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vonn13 · 1 year

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If the foxes went to summer camp as kids

So I was a camp councilor at a summer camp that had a mix of special need kids (autism, adhd, odd etc.) with kids from foster care and families that aren't well off.

Let me tell you these kids are wild and here are some of the things they did which I feel like our foxes would do as well.

Neil would definitely kidnap a bunch of frogs from a bog and hide them in hair like my menaces did. The kid that inspired this also had a blonde little partner in crime, so there you got it. Andreil as kids would've kidnapped frogs and given them ridiculous names.

Kevin would've become so depressed after losing at a game he'd grab a stick and draw in the sand. Then a kid wouldn't see his drawing and accidentally step on a single line (cough Allison cough) and boy would be bursting into tears and gesture at the sand and pretend stab himself with his stick.

Kevin would've also been such a dramatic bitch that when one of the kids rough house a bit with them he'd burst into tears and turn red in the face as he dramatically acted out every single thing that happened to him. This includes slapping himself in the face and choking himself out while the councilors just look on tired as hell.

Matt would be trying to ply extra ice cream from camp councilors in the middle of the night by walking out of the hut with his plushie while they were discussing the day and then rant about how pretty the stars are. He'd actually manage to talk quite some time while the councilors just wanted to cry, but had to be nice despite it being 1am.

Andrew stashes a pile of candy under his pillow on the first night knowing he isn't sleek but not giving a fuck and tosses the wrappers on the ground to annoy his roommates.

On the last night the councilors give the kids as much candy/food as possible so they'll sugar crash. Matt fell asleep on a pile of chicken nuggets.

Aaron got really into building a tower of sticks and marshmallows and sabotaged other teams (cough Neil cough) by kicking a football at them, yet somehow hitting his own tower in devastation.

Neil 'accidentally' tied Matt up to a wooden post and left him to fend for himself.

Aaron gets so pissed of at Seth at some point he tells Seth that he hopes he becomes infertile as he kicks him in the nuts and runs away like his life was on the line (it was)

Allison would be one of those girls that tell the councillors every bit of gossip there is and puts campers against each other by spreading all these rumors just for fun.

Neil stole the matches from an activity and sleeps with them in his sleeping bag. The councilors only found out on the last day they were dealing with a pyromaniac who had the means to an end when they were helping him clear up his bag.

Neil is somehow one of those wild kids that just knows their way around everywhere, so he can't possibly get lost in the woods.

Nicky does get lost in the woods and would just want his ipad or something nonstop.

Neil runs away every time he's about to get medicated for the day and dan helps chase him down because she can't handle hyperactive Neil without his meds (I could see him having adhd maybe and Andrew as autistic)

Andreil would be one of those camp couples that somehow are in a relationship when they've known each other for less than a week and are like fucking toddlers. They're disgustingly cute and give each other dumb nicknames and exchange phone numbers. They definitely changed their profile pics to a selfie of the two of them together and will get mercilessly bullied by their guardians.

#aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten #all for the game #andreil #the foxhole court #Worst yet best week of my life was being a camp councilor #Had a mental breakdown and ran into the woods to cry #matt boyd #aaron minyard #kevin day

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whitesuited · 2 years

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the only thing that might travel faster than the word that the foxhole circuit was coming in for a show was the fact that he'd be one of the faces in the audience. she'd heard it purely by word of mouth; a few of the dancers had been twittering on about it on the convoy ride into camp, talking everything from strategy to gossip and back again, like they were rolling their way into a meeting with president roosevelt himself.

which has her looking forward to a little reunion if she's lucky; not that she's one to brag on join in on the girl's little gossip circle ---------- unknowingly being one of the acts to see them off before turning the world back right - side up on a beach in france ( and even more so after that first run - in she couldn't have made up if she'd tried ) is the sort of thing that stays with a person, long after that curtain goes down and the floodlights bathing the stage in light have been shut off.

so when they finally do arrive in the camp, she makes an effort to be equally as intent on gathering up her duffle bag and finding out where it is she'll be sleeping tonight and keeping an eye on the gathering crowd around the line of pea green army jeeps in the hopes of seeing a familiar face. it shouldn't be all that difficult for her to spot him in a crowd; at least if what the girls have been saying is true. ( it's certainly no secret that he's got one of those faces that's hard to forget --------- an advantage that must have made things over in vought's pr department that much easier when it came to putting his face out there on every newsreel that would have him. )

after that little mental buildup, there's a moment of open disappointment when she doesn't see his face among the sea of olive green and brown - clad soldiers; wondering if the gossip had just been bad, or perhaps they'd just missed each other --------- after all, he went wherever he was needed most; and that didn't always mean sitting in the first few rows of a show meant to boost overall morale. but it certainly would have been nice -------------

so she slings her duffle over her shoulder as best she can while navigating the baked - in truck tracks from previous supply deliveries and the like and makes for the main part of the camp. the same gaggle of girls who'd been collectively winding up the rest of them with their rumors seemed equally disappointed that he was nowhere in sight ----- sharon at least managed to keep that back and forth feeling of disappointment a little closer to the chest than most of her peers.

that is, of course, until she sees @antisupe ------------------- or the back of him, anyway; a pair of broad shoulders in that trench coat are almost as recognizable as his face is. a detour shouldn't hurt before she goes and gets herself settled in; just an opportunity to say hello and make sure he's going to be sticking around for the evening's entertainment. he's talking with a group -------------- representatives from vought if she's guessing right. and while part of her doesn't want to eavesdrop on a conversation that is the furthest removed from what her business is ( or, considering it's soldier boy ------ could be classified intel six ways to sunday ), knowing how quickly these shows seem to blow into camp and blow right back out again, there's no way of knowing if she'll get another chance like this one.

