#There is a reason bayonets were a thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tokoyamisstuff · 1 month ago

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Yuanfen

(n.) a relationship by fate or destiny; the binding force between two people

It seemed like yesterday Before it washed away Hey don't wait for me there Just find your own way Hey don't wait for me there Cause I'll be there soon enough

- FFDP: Crossing Over

"Lovely moon isn't it? Unworthy abomination..."

That voice...

You could hear the heavy thud of boots creaking on the floor, until the shadowy outlines of an imposing man came into your field of view. He was standing there menacingly, covered in the blood of your allies and with a manic grin stretched across his face.

"But if you do wrong, be afraid, for rulers do not bear the sword for no reason. They are Gods servants, agents of wrath to bring punishment to the wrongdoer. (Romans 13:4)" He forms a cross with his bayonets, the thrill of a promising battle making him rejoice. "Amen!"

You're frozen in place as the dim moonlight reveals his features. Tears of blood form in the rim of your eyes, unbelieving to the familiarity of it all.

As soon as Anderson takes a proper look at you, he is hit by a raw emotion he couldn't quite decipher. For a split second he is overwhelmed by fractions of memories invading his mind, both foreign and familar at the same time.

He manages to pull himself together, the grip around his weapons tightening as he sneers in disgust at your ridiculous display. "Ah c'mon, whining at your imminent demise? Pathetic."

The internal turmoil inside of you was apparent, yet he was mistaking it for cowardice. "I was told the Hellsing vermin put up more of a fight" he taunts, approaching you with firm steps. "I'm here for a challenge. So come at me, fiend!"

You choke on a sob and the priest is shocked at the pang of guilt the sound rips through his chest. "Sorry to disappoint..." Your voice is low and defeated, sniveling slightly as you turn around. "...but I'm not going to fight you. Farewe-"

A bayonet hits the wall right next to your head but you don't even flinch, just stare at him in a mixture of numbness and exasperation.

"Never turn your back on an enemy" he warns with that authorative voice of his, "I'll enjoy myself one way of another...so if you don't want me to tear you apart to get my fill, you better fight back."

Some things never change, huh?

His violent temper had always caused you nothing but trouble, but usually you were never on the receiving end of it - rather being the only method to calm him down.

Meeting him again like this was devastating. You always knew he'd be reborn and cross your path eventually, since your fates are eternally intertwined...

...however those circumstances are just too cruel.

Maybe it was punishment by a wrathful god for your transgression of becoming a creature of the night.

"You really are the bane of my existence, you know that?"Wiping your tears away you try to regain your composure, taking on a defensive stance and waving him over. "Then so be it."

Anderson narrows his eyes at you, the gears in his head visibly turning. "Have...we met before?" You certainly acted like it. Yet on the other hand he had a reputation among your kind, being feared in all the underworld.

No. Instilling fear in his victims was his daily bread, and it was certainly not what was driving you. No matter how he wrapped his head around it, your behavior didn't make any sense.

"Yes and no." You sigh, scoffing bitterly at his question. "Hard to explain, but in a certain way we did."

That cryptic answer left him visibly irritated. "You're just playing some mind games" he hisses the accusation, "Stalling for time until reinforcements arrive, aren't ya?" Deciding to stop falling for your traps, he lunges forwards for a straightforward attack.

The assassin lands several blows, leaving you astonished by his superhuman abilities. He's as skilled as you remember him, but today's technology truly rose him to another level against the undead.

"Stop holding back!" Anderson growls as you block yet another of his strikes, having done nothing but dodge instead of fighting back. You mutely shake your head but his wrath is unyielding, amplified even by the invisible pull he feels getting stronger the closer he gets.

At some point he's worn you out enough to land one fatal assault, one bayonet impaling your shoulder, thus effectively pinning you against the wall. You almost peacefully close your eyes, awaiting for him to finish what he started but instead he keeps his distance, staring at you like you were a myth yet to unfold.

For him to sink so low as to get confused by some wicked temptress...just thinking about it makes his blood boil. The priest curses under his breath, countless prayers dropping from his lips to ground himself.

"Did ye put a spell oan me?" he ultimatively asks, accent growing thicker with the weight of those confusing feelings. You chuckle, not meeting his eyes and instead try to pull out the steel from your flesh. It's made of consecrated esilver, burning deeply into your palm. As you let out a pained whimmer he's instinctively compelled to help you, reaching out but stopping himself just in time, outraged at the contradiction of his thoughts and actions. "...anwer me, demon."

"I'm not capable of such feats" you explain almost callous, but he looks at you with a stubborn incredulity. "I think we both know your spirit is indominable, papist." Oh, you've witnessed many try and fail before.

With him being so close now you clearly see his cleric collar, stifling a laugh at this irony of fate. "Counterquestion, why would a man of your calibre chain oneself down through religion?" Your tone was derogatory, and yet laced with an incredible forlornness.

"It's necessary." He wonders why he even bothers responding. "There are men walking this earth that need to be restrained in order to remain human...monsters like you would never understand."

Oh. Things really came full circle. Everything is the way it always used to be...

...except your presence in his life had been replaced by a greater force.

"So you seek solace in faith because you yourself are beast that needs to be caged-" Another bayonet hit your stomach, making you sputter blood. Furious emerald eyes bore in your crimson ones, his face only inches from yours as he threatens "Do not twist my words, wench. You don't know me."

The sight of blood pouring out of your mouth makes his stomach turn, all those conflicting and alien sentiments raising panic in the usually steadfast man. You on the other hand laugh as you break down, crescending into a mixture of pain and amusement, echoing off the walls like a haunting melody.

"Oh, you'd be amazed what I know..." As your eyes locked, he caught himself wiping the blood from your mouth, thumb lingering on your lips far longer than necessary before he managed to tear himself away from you. "I know that you carry a darkness inside of you that makes you no different from those you punish. You spend your life hunting down the guilty so you'll only hurt those deserving punishment. Because you're afraid that otherwise the bloodlust inside of you will turn you into the evil you sought to destroy. You're terrified, aren't you? About what would happen if you lose control, so you try to reduce yourself to nothing but a tool...since being unfeeling is easier than to carry the burden that comes with being part of mankind."

Then, suddenly, your laughter shattered like fragile glass, replaced by gut-wrenching sobs that wracked your entire frame. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the remnants of laughter, creating a surreal portrait of sorrow.

Countless times it was you that kept him from committing a severe mistake in the past. And even if you failed you stood alongside him in the aftermath of his destrucive frenzy, vowing to love him despite all of his shortcomings.

It's part of his nature, after all, necessary for the deed only he could fulfill. In order to defeat a monster, one has to cast aside their humanity as well.

And until now you thought that it was the sole purpose of your existence, being one thing that kept this behemoth on the side of light and righteousness.

Anderson is stunned into silence, backing away from you still writhing against your tormenting confinements. He gulps harshly around the lump forming in his throat, fists clenched tightly as he wrung out "Just...who are you?"

There was a long pause of silence before you were able to respond again, bottom lip trembling as you spoke.

"Alucard used to tell me about his mortal foe, his equal...a man that's seemingly put on this earth again and again justto rid the world of the No-Life-King." Your words sound almost like flattery, but they were obvious nonsense, at least that he told himself.

Cracking a saddened smile, accepting of whatever he plans to do to you, your voice is barely above a whisper as you confess "...and 46 years, 7 months and 3 weeks ago, I mourned that very man's death."

Neither his birth date nor any other information was known about the paladin, but the age you stated was admittedly quite fitting for his physique. He wanted to accuse you of lying, of using dirty tricks with this sfoolish attempt at saving your own skin - but his subconsciousness was screaming at him to spare you.

"Seems like god really cannot afford to let you die..." The sheer devotion in your voice makes him shiver. "I didn't think we'd meet again so early, my love."

You weakly raise one hand to his cheek, the gesture sending shockwaves through his entire system. He is tempted to just melt into the touch, yet instead he rips it away, reminding himself about the insanity of this situation. "What in god's name are you even talking about, woman?!"

"I don't know how many times we've met before I was turned into...this..." your voice cracked and yet your smile wouldn't falter, not wanting him to remember you suffering at his hand. "...but it doesn't matter. Kill me and I swear after I received my punishment in hell, I'll be reborn and find you again!"

"...Y/N?" The name drops from his lips before his mind can catch up on, but there's a flash of recognition on his face, repeating it with a firm lucidity. "Y/N...Y/N!" Your heart clenches hearing your name wrapped in his voice, a spark of hope lighting in your eyes again. "Yes darlin', it's me..."

With a frantic move he tears the blades from your flesh and you collapse right into his arms. The cross around his neck burns against your skin, but you'd hurt forever as long as it means being at his side again.

"I-I..." He visibly switches through several emotions at once, being forced to remember always inevitably bound to suffering. Unable to do more for him you simply pull his head against your neck, soothing him as he allows the memories to resurface.

Anderson's hands tremble as they stroke your face, taking in every detail of your features before engulfing you in a bonecrushing hug. "I'm so sorry, I almost...I-I...I can't..."

"Shh, it's alright" you assure him, smothering his face in kisses as if to make up for all the lost time. "You're back, that's all that counts."

All the hatred he formerly directed at you had been replaced with sheer reverence, the oath of his current life insignificant compared to the bond that transcends the borders of life itself.

Warmth blossomed in his chest as your lips brushed closer, tentatively kissing for the first time - in this life, at least. It feels like home, instantly consuming him in the sincerity of everlasting bliss. His fingers trail across your jaw, a lovestruck haze in his eyes when he repeated the words he told you all those years ago, on his dying bed.

