#soldier returning home

[tomoleary]

Frank King “World War II soldier returning home and being warmly embraced by his waiting sweetheart” pen, ink and hand-colored original art (1944) Source

"Good Wishes To Ann - From Skeezix, Nina And Uncle Frank King - 1944."

[s0fter-sin]

soap's whole deal being sniper and demolitions gets me going bc on the surface they sound so different but when you get into it, you realise it's bc soap's smart

sniping is all math; calculating distances and wind interference and bullet drop. something i think people overlook is he was listed as a sniper first so it can be implied that he's better at it than demolitions. he does more sniping in both campaigns than demolitions work; in capture or kill, ghost specifically calls on him to take down the aq snipers

and demolitions is math with a hit of chemistry; knowing what mixes with what, knowing how much to use, recognising environmental factors and adjusting accordingly. it's not just about the boom; so much work goes into contained/ planned explosions. especially when having enough power for a breacher charge and not bringing down the whole building is the difference between mission success and failure

the chemical bombs he makes in alone can't just be any old cleaners, they have to have the correct reaction to each other; he just knew off the top of his head what would mix with what to create what reaction. he would also potentially have to recognise them by sight/smell bc they would’ve been written in spanish

soap would also have to know architecture; recognising structural integrity and weak points so he knows exactly where to plant a charge to bring it down and how it'll come down

he has an incredible soldier's mind people just forget that bc he's sociable which itself is a skill

we know he tends to buck against orders he doesn't agree with like when he pushes back against ghost in capture or kill and shepherd when he tells them to release hassan

he gets closer to people and sees if he can trust them and that's when he follows them without question. really think about how he talks to alejandro and rudy; he asks about their home and alejandro's family and rudy's relationship with him. those aren't questions you ask a stranger after a few hours of knowing them. that's not even touching on his relationship with ghost

he also deliberately brings people of higher ranks down to his level; talking informally with ghost and giving him a shoulder punch, addressing alejandro (a colonel!!) by his first name and rudy by his nickname despite literally just meeting them. he personalises all of them and it’s in direct opposition to the reason most characters do that; it’s not due to insubordination or lack of respect, the more he respects and trusts someone, the more casual he is with them

he digs into people; he wants to know what makes them tick and that determines if he can one, trust them and two, follow their orders. once he decides that, he's the ultimate soldier; he bleeds loyalty which makes him vicious when that loyalty is taken for granted

he isn't naive or bubbly or insecure; he's an incredibly smart and aware soldier. he's aggressive and bloodthirsty and loyal and intuitive and i love him so much

[newyorkthegoldenage]

With the German surrender, U.S. soldiers returned from the European Theater. Here they pack the decks as their transport ship steams into New York Harbor, May 24, 1945.

Photo: Associated Press

[kirby-the-gorb]

[whimsicalcotton]

Hi! Here to toss the song “Horseshoe Crabs” by Hop Along at you because I realized today it is very Marrow Max coded especially the lines “what I wanted when I left you brush by, so close”, “woke up from the dream and I was old” and especially “all I found was myself lost in time, I tried singing my song but I lost my mind”

hell yeah anon song rec hours!!

this song just beat me up and stole all my lunch money and beamed a bunch of horrid images directly into my brain also my hand slipped

[yonemurishiroku]

I just imagined Nico with Hazel’s baby in his arms bathing in the sunlight and I cried.

[avengerscompound]

The Return Home

The Return Home:  A Winterhawk Fanfic

Buy me a coffee with Ko-fi Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton

Word Count: 1073

Warnings:  Injuries

Synopsis:  Clint just wants to get home, but when he arrives at his building someone is waiting in the dark to ambush him.

The Return Home

Clint’s whole body ached.  He was pretty sure he’d broken a rib and at one point he’d dislocated his shoulder.  He’d pushed it back in, but usually, you were supposed to rest that kind of wound.  Instead, Clint had spent the rest of the afternoon having the shit kicked out of him while he used a compound bow with a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound pull strength, over and over again.

He was sore and exhausted and he just wanted to put some ice on his shoulder and ribs, have a shot of rum in his coffee so that he could pass out, and not have any dreams where he revisited that battlefield.

Also, his hearing aids had been shorted out by an EMP. So he couldn’t hear anything.  He wasn’t sure if he was upset about that or not.  On one hand, it had made ordering pizza difficult.  On the other, it gave him an excuse not to enter into small talk.

Of course, he’d stopped at the pizza place down the road and bought a pie.  There was no point going to his empty apartment without it.  It wasn’t home without a box on the counter that he could pick at for a few days.  Pepperoni.  Extra cheese.  He'd also gotten a side of garlic knots.  It was way more food than he was going to be able to eat but Lucky would have some, and he could reheat some for breakfast. It would mean he didn't have to go out, and he wanted to know if that ice cube trick he saw on Reddit would work.

Besides, he really liked garlic knots.