"some of the girls were saying you were here, soldier boy ----" her duffle bag drops unceremoniously from off her shoulder before getting caught in the crux of her elbow with a gentle let - down onto the boot trounced and packed dirt, sharon doing her best to temper the grumble she wants to make about it repeatedly slipping off her shoulder as it does constantly. she smiles sweet - as - pie towards the suits - playing - soldiers; southern charm stretching from dimple to dimple in the hopes that they'll at least give her a moment to say hello alone. "wasn't sure if i could believe them without getting a chance to see you for myself."

#antisupe #┅┅┅ USO CAMP SHOWS INC ; FOXHOLE CIRCUIT. ┉ ( CV. ANTISUPE. )#i'm that raccoon meme doing the steeple fingers #another verse what a surprise #also sharon just coming to the conclusion that he will be nicknamed pretty boy #in every single verse #Priceless

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savingcontent · 2 years

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After five years of Early Access, the massively multiplayer persistent war that's Foxhole goes 1.0 on September 28th

After five years of Early Access, the massively multiplayer persistent war that’s Foxhole goes 1.0 on September 28th

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#Early Access #Foxhole #News #PC #Siege Camp #Siegecamp #Steam #Steam Early Access

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luneillusoire · 8 months

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The Foxhole Camp 🪓

A poster-drawing i made for @tropical-lycan ‘s amazing fic!

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batmanschmatman · 4 months

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Book Rec: Coming Out Under Fire, by Allan Bérubé

Occasionally I see some discourse on Tumblr from folks in the HBO War fandom or different historical/history adjacent fandoms about how there weren’t that many members of the queer community involved in WWII, and I’d really like to point them and everyone else with an interest in queer history to this wonderful book. Originally published in 1990, Coming Out Under Fire gets into all the different ways queer folks DID participate in the war. It’s from an American perspective, so if you’re looking for other Allied experiences, unfortunately there won’t be much here for you, but it’s exceptionally well researched, and crucially a lot of the content comes from interviews with surviving servicemembers. There’s also a documentary based on the book, which came out a few years later and includes video interviews with some of the folks included in the text.

One of Bérubé’s main points in his introduction – and for writing the book in the first place – is the American government, history textbooks, Hollywood, etc. is able to paint the WWII-era military as an almost entirely straight military force because many queer people who participated in the war effort were silenced during their lifetimes, and were unable or unwilling to reveal their true identities. Some of this was from societal pressure – the post war period saw a huge surge in homophobic rhetoric and persecution in the name of fighting Communism, not to mention the ever present heteronormative pressure to get married and have kids – but also because so many queer veterans died during the AIDS epidemic. Bérubé was inspired to preserve the voices of those who were still with us and shed a light on some of the folks we lost. (Note that this was also an intensely personal issue for Bérubé, who lost friends and his partner to AIDS and thus saw first hand how devastating this was to the community in terms of robbing us of our loved ones, friends, elders, and history itself.)

In the book, Bérubé makes the point over and over again that queer people were involved at basically every level in the American military during the war. There’s stories about guys lying when asked “Do you like girls?” during enlistment, lesbians in the Women’s Army Corps being brought to trial for fraternizing, drag shows in POW camps and in reserve, front line combat veterans discussing losing romantic partners to enemy fire or coming out to foxhole buddies, who were supportive allies rather than hateful. One of my favorite stories that’s always stuck out to me is a guy who came home and decided to come out to his elderly mother, who was fully accepting and supportive of her son’s sexuality. I see so many people speaking in absolutes that there’s NO WAY you could come out to your family and be accepted in the past, and while that was certainly true for so many people, it’s also not an absolute truth.

Please note I am NOT giving blanket permission to make assumptions about real-life people’s sexualities or identities, nor am I saying Band of Brothers fics where half the company is dating each other are historically accurate, but it’s really sad to see folks on here (unknowingly, hopefully) perpetuating the myth that there really weren’t that many queer folks in the military during WWII. We were there, we just couldn’t be out the way we might have liked to be. After the war, the Red Scare, societal pressure, and a literal epidemic silenced countless members of the community about their time in the service. There’s no way to know how many people who fought on Guadalcanal or worked at stateside bases or sorted mail in France were queer, but it’s a lot more than you were led to believe.

