#military ocp

[naturboysworld]

Field Training

[csm-angler-tx]

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[ofsappho]

Heartless, Chapter 8

🔞 Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, (a little bit of smut this chapter)

-

You help Ghost prepare for deployment.

-

Tags: Protective Ghost, oral sex at the end, pussy drunk Ghost, tooth-rotting fluff, author has never been to the UK nor knows shit about the military so ignore inaccuracies thanks

You’ve never been to the UK before. Hell, you’ve never left the continental United States.

Yet here you are, sitting on an unmarked transporter, accompanying your husband and the team you’re starting to view as “your boys” to a whole other continent.

The details are fuzzy, most of them way above your civilian pay grade, and it’s not like Ghost would be talkative if he were allowed to. You figure it’s some sort of deployment… something, and their “home base” is now in London.

You know better than to ask those kinds of questions.

Ghost isn’t sitting next to you. You’re hanging out at the back of the plane on your own as the boys talk amongst themselves in the front. Their captain hasn’t so much as glanced your way.

You’ve got your earbuds in as you try to occupy as much time and mental energy as possible - you’re not very good on planes. There’s nowhere to go except crashing straight down.

Long car rides are marginally better. At least those involve breaks, ideally filled with greasy diner food. Do they have diners in the UK? That’s silly; of course, they do. Maybe.

Ghost has on one of his real masks. A fearsome plate of bone set over a black balaclava with streaks of white dripping down his chin. This morning, he caked his eye black so thick that you can’t see any sliver of skin.

You really do have a ghoul for a husband.

There’s nothing entertaining to look at other than stalking everyone’s body language like a creep. After half an hour of fucking around and staring at your cuticles, you resign yourself to playing armchair lip reader.

Sergeant Garrick is all business. That’s not entirely novel - he’s friendly and cheerful, yes, but always a consummate professional in a way that Soap struggles to emulate on a good day. He has a leather-bound journal open, and you watch him take notes with an elegant, expensive-looking pen as he goes back and forth with Captain Price. You can’t see what he’s writing, but the swirls of his hand tell you he’s writing in cursive.

Speaking of Soap, he’s doing… card tricks with a pack of black and gold playing cards. They occupy his hands as he chats with Ghost and Alejandro, his mouth moving constantly and his voice loud enough to hear bits of his accent. He flips cards through the air and tucks a few on the back of his hand. Now and then, the Captain directs a comment toward Johnny, and he responds with a sober nod or brief word.

Alejandro catches you gawking with a single raised eyebrow. You respond by sticking your tongue out, causing him to choke on his energy drink. His dirty look is half-hearted at best. Alejandro is the only person who seems to have any pity for your boredom, and he asks if you’re okay via a questioning thumbs up. You nod and wave your hand to say, “So-so, could be better.” He mouths, “Almost there.”

You check your phone to find that he’s right. There’s maybe an hour left before the airman in OCPs will tell everyone to put their seatbelts on and stash away loose personal items in preparation for landing. You can survive another hour.

When you look back, Ghost is watching you.

His mask, dark eyes, and coldness all send shivers down your spine and nearly scare you out of your seat. You can’t decide if it’s terrifying, or incredibly attractive, or maybe some secret third thing that is both.

For a few moments, he doesn’t move. Your only clue that he lowers his gaze is a brief flash of his night-dark eyelids. Then Ghost sits forward, and you see Soap lean in to listen to whatever he’s whispering.

Your best friend calls the airman over, who provides a polished, professional salute to the two of them before disappearing into the galley.

After a moment, the personnel member emerges carrying… a bottle of ginger ale and a granola bar—one that tastes like iced lemon pound cake. “For you, Ms.,” He says respectfully before returning to his station as soon as you take the food.

These are your favorite granola bars. Ghost knows it because you commented on it a couple of days ago after seeing them on display in the mess hall. What are the odds this transporter has them on board without your husband’s intervention? Slim to none.

Ever since the time he helped you into the bath, just thinking about Ghost is enough to make your heart feel like an overripe peach. You’re becoming soft at your center, as if a deeper rot in your chest is threatening to turn you into a pile of sickly-sweet mush.

You stare at the cheery yellow and blue wrapper on this goddamn granola bar and figure that your heart is so squishy that its collapse is inevitable. To take a page out of Ghost’s book, fucking hell.

Ghost waits until he sees you unwrap the bar and take a bite before returning his attention to Soap.

Sgt. Sanderson has hidden so well behind everyone else that you almost miss him when you take a headcount. The man is pretty cool - you’ve graduated from silent nods of acknowledgment to the occasional stilted partial wave.

After your husband thoroughly dishonored you in that shooting range, you both were pleasantly surprised to discover not a single soul wandering in your path. The day after, Ghost reported that the whole range had been given a very thorough cleaning by the janitorial staff.

It turns out that Gaz had run straight to everyone else to tell them you were fucking, which was predictable. The sexual tension was as subtle as a goddamn freight train.

What you failed to account for was that Soap, and Alejandro had allegedly taken great pleasure in causing chaos to keep everyone away, and Roach had put in the facilities request himself. They all collectively called it a belated wedding present.

Captain Price nods at Gaz, then goes to the pilot. You leave your observations at that. He continues to treat you with thinly-veiled suspicion at best, like you’re the stereotype of the predatory military spouse, and it’s only a matter of time before Ghost suffers for it.

Meh. He’s allowed to feel that way, you suppose.

Your hour is up, and everyone begins to buckle their seatbelts. You quickly finish your granola bar and close up the bottle of ginger ale. Fuck flying. By the time you get off this transport, you might even kiss the tarmac.

-

It’s not until uniformed soldiers take your fingerprints at Regent’s Park Barracks with menacing scowls that you start to comprehend what “SAS” means and why Soap never told you shit about his job.

Well, you always knew everything he did was shady, but there’s a big difference between academically knowing a thing and experiencing it for yourself.

You’d die before admitting it, but you think you’re in over your head. These guys are scary, and as you wait for them to put together your temporary ID, their harsh gazes wear heavy on your already-fried nerves from the international plane trip.

Everyone else has breezed through security. So it’s just you, standing here, trying to affect even a fraction of Ghost’s confidence and menace, and failing miserably.

The team is walking away; you watch the back of their heads get smaller and smaller, all lost in their very important conversation, and you try to control your jagged, panicked breathing.

No doubt these guardsmen can fucking read body language or some shit. They might interpret your natural anxiety as something more insidious.

“Look at me,” The soldier at the computer barks. Right. You snap your eyes back to him, your anxiety turning to fear like dropping a Mentos in Diet Coke.

You’re good. You have a right to be here. You’re not in trouble. “Sorry, uh, sir,” You say, scrounging for a tone that could pass as respectful. When you offer up a strained half-smile, the man’s scowl deepens.

He stares at the screen, then at you. “What is your… relation again?” Fucking dick would probably give a kinder reception to a stray fly on his lunch than he is currently giving to you.

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, then twist it between your fingers. The alternative is to start chewing on it or your nails; neither is preferable. What would be preferable is an act of God, like a cool lightning bolt to strike you down when you stand.

The silence drags on as you try to find the right words. Everything falls apart in your mouth before you can speak it.

Just as the soldier gears up to be even meaner, even more contemptuous, a large, warm hand rests on the small of your back.

It’s Ghost. And he’s pissed. “She’s my wife. Stand down, Lance Corporal,” He growls. It’s like music to your ears. Without thinking, you tuck yourself closer to him, seeking the reassuring shelter of his tall, broad frame.