"No matter what, I'm yours forever."

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alexander anderson #alexander anderson x reader #reader insert #writing #drabble

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write-kin · 5 months ago

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Barb and Bayonet

notes: thank you to @cyberwhumper for lending me your guys!! :D i hope i did them justice. sunshine and dog now take up a significant portion of my brain.

naming this was the hardest part. i did write this over several days and i don't have the energy to fix the tense switching so let's pretend it's a clever way to show sunshine's issues with time. also this is LONG wow im sorry

CWs: dehumanization, lab/medical whump, loosely referenced past noncon, violence (non-graphically described, but to the point of disembowelment), mentions of unwanted body modification, drugging (tranquilizer)

“Did you hear one of the big suits in Engineering got fired?”

“No shit. What for?”

“Apparently he was dating- no, married to? No, dating the boss’ daughter. The big boss. Eponymous Mr. De Conti himself.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Anyways, apparently they got into a nasty fight, and she pulled a couple of strings and got him dumped out on his ass.”

“Jeez.”

The crate that held the Sunshine Project was on wheels, smooth rolling occasionally interrupted by a bump in the otherwise cleanly-paved asphalt or a rock. When that happened, it curled up a little more, groaning in discomfort from the nausea it had been left in.

“He was a kid, too. Like, not even thirty. You know the reason that he got that high up was because he was dating her.”

“Really.”

“Yeah! High school sweethearts, my ass. I mean, if I studied for twenty fucking years at-”

“DeConti Technologies.”

The movement stopped, and Sunshine took the opportunity to readjust itself. From the thin slats in the crate, it could see some sort of door.

The light hurt its eyes. Looking up had been a bad idea.

There’s some shuffling, and a beep. The second man speaks first, this time.

A few more beeps, and then they’re moving again.

Sunshine isn’t privy to much info surrounding them. They mostly learn things from chatty handlers.

All they know this time is that they’re not the only person- project- being transferred. Something about attempted infiltration from a rival.

The crate gets pulled along a far smoother floor this time, sometimes more footsteps joining them. Sometimes it’s just the two sets that Sunshine is used to. After a bit, there’s a harsh turn, and then another stop. Sunshine vaguely recognizes the hum of LED lighting. Flinches away from the slats. There’s a click in the lock of the crate, and the door slowly opens.

Dully, Sunshine curses at the fact that someone decided to put it through a chemical flush immediately before transfer. And then, judging from everything around them, they were going to be trying some new infusions immediately after. They don’t feel great.

“You sure about leaving Sunshine with this one? I mean, it’s being moved because- well, I mean, I heard from a friend it mauled its last cellmate.”

“Ooh.”

“Had to take the poor thing to emergency surgery.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t worry, gentlemen.”

A third voice interrupts them, self-assured and confident. Sunshine doesn’t see their face as it’s ushered out of the crate, the less talkative worker making a face at the pile of sick in the corner. It’s pulled up to its feet, the larger and chattier one throwing its arm over his shoulder as he walks it to a familiar set of machinery. Set down with a friendly clap on its shoulder as it adjusts to the new setting. Tries to get its head to stop spinning.

“We’ve sedated it after that incident. Besides, we’d owe you a lot of money if your bioengineering work was ruined. I assure you, every precaution has been taken to assure its safety.”

The ports are well-designed. A little magnetic pulse, and they open up. The cables that are inserted into them are thick, bendable plastic. Most of the chemicals inside them have been dyed with food colouring, to distinguish them from one another. Nontoxic. Not enough to change the composition that’s going inside of their body.

They’re allowed the dignity of keeping its hospital gown mostly on. Tied around the waist, front down so the ports on its shoulders, arms, and chest are plugged in.

When it’s all hooked up, with the chemicals- they never tell it what- slowly seeping into it, Sunshine lays down on its side.

The worst is the one on its tailbone. The base of the spine is an integral place for these infusions. At least, that’s what it’s been assured. But it always hurts, and it always feels uncomfortable.

At least it’s past the phase where they duct-taped its hands together to stop it trying to remove the cable.

The big worker gives it one last sympathetic look, before the whole group and the crate leave.

It could have sworn they were talking about it having a cellmate. But it didn’t see anyone. Just it, the wires, the door, and the cold floor.

Until the door opened again.

The noise was loud. Metal on tile, and the scraping of metal on metal.

Sunshine lifted its head again, dizzy.

There was another scientist- a different logo on their coat- watching as eight unfamiliar other workers tried to drag in… something.

It looked kind of like a person. Sort of. Sunshine blinked, squinting a little.

The thing was huge, easily almost twice Sunshine’s height. Long, metal limbs, black hair, metal panelings replacing most skin. They’d be scared, if it didn’t look exhausted, if it wasn’t being held up as it blearily made its way into the room. The thing almost fell over onto its side several times, nearly crushing the men under it. Its ears were down, pinned to the sides of its head in seeming exhaustion.

Eventually, it was dragged into the other corner of the room. It didn’t move.

The men left, and the scientist behind them, turning sharply on their heel.

Sunshine stared at the other thing. It almost forgot to blink.

It was huge. That went through their mind again. The way its back hunched and its limbs twitched as it… slept? Felt unnatural. Like it wasn’t used to being like this.

They decided they would join it in resting. Closed their eyes, and let the rhythm of the infusion’s drip lull them to sleep.

The thing sniffed them, inspected the infusion ports, ears up and forwards. Looked like whatever they’d sedated it with had worn off.

Sunshine woke up to a cold nose on its shoulder. Warm metal pawing at its side.

Instinctively, one of its hands went up to protect the ports. Last time one had been dislodged, well… Sunshine’s face and left shoulder showed how bad of an idea that was.

Sunshine flinched away, slowly sitting up. They remembered what the bigger worker had said- mauled its last cellmate.

It was sitting close to them, hunched over. Looking more like an animal than a person.

The black metal on its chin led into two metallic fangs, pointing up.

It surprised Sunshine when the thing spoke. Enough that they flinched away from it at the sudden noise.

But the voice was softer than they’d anticipated. Not gentle on the ears, but not painful.

“... like me.”

“Who are you?”

Sunshine couldn’t respond. Their voice wouldn’t obey them even if they wanted to speak. Instead, they stayed still as the thing inspected them.

Sunshine isn’t sure what it means by that.

Or what it intends when it starts nudging them back towards the wall, making them flinch again and make a quiet noise of pain when it bumps the tailbone cable into the wall.

The rest of the infusion isn’t pleasant. It never is, really.

That stops it, though. Something flashes in its eyes. It tilts its head, and then gently pushes Sunshine down with a hand. Paw?

They’re too horizontal to care. Instead, they stare up as it lays down beside him, body large enough to curl around Sunshine easily.

That’s the cycle, though. Unpleasant infusion, unpleasant observation, unpleasant flush, unpleasant waiting period.

Without thinking, Sunshine reaches a hand up. Runs a hand over the soft fur on one of the thing’s ears, causing it to twitch.

Although, unexpectedly, the thing makes the whole ordeal almost… pleasant. When Sunshine has to adjust, trying to run from the pain of having something foreign injected into their body, it curls in closer. When they relax, and their breathing evens out, its mechanical tail taps the floor.

Like it’s wagging. Like a dog.

It’s surprisingly pleasant. And the thing doesn’t seem to mind.

When Sunshine goes up for another pet, it even pushes its head up to encourage the movement. They can’t move their arm too far, or risk disrupting the cable work, so it’s a nice compromise.

Eventually, it adjusts, putting a massive metal arm over their side. It feels like it’s crushing them, but the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant. And Sunshine’s hand can move comfortably over its head, at least until the movement slows and stops.

It was reassuring.

Vaguely, in the hazes where they woke up to readjust, Sunshine realized that because of their cellmate’s sheer size, they were hidden entirely from view. Sure, there were cameras, but not in the infusion bay. And they couldn’t be seen from the door.

When Sunshine woke up properly again, their friend was still dead asleep, but had been moved off of them. Someone was holding their head up as the cables were being removed from the ports, which were then closed up with the ‘clicker thingy’.

Then, Sunshine was laid back down, and the workers scurried out.

None of them said ‘Hello’, so none of them were the nice, chatty one. That was sad. Sunshine liked that one.

It circled around behind them, and then that paw was over their tailbone, pushing them across the floor a little in an attempt to inspect the port.

When their cellmate woke up, it pushed itself onto all fours, and yawned. Big, metal fangs glinting in the light as it stretched. It looked back over at Sunshine, and tilted its head. Looked… concerned?

They weren’t great at telling emotions anymore.

They managed to turn around, making eye contact with their cellmate.

It spoke again. Quiet, gentle. Concerned.

“Where did it go?”

Sunshine tilted their head. Pointed up at the infusion bay they’d just slept in. If you squinted, you could see the ends of the cables in their bays.

It made its way back over, pushing up onto its hind legs to inspect the bays, terrifyingly tall even when it wasn’t at its full height. Tried to tug the biggest one, the one connecting to the tailbone port, down. Like this, it looked closer to natural on two legs.

It looked back down at Sunshine. Tugged at the cable.

Sunshine shook their head. They couldn’t speak, but… trying to communicate wasn’t too hard. Shaking and nodding one’s head and pointing went a long way.

That seemed to make sense to it. The thing went back down, and looked at Sunshine with an expression bordering on pity.

Sunshine pushed themself back up onto their feet, being barely the same height as their cellmate, who was on all fours.