He struggled with the security door.  Of course, the stupid thing wouldn't recognize his key and when it did, as soon as he went to turn the handle it would click locked again.  He finally managed to muscle it open, aggravating his shoulder in the process, and he stepped inside.

The hall light was out and someone was standing in the dark alcove under the stairs.  He couldn’t see them, but he still knew they were there.  It was like an itch under his skin.  It made his skin crawl and the hair stand up at the back of his head.  It was the kind of itch you got when you know you were being watched.  He assumed whoever it was was responsible for the light being out, which was annoying because now he was going to have to fix it as well as likely get his ass kicked again today.

Still - maybe he’d get lucky and whoever was waiting to ambush him might kill him and he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

“I know you’re there,” he said as he walked to the stairs.  If they wanted a fight, they could start it.  He’d be ready for it either way but he wasn’t going to make the effort to get it going.  He caught a glimpse of movement as he started climbing the stairs and the figure began following him up.

There was something familiar about the movement.  Something comforting even.  He knew he could turn and see who it was if he wanted to, but he didn’t have the energy.  He could move if they attacked but the fact they hadn’t meant that they likely weren’t going to.  At least not yet.  Maybe they had a message to deliver first.  If that was the case they were going to have to get comfortable while he looked for his spare pair of hearing aids.

When he reached the door he caught a glimpse of metal.  He braced a moment, ready to fight or dodge depending on what was about to happen, but when three beats passed he unlocked the door and pushed it open.  Lucky came running out snuffling and dancing around Clint’s feet.  When the Golden Retriever ran past him with the same excited lope and greeted Clint’s guest, Clint knew for sure he had nothing to worry about.  He slumped inside and went straight to the kitchen bench.  He dropped the pizza box and the bag with the garlic knots on the counter and pulled out a slice and held it down at his knee.  When Lucky came running over and took it, Clint braced his hands on the kitchen bench and let his head drop forward, as his eyes fell closed.

The figure moved up behind him.  Clint could feel them before they’d even touched him.  Their hands connected first gently landing on Clint’s hips and sliding around his waist.  As they moved up his stomach to his chest, the rest of their body pulled in closed and pressed up against Clint’s back.  Their cheeks rested on Clint’s shoulder and their arms pulled him in close to them.  Both were strong and firm, but one was made of unyielding metal.  It made his broken rib ache, but he didn’t care.  There was nothing in the world that would make him want to move it away now.

Their lips brushed against Clint’s neck, a puff of air tickling him as they spoke but Clint couldn’t hear a word.  He pulled the broken hearing aid from his ear and put it on the counter, not saying anything but hoping the meaning would be passed along.

The hands moved, pressing into him so that Clint had to turn or risk his broken rib pushing into his lung.  He turned around and looked down into the face of Bucky Barnes.  His hair lay lank over his eyes.  Such gorgeous eyes.  Blue but in a dark way.  Like a storm brewing out over the ocean.  Bucky reached up and cradled Clint’s jaw, his thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.  “Are you okay?”

Clint couldn’t hear the question, but he could read his lips perfectly well.  He nodded.  “Broke my rib,” he said.

Bucky smiled.  He brushed his thumb over Clint’s lips and shook his head just a little. “Fuck.  I was so worried.  When Steve called and said what happened…”

He tugged Clint down toward him, pressing the archer’s forehead against his own.  Clint smiled and his arms circled Bucky’s waist.  He kissed him.  Just briefly.  A soft brush of his lips against Bucky’s before he pulled away and buried his face in Bucky’s neck.  Today was hard.  His whole body ached and he was exhausted to the bone.  It would all be okay because here, in Bucky’s arms, he was finally home.

~ END ~

[buildoblivion]

AO3 MY BELOVED

[weirdlizard26]

mannnnn do NOT let me go off thinking abt the war for too long bc apparently there is no future for us lol!

[rabbitcruiser]

The Indiana State Soldiers and Sailors Monument was dedicated on May 15, 1902.

[the-drunken-huntsman]

Random bits of Metja lore that would be featured in the follower mod I'm never gonna make:

Metja and Alvigg were 30 minutes apart. Alvigg was born first and Metja had complications that caused her to be born so much later, nearly killing their mother, Linja.

During the difficult birth, she prayed to Kyne for strength. Because of this, she would adorn Alvigg with signs of Mara the Wolf, the tradition for Nord children, but she would adorn Metja with signs of Kyne the Hawk.

Her family's surname, Rarensen, was derived from their ancestor, Raren, who was one of Ysgramor's Five Hundred. The stories their father, Baldr, would tell of him were the inspiration for the twins to join the Companions.

That's not the only tie the family has to the Five Hundred, as Metja's paternal grandmother, Ysra, was of Clan Gray-Mane. In fact she was the eldest sister of Eorland and Vignar. That makes Thorald, Avulstein, and Olfina her second cousins.

