#he was a soldier fighting for a war that killed his comrades and himself

[creartistiq-blog]

A fiery young man.

Louis-Napoleon, 1856/1879, only son of Napoleon III, died at 23yo in Zulu country (present-day South Africa)

The prince destined to have a military education was registered at the age of 1 month as a child soldier, in the 1st regiment of the Imperial Guard Grenadiers. Although "Loulou" as he was nicknamed, showed great artistic sensitivity, his gifts for drawing and music were not encouraged.

6yo, The Imperial Prince in hunting attire in 1862

At 13yo the imperial prince promoted to second lieutenant. could attend official ceremonies in his officer's uniform.

When the Franco-Prussian War broke out in 1870, at 14 years old the prince attended the battle of Saarbrücken, where he received his baptism of fire.

However, after the defeat at Sedan and the proclamation of the Third Republic, the imperial family went into exile in England.

At the age of 16, the prince was admitted to the Royal Military Academy in Woolwich on 17 November 1872, after passing the entrance exam (27th out of 30).

In the final exam of 1875, he was ranked 7th out of 34. On February 19, 1875, on the evening of the proclamation of the results, he was carried in triumph by his comrades. He took first place in horse riding and fencing.

In 1879, at the age of 23, Queen Victoria authorized the prince, in view of his insistence, to be incorporated into the British troops of southern Africa, with his comrades from Woolwich, in the fight against the Zulus.

On June 1, 1879, participating in a reconnaissance mission on horseback, at a place called Itelezi, the patrol was surprised by Zulu warriors.

A shootout broke out, two soldiers were killed, the troop fled leaving the prince alone who, falling from his horse, was attacked.

Alone, having only a revolver to defend himself, he succumbed pierced by seventeen spear blows.

The warriors eviscerated and mutilated the bodies of the two dead soldiers, but spared the prince, the only man to have fought. They were content to strip him and take his weapons. The Zulu chief ordered that he be left his gold chain, on which hung two medals and a cornelian seal. The warriors who themselves wore amulets respected those of the prince. In homage to his courage, they returned his personal belongings and his uniform.

The medical report states: "The corpse bears seventeen wounds, all in front, and the marks on the ground, as on the spurs, indicate a desperate resistance"

"proud young man so pure fallen full of hope" Paul Verlaine.

[dearloonies]

Do you think that Allen's wish was to die by his own terms

[corvus-ix]

Yandere Jugram Haschwalth x F!SR!Reader

Note: Reader is female and a Soul Reaper, and I'm also not going to use (Y/N)/NAME in this fic.

Also this is my first time writing a a whole yandere one-shot

Warning: Yandere tendencies, Cussing, Maybe a little ooc Jugram

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Summary: During the war against the Quincies, a Soul Reaper finds herself targeted by the Sternritter’s Grandmaster, Jugram Haschwalth. While she fights for her life, Jugram has other plans for her

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The Soul Reaper stood amid the ruins of Seireitei, her breathing labored and her zanpakuto trembling in her hand. She had barely escaped a brutal fight with a large group of Quincy, but she knew she wasn’t safe yet.

Not yet, Quincy Soldier keep are almost everywhere

When she manage to escape and hide inside one of the ruin building

"Fucking damn it, I almost died back there"

She mutter under her heavy breath, trying to calm her own breathing

She lay her back at the wall of the building, closing her eyes hoping for a small rest before she head back out to continue fighting the invaders

“Why do you struggle?”

as a calm, deep voice was heard in the shadow not too far infront of her, dread filling her eyes as she start to shake uncontrollably

Eyes widening as a blonde and tall Quincy walk out of the shadow showing himself

His cold blue eyes staring at her, there was an intensity with how he stare at her but maybe it's because their at war with each other, she thought to herself. She quickly force herself to take a defensive stance, gripping her zanpakuto tighter turning her knuckles slightly white

“Who wouldn't struggle in a middle of a war...”

she replied, her voice shaking from the exhaustion that she barely get to recover from

“Hey pretty boy, can you be a gentleman and give me the name of the person I'm about to fight”

Slightly giving a cocky smile her voice more louder than earlier, hoping another soul reaper nearby hear her

The blonde quincy smiled faintly, a dangerous glint flickering in his eyes.

“I'am Jugram Haschwalth, Sternritter Grandmaster”

Her smile instantly drop as her body began to shake more, realizing that she's definitely fuck right now and wouldn't survive this fight

Jugram took a slow, deliberate step closer. “I’ve been watching you… your bravery, your determination, and your skill… It would be a waste for it to be crushed beneath this war.”

Her heart pounded as she watched he slowly approach her. She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or if there was something darker hidden behind those calm, dark eyes.

“If you know anything about me. . .

Then you should know I won’t back down. Not from you or anyone else.”

She reply as she try to stable herself

For a moment, he stop snd stare her in silence. Then, as if entranced, he murmured, “You’re right… That’s what drew me to you.”

"Fuck!"

Before she could swing her zanpakuto, Jugram moved with impossible speed, appearing just right in front of her with his sword unsheathe and the next thing she knew her zanpakuto is cut in half

Jugram move again with the same speed earlier, appearing just inches from her. She tried to raise her broken zanpakuto, but he caught her wrist effortlessly, as he put his sword back into it sheathe with his other hand before pulling her closer. The cold touch of his hand sent a shiver down her spine.

“There’s something about you,”

He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Something that makes me want to keep you close, to ensure that no harm comes to you. Even if you're our enemy.”

Her eyes widened as she process his words. She tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch

“You know that your spitting bullshit right now?

Keep me away from harm when you guys started this war and killed many of my friends and comrades!”

She spat out, heart pounding with a mix of fear, confusion, and anger.

Jugram’s gaze softened, a strange warmth in his usually cold eyes

“No matter how you see and feel about this matter, from this moment on, you belong to me. No harm will come to you… not from the Quincy, and certainly not from anyone from Soul Society.”

His tone turned possessive, almost desperate.

“I’ll protect you… whether you wish for it or not.”

She shook her head, panic flooding her veins.

“You’re insane! I’d never agree to this.”

Jugram's expression hardened, a dangerous edge returning to his gaze

“You misunderstand. This is not a choice.”

His other hand cupped her face, and for a brief moment, his touch was almost gentle. “You’ll understand in time… that no one can keep me apart from you”

As she struggled against his hold, the weight of his words settled over her like a curse. In the heart of the war Jugram took her away and confined her in the deepest corner of Silbern where no prying eyes could see her nor any eavesdroppers could hear her desperate cry for help

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Extra note:

This fanfic is dedicated to Jugram birthday which is today 11/05

Look at this pretty birthday man🥰

[cosmicjoke]

For People, Not for a Dream

Everyone always wonders about this panel, and why Levi didn't include himself when talking about what all his comrades fought and died for.

The thing is, Levi was never fighting for that ideal world, or to create an ideal world.

For him, it was never about a concept or an ideology, because he never believed in the possibility of an ideal world to begin with.

Even when he gives his monologue to the 104th, during the Uprising arc, and speaks about freedom and the chance to have a world without the threat of titans, he still says that both world's are hell, just that he chooses the hell of people killing each other over the hell of being eaten by titans.

So I think to understand Levi, it's important to understand that he never cared about or was motivated by any system of belief or philosophy. He never did what he did with the goal of creating some Utopian world or society. His actions were never driven by any sort of fanaticism.

He was only ever fighting for people. To help people. Even in their ugliness and with all their faults and failings. He accepted that about people and the world; he accepted their imperfection. He never tried to change anybody, he never labored under any sort of belief that he could weed out the bad elements of society and, as a result, force a better world into existence, or a more civilized society. He wasn't blinded to the ugliness of his own actions by a sense of moral righteousness or belief in the "greater good". He never believed any set of beliefs or principles or ideology was or could be made inherently superior to any other. He never believed people could be made better than what they were. And yet he still found their lives worth protecting, along with their right to choose what to do with those lives, whether it be good or ill.

I think that's a big part of why Levi never loses sight of his own humanity, why he never becomes cruel. Because he never loses sight of what he's actually fighting for. Not an idea or a set of beliefs or a dogma. But just people, even when they're not good people.

And we see that reflected in Levi's lack of any sort of dream for himself, and in his support of other people's dreams. He's not fighting for their dreams because he believes in them or their possibility, he's fighting for their dreams because he believes in the worth of the people who dream them. It's the people who have worth to Levi, not the dream or the ideology behind the dream. And he hoped to prove that worth by ensuring they didn't throw their lives away for nothing. That's why he lent his strength to those dreams. It was always for the dreamers sake, not the sake of the dream itself. To show their lives mattered by helping to realize whatever it was they gave those lives for. It's why he's so determined to kill Zeke, because those soldiers in Shinganshina gave their lives for that goal. It wasn't Zeke's death that mattered, but the lives of the soldiers that died for it.