Ghost permits it. His arm even slides tight around your waist in a public display of affection far greater than average. The only thing keeping him from sticking his tongue down your throat is that he’d have to break the death glare turning the security personnel to ash.

You shoot the soldier a smirk and mouth, “You’re fucked.”

Behind you, someone’s palm hits their face, you hear some scared eep noises.

To the soldier’s credit, he hasn’t yet dropped dead from fear-induced shock or pissed his pants. “My apologies, Lieutenant,” He whispers. It’s practically a fucking whimper.

A rotting corpse would be more personable and approachable than your husband. “Don’ apologize to me. Apologize to her.” The guardsman looks at you, his pale, sweat-soaked face screaming for mercy.

All you do is smile beatifically with bared teeth.

His shoulders hunch over, the poor guy squeezes his eyes shut in terror. “My apologies, Mrs. Riley,” The soldier stutters, then steps back. Actually, everyone takes a step back.

Yes, you are Mrs. Riley now, aren’t you?

You can’t see Ghost’s eyes from here. He has cavernous black voids for eye sockets, and you realize he’s holding completely still. His shoulders don’t rise and fall with breath, not a single muscle twitches. 

There’s nothing human there.

You’ll get him to fuck you with that specific mask on. Later.

“Apology accepted.” Your voice is sweet and magnanimous in victory.

By now, the rest of your boys have noticed. Gaz doubled back first, and then you see Soap abandon Captain Price to go after you.

Ghost guides you through the security checkpoint like you’re taking a Sunday stroll. “C’mon. That arsehole won’t do that again,” He scoffs without moving his arm from your waist.

“But I like it when you do that!” You tease, gently nudging his side with your elbow.

“Do what?” Ghost doesn’t have to turn his masked face for you to know that you hold the whole captivated weight of his attention.

You do not use this power for good. “You know. Skull face o’ doom. Protective alpha wolf. Don’t talk to my wife like that. Rawr.” Then you throw your head back and cackle gleefully.

Now you get a look, a suspicious, disgusted, yet sort of amused side-eye. “…” It’s like you’re two kids on the playground again, and you just tugged his hair in a show of affection.

Johnny’s almost within earshot. Your friend must be piecing things together, given how his gaze flits between the wreckage Ghost left behind and the unyielding embrace your husband has on you.

Before they ruin the moment, you press your forehead into the sleeve of Ghost’s black jacket. “Thanks for rescuing me, baby.”

“Mm.” You feel his gloved fingers slip under your shirt, press briefly into the bare skin of your hip, and then Ghost lets you go.

Everything is a blur after that. There’s finding your accommodations, unpacking, getting lost trying to find the dining hall, getting lost again on your way back. It’s familiar and alien at the same time; English is English, but they drive on the wrong side of the road here, and your intuition doesn’t work as it should.

You’re so used to having someone by your side that the absence of your friends and your husband aches like an old bruise. They’re wrapped up in meetings or disappearing for hours.

Back home, you could leave the base if you wanted to. You had regular cell service and dollars in your wallet. You didn’t have to do math in your head trying to remember conversion rates when you wanted to buy something.

Thank God they have wifi here. Without it, you would’ve wandered the barracks with a dead phone. And you can’t go places without Ghost, even if you have pounds, a cab, and a map.

The tea’s okay. It’s not noticeably better or worse. Your palette is likely too unrefined to tell the difference.

There’s nowhere else for you to be beside your dimly lit quarters. The walls are bare, and the plastic mattress cover pokes you through the sheets you brought. It’s impressively soundproofed; for all you know, a meteor has hit Earth, and you’re the last person alive. That’s how quiet it is.

You bundle yourself up further in your blankets, then take a handful of soft cloth and bring it to your face. They smell like Ghost. It’s almost enough to soothe the restless loneliness hovering over you like fog rolling in at night.

This is how you spend the next… million hours. Nothing you do makes the blankets perfectly right. You can’t toss and turn them into the shape of Ghost’s body next to yours. His warm, musky, clean linen, deeply human scent, that you know better than your own, has begun to fade.

You’ve become spoiled these past weeks, you scold yourself. You’re too clingy, too complacent, too attached.

Soon, he’ll be God knows where doing God knows what. It will be so pathetic if you spend the whole time moping around, pining like some love-struck idiot.

You don’t want to be pathetic, and love is for children and divorcees.

He doesn’t come in until well past midnight.

You haven’t caught a wink of sleep, thanks to the time difference. You sit up in bed with almost slavish eagerness and then pad towards him barefoot on the cold floor. “Hey-“

Ghost brushes you off with a single shake of his head. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, closing the door with a sharp snap that leaves you feeling some type of way.

He can’t be mad at you. There’s no reason - you haven’t done a single thing all day other than occupy space in this bed. But the sight of him walking away from you hurts.

You hear Ghost turn the faucet on, he’s muttering something to himself, he splashes water on what must be his bare face.

The door’s unlocked. You could go in if you wanted to. The white wood panels are just panels.

Yeah, you’re fucking pathetic.

So you sit on the bed and contemplate falling asleep just to spite him. But what if that’s what Ghost wants, and he won’t come out until he thinks you’re unconscious?

Before you can decide, the bathroom door swings open. He has his mask and gloves in one hand, and his other hand ruffles through his short blonde hair.

Ghost continues to be pretty face shy, so this is the first time in a while that you’ve gotten a good look at the frustrated wrinkle between his eyes.

He curses as he sorts through one of his duffel bags, he even tosses his mask carelessly to the side in order to use both hands.

You could ask Ghost if he needs help. Two people can find something faster than one. But you’re smarting from his rude rejection earlier, and it’s not like Ghost is incapable of asking for help on his own.

Exhaustion dogs each movement, sloshing through your veins like mud and beading at the corners of your eyes. You scrub at them with the sleeves of your sweater in the hopes that you can scrub yourself awake. All it does is unearth a ferocious yawn that shakes your whole body.

Ghost holds up an electric razor in a silent ‘aha’ before trodding back into the bathroom. This time, he leaves the door open.

He viciously rips off the conversion plug from the trimmer, then shoves it into the funkily-shaped bathroom wall socket.

With equal, if not more, venom, Ghost tries to even out his hair to regulation length. “Fuckin’…” The key word here is ‘tries.’

You watch him miss the same spot five times, give up to move to another overgrown section, and then miss that new spot five times.

In the sallow bathroom light, you can see how mangled and uneven the back of his head is. The mask is a very clever gambit to hide the hack job. “Goddamnit-“ Ghost swears, tangling his wrist in the cord in frustration.

He needs to slow down, and calm down. And if he tilts his head a little further, moves his hand back, he’d be able to get-

Ghost’s hand slips. “Bollocks!” There’s red underneath his fingers. The dumbass has gone and cut himself.

You can’t stand there and dawdle and watch him bust his scalp open because his pride gets in his way. You’re by his side in an instant.

“Stop. Stop it. Give it to me,” You tell Ghost, trying to pull the razor from his hand before he can say no.

His dark eyes flit to you in the mirror. “Wha-“

But he won’t hand the fucking thing to you, and you’re not in the mood to play tug of war. When will he realize he doesn’t have a choice and you’re helping him whether he likes it or not? “Give me the fucking razor,” You snap irritably.

His gaze goes wide even as the rest of his face remains flat. Finally, Ghost drops the razor into your palm.

