#Iles Midway

[carbone14]

Douglas TBD-1 Devastator du 8e Escadron de torpilleurs (VT-8) – Midway – 1942

©Artwork by ?

[ahmad7223]

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[saintkevorkian]

i think i’ll stop reading the name of the rose

[cathedral-of-sinners]

On Display

(Originally) Kinktober Day 12 - Exhibitionism/Voyeurism + Dottore

Genre: Smut (MDNI)

CW: sub!reader, gn!reader (no pronouns/specific genitalia mentioned), aphrodisiacs (consensual), masturbation, names (little pet, dear, darling, sweet thing), I may have written the kink wrong whoops-! (Also this feels horrible I’m sorry 😭)

a/n: the idea of how exactly to write this slammed into me like a truck and for that I’m grateful. I’m not grateful, however, for it taking eight months to do so…. sigh, better late than never I suppose

"What does that vial do?" Such a dangerous question you pose, especially in a place like the second harbinger’s lab; you knew this, but curiosity had gotten the better of you.

In your defense, it really was such a pretty purple colour, and it had the gentlest glow surrounding it. Had you not known better you'd think it was one of those new lamps the people in Fontaine had recently created.

When Dottore casted a quick glance over his shoulder a sinister smile was quick to replace the thin line his lips made. He stood with a florist you’re sure was unintentionally, watching as he walked right past your seat and over to the fragile container, lifting it with an enticing swirl.

“Would you like to find out?”

— —

You can’t complain with where your agreement led you. The strangely coloured liquid went down smooth, didn’t taste half bad and the effects were near immediate. Now you lay flat on the cold observation table in the doctor’s lab, hand between your legs as you try to satisfy the growing heat burning in the pit of your stomach.

It isn’t difficult to tell that the doctor is enjoying himself. While he remains fully clothed, sat languid in his chair, he gets a whole show put on specially for him. What makes it better - and what makes a shiver run through your body - is the knowledge that behind that mask of his are sharp red eyes pinning you to your spot, keenly observing. With the visible tent of his trousers and the way he shifts just a little every time you moan his name, you just know this won’t stay an observational experiment for long.

At least, you really hope so. The strain of your muscles are beginning to become too much to bear. “Oh, don’t stop now little pet.” The voice of Dottore echos from across the room, “the faces you’re making are quite… amusing.”

Your pants and pained whines mix in with your reply, “‘m trying ‘ttore! Ah-!” Just as you’re about to give in the doctor himself is right beside you, hand replacing your own. The change of pace shocks you, leg twitching and back arching. It’s not long until you start to babble about being close to cumming.

“Good, good, go on then.” And you do, you spill all over the table, yourself and Dottore.

But it’s not enough. The affects are still present and already you’re starting to grind into his hand again. Without a word, Dottore flips you around onto your hands and knees, lowering half of the table. You’re dizzy for a moment, still coming down from your high when something cold prods at your hole.

“C-Cold!! Dottore-!”

“Hush,” he quiets, continuing to rub the cool gel along your opening. By time he’s done a warm tingling emerges and you’re begging for him to touch you again. He does gladly, but this time not with his hand, the tip of his cock tapping at your entrance instead.

“You want to be satisfied, do you?” He asks, borderline mocking how needy you are for him. He just wants you to voice it.

“Dottore-”

“Say. It.”

“I need you! Okay!? I need you to fuck mE-!” Midway through you’re cut off by the intrusion of his cock, your body jolting forward. Anything you could’ve said after melts into a moan as Il Dottore, the second of the Fatui Harbingers, fucks you like an animal. He fucks you until you cum again, and again, and again; until the affects of the aphrodisiac wears off and then some. Until the only sounds in the room are your moans, skin slapping and the squelches from your hole.

Dottore fucks you until you’re telling him no more, that you can’t go on any longer.

“Ah, ah, ah, I know you can last long enough to give me one more. Besides, you’d hate to cut off our guest’s fun, wouldn’t you?” Guest? Your eyes scan around the room as best they can among the sex haze.

At first you think he’s bluffing, pulling your leg, but then your eyes catch a pair of gold ones across the room. “P-pantalone…?” However, you’re met with silence from the man, just a smile that has a touch too much of something dark and lustful.

Dottore never let up his pace from behind, continuing to pound into you, pushing you impossibly more against the metal examination table. “Surprised are we? I’m curious to know how you didn’t see him this whole time.” His words edge you on more, coiling the knot in your stomach tighter.