It went back to the corner it had originally been left in, and Sunshine followed.

When they sat down by it, it curled its tail around them.

It took a little bit for Sunshine to look at the tail. It was a beautiful, terrible, mechanical thing. Smooth and nice.

When their cellmate didn’t react badly, they ran their hands over it, looking at the work. It looked almost familiar, but they couldn’t place from where.

“Miss yours?”

That startled them. Sunshine looked over, and saw that their cellmate had curled around them more, head looming over their shoulder.

They weren’t sure what to say. What their cellmate thought. So they just nodded, and it looked sad again. The tail thumped slightly, before settling down, letting Sunshine inspect it.

Eventually, one of the handlers came in. They looked, frankly, terrified, and seeing Sunshine there didn’t seem to help. Sunshine wasn’t sure what was happening, or why their cellmate seemed agitated.

Well, at least not until the strange gun the handler held was pressed to its neck, and with a ka-chunk noise, it went limp.

The handler left. Sunshine sat there, not sure what to do.

Eventually, they settled on sitting in front of the cellmate they had decided would be their new friend. Slowly petting its hair in the way that seemed to make it happy, and sitting still when it shook or growled in its sleep.

It had kept them safe when they slept. They could return the favor.

A few days passed like that. Sunshine was adjusting okay to the move, and their friend had, seemingly, been slowly weaned off of the sedatives they gave it. It was nice. The two of them spent most of their time together- not that there was really much else to do. The little entertainment Sunshine had in their old cell hadn’t come with them.

They mostly entertained themselves by listening to their friend and inspecting the metal, when it was in the mood to be inspected.

The unspoken arrangement was that they kept each other safe. Sunshine gave their friend most of their food, and their friend growled at anyone who came in, except for the infusion team. Then, while it didn’t speak to them, it paid close attention to them when they were being hooked up.

When one slept and the other didn’t, the other would stay up and keep them safe. From what, Sunshine wasn’t sure. But it was good. It made them feel better to be able to help their friend, in the way it seemed to be protecting them.

Their friend spoke in small, broken sentences. A voice that sounded like it would be nice laughing, or talking too loud. Maybe they could get it to that point someday.

Sunshine, for their part, didn’t speak. Well, not much. Most of the caretakers back at the old lab had heard less than ten words from them in the entire stay, and they couldn’t make themselves talk if they wanted to. Not that they wanted to.

Sunshine wasn’t great at telling time. They couldn’t tell when it was night and when it was day, and so they slept when they were tired and stayed awake when they weren’t. The infusions and flushes probably didn’t help, with the level of brain fog they caused him.

But they definitely knew that something was wrong when they woke up, unplugged, and alone.

Their friend was at the other end of the room, growling. If it had fur, it would be raised. Its ears were pinned back, and it was staring at Sunshine.

They stood up, walking over to it. Maybe that wasn’t the smartest decision, but they were worried.

“... not him.”

What? Sunshine was confused, and their friend didn’t look much better. Its hair was messed up, pupils blown out, eyes darting around but always coming back to Sunshine.

Sunshine had heard murmurs from the people who came to check in on them, who sometimes dragged their friend out and back in again. Read the warnings on its metal, when the letters didn’t make their head swim. Those caution warnings, which they had taken as a sign of safety, because this was their friend, were now advising them to stay away from the thing slowly stalking towards them.

That didn’t seem to help, though. It snarled, and the metal fangs they’d inspected and that had brushed against them when it checked in were, all of a sudden, what they were meant to be.

Terrifying.

Sunshine looked at its face again. The way it was stalking towards him. They were terrible at expressions, and most faces ended up a smudge in their mind. But they were fairly confident in their guess that under the anger in its face, it looked a little afraid.

Afraid of them?

“Stop.”

They were half its height. It could pick them up easily. They had come to depend on it for safety. Why did it seem afraid of them?

Sunshine didn’t have the voice to ask. They just walked forwards, reaching a shaking hand out to try and run it through their friend’s hair. That always calmed it down.

Sunshine pulled their hand back. Okay. No touch. That was okay.

“Not…. leave. Go. Stop lying to me.”

Sunshine can’t exactly protest that they haven’t said anything, so there’s no chance they could have lied. Instead, they slowly back away. The words are confusing, but it doesn’t seem to understand anything it’s saying either.

“Where is he?”

Sunshine keeps backing away.

“... not him. Wrong.”

It sounded like it was talking to itself, but the words were spoken to Sunshine.

Before they could figure out how to ask what it was talking about, it was on top of them. Moving far faster than something that big really should, paw- hand?- on their chest, pinning them down.

The claws were sharp. They dug past the cloth, making painful red lines in their chest.

“Get away.”

They can’t. They’re pinned down. It’s breathing heavily over them, panting like it’s terrified.

“Get away.”

Sunshine tries to push themselves away, but that just makes it worse. The other paw is over their head, and then there’s a lot of pain, and a ringing noise, and a faraway yell, and then there is quite a bit of nothing.

Its eyes shoot open further when they groan softly, and its tail curled closer to their side.

They come to on their back, staring at the ceiling. It’s curled around them again, and there’s a pool of blood on the floor.

Theirs, probably.

“So sorry.”

“Sorry.”

The voice is familiar. It’s their friend’s voice, calm and soft and worried. Not like the panicked voice they’d heard before.

Sunshine feels cold. That’s weird. It’s usually a manageable temperature in here.

Their hospital gown has been draped over them, like a makeshift blanket. There’s a very large bloody patch on it, slowly spreading.

“I can help.” It pauses, looking almost like it’s about to cry. “Fix you.”

Sunshine watches as it circles them again, and when it stands up they can see a trail of blood across the floor. Two, actually- a smaller one that looks like it came from their head.

Oh. It’s Sunshine’s blood. That makes sense.

It settles down, between them and the door. Like normal. They move their head so they’re looking straight up again.

“I’ll make it okay.” A little pause. A noise. “Don’t go. Can’t lose…”

“Didn’t know. Confused. I’m so sorry.”

Sunshine keeps staring at the ceiling.

It makes a noise that sounds almost frustrated.

They stay there like that for a little while. Sunshine isn’t sure how long. Their friend mumbles names sometimes. Or words. Or apologies.

Eventually, there’s a noise. The sound of a door opening. Footsteps, and a lot of them.

“Get away from the project.”

Sunshine’s friend snarls again. Not directed at them, so it’s not scary. Its tail lashes, and it rises up again. Twice Sunshine’s size. Bigger than anyone else in this room.

Their friend growls, turning over and slowly standing up.

Sunshine turns their head to the side, seeing the legs of what look like handlers. A couple different uniforms.

When their friend stalks forwards, and they get a clearer look at some of the people, there are gasps. A “Christ.” A “Not another one.” And an “Are we sure it’s alive?” met with an “It moved, look, it’s breathing.”

They feel safe. If anyone is going to protect them, their friend will.

Watching it advance, Sunshine feels safe until there’s a soft yip from his friend, almost a whimper, and it falls to the floor in a giant heap.

One of the people in the group, a member of the few in lab coats, walks up to it and kneels down to fiddle with something.

Some of the workers run over to Sunshine, one kneeling down over them, gingerly pulling down the makeshift blanket when another worker gives them the go-ahead.

A huge gash, in the center of their chest, and they’re losing a lot of blood from it. So deep that their intestines were visible.

That’s not good. The sounds of horror they hear only confirms it.

They were also covered in scratches, bruises, claw marks, and even a couple of bites.

Out of the corner of their eye, there’s movement. It’s up again, moving, and scared. The scientist waves it over to the corner, where it makes itself look as large as possible.

The scientist, for their part, comes to join the workers standing around them. Inspects Sunshine with a detached stare and a soft smile. They look comforting, almost pretty. That could be the blood loss, though. They have dark hair in a… ponytail? Maybe? Sunshine isn’t sure. The fluorescent lights reflect nicely off of the pearls on their glasses chains, though.

This should probably hurt. They can see their own guts. They should be screaming or something. But Sunshine feels calm. The handler kneeling over them- saying words, calling them ‘Sunny’, and they recognize the voice as the talkative one- seems incredibly concerned by that. He is, however, shut up when the one next to the scientist speaks.

“Dog broke another one, Mal.”

This worker doesn’t seem to be much more than mildly displeased with the whole situation. Sunshine manages to move its head to look at the thing cowering in the corner.

Is that ‘Dog’?

That seems like a fairly plain name for something like that. Sunshine thinks, vaguely, while watching its insides be put back in, that it would name Dog something cooler. Like “Deathinator” or “Murderpaws”.

That was the last coherent thought they had for a while. Sunshine went limp in the arms of whoever had picked him up, head lolling to the side. His vision went crossed, but he thought he could make out Dog cowering in the corner. The scientist with the long hair and the glasses chain- Mal?- was saying something to it.

After that, it was a blur. Lots of lights. Something injected in their arm. And then another injection in their neck.

Noises that sounded like voices. Being carried on a stretcher. At least, it felt like one. Sunshine was very horizontal.

They faded in and out of consciousness. Most times, they woke up somewhere else. One time it was on a table, surrounded by people in surgical masks. One time, in what looked like an infusion chamber.

Eventually, though, they started waking up in the same place. A room. It looked like the hospital rooms they’d seen on TV, with green walls and a window. There’s a makeshift infusion bay above them, which isn’t putting in any of the coloured chemicals they were used to.

The talkative worker was there sometimes. They didn’t understand any of his words. But he chatted to them.