As a member of the community and a historian (brief resume: MA in Public History, BA in American History, have published stuff and created exhibits for dozens of museums), I just want to remind folks that we have always been here, and our lives weren’t always miserable and tragic when we came out to people or decided to live as authentically as we could get away with. It’s not completely historically inaccurate to write fic or original fiction where your queer characters can come out to their families and not be shunned, or live with their partners and not be immediately murdered. Being queer wasn’t invented at Stonewall.

#hbo war #hbowar #band of brothers #the pacific #queer history #book reccs #lgbtq history

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cemeterything · 10 months

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The Terror 1918: Peglar and Bridgens strike up a clandestine epistolary romance after a chance meeting in the hospital. Hickey is court martialed for insubordination but escapes by tunnelling out of camp the night before his execution. Collins is diagnosed with shell shock thanks to advances in modern medicine. Goodsir discovers that due to an error in the manufacturing process most of the men have been issued faulty gas masks. Blanky contracts trench foot and has to have it amputated. Irving becomes posthumously famous for his gayass war songs and poetry. Jopson goes MIA in no man's land. Crozier and Fitzjames make love in a World War I foxhole before Fitzjames succumbs to his injuries. Sir John dies in a stray mortar shell explosion.

#🐉#the terror #i feel bad for putting this one in the tag but the friends 1918 post is immortal to me

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kafka-ohdear · 11 days

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crazy how people can think that these men go through a war together, side by side and didn't at least fall in love with each other for just a little.

actually im convinced they have wanted to pull the other into a deep kiss on a late night in the barracks, their shared foxholes or in a pow camp, and wanted to embrace them and tell that person they are keeping up with the war for them. for at least once.

because how can your heart not be shaken and fluttered for a small bit thinking about your shared bond and them being the ones to die next to you, once the war is coming to an end for the both of you.

#band of brothers #masters of the air #mota #hbo war #the pacific #generation kill #uhm idk #i love posting to get the regular two pity notes from my mutuals #yippee #queued because i am not alive rn

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tropical-lycan · 10 months

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Andreil concept art for the Foxhole Camp 80s slasher AU!!

I'm sooo happy of their designs!! Camp concelor Neil and goth camp nurse Andrew

Part 2: Nicky & Kevin

Part 3: Jean & Jeremy

Part 4: Renee & Allison

Part 5: Aaron & Wymack

Part 6: Nathan Wesninski

#my art #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #the foxhole court #the foxhole camp #aftg slasher au #andreil #aftg fanart

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footprintsinthesxnd · 6 months

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Epiphany

So here is the fic to accompany the BoB x Taylor Swift moodboard for Bull. I actually really enjoyed writing for Bull for the first time. Thank you to @sarah-457 for requesting a fic for Bull Randleman. Thank you @rain-lavender-rain for proofreading.

Y/n watched in defeat as members of Easy Company trickled back into camp; bloodied and bruised, some carrying their wounded comrades, others limping in on their own. Y/n hurried to help them, guiding them to the aid station where Eugene had already begun to patch up several wounded soldiers.

“Sit down over here, kid. Where are you hit?” She asked, rolling up the young man’s trouser leg when he motioned to the wound. It wasn’t bad, a clean hit straight through. She applied some sulfa powder, dressing the wound quickly before moving on to the next casualty. Her eyes continued to scan over the stream of men entering the camp, keeping her eyes peeled for one particular sergeant.

“Hey Hoob,” she called out as Donald Hoobler walked passed her. “Have you seen Bull?”

“No sorry,” he mumbled. “Not since we retreated. He was there during the advance though. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

Y/n nodded, continuing to wrap a sling around the injured soldier's arm, her mind too preoccupied with the thoughts of Bull.

She wasn’t exactly sure when she and Bull had become friends. He was a private person and hadn’t warmed to her as quickly as the likes of George Luz and Skip Muck had but they soon became firm friends. Bull seemed to have this older brother persona and was always watching her back, even though Y/n didn’t see him as a brother and may or may not have been harbouring the world's largest crush on the sergeant.

As the night drew in, Y/n finally retreated to the foxhole she shared with Eugene, although as usual, Eugene was checking on someone. Y/n often wondered if he ever slept. He would rise early and go to bed late, the second someone was wounded he was by their side and she often wondered how he got there so quickly.

She slumped into the foxhole, cursing the world as she threw her musette bag off her shoulder. She still hadn’t seen Bull and the niggling feeling in her stomach grew to an all consuming ache.

“Hey Y/n, have you seen Bull yet?” Johnny asked, glaring down at her. Johnny always glared, despite the three of them being friends she could rarely recall a time when she witnessed Johnny Martin really smiling.

“No I haven’t seen him and I’m getting really worried,” she spoke softly, trying to hold back the inevitable tears that she’d been holding in all day.

“Some of the guys are going out on a patrol to look for him…”

“I’ll go,” Y/n interrupted, grabbing her musette bag and scrambling to her feet.

“No. No. No. Bull would never forgive me if I let you get injured whilst looking for him. Not a chance Y/L/N. Stay here. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.”

She knew Johnny was right but the thought of Bull all alone, trapped and possible injured caused her heart to ache.