You didn’t dare admit this, but there have been times where you’ve fantasized about the ninth taking you alongside your lover. Jerking them off together, one in each hand; blowing one of them while taking the other from behind; you name it, you probably thought it. You can only guess that Dottore caught on to your dark desires.

Nimble fingers circle around you to continue playing with your body from the front, the man behind you leaning his weight against your back as he whispers in your ear. “Are you going to entertain him dear? Cum right in front of him, now aware of his presence. I know it turns you on, you’ve been clenching me harder ever since.”

“F-fuckin’ tease…” you manage to say, shutting your eyes as your pleasure continues to build. At least now you can’t see the captivated eyes of Pantalone (you can feel them though, just as piercing as your lover’s).

“Tsk, such a filth mouth. Perhaps I should punish you.”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” the ninth finally speaks up, taking slow steps towards your form. One quick glance down and you can spot just how hard he is through his pants. Your gaze is torn away by a gloved hand, forcing you to look through a pair of glasses and into the golden glow of his eyes.

“You’ve been so good haven’t you, sweet thing. I see no reason not to reward you with your desired release.” His gaze moves behind you to Dottore. The two men have a conversation only they could understand - the verdict? Finish this little session on a high note.

Dottore shifts his posture and stars fill your vision, his cock hitting deeper than it did before. It’s not long until you cum for the last time, slumping against the surface below you. The doctor pulls out and seconds later finishes along your back.

Lethargy settles in fast and the weight of something warm and heavy on your back only coaxes you further into the temptation of sleep. It’s a losing battle after the entertainment you just exerted.

As the last of your consciousness fades, you’re barely able to catch the parting words of The Regrator. “How I would’ve loved to have your mouth around my cock. Hm, shame, perhaps some other time. Rest up dear, and thank you for the show.”

Tag list: @stygianoir || @rain-soaked-sun || @londonstylesxx

(send an ask, dm or comment if you’d like to be added!!)

[phoenixblaze1412]

Might seem crazy for what im bout to say…

HAI IM SORRY BUT IM NOT REQUESTING THE ORDER OF BAIZHU FLUFF THIS TIME😔🩷

But im gonna order for the regrator boys and girlies! So can we please get a pantalone x gn!reader fluffy? *cough* their first date *cough*

-🎀

No need to apologize love^^ let's go from Baizhu to Pantalone because man needs affection too.

First Date

Dating Pantalone has its ups and downs but you two were able to make things work.

With him being part of the fatui and bring the ninth harbinger, work always calls for him that it's rare for him to be at home to spend time with you, maybe even once in a blue moon.

Meanwhile you would be working at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and helping out your director and friend Hu Tao that you would always be home way past midnight.

But despite rarely being able to see each other, you two would communicate to each other through letters.

And maybe a pyro fatui guard or two that would be watching you from afar to make sure you don't get hurt. They were given strict orders by the Regrator himself or else they would be the next test subjects for Il Dottore's experiments if you were to be harmed.

So to receive an invitation from your lover that you were to have dinner at Liuli Pavilion, who were you to say no.

It's literally your first date with him.

If you're lucky enough, it would also be your first kiss with him if the chance is given.

Such a shame that the only contact you two shared was simple hand holding. Hu Tao even commented at how bland your partner was for not being able to at least give you a kiss. If only she knew that she was insulting a harbinger, but you wouldn't tell her that.

You had to ask her to give you a day off just to be able to prepare for it. And Hu Tao, being the supportive friend she is, immediately pushed you out of the parlor while rambling on about to use protection if your partner decides to give you more than dinner for the night.

Once you made it back to your home, you were surprised to see a gift placed upon your bed. Opening it and looking inside, you could only stare in awe at the expensive outfit laid before you. You were guessing the outfit was custome made, there were even jewels decorating it as it glimmered under the light.

"I hope this gift finds you, my love. I expect that you wear it to our dinner tonight. I shall see you then."

You were thankful for the outfit, noticing how it matches the usual colors you would wear with a mix of purple. You were a bit curious on how Pantalone knew your sizes but decided not to question it, assuming it was simply a lucky guess.

Entering Liuli Pavilion was simple. Finding where your lover resides, is a bit difficult. Before you could even take another step, you were greeted by a familiar voice.

"It brings me great joy to see you wearing the gift I sent, darling. How I have missed you so."

Pantalone stood there before you, taking your hand in his before placing a small kiss to your knuckles.

Oh if he knew how the most simplest action he does can easily make you melt.

Leading you to your dinner table with the food already prepared. The two of you dined in, talking about how the other has been doing.

