armie and his wife

John Didn’t Go Into Action

So what really struck me odd is that while “Mary” was dying, John quickly rushed to her side and gave pressure on the wound, but mostly he did this:

He just talked. As an experienced Army doctor all he did was talk to his dying wife. Now, obviously when thrown in such a horrible scenario for someone you care for, it’s a bit hard to think straight. But not only is John a bloody doctor, but he’s been in these situations before.

Such as this:

And what did he immediately do?

“My God… Who shot him?!”

Same here, when realizing that the soldier were still breathing:

“Give me your scarf- quickly, now! Call an ambulance, now! DO IT!” 

So why on Earth would he just sit there, not demand things or answers in a frenzy, and let his wife of all people die without a fighting chance? It just doesn’t add up. 

As “Mary” says herself:

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Major Sullivan Ballou of the Union Army wrote this letter home to his wife Sarah in Smithfield, Rhode Island. It is considered to be one of history’s most beautiful and moving love letters.

July 14, 1861
Camp Clark, Washington

My very dear Sarah,

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days – perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye
when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure – and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine 0 God, be done. If it is necessary that I
should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how
strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution.
And I am willing – perfectly willing – to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.

But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows – when, after having eaten for long years the bitter
fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children – is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze,
that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?

I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death – and I,
suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.

I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of
the principles have often advocated before the people and “the name of honor that I love more than I fear death” have called upon me, and I have obeyed.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and
bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give
them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I
know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me – perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar – that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If
I do not return, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your
happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet
the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night – amidst your happiest
scenes and gloomiest hours – always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or if the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.

As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father’s love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him
among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters.

Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God’s blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.


Sullivan Ballou, age 32, was killed on the battlefield in the 1st Battle of Bull Run seven days after writing this letter.

Today at work
  • *Dude comes in with his wife and 2 kids*
  • Dude: Hey I like your nose ring!
  • Me: Thanks!
  • Dude: I used to have one but I had to take it out cause I'm a 40 year old man.
  • Me: Aww man, I'm sorry, you should've kept it!
  • Dude: Me too, but that's just not okay in this society.
  • Me: We should change that.
  • *Coworker walks up*
  • Coworker: Hey man, I like your tattoos!
  • Dude: Thanks! They're not finished yet. They're going to be full sleeves someday.
  • Me: That's awesome! I wish I could get full sleeves.
  • Dude: You can!
  • Me: But I'm trying to be an actress. That wouldn't fly in the acting world. It would take too much expensive makeup to cover up.
  • Dude: So? Vin Diesel. He's covered in tattoos!
  • Me: Yes but he's a man. It doesn't work that way for women.
  • Dude: We should change that.
  • Me: Yes we should.


a new oc that’s apart of Mint’s story! she and Mint were very, very, VERY close… but Tsavorite was extremely unhappy with Mint’s ambitions, and despite trying to get him to change his ideas of a “perfect world”, he never listened and continued to enforce borderline perfectionist laws.

she pretty much divorced Mint and formed her own alliance, completely separate from Mint’s ideals. Mint was obviously heartbroken with this and has decided to be completely bitter about it, trying to split her rebellion apart with his armies. aka, crappy relationship / unhappy wife trope… 

Geoff is like that cool uncle who’s done it all

Like this motherfucker was a photographer in the army, he used to surf, he raised chickens, his ex-wife tried to run him over once, he legally changed his middle name to Lazer, he was a roadie for Catch 22, he’s accumulated a bunch of awesome tattoos all over his body..

Need I go on

He’s a badass


reinhardt is reading to all of torbjorn’s kids??? why would he be doing this u ask?????

reinhardt and torbjorn both are cheerful beardy old men… they both carry hammers…. in Conclusion

why let the straights have anything honestly torbjorn can be the bi (or pan) + poly representation we’ve all been waiting for. thank u for ur time. please consider making cute beardy old hammer men art and sweet date nights with torb and his wife and reinhardt and their million kid army. also consider: height difference. good night

Stephen Schap: the story behind the story

 You might have seen this story and assumed that, like many Creepypasta posts, it was merely a fictional story. Nope.