The next morning came too soon and with no sign of the patrol or Bull, Y/n couldn’t help the growing suspicion that something had gone terribly wrong.

She was sitting in an empty crate, counting through her medical supplies when she heard the all too familiar shout from Johnny. “BULL!”

Could it be? Was she just hearing things?

Shoving her supplies back into the musette bag she hurried over to the crowd, spying Webster and Hoobler who had gone out on last nights patrol. Then the unmissable figure of Bull Randleman appeared, his great barking laughter filled the air as he embraced Johnny and several other paratroopers.

“Bull?” She called out, stopping in her tracks. The group of paratroopers all turned to face her. Now normally at this point in the movies the girl would go running towards the man, jump into his arms and they share a passionate kiss as music plays around them. This however is real life and neither one moved. Johnny coughed and began to usher the other paratroopers away.

“Little lady,” Bull greeted her with his usual nickname, watching her cautiously as the cogs in Y/n mind seemed to turn into overdrive. Something within her snapped and she felt herself hurtling towards the large man her first raised.

“YOU IDIOT! What the hell were you thinking! You could have died!” She felt her fists hammering against his chest as she shouted, cried, screamed at him in anguish. Bull just stood still, waiting patiently for her to calm down.

“I could have lost you,” she sobbed, burying her face into his ODs. Bull quickly wrapped his large arms around her, pulling her closer to him and muffling her cries.

“Those Kraut bastards couldn’t kill me if they tried and by God did they try. I’ve got too much to live for to do something stupid like dying,” he confessed, cupping her cheek in his warm hand and bringing her face up to look her in the eyes.

“I’m sorry I made you worry. I promise I’ll try not to do it again.” He smiled and his heart swelled as she returned it with a tearful grin.

“You’d better keep that promise, Bull Randleman.”

“Anything for you Little Lady.” He looked passed her to check the others had dispersed before pulling her close again and placed a much needed kiss to her lips. The smell of tobacco was strong as she kissed him and had it been on anyone else she’d have probably pulled away for some fresh air but it made her want to kiss him more. His strong arms wrapped around her, pressing against the small of her back.

“Bull, I…”

“Shhh. For once in your life just don’t worry,” Bull comforted her but she fought against his grip.

“No Bull. I can’t give you my heart, you might break it and I don’t know if I could survive that.” Y/n felt tears welling in her eyes again and wiped her face in the grimy sleeve of her ODs.

Bull looked down at her, his eyes shining with adoration. “Oh Little Lady, I could never break your heart. I promise I’ll look after it.” Bull kissed her again, this time gentiler and slower, savouring every moment of…

“Hey Bull! Y/N! Come on, we're moving out.” Johnny called from somewhere on the road behind them and the pair couldn’t help but giggle like naughty children.

“Come on, let’s get that shoulder looked at Tough Guy.”

“Anything for you, Little Lady.”

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @mayhem24-7forever @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @merriell-allesandro-shelton @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky

#band of brothers #bull randleman x reader #bull randleman #band of brothers fics

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ryah-wolfe · 23 days

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I’ve read the first Percy Jackson book for the first time and this crossover came to mind. I only know PJ universe through a quick and vague wiki search, so sorry if this is inaccurate.

The Foxhole Court x Percy Jackson and The Olympians

The message came in a sealed scroll, all formal and shit, asking for aid. Wymack wanted to burn the damned thing. But he knew a war between the immortals meant his foxes -his kids- would be dragged in anyways. Chiron asked for peace talks, wanting a reconciliation between the main camp and its runoff.

Most modern demigods are born for the modern aspects of their Godly parent, some kids though, are born from war for war. Their godly blood boiling in their bodies. Making them volatile, and perfect when in ancient times, there was always enemy forces that need slaying but in these times of peace? It made them more likely to lash out at those around them. Most burn up before hitting their teens, their blood consuming them. The few who make it to Camp Half-blood end up being sent away, being too dangerous to be around the other campers.

Chiron asked to send an envoy to Palmetto Academy.

Dan- daughter of Nike

Matt- son of Dionysius

Allison- daughter of Athena

Seth- son of Ares

Renee- daughter of Iris (edit: I can’t believe I forgot her)

Nicky- son of Aphrodite

Aaron- son of Apollo

Andrew- son of Apollo

Kevin- Won’t Say

Neil- unclaimed (favorited by Hermes)

#I actually have no idea who is Neil’s god parent is so suggestions are welcomed lol #I wrote this at work #the foxhole court #all for the game #dan wilds #matt boyd #allison reynolds #seth gordon #renee walker #nicky hemmick #aaron minyard #andrew minyard #kevin day #neil josten #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #the lightning thief

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mlmxreader · 7 months

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Handsome G.I. | Robert Zussman x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ “i’ve been thinking lately..” “oh no.” zussman x gn!reader 👁️👅👁️?? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Zussman isn't too happy when he notices that his favourite corporal has been spending time with the British officers.