Now, we know how no one has ever seen the Regrator's eyes before. But for you, you are an exception.

As you rambled on about the things that happened while he was gone (even though he always knows what happens to you every day considering his fatui agents would report to him daily, he simply pretends to not know. He does like listening to your voice after all), his eyes glanced at your form. Purple irises tracing and remembering each curve of your body due to how the outfit he had made hugged your figure nicely.

You stopped talking midway when you felt gloved fingers grasp your chin and turn you to the side before feeling a pair of lips pressing against yours.

You were glad your body immediately responded by kissing back. Meanwhile your brain is still processing the current situation.

Pantalone is kissing you. YOU.

ANWIEJDOQJSKJQOJSOJSKJWOXJ

(Y/n).exe has stopped working...

Pulling away from the kiss, you could only sat in a daze with your cheeks flushed red.

You are definitely going to tell Hu Tao about this.

Pantalone was simply enjoying your reaction. He too was waiting for the chance to be able to kiss you. He always wondered how your lips would taste like. After knowing it now, it made him crave for more.

Once you both finished dinner, Pantalone led you to the various shops and markets you two would pass by, offering you sweet delicacies and buying you expensive jewelry. Simply pampering you with gifts that he knows would look wonderful on you.

He doesn't ignore the fact that there are various people, men and women alike, who would eye you as if you were their prey. Nonetheless, he would have his arm wrapped around your waist and pulling you close to him. Showing the world that you already belong to someone else, him specifically. Pantalone wouldn't even hesitate to use his power and connections to take care of those that would try to lay their hands on you or even dare to take you away from him.

Pantalone would make sure that you get home safe once the date has ended, he would walk you back to your home.

He already has a promise ring in hand as he slipped it onto your finger, telling you that he would be visiting you more frequently from now on to be able to spend time with you.

You think he would just leave after getting you home and placing a ring on your finger?

He would pull you towards him before kissing your lips again, making sure this one lasts more longer than the one he did earlier until you're breathless before pulling away with a smile.

"I look forward to seeing you soon, dearest. Do expect that I'll be wanting your attention whenever I visit. I do deserve it after working so hard, no?"

Overall experience of the date? ∞/10

You are definitely giggling like a school girl while telling everything that happened to Hu Tao the next day. Her also giggling and squealing along with you. Zhongli could only shake his head in amusement as he drank his tea.

[lookismstuff]

Lookism Theory: On The Deaths of "The Sister" and "The King"

SPOILER ALERT FOR EPS 482-485 AND THE WAILING (2016)

Ep 485 pretty much solidifies PTJ's statements on March 2022 and September 2023 (in vlogs that have since been made private) that the Cheonliang Arc is based on the Korean horror film The Wailing (2016), also known as The Strangers. So I'm going to talk about the deaths of Seongji and The Sister from the film's standpoint.

Based on the film's plot these are the archetypes of both characters.

Seongji The King of Cheonliang is "The Demon in the Cave" and,

The Sister is "The Woman in White" and "The Hanged Woman".

A. The Death of Seongji (The Demon in the Cave)

In The Wailing, the entity in the cave is actually a Japanese demon with a human identity. He used to live in a run-down house in the mountain, before being chased away by angry and scared villagers that he nearly died in a deserted cliff. A character appeared midway through the film (Il Gwang the shaman) because he was invited, and was actually in cahoots with the demon. Towards the end, the demon retreated into a cave and resumed his original appearance as a demon.

So, based on the film's plot...

Seongji was probably ambushed by either the villagers, the Yamazaki henchmen, the Kojima brothers, or perhaps even Charles Choi's or the King of Seoul's men in his cave or in the mountain, assuming that the latter was already an acquaintance of the shaman's (Shinmyong).

The duel that resulted in Seongji's death was probably unfair, because he was chased away from his house, ran away through the woods in the mountain, and was cornered, wounded, and exhausted.

If the King of Seoul was involved, somebody must've invited him to Cheonliang on purpose. This invitation probably came from someone in Shinmyong's circle or from the shaman himself.

If Vin really murdered Seongji, then it was probably an accidental death or a mercy kill. In case the latter actually happened, it probably happened when Seongji was dying alone in a deserted place.

B. The Death of the Sister (The Woman in White and the Hanged Woman)

In the film, a naked woman appeared on a stormy night in front of the town's police station. Then she hanged herself the next day after murdering her family, and nobody saw it. Apparently, when she stood naked she was wandering in the state of possessed after getting in touch with Il Gwang the shaman and the Japanese demon. She was the first victim in the town, and after her a series of other violent murders happened.