Linja was a member of Ulfric's militia during the Markarth Incident, and was gravely injured in the fight, crippling her. Unable to continue life as a soldier, she married Baldr and became a seamstress on Rarensen Farm.

Linja also had a war dog with her when she served. The descendant of that dog, Helste, was Alvigg and Metja's childhood pet.

Obviously, most of the family are sided with the Stormcloaks, however Metja's paternal uncle, Hafnen, is a veteran of the legion and thus sides with the Imperials. Because of this Baldr kicked him off of the family farm and he now works as a farmhand for the Battle-Borns.

[s0fter-sin]

ghost stares at the ceiling, chest heaving in a harsh pant; sweat ice on his clammy flesh and soaked into the sheet he restlessly kicks away.

ears still ringing, his fingertips blindly drift down to trail along his vivisection scar. he half-expects blood to smear in their wake. his own line of solomon, who ordered him split in twain; half of him given to a grieving mother and half left with the grieving to be.

just for both his broken halves to be rejected.

what did it make him that his mother grieved him more than she loved him? that she begged to be relieved of him more adamantly than she begged to receive him? why did his worth spill out with his drawn blood? why was his pain lesser than hers?

his hand flexes, digging into the raised scar like it’ll part beneath his fingertips to plunge into his mangled insides. no one knows the cruelty of reforming the halved; his name, his being, not nearly as important as his body when he was stripped from himself. no one knows the pain of healing and understanding losing pieces of yourself means losing your value along with them.

how many more pieces did he have to lose before he was halved once more? before his very presence incurred grief so strong it was better to be rid of him than cradle his bloodied remains?

did the infant fight himself? did he age always at odds with himself; his halves never truly whole? he hopes he wasn’t, that he was spared the loss of self; the fear that one may be welcomed over the other.

who will he lose when the inevitable comes? when he’s ripped apart again? simon? or ghost? is it better to be cursed with choice just like his mother or live with an aftermath chosen for him? does it matter if in the end, he convinces himself there was nothing of him left to lose?

his head lolls to the side and the wild buck of his chest slows. he watches johnny beside him, his face lax with the rare peace of sleep; his cheek squished against the pillow, his lips pursed as long breaths escape him.

johnny. soap. never torn asunder but two all the same.

he carefully reaches out and ghosts his fingers along the jagged scar on his chin. even in sleep, he presses into his bloodied touch. he’s never fled his half-flesh, never shies away from his gore as it spills unbidden from his cleaved torso. he holds on where his mother let him go; cups his stomach to hold his insides in place and never minds the blood that drips through his fingers.

simon will never let him become his own solomon and cannibalise himself. he will never let him question which half of him has more value; which pieces he can afford to lose before he’s cast aside.

ghost’s soap. simon’s johnny. his.

whole, in any incarnation.

[thealienarchivist]

it’s November, which means it’s time to start endlessly looping phoebe bridger’s cover of day after tomorrow

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Missed Sicily 'Show': Montrealers Back," Montreal Star. July 30, 1943. Page 3. --- Troops who have been repatriated on medical grounds or have returned for courses of instruction, arrived in Montreal recently, many to be greeted by relatives and friends. Several expressed disappointment at missing the Sicily "show". Members of the above group from M.D. No. 4 are, from left to right: Kneeling, Sprs. E. Migneault and A. Lemire, back, QMS. S. G. Caine, Gnr. J. Pitt, Pte. P. Plumadore, Sgt. W. Barker, Gnr. J. F. Proskurin and Gnr. George Scott.

Canadian Army Photo.

[deputygonebye]

Alexandria is the community in which Shane finds his "forever" home. A place to call his own, a place to find the peace that he's always searched for, finally, he welcomes domestic life again. Under the leadership of Aaron and Gabriel, he tries to adjust to the idea that, for the first time since the Outbreak, he won't have to leave a sanctuary in time. Not being an official leader to the community has caused some tension - Shane's never liked being a follower - he has found an avenue to spend that energy and desire, however. As Head of Security, taking over the position from Michonne, and as member of the Council and acting as full-time guard/soldier, Shane's found his spot. He's comfortable. For the first time in years, decades.

Between his responsibilities as a member of the Alexandria community and as Judith's daddy, Shane dedicates many hours of his life looking for clues of Rick. Within the boarders of Alexandria, toward the outskirts of the woods and trees, he's always searching for his dearest friend, his beloved brother, who disappeared on that bridge. Trading information with others in the neighboring communities, friends from when it all started, though Shane is certain that he's looking for a body, if there's to be anything left at all, he does try. For Jude's sake - she's so certain that Rick's alive - least for a little while before he calls off the search entirely. He grieves for Rick twice.

But Alexandria is where he goes. It's where Shane stays. He's content within her warmth. For everything that he could ask for is there, then: his home, his daughter, his sense of peace. Shane's happy.

[hissterical-nyaan]

Last day of internship guys 🫡🫶🏼