: ̗̀➛ jealousy, smoking, swearing

•──────────────────★•♛•★─────────────────•

Crouched down in the bushes, you could feel the fine hairs at the back of your neck standing on edge; you and Zussman had been paired together for the latest patrol, as you always were.

You worked well together, the perfect dynamic duo; even Pierson couldn't deny it, and knew all too well that if he wanted results, it was you and Zussman who would get them. Zussman was the brains between you, more thoughtful in his decisions, but you were hot headed and took actions over plans every time.

The perfect opposites.

Your temper's fire burned brightly and harshly, and his cool demeanour and relaxed nature was as soft as the kiss of the year's first snow. You were a great match. Red, especially, liked the fact that you and Zussman were a great match together.

It suited you both, you balanced each other out. But even then, you and Zussman were not without your own interpersonal issues; when the battalion teamed up with the British SOE, something changed between you and Zussman.

The two agents who had been assigned - Vivian and Arthur - were… getting in the way. It started out just fine, but the more time that the British agents pulled you away from Zussman, the more he didn’t like it one bit; there seemed to be something going on, something that he absolutely despised but couldn’t be sure why.

Whenever Red pulled you away from him, Zussman didn’t mind whatsoever. After all, you were good friends with Red, and Red had his beloved Hazel waiting for him back home; in fact, Zussman liked the fact that you and Red were so close - his best friend and his favourite corporal getting along was like the perfect dream.

There just happened to be something about the British agents that rubbed Zussman the wrong way.

Maybe it was the way that Arthur smiled at you so sweetly and how he often complimented your looks; maybe it was the way that Vivian always blushed when she laughed at your jokes and how she often made you coffee in the mornings.

Zussman didn’t like it, he felt replaced, like you no longer wanted to be around him and you would have preferred to spend time with others instead of him. Like you no longer wanted to be around him, wanted nothing to do with him.

It was upsetting, really, and he wasn’t really sure how to go about it in all honesty. It was a harsh and cold day, the snow had been falling even harder than it had been the last few days, and the ice on the roads made the asphalt slick and unsteady; the winds had been blowing harshly, howling and screaming constantly.

Zussman had given you his coat a few hours ago, insisting on keeping you warm while he waited in the foxhole with you; it was impossible to go back to camp, the snow was falling thickly and heavily, blowing in your faces the very moment you tried to get out.

You were forced to hide out until the snow storm passed, until it all blew over for good. Zussman looked at you, clearing his throat as he moved a little closer, chewing the inside of his lip.

“I’ve been thinking lately…”

“Oh, no.” You eyed him suspiciously. “That’s never good.”

Zussman rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he glared at you. “No, I mean it, I just… what’s the deal with you and those British agents?”

You scoffed as you lit up a cigarette, handing it over to him before lighting another for yourself. “What’d you mean, Rob?”’

Sighing heavily, he took a drag from the cigarette and shrugged, pouting slightly. “Just… you seem to really like ‘em, y’know, and they really like you.”

You shrugged, rubbing the back of your neck for a moment, the cigarette dangling from your lips. “Yeah, I mean, they’re nice, and they’re both really smart.”

He hummed, frowning a little as he hung his head and licked his lips. “So, uh, you’re gonna get pretty close to them?”

“I mean, I doubt it,” you laughed softly. “They’re only helping us out for a little while, and… well, I ain’t gonna see the end of the war, so I can’t, y’know, see being friends with them for… y’know.”

“Right,” Zussman said quietly. “But, uhm… do you, y’know, do you see yourself being friends with them while they’re here?”

“You’re acting weird,” you told him with a shrug. “You sure you’re alright?”

He shook his head, grumbling softly. “I just… y’know, I don’t… I feel replaced, for fuck’s sake. Like you’d rather spend time with them.”

You moved a little closer to him, resting your head against his shoulder as you hummed quietly; your hand resting on his thigh as you smiled softly at him. “Oh, Robbie.”

“What?”

“It’s alright to get jealous,” you told him gently. “I just wish you would’ve said sooner.”

“Why?”

“Because then I could’ve done this,” you chuckled, leaning over and softly kissing him.

Zussman grinned, putting his hand at the back of your neck so he could deepen the kiss, groaning softly when you moved to sit on his lap, your hands on his shoulders; he eventually broke the kiss, smiling up at you as he raised his brows, licking his lips.

“Well, hi, Corporal,” he breathed out.

“Good afternoon, Private,” you hummed softly, letting your hands rest on his chest. “Say, you wouldn’t think there’s anything going on between me and the British officers, would you?”

Zussman shook his head. “No… not at all. I just want you to admit one thing for me.”

“Oh?”

“Admit that you really did fall for the handsome, American G.I.” He grinned, letting his hands drift down to your thighs and grabbing them tightly. “Think you can do that?”

You grinned back as you adjusted yourself on his lap, humming softly as you cleared your throat and tried not to laugh. “Alright, maybe I did fall for the handsome, American G.I., a lot more than what I could’ve guessed.”