Elsewhere, a mysterious unnamed woman in white tried to warn the other characters but was unsuccesful in protecting the town from evil, because they thought that she was an evil spirit. In the end she could only watch as Il Gwang and the demon left together.

Going by this film's plot...

When The Sister appeared during a rainy night at Vin's doorstep, she was actually half-drugged or was in a daze from other causes, and she ran away from trouble.

The reason why The Sister's clothes were disheveled because she either ran away in a daze or was assaulted.

Whatever happened to The Sister must've involved either Shinmyong the Shaman, Taejin, the Kojima brothers, or anyone else closely affiliated with them.

She probably tried to tell what happened to her or another secret but was stopped before she could do anything.

It was her death that sparked the change in Cheonliang, and it probably happened before Seongji died.

The girl was probably found dead early in the morning and nobody actually saw how she died the night before.

[fatehbaz]

As early as 1700, Samuel Sewall, the renowned Boston judge and diarist, connected “the two most dominant moral questions of that moment: the rapid rise of the slave trade and the support of global piracy” in many American colonies [...]. In the course of the eighteenth century, [...] [there was a] semantic shift in the [literary] trope of piracy in the Atlantic context, turning its [...] connotations from exploration and adventure to slavery and exploitation. [...] [A] large share of Atlantic seafaring took place in the service of the circum-Atlantic slave trade, serving European empire-building in the Americas. [...] Ships have been cast as important sites of struggle and as symbols of escape in [...] Black Atlantic consciousness, from Olaudah Equiano’s Interesting Narrative (1789) and Richard Hildreth’s The Slave: or Memoir of Archy Moore (1836 [...]) to nineteenth century Atlantic abolitionist literature such as Frederick Douglass’s My Bondage and My Freedom (1855) or Martin Delany’s Blake (1859-1862). [...] Black and white abolitionists across the Atlantic world were imagining a different social order revolving around issues of resistance, liberty, (human) property, and (il)legality [...].

---

Using black pirates as figures of resistance [...], Maxwell Philip’s novel Emmanuel Appadocca (1854) emphasizes the nexus of insatiable material desire and its conditions of production: slavery. [...] [T]he consumption of commodities produced by slave labor itself was delegitimized [...]. Philip, a Trinidadian [and "illegitimate" "colored" child] [...], published Emmanuel Appadocca as a protest against slavery in the United States [following the Fugitive Slave laws of 1850.]. [...] [The novel places] at its center [...] a heroic non-white pirate and intellectual [...] [whose] pirate ship [...] [is] significantly named The Black Schooner [...]. One of the central discourses in [the book] is that of legitimacy, of rights and lawfulness, of both slavery and piracy [...]. About midway into the book, Appadocca gives a [...] speech in which he argues that colonialism itself is a piratical system:

If I am guilty of piracy, you, too [are] [...] guilty of the very same crime. ... [T]he whole of the civilized world turns, exists, and grows enormous on the licensed system of robbing and thieving, which you seem to criminate so much ... The people which a convenient position ... first consolidated, developed, and enriched, ... sends forth its numerous and powerful ships to scour the seas, the penetrate into unknown regions, where discovering new and rich countries, they, in the name of civilization, first open an intercourse with the peaceful and contented inhabitants, next contrive to provoke a quarrel, which always terminates in a war that leaves them the conquerors and possessors of the land. ... [T]he straggling [...] portions of a certain race [...] are chosen. The coasts of the country on which nature has placed them, are immediately lined with ships of acquisitive voyagers, who kidnap and tear them away [...].

In this [...], slavery appears as a direct consequence of the colonial venture encompassing the entire “civilized world,” and “powerful ships” - the narrator refers to the slavers here - are this world’s empire builders. [...] Piracy, for Philip, signifies a just rebellion, a private, legitimate [resistance] against colonial exploiters and economic inequality - he repeatedly invokes their solidarity as misfortunate outcasts [...].

---

All text above by: Alexandra Ganser. “Cultural Constructions of Piracy During the Crisis Over Slavery.” A chapter from Crisis and Legitimacy in the Atlantic American Narratives of Piracy: 1678-1865. Published 2020. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

Season 1 episode 7 [The Thing Lay Still] - part 2/3

- AAAAAAH IT'S THE DANCE SCENE EXCUSE ME I'M NOT READY AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

[Louis] "So much would be written about that grim night in New Orleans, but not a single mention of our last hour at Latrobe's, as if the only crime unfit to print took place on that dance floor." - and what do we say to homophobia, both "period-typical" and current? FUCK OFF.