It's why he says in the above panels that if it was going to be worth the price "you all paid", it would have to be an "exhaustingly idealistic world". Nothing less than that would be worth people's lives. I think it's also why Levi's expression is one of such sadness all through the final chapters, because he knows, and always knew deep down, that that idealistic world was an impossibility. That even without titans, the world would still be a hellish place, something we see proven by the final pages of the story, with the destruction of Paradis and the continuation of war. In the end, I don't think Levi believed the outcome was worth the price his comrades paid. It wasn't worth their lives. To Levi, the concept of a "greater good" isn't worth more than any, single life.

But it's also important to remember that Levi was never the type of person to tell anyone else what to do, or what to think, or how to live, and that in itself is testament to how much he values people. The worth he sees in their lives and existence is reflected in the respect he holds for their right to choose what to do with those lives, even if that choice is to give their lives for an impossible dream.

And so that's what he fights for. Not for any sort of dream, or for the realization of an ideal world, but to help people. To help them in whatever way he can, whether that's saving their lives, protecting their right to choose how to live those lives, or supporting the dreams they believe are worth giving their lives for.

It was never for the dream itself. It was for the people who dreamed it.

[boytoyhalo]

Fit keeps two journals that he writes in every day: The standard, mandatory daily report journal where he keeps track of weather, maintenance and activity, and his personal diary where he writes more detailed accounts of his days. Phil gave him that one, told him that writing down his thoughts a few times a day would help him heal. Fit's not too sure about all that, but he'll admit it's kinda relaxing to sit out on the rocks at sunset writing down whatever comes to mind. it's usually just pretty objective play-by-plays of whatever happened that day, but still.

A few weeks after he meets richarlyson's "pod" of parents (he doesn't question why they're called that) these peaceful writing sessions gain an audience: two of the weird seals that he keeps seeing, the ones that are a bit too big and a bit too furry to not stand out among the typical grey harbor seals he usually sees. more specifically, it's the smallest of those seals - the one with a back flipper missing - and the light brown one that always seems to accompany it. A pair of mates, maybe? but after a week or so of the seals just. sitting there, watching him write, the light brown one seemingly decides it has better things to do, which leaves Fit with his one-flippered companion. Fit wonders how it's been surviving, but it seems to be managing just fine without it and he's not trained to deal with injured wildlife, so he decides it's not his problem.

One day, Fit belatedly realises that the seal has been getting braver - it's been inching steadily closer to him day by day, until now when Fit looks up from his journal and realises that the thing is only an arms-length from the rock he's sitting on. He stares at it. It stares back at him. "I don't have any food for you," he tells it. It barks a sound at him that sounds almost like a laugh. "Don't laugh at me, that's rude" he's not sure why he's feigning offense, why he's joking around with no one around to hear it but... it's nice. it's freeing, almost, to be able to laugh at himself without worrying about being seen. The seal is tilting it's head at him like it understands, and Fit knows it doesn't, but the next night he's there he talks to it out loud while he writes. he tells it about his day, about Ramon and Richas and his weird new acquaintances - about how he's found unexpected friends in some of them. Funny enough, talking out loud brings out thoughts he hasn't been able to get down with journaling.

on one particularly hard day, maybe the worst he's had since taking the job, he tells it about the war. tells it about how he was recruited right out of school, eager to make a change and protect his country. He tells it about how no one told him why they were fighting, how the war started or what steps were being taken to end it. How he had to learn all of that after going home. He tells it about his fallen comrades, about the enemy soldiers he killed. He tells it how much it hurts to think about, that he witnessed that much death and caused that much of it himself, that he has to live with that and knowing that at the end of the day he wasn't fighting for justice or peace or anything but the interests of the people in power. He tells it that he isn't sure he feels guilty, and that that makes him feel guilty. He tells it how lonely he's been since getting back - all things he hadn't really processed or admitted yet.

"maybe that's why I keep talking to you," he says. "I haven't really... I don't know how to make friends, since getting back. Being out here all isolated... it's nice. I mean, it's nice because it's nice, but also, it's nice just to have an excuse for being alone instead of being alone while surrounded by people, yknow?" He looks at the animal, which is staring up at him with disturbingly human emotion in it's eyes. He looks away. "I don't know. This is stupid, I'm talking to a fucking seal. and I do have friends, I mean... there's phil, there's tubbo. There's richas' parents, though I'm not sure they really count. Only see em for a little bit once in awhile, and s'not like they're there for me." He goes to sleep that night feeling lighter and heavier all at once.

And then the next morning, Pac (and a hesitant-looking mike) shows up with Richas, asking fit if they can help him work today. And not taking no for an answer

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

For the first time, Hamas trrorists admit during their interrogations, that Israel has succeeded in killing their comrades underground, in the terror tunnels, something that's much harder for the IDF to verify. As is, Israel estimates that it has killed over 9,000 terrorists during this war so far.

After the IDF exposes, maps and documents a Hamas terror tunnel, it gets blown up, so that the terrorists won't be able to easily restore it to functionality at the end of the war. Remember the terror tunnel network exposed under the Shifa hospital? Now you can take a 360 degree tour of it courtesy of the IDF!

Since unsurprisingly, Iran is blaming Israel and the US for the bombings yesterday, I will say that the most convincing take I heard about it is that ISIS committed the terrorist attack at Soleimani's funeral, a theory which apparently a US senior supports. Soleimani was thought to have played a big role in the defeat of ISIS.

I saw the director of this segment, Ami Horowitz, giving an interview about it. He said he wanted to see will people donate to the cause of attacking Jews. Not Zionists. Not Israelis. Jews. He was asked whether anyone objected or reported him to the police, but he said out of everyone he engaged in conversation, not a single person did. Out of 35 people he approached, 28 did have a conversation about it with him, and 17 agreed to donate money to his cause.

This is 25 years old Sahar Baruch.

Yesterday, it was confirmed that Sahar, who was kidnapped by Hamas, died during a rescue attempt by IDF soldiers from the place where he was held. The army says that for now, it's impossible to tell how he was killed, or during which stage during this failed attempt. His grandfather was interviewed today, and was asked whether it is possible to bring their kibbutz back to life after this tragedy. He said, it is not possible, it has to be done.

These are Orin Zcharia (with her hands on the flag-covered coffin), and Chagai Luber (pic below).

Orin's daughter Eden was murdered at the Nova music festival, her body was kidnapped to Gaza, but the IDF managed to rescue and return it. Orin talked about the day the soldiers who rescued the body came to see her, saying she expected 2-3 to come visit her, despite having little free time during their break from the fighting in Gaza. 15 young soldiers showed up. Orin said how meaningful that was to her, and she thanked them for having risked their lives, to allow her daughter to be buried in a proper grave in Israel. Another person who wanted to pay his respects was Chagai. His son, Yehonatan Luber, was one of the soldiers who rescued Eden's body. Chagai got in touch with Orin, but before he had the chance to come visit, Yehonatan was killed himself. Chagai said that his son barely talked about what he did as a soldier, but that the rescue of Eden's body was an exception, he was that proud. Orin ended up coming to Chagai, to comfort him for his loss. She told him, that he should know how much it mattered, what his son did. That getting closure, by having the funeral for Eden, gave Orin the strength to be able to be there for other grieving families. That the good that his son did for Eden's family, was being paid forward...

May Sahar, Eden and Yehonatan's memories be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[firerose18991]

Prince! Yuji Itadori x Black fem reader

A/N: Written in the dead of night while watching early 2000’s era fantasy movies(ella enchanted, twitches, shrek lol 0

Fluff, adventure, JJK AU, multipart fic

Written with black curvy/chubby readers in mind but all can enjoy

Honestly this is too cute to be on my page of filth but here we are🤷🏿

Wrd cnt: 2k

Prt 2

Prince Yuji rode across the battlefield on his jet black steed sukuna. His clan had been dominating the war waged by a neighboring kingdom, in a fierce effort to maintain their country’s border. He had been eager to strike up negotiations with them regarding the land dispute but when they had attacked he had no choice but to fight against them.

“Soldiers, we fight to subdue our neighbors, not kill them, remember this! Today will be the last ride!” Yuji shouted over the hoards of men lined in front of him.

He wanted to settle the matter quickly by breaking the spirit of his enemies, not their bodies. But the enemy was relentless even with their lesser numbers. The charge commenced and he flanked one side of the enemies while the commander Kugisaki led the other to surround them and push them out. But the battle was a fierce one. As Yuji charged he displayed incredible feats on the battlefield. They hadn’t been as successful as they had hoped to be but the enemy called a short retreat and fell further back, almost to the border. He turned back to his men looking over the gained land and beaming with pride.

And as he took in the sight his vision faded. His grip was lost on Sukuna and he fell to the ground.

He woke up to the muffled voice around his body.

“He sustained many lacerations, not to mention falling from that tall steed of his. His head is in bad shape.” He opened his eyes to a woman waving an enchanted hand over his body.

She spoke to an empty room (apart from himself), he couldn’t speak to respond to her. The waves of pain from exertion swept over his body as he gained consciousness.