They aren’t sure when it is that the words started being words again.

“... I tried to tell them not to transfer you back there, you know. Big animal and all. Christ. You should have seen what he did to you. We didn’t think you were going to make it.”

They’re hooked up for a flush, this time. Make them sick, get everything out of their body. It’s not pleasant.

“Anyways, there should be more cameras in there. I know you don’t talk, but, uh… if you ever decide to, it’d be handy. You can yell at one of the cameras if that thing mauls you again.”

They can’t ‘decide to’. Not that they have the voice to say that. Still, Sunshine nods. That gets a smile from the worker.

Sunshine spends most of the walk back to the room not walking. They’re covered in bandages, with a large dressing around their midsection that they’ve been informed will need to be changed every two days.

“Glad to hear it. Well. You know.” He slaps his knees, standing up and groaning slightly.

“You ready? Big day today. Still wish they’d have put you somewhere else, or sent that thing back to his original lab. But I’m no big shot, so they don’t listen to me.”

Their old hospital gown was destroyed, so someone had dressed them in a tee shirt with a logo they couldn’t currently read, pajama pants without strings, and fuzzy socks that made walking on the smooth floors difficult. Mostly, they were dragged by a few workers.

When the door opens, Dog growls. It’s got something on it, this time, around its upper arm. Sunshine’s vision is too blurry to really tell what.

The growling stops, however, when it sees Sunshine. Then, it’s quiet. Eerily still. The workers set them down leaning on the wall by the infusion port, and leave as quickly as they can.

Dog comes up to them. Looks them over, eyes wide.

Sunshine can’t deny that they’re a little afraid. But more than that, there’s instead relief. Seeing the only friend they had. Dog not being put down or taken away. A return to what Sunshine had come to consider normal.

When they’re sure that nobody but the two of them is in the room, it feels like the block in Sunshine’s throat fades away.

They manage an exhausted smile up at Dog.

Dog’s ears are still pinned back, and it- he, Sunshine thinks, remembering what the talkative worker said- looks nervous. Scared. An ear flicks, and Sunshine reaches out again. Slowly gives him a pet.

“I’m not mad at you.”

Their voice is dry. Small. Tired. Cracking slightly, from disuse.

“... nap.” The voice comes again, and Sunshine smiles.

Then, they’re horizontal again. The flushes aren’t pleasant, especially not ones after emergency surgery, so Sunshine isn’t sure if Dog pushed them over or if they fell.

Either way, there’s a familiar warmth surrounding them, hiding them from view by pushing into the wall.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s take a nap.”

#ask to tag #whump writing #whump #other's ocs: Dog #oc: sunshine #other's ocs: Dr. Mal #(slightly #oc: louis clay #thats the name of the talkative worker :)#lab whump #mal only gets one parenthese apparently. its what he deserves tbh #I HOPE THIS IS OK. IT WAS FUN TO WRITE BUT IDK IF IT MAKES A TON OF SENSE OR. IS GOOD.

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mykingdomforapen · 9 months ago

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courage of stars ch2 | writer's commentary

Wow, people are still reading this fic!! Amazing!! Thank you so much gang, I so appreciate it...

Shorter notes today, however still a couple of things that would get too wordy for an author's note on Ao3, so let's get to it!

***

Cheng Xiaoshi looked back and immediately skidded to a stop. Behind him were his parents, but so were a wave of hundreds of parents clinging to their children. Instead of a stone path of combed dirt, everyone was running and tripping over wild, untamed trees. The sound of sirens howled in the distance.

Cheng Xiaoshi cried out to his parents, but he had lost his voice along the way. He didn’t understand what they were running from, or to where they were going, but his heart thundered with their fear. He wanted to run with them, far from the planes and the bombs that pelted the city below.

So if it isn't clear in the narrative, Cheng Xiaoshi is essentially traveling through time in this whole section. Particularly, he has stumbled about sixty-some or seventy years into the past, during the Japanese invasion during the Second World War. The Japanese bombed China quite a bit, and quite frequently as well. Civilians had to run to the mountains for safety, wait until the damage was done, and then come back down. Give or take some time, the bombers come back, and then up the hill the civilians went once more.

***

He was no longer on the mountaintop among the fleeing civilians. He was in a disheveled room, furniture thrown aside and clothes shredded on the floor. The soldiers with their rifles and bayonets were laughing and talking in a language that Cheng Xiaoshi could not understand. At their feet, a young woman was splayed out on the wooden floor, eyes dull with death.

He was too young to understand why the soldiers laughed at her, bloodied broomstick in hand. In truth, he would never be old enough to understand why. It was impossible to accept.

He knew this was the little children’s mother. Somehow, he knew this was a year before his soul crossed their path on the mountain.

One of the reasons this story's rating is bumped up to an M. One of the many atrocities committed by the Japanese Imperial Army at the time was violent and nightmarish sexual assault, which was often paired with bodily mutilation. This is most famously done in Nanjing (aka Rape of Nanjing, or the Nanjing Massacre) on a massive scale. So my understanding of these children were that they were not originally from Guidu, but have come here to escape.

***

I should also note that Peidi University is not a real university (as far as I'm aware). It is a fictional name!

***

The second box–his father’s antique cameras, that Cheng Xiaoshi swore he would keep in better condition. A Dalai camera from the fifties, that his grandfather once used before Cheng Xiaoshi was born. A Qiyi camera that his father collected–the first official Chinese camera, now wrapped up in his mother’s old scarf to protect from gravity and time. A Nanjing model that he remembered Baba telling him stories about the camera’s history, but Cheng Xiaoshi couldn’t remember any of them.

Shoutout to this website for giving me a wonderful list and history of Chinese-branded cameras created during the Cold War! Cameras were such a high-end rarity for a great deal of the 20th century, so it was always special when someone had one, and was able to take family photos with it. I always laugh at Hasan Minhaj's joke in his Homecoming King special on Netflix when he talks about how his mother was the most sought after woman in town because her family had a camera(!!), because that's so very relatable.

#LC writes #stars commentary

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proosh · 1 year ago

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"Averse to all forms of cowardice?" I'm actually convinced you have no idea who you're talking about. One of France's defining character traits is that he's a coward. You sound like a fake fan.

Anon, and anyone else who's reading this, look. I'm really sorry for the tone the rest of this reply is about to take. You see, I'm someone who's very much about curating one's personal internet experience, and an advocate for mutual respect and sensibility in regards to fandom matters. I'm all about encouraging differing interpretations and analyses of characters, even if I don't necessarily agree or understand it's all a matter of perspective and if I'm not a fan of something? I ignore it, simple. I likewise expect the same sort of understanding from other participants in fandom: If I am posting things that is not to someone's taste, they can simply ignore me or block me to curate their personal online experience. You know, like civil people within a public forum.

However, you've decided to come to my inbox, on this wretched day after I have just been subjected to two and a half hours of the worst Napoleonic cinema experience the human mind can possibly conjure, to tell me that I am a "fake fan" over a silly little shitpost? Are you on crack? Is it crack you're smoking? Because, my good bitch, you will find it is you who is the fake fan.

For example, we've got literal direct canonical evidence of France being, like, incredibly and unfathomably enthusiastic about the idea of getting to go to war with the English again, specifically saying that being at peace feels like he's been "crammed into a fake version" of himself. I'm sorry, it really doesn't get more explicit than that. Look, it's not a headcanon I believe in, but that's okay. You do you! I'm happy for whatever interpretation you have! I will not be the one sending pissy little anons about it, I promise! You're welcome to block me if this is something that is incompatible with your fandom experience! Go for it! Please!

But, sure, maybe direct canon depiction isn't enough to defend the thought process as to my personal interpretation. I'll put this under the cut since I'm invariably getting long-winded, but let's have a quick fun lightning-round overview of French history and culture in regards to their collective bloodthirst and warmongering that doesn't really lend itself to an interpretation of 'cowardice' as a concept that's strongly represented within the French national identity (at least in my opinion);

The French have, for about a thousand-odd years, been heavily associated with an unusually bellicose, honour-bound, chivalric, warmongering ideal, to the point their ongoing national anthem is quite literally about murdering people and watering the fields with blood!

Historian Niall Ferguson argues that France is the most belligerent military power in history!

Literally over a million men were fed into the meat grinder of World War One! Literally an entire generation! Approaching 5% of the entire population!

One of the last bayonet charges in history was performed by the French! In 1995!

Their ongoing nuclear doctrine is one of the pants-shitteningly insane ones on the planet, and scared the piss out of the Soviets - Which is to say, they will happily drop a nuclear weapon on an enemy city as a warning shot! And they'll do it, too, because they keep refusing to sign nuclear arms treaties!

Their population is entirely and consistently prepared and ready to implode their own country and governance at the first sign of any infringement upon perceived civil and social liberties!

If you've read this far, anon, congratulations! I hope you can better understand the reason why I interpret France the way I do! If you disagree with me, you're welcome to come off anon and meet me at the Champs-Élysées at dawn so we can duel to the death over our incompatible opinions like true respectable gentlepeople of honour and class. Or you can just block me and not bother me again.

It's totally up to you, buddy!

#sorry to everyone for this i've decided to take the french nuclear doctrine to heart and just go apeshit #anon! please go away! fuck off! block me!#watch waterloo (1970) instead of napoleon (2023) btw #just to clarify this isn't to shit on anyone's opinion or interpretation!#genuinely. do what you want. idc.#what am i. a cop? go. be free. stop sending pissy anons over fake anime country boys.#from the askbox

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matrim-cauthons-hat · 10 months ago

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Sister Lorica stepped up to the ship's tech priest quarter master, its three eye lenses focussing on her as its mechadendrites continued their various tasks, her six crewmates shuffling in behind her. Having just returned from their blooding as novitiates, Lorica had been elevated to the rank of full sister and assigned as commander to a newly arrived Castigator tank, with several of her squadmates assigned as crew.