It's the way they cannot… Aaah, need to say it in French, sorry. Use your translation tool. Ils ne peuvent pas se quitter des yeux un seul moment, même pas quand leurs pas de danse les forcent à se tourner le dos, Louis fermant les yeux jusqu'à ce qu'il soit de nouveau face à Lestat, ou qu'ils doivent se tenir l'un à côté de l'autre, leurs regards irrémédiablement attirés l'un par l'autre, comme deux aimants, magnétiques et plus fort que tout.

[Louis] "It was my sole duty to distract Lestat, but in his mirrored eyes, the distraction reflected back onto me. And in the dead center of the whispering gallery, I lost the thread to my plotting and fell once more into the well with no bottom. I was his, and he was mine."

I haven't said a word about Jacob's voice acting yet. But the way Louis' voice is so soft and slow. As if Louis is lost in his memories and back there, feeling all the love and the frenzy of that night, but also the pain and grief of the long decades since.

- Oof, I'm barely midway through the episode. I'm pausing it so much to not miss a single line that my player is starting to complain.

- "'Claudia, born 1903, I drank the water in 1917. I'm 36 years old.' 'Louis de Pointe du Lac. Born in 1878.i drank of the water in 1910. I am 61 years old now.' 'Lestat de Lioncourt, born 1760. I drank the waters in 1794. 180 years old… this coming November.'"

Ooooh, canon divergence! Not Louis and Claudia, them, we know, but Lestat. Born 1760 but turned in 1780 at 20 years old in the book. Interesting! I wonder why that change. There's another element given in s2, when Armand's writing his little Lesmand fanfic, but otherwise I guess s3 will give us an answer to why that tiny time change.

Meanwhile Tom fucking Anderson continues to be a nuisance.

- FINALLY. BYE TOM.

Love the music. Love the blood. Love the violence. Love the magnificent entrance of the three, in white and red. Vampires are freaking cool and the werewolf crowd can bite my a… Ahem, sorry, werewolf buddies. I got carried away.

- Aaaand goddamn Antoinette about to make her entrance. Aaaargh. But also I am very bi and she is very hot so I can't entirely hate her.

- [Lestat]"'Quite drunk this one. Rosemary… And something else. What is it, my love?' [Louis] 'I… I think it's gin.' [Lestat] 'I wasn't talking to you.'"

Bitch how dare you call someone else your love right in front of Louis, I'm offended.

Oh, wait, actually I can perfectly hate Antoinette, GET YOUR HANDS OFF CLAUDIA.

- [Claudia] "'Lestat… You must think me an idiot. 'She was at the ball tonight.' Not just the ball. You shoulda let that train go, Uncle Les.' [Lestat] 'How? Who?' [Claudia] 'He who called you him… Always the petty lights with you, Uncle Les.'"

Ah, I knew I hated Tom Anderson for more than his slimy, racist, homophobic ways. Nice planning, Claudia!

- Ooh, oh, no, baby, not the cane sword, no no no no. I hate (not) when the foreshadowing comes full circle.

- [Lestat] "Louis! We are joined by a cord, by a cord that you cannot see, but it is real. It is real. I have loved you… with all myself. I'm happy it was you… here with me… à la fin."

*cries*

No but can you imagine Lestat's anguish, the pure suffering and desperation he must have felt? Yes, yes, I know he's done plenty of wrongs, he's hurt Louis and Claudia a lot, he made mistakes after mistakes, he was prone to anger and abuse and violence.

But à la fin he's still a little boy who was neglected by his mother, abused by his father, hated by his first love, kidnapped and raped by his maker, hurt and threatened by the first vampires he's met, and was so lonely, afraid and hurt he didn't know how to love honestly even though he was deeply in love.

"Are we the sum of our worst moments", can we not feel pity and sadness for the monster in the woods? Can we not show kindness to the monster even after he's slapped our hand away, isn't kindness what could make the monster accept the hand?

I wrote a thesis about kindness being the true core of the story of Beauty and the Beast last year, about how it's true kindness and not love that Beast relearns how to be human and builds the self-esteem and self-respect needed to truly fall in love with Belle and have her fall in love with him in turn (there's more to my thesis, it's a 100 pages long, but that's the main point I wanted to make), and I can't help but draw parallels with Lestat.

