ｓｐｏｉｌｓ ｏｆ ｗａｒ

( ＡＰ ) I am not a dashing rogue. I am not a free spirit. I am a claw in the throat of the dark, && I will draw blood. [ Indie - Selective - Historical OC ]

[out-foxxd]

(I really miss playing the character.)

[out-foxxd]

Open.

Dark clouds blanketed the skies over the ruins of a once bustling town still smoking from the rage of war. He’s been here before, many times, and somehow finds his way back every time things get too quiet. It’s still a hotbed for enemy activity. Probably always will be until the war is over. Even then, the unrest has seeped into the earth, makes the leave on trees droop and flowers wilt.

“ What the fuck is that? “ Some kind of vehicle that was on fire with no one around it. Finn crouches down, sneaks around, but can’t find even a corpse! He wants to investigate further, yet his gut tells him to take shelter and wait it out. There had to be an explanation and a reason why he didn’t hear any explosion.

[out-foxxd]

                                         Death takes everything away,                           fαιяиєѕѕ doesn’t come into play               and the ｓｈａｄｏｗ in the valley will lead you astray,                                        so don’t follow                                                     don’t follow..

[out-foxxd]

Sarge‌

      ‘      F I N N    ——–                             Are you going to goddamn defuse that… … … Fucking    T H I N G     —-    ‘

He speaks through teeth which    G R I N D    together in irritation at the    F A C T    that they had managed to    DODGE    a mine by the skin of their balls. Helmet is altered on head, pushed forward so that it sat more comfortably on head.

            ‘ How long is it gonna    T A K E    ——–    ?   ?   ?    ‘

Heart beats    H A R D    against rib cage, the adrenaline of fight or flight rippling  through body as he tries to keep his calm in this bullshit situation… Eyes watch kid like an eagle    ——–    watching every movement, every little    T O U C H.    He was putting his faith on the kid, hoping he won’t    E X P L O D E    at any given second.

“ Shut the FUCK up, Sarge. “

At least the Germans were predictable with their mine placement. It should be a straight shot forward with every couple of feet needing a brief pit stop. Lord he prayed Don wouldn’t bark at him every damn time but that was a tall order to fill. The best he could do was ignore the crap out of the rightfully anxious man while teetering on the edge of life and explodey pink mist death. This is his job, ( well, not exactly the way he’s handling it ) let him do it.

Gingerly he places the mine into its new patch of dirt, not bothering to cover it, and tiptoes back to Fury. It felt like forever since he placed hands on the thick armor and considered himself blessed. Second verse, same as the first, hopefully not a whole lot louder or a whole lot worse.

“ I’ll walk further ahead,        keep your eyes PEELED for shiny shite. “

[out-foxxd]

WarHunting‌

he’s  talking  between  hefty  sips  of  a  late-night  coffee,  hardly  reading  over  the  news  article  pulled  up  on  his  phone.  sometimes,  it  was  more  fun  to  be  surprised  by  a  deployment  rather  than  see  it  coming  with  a  political  climate.        ❛    don’t  get  me  wrong,  i’m  sure   top  gun  2   is  gonna  be  a  goddamn  cheese  fest.    ❜        he’s  scrolling  absently  now,  not  absorbing  any  of  the  illuminated  words.  he  knows  what’s  coming,  he  can  feel  it  in  his  bones.  all  this  under-breath  chatter  about  rising  conflict  overseas     –     sometimes  it’s  hard  to  leave.  sometimes.        ❛    but  they’re  flying  super  hornets,  and  i  love   super  hornets.    ❜          /          open.

“ Oh yeah?      Never saw the first one,                        but I like ‘em too. “

Doesn’t watch movies in general but hey, there’s a first for everything right? The explosives expert sets his newspaper down, having been scanning over the comics section exclusively, in favor of engaging in conversation. With a thick Irish accent and a tendency to speak faster than his brain can keep up, he just kept talking about whatever other aircraft crossed his mind. Don’t forget his hands are also engaged in gesturing with a pointed finger, flat hand like a plane soaring, and other random things. Should have skipped the coffee this morning.

“ An’ I like them uh... what do ya call it...                                     Eagles. Strike eagles!    Do ya know the civilian jets, airbus, they look like they need a diet.                    Have ya seen ‘em?     I can’t remember the number but it’s got uh... three floors to it! “

[macrolit]

You’re never more alive than when you’re almost dead.

The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien (b. 1 October 1946)

[out-foxxd]

Sarge

He wants to go with the    K I D    ——–    the pain and other emotions he must be going through, overwhelmed with it all. Fingers firm into a grip as he watches them carry him a way    ——–    a pitiful look etching it’s way onto tired old features. Lips squeeze together, the dried and cracked skin on lips rub away, new sore skin revealing itself from underneath, irritated. 

He tries to follow    ——–    but remembers he    C AN ‘ T,    he needs to stay on the front line. Defend it with all his might, with all his    L I F E.    Trembling hands pulls gun from where he’d dropped it    ——–    Mud covering it, shit it wasn’t gonna work now. Fucking rookie move,

      ‘ Finn you’re gonna be OK… … … ‘

He yells, all through the yells and screams of war. He wants the kid to hear from a man like him that he’d be ok    ——–    That he’d survive this war.