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truthseeker-blogger · 4 months

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Smoky was a 4 lb, 7 inch tall, Yorkshire Terrier who served in World War II. In 1944 Smoky was found in a foxhole in the jungles of New Guinea by an American soldier who brought her back to camp and sold her to Corporal William A. Wynne for $6.44. For the next 2 years Smoky lived a soldiers life. Because she was not an official military dog, she did not get dog food or medical care. She shared Wynne’s meals and slept beside him in his tent.

The little dog even flew 12 air/sea rescue and photo reconnaissance missions, secured in the soldiers backpack. She survived 150 air raids and saved Wynne by warning him of incoming shells. Like many Yorkies, Smoky also loved to learn tricks and perform. She did so with the Special Services – entertaining soldiers in hospitals. After the war Smoky was flown back to the US hidden in a oxygen mask carrying case.

For the next 10 years she made television and public appearances in Veterans hospitals until her death in 1957. Smoky is considered the first Therapy Dog.

#the beauty of the planet facebook

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blood-mocha-latte · 6 months

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damp - hilldane drabble

for an anonymous ask || request an edit/drabble || i… don’t know what this is. i call it ‘rie accidentally projects a lot onto two characters simultaneously and accidentally makes herself cry’ and also 'rie needs to stop obsessing about keaton st james poems before they Consume her'

9 LINES ABOUT EITHER ROMANCE OR DEATH

The damp, damp dark seemed to find Andy always wanting, always in a limbo between humanity and something else. Something more, something less. A change, but never one big or small enough to be important.

Eddie sat by him, carving a stick with his knife, warm at Andy’s shoulder.

“Ya ever think love stories will be told about people like us?” He asked. Andy shrugged. He knew the answer that Eddie believed. The same one most men like them believed. A story that ain’t ever worth telling. That wasn’t the answer Andy wanted to give.

“Maybe one day.” He said, watching the way the wind shifted through the palm fronds, the men laughing and talking and playing around in the sand and around the camp. “If it’s a good story.”

Eddie snorted. His knife slipped, and he nicked the pad of his thumb. As he held it up to his lips to suck on the cut, he said, “or a tragic one.”

1. It guides our every action.

Andy walked in front of a tank, and didn’t have to turn around to know that Eddie would follow him. Like a soft string that was tethered to his heart with steel, he never had to think too hard about where Eddie would ever be.

He watched as Eddie bent over, pistol loose in his grip, and talked lowly to the army tanker. Andy didn’t need to see him to know how his eyes flashed on certain words, how his lips twisted around others.

Talkin’ and killin’. Sometimes Andy thought it might be the same deadly dance.

The army tanker bowed his head, and Eddie turned on his heel and back to their boys, gripping them by their arms, pulling them to their feet. Dusting them off, helping guide them Away.

Andy wondered if the seraphim of his mothers bible could even hold a candle to Eddie Jones.

He stood in front of the tank until Eddie was done. He watched the treads of the tank, its gun, the crew that he couldn’t see but stared down anyways.

He’d probably let the damn thing crush him, if it would buy Eddie more time, help more of their boys.

2. Do you remember when we rode the train home from the ocean with salt dried in our hair, and yet, somehow, your mouth still tasted so sweet as i kissed you goodnight on your porch? while the dark-winged sedges sang?

“C’mon, just one.”

“No,” Andy laughed, crossing his legs under him to sit in the shallow foxhole with Eddie, who's smile was wide and eyes even brighter. “You're drunk.”

Eddie laughed, and it was warm and free. “Turns out, the more Saki you drink, it does not taste better.” Andy smiled, leaning against loose dirt and feeling the warmth of the setting sun across his face.

“You know, I never would've guessed.” He said dryly. Eddie laughed again. He held the near-empty bottle by its glass neck, and extended it to Andy, shaking it slightly.

“Probably should drink some all the same, though.” He said, and Andy couldn't tell if his pupils swallowed his irises because of the drink or something else. “Just to make sure.”

“Nah.” Andy said lightly, in reference to the Saki. “I've got all the proof I need.”

Eddie smiled and, after looking over his shoulder as if a conspiracy, cheeks flushed red and eyes ink dark, he whispered, loudly, “just one kiss, huh, Skip? ‘M probably drunk enough that it's run off on you.”

Andy watched him seriously, if only for a moment, if only to see the way Eddie leaned against the shallow foxhole again and smiled at him with bitten-red lips and dark, happy eyes.

“Well, you could be stone-cold sober and I could still get drunk off you.” Is what he ended up saying, and Eddie's laugh was warm and bright and it made Andy want to reach for him.

“Hopefully I taste less shitty.” Is what Eddie said back, and drank the rest of the Saki in one go.

3. i dream about you all the time.

Eddie loved, loved, loved Australia, with such a fervor that Andy almost forgot about taking him back home entirely to focus instead on buying them a house Down Under.

They sat in a darker corner of the bar, other marines shouting and singing and drinking and dancing with laughing women.

Eddie sat with light eyes and a whiskey in front of him, running his index finger along the rim of its glass.

“I wonder what it's like in the middle of Australia.” Eddie said thoughtfully, his hand stilling. “I know it's wild, but I'd like to know how.”