A loud voice from outside the door caught his attention.

“Let me through!” they shouted.

Yuji could never forget the shout of his comrade, Nobara burst through the wooden door.

“Commander I’m sorry but you can’t burst in here.” Another younger nurse cut her off before she could stomp deeper into the room.

“Get out of my way! This is the prince of the kingdom, he's not going to be treated in some scruffy war shack!” She berated the nurse and attempted to push her aside.

“He cannot be moved.” She fought to keep her spot in front of the commander. Impressive considering the commander's strength. “He needs to rest and heal first.” She insisted.

“You will obey my orders as commander of the kingdom.” Nobara barked.

“We are not of your kingdom, we travel treating those stupid enough to start a war!” The nurse yelled back. “Get out, you're disturbing my patients.” The commander relented and the young nurse pushed her out of the room.

“Ahem, my apologies my lady. You requested me?” The young nurse turned to the woman at Yuji’s bedside.

“Hello (Y/N)” She smiled. “Thankyou for dealing with our company. Though maybe next time a bit more tact would be in order.” She rose from her place at Yuji’s bedside.

“This young man is a special task. One I am entrusting to my finest student, see to it he is fully healed and on his way back to his kingdom. So his dreadful guards will leave my encampment.” She sighed and exited the room

“Yes ma’am” You spoke as the door closed behind the head nurse.

After a pause you slowly turned toward the patient in question. His torso was black and blue and his head was already bandaged up. You moved closer to examine and finally noticed the open eyes slightly obscured by the bandaging.

“Oh my.” you gasped and hopped back a bit from the bed. “um I’m sorry I wasn’t aware you were awake. You must be in a lot of pain, this should help.” You pulled a balm from your robe pocket and a spatula to apply to the swollen bumps of skin.

Your touch was like a whisper to the skin and Yuji hardly noticed the application but felt the relief of his muscles as the balm took effect.

“Thank..You.” he struggled out, finally being able to communicate without suffering.

“Don’t speak just yet.” You said softly.

You ran the balm along his neck next to allow him to rest comfortably for the day.

“Now all you need is some rest.” Your words fell on deaf ears as he had already passed out,having exhausted himself.

The next day Yuji had woken up to you buzzing around his room moving around soiled bandaging from his bedside.

“He-Hello.” He stuttered abit taking due to his dehydration.

“Hello.” You turned around with a bright smile.

The sun flooded the room around you, bouncing off your brown skin like a blanket of light. Had he seen it yesterday he wouldve mistaken you for a angel. He stared for a bit, forgetting his pain and absentmindedly moving to leave the bed.

“Oh no please...Don’t move yet. You must take the time to heal.” You rushed over and moved his arm back into bed. Taking into account how defined his muscles were.

“Heh, can I trouble you for some water.” He smiled slightly then wincing at the pain.

“Yes, of course.” You swayed out of the room and returned with a pitcher.

You sat on the side of his bed.

“I’m going to use some more healing ointment on you before I give you the water. It’ll make it easier to drink” You said to Yuji.

Again your feather light touches graced his skin. This time his nerves were not overcome by pain and he felt the true skill through your application. You then reacched for the pitcher and held it to his mouth slowly tipping water for him to drink. You focused on making sure the water didn't spill onto his bandaged body.

“Is that enough?” you said pulling the pitcher from his lips.

“Yes.” Yuji said, the ghost of a smile could be seen on his face.

“Now bare with me, I need to make sure your airway is clear at all times.” You said

Your fingers pressed to his neck with more pressure than before earning a flinch from the prince.

“I’m sorry.” you pulled your fingers back a bit. “I’ll put less pressure.”

“No, I’m just not used to feeling this weak. I’ve never been this heavily wounded.”

“Well I heard you fought off 100 soldiers at once, all by yourself. Surely you’d expect some injury.” You jest.

“It was more like 80 men.” Yuji played off your compliments.

Your shared eye contact lingered until you reminded yourself to check his airway. His pulse was strong and breathing with no obstructions.

“I bet you’ll get back to your fight in no time.” You began to get up from the bed.

"The stupid fight?" He questioned your earlier statements.

You turned around with a shocked and embarrassed look.

"I didn't mean-uh- there is nothing trivial about your fight." You stammered over your words hoping to not have offended the prince.

"It's alright. I agree it's a stupid war." Yuji's face fell serious. "I hope to end it as fast as possible."

You continued spending your time solely focusing on the prince and in two weeks time he had made remarkable progress.

Today you swished through the encampment to deliver food to him.

"Good morn- Yuji, you can't be out of bed!” You came into the room to see the prince standing by the back curtain looking over the bustling camp.

“Well obviously I can.” He flashed the devilish teeth you'd come to love. “And it's all thanks to you.”

You braced yourself for his charm, squaring your shoulders you ventured over to him. “I'm not a miracle worker, you still need rest.”

You guided him back to his bed, not daring to look up at the light brown pools fixed atop your head. Every morning since he could speak the two of you sat together and chatted as there wasn't much for either of you to do.

The two of you had gotten to know each other well. You learned that Yuji was born outside the palace and had only learned he was in the line of succession a few years prior. As such he wasn't used to people calling him prince and insisted on his friends not using his title of prince. He was interested in your travels as your clan had provided aid to many wars across the land and you had been to many different parts of the country. You informed him of your favorite stops and places that were now at peace and free to visit if he wished to.

"What else do you enjoy?" Yuji asked you.

His hands rested on your hips as they had found a familiar home there whenever the two of you had your talks. You laid right next to him and against your wishes he would always roll over to face you while you talked.

"I love music. You don't hear it a lot when you're always near wars but sometimes if you stay long enough, till the end of the conflict, you'll hear music from celebrations."

"Do you dance?" He perked up his head excitedly only to be met by your gentle hand placing him back down on the pillow.

"Of course,whenever I can." You laughed

"Then one day we'll dance together, yes?" He looked up at you

"I'd like that." You sighed.

After a month of caring for Yuji, the time was coming for him to travel back to his kingdom. His recovery time astonished all the nurses from your clan but he always played it off saying he just got the best nurse for the job. As the time grew closer for him to leave you began to feel less happy about him returning to his home, without you. It also filled you with a bit of shame as a healer, your job was to get people home safely from battle, but here you were wishing for a few more weeks spent with Yuji.

“(Y/N)?” Yuji called out to you. You had been checking up on the status of the wounds he received. All were almost completely healed and scarred or faded.

“Hm” You hummed in response.

“You seem distracted today. Are you tired?” Yuji had a face of concern. He hoped that the constant care he required this past month hadn’t caught up to you.

“No, no. I am distracted but not tired.” You continued to place the light bandages around nim.

“What are you thinking about?” He pulled your hands from his bandages and let them pool around his torso.

“It seems the conflict between your clan and the other has calmed down a lot. We see less soldiers being hurt each day. It means we’ll be moving on soon.” You looked away from Yuji as you informed him of your inevitable departure.

You didn’t see the expression on Yuji's face as you told him the news. He wasn't sad or even overly worried but he was determined to stay with you. It felt like a battle almost, the same determination that saved his clan’s land would keep you in his life for as long as the two of you wished.

"Would you also like to move on to the next land's war?"

"Well if I'm quite honest I've had my fill of wars witnessed. But there will be people who need us" The reason you had left your clan's home lands to help in these wars was to be able to help people with the medical abilities you inherited.

"Your clan's work is truly miraculous. We haven't known a decent healer in years on this half of the continent. It's selfish of me but I would have asked you to become the royal physician." His gaze held focus on you.

"I would have to earn status before I could accept an offer like that."

"How would you do that?"

"My teacher, the head nurse…she would have to approve a promotion for me. I don't know if I've impressed her enough to get that."

"Well maybe I should steal you away" he gathered you up I'm his strong arms and pulled you to his chest.

You sighed, if you weren't so prideful you'd let him. But you had your own goal of being a healer and you couldn't abandon that, not even for your favorite patient

Next>>>

[kell-eramis]

post onslaught/ajax analysis please

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I wanted to do it justice so I reread the tragedy, but basically Ajax is a figure in Greek Mythology who is present in the Trojan War and Iliad, and his titular tragedy, Ajax, originally written by Sophocles. (He’s also in Odysseus’ katabasis in the Odyssey) He’s considered the second strongest (next to Achilles), and is an extremely competent soldier.

Ajax’s tragedy takes place after a contest of who should take Achilles’ armor after his death—Menelaus and Agamemnon give it to Odysseus, the only other candidate. Ajax is incredibly angry about this, and wishes to slaughter Menelaus, Agamemnon, and Odysseus in particular. Athena clouds his vision, and he instead kills animals taken from Troy to be divided up amongst the men. Upon finding out what he has done, the other Greeks see it as a transgressive crime, and upon returning to lucidity Ajax becomes despondent, not seeing a way to live in a peaceful world after this, and kills himself.