"I am Sister Lorica," she informed the tech priest, "commander of the Adamantine Apostle, and here to collect her compliment of small arms."

a monotone voice rattled from the vox caster built into the tech priest's jaw, "Inquisitive: is Sister Lorica and Crew of Adamantine Apostle versed in the maintenance rituals of Castigator class tank and components."

"We are, tech priest. since returning from the planets surface four days ago, we have bee drilled to exhaustion."

"Sagely: This is good, for only those capable of caring for the gifts of the Omnisiah shall be permitted their use. Plainly: this unit shall retrieve the small arms allocation for crew of Adamantine Apostle."

the tech priests mechadendrites ceased their various tasks and snaked off into the darkness of the tech priest's cage. As it began listing weapons, it would deposit them on a prepared cart.

"Stoically: three heavy bolters..."

Those were for the bow gun and sponsons. And the main reason Sister Lorica brought her entire crew. she couldnt lift three of the Throne forsaken things by herself!

"...one storm bolter..."

That would be mounted on the commander's cupola for her own use.

"...seven bolt guns..."

For personal defence, if the crew was forced to dismount, or Throne forbid, abandon Adamantine Apostle. The standard service weapon of the Adepta Sororitas

"...two flamers..."

That seemed a bit much, but Sister Lorica supposed that one could never have access to too much cleansing flame. In case they needed to help cleanup after a battle.

"...one shotgun..."

Sister Lorica pursed her lips at that one. A shotgun? Really? space in the tank was already pretty tight with seven people and their accompanying gear, but she supposed Sister Michelle, her driver, could use it to fire out her vision slit in an emergency.

"...two grenade launchers..."

Not a common weapon amongst the Adepta Sororitas but... maybe they could use them to fire smoke grenades or signal grandes...? throne where were they going to fit grenade launchers?!

"...and seven bayonets."

"Bayonets?" Sister Gladia said, moments before Sister Lorica herself did, "we're in a tank, why would be need bayonets?!"

"Enthusiastically: for use in close quarters combat," the tech priest replied, and then a mechadendrite brought a dataslate through the bars of the armoury cage and held it before Sister Lorica, "Sagely: sign to confirm transfer of small arms allocation for Adamantine Apostle."

#40k #warhammer 40k #adepta sororitas #sisters of battle #my stuff #pretty sure this was a story chieftain told about what he was issued as a tanker #but its sorortias now cos yall kno how i get about the sororitas

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ronqueesha · 1 month ago

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For nasosi

What recurring dreams do they have?

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

And the most important, Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

OOOO, thank you so much!

Send me some OC asks, maybe? 😎😎

What recurring dreams do they have?

The one that most commonly haunts Nasosi is the memory of her greatest failure. It wasn't long before her summons to Theodora Von Valancius' side, so the emotional wounds are still rather fresh.

It was a battle on some barely-memorably agri-world. One of countless planets whose surface was mostly used for cultivating crops to be exported around the galaxy. Orks had invaded the world for no reason other than to pick a fight, and the division of the Astra Militarium that Nasosi had been assigned to were sent to the front lines.

In the chaos of battle, Nasosi and a small group of soldiers were cut off from all support, surrounded on all sides by bloodthirsty greenskin xenos. She ordered her men to fix their bayonets and charge the enemy in a fatal last stand. Nasosi herself was moments away from diving into the sea of horrific green faces before reinforcements broke through the ork lines. She sacrificed hundreds of good soldiers for nothing, and was one of a handful of survivors.

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

Some commissars find the best way to motivate soldiers under their command is through harsh discipline and humiliation. Other commissars find great pleasure in finding the emotional weak points of their charges and using it to prod and needle them until they fight harder. Pet names that get under their skin is one of the best examples of that.

Nasosi was not one of those commissars. While she was known for her strict disciplinarian commands and no-frills leadership, she rarely used anything other than formal and purely professional forms of address. And this habit has largely followed her into the life of a rogue trader.

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Nasosi is aromantic, and has never felt the desire to be with another person in such a relationship. Any lingering thoughts of companionship or friendship outside of a small group of fellow commissars trained at the schola progenia was ruthlessly crushed by her teachers, and reinforced by the customs all commissars must follow. (for good reason, given their position as political officers and military commanders on the front lines)

Yrliet is the first person in the entire galaxy she has felt anything more than purely platonic emotions for. If Nasosi had remained the strict and dogmatic person she was before becoming a rogue trader and undergoing a dramatic transformation, this would have never happened. But here we are, and Nasosi is still figuring this relationship, and herself, out.

And the most important, Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

To go along with the previous question, Nasosi has unfortunately never kissed another person for romantic reasons, and so has no answer.

The closest thing she has come to kissing other people is during her old life as a commissar, sometimes she had to sit through political meetings and gatherings with people all across the Imperium. Some of which had customs such as greeting each other with soft pecks on the cheek. Nothing more.

Her relationship with Yrliet is far beyond physical attraction. Although some part of Nasosi's human nature does idly wonder what it might be like, it's not a loud voice. She is more caught up in daydreams of simply holding the Aeldari's hand.

#nasosi von valancius

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faithintheunknownsblog · 2 years ago

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This is the most random shit that no one asked for but here you go!

Alexander Anderson x Reader Drabble

Anderson sits up, groggily rubbing his eyes as he tries to gain more consciousness. He hears the smallest bit of a ruckus and realizes that’s why he has woken up in the middle of the night.

Waking up in itself wasn’t the alarming part to him- has always been a light sleeper- but what DOES scare him is that you aren’t laying in bed next to him. Every night you lay your beautiful head on the pillow that’s right by his own, so why weren’t you there now?

Anderson knows that it has something to due with the noise coming from somewhere within the house, and he is going to find out what the noise is. He puts on his glasses and grabs one of his bayonets that he keeps right next to the headrest of his side of the bed.

Anderson follows the noise to the kitchen and he is met with the sight of you dancing around like an idiot. Observing the scene he also notices some weird looking food in front of you.

This poor man not knowing that you don’t know how to dance and eat weird food thought you were possessed. He ran back to the room, grabbed his Bible and Holy Water, then ran back to the kitchen.

“What the,“ you felt the Holy Water hit your skin and look at him, seeing the concern in his eye. “What are you doing?!”

“You looked like you were possessed!” Anderson exclaims, oh his poor soul. He is so confused why you’re laughing at him, “what?!”

Once you finally stop laughing you explain to him that you were just making a midnight snack and doing your food dance. The reason why you’re acting so out of place is because you haven’t slept.

“Don’t ever scare me like tha’ again!” Anderson says, so relieved that his beloved is just a weirdo and not possessed by some evil otherworldly entity.

“I won’t-” you stand on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, “I promise.”

Anderson kisses your forehead and watches you turn back to what you were planning on eating for your midnight snack. He wasn’t sure if it was even safe to consume by any creature, “what even is that?”

“It’s-“ you go on to tell him what the crazy thing you made is, and to him it sounds disgusting. You can tell that by the face he makes, but it’s good to you and he might like it. You sit on the counter and hold the container your food is in up to him, “just try it!”

Anderson very hesitantly tries it and it’s one of the most rancid things he has ever had touch his taste buds. He without any hesitation spits it in the sink and wipes his tongue with a napkin, “tha’s wretched!”

”Eh-“ you just shrug and take another bite of your food, “-more for me I guess.”

Anderson just shakes his head with an exhausted sigh, you really know how to give this man a run for his money. “I’m goin’ back ta bed.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” you say and watch your beloved Scott man disappear down the hallway.

Once you're finished you throw your plates in the sink and leave them there for the morning, then you go back to bed. You crawl under the covers, careful to not wake him while you get comfortable on your side of the bed. Immediately he pulls you into his loving arms.

You have never needed to snuggle up to Alexander, because even in his sleep his body longs to feel the warmth of yours and he always embraces you in his strong but gentle hood when cuddling you.

You fall asleep with the biggest smile on your face, so happy that you finally found the one.

#hellsing fanfiction #hellsing ultimate #hellsing #hellsing fandom #hellsing x reader #alexander anderson

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thebaffledcaptain · 3 months ago

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Things that happened at the 2024 Mount Harmon Plantation Rebels and Redcoats Tactical Event

as recounted by a humble fifer light infantryman of His Majesty’s 22nd Regiment of Foot, for his own records:

Thanks to the weather forecast and the distance of the event, the 22nd had a whopping turn out of four men. Originally I had planned to do field music but the sergeant agreed that it was kind of pointless for such a small group, so, in a last minute change of plans, I had the opportunity to do my second new impression in as many weeks as 22nd light infantry??

We don’t even officially have a light infantry company for our unit anymore. This was the regiment’s only light kit, which we only recently put together for use at display events, so I felt very honored getting to christen it on the battlefield.

Officially speaking our battalion was "on reserve" in the morning, according to orders. However, this being a tactical event, obviously that was subject to change. The bets at how long we would stay on reserve came in at about 15 minutes.

We were on reserve for maybe five minutes.

The Doodles came in fast and also didn't feel much like playing by the rules (which were that if you were outnumbered, you were supposed to fall back lest you get killed or taken prisoner). Instead they camped at one end of a footbridge and heckled us while we had them bottlenecked for a good half hour.