1993: Army Sergeant Stephen Schap, 26, apparently found out that the baby his wife was pregnant with was not his. Instead, the father was said to be his friend Gregory Glover, 21.

Schap severed Glover’s head with a knife and then kicked at it repeatedly until it disconnected totally from the body. The man then packed it into a bag and took off for the hospital where his wife was being treated. His wife testified that once there, he set the head on a table in the room, forced her to look at it, and said, “Look, Diane, Glover’s here. He’ll sleep with you every night, only you won’t sleep at night.”

Schap was found guilty of murder.

(Photo from Creepypasta Facebook page. Obviously not the real head, though.)


(George Washington x Reader)

Prompt # - 5

AAAA sorry it’s been so long since I wrote last I haven’t been feeling too creative lately. But I have a coffee rn and its 12:13 AM so let’s do this.

Also sorry this is short!!

Work. That’s all he had been doing. (Y/N) was concerned and everyone else close to him was. George had been writing and forming the army, training men and preparing for battle for weeks now. His dear wife (Y/N) Washington hadn’t seen him leave his office in far too long. He burdened himself with too much and nobody else could do his work for him he would claim, no matter how many times (Y/N) told him to get an assistant or right hand man.

It was 1:40 in the morning, the grandfather clock in George and her’s bedroom said. And he still was working. Writing letters, invitations, requests and commands to his forces scattered across the colonies. The consistent sound that ran through the house these last long weeks; quill against paper.

In fact the quill scratching was the only sound she could hear besides the ticks of the clock. With an angry huff, (Y/N) sat up from the bed, putting her copy of Gulliver’s Travels down on the end table by the bed, and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.

Her hand, grazed against the wall with each step, a lantern in hand as her bare feet tapped against the wooden floors, till only a door stood before her, her husband, and the scratching. For a moment (Y/N) just listened, resting her forehead on the door, hearing the writing continue. Until finally it ended. She threw her head up and reached for the doorknob, twisting it quickly and throwing the door open.

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Capt. David Snyder and his wife, Karen, joined the 64th Regiment of Foot 41 years ago. “All of our history books at the time were written by the winners,” he says. “I love history, but I wanted to explore it from the viewpoint of the opposition.” While living a lifestyle with 200-year-old technology can be a challenge, Snyder, who makes most of his own reenactor clothes by hand, notes that the hardest part is maintaining accuracy through the years. “Research keeps revealing newly discovered information,” he says. “We frequently find that the way we have done things, or the uniforms we wear, have been wrong.” PHOTOGRAPH BY JERRY WOLFORD

Salem Poor, a Black hero in the American Revolutionary war with a turbulent love life.

Salem Poor (1747–1802) was an African-American slave who purchased his freedom, became a soldier, and rose to fame as a war hero during the American Revolutionary War.

Poor was born in 1747 into slavery on a farm in Andover, Massachusetts owned by John Poor and his son John Poor Jr. He bought his freedom on July 10, 1769 from John Poor Jr. for £27, a year’s salary for an average working man at the time. Before joining the Revolutionary Army in 1775, Poor lived in Andover with his wife, Nancy, a free African American woman, and their son.

In May 1775, Poor enlisted in the militia, serving under Captain Benjamin Ames in Colonel James Frye’s regiment, opposing the British troops occupying besieged Boston. He is best remembered today for his actions during the Battle of Bunker Hill on June 17, 1775, where he is credited with mortally wounding British Lieutenant Colonel James Abercrombie.