A new challenge makes itself known - he’s much too tall for you to reach when he stands at his full height. In the corner of your bedroom, there’s a table with two chairs. “Here- can you just sit?” You say over your shoulder as you drag a chair in front of the bathroom sink.

He studies the razor in your hand, then turns around to examine the chair.

After a long moment, Ghost resigns himself to your care and sits down with a quiet ‘oof.’

You dust off the hair trimmings from his shoulders and neck so you can see where to start, all while ignoring the tiny shivers that travel through his muscles every time your fingers brush bare skin.

When you click the razor on, you let it hum in the air for a couple of minutes until he relaxes, and then you bring it to his scalp.

Ghost is a good patient. He lets you tilt his head as you work from his neckline and up toward the top of his head, moving in smooth, fluid strokes. It doesn’t take long before the back of his hair resembles hair again.

No one’s cleaned up his edges in forever. His hairline looks like it was drawn on in crayon by a toddler, but you elect not to say that to Ghost’s face.

It must be very difficult for him to have you this close with something sharp in your hand.

All of your frustration evaporates the instant you realize it. Before, the smudged smoke on his face distracted you from the cautious, frightened look in his eyes. But now that you can see it, you can’t unsee it. He’s a wounded, spooked animal, and you’ve cornered him in his den.

You turn the trimmer off for a second to pull the guard off.

Then you tilt his head forward to neaten that hairline, carefully avoiding the scabbed-over scratch.

Ghost clears his throat. “You’ve done this before?” He asks quietly, like there is something sacred in the air that he doesn’t want to disturb.

Your lips purse as you take the smallest bit of hair off. “A couple of times.” His veiny hands grip the arms of the chair. “And I’m definitely doing it better than you. Like, what is this? A poorly-maintained lawn?” You tease, making your voice as light and frivolous as you can.

He laughs shakily before releasing the wood.

“Who?”

You shoot him a relatively mild glare in the mirror. “Calm down. I cut Soap’s hair when he first enlisted, though I’ll admit that the Mohawk suits his weirdly shaped skull way better.”

You didn’t give a single fuck about your friend’s hairline back then. But you give many, many fucks about Ghost’s.

You want him to look good. Like he’s well cared for by a nice woman at home. Because he is. “You have a nice skull. No dents. Very proportional,” You say absentmindedly, tongue poking out as you finish the last little bit.

“…Thanks.” Ghost sounds oddly touched.

The sides of his head are next on your list. “My mom taught me how to cut my dad’s hair. Sometimes she’d do it for him.” You’ve never told Ghost anything about your past before.

There wasn’t really a point. At its core, your relationship is an economic proposition with benefits, so he doesn’t need to know about your parents to get what you agreed to give him.

But… some small part of you wants him to know, so you can pretend to have a conventional marriage.

You click the guard back into place and remember doing this same thing for your mother when you were a young girl. The three of you made an odd family; you were much closer to her age than your dad was.

Just like before, you let Ghost get used to the sound of the clippers before you start cutting.

“Your- um, he served?” He asks, coughing suddenly in the middle of his question.

“Yeah.”

“Mm.”

The top you leave longer, though still cleanly cut. You circle the chair once, then twice, comparing both sides to ensure his hair is symmetrical.

You played yourself by leaving the front of his head for last. Now you have to stand there, feeling the weight of his gaze on your every move, so close that you can count his pale lashes against his fading eye black. Your hand holding the razor stays admirably steady, though your free hand lingers too long on his stubble-marked cheek.

Without realizing it, your fingers find one of the scars arching across his skin and trace it all the way down to the corner of his mouth.

Ghost doesn’t say anything to stop you. He sits, he looks up at you, he even blinks his large, luminous eyes a few times.

Fuck. You want…

You rest your palm against his prominent cheekbone and bend closer than necessary to get the last little tuft of hair.

The razor buzzes aimlessly in the air as your eyes drop to his chapped lips.

It turns itself off. “There you go. Nice and even,” You say, straightening up with burning cheeks that appear deep strawberry red in the bathroom mirror.

Ghost hums an acknowledgment, then gets to his feet with some satisfyingly-loud cracks in his back. For a moment, you almost forgot how tall he is. He easily crowds you away from the mirror, filling the space with muscles and long limbs.

“How do I look?” Ghost asks in a hoarse, almost vulnerable voice.

This feels like a trick question. Like, how are you supposed to answer in a way that doesn’t make you sound like a fool?

“Uh- well… you look… better than before.” Wrong answer. That’s absolutely not what you wanted to say, not really.

Words flit in and out of your reach like koi fish in a pond, and each time you grab for one, you come up empty-handed. “You look very handsome, Ghost.” There. That’s respectable, even if it’s not adequate. You’re not sure an adequate sentence to describe Ghost’s attractiveness exists. “I think-“

He cuts you off. “Simon.”

“What?”

Ghost turns his face away from the overhead light and mirror.

“My name’s Simon. Sometimes,” He quips.

Right. No big deal. Be cool. Be normal about this.

You say his name in your head a few times. Simon. Simon. Simon.

Why would he turn away? Why won’t he look at you? How do you make him see himself how you see him?

You reach out and carefully tug at his elbow until he turns around, still with his eyes cast to the ground. “I think you’re… one of the most beautiful people I know, Simon,” You murmur with the gift of his name as sweet as sugar on your tongue.

Everything is quiet, other than the hum of electricity in the light fixture and drops of water trickling from the faucet.

He reaches for your face with both hands, drawing you up on your tippy toes to meet his open mouth. His nose bumps into yours a few times as he kisses you. No teeth, no biting, just sweet, drawn-out kisses, his tongue swirling against yours, the taste of Ghost’s mint toothpaste on your lips.

One hand cups the base of your skull so he can tangle his fingers in your hair as he always does. But even this, Simon does gently, like he can’t bear to be rough.

You kiss him back feverishly with your arms around his neck, breaking away only to kiss the corner of his lips, his cheeks, you kiss the tip of his nose. Simon captures your mouth again with a low growl, stopping between kisses to wipe at your cheeks with his sleeve. Your face must be covered in his eye black.

Then he bends down, wraps his arms around your thighs, and you find yourself airborne. “Don’t drop me-“ You shriek, clinging to him like a sloth on a tree branch.

Ghost laughs as he sits you on top of the sink without blinking an eye. “One of these days, I’m gonna punish you for sayin’ that.” Once you relax into your makeshift perch, he sweeps your hair over your shoulder to kiss your cheek, then down your throat.

“Not today?” You ask with a small smile, running your hands through his freshly-cut hair.

He drags his tongue along your skin, always kissing, licking, loving your neck with his lips, he tugs your shirt up so his mouth can trace the curve of your breast. “Sorry, love,” Ghost murmurs into your stomach.

His teeth sink into your hip as he struggles to get your underwear off, tugging futilely with the tiniest pout until you take pity and pull them down to your ankles. 

“Today-“ He cuts himself off to soothe the sting from his bite with more kisses. You rest your head against the mirror, eyes closed and face to the ceiling, as he dips his fingers between your bare thighs.

The faucet digs into your back, but you’d rather die than make him stop. “I jus’ wanna-“ His hand skates around the folds of your cunt, already dripping and clenching on nothing, his fingers wander everywhere except where you need him.

“Ghost…” You plead, even digging your heels into his back to make him move.

His nails dig into your plush thigh. “Simon. You’ll say Simon, or I’ll stop,” He warns, his eyes completely dilated. You watch him lick his lips, dart his gaze back and forth between your flushed face and your dewy cunt.

The opportunity is right there. It’s right there. Do you go for it?