For some reason the 22nd lads were all put in the second rank despite being the three shortest people on the company.

The good Sergeant brought his little carbine for me to use, figuring that, being the regiment’s resident Small Person, I would have less trouble with it than with a standard Model 2.

Overall I would agree it was more comfortable for me. My file partner from the 7th, however, was very patient as I struggled to fire from the second rank with a gun that was six inches shorter than everyone else’s and a height that was about a head shorter than his, too.

Established some pretty formidable fortifications by propping up a picnic table in front of the footbridge. No gabions necessary.

At one point our company led a bayonet charge against the Rebels still sitting at the end of this footbridge (and VASTLY outnumbered by British forces, mind you). The Doodles attempted a volley where only about four muskets went off but for some reason our entire company "died" because... well, we were attempting to play by the rules...

According to said rules, we were later miraculously revived by our commander with the Holy and Sacred Incantation "I Shalleth Liveth Forever Ressurectus."

Nearly lost the Sergeant to the Foreman Creek when he leaned back a little too hard on a fence that was a little too flimsy. His first reaction was “SAVE THE HAT! IT’S WORTH MORE THAN ME!” so you can imagine he was fine.

I admit that I, too, gasped about his hat before I vocalized any concern about him, as much as I care about him, but clearly we were on the same page.

The hat was fine, too, by some miracle. Thank goodness.

At one point two of the 22nd lads decide to run everyone’s canteens back up to camp along with a message for headquarters. This was a kind gesture until they ran straight into a group of Doodles and were never seen again for the rest of the battle. We could only assume the poor lads got captured… along with everyone’s water.

Initially I was unsure whether I would regret not sending my canteen with them to be refilled but as it turns out that was the best decision I could have possibly made. It was 83 degrees that day.

Eventually the 22nd sergeant takes his leave from us for Real Life Health Reasons which means I am now the only Cheshire in our battalion, having (presumably) lost both my comrades to the Rebels. I had never fallen out with the 7th guys until this weekend but they’re a nice group and I’m glad I was stuck with them and not… some of the other units.

The 7th guys, almost none of which now had water, spent the aftermath of the battle desperately asking around for any sign of the canteens, never mind the lads who took them…

Got back to camp and couldn’t find the rest of my regiment. After a while I stumbled across the Sergeant who appeared, to me, to have spawned like an NPC under a tree I had already passed multiple times.

Maybe 20 minutes later the Canteen Lads materialize seemingly out of thin air. I ask them how they managed to escape and they inform me they were never captured in the first place?

In a wild turn of events they managed to make a run for it and escape unscathed when that group of Doodles closed in, making it back to camp and bringing word to headquarters to send reinforcements… so it turns out they were the reason our battalion managed to escape from our position behind our picnic table fortification.

Unfortunately this also meant we were permanently separated from them for the rest of the battle because we were not remotely in the same place as when they left us, so evidently they just sat around until the coast was clear, with all the canteens, while we marched out to route the rest of the Doodles. The sort of stuff you only get at tacticals.

Once we were reunited it immediately became Regimental Nap Time. Every one of us just laid in the grass and slept for like an hour. It’s about the simple pleasures of life.

Both spoiled and not spoiled in terms of food this weekend. Being a group of only four, we had a dinner that exclusively consisted of random bits of cheese and bread and rotisserie chicken, which frankly was fine by me, but by no means our most elaborate meal.

However, the Sergeant seems to have taken up baking recently, and brought us a wonderful apple pie which we ate for dessert.

...and also breakfast the next day (with a bit of Skellig cheese, a new favorite of ours... would highly recommend). I mean, it beats burgoo (18th century style oatmeal) (though I am rather fond of burgoo).

Got to complete what I consider a reenactor rite of passage by using a bayonet as a bottle opener only to realize it was a screw top the whole time.

Made a friend of mine cry via sad 18th century music, which I consider more of an honor than anything else. She was fine, if anyone was worried, only expressing an emotion I too resonate with on a deep level (the Sad 18th Century Music Emotion).

The Rebels were out bright and early the next day—too bright and early for many of our tastes—as we had not received orders nor even eaten our breakfasts yet by the time we spotted them from camp.

It made for some cool maneuvers though so I can’t complain. My brother-in-arms sniped a stubborn Doodle who refused to fall with the rest of his unit. In the end I’m not sure if it was his own moral conscience or the hearty “DIE REBEL BASTARD!” that got him to stand down.

Ran a good bayonet charge at some Rebels who were confident they had us in a pincer maneuver only to discover we had already picked off the other half of said pincer.

In the meantime our commander interviewed our captives, asking questions such as “so, how did you feel when you saw you were being bayonet charged?” “on a scale from one to ten, how likely would you be to recommend this bayonet charge?” and “what was the scariest part—was it the Fusilier feathers, the light infantry [referring to me, the sole light infantryman in the battalion…] or the bayonets?”

The answer to this question was “the fifer.”

As a fifer myself (on most occasions) I am compelled to say this was the correct answer.

This event ended far too soon, partially because we simply routed the Rebels so thoroughly there was no point in continuing. The “war” was over by 10 am, which was far too early to leave, by my standards, so the Cheshires stuck around for a little longer to eat our yet unfinished breakfast.

In a very typical move, my brother-in-arms and I were the very last people to leave the site. Neither of us could be persuaded to leave any earlier than we possibly had to and spent a good amount of time procrastinating by helping the sergeant pack up all his stuff instead of dealing with our own.

In the end we were about five minutes too slow—we had managed to generally skirt the rain for the entire weekend until the very last couple minutes taking down the tent, during which it started suddenly pouring. To me, this seemed like a sign that we had gone as far as we could and now it was probably time to leave the 18th century, something I am always loathe to do, but alas… at least we can say we didn’t waste a second of it.

#this is like my own personal newsletter #sorry for the #long post #I was like ‘I could get used to this reenactment every two weeks thing’ but unfortunately it is over #thankfully I’m not waiting way too much longer for my next one #historical reenactment #god save the cheshire regiment #for real this time #this is your captain speaking

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sw33t-oubliette · 3 months ago

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why the swords

pretty sure theres not really any reason for bayonets specifically but the choice to give anderson bayonets Could be another alucard parallel , since bayonets were originally made to be attached onto guns to use as spears if you ran out of ammo . and guns are like alucard's whole thing

also he repeatively uses bayonet charges throughout the manga , except instead of a scaring away tactic he does it to kill . like in sword dancer , he just runs the fuck in there mutliple times [when he first walks down the stairs , after he does the fakeout thing] as a surprise tactic , just with actual intent to kill unlike how bayonet charges usually work

also some bits from the bayonet wiki that i think fit him in vol 8

also also hirano says this at the end of vol 1 and just doesnt elaborate . so take this as what you will cause i dont know what he meant either

#citizen interviews

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corvidous · 1 year ago

Text

Today on the Painting Table!

So this is a box of Undead Knights by Fireforge Games, frankly a stunning kit, clean, well designed, no mold lines, goes together well. And the sprue comes with two zombie dogs! For some reason! (With no bases included, weirdly) I'm trying something on this lot, I'm going for dry undead, dessicated rather than goopy, so I'm thinking grey with blue tones, right? So I actually gave it some blue-grey mix in the recesses before painting it properly, in the hopes of providing a decent undertone sort of thing:

So then I hit it with some of GW's Gryph Charger Grey contrast paint, since it's got that cool blue sort of thing I was going for, then painted the bones with zandri dust. And frankly the results were unsatisfactory:

It's just blotchy and kinda crap. I think contrast paints just fundamentally might not be the tool for this sort of thing, the last horse I painted using them was not very good either. I asked all my friends who paint for advice because I was stumped on what to do to fix these guys. The suggestion came back that I should do a heavy drybrush of a cool grey, and then progressively lighter (both in color and in pressure) series of drybrushes and that might fix the blotchy color. And I'll be damned but it worked!

No more splodgy finish, no more bizarrely pale highlights. Just a touch up for the bones and painting the collar and teeth and there we go!

So now I've got my two undead dogs done and ready to hit the table for Silver Bayonet, Frostgrave, or as a unit of Lesser Warbeasts for Dragon Rampant (ideally I'd have like 3 to 6 of them for that but ah well, they'll work in a pack of 2).

Now on to the really intimidating part: the horses.

#miniatures #thank you for coming with me on this painting journey #I'm still learning #Silver Bayonet #Frostgrave #Dragon Rampant #Fireforge Games #Undead Knights

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softliebgott · 2 years ago

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— not a perfect soldier

about: dropping into normandy, airborne troops are scattered. wandering alone in enemy territory, you come across a familiar face hiding in a ditch

warnings: none

word count: 907

The plane vibrated from flak and ground fire. At the door the bulbous red light bathed the soldiers in the color of their future. Hooked up to the line, most must’ve felt secure in that no one could see the trepidation on their faces. The countdown not heard or seen would be the last minutes of someone here.

Green washed over the plane’s interior, and for some reason you didn’t like St. Patrick’s Day anymore. What was the deal with that? It was only a color.

Your heart quickened, loud and deep in your ears like feet in thick snow, and you barely processed your own movements out of the door.

It was as though you had jumped into a rushing river. The strength of the wind struck you, and gravity began to carry you down. You remembered to pull your chute, and instinctively tensed for the opening shock. It nearly unjointed you when the canopy popped open, violent as the crack of a whip, yanking your head forward and pulling your feet up.