Poor’s valor and gallantry at the Battle of Bunker Hill prompted 14 officers, including Colonel William Prescott, to cite him for heroism and petition the General Court of Massachusetts with the following statement:

The Reward due to so great and Distinguished a Character. The Subscribers beg leave to Report to your Honorable. House (Which We do in justice to the Character of so Brave a man) that under Our Own observation, we declare that A Negro Man Called Salem Poor of Col. Fryes Regiment, Capt. Ames. Company in the late Battle of Charleston, behaved like an Experienced Officer, as Well as an Excellent Soldier, to Set forth Particulars of his Conduct would be Tedious, We Would Only beg leave to say in the Person of this Negro Centers a Brave & gallant Soldier.

On July 10, 1775, George Washington ended the recruitment of African Americans. On November 12, he issued orders prohibiting all black men from serving in the Continental Army. (Despite the ban on recruitment, those who had already been serving for some time were allowed to stay until this point.) On hearing of this, Lord Dunmore, who at the time was Governor of Virginia, offered freedom to all slaves willing to serve with the British. Washington, sensing the disaster that would almost surely result, immediately changed his position, at once ordering all recruiters to enlist any black men who wanted to fight.

Poor immediately re-enlisted in the militia and fought with the Patriot forces until March 20, 1780, when he was apparently discharged. He is known to have retreated to the winter camp at Valley Forge and fought in the Battle of White Plains.

In August 1771, Poor married Nancy Parker, “a half breed Indian servant in the family of Capt. James Parker”, according to papers in the Charlotte Helen Abbot Collection of the Andover Historical Society; they had a son, Jonas, who was baptized on September 29, 1776. In 1780, he married his second wife, Mary Twing, a free African American. The couple moved to Providence; however, they were ordered to leave that city, presumably because they could not support themselves. In 1785, he placed an advertisement in the Boston Gazette to disown Mary’s debts and “forewarn all Persons from trusting MARY, the Wife of the Subscriber”. Poor then married Sarah Stevens, a white woman, in 1787, and in 1793 he spent several weeks in the Boston Almshouse. He was briefly jailed for “breach of peace” in 1799, married for the fourth and final time in 1801, and died in 1802. Details of his life after the Revolutionary War were not widely known until research by genealogist David Lambert, a descendant of Poor’s former owners; an article about this research appeared in The Boston Globe in 2007.


May 5th 1821: Napoleon Bonaparte dies

On this day in 1821, French Emperor Napoleon I died in exile on the island of Saint Helena, aged 51. Napoleon became Emperor in 1804 and led France in the wars against various European coalitions in the Napoleonic Wars; for his leadership in these wars he is considered one of the greatest generals of all time. France had initial success in the wars but by 1812 was in decline, partly due to Napoleon’s disastrous invasion of Russia in 1812. Napoleon was forced to abdicate and was exiled to Elba in 1814 after defeat at the Battle of Leipzig. He returned to power in 1815, but was defeated at the Battle of Waterloo. This catastrophic defeat sealed the fate of the French army, and the coalitions declared victory; France, and thus Napoleon, were defeated. Napoleon was then exiled on Saint Helena, and in 1821 died of stomach cancer.

“France, army, head of the army, Joséphine.”
- Napoleon’s last words - Joséphine was his first wife


Albert Gleizes - Overland or Study of New York [1916] by Gandalf
Via Flickr:
In 1915, Albert Gleizes (1881 - 1953) moved to New York with his wife, Juliette Roche, after being demobilised from army service. Spectacularly composed of vibrantly coloured and layered geometric forms, Overland is representative of the work the artist created during this period. Wholly captivated by the sounds, forms and colours of the city, the artist sought to capture these sensations within his paintings. As Peter Brooke and Christian Briend write, ‘In the animated neighbourhood around Broadway, it was the neon illuminated advertisements that caught the attention of Gleizes and inspired him to a very liberal extension of Cubist practice. The transparency effects and dynamic superimposing seem to recall the syncopated jazz rhythms of the music that Gleizes had also discovered upon his arrival in New York.’

[Sotheby’s, London - Oil on board laid down on cradled panel, 80.1 x 65.8cm]