Ultimately, Ajax’s story, and other ancient works like The Iliad, The Odyssey, and the Oresteia, represent a shift in the Athenian conscious of constant war and battle, where a person’s strength is based on their glory, to one of sophistry and wisdom, of a democracy. Figures like Ajax and Achilles die because their characters are prominent heroes, claiming great glory for themselves and their men, but that is no longer what Athens is. They cannot survive in a “peaceful” world. Odysseus, on the other hand, who represents a more “rational” and moderate perspective, makes a journey to go from the Odysseus that fights in Troy, to the Odysseus that fights for his family upon his return to Ithaca.

Now, moving on to Onslaught: Onslaught in Phase 2 (especially Till All Are One), is someone who can’t move on from the war. Whose purpose for millions of years was to fight, and he did this well! What then, is there, as she transitions from someone incredibly respected in wartime, to someone who he and his comrades are barely scraping by? Megatron has left her and her cause, Galvatron was… Galvatron, and Starscream both betrayed them and killed Swindle! Unable to cope in a peaceful world, he strives for purpose—for another war, and sets her eyes on Starscream. Where he was an excellent fighter, she is now cast to the side by the old faction leaders and the new Cybertronian leaders.

In the beginning of Till All Are One, we see Onslaught decide to refuse to ingratiate himself into the new peaceful society, choosing instead to hunt down Swindle, not for justice, but to use her to get at Starscream. To bring her Cybertron crumbling down, and find purpose in a new fight. Those who Starscream refers to as "monsters"--those who find purpose in conflict and feel lost without it, Brawl and Vortex, go along with this, and Blast Off, whose purpose isn't to fight, who has been trying to help the others persist in this society without Swindle, is the only one reluctant to do so. He knows Onslaught 1. needs a purpose 2. gets fixated on a conflict/an enemy and 3. is lost during peace time.

This focus, exacerbated by anti Starscream protests and Rattrap's leaks, culminates in Onslaught and the other Combaticons combining into Bruticus, with one goal: to burn everything. This is seen as a transgressive act of violence, to figures such as Blast Off's peers from Ironhide's new security program, and to colonists, who've for the most part only known peace. This is a similar act to Ajax's slaughter of the animal trophies from Troy. Both Iacon and the animals are the results of the fighting both Ajax and Onslaught did, and excelled in, but as a transition to peace occurs in both settings, Ajax and Onslaught, unable to cope with being left behind by it, destroy those results, or try to. Everyone is horrified by it, further pushing these characters away, so they can't adjust to peacetime.

Afterwards, Starscream, who also can't adjust to peace time and is looking for any form of power to hold onto in case war happens once again (whether it be with one of the colonies, or Optimus, or Decepticons, or Sentinel Prime, or Unicron), (remind me to talk about this also at some point) convinces Blast Off to help deceive the other Combaticons to be loyal to her. Blast Off does this to help Onslaught not destroy himself in pursuit of conflict and vengeance, but Starscream is once more using Onslaught as a soldier. And ultimately, at the end of Till All Are One, once Starscream confesses to his crimes, Onslaught and the other Combaticons are also sent to jail, and aren't mentioned again, left behind because they no longer served as soldiers.

I personally like to think that 1. they survive through Unicron 2. they are able to live better lives post Unicron, and 3. Blast Off and the other Combaticons (including Onslaught) do make up (I still need to read Escape Velocity...). I don't think any of this is easy, but to me phase 2 is about hope, about being able to embrace the peace they were all fighting for, and find their place in and with each other, especially as Onslaught and the others have their gestalt bond. This doesn't take away from the fact that Onslaught, to me, is very Ajax-coded, but rather that he, through people like Blast Off and the other Combaticons, are able to be given the chances and the love that someone like Ajax didn't have, having dishonored himself in a world that he saw as still prioritizing honor and glory above everything.

[eyedelater]

some recurring words and callbacks in golden kamuy that didn't necessarily get translated consistently

sugimoto says 出た! deta! ("there it is!") or similar whenever citatap comes up (deta, demashita, de~ta~). also, it seems that even though asirpa says "citatap" properly with the katakana "pu" made small so you know it's acting as a final "p" sound, like チタタㇷ゚, sugimoto and other sisam tend to say "citatapu," with the katakana "pu" at full size, like チタタプ, showing their mispronunciation. (after i noticed this, i saw that noda-sensei had confirmed it in an interview, but i forget which one.)

my favorite recurring bit: when sugimoto does something nice for someone (e.g. offering his blanket to henmi kazuo) and they think something like, "he's so nice!" the line they're thinking is 優しい "yasashii" (kind, gentle). sugimoto gets called yasashii a few more times as well. in a small addition to volume 24, chapter 234, boutarou calls sugimoto yasashii, referring to him throwing people off the boat to save them from being shot by boutarou. and sugimoto's father calls him yasashii on his deathbed. i love the sugimoto who everyone agrees is so nice.

the word 戦友 senyuu ("war buddy, fellow soldier, comrade in arms") is omnipresent. i think it gets used in the sentimental "war buddy" sense just as often as it gets used in the drier "fellow soldier" sense, so it has been translated variously depending on the context. tsurumi uses it frequently to refer to fallen comrades as well as living "war buddies" like tsukishima. (he uses it with great emotional weight in this moment in chapter 150... EH scans' translated version here.) tsukishima uses it when yelling at ogata for killing maeyama in chapter 78, and ogata scoffs at it. but ogata himself uses senyuu, maybe in an ironic sense, to refer to the 3 men he thinks tanigaki killed (chapter 111) and also wryly to tanigaki himself (chapter 113). and the narrative refers to ilya as vasily's senyuu.

opposite of a recurrence: several distinct but similar words meaning "soldier" are translated as "soldier" because english doesn't have enough other options. (兵士 heishi, 兵隊 heitai, 軍人 gunjin all appear; there is also the more specific 屯田兵 tondenhei, meaning colonizer or agricultural soldier)

shiraishi gets called タコ坊主 takobouzu (literally tako "octopus" + bouzu "monk, guy with a shaved head," but if you yell it at someone, it means roughly "you bald idiot") by ienaga when she was about to get blown up by his grenade and by kiroranke when he told shiraishi not to run from the bear and he ran anyway. i kept waiting for a third instance to round out the list, but there is none.

when shiraishi introduces himself to pretty women (ienaga then inkarmat), he says 独身で彼女はいません!! dokushin de kanojo ha imasen!! meaning "i'm single and don't have a girlfriend!!" EH scans didn't include that redundancy in their translation, but i think the redundancy is funny. this is another entry where it happened twice and a third never cropped up.

shiraishi often gets called 役立たず yakutatazu (役に立つ yaku ni tatsu means "to be of use," so yakutatazu means "being of no use" or "useless") by sugimoto and asirpa. also, sugimoto calls himself yakutatazu when fighting gansoku on the ice and again after boutarou takes asirpa from him in the brewery.

shiraishi calls pretty much everyone he meets -chan. even ogata-chan and koito-chan (including at their first meeting when koito was clearly an enemy). i get the sense that he does it as part of his overly friendly and teasing nature. he's the one who named vasily "zukin-chan" (hood guy). i think the only one who ever calls him "shiraishi-chan" in return is ishikawa takuboku. but shiraishi won't call people -chan if he doesn't feel like it. (i'm pretty sure he never calls sugimoto sugimoto-chan; and he calls boutarou kaizoku-chan [pirate-chan] once or twice but mostly just calls him boutarou.)

[spnsummergen]

Supernatural Summergen: Week 1 Roundup!

Hi all! In case you missed any the first time around, here's a roundup of the first week of Summergen! At the end of each week, we'll post another roundup so no one misses out on any goodies. :D

Thank you to all the creators and readers who makes Summergen possible!

1. Ab Aeterno for iamianweareme

Summary: Time is never on your side (unless you know what it wants.)

Rating: Not Rated (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings) Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Rowena MacLeod Words: 1642 Tags: Season/Series 03, Season/Series 10, Episode: s10e19 The Werther Project, Time Travel, Case Fic, Dreams, Astral Projection, Spells & Enchantments, Witchcraft, Curses, Cure for the Mark of Cain, Witches, Angels, Demon Deals, Brotherly Affection, Immortality, Non-Linear Narrative, New Jersey, Parallel Universes, Blood Magic

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2. Home is What You Make It for shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod

Summary: Feeling the need to make the bunker more of a home for himself and Sam, Dean creates a place just for them.

Rating: Not Rated (Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings) Characters: Dean, Sam Words: 2242 Tags: Oblivious Sam Winchester, Files, Organizing, Clever Dean Winchester, Cooking, Home improvements, the bunker, Man Cave, Alcohol, movies

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3. Welcome to Canada for sakarrie

Summary: Sam and Dean follow the lead of an old friend of Bobby's into the Canadian wilderness of Golden Ears Park where three hunters have been found ripped to shreds their throats bitten out, while possible bear attacks, the local park ranger and part-time hunter Roger Marsh doesn't think so. The brothers help him investigate an incident that quickly turns out to be very much their kind of problem.