You swung wildly in the wind. Pink, orange, and red tracers criss-crossed around you, snapping by with little tugs. They viciously crackled next to your ears. It looked like everything was coming right between your eyes.

German rifles flashed below, and you thought you would land right in their laps. Their machine gun tracers were thick enough to walk them down to the ground.

You landed with a thud in an open field. On your back and looking up, chutes were blossoming out and tracers danced among them like fireflies. Hands shaky and prickling with static, you started to work on the fasteners connecting the harness at your groin. You glanced around, not recognizing your position.

Freed from the harness, you readied your rifle. You understood why stuffed animals were comfort security to children. This rifle was yours.

Wandering the darkness, a church bell tolled, and nearby machine guns fired into the sky. Staying shy of them, you jumped into a ditch. Crouched down, a shape moved in your peripheral, and cold poured over your innards. You don’t know why, but you reflexively said, “Flash!”

The shape hesitated. Moonlight stroked the bayonet in the stud of their M1 Garand. “Th–” He swallowed hard. “Thunder?”

You knew that small voice. “Blithe?”

He stuttered, “Yeah?”

He didn’t lower his rifle. He was scared.

Slowly, you let your rifle droop, and you angled yourself to fully face him. Touching a hand to your chest, you said, “It’s me. Y/L/N.”

Blithe blinked several times, and recognition softened his tense features. “Y/L/N?” He murmured.

“Yeah.” You began to approach him.

He looked away from you, and hugged his rifle to himself. He appeared so small.

“Blithe.” You tried to meet his eyes again; those eyes, soft and blue as sea glass–striking against the blotchy cam cream on his face. But now, those eyes were full of shadows–like monstrous shapes lurking just below the waters. Monsters of fear. “What are you doing down here?”

He blinked several times again, as though he needed to be sure he was still here. His mouth opened, stammering ghostly words. “I’m scared.”

“I’m scared, too,” you spoke slowly. “But it’s not good to stay here. We need to find the others.”

“I can’t move.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. “I know. I understand. This is the real thing. We’re here now. We’re in this. It’s okay to be scared. No matter how much they prepared us, we’re all still scared. Even those who won’t admit it.”

“I’m not a perfect soldier. I’m not what they need.”

“Not even plastic, toy army men are perfect soldiers. They all came out of their molds a little imperfect. That’s how humans are, and we can’t change that. Hell, even this operation isn’t perfect. None of us are where we’re supposed to be. I don’t even know where we are.”

“I don’t wanna let anyone down.”

“You won’t.”

Blithe went silent, shut up tighter than a clam, and still refused to look at you. His eyes turned glassy.

Glancing down, you exhaled through your nose in defeat. Unsure of anything and everything–what to do, where to go, what to say, you chose to sit next to Blithe. Shifting against the lumpy, dirt wall, you pulled your sleeve back to check your watch, angling it so the moonlight revealed its face. “Navy will be here in a few hours.”

You laid your head back, and listened to the distant eighty-eight flak fire, counting how long it took the guns to be reloaded. Five seconds.

“What makes a good soldier?” Blithe wondered aloud.

You twisted your lips in thought. “Everyone’s got their own opinion, but I think…I think a good soldier follows orders, but knows when those orders are wrong. So…a good moral compass. Someone who isn’t afraid to be human. And if you’re wondering, you are that.” You nudged his shoulder. “You are a good soldier. You’re here.” You stamped your rifle on the ground. “You’re away from home. Even if you are just sitting in this ditch. But I’m here, too.”

Blithe turned his head to you, finally meeting your eyes. Tears had made a clean cut through his cam cream. His adam's apple bobbed. “Thank you.”

You smiled and looked back to the sky, at the gauze-thin clouds flashing with chromatic bruises. You closed your eyes. “You’re welcome, Blithe.”

#band of brothers #albert blithe x reader #band of brothers x reader #albert blithe #albert blithe x gn!reader #band of brothers x gn!reader

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tokoyamisstuff · 1 month ago

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gn! Reader | not proofread | angst | happy end

A/N: Did Headcanons since my askbox is overflowing at this point thank you, I love creating for you guys!! 💌

No one's sure what evil might attacked the Judas Priest, but even his abilities have their limit. He can't withstand anything.

You haven't left Anderson's side ever since the incident. He's been unresponsive for days already, and you insist to care for him all by yourself. Reading to him, praying, tending to his wounds.

By the end of the week you're still there, holding his hand as you pour your heart out, crying about needing him to come back and how you can't live without him. Finally, he begins to move, but your relief won't last for long.

Before you can even register it you're tackled to the ground with a bayonet pressed against your throat, furious eyes staring you down.

You try to reason with your boyfriend, tell him he's ill and confused and you don't want to hurt him, but any word of yours is deflected by spiteful insults and accusations.

The shock sits too deep for you to defend yourself, but gladly Heinkel and Yumie notice the turmoil and come to your aid. It's only due to his weakened state that they manage to tear him off of you, yet he continues hurling vile threats at you in his demented wrath.

There's not much left but fleeing the scene, heart scattering as you hear him scream after you, ordering his foster kids to let go off of him so he can "slaughter this abomination". You never thought to hear such words coming out of his mouth ever again.

He only calms down after the Vatican officials confirm their explanation. Yet it remains absurd to him, he refuses to believe that he willingly fraternized with a rotten monster like you are one, even bringing it back home to lurk among innocents. Sacrilege.

Whatever led him to such shameful deeds, god must've given him a second chance to correct this mistake through this twist of fate.

He tries to rationalize the decisions he cannot remember, to repel everything that feels like an entirely different person has committed it. Yes, certainly he was under a spell this whole time and only now it was broken! How could the others not see, why did no one stop him - worse, even allowed it to happen?

Nonetheless, you were an official member of Iscariot as it seems, so his hands are tied for now if he doesn't want to face repercussions. But having an enemy right in front of his nose and being unable to cleanse the world off of this filth only further feeds into his anger and madness.

You on the other hand remain heartbroken and even slightly terrified of your former lover, feeling his vicious bloodlust oozing off of him whenever you meet. Which is quite often, frankly, with him always observing you from afar.

The more he learns, the more this whole situation enrages him. He sees his room full of your belongings, photos that prove how far your enticement had defiled him. He tears it all off the walls in a fit of rage, throws everything he didn't destroy out, yet Yumie stored it away safely shall he want it back someday.

What's worse is that while his mind can't remember, his body certainly does. He can still feel your touch lingering on him like something not even holy water could cleanse, the sound of your voice like a siren and your scent lingering everywhere driving him insane. His body reacts against his will, being drawn to you no matter what.

He's disgusted just looking at you, seeing that beautiful face as nothing more than the alluring mask of a predator. You can act innocent all you want, but he's certain to know what you really are...and he'll make anyone else see the truth as well.

Even though it's hard, you try to avoid him as good as you can, no matter how much you yearn for things to go back to normal. Nothing had seemed to work until now and you seriously consider just leaving this life behind alltogether. Being so close yet so far away was torture...

One night he sees you carrying a young child through the hallway, calming the boy down after a nightmare. Yet his blinding hatred twists logic into thinking the kid in danger. He practically tears the boy out of your arms as he cries and pleads to stay with you, making you finally snap.

You order the kid back to his room and punch Anderson's face so hard that he loses a teeth that instantly regrows - yelling at him to just put an end to your misery if he really wants things to end this way. He doesn't, he can't.

After that encounter he's even more shaken up than before, and not knowing what else to do he finds himself rummaging through your belongings. He had thrown it all into a box and disposed of it without looking at anyhting first back then, but gladly Yumie didn't ask any questions as he wanted them back.

There's small gifts inside like a handmade rosary, books he cannot remember having read, an incredibly ugly shirt that said 'fluent in prayers and dad-jokes'...and a photo of you two in front of the cologne cathedral. It's dated two years back, and there's something scribbled on the back in his own handwriting: "I have found the one whom my soul loves." (Song of Solomon 3:4) The longer he looks at it, the more painful his guts twist. He seems so...sincerely happy back then. Unlike the miserable wretch he is now.

At this point it's more a mental block than anything, and it's up to Anderson to overcome his own bigotry and allow himself to break down those walls.

Soon after Maxwell has the glorious idea of assigning you two to the same mission so you'd at least find some common ground again. It'll be the most awkward travel you've ever been through, but at least he's quiet for a change. Truth be told he's not in any state to argue, being far too busy ignoring his resurfacing affection for you despite still not remembering a thing. Seems like some things are just predetermined.

Just before diving into the actual fight you pray besides each other, and Anderson breaks the silence with a heartfelt apology for his behavior and a promise to make up for the sorrow he caused you. He doesn't voice all of his thoughts, but deep inside he hopes that maybe the two of you can become close once again, even if he never remembers.

During the battle however the enemy got you cornered, and upon witnessing you getting seriously injured Anderson sees red. He comes to your aid, slaying himself through to you while catching several bullets in the process. It's not the first time this has happened, and as soon as you're safe he murmurs the words he always reassured you with in the past: "We've got each other's back."

It won't be like in the movies, with that one big moment instantly healing him, but almost losing you certainly got the process starting. He'd fall to his knees and give you a bear hug, his mind still foggy yet some memories slowly returning.

From then on you'll recapture everything together, dwelling in old memories of your relationship through evidence or long conversations. Things will take a while, but no matter how contradicting his actions were, Anderson had never really stopped being yours. His heart is always only ever roaring your name.

