out, but you know the night’s ruined. You’re stuck staring at those messages, your vision just getting blurrier the longer you stared, and that fucking lump in your throat was not helping. 

—

John’s hand shook as he glared down at his cracked phone, the rectangle heavy in his palm. It was cold, the dead battery logo blinking at him mockingly each time he attempted to turn it on. He let himself lean against the handrail in the elevator, eyes slipping shut in frustration as his head thumped against the metal panel wall. It was just after three in the morning according to his watch when he was dropped off by a cab in front of the building a few minutes prior. As soon as he entered the building he had made a beeline for the elevator, his stomach twisting with nerves as he jabbed at the button for the third floor. 

He let himself relax for a moment, hand coming up instinctively to hold at the fresh bandage at his side. The stab wound still hurt considerably, but it wasn’t the worst he had ever experienced. His fingers flexed against his jacket as he started to allow his mind to wander. 

Thoughts of you, of hoping that you were awake and would answer your door flooded his mind. He furrowed his eyebrows as his eyes began to burn with tears before he straightened up at the sound of the elevator dinging, signaling he reached the correct floor. 

John reshouldered his duffle bag and rushed down the hall and the grip on his dead phone tightened as your door came into sight, just across from his, as it always was. He stared at it with wide eyes, his mouth gaping open a bit before he blinked, seeming to recompose himself. 

Knock, muppet.

The man huffed at himself and brought his hand up, knuckles rapping against the painted wood of your door. 

He’s not sure how long he’s standing there, blue eyes trained on your door. It feels like an eternity, and he’s about to call it and go back to his own flat when he hears the deadbolt unlock. His breath is caught as your door swings open, and he’s met with you, your wide, manic eyes meeting his. 

John’s shoulders immediately relaxed at the sight of you, duffle bag dropping off of his shoulder and hitting the ground with a soft thump . You were in your pajamas, your hair wet as if you had just showered not too long ago. His chest felt tight, and his hands felt as if they weighed ten tons. 

—

Vicky had gotten you home soon after the water works had started. She said she was getting close to calling it a night anyhow (yes, anyhow . She used anyhow , and it made you giggle ), and graciously took a cab home with you before she took herself home and texted you she arrived safe. Once she’d let you know she was safe you had finally let yourself relax enough to go cry in the shower and get ready for bed. You hadn’t realized it at the time, but your meltdown happened at like, one . That’s late, I don’t care what you say. 

You let yourself cry a bit more in the shower- hell, why not, you needed it, and sluggishly got ready for bed considering you were still quite… tipsy? Drunk? Probably drunk with how you just staggered into your sweatpants. And you still felt a little warm. God, why did you even drink again?  Oh yeah, Vicky said you would feel better.  Fuckin’ Vicky -

Knock knock knock!..

You stilled, your heart racing as your hands froze halfway up your body. That couldn’t have possibly been her door, could it? No.. Nooo…

It was so late.. But that really sounded like her door. You slowly adjusted your clothes as you approached the door, your hands trembling as they reached up to lean against the wood- 

Holy fuck there’s a person out there, your could see them through the peep hole!! 

Immediately you felt her stomach churn, it was three in the morning , who was- 

“John?” 

[bibleofficial]

why are they still letting army helicopters in the air this is like the 3rd crash this year alone lmfao

[snootlestheangel]

Hi Snootles!

Thank you for the tag how about Ghoap (obviously lol) and the words “no we aren’t keeping it”

I hope your brain starts braining soon and you enjoy the holidays.

Hi friend!! I think the brain is indeed starting to brain again, and I hope you enjoy the holidays as well!

Civilian life was never meant for Soap, and he found himself struggling to sit still. They were on leave, a long one, in honor of their recent achievements, yet Soap felt it was a punishment. Some cruel joke from the powers that be. He had been up at the crack of dawn, had gone for a long run, come back and showered, and had eaten a decent sized breakfast all before Simon finally roused from slumber. He had reminded Soap of his namesake as he quietly sauntered out of the bedroom and wrapped himself around Soap in the kitchen.

"Steamin' Jesus, Si, yer gonna give me a fucking heart attack." Johnny muttered after flinching when Simon's warm hands made their way under his shirt. Simon hummed in acknowledgement, resting his chin on Soap's shoulder. Soap finished drying off the pan he used to make his breakfast, and pushed against Simon so he could move to put it away.

"I was about to head to the shop. Wanna come with?" Soap asked, leaning his head back against Ghost's broad chest, and the other rumbled something. He gently turned Soap around, placing a chaste kiss on the top of his head.

"I'll go. You need to rest, love."

"Ahm rested!" Soap argued, yet quickly gave in as Simon quirked a brow at him. A soft smile crossed Ghost's lips as he placed a gentle kiss on Soap's nose.

"I'll be quick, 'ow bout that?" Simon asked, and Soap frowned, nodding his head without looking at him. Simon chuckled, pulling him closer as he quietly asked for a kiss. With a roll of his eyes, Soap gave in, smiling into the kiss.

Ghost was quick to get ready, and before he knew it, Soap was left alone with the order to rest.

Roughly an hour and half later, and Soap was fully engulfed by a nature documentary he had stumbled across, and he paid little heed as Simon returned home. There was a lot of shuffling as Simon set the bags from his trip on the dining table, yet barely heard above the sounds of the TV was Ghost's quiet humming.

"Hey, Johnny, love?" Simon called out, and Soap paused the documentary as he waited for Simon to continue with his request.

"Can you grab a rag and wet it with warm water for the baby?"

"Aye." Soap responded, quickly jumping up and heading for the bathroom, thankful for something to do.

But as he reached the doorway, he paused.

"I'm sorry, for the what?" Soap asked as he turned to the kitchen. Simon's large frame stood hunched over slightly, cradling something in his hands. A flash of guilt crossed his face and his eyes fell to his hands.

"It was gonna die, Johnny." Simon responded, showing Soap the small gray kitten in his hands.

"We're no' keepin' it." Soap instantly blurted, staring at the little creature in disbelief. Simon made a small noise and pouted, doing his best to convince Johnny of keeping the poor, helpless thing. The kitten squealed, wriggling in Simon's hands, and Soap let out a heavy sigh as Simon softly cooed at it.

"Fine, at least until it gets bigger." Soap grumbled, and Simon smiled, knowing all too well how quickly that promise would be thrown out the window.

"Welcome home, Johnny."

[nando161mando]

'Israel' deliberately targets civilians to make up for its military incompetence