Rating: E (Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence) Characters: Sam, Dean Words: 2409 Tags: Case Fic, Canon Compliant, Hunt Gone Wrong, Wilderness Survival, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Protective Winchesters, Demonic Possession

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4. Too Close for Comfort for yoann

Summary: Sam and Dean switch bodies. Bickering, brotherly banter and bad choices ensue…

Rating: T Characters: Sam, Dean, Rowena Words: 3493 Tags: humor, bodyswap

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5. Ink for dizzojay

Summary: Rusalka has been killed, but something bad still happens to Dean, and Sam has to pay the consequences.

Rating: G Characters: Dean, Sam Words: 2800 Medium: pastels (piece includes fic AND art!) Tags: Rusalka (Water Spirit), Whump, Hurt Sam Winchester, Possessed Dean Winchester

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6. Meeting Your Heroes for brightly_lit

Summary: A hunter gets some unexpected help from the legendary Winchesters.

Rating: G Characters: Sam, Dean, OMC Words: 1563 Tags: Hunters & Hunting, Poltergeists, Humor, Silly, Awkwardness

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7. A Perfect Way to Die for canon_is_relative

Summary: Sam's been fighting in the demon wars for as long as he can remember. He doesn't like war and he doesn't like fighting, even though he's the best at it ever since Dean got possessed and joined the other side. The humans are losing this war. He's only seventeen, but he figures it's only a matter of time before he dies, too. He just needs to see Dean -- the real Dean, his brother -- one last time before the end.

Rating: G Characters: Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle, Ash, Claire Novak, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Kevin Tran, Bobby Singer, Rufus Turner, John Winchester, Dean Winchester Words: 2569 Tags: War, Child Soldiers, Demons, Demon Dean Winchester, Weapons, Brotherly Love, Brother Feels, Brotherhood, Comrades in Arms, Found Family, Possession, Exorcisms

[hyunbunlix]

Rejuvenation [resurrectionist!Felix]

Characters: Felix, fem!OC Rating: A/O for Adults Only Content Warnings/Tags: mentions/depictions of war/battle, death in battle, depictions of grief, pain as fuel for magic, resurrection/reincarnation, anthro/bestial characters, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, hickeys, switch Felix, blowjob, fingering (f. receiving), p in v, multiple female orgasms, raw male orgasm, cockwarming Word Count: 11,688 Summary: When Felix’s beloved is killed in the war between chimaera and seraphim, he gleans her soul and swears to build her a new body as close to her old one as possible. As the years pass and Felix is tasked with creating hulking, fearsome chimaera for the war effort, the materials to bring his beloved back are scarce. Finally, he manages to work himself to the bone and bring her back to life . . . only to be barely recognizable himself when she returns. Note: Based on the world of Daughter of Smoke & Bone by Laini Taylor.

Once upon a time, a sphinx lost his wings, but those wings were not the ones he wept for.

Felix always felt a sense of dread when the chimaera went into battle with the angels. Whether the chimaera won or lost the day, there would always be warriors among them—friends, neighbors, loved ones—who were slain.

            As the resurrectionist, it was Felix’s job to stay in reserve and glean the souls of the slain. He wasn’t the only one able to glean, of course—anyone with the right materials could—but their losses had been so heavy recently that they couldn’t currently spare a soldier to lay in wait for the fighting to be done. Ergo, here he was, tucked back in the trees and wishing he could cover his feline ears, which were presently picking up the battle in sickening detail.

            If Felix died, so too would the chimaera. He was the last line keeping his kind from being wiped off the face of the planet by the seraphim, who sought to rule it all. He was a capable fighter, of course—most of them were; they had to be—but his task was more important than that, and so he had to remain safe at any cost.

            His ears swiveled, alerting him to the angel sneaking up on him. Felix whirled around, shouldering his way past the soldier’s guard, past his sword, cutting him down swiftly with his deer horn knives. He moved on quickly after that, finding a new place to hide, and bide, and wait for the fighting to end.

            After years of listening to his friends fight and die, one might think Felix would be used to this by now. But oh, how he wasn’t. Never could he be. He was the sort that could never harden his heart to suffering no matter how many times he had to witness it.

            So he waited, and he prayed, and he hoped that when his friends died, it would be swift so they would not suffer.

            When the hours of fighting were over, Felix could not tell if they had won or lost. If they had won, it had been at a terrible cost, because, alongside him, only three chimaera were left standing.

            Felix’s blood turned to ice.

            “No,” he whispered. One of his comrades, a massive goat-serpent, pointed toward the hill from which he’d just come. It was Felix’s job to glean them all, but his comrades knew him well, and knew who he would need to glean first.

            “She’s there,” the ram said. “They ambushed her.”

            Felix took off, leaving the ground in wingless flight, the result of magic he’d stolen long ago. He shot up and over the hill, and sure enough, amongst a platoon of fallen angels with extinguished wings lay his love, pooled in blood, both hers and others.

            It was a blur after that. Habit took over as he lit the incense that would guide her soul, and opened the thurible that would hold it tight. He could feel her in the air, the shape of her soul as it left her body, as it twisted through the ether and finally curled up inside the thurible. He twisted the metal sphere shut, put it in his bag, and went to do the same for the rest of his fallen comrades. He couldn’t mourn here, not when each and every fallen soul was on a timer, and he was the only thing that would save them from evanescence.

            He couldn’t mourn here, but when he gleaned the others, it was with silent tears streaming down his face.

            Only when he and his few remaining living comrades, laden with thuribles, flew back to the relative safety of their citadel, only when Felix was alone in his workshop with nothing for company but a pile of thuribles, did he break. He held her thurible to his chest and sobbed bitterly, because he was the resurrectionist, and he knew how long it would be before he saw her again.

Felix was in charge of keeping the tide of the war from drowning the chimaera. He had a list of priority resurrections in accordance with the request of the generals, knew who he had to bring back first and in what form to keep them all fighting. Because the chimaera’s numbers were reduced with each conflict, every resurrection had to count for two or three angels. As a result, he had no choice but to build behemoth bodies that were all wings, claws, and goring horns rather than the beautiful, graceful, natural bodies of born chimaera, which ordinarily came in all shapes and sizes.

            It was a fate they had all accepted, a fate necessary to avoid their own extinction. Through the materials of magic and metal and gemstones and teeth, they could be reborn through strange alchemy. Felix, too, had been reborn this way once, though it was before things had grown so dire, before the previous resurrectionist had died and evanesced. In his first life, Felix had been a sphinx, but when he’d come back, the only parts of his original self that remained were his feline ears, retractable claws, and sharp teeth. His predecessor told him this was because their circumstances were grave, and they needed someone able to go into the neighboring world, among humans, and buy, barter, or steal the materials they needed for the war. All Felix needed was a hat or a hood, and humans didn’t so much as glance his way.

            Felix remembered how disorienting it had been to wake up without his wings, without his feline legs and tail. Learning to balance again had been no small task, and he hated that he had to put such strain on his comrades now. Though, they’d been doing this long enough now that most of them were growing accustomed to being hulking creatures of nightmare.

            Most, but not all.

            Felix’s love had still been in her original body, lithe and elegant and strong, the most beautiful creature Felix had ever seen. He’d met her after his resurrection, after his natural body had been lost, and despite his relative lack of animal features, she had taken an interest in him. Where others whispered or mocked, saying his body looked naked and alien and unadorned, she told him how beautiful she thought he was, and how taken with him. After such a hard life, Felix’s heart had had no resistance to her, and he’d fallen quickly.

            He would not be able to bring her back for quite some time. Officially, this was because she was not very high on the list of priority, but frankly, had Felix had all the right materials on hand, he would have forsaken that rule. What could the war counsel do? Fire him? He was the only creature still alive who knew the delicate alchemy of resurrection.

            But he didn’t have all the right materials. This was to be her first time coming back to life, and Felix wanted to make the process as easy on her as possible. Not just any vessel, any body, would do. He needed her to come back as close to the way she had been as possible.

            And he couldn’t do that when his priority was monsters, nightmares, the huge bodies that depleted his stores and sent him scouring the human world for new materials. He couldn’t put her back together when his first priority was keeping them all alive, when he needed to make sure she even had a home to come back to.

            So he brought the others back, a little at a time, but as the weeks passed, his beloved’s thurible remained untouched on his bedside table. Weeks turned to months, and his heartsickness grew. Every time he was close, every time he had set aside nearly enough of the right materials to build her new body, they would take losses again, and he would be forced to raid that secret store.

            For the greater good. For the war. For the chimaera. For all of them.

            All of them, it seemed, except him, and except her.

            Every so often, when he felt so low that surely there could be no further down to fall, he would open her thurible just a tiny bit, just enough for the impression of her soul to rub up against his in the ether for the barest moment. He couldn’t leave it open for long, or her soul would escape and dissipate, but these small moments, these little reprieves, were some of the only instances that kept him going.

            Though, if one were to judge only by the way he cried after, one might think the ritual did more harm than good.