“Simon says-“ You begin with a shit-eating grin.

Your laughter drowns out his groan. “F’ the love of God, don’t finish that fuckin’ joke,” He sighs, burying his face in your skin.

Simon’s fucking stubble is tickling you, and he starts rubbing his cheek on purpose to be annoying. You’re going to get a rash.

“Okay, okay. I won’t. For now,” You relent with one last giggle.

That giggle turns into a choked moan when his thumb circles your aching clit before he slowly eases one thick finger inside you. You whine, breathless and eager for more, shoving your hips toward his hand until he adds another.

And then he glides his tongue over you, teasing your sensitive bud with delicate licks. “Wanna make you come on my face.” You cry out as he laps at your folds, where you’re stretching to fit him, you gasp and jerk, and he encourages you. “Think you can do that for me?”

One of your hands goes to the mirror for balance, smearing fingerprints all over the foggy glass.

You feel him groan into your soaking wet pussy, the vibrations traveling through your nerves like a hot flame.

He moves his fingers faster, carefully curled to hit your g-spot with each thrust. “Ahhh- the haircut was- fuck… that good?” Your voice shudders, your stomach muscles start to hurt as your hips grind on his face for more, every time he touches you, your cunt flutters helplessly.

You look down at him buried between your legs. His eyes are half-lidded and intent, like he’s drunk, or really high, and most of his eye black has rubbed off on your skin, and he’s mindless as he takes your clit in his mouth and sucks.

“Shit, shit, Simon, slow down, oh God-“ You cry out, back arching like a string pulled taught in his wanting, covetous hands.

Simon lifts his head long enough to rasp, “You’re holding out on me, doll.” Then he gets back to his meal with your slick dripping down his chin.

You’re so unbearably hot that you think you’re about to melt, that desperate, writhing heat grows stronger and stronger in your core, and your shirt chafes your hardened nipples as you pant for breath.

He presses his fingers deeper into you, then thrusts a third digit in. “Oh my god, I’m so close, fuck, Simon, please make me come, o-oh…” You’re fucked out and completely insensible to anything other than his hot, wet mouth, cruelly working you higher and higher.

“Say my name again,” Simon orders as he strokes that ridged spot inside your twitching cunt over and over, his eyes roll back for a second when a new wave of arousal gushes out of you and into his mouth.

The tension wrenches through your insides, and if you don’t come, right now, you’re going to scream and claw and wail, anything for release.

“Simon. Simon. It’s so good, fuck, Simon, you’re ruining me-“ You shudder, then come with a long, shaky gasp. It moves through you, every nerve alive with bright, almost painful pleasure, you can’t breathe or see or hear. Just white light painted on your eyelids and the rabbit-fast beat of your pulse, your muscles spasming on his fingers.

Your nails scratch his neck, and one of his arms holds your cunt to his greedy tongue so he can draw the orgasm out even as you push him away.

Finally, you slump bonelessly to the sink. Simon pulls away the instant the overstimulation becomes too much, but not without one last kiss to your swollen, reddened clit.

Your fingers drag his face up up up until he’s standing and kissing you, his face absolutely covered in your come. He grins lazily, breathing almost as fast as you, you taste your salty, heady taste coating his tongue. You sink your teeth into Ghost’s bottom lip, and he nips you in return.

Your hands move to his shoulders, pushing until he moves back to see what you want. “Go to bed with me,” You whisper.

You missed him. A lot.

Simon searches your face, your round, doelike, beseeching eyes, for something. What he finds brings a small, sweet lift to the corner of his mouth.

He nods, kisses you again for good measure, and then carries you out of the bathroom.

-

GUESS WHAT WE'RE GETTING NEXT CHAPTER??? THE FIRST (BUT NOT LAST) APPEARANCE OF COWBOY GHOST!!!! YEEHAW!!!

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[justwantedtodownloadmods]

sims 4 male military top camo

men

camo patterns British dpm marpat m81 woodland cadpat ERDL ocp

11 patterns

[steampunkforever]

If you want to look good in camo and not like you listen to an unfortunate amount of Navy SEAL podcasts, you should pick a safe bet like M81 Woodland or a European variant and then branch out from there into DPM, CCE, and vz. 95. Strichtarn is also a good choice here if you're into a more subtle look.

If you're already confident in your style I suggest Korean Turtleshell, Alpenflage, or Flecktarn, which are all good choices for someone who knows how to put together an outfit and feels comfortable playing with fun patterns. Greek Lizard + subsequent tigerstripe patterns, and Swedish M90 also fit in here.

More modern Multicam stuff is unimaginative, if relatively inoffensive. I feel like OCP and the like will eventually reach the status that Woodland BDUs have now, but for now they're the T-shirt and jeans of the camo world. If you just really like the multicam look, I suggest springing for some British MPT. It's got touches of DPM in there, and is more interesting than just any other surplus US military uniform.

The bulk of this has been military, but you can find interesting stuff like vintage Bottomland and Duck Hunter (a descendant of WWII pacific theater camo) patterns as well.

[divinecomedyproductions]

Unpopular RWBY Opinion: Watts should have had a mega corporation and been the corruption behind Atlas instead of Jacques and the SDC who should have been underdogs.

Now I’m incorporating this into my reimagined AU and this is more about what I believe another story could have been told with the world of rwby, it’s concepts and what they could have been instead, so take this with any kind of seasoning you like.

And anyone looking for AUs that work on making Jacques a bastard, RWBY: Remnants and RWBY: Evermorrow, probably FRWBY, and plenty of other people getting that down, so the concept will survive my non-contribution.

Looking in retrospect with The Schnee family and Atlas and what we know about Watts. I think Watts should have had the corrupt corporation with unethical Faunus labor that has influence in Atlas and The Schnees and the SDC should have been among the smaller underdog companies being crushed by them.

Just looking back at the criticisms of the Schnee's and how Nicholas kinda dug the SDC's grave way before Jacques did when he wrote a deal that basically bled Vaccou dry, and once again Watts' contribution to Atlas, it had me thinking about this.

Imagine if Watts had his own megacorporation lets say for this case, GigaWatts Industries, which used slave labor in its factories, he got his way and was elevated to the mastermind of Atlas with countless of companies and even Atlas Military hiring him for tech(like OCP from Robocop) crushing smaller companies such as SDC by providing alternative Dust Mining, notably to spite Jacques who he has a bitter history with. And the SDC and The Schnee's are one of the few companies who give Faunus honest work.

Basically my idea is Jacque's late wife Willow was a scientist who worked with Arthur and Pietro and let's just say Arthur was miffed a "fellow genius" chose a "clown of a businessman and former huntsman" over him to produce "successful prodigy" with, one thing leads to another and Willow is killed by Anti-Faunus milita who GWI provides tech to. Jacques becomes cold and bitter and is certain Watts had something to do with it, but still good intentioned for his children and company. And now both Arthur and Jacques are at each other's throats, giving the SDC and White Fang a common foe, and keep in mind, this also involves Adam Taurus being a former slave to one of the GWI factories and is an initial-antagonist-turned-good.

In a Weiss-Centered arc. Involving a cool gun/sword/baritsu fight between Jacques and Watts and later Weiss and Watts.

It's not much, but just a though that's been cooking in my brain for a while. I could go on, but I'd just be rambling away.

[darkeagleruins]

Biden’s hijacked military is now rebranding their DEI programs as “Organizational Culture Program” to avoid political backlash

Make no mistake, this is racial wokeness in our military and it must be stopped

Make sure everybody knows what DEI has mutated into: OCP

[hobbit-historian]

All you had to do was stay pt2

Rooster x reader.