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alexander anderson #alexander anderson x reader #reader insert #writing #headcanaons #fanfiction

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pregnantseinfeld · 2 years ago

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One thing that's deeply impacted me was reading about the socialist reaction to the onset of world war one. The confusion and betrayal and tragedy wrapped up in it. Socialists had just recently been meeting from across Europe and far beyond, agreeing that they wouldn't have anything to do with petty national rivalry-- and in the blink of an eye they were bayoneting each other. Many who'd been denigrating their bourgeoisie state would be overnight patriots. Those who wished to stand by their principles had their papers shut down, or faced arrest. So much effort was dissolved so quickly, and workers who'd been seeing that their interests were the same as workers everywhere were made to kill each other anyway.

If war engulfs the world again, whatever that implies in a world with nuclear weapons and even more complex dependency, are we better off or worse then we were then? Technology has allowed us to more than ever get to know people across the globe, how easily can that be wiped away with jingoism again? Is this a reasonable anxiety to have?

#reading

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musecraft · 1 year ago

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alright ! i've had a full 24+ hours to Process — which may have involved a bottle of prosecco ( i don't drink btw ) & going through a few waves of tears — & i'm here ready to talk about the finale. of.md spoilers below the cut, obviously !

some things i actually did like ( a short list ) :

the plot on paper. the beats of a good story were there but it was so rushed through & poorly executed that it just felt messy, unearned, slapped together.

ed thinking stede is dead & disassociating so hard he goes on a rampage & murders several of the soldiers in very sexy ways, ie: bayonet flip. also ed coming out of the ocean like aphrodite, ready to murder in his black leather. slay.

jim & archie kissing Like That before going to battle. also jim throwing knives from in the trees. very hot, powerful trans energy there, i really enjoyed it.

unfortunately everyone on the crew looked very sexy in stolen navy uniforms.

spanish "you best believe everyone in this household is poison trained" jackie.

zheng existing ( i would like to formally request a whole show about her )

stede yelling 'for love !' when attacking the british. romantic stede my beloved.

most of izzy's main dialogue — especially telling ricky that what really matters about piracy is belonging to something in a world that has told you that you are worth nothing. & yes, even most of of his conversation with ed. izzy telling him it's ok to just be ed ? killed me. & blackbeard was both of us ? don't even. i did want him to apologize to ed properly & am still glad that he did but be careful what you ask your god for am i right.

the final panning shot of the crew on the revenge. beautiful shot despite it all.

issues i had ( a longer list ) :

the editing ? why so many harsh cuts ? the way it was spliced together only contributed to the chaotic & disjointed feeling. & of course, the pacing. i think these two issues are connected & probably not the fault of the writers themselves. the show clearly really needed all 10 episodes to do what it really wanted to do, & this finale is just begging for that lost hour of screentime.

it wasn't even a good fuckery lol.

i wish lucius & pete's wedding had been... idk, just more. something more akin to calypso's birthday, a proper celebration for them. i also wish they would have given an indication they're still poly. "i now pronounce you mateys" was good tho.

ed apologizing & saying i love you & stede not doing either one in return. stede not being sappy in his irl fantasy ? impossible, im really confused by that choice.

0 resolution for stede's entire arc ? 0 indication of self reflection on his part ? & thus no resolution for the primary conflict of the show's central relationship ? they didn't even talk about their future, it just cut to them standing there & stede saying "so i guess we're innkeepers now" as if that's all he would have had to say about that ? i know that this show handwaves away a lot of things, like travel times & the realities of sailing, but i thought the story was literally about this relationship, & we don't get to see them decide on what their future together will look like. it's framed as stede just kinda going along with ed's latest whim ( since you know, they've always worked out soooo well for him in the past ) even though it's the exact opposite of what he's been moving towards personally lately, all without even saying a word about it ? i'm not even saying that i don't like this ending, but it just again felt so unearned.

very little actual resolution for ed's arc. his whole deal this season was about deciding who he wants to be, but he flip flops every time something doesn't go his way & the episode gave us no reason to think that would be different now with their inn. also he just killed a bunch of soldiers after having serious trauma surrounding the act of killing throughout the entire series, but i guess we're just supposed to believe that's ok, he's totally fine, he's an innkeeper now ! (will say more on this topic in the final section.)

poly things not being handled well or outright forgotten about. like olu / jim / archie / zheng has all the potential in the world for a beautiful poly love story & we barely got to see them interact together at all. & to think i was all :eyes: when izzy was dubbed the unicorn because i actually thought for a few episodes there that they might be doing the same thing for polyamory in s2 that they had done for queerness in s1, showing the audience that it's ok to see ourselves in stories & not just on the fringes, we're not stupid or freaks reading into something that isn't there. but turns out, it wasn't there, & i was the freak & the clown all along. live & learn.

the elephant in the room ( rip izzy you beautiful freak ) :

here's the thing. obviously i was never going to be happy that they killed my most favoritest old man. the fact that he's dead just when he found something real to live for is literally heartbreaking to me. but i could have swallowed it as a natural & important part of the narrative if one small thing was done differently: izzy could have had an actual sacrifice. & not for ed, but for the crew. after his speech about living for the crew, him choosing to act in a way that compromised his safety but earned their freedom would have felt like a completion of his arc. but instead it was a stray bullet to the left side which he earned in stede's so-called suicide mission ( don't even get me started on that line given where izzy started this season ), an injury which the show has told us previously is 100% survivable.

in the crew sacrifice scenario izzy could have acted as the symbol of piracy itself, a way of life that is dying. he is, after all, The Pirate (aside from blackbeard himself) on the show. & he has a history of letting shit slide that kinda doesn't align with the way of life they're trying to build on the revenge, not just in s1 but also in the scene with lucius in s2 ("& you? are you happy with all this?" "well, this is a pirate ship, & i'm a pirate so... yeah, i'm good with it.") ricky says they are at "the end of piracy" & izzy is the last REAL pirate (including ed because at this point as he is moving away from that life). & as izzy himself says in s1, "the only retirement we get is death." izzy also shows pretty intense self-preservation, & most of his shitty actions in s1 are motivated by often misplaced survival instincts, ("i'm not dying. not for you & not for that ponce,") so having him go against this longstanding character trait to protect the crew would have felt earned after his dramatic growth. it could have worked. it still would have hurt, but it could have worked.

instead, the way it is actually framed, the narrative actively robs izzy of this symbolism & instead makes his death entirely about ed & ed's relationship to piracy. having him die in a random incident & then having his death scene be followed up by ed finally "officially" (for the third time) giving up piracy honestly flattens everything i find interesting about them as characters & their dynamic to each other.

ed & izzy have very clearly been in clearly a mutually toxic codependent relationship (platonic or otherwise) for decades, but the framing of izzy's death being the only thing that can free ed from piracy (& blackbeard) turns izzy from a complex character of his own into a 2-dimensional plot device. & if izzy truly couldn't exist without blackbeard, then it would make sense — but we've just seen that he can, actually ! that he is a person outside of that relationship, despite what he himself thought for most of his life ! that they can both exist outside of them, & there is a very real possibility that neither of them actually need blackbeard anymore. so instead his death feels cruel to me. & because we know this is the show where injuries simply don't matter unless we need them to, we know that this was a conscious choice, that the writers genuinely felt he had to die for the story (ed's story) to continue.

& you know, that's fair on some level. he's the lead after all. but i also think this framing is actually kind of reductive to ed's character ! i don't write ed, but part of what makes him so compelling to me is that he is... kinda a "bad person," but he wants to be better. he's extremely complex. he has trauma & big feelings & he doesn't always act on them in the right way. & he feels guilt & remorse — he knows he has done wrong in the past & wants to be better, even if he doesn't always know how. & izzy has admittedly been an obstacle to him reaching that end in the past, but to frame it as if ed's actions were because of izzy, & actually izzy was making ed be blackbeard & manipulating him into doing bad things that he didn't really want to do, then i guess now that izzy is dead ed is free to skip off into the sunset happily ever after with his man ! the bad influence in his life finally gone, so he is all healed ! never mind that his most recent return to piracy & killing spree as blackbeard had literally nothing to do with izzy & everything to do with thinking he'd lost stede again. never mind that ed's trauma has its roots in things that happened to him before izzy (his father) & things that also happened to izzy (hornigold). nope, izzy was the real shackle all along. he has to die so ed can be free, & he only ever existed solely to develop ed's pain. that's what this narrative feels like. & i just... don't like the taste of it on any level. izzy says himself that blackbeard was both of them. so why does izzy have to die while ed gets to move on, given they both have shown the capacity to do so ?

the bit that i think i like least about how it's executed is izzy saying "i want to go," especially considering how he & ed are both shown to be actively suicidal in the opening of the season, & he has since started to regain his self confidence from that lowest point. & maybe that line could be read as him just trying to soothe ed in the moment, but idk, it rubbed me the wrong way for him to say he still wanted to die when in fact he had just found something he actually wanted to live for.

so ! i think that's all i have to say about that ! if you've made it this far, thanks for reading ! i'll be working today on writing up a basic canon divergence for both stede & izzy, since i don't like how either of them ended the season out. sorry, but stede's simply not ready to give up pirating just yet, even for ed. & in my head, izzy is fine because he was shot on the left side & "science" tells us there's nothing important in that half of the body anyway. : )

#🪐 — ooc / from rosemary.#well... here we are... the day after.#i know i'm being a baby about this idk why it got to me like this.#but thank you to all who listen to me.#i love you sm!#also non rp blogs don't touch or interact with this post pls.#this is NOT disk course this is literally only my opinion.

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