It had been more than a year.

            Felix worked himself to the bone to keep them afloat. His time was evenly split between his world, Eretz, and the world of humans, Earth. On Eretz, all his time was spent in gleanings and resurrections. On Earth, all his time was spent scouring the globe for teeth, both animal and human, and metallic ores and gemstones to infuse the bodies with, giving them strength, durability, and dexterity.

            Every day, the chimaera became more and more the monsters the angels claimed they were, and it was Felix’s fault. But what else could he do? What else could he fucking do? Let them all go extinct? Let the angels wipe them off the face of the planet?

            Several times, he got low enough to consider bringing his beloved back in one of those monstrous bodies. It didn’t matter to him; he would love her in any form, no matter how frightful. But then the selfishness of that plan caught up with him; dropping her into a random, unfamiliar body with extremities she wasn’t used to, dimensions she couldn’t control. At that rate, she’d probably just get killed again. The chimaera had come so far from what they’d once been, and unlike the other soldiers and assassins, she had not experienced the series of gradual resurrections that, in a way, eased the process, becoming more bestial with each evolution.

            No. He couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t.

            So he kept stashing away her materials, the reptile fangs that would replicate her lovely, durable scales, the tiny bat’s teeth that would give her new wings, the spiral-horned antelope’s incisors that would twin her old horns, and human teeth for everything else. He even planned to use diamonds, ensuring she would be as strong and beautiful as he remembered.

            And yet, again and again, he was forced to borrow from her unmade body to fuel their fucking war.

Felix had been happy once. Even as the resurrectionist, he’d had no shortage of smiles, sunny even when they were tinged with melancholy. But under the strain of endless death, under the toll of endless pain to fuel his magic, and without her presence by his side to make it all bearable, his spirit withered.

            He kept doing what needed to be done, but it was by rote. He did what he was told because thinking itself was taxing now. He kept the chimaera alive and felt very little in the way of pride or even relief at doing so.

            They were losing, and part of him wished it would just end already, no matter how badly.

            It had been two years without her.

            Finally, after his most recent excursion to the human world, he’d been able to snap up the last teeth he needed. Upon his return to the citadel, he promptly shut himself in his workshop and barred the door. He often worked with urgency, but this time especially he was not to be disturbed.

            Mostly because this was not at all what he was supposed to be doing with his time and resources, and he was terrified that someone might burst in and force him to stop.

            Meticulously, he threaded the necklace that represented her body in perfect configuration. If he didn’t take care, her animal aspects might manifest in the wrong places and render the whole process moot. He knew exactly what to do, he’d done it countless times, and yet, in his nervous fervor, he checked the string of teeth and gems and metal beads multiple times to make sure it was perfect.

            After that, it was time for the conjuring.

            The conjuring was always by far the worst part. The price for magic was pain, and bringing a body from concept into existence required a steady stream. Sometimes soldiers, especially injured ones, would contribute their pain to the cause, a terrible tithe to help keep them all going. Today, in order to keep this a secret until it had already been done and could not be taken back, he could be afforded no such assistance.

            Felix stripped off his shirt and affixed four sets of screw clamps to his arms, two for each. On his upper arms, they viced painfully around his triceps; on his forearms, they ground between his radius and ulna bones. The pain was, as always, a hum in his body, impossible to ignore. He would bruise heavily from this.

            He didn’t care.

            He directed his pain through the necklace in his hands, his own pain forming a harmony with that of the creatures whose bodies these teeth had once come from. Death was its own kind of resonant pain, so even teeth taken from bodies already expired held magic within. It was a careful calculus, to take pain and death and turn it into a new vessel for life.

            When the necklace was gone from his hands, he knew it was done. He turned around and saw the body, bereft of cloth or covering, lying on his secondary work table. Felix heaved a sigh as he beheld it, and then moved to loosen the clamps from his arms and put them away. Sure enough, his new bruises were already blooming.

            He got up to examine the body. It was as close to her original one as it could possibly be without being wholly exact. After all, the animal aspects of natural-born chimaera on Eretz were not exactly alike to the animals on Earth. Felix’s love had been a dragon woman in her natural life, and this new body was as close a match as he could possibly make.

            Even now, changed though she was, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld.

            Now that he’d confirmed the body an acceptable vessel, he went to retrieve her thurible and a cone of incense. The scent was thick and earthy, a combination of her favorite herbs and flowers, concentrated. There was no scientific need for the particular scent, as just about anything that left a strong trail on the air would do the job; he simply wanted to welcome her back to the world as thoughtfully as possible.

            He placed the incense on the body’s forehead and lit it, and once the smoke had curled upward and begun to hang in the air, he opened the thurible.

            As before, he could feel her soul—her gentle, remarkable soul—but unlike before, there was no danger in it escaping the thurible and vanishing. Now, it would simply follow the trail left by the incense smoke down and into the body, becoming whole.

            He almost held his breath while he waited, but he already felt so close to passing out that he had to force himself to breathe. When her eyes fluttered open, his breath did catch, tears welling in his eyes. She sat up slowly, glancing around the room.

            “Where . . . ?” she murmured, and her voice was so nearly a perfect replica of what he remembered that the tears did fall then. Slowly, she brought her eyes to him, and for a moment, there was nothing like recognition in her eyes.

            “Love . . . ?” he asked softly, willing his voice not to shake yet feeling not an ounce of embarrassment when it did not obey. Her eyes sparked then and went over his form again, and her mouth parted with a surprised little gasp.

            “Felix?” she whispered, and Felix couldn’t choke back the sob that came in response. She swung her legs over the side of the table and opened her arms for him; he pressed close to her and bawled.

Felix was not as she remembered him. His features were sharper, gaunter. He looked exhausted. His hair hung lank in its ponytail and desperately needed a trim; there were deep, dark circles under his reddened eyes. Worst of all, perhaps, was how skinny he’d gotten, little more than bones and the flesh stretched across them, on full display thanks to his lack of shirt. And the bruises. So dark and awful that they would no doubt turn into welts.

            He was still her Felix, and yet, he was changed, too.

            She held him close while he cried, pulling the tie out of his ponytail and running her fingers through his hair. She was still completely naked from her resurrection, but she felt no embarrassment in it. This man had seen her natural flesh naked countless times, and he had built this new body from scratch; there was not a person alive that she felt had more right to behold her like this.

            When he’d finally managed to calm himself, he pulled back to just stare at her. “I was so scared,” he said. “I thought I’d fucked something up, that you didn’t remember me, that maybe I’d opened your thurible one too many times and lost part of your soul somehow . . .”

            She smiled gently, touching his cheek. “Thank you,” she said. He looked immediately confused.

            “Did you think I would let you just stay dead?” he asked, sounding mortified. She shook her head quickly.

            “No, that’s not it. I mean, I’m thankful for new life, yes, but that’s not what I was referring to. Thank you for visiting me in my thurible,” she clarified.

            For whatever reason, that pulled another soft sob from him.

            “I couldn’t help myself,” he said miserably. “I just missed you so much.”

            “How long has it been?” she asked. There was no way to gauge time in the stasis of a thurible, and while the changes in Felix attested that time certainly had passed, she had no concept of how much.

            “Two years and eleven days,” he said. She looked at him, wide-eyed.

            “You counted?” she asked, incredulous. He nodded.

            “How could I not?” he said in return. She shrugged helplessly. He took a step back from her and offered his hands to help her down from the table. She held to him for a moment while she found her footing, careful to mind his bruises.

            “How do you feel?” he asked, taking on a professional cant despite the tear tracks still on his face. “Any disorientation? Anything that feels wrong?”

            She took a step back from him. She tested her arms and legs with some basic motions, then swung her tail back and forth. She rolled her neck, her head appropriately weighted by horns. Finally, she fanned her wings wide, careful not to knock anything over.

            “It all seems to be in working order,” she said, taking a deep breath in and out. “Truly, thank you.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” he said, then, after a beat, he seemed to realize she was still naked and he himself half-naked. “Oh, gods.”

            He went quickly to the other side of the room and brought her some basic tail-friendly breeches and a halter-style tunic to put on. Then, flushing, he hurried to put his own shirt back on.

            “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “After the conjuring, I was so focused on getting this done that I completely forgot. I didn’t mean to . . . I mean, it wasn’t supposed to feel like an ambush or something. I don’t . . . I mean . . . Fuck.”

            She had known Felix long enough, had witnessed the battle between his brain and his mouth enough times to understand what he was trying to get at but couldn’t quite bring himself to say. After he’d pulled his shirt back on, she stepped close to him and tipped his head just right to kiss him.

            “I will never complain about seeing your body, or about you seeing mine,” she said, and his face burned a shade hotter. She stepped back from him then and set about getting dressed. As she was tying the strings to her breeches, pounding started at the door.

            “What are you doing in there, resurrectionist?” bellowed a commanding voice. Felix’s eyes narrowed, feline and hateful, his posture ramrod straight. “You were supposed to be working on Qworom today, yet I have his thurible right here!”