Not my gif

Second part to this story here.

Warnings: not much. Less angst than part one. Mentions of injuries and probably some incorrect military information.

Y/c/s - your call sign

Y/n/n - your name now

She dug through the pile of tools, muttering under her breath as she looked for the specific one that she needed. Finding it at the very bottom, she pulled it free and placed her other hand out to stabilize the pile. She really needed to clean her desk.

And it would get done.

Later.

Right now, she was working on an F/A-18, and she only needed this one tool.

None of the others littering the work station or the floor around the plane. If her CO found the hanger in such a mess, he would blow his top and she would be stuck doing whatever PT she could do for weeks.

So would get it clean. It would just have to be later, after she fixed the plane.

Scuttlebutt said that a bunch of Top Gun graduates were coming back in today and that the extra Super Hornets would need to be operational. She was to get them ready and then send them to be painted. The names were to updated for the incoming pilots, it seemed.

Further scuttlebutt implied that the great Captain Pete Mitchel would be coming back as well. She swallowed hard as his name crossed her mind.

Her dad.

Pete Mitchel was her dad.

But that was something else that she would deal with later, much like her messy workstation.

Much later.

So she fixed the plane, letting the intricacies of the work silence her mind. Grease coated her OCPs, her hands, her face. Her only focus was the piece of machinery in front of her and above her.

So when someone walked in, hollering her name, she jumped, sending her bad shoulder straight into the wing of the plane. She cursed the semi for a moment, wincing and rubbing at the sore muscle.

“Y/n/n? Is there a y/n/n here?” A male voice called from the other side of the Super Hornet, confusion laced through every word.

She sighed. The only people who didn’t know who she was were the haughty pilots who were here for the Top Gun program and then left, to parts unknown, to pass on their knowledge. She didn’t interact with the pilots much, no matter how nice any of them were rumored to be.

She didn’t trust them, plain and simple.

She had been one of them once.

Now she was a mechanic, living on borrowed time until the Navy found out that her medical records were faked.

So when she walked around the nose of the jet, she was expecting a pilot.

But she wasn’t expecting him.

Rooster.

He started, and then just… stopped.

She expected cursing, anger, for him to turn and walk away, anything.

Anything other than the silence and staring that was going on right now.

She stared right back, crossing her arms. Too late, she realized that grease was stuck under her fingernails in little halfmoons. She curled her fingers in, trying to hide them.

“Can I help you?” She snapped at him. She’s didn’t have time for the one person who had made her cry in public.

Rooster blinked, hard, and then swallowed.

“Y/c/s? Is that you?” His voice was quiet and choked. He cleared his throat and then motioned toward her. “I uh, heard about your accident. With the semi.”

She narrowed her eyes at the pilot and gave him a moment before she spoke.

“Yes. But two surgeries and almost two years of physical therapy and I’m here, alive.” She indicated the plane behind her and said “I’m a mechanic now. And I go by y/n/n.” She didn’t feel like telling him that she didn’t use the call sign anymore since she wouldn’t ever be flying again.

Rooster swallowed again, nodding this time. “Of course. Makes sense. I’m, I’m just glad you’re alive. And that you don’t look too…” he gestured across his body and face and then winced.

She stared. Did he really just say that? Did he really just comment on the fact that she looked mostly normal, after all that she had been through? She clenched her fists and inhaled. A count of ten and then she exhaled.

Her temper had been a lot worse since the accident. The doctors said that some things in her personality would be different - the trauma and PTSD alone would do that to the psche, let alone any actual damage to her brain that might’ve occurred.

And this encounter was going to call upon all of the therapy sessions she had gone to since the accident.

“Thanks,” she snapped.

“I, that’s not what I meant.”

“Of course not.” She sighed through her nose. “What did you want again?”

Rooster nodded. “They told me that you were the best mechanic they have.”

“And?”

“I need you to look at my Hornet. Felt a little off during training today.”

Training today? How long had the pilots been in for?

How long had her dad been here?

Later, she reminded herself. Much, much later.

She shook her head and looked back up at the F/A-18 behind her. “Going to be a while. Still finishing this one.” She jabbed her thumb at it.

Rooster nodded. “That one for Yale?”

She quirked and eyebrow at him and shrugged. “I dunno. All I know is that I was supposed to get it fixed before the lot of you got here and it seems like I’m behind. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to that. And then you bring me your Hornet and maybe I can take a look at it. Maybe.”

She didn’t even know why she was agreeing to this. Most likely, there was nothing wrong with the plane, and Rooster was just not flying how he needed to.

But she remembered what it was like being up there, feeling all of the pieces of the plane working together in a harmony that it seemed only the pilot could hear.

So when Rooster agreed and then turned to walk out of the hanger, she stopped him.

“When is your next training session?”

He squinted up at the sun and answered, “this afternoon.”

“Make sure you bring your plane over after lunch then. And you’ll need to stick around so you can figure out if I fix whatever is going on.”

He nodded. Rooster still didn’t look at her, glancing down at the ground this time.

“And Rooster? Don’t hate on my work this time, ok?”

The pilot looked up at her now, a smile ghosting his lips. “Of course, y/n/n. I’m sure you’re still the best there is.”

***

Rooster walked away from the hanger, still unable to believe his luck. He had thought about graduation every night since then. He had nightmares of y/c/s - y/n/n - staring him down and then leaving, tears spilling down her face.

He had showed up to the hospital once, as soon as he could get leave, to talk to her. He knew about the surgeries, knew about the rehab, knew about the broken bones. But he hadn’t been able to make it past the front desk once he found out her room number. Instead he had sent her flowers, a stuffed bear, and a card that merely said “get better soon.” He wasn’t surprised that when he had mustered up enough courage to try visiting again that he saw a little boy carrying that stuffed bear out and the wilted flowers sitting in the nurse’s station.

He hadn’t tried since then.

And honestly? He had pushed the thing so far back in his mind that his subconscious still thought that she was in the hospital. Not back at Miramar, working as a mechanic. And apparently a hell of a mechanic at that.

He’d gone in thinking “y/n/n” was going to be some gangly guy with glasses.

Instead it ended up being the worst mistake of his life.

But here was a second chance, a way to repair his busted heart and their relationship. Maybe it was beyond repair, but it was worth a shot.

A tug in his chest stopped him in his tracks.

What if…?

Not waiting for his chicken heart to give out again, he turned around and ran back into the hanger.

“Y/n/n?” He called out for her, hoping beyond hope that she would answer with a more pleasant expression than last time.

She poked under the plane, face hard. “Yes?”

“We’re going to the Hard Deck tonight for drinks. You should come.”

She considered for a minute.

Rooster’s heart beat in his ears, drowning out everything else.

She met his eyes and nodded. “Ok. I’ll see you there. Six sound ok?”

Rooster broke out into a grin. “Yeah. Six sounds great.

[marxism-absurdism]

🇺🇲Army of the United States🇺🇲: a military lookbook

PART III(FINAL)

1980s - Early 2000s: Woodland Camouflage BDUs. The Army continued to use the BDU pattern into the 1980s. It featured a distinctive woodland camouflage pattern.

Gulf War & Desert Storm(1990-91): The Desert Storm uniform featured a distinctive desert camouflage pattern that included various shades of tan, brown, and light green. This pattern was designed to blend in with the desert terrain, making it harder for the wearer to be spotted.