     Time flies by in a whirlwind of blood, sweat, and tears; cold steel meeting raw flesh and worried eyes watching every move that was made. That’s just how it is within a field hospital, the flow of life and death never stops. Finn’s name is known, but without a proper unit ID the medical staff and officers on duty assume he’s part of Don’s crew. 

     An even younger Corporal is assigned to give the tank Sergeant updates, tell him when his subordinate has come out of surgery. The boy looks to be about eighteen years old verses Finn’s twenty-four. What difference did it make? One was learning the world through horror and the other’s perception of the world was coming undone. 

               War is a terrible, terrible thing.

     He’ll make it, the messenger says, trying to put on a reassuring smile. If not for Don, than for himself. He’s got a red cross on his helmet, there’s blood on his uniform too. If he wants to see his man, the little short leprechaun, all he has to do is step inside of tent four and walk the rows until he finds bed number seven.

     Finnigan is waiting.

[out-foxxd]

From his partially reinforced position, Finn had finally managed to get some rest. Days worth of traveling, sneaking past enemy encampments, and scrounging for food had wiped the Corporal out. What he didn’t expect was for someone else to have practically done the same. They looked nothing like the hostiles that’d been shooting at him for days on end but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t.

“ Hey! Get yer head down or lose it! “

[boydswan]

[susierpt]

3 LITTLE WORDS... || starter pack

Send me one to see how my muse reacts. Some are fluffy, some are angsty, some are smutty, some are something else entirely…

Some of these may be triggering or NSFW!

“I love you.”

“I hate you.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I guess so…”

“I guess not.”

“Love me, please.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Please, hold me.”

“Pain changes people.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“Please don’t go.”

“Look behind you.”

“Go kill yourself.”

“I can change.”

“Don’t ever change.”

“Want a hit?”

“Do you smoke?”

“Fuck me now.”

“Take my hand.”

“Lead the way.”

“Duck and cover!”

“Just go home.”

“Take me home.”

“Walk me there?”

“Everyone, shut up!”

“Just shut up.”

“Please stop it.”

“Please don’t die.”

“I need you.”

“I want you.”

“Want a hug?”

“Want a kiss?”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you lying?”

“That’s the truth.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Oh my God.”

“For fuck’s sake!”

“I got it.”

“I found it.”

“Call me later.”

“Text me later.”

“Don’t call me.”

“Are you crying?”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“Please don’t laugh.”

“Please don’t cry.”

“That’s a lie.”

“What’d they say?”

“What’ll it be?”

“It’s last call.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Do you promise?”

“That’s a promise.”

“Are you serious?”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I punched him.”

“I killed him.”

“I kissed him.”

“I love him.”

“I hate him.”

“I lied before.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“I’ll come over.”

“Can you come?”

“Want to cuddle?”

“Maybe we should.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“You don’t say.”

“Make me come.”

“Did you come?”

“I stole it.”

“I broke it.”

“Any bones broken?”

“Are you okay?”

“Are you hurt?”

“That must’ve hurt.”

“He was lying.”

“It’s our song.”

“Can I help?”

“Help me out.”

“Please, for me?”

“Anything for you.”

“I doubt it.”

“I believe you.”

[out-foxxd]

Starter call~

[out-foxxd]

Mondern EOD Finn: Short, chubby spacesuit lookin’, potty mouth gremlin that’s way to excited about blowing shit up

[out-foxxd]

     In the bombed out buildings deep in enemy held territory his mind wanders. It ponders upon the places he’s been and the people he’s met, friendly or not. Those that touched his heart speak into his ears and his soul, reminding him why he continues the solitary march to an unknown ridge where it is said he’ll be met with allied forces. There’s no guarantee that this pot of gold actually lies at the end of the proverbial rainbow but giving up is an insult to everyone that died fighting by his side.

     He misses them, you know, the select few that traveled with him the most. A resistance fighter, a woman undercover, and a tank commander; three faces that will forever be burned into his skull. Closing his eyes brings them to the forefront of his thoughts, laces them into his dreams, and plagues his nightmares. Where are they now? He’s lost track of so many people and can’t say for sure that retracing his steps would help. Hell, he has no clue where he is right now.

     Maybe none of this is real and he’s trapped here while his corpse rots somewhere else. In a way, it’s fitting considering how many bodies his handiwork has made unrecognizable. So many families, friends, they’ll never see their loved ones again. But that’s War. Ares pulls the strings here, thrusts his sword into the air with a triumphant cry.

     And so he keeps on marching. They’ve not yet won and he’s legs still work. Keep going, voices whisper, keep going and don’t look back. One hand holds a gun, the other waits for a friend to come along.

[soracities]

I’ve been accused of having a death wish but I think it’s life that I wish for, terribly, shamelessly, on any terms whatsoever.

Tennessee Williams, from “Sweet Bird of Youth”, A Streetcar Named Desire and Other Plays (via warhunting)

[out-foxxd]

Holy shit the dust on this blog is thicc. UH... 

[out-foxxd]

Didn’t know when I started runnin’, I was running for my life.     Didn’t know when I started runnin’, I’d be running my whole life.

[brooins-blog]

when you’re in the mood to plot and write with new people but you can’t form anything other than “we should plot yes this is good”