            “You should know,” Felix muttered quietly to her, “that I wasn’t supposed to do this.”

            She cocked her head in question, her expression creased into suspicion and discontent, but she didn’t have time to ask what, exactly, he meant by that before he’d already gone and removed the crossbar from the door, allowing it to burst open.

            A hulking chimaera bulled through, and she had the immediate impression that he would have simply broken the door down had it remained obstructed. He was certainly large enough to make it happen. He was a harsh-looking creature, part bear, part bull, part lion, if lions had manes made out of reptilian points. He was terrible, but beautiful in a certain way, too, and she recognized the body immediately as Felix’s work.

            “General Torza,” Felix acknowledged, his voice carefully neutral. She regarded the general with surprise; she remembered what he’d looked like two years ago, and he bore only the faintest resemblance to that form now. She saw Felix’s feline ears twitch backward toward flattening; was he ashamed to let her see what the chimaera had become, what he had made them? Was he eaten alive with guilt over his inability to find a more elegant solution to their extinction?

            She ached to reach for his hand, to make him know that none of that was true, but refrained. General Torza was looking at her with something like astonished disgust, and she knew she would have to play the next few minutes very carefully.

            “What is that?” Torza demanded of Felix, gesturing at her like she was the most offensive piece of furniture to ever exist. She resisted the urge to bristle.

            “A revenant,” Felix answered blandly. Revenant was the general term for a chimaera soldier who had come back from the dead at least once.

            “And why does it look like that? You know what we do here, boy, and that does not fit the strategy,” the general snarled.

            “She,” Felix snapped, all his sharpest teeth on display as he furiously hissed the word, showing his first inflection of true emotion during the encounter. Torza snorted in indignation.

            “She,” he replied mockingly. “This is not the time to be crafting your own personal plaything. I need soldiers, boy. Monsters that will strike terror into our enemies and rend them in two with their bare hands. Not this.”

            Felix’s face was flushed with rage now, his ears pinned back. It was an emotion he so rarely displayed, and she laid a hand on his shoulder. Instantly he fizzled out, turning his head to look at her like he was lost and she was true north.

            “Actually, sir,” she said to the general, picking her words carefully, “Felix didn’t bring me here to fight.”

            “So you’re useless,” Torza growled.

            “No, sir,” she answered. “I’m here to help him. This work takes its toll and goes much faster with assistance. I’m sure you’ll recall that his predecessor had three helpers, four if you count Felix during his apprenticeship. If we’re to turn the tide of this war, you can’t rely on one soul to rescue all others.”

            Torza regarded her for a time, then turned his eyes back on Felix. “Is this true?”

            “It is,” Felix answered, regaining himself. “I needed help. Things will be easier now, and if something were to happen to me, well . . . All wouldn’t be lost.”

            Torza gave a sharp exhale that put his bovine side fully on display, part snort and part grunt. He held out Qworom’s thurible. “Then I expect this one done by the end of the day,” he said. It was a minor concession, but it would do.

            “Of course,” Felix answered, accepting the silver vessel. The general turned and stormed his way out the door, which Felix promptly closed and barred again. He leaned back against it, his posture sagging. “Thank you. For thinking so quickly. You shouldn’t have needed to deal with a confrontation so soon after waking up. I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t mention it,” she said, shaking her head to wave it away. Then she gestured to the thurible in his hand. “I suppose we had better get to work, or else I’ll be a liar.”

            He gave a soft huff that was almost a chuckle. “I suppose so,” he said, and went back over to his work table.

Felix moved through the steps of the resurrection process, offering a truncated explanation as he went along. There would be more time later to instruct her in detail, but right then, with such a tight deadline, there wasn’t enough.

            He explained the teeth, the way you had to listen to each one to understand its essence, understand whether it was the correct part for the whole they were trying to assemble. He explained the configuration as he strung it, why which parts went where and what they corresponded to.

            Finally, with the necklace completed, it was time for the conjuring. He blanched when she held out her arms to him. This part, she was already familiar with. Every chimaera close to the war effort was.

            “What are you doing?” he asked as though he didn’t already know. He knew, of course, but his mind refused the possibility outright.

            “I want to tithe,” she said. He shook his head immediately.

            “No,” he answered. Her expression creased into a frown, and his heart constricted.

            “But I saw your arms earlier. It would be easier on you if I just—”

            “No,” he repeated. How could he make her understand? “I can’t . . . I can’t be the reason you get hurt. I can’t. You might spare me some physical pain, but my heart can’t take it.”

            Her expression softened, sadness and love on her face. He wanted to curl up against her, but the work wasn’t finished yet.

            “All right,” she relented.

            He did allow her to help him set the clamps, which would at the very least speed up the process a bit, especially once the conjuring was complete. Pain was required, they both understood that, but she made it clear that she didn’t want him in it any longer than necessary. After the conjuring was finished, she swiftly loosened the clamps from his arms, and though she did her best not to, Felix caught her frowning. He’d instructed her to tighten the clamps directly onto the bruises that had already been there—the quickest and easiest source of pain.

            Felix put his shirt back on while she fetched the incense and thurible, carefully setting them up just the way he instructed. Then she lit the incense and opened the thurible, funneling Qworom into his ugliest body yet.

            Guilt, yes. Shame, yes. Felix prayed they would all live long enough for him to put them back into the bodies that matched their souls.

            After walking Qworom through a quick set of physical litmus tests—which, all throughout, the soldier kept tossing confused and almost suspicious looks at the dragon woman—Felix sent the soldier on his way. He couldn’t shake the sudden uneasy feeling in his stomach.

            “When was the last time you ate, Felix?” she asked once it was just the two of them again.

            “I don’t know, last night, maybe,” he answered. Her eyebrows drew together in concern.

            “You don’t even know for sure?”

            He shrugged.

            “Well, I’m hungry, and you should eat, too. Is the mess hall still where I remember?” she said, and he could tell she was fighting very hard to downplay her worry for him.

            “Yes,” he answered.

            “Great. Let’s go.”

            Going to the mess hall didn’t make Felix feel any better. The second they entered, chimaera started whispering. Most of those eating in the hall currently were hulking revenants, but there were also cooks and caretakers, chimaera of standard proportion, some of them even in their original flesh. It took a lot more than soldiers to keep the citadel running, after all.

            For a moment, Felix hoped that perhaps his beloved would blend in with the others whose trade wasn’t war. If that was his goal, though, he probably shouldn’t have walked in with her. Then again, any such illusion would have been pretty much shattered once anyone witnessed the dark eye-shaped brands in each of her palms—the mark of a revenant.

            Worse, perhaps, were the individuals who had a long memory, and who paid enough attention to remember who this dragon woman was, and, more critically, who she had been to Felix before her death.

            With his feline ears, very little escaped his notice, and so he heard all the little comments and jabs. “I suppose one would get lonely up in that tower.” “I wonder if he changed anything, brought her back exactly to his taste.” Those sorts of things were bad enough, but there were worse ones. “Why would he waste resources on her?” “She wasn’t on the list. Has he stopped believing in the cause? Are we losing that badly?”

            Felix half wished he could cover his ears, but that would be far too obvious a concession. Now of all times, he could not afford to look weak-willed in front of his comrades.

            They retrieved their rations and went to sit and eat. Her expression was unreadable; her hearing wasn’t quite as good as Felix’s, but she had clearly picked up on enough of the talk to be at least somewhat on her guard. They ate in silence, and just when Felix thought they might get through this unharassed, a passerby dumped their cup of grasswine down the back of her body.

            She didn’t react beyond the instant flaring of her wings. Another person might have taken it for an instinctual reaction, but Felix knew her and saw her face when she did it, and understood that she had opened her wings to block off the walkway between their table and the one behind her, forcing the culprit to either stay put or try to bull their way past.

            To Felix's surprise, they didn't move while she shook out her wings and slowly got to her feet.

            "I haven't heard an apology yet," she sighed. "I can only take that to mean you aren't sorry."

            As she folded her wings enough to turn around and face the careless aggressor, Felix recognized him as Narium, a horse-aspect chimaera with the proportions and affect of a minotaur. He was based on a Percheron, and at least twice as wide as the dragon woman. Under the table, Felix's hands inched toward the deer horn knives that he never left his workshop without.

            He was tired of living in a world where everyone, whether enemy or ally, felt like a threat.

            “My deepest apologies,” Narium said in a mocking tone. “I must have tripped on that lizard tail of yours.”

            The end of said tail flicked in irritation.

            Narium, for all his equine features, had reptilian eyes, and he was carefully sizing up the dragon woman now. He was likely weighing his chances against her, thinking he would come out on top since she was unarmed. As far as Felix knew, the two of them had never served together, so Narium would have no reason to know that so long as she had her horns and tail, she was not without a weapon.

            Felix had just moved to get up, to intervene, to make himself a target instead if he had to, when Narium swung his massive fist. From the angle of the strike, he didn’t look to be aiming for her body at all; he wanted to break her left wing, to leave her shattered on the ground.