Beauty and the Beast is French and it was first written in 1740, then rewritten and condensed (from 125 pages to barely 30) in 1756. Lestat definitely must have heard the tale, by the 1770s, 1780s, it was quite popular both in noble salons as in lowlier classes.

Do you think he ever fancied himself the Beast, and saw Louis as his Beauty? Do you think he ever thought he was cursed - despite claiming he never saw his condition as a vampire as a curse - and saw Louis as his salvation? Do you think he felt the fairy tale shatter irreparably around him when he realised that this time he could not keep Louis with him? Do you think in 1945 at the trial he saw himself as the Beast freed from his curse finally, heard and avenged, only to then realise that the curse was still there and stronger than ever because he had deeply misunderstood it? Do you think he spent 77 years living off rats in a dilapidated shack in the city that held his heart because his story went from Beauty and the Beast to the Ice Queen, or Koschei the Deathless, heartless and waiting for the one person that could unfroze or unbury his heart?

Ooooh, Lestat versus folktales. I think I can write a whole other thesis with just that idea. Or maybe a series of fics. Too many thoughts.

- [Louis] "The blood poured out of him as it might never pour from a human being… all the blood he had filled himself with. He lay now on his back, his eyes staring wildly at the ceiling, the irises dancing from side to side."

[Louis] "His irises rolled to the top of his head, the white went dim. This horror that had been Lestat… I stared helplessly at it. The thing lay still. There was no point in lingering."

No comment, just… Can you hear in Louis' voice the anguish, still, after so many decades…

- Huh. Bye Antoinette for real I guess, fire doesn't forgive. So no Antoinette at the Court.

- [Louis] "It was as if we'd expected Lestat to disappear in a puff of smoke or get sucked back into hell." - no but see, that's what I'm saying, the fairy tale ended and now you're left facing the very real consequences of the plot you thought you were living. Lestat ain't no fairy tale monster, just a regular (albeit vampiric) one, flesh and blood at the end. This ain't Buffy. Vampires are flesh here, animated flesh and when you kill them by any other means than fire or the sun, you are still left with the painfully visible reminder of the man that was the monster.

[I really like this part because I hadn't thought of the whole Lestat/folktale before and now I'm having a million of ideas knocking around my head.]

ep1 | ep2 | ep3 | ep4 | ep5 | ep6 | part 1 | part 3

[dangerousthingobservation]

axis-and-allies-paintworks.com

F-4S / VF-151 'Vigilantes" launches from the USS Midway

Skins, missions, and campaigns for the IL-2 flight simulation series.

[vlkphoto]

Comiskey Park, Old and New

Home of the White Sox. Chicago, IL.

I must have flown through Midway and O'Hare more than a hundred times. Surprisingly, this is the only good photo I have of Comiskey, whether of the new stadium or the old (the parking lot in the foreground).

[thehoodrocks]

Midway Plaisance, University of Chicago, May 2020, Hyde Park, Chicago, IL

[carbone14]

Un soldat américain inspecte un fusil Springfield M1903 touché par des balles japonaises – Bataille d'Attu – Campagnes des îles Aléoutiennes – Guerre du Pacifique – Ile d'Attu – Alaska – 11 mai 1943

La campagne des îles Aléoutiennes est parfois appelée « La bataille oubliée » car elle se déroulait en même temps que la bataille de Guadalcanal.

Cette campagne est la seule qui s'est déroulée avec des combats terrestres sur le sol américain lors de la seconde guerre mondiale.

Le 3 juin 1942, les japonais attaquent et envahissent les îles Aléoutiennes, archipel au sud-ouest de l'Alaska. Deux thèses expliquent cette invasion. La première thèse évoque une diversion lancée par l'amiral Isoroku Yamamoto pour éloigner la flotte américaine de Midway. La deuxième, plus récente, explique en réalité une nécessité pour les Japonais de protéger le flanc nord de leur Empire.

La campagne de reconquête des Aléoutiennes par les Américains commence dès août 1942 pour se terminer un an plus tard, le 15 août 1943. L'éloignement des îles et les conditions météorologiques particulièrement difficiles compliquent les opérations de reconquête.

La bataille d'Attu fut la seule bataille terrestre sur le territoire des Etats-Unis. Les conditions climatiques sévères et les défenses japonaises plus efficaces que prévues rendirent difficile la progression des américains. Les japonais, acculés dans une poche près de la côte, lancèrent une attaque frontale qui perça la première ligne de défense pour s'achever au corps à corps dans les lignes arrières. Sur les 1 200 défenseurs japonais seuls 29 furent faits prisonniers.