Early 2000s - Present: ACUs (Army Combat Uniform). Introduced in the early 2000s, ACUs replaced the BDUs. They featured a digital camouflage pattern and were available in both a temperate and arid version.

2010s - Present: Operational Camouflage Pattern (OCP). The OCP, also known as Scorpion W2, is the current standard uniform. It includes a pattern with subdued green, tan, and gray colors and is worn with the rank and name tapes on a Velcro patch.

Once again, credits to @viktorviolettaenterprises for his wonderful CC without which this lookbook wouldn't have been possible

[militarymenrbomb]

one more

if you like these, i encourage to check out the reddit they came from.

Go to gaymilitarystories

r/gaymilitarystories•3 mo. agoOk_Character_6687

NSFW

Barrack Encounters

I lived off-post. but my company and my workplace were across the streets from barrack buildings. In my first year in the Army, I hated the military life. I did not have enough freedom and sometimes sleep. I interacted with assholes, both higher and lower ranks. TBH, they were not raised very well, and the Army did not help them get better in that regard. On the other hand, I have met nice and good people too, of whom I have fond memories. I thought I was just gonna count my days, but I felt better starting my second year. still sucked but sucked better.

Back to the spicy stuff, I was bored and horny after eating lunch one day and still had a good amount of time to kill, so I opened Grindr and started talking to a few people. They were civilians working on post, soldiers, and gay spouses. There was a guy very close to me. He said he could host in his barrack room. so I walked to his room while feeling more excited than nervous. I was afraid of my barrack friends seeing me hanging around in the barracks. They knew I did not live there and that I was a slut. so my business would be potentially exposed. However, none of them saw me. I met the guy at the door and he walked me to his bedroom. I took off my OCPs while he looked comfortable in PT. very jealous of him. We both have small dicks. Mine is uncut and his is cut. We started by making out and then trading bjs. I ended up topping him. I did not recall that encounter very much. I just remember his ass was tight not super tight like one of another Army bottom I fucked in later days. I cum inside him. It was intimate and raw. You give another person an essential substance of you. Then I put my clothes back on and went back to work. We met up a few more times. Same things and after that, he left our installation. I don't remember whether it was PCS or ETS. He was cute, a little bit chubby. I was not muscular either. so couldn't complain. I got mad at him once when we were talking on Grindr and he took longer than usual to answer my texts. I sensed something was wrong. He later said he was meeting with a trans and asked if I could wait to fuck him another time. Jeez!!

I also fucked a super tight bottom in a different brigade after being done with work on different days. I drove to his barrack and tried to locate his room. I even checked in with the CQ desk saying that I was gonna see my friend. I was nervous. Finally, I found it. I got to his room and he helped me take off my OCPs, which was nice. He was a little bit chubby too according to the Army standards. and also has a small dick. smaller than mine. He sucked me for a while. Then, he was on all four on his bed with his ass up toward the bed edge. I stood up and started putting my dick in him. I really thought this saliva already lubed up my dick, but He was so tight that my small dick hurt. I had to pull out and rub some lube from the nightstand on my dick. I went back in again. but this time I took it slower. still hurt but it got better. Apparently, he did not look or sound like he hurt too much. I reached my climax quickly. He let me finish inside him. Lucky me! We did it a few times. One time, his friend knocked on the door while we were fucking. We stopped and his friend texted him. I am sure that his friend heard the bed creaking and rocking on the wall.

Also on lunch break, I met up with a different guy in a nearby barrack. I let him top me. we fucked in OCPs with our tops off. I just pulled my pants down to my knee and on my back on his bed. not comfortable at all. His dick was average. but he was quite hairy. which is not my thing.

One time I got lucky and got to meet up with a cute muscular white guy a little bit taller than me, definitely my type. He was from the South but did not have a thick accent at all. He said his drill sergeants told him to lighten his accent to communicate better with Army people. It was at the beginning of holiday leave. He was gonna go home the next day. We also talked Grindr first. I met up with him in his room. We made out a little bit. He was vaping during the whole encounter. then he pulled down his shorts and then his boxer. He had a cut coke-can dick. thickkkk. the head was small compared to the shaft and pointy. We swapped heads and 69. Then, He wanted to top me but I said I could not take his thick dick. so he sat on top of my dick and rode it while I was lying on my back. His bussy took almost no time to adjust. I wondered if he had bottomed before or his bussy was loose or my dick was small. He slid up and down on my shaft with ease all while vaping. I could not hold it for too long. His riding my dick turned me on so much. I got to fuck my type and it felt soo good. I was about to cum and he told me to cum inside him, which surprised me a little bit but I gladly complied. I jizzed inside him. I dont remember if he cum or not after that. The memory is a blur. Now I wish that the fucking had been longer. Sadly, it was a one-time thing and I never got to see him again.

Before I end this post, I wanna mention a failed encounter in the barrack. It was not my unit's barrack. a different brigade's one, and not close to us at all. A Grindr guy had me drive to his barrack in the evening and wait in the hall. I saw a guy carrying his laundry basket back to his room while he was checking me out the whole time. Then radio silence from the Grindr guy, the fucking guy ghosted me. Later, I figured it was him. he wanted to see me in person first. I did send him my nude on Grindr though. but That was really messed up. I would not do it to another human being.

I have other memorable encounters, but mostly at my place. let me know if you want to hear about them.

Upvote15Downvote1commentsShare

[cyberpunkonline]

The Most Arch and Evil Corporations in the Cyberpunk Genre

Introduction

In the neon-illuminated, dystopian world of cyberpunk fiction, corporations stand as towering pillars of power and control. More often than not, these conglomerates have transcended mere business entities to become overarching, de facto governments. With unchecked authority, they manipulate, control, and dominate, often at the expense of the general populace. The essence of cyberpunk literature lies in its exploration of the relationship between technology, power, and the individual, with these megacorporations playing a central role in the narrative's bleak backdrop. Let's dive into the most notoriously evil corporations from the annals of cyberpunk's books, anime, films, and TV.

Tyrell Corporation - "Blade Runner" (Film)

Corporate Loon Rating: 9/10

The Tyrell Corporation is the sinister genius behind the creation of "replicants," bioengineered beings virtually indistinguishable from humans. With a motto of "More Human Than Human," the corporation exhibits a God-complex, devaluing human life and treating replicants as disposable commodities. Their exploitation and commoditization of life have led to the very existential crises that underpin the narrative.

Neuromancer's Tessier-Ashpool S.A. - "Neuromancer" (Book)

Corporate Loon Rating: 8/10

Tessier-Ashpool is the shadowy corporation behind the construction of the space-based city Freeside and the powerful Wintermute AI. Their obsessive drive for power, combined with their deeply dysfunctional family dynamics, make them a force to be reckoned with in William Gibson's groundbreaking novel.

Cyberdyne Systems - "Terminator" (Film)

Corporate Loon Rating: 10/10

Arguably one of the most deadly corporations in fiction, Cyberdyne Systems is responsible for creating Skynet, the AI that brings about a machine-led apocalypse. Intent on military dominance, the corporation unknowingly sets the stage for human annihilation.

GeneCo - "Repo! The Genetic Opera" (Film and Play)

Corporate Loon Rating: 7/10

Operating in a world where organ failures are common, GeneCo provides organ transplants at a cost. Fail to meet your payments, and a Repo Man will reclaim the company's property. The line between life, death, and profit has never been so morbidly thin.