Under the table, their knees knocked together, and Andy risked hooking his foot around Eddie's calf, downing the rest of his own drink. “I’d guess somewhat like how the west was, before Lewis and Clark got there.” He said, the whiskey burning down his throat and settling in his chest, curling around his heart.

Eddie hummed, finished off his own drink. “I heard from a woman at a corner shop that they tried to send their own Lewis and Clark out there.” He said. “But nature doesn't want them out there. It's just… meant to be wild. Meant to be sand and dark and stars.”

Andy thought about that, for a moment. About a place that can’t be tamed by man, not really. Not like back home, in Lawrence, or even like their camps along every island the Marine Corps sends them to. Just really, truly wild. Home to no one but itself and those who were there first.

“It sounds nice.” He said.

“Yeah.” Eddie said back.

He downed the rest of his whiskey in one go, picked up his and Andy’s empty glasses and tilted them towards the door. Andy huffed, pushing his chair out and standing up.

“Thought I was the one that made orders.” He said dryly. Eddie smiles, small and barely there, the corner of his mouth ticking up and his eyes brilliantly, brilliantly bright.

“Yeah.” He said, slowly. Like a joke. “Don’t get too used to that, Skip.”

4. i’m so constantly hungry sometimes i feel as if i’m nothing but ache

They traded the cigarette back and forth, and it was gone entirely too quickly.

Andy turned to watch Eddie, just out of the corner of his eye, just like he always did, and watched him stub the smoke out against a rock.

“You did what you had to do.” Andy said softly.

The sun, still sleeping along the horizon, wasn't showing herself. In her absence, shadows stretched across Eddie's face, making him seem older. Haggard.

“I know.” He said. His voice was quiet, his voice slightly off. He swayed slightly, where he rested on his knees, and scrubbed a hand down his face.

Andy turned to face him fully. Eddie was close enough that he could reach the hand not covering his eyes easily, tangling their fingers together and linking their pinkies.

“When this is over,” He said, “I'm going to take you to the park just outside my neighborhood, and we can watch the sunset there instead, and not worry about this. About any of this.”

From the way Eddie looked at him, Andy knows he didn't believe him. He still tightened his grip in Andy’s hand.

“Yeah.” He said. His voice was rough, like he'd been crying. He'd given his entrenching tool to Andy – it still had blood and brain matter across the flat edge of it – and wouldn't take it back. They both knew the boys were worried now, about having nightmares. They were having their buddies wake them up every fifteen minutes, so they couldn't fall too deep into it.

Eddie didn't say anything else, but Andy nodded anyway.

“One day,” He said, “I'm going to take you home. And you don't have to believe it, because I do.”

He went back to watching the sunrise, and smiled when he felt Eddie's chapped lips press to his knuckles.

5. every sentence i try to write starts with you and ends with my heart wanting to burst open, less like gates during a flood and more like a peach growing on the vine. so ripe, so ready for the fall.

“I read the book about Huck Finn, once.” Eddie said, one day, while they led their platoon down a water-swollen, muddy crevice. He was quiet, after that, and Andy looked at him sideways, keeping his eyes on his feet and the treacherous path in front of them.

“Yeah?” Andy asked, after a moment, to prompt him. Eddie blinked, like he'd forgotten he'd spoken at all, but nodded after a moment.

“Yeah.” He confirmed. “When I was thirteen. It was hard as all hell to read, it took me almost a year to get through the damn thing. But I read it. Was real proud, too. Gettin’ through that big book like that.”

“Yeah.” Andy said, trying to remember anything about the book. He'd read it, what seemed like ages ago, but trying to remember its contents or words was like trying to recall the face of a long gone childhood friend. No memory, only feelings. “Did you like it?”

Eddie was quiet again.

When he finally spoke, his eyes stayed on the ground, boots sinking four or five inches into the mud with every squelching step. “I did.” He said, vague. “But my daddy—”

He stopped, face doing something complicated, one of his hands twitching on his rifle as if, by habit, to have fingertips ghost along a scar.

Andy half-turned, looking over his shoulder and counting the helmets behind him. He counted them one more time before turning back again. By the time he did so, Eddie’s expression had smoothed back out, eyes ahead.

“He wasn't as proud that I'd read that book as I was.” He said, quietly. “He didn't — I guess he didn't much like what… what Huck Finn was. Or maybe how Tom Sawyer was. I don't know.”

Andy was quiet. He didn't say sorry. He knew Eddie hated that.

“I'll have to read it again sometime.” Is what he said, after a long moment. “So we can talk about it.”

Eddie huffed a soft laugh, and Andy, as always, was angry so quickly it made his head hurt.

He imagined a thirteen-year-old Eddie Jones, reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn whenever and wherever he could, a finger tracking the words and his mouth moving silently around them, working steadily through the pages, sentence by sentence.

He imagined the kind of father who couldn't be so goddamn proud of his son for that, who wouldn't be able to see much past his own beliefs, like rotting teeth in a crying child's mouth. He felt, rather guiltily, a wave of gratefulness towards his own father at the thought.