Après la prise de l'île d'Attu qui fut le théâtre de combats sanglants, Américains et Canadiens débarquent sur l'île de Kiska le 15 août 1943 sans aucune opposition. En effet, les japonais avaient évacué secrètement l'île deux semaines plus tôt au bénéfice d'un épais brouillard sans que les alliés n'en sachent rien. Pris dans un épais brouillard, la confusion règne parmi les alliés qui avancent dans une nature hostile et piégée par les Japonais au point de se tirer les uns sur les autres... Les pertes s'élèvent à 313 hommes, dues aux tirs amis, aux pièges laissés par les Japonais et aux maladies ou gelures dues au froid.

L'opération Cottage, dernière opération consistant à libérer l'île de Kiska solda cette campagne.

[ahmad7223]

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[kaz-playz]

it says in your description that you're an Illiyork shipper- do you have any spare headcanons for those two?

and here's a more specific question, in case you prefer those- if you were to put Illiyork in the "fell first, fell harder" trope, which would be which?

THANK YOU THANK TYO TAHNK YOU TAHBNKBROG YOU THANK YOU

AHHHHHH

Ok

So for fell first even though i truly believe it could go both ways, New York fell first, and Illinois fell harder

Bcs Illinois is a recluse midwesterner who dedicates all his attention to corn, guns, and being a HATER. Hes not developing crushes on anybody, BUT! NY notices the little things, and gradually they get more comfortable until NYs phone is blowing up w Illy telling him abt his day or talking abt parades or anything just bcs he wants to share all those things w York, York loves him husband guys but IL, guys hes so,,,, *EXPLODES*

IL steals NYs clothes. Like his bomber jackets, jerseys, watches, hell not just his clothes his cups too.

NY has long hair, He lets IL braid it or pkay with it when hes sleepy

They love to travel. Or IL loves to travel but he only travels Midway. NY tolerates it bcs its fucking Midway even though he sneers at the home run inn restaurant every time they walk past it.

Guys if they had kids ,,,, *EXPLODESSSS*

They'd be worlds best parents

Theyre so inlove guys but like in a chill way

Ppl think they're best friends or acquaintances more often than not

Thats how chill they are

Illinois is the interior decorator

They settled it over rock paper scissors (ILs a fucking mind reader when it come to that game)

They have a banned list in from of their house for any unwelcome guests.

They also have a banned words list in the home that keeps expanding (ESPECIALLY IF THEY HAVE KIDS)

IL has a bad habit of unraveling the stings on his braided skull caps (callout post) so NY braids them back up for him <3

Honestly i have so many hcs of them i think i ran out for now i cant go on w/o regurgitating my own stuff.

[c0rpseductor]

thinking about whether i should tag morningstar slow burn. honestly.

im 38k in iirc. emet has technically appeared in the fic more than once, but he probably won't actually legit meet pfeil As Himself until somewhere around chapter 40something. (havent outlined that far yet, but i have outlines up to 25 and il mheg will probably take up most if not all of the 30s.)

so...yeah. on top of that they don't get together right away, clearly, and rak'tika as a whole will take probably well over 10 chapters bc in terms of pacing it and il mheg are the longest parts of shb to me. so we're looking at a main couple that is getting together...Really late into the fic, like past the midway mark. I think it would make sense. I think it would make sense

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- where are we again

Our grand lady was immune to damage by that point in her life, protected from sigils requiring so little energy as to be insignificant to us. However, other ships were not so lucky and she wore their broken flesh as so much glittering jewelry.

“Here I thought it was you making everything shake and spin last night,” I teased a grin hiding under a soft blue parasol.

Matched to the too many layers he’d put on that morning. Though appropriately covered, I wore decidedly less and he took advantage, sliding fingers into my open jacket and between shirt buttons for a swoon at his chill.

Giggling, he tugged me toward the dock—by hair not meant to be—and addressed the detritus, “a problem for later, husband, for now...let’s meet our new home.”

Before I address where we docked, there is a saccharine anniversary I did not detail previously. Reason being it was one I wished to keep for myself, but it appears I’ll need to share some of it to offer understanding for where he brought us and why.

Our first visit to what would become home occurred sometime in the mid 1800s, during our exploration of the world. All those syrupy memories without fear of eyes or fangs coming for us were positively stuffed with delightful anniversaries.

But the one in question was singular in its perfection, in its simplicity.

The whole of it was celebrated in a large townhouse over-looking a canal, drinking coffee, reading, playing music and enjoying the sturdy bed. We even took a night trip outside the city itself to visit a neighboring beach—to splash in waters not so rife with horrors—and dance in the sand, bare beneath soft moonlight.