Syndicate - "Akira" (Anime and Manga)

Corporate Loon Rating: 8/10

In the post-apocalyptic Neo-Tokyo, the government and the military-industrial complex, colloquially known as "the Syndicate," carry out dangerous experiments on children, hoping to harness their psychic abilities for their gain. Their reckless pursuits contribute to the city's ultimate destruction.

OCP (Omni Consumer Products) - "RoboCop" (Film)

Corporate Loon Rating: 9/10

OCP is the mega-corporation with ambitions of rebuilding Detroit as "Delta City". With projects like the ED-209 enforcement droid and the titular RoboCop, OCP’s dubious ethics and ruthless business tactics highlight the blurred lines between policing, corporate interests, and human rights.

Weyland-Yutani Corporation - "Alien" (Film Series)

Corporate Loon Rating: 10/10

The Weyland-Yutani Corporation, with its mantra "Building Better Worlds," is anything but altruistic. Their relentless pursuit of the xenomorph, often at the cost of human lives, speaks to a chilling profit-before-people mindset.

The Zaibatsu Corporations - "Snow Crash" (Book)

Corporate Loon Rating: 8/10

In Neal Stephenson's world, governments have crumbled, replaced by corporate fiefdoms. These zaibatsus, with their monopolistic might and control over swathes of society, embody the potential dangers of corporate supremacy.

Mega-City One's Justice Department - "Judge Dredd" (Comics and Films)

Corporate Loon Rating: 9/10

While not a traditional corporation, the Justice Department's absolute power and their brutal 'judge, jury, and executioner' stance on crime prevention spotlight the dangers of combining corporate efficiency with state control.

Rossum's Universal Robots (R.U.R) - "R.U.R" (Play)

Corporate Loon Rating: 8/10

Originating from Karel Čapek's play, where the word "robot" was first coined, R.U.R is a corporation that produces artificial beings. Their creations eventually rebel, leading to the extinction of humanity, spotlighting the dire consequences of playing god.

Conclusion

Cyberpunk, in its essence, is a cautionary tale of unchecked corporate power and technological advancement devoid of human ethics. These conglomerates serve as a warning, painting a grim picture of a potential future. While these stories are fictional, the allegories they present offer a reflection of our real-world anxieties about the future of corporate dominance. Stay tuned for our next article, where we will delve into the realm of current real-life corporations and their influences on society.

Until then, keep your eyes wide and your tech closer.

- Raz

[zvaigzdelasas]

[Morocco World News is Moroccan Media]

29 Jun 23

In December 2020, a month after the end of the ceasefire between Morocco and the Polisario, then-President Donald Trump declared U.S. support for Morocco’s sovereignty over Western Sahara. The recognition contravened the United Nations’ position, which considers Western Sahara a “non-self governing territory,” a euphemism for a colony. In return for U.S. support on Western Sahara, Morocco joined the Abraham Accords, a series of diplomatic deals brokered by Trump and his son-in-law, Jared Kushner, that resulted in the United Arab Emirates, Sudan, Bahrain, and Morocco normalizing relations with Israel. Since then, Rabat has gone from having covert ties with Tel Aviv to becoming its open ally, and Israel has sold at least 150 drones to Morocco.[...]

Since 2020, the two countries have implemented a long series of economic and military agreements beyond the sale of drones. For the first time, Israeli troops from the elite Golani unit participated in Africa Lion, an 18-country joint military drill in Morocco, which completed on June 18. In 2021 and 2022, respectively, Gantz, Israel’s then-minister of defense, and then-Head of Israel Defense Forces Aviv Kochavi visited Morocco and signed several military deals, including a $500 million contract for the delivery of the Barak MX missile defense system to Rabat. Early this year, one of the Pentagon Discord leaks allegedly revealed that the system was scheduled to arrive in Morocco in mid-2023. Morocco is reportedly also in advanced negotiations to receive Israeli Merkava tanks. Rabat and Tel Aviv are also cooperating at an intelligence level. Morocco has widely been reported (and accused by other countries) as one of the most eager users of the Pegasus spyware developed by the Israeli NSO Group. Meanwhile, economic cooperation is booming. According to U.N. data analyzed by The Intercept, in pre-Abraham 2019, trade between Israel and Morocco was at $70.7 million. In 2022, the figure reached $178.7 million, and Tel Aviv has declared it is targeting $500 million. From 2019 to 2022, exports from Israel to Morocco increased tenfold, from $3.8 million to $38.5 million. Western Sahara plays an important role in the love story between the two countries. In 2021 and 2022, two Israeli companies, Ratio Petroleum and NewMed Energy, obtained from Morocco rights to research and potentially exploit two separate offshore blocks in the Atlantic Ocean just off Western Sahara’s coastline. Moroccan local news also announced Israel’s Selina group would soon open a hotel in Dakhla. For Morocco, foreign investments in what it considers its “southern province” mean external recognition of its claims on the territory.[...] In March last year, WSRW reported the first shipment of phosphate rock from Western Sahara to Israel. Erik Hagen, board member of WSRW, told The Intercept that the cargo was very small, and it is the only one they observed toward Israel. OCP, the Moroccan company extracting and exporting phosphate rock in Morocco and Western Sahara, hasn’t replied to a request for comment about the episode.

1 Jul 23

[Atalayar is Spanish Media]

As part of the US Senate debate on the National Defence Authorisation Act (NDAA) for fiscal year 2024, a law that supports the Armed Forces, modernises the Air Force and strengthens US national security, Arizona Democrat Senator Mark Kelly proposed integrating the Royal Moroccan Armed Forces (FAR) into military exercises led by the US Central Command (CENTCOM). Part of this law states the need to assess threats in order to reduce those related to Iran's nuclear capabilities: 'It seeks to improve coordination between the United States and regional partners to counter the shared threat from Iran by supporting Morocco's integration into military exercises led by CENTCOM', as reported by media outlets such as Yabiladi and Morocco Latest News.  The operations carried out by this body seek to "improve coordination" between the US giant and "regional partners" in order to counter the threat posed by Iran to the whole. The US Central Command is one of nine unified security commands within the US Department of Defense and is responsible for US interests in 27 nations, operating in the Middle East, Central Asia and South Asia. [...] Morocco is a permanent partner of the US Africa Command (AFRICOM) and an important player in the annual 'African Lion' exercises, in which a large number of African nations cooperate with the United States to promote defence and security against threats such as jihadist terrorism and organised crime. Now, it appears that Morocco may be close to joining the US military command in the Middle East (CENTCOM), and in addition to the scheduled AFRICOM exercises, Morocco may be called upon to participate in exercises organised by the US military in the Middle East region, thanks in part to a proposal by Senator Mark Kelly. [...] With this possible entry into CENTCOM as the second African country after Egypt, Morocco, a great ally of the United States on the African continent, would thus strengthen its military and security cooperation with the US and, by extension, with other allied partners such as Israel. This privileged position gives Morocco the option of having access to an important market for weapons and technology produced by the US and Israel, which further strengthens the Moroccan military.

1 Jul 23

27 Jun 23

[probably-a-plant-thing]

Trusts a random person more than most the people in his current life anyway, so have at him

*already dialing the OCPS' number*

oh? tell me more about that

aka I'm trying to come up with questions cause apparently I'm good at that but my brain is still waking up

so, he works as a mercenary? what kinda jobs does he usually do? does he have any lines he's unwilling to cross?

Ok well put the phone away, he's doing better than most of my ocs-

Nex just has a rough time figuring out where he belongs since every time he tried to before, he ended up getting kicked out.