The anger passed as quick as it came. It always did.

“I'd like that.” Eddie said, and Andy tried to remember what they were talking about, in the split second he'd gone somewhere else. “I'd like to talk about Huck Finn with you.”

Andy wished he could let go of his rifle for just a split second, if not to just knock his knuckles against Eddie's.

“I bet I could scrounge one up by next week.” He said instead, just to see Eddie's mouth curl into a smile, and it would have to be enough.

6. i bring up your name any time i eat black raspberry ice cream with someone who isn’t you.

“I'm a shitty writer.” Eddie began out of nowhere, and Andy looked up from where he was trying to clean clotting sand out of his rifle barrel. Eddie wasn't looking at him, his face turned towards the blood-red sun.

“You're not so bad.” Andy said. Eddie wasn't, was the thing, for all he pretended to be illiterate. It made boys with similar experiences, like Snafu Shelton, laugh; and boys like Eugene Sledge, with enough money to drown in, uncomfortable.

It just made Andy smile.

Then again, everything that Eddie did made Andy smile.

“I can't spell for shit.” Eddie said. “You're the only one that can read my handwriting.”

That, at least, was true. Andy shrugged.

“I like rewriting your reports.” He said. Eddie waved a hand, dismissive.

“Whatever.” He said. “The letters are always fucking moving around, that’s their fuckin’ problem.” Andy smiled. He looked back down to his rifle and continued to unclog it. “My point is that I can't write a letter to save my life.”

Andy shrugged again, but kept his eyes focused on the rifle stock. “I can write a letter for you, if you want.” He offered. Eddie snorted.

“Nah.” He said. “I'm just… well, I’m glad that we're together, here. You know? Because if we weren't, I'd want to write you a letter, and then you'd just be wondering who in the hell gave their blind chicken a pencil.”

Andy’s chest felt warm, like there was hot coffee spreading throughout his veins, and he huffed. “Your writing isn't that bad.” He said.

Eddie turned to look back at him, for the first time, and the bright horizon dyed the side of his face a brilliant orange. His lips were twisted into their same ever smile.

“No.” He said. “But I'm glad it doesn't need to get better. I'm glad I have you for that.”

And with that, he went back to watching the sunset and Andy went back to his rifle.

Eddie leaned against him, when it was too dark to do anything but be quiet and sleep. Andy took his hands and pressed his lips to his fingers and thanked God that he was able to translate what they were able to show.

There were no artillery barrages, no death, that night. It felt like God had heard him.

8. do you remember when we went running through the wet city streets late at night, how we glowed rose-pink in the shop-lights. how we held hands and laughed and thought we’d never feel this happy again?

“D’you think he'll be alright?” Andy whispered into the dark, Eddie's curls brushing warmly against his jaw.

Eddie shifted against him, head resting on Andy’s shoulder, and said, “I don't know.”

Andy stared straight ahead. Both of Eddie's hands were tangled with one of his, and he brought his other hand around to run his index finger along the ridges of the others knuckles. “I've never seen it that bad, before.” He murmured.

Eddie sighed. It was weary, and heavy, and Andy closed his eyes to the melody of it and thought of their park, the one that Eddie's never even been to. It only helps somewhat.

“What matters,” Eddie said, slowly, like he was waiting for Andy to really understand what he was saying before he continued, “is that you got him off the line. Better for him, better for the other boys.”

Andy lifted their tangled mess of hands from his lap, resting his forehead against them. Eddie shifted against his shoulder to press a kiss to his jawline.

“Maybe countin’ blankets is like counting sheep.” He said, and Andy leaned further into him. Eddie bore the weight without any effort, but Andy still worried about it being too much. He always worried about it being too much.

That's what causes combat exhaustion. That's what causes men to break apart and start counting things they couldn't see.

“Eddie.” He said, just to say it, against the back of Eddie's hands, to his calloused fingers and warm skin. Eddie's hands tightened around his.

“I know.” Eddie murmured back. “But it's… it's okay. We're… we're right here, you know? Right here together. Here and in the park and wherever else. It’s okay.”

Andy didn't say anything. He just turned his head and buried his face in Eddie's hair, rough with ocean spray and curled with humidity.

9. it consumes us.

As Andy turned around, he almost knew what he was doing. The rational part of him knew that no one would be there, just at his shoulder. Not ever again.

Least, no one he could ever know and love the same.

But the rational part of him died two days ago.

So Andy turned around anyway, maybe wanting to say something over his shoulder to someone that wasn’t there, and between one split second and another that never came, he could almost see Eddie over his shoulder, eyes intent and bright. Could almost feel his hand in his.

#rie writes #hi and welcome to rie doesn’t know a lot about the pacific so she makes shit up to be sad some more #i hope this is ok anon because i sort of took your ask and fucking BOOKED it #anyways i did No research before writing this so everything is either shit i a) made up or b) was in the miniseries #or c) i read it in a fic somewhere i don’t remember #the pacific #hilldane #andyeddie #andrew ack ack haldane #eddie hillbilly jones #hillbilly jones #hbo war

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