Peaceful our time there, and Lucient’s favorite.

Of every place we stayed, every anniversary we celebrated, my love adored our trip to Venice the most. The pleasantly mundane week living and hunting—careful to take those a city or two away—was a memory he replayed in his sleep in brighter colors than reality.

Which is why Venice was where we docked, where he wished to live, and where—somehow I’ve never learned—he had a home picked out and waiting. The very townhouse we had stayed in so many years before—one I write this from now, in fact.

Yet, on our way to said townhouse we met something unusual.

My love decided to guide me in a teasing path to keep me from guessing of our location, as I’d not quite figured out where we were yet. Not from the dock, not from the city, and he kept me far from the canal so as not to give it away.

We were midway through lovely gardens when I realized. It should not have taken me such time but, in my defense, he was far more beautiful than my surroundings—and chose to keep his curls free and bouncing on neck and shoulders to distract me.

“Venice,” I didn’t ask so much as swoon when I noticed, “it’s been—”

“Decades,” he finished, biting his lip for how my thoughts surely sang of the reason I’d not noticed sooner, as well as a shared ache in our veins, “and we’ll need to slip out of city limits for a meal if we wish to remain safe here, but I,” he didn’t trail off but lost breath for the spin and kiss I insisted on.

A kiss none would notice, for none were near us.

Lovely those gardens, ideally set for romantic strolls and yet we were alone in them. Eerily so, if I’d cared to notice any sooner I’d have felt an extra chill growing around us and heard the laughter of echoing voices.

“Ne sont-ils pas précieux?” one of the voices tittered too close.

Lucient broke away first, turning with an arm out and hand protectively on me—other firm on the parasol. While I held his waist and looked around for its source.

“Troppo prezioso,” another voice spoke, as close, with less inflection to it.

French, Lucient kept to me alone, and Italian...coincidence, treasure or trick?

I assured the tighter hand on me, it’s been too long for any to remember us here, my love. So it must be coincidence.

“Do not mind us, tethered things,” the more sullen voice said, “we are only curious who braves our gardens.”

“Curious or not, you’ve interrupted,” Lucient snipped, “show yourselves so we might know how best to react.”

They laughed, but obliged, forcing us closer and tighter for something we’d not seen before.

Spirits.

One wisped in soft blues, the other in verdant greens, but they were of single color and appeared more as mist or smoke than women. Though they were women, dressed as ones from that era even. Fashionable Victorian ladies...we could see right through.

“My love,” I sputtered, “have you…”

“Non, mon tresor,” he answered into my shirt—leaving me to keep his parasol up as he forgot of it in the shock.

“Dotty,” the green one offered, bowing easily from her place floating a few feet off the stones.

While the other spun first, and tittered as she bowed, “Lottie.”

“And this is a delightful reaction,” Dotty added, drifting closer and smiling tight for our steps back.

Lottie flashed the other cyan as she coiled around her, tight and sweet as we were, tittering for our notice, “such pretty things you are, and so close. We were never allowed to be so close.”

Another flash saw them part, yet their hands remained laced as Dotty spoke, “it is why we are this now. Yet you move about freely...have laws changed?”

So close and cold their faces, icier even than Lucient’s, and we shivered for it. But I managed an answer, “no, I am...afraid not.”

“Then how,” Lottie’s giggly voice rang too low, still echoed.

And Lucient huffed, with more bravado than his thoughts suggested he held, “what are the laws of prey to us?”

But it was the correct response as it sent the spirits into a twirl together, giggling so sweetly.

“What should we call you,” Dotty asked as they stopped, voice somehow flat in its brightness.

Don’t you dare, Lucient cut into me.

Laughing, I ignored him, “you may call me Vicki and him Lucy, if you like.”

Chill moonlight missed its mark, as I refused to look at it, but he got me anyway, you will pay for this, husband.

Looking forward to it, husband, I teased back.

“Oh, oui, je le fais!” Lottie trilled.

While Dotty merely chuckled.

“We have places to be,” Lucient spoke through teeth, “people to eat.”

Accepting the sharp nails in my hand, I followed his lead and called back to the spirits, “Alla prossima!”

“There will be no ‘next time’,” my love muttered as we left the gardens.

But there would be, many even, as the spirits held vigil in those gardens and he adored how it was lit at night. After a time, he even adored their company.

--

Full Chapters of Before Deluce Here

→Before Deluca Taglist<-

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