His father kicked him out for being queer and the military booted him with an honorable discharge. Then after that he was mostly just kicking it with random sur-of-the-moment partners until he got an opportunity to get some "easy money" as a personal gunman.

Nex honestly draws the line with hurting kids. Everyone else is pretty fair game though because money is money. This ranges from being temporary security to being a bounty hunter.

[disfunctionaladult]

what type of clothes do you wear in the military? flight suit or mechanic suit? or the combat shirt and pants combo? I am in the military and I would like to wear sometimes I am a bit stressed to be exposed.

I wear my normal everyday OCP Uniform.

Don't stress it, I've been wearing everyday since March 2021. I am an Instructor and know one knows other than my PCM.

[topguncortez]

Can you explain, "...combat flags are not unless you are down range" for non-military folk? please and thank you!

“down range” is another term for deployment.

and instead of our normal red, white and blue patch we get an ocp patch to wear

which for some reason is only in regs on deployments

[divinecomedyproductions]

RWBY Saints of Remnant Notes: Should the SDC and Jacques be bad guys? Or one of the few Good Guys amongst corruption in Atlas?

DISCLAIMER: This post contains is a radically reimagined Jacques Schnee and SDC in a positive light in a heavily reimagined RWBY AU and has cliche tropes such as "dead mom" which I intend to complement with as "dead dad" of another family, if Canon Jack and SDC has given you a permanent bad taste in your mouth along with Canon Adam Taurus, I understand, this is an AU, just please do not come in with bad faith and ignore me instead.

Said AU is connected to The Emperor-Verse

I'm writing down notes and my gut just wants to make Jacques redeemable, but given how much damaged he has done to others, both his family and an entire people, that seems to heavy of a task without him ending up dead. But that was when I rebooted it by the end of V3.

But making this a hard reboot from the beginning then it hit me, and you do not have to agree with this at all...

What if instead of the SDC and Mr. Schnee being part of Atlasian corruption...

They along with James and the Atlas Military/Academy are the only few good individuals and institutions in Atlas, and both are paying the price for it from their upper class peers?

What if instead of Jacques being this opportunistic conman, he is Nicholas' biological son, and a former huntsmen in his youth who was on the same team as James Ironwood who served as his leader and who Weiss and Winter fondly call “Uncle Jim”, basically to them what Qrow is to Yang and Ruby

Jacques stuck to his father's principles and has managed to uphold The Schnee Dust Company as one of the few ethical businesses in regards to the Faunus, as well as providing support to other ethical businesses in the northern kingdom, mostly forming genuine friendships with their owners, and refused to outsource labor and resources when everyone else in Atlas did.

But as a result, James and Jacques are being ganged up on left and right by the upper class.

The only reason the Atlas establishment has tolerated Jack and his company for so long because the Kingdom was heavily dependent on them along with other companies for Dust and other goods and products, until recently with a growing unethical conglomerate run by Dr. Gray(Watts) with his mega-corporation GigaWatts Incorporated(Think OCP from Robocop and Lexcorp from DC), and plans on getting rid of the SDC and becoming the kingdoms new source of manufactured goods, tech, and labor, including dust mining and GWI is known for unethical use for Faunus labor in both the mines and factories.

Though I might just toss the Faunus Racism thing given how much of a mess it is and rework the WF for something else and have Atlas Upper Class replacing well-paying jobs with robots to keep the lower classes underpaid, or I could try something with both, need input on that.

Buy anyway, The SDC used to be big, but not in a megacorporation way. The SDC was one of the top four successful companies in Remnant back in the day(because 4 is the magic number in RWBY), and as I said before, Jack had made partnerships with other businesses both in his homeland and a few in other kingdoms during trips with his family, but its very few and Jack had made genuine friendships with the owners. He never stripped the human element out of his business.

You could say GWI is a large-scale "Evil Queen" figure

While the SDC is a large-scale "Snow White" figure, in more ways than one, but that's once again another story for another day.

Now GWI is overshadowing them at an accelerated rate with hundreds of Atlasian corporate companies joining it in exchange for Watt’s technology as well as Atlas Military’s higher ups hiring Watts to develop their military technology and last but not least outsourcing Dust Mining to the likes of Vaccou and Jacques and James are the only few who suspect Watts’ whole campaign being a “snake oil” tactic for something insidious as Arthur has all of the upper class eating out of the palm of his hand.

Meanwhile the likes of the White Fang and other kingdoms see Jack, SDC, James and The Atlas Military as just a bunch of rich pricks due to being part of the upper class(millionaires though, not billionaires, and even that’s dwindling now), seeing Jack and Jim as "one of them"

and understandably so mind you, given the rest of Atlas’ actions, but also because the current leader Rina Kumokage is lumping them in deliberately to distract the other members and branches(North, West, and South to be exact) of her own selfish and twisted intentions for the White Fang among other things

Though the White Fang itself seems to be in the hands of corrupt individuals in their neck of the woods. With the likes of Blake and Adam seeking to root it out, Adam being a little too aggressive in his means while Blake seeks outside help, which has strained their brother-sister relationship.

Spoiler alert, the corruption of The White Fang is not from Adam but a new character, Adam isn't the bad guy or a psychopath.

In this AU Adam is more like a cross between Fall of Cybertron Grimlock and Zuko, but he's another post for another day.

But anyway, the persecution of the SDC by the rest of the Atlasian upper class has gotten so bad, radical anti-Faunus militia Kriegsratten Korps aka “The Rats”(they allude to the Rats in The Nutcracker and mixed with Wolfenstein Nazis) and most likely be members of the Atlas Military throughout the ranks supplied with tech from GWI even secretly supported the corrupt council and big business, start attacking the SDC mines killing Schnee family members for being “faunus lickers”, one of them being Jack’s wife Anastasia(both alluding to the Russian Princess, and Snegurochka a Russian fairy tale character) while James struggles to provide the mines and family security while being undermined by higher-ups. 

Yes I know dead mom is cliche but I plan on complementing(is that the right word?) it with Blake losing her own father Ghira and leaving her mother, Noire(aka Kali), widowed. And I have a reason for that later on down the road.

Also Jacques isn't a monster, he just isn't a perfect parent and seems cold on the surface, but its mostly due the burden he bares of being a single parent, and upholding a noble family legacy, giving Faunus descent and honest work, and holding out with other businesses he’s made partnerships with. Their something of a resistance group against GWI.

All with countless of peers trying to sabotage him and James to the point its claimed his family and lover, all of which is straining his relationship with his daughters and his former teammates, James in particular. Plus losing his father at an early age and the board of directors forcing him to become CEO caused him to develop anxiety issues with only his mother and girlfriend and later on wife and children keeping him sane.

James and Jacques together allude to “Atlas” with a great burden weighing down on their shoulders they struggle to hold it up

He's a bit too harsh on Weiss with her huntress training(ie the White Trailer) but in order to defend herself against assassins, and sends her off to Vale in hopes she would be safer there(relatively speaking.) 

But the way he does it comes off to Weiss as her father not caring about her other than making her a trophy for his own reputation and being out of his way otherwise, and HOO-BOY don't get me started with how pissed Winter is with him.

Like I said, if all of this you can't vibe with because its supposed to be Jacques and Canon Jacques along with Canon Adam has put a permanent bad taste in your mouth, thats fine, I feel the same about other characters in other stories. No judgement.

I plan on making a post to dive deeper into Jack, but I will say he's primarily Jack Frost, but his secondary allusion to "The Nutcracker"

I'm also recycling this concept for my own original works, not sure what exactly, but something.