            She was faster, as expected of her smaller size, and she leapt into the air, out of reach, before the strike could connect. Her wings beat powerfully, sending silverware skidding and stray vegetables rolling off of plates.

            “There’s no reason for this,” she called down. Narium, too, had wings, but due to his hulking size and the limitations of mechanical leverage, they were huge and therefore ineffectual in the mess hall.

            “Your cowardice is reason enough,” he snorted, stomping one large hoof. “Running away where I can’t pursue you. Come outside where the fight will be fair.”

            “Contrary to popular belief,” she said tersely, “the point of a solider is not to die needlessly. I would hate to make more work for Felix.”

            Narium turned his gaze on the resurrectionist then, and he looked furious. “Did you really make your pet strong enough to kill me?”

            The insult rattled through Felix. As though she would ever consent to being anyone’s pet. He itched to draw his blades, which was unusual for him; his first instinct had ever been to defuse rather than escalate. As always, though, the rules were different when it came to protecting those he loved.

            Before he could act on either impulse, however, General Torza plowed his way through the mess hall and banded his powerful hand around the horse-chimaera’s arm, yanking him in close so that he had the soldier’s full attention.

            “That,” Torza said lowly, nodding his horned head up at the dragon woman, “is our new resurrectionist in training. Pray your soul never passes through her hands, or you might wind up a toad next time.”

            Narium snorted again, seemingly more frustrated now, but lumbered away after one final glower in Felix’s direction.

            “I understand any jealousy you might feel,” Torza said, raising his voice to address the whole hall. “We all miss the forms we were born with, and the vessels that replicated them most closely. But we exist in our current forms to best serve one goal: Our survival. For some of us, that means monstrous bodies to strike fear into the hearts of our foes as we overcome them. For others, it means a quick, dexterous form to better glean our souls and synthesize our new bodies. If you harm those responsible for your resurrection, you will be dooming your own future at best, and our entire race at worst.”

            He paused for a long moment, letting his words sink in. There were no objections.

            “As you were,” he said finally, and the majority of the gathered chimaera went back to their meals. Felix, still frozen where he stood in front of his table, met eyes with the general and hoped his expression conveyed his gratitude. Torza inclined his head slightly, then turned away to fetch his own food.

            Rather than come back down to the floor as Felix expected, his love glided over to the nearest window and let herself outside. Felix had the fleeting impression of a butterfly once trapped.

            He did the only thing he could think to do, the only thing he had any desire to do. He followed her.

            When he caught up, she was sitting atop one of the citadel’s turrets. In the past, it had been used to hold prisoners. Now, though, it was basically empty. Taking prisoners hadn’t been part of their strategy for some time. The sun was rapidly setting around it, making her a shadow limned in orange.

            He touched down beside her but hesitated to sit. “May I join you?” he asked first. She nodded, and he sat, his feet dangling over the side with hers.

            It was quiet for a few beats until he broke it again. “I’m sorry,” he said. She glanced at him.

            “You didn’t start that fight,” she replied. “The one who owes me an apology is Narium, but that’s never going to happen.”

            “Not for that,” he said softly. “I mean for bringing you back at the wrong time. For provoking whispers and stares and even violence. They’re going to treat you differently because I brought you back differently, and I wasn’t supposed to. It couldn’t be more obvious that you’re my favorite, and it’s not fair to them, or to you.”

            “To me?” she asked. “How do you figure?”

            “Because I brought you back in this form during a time when I knew they wouldn’t accept you,” he said, his voice growing a bit louder, frustrated by his own lack of foresight. “I had some idea what the consequences would be, but I didn’t let myself dwell on it. It seemed so small a thing next to the weight of continuing to live in a world without you. Now you’re stuck with me, doing my terrible work with me, when I don’t even know if that’s a burden you want to bear, or if you even want to be near me at all anymore, let alone in the same way you were before your death. It’s been less than a day, and nothing has gone the way it should.”

            She surprised him by reaching for his hand.

            “I think one thing has,” she said. He dared to meet her eyes.

            “What?”

            “I’m with you,” she said simply. “That’s the way it always should be.”

            His eyes widened a bit, and he found himself searching for any indication that she was lying, that she was only saying so to spare his feelings.

            “You know you don’t have to say that,” he deferred softly. “It’s enough for me that you’re alive and in the world again. It’s enough for me that I get to see you, and know that you’re all right. You don’t . . . Things don’t have to be the way they were between us before. I won’t hold you to it.”

            “The only thing that could make me go,” she said softly, “is if you can look me in my eyes and tell me honestly that you don’t love me anymore.”

            He exhaled, long and slow, and shook his head. “That will never happen,” he said, his heart so full he thought it might burst.

            “Then I will never leave you for any reason besides death,” she said. “Simple.”

            Gently, like he feared she might vanish as though a figment, he laid his hand on her neck, turning her face just the slightest bit more with his thumb against her jaw. He searched her eyes again for doubts, for regrets, and found none. After that, he kissed her. She squeezed the hand in hers as she kissed him back, and though it had been two agonizing years, her mouth felt just as familiar as he remembered; when she parted her lips for him, she tasted the same.

            He moved closer to her on the ledge, draping his thigh over hers to erase as much negative space as possible, his hand shifting to the back of her neck to deepen the kiss, to make his hunger known. Her tongue grazed his; his teeth brushed her lip; her free hand moved to his thigh. He moaned, a sound he hadn’t made since she’d been killed.

            She pulled back just a little, just enough to look at him while he flushed, panting to get his breath back.

            “I missed you,” he said meekly, as though it wasn’t brutally obvious. It made her smile, though, and that was what mattered.

            When she leaned to press her lips to his again, her stomach protested, causing her to break away with a laugh. Felix echoed the sound, low and a little raw from disuse.

            “How about this,” he said, toying with the end of a lock of her hair, “you head back to my workshop, and I’ll bring up a plate to replace the one you were forced to abandon?”

            “Only if you bring one for yourself, as well,” she said, giving him a knowing look. He sighed and rolled his eyes, but couldn’t smother his smile.

            “Deal.”

That night, Felix had his best sleep in years. Not only did his love all but force him to retire at a reasonable hour, but he refused to let her bunk in the barracks after what had happened in the mess.

            Instead, she piled into his bed with him, her new body remembering all the old postures they used to use to accommodate her wings. Pressed against her warm body, his back to her front, Felix’s thoughts tended not to race quite so badly. It was an effect she still had.

            The end result was that he fell asleep more quickly, lulled into unconsciousness by the sound of her breath, and stayed asleep longer, his body perfectly at peace beside hers.

She woke before him. Not by choice, but because someone at the main door to his workshop seemed very keen about getting inside.

            Loathe to wake him at all, she shook his shoulder as gently as she could, softly calling his name. He groaned, pressing nearer to her, his face against her skin.

            “I’m sorry, love,” she murmured, gently running her fingers along one of his softly-furred feline ears. “Someone’s at your door, and they sound rather insistent.”

            He stilled, one ear swiveling as he listened for a moment, and upon confirming the validity of her statement he sighed, uncurling his body from hers and stretching. He’d deemed his shirt unnecessary to sleep in, and though he was still both far too thin and far too bruised for her taste, she couldn’t help admiring him.

            They both got up and dressed appropriately before going to the door.

            Predictably, General Torza was on the other side, dropping off the thuribles of his top-priority soldiers. Felix accepted them, each one labeled by a piece of parchment affixed to the thurible by a bit of wire, and they got to work.

            Such were their days for the foreseeable future. She learned better each day how to be the most help to Felix. There were still things only he could do, such as the delicate magic of conjuring, but she was able to help with every menial step along the way. Molding incense, setting teeth and gemstones into metal anchors so they could be more easily strung, fetching him things as he needed them including food and water. She was pleased to see that over the weeks, he gained a little weight back, and General Torza too was happy that the pace of resurrections had increased.

            But the one thing Felix still refused to let her do was tithe. Occasionally, other chimaera, especially those who had been wounded in combat, came to offer their pain to the process. All other times, though, the burden fell to Felix.

            Once, when she felt she couldn’t bear the sight of him affixing a clamp to his already bruised arm, she reached reflexively for him, and he jerked away.

            “If you would just let me—” she tried to say.

            “No,” he said, raising his voice the slightest bit, something he rarely did, especially towards her. “Don’t ask me again. Ever. All right?”

            She’d nodded stiffly, and, unable to watch him do it that time, flown out the window to wait perched on the roof until it was done.

            She had not brought it up again since. Now, she simply tried not to look while he conjured, to busy herself with other things in an attempt not to notice. She could always hear the way his breathing changed in relief when it was over, though, and always she was there to hand him a cool compress or two to help soothe the pain.

            They’d been working side by side for about a month, a well-oiled mechanical rhythm to their process. The other chimaera seemed far less angry about her existence now that they were being reunited with friends and loved ones more often. Since Felix had been able to exceed what had previously been his maximum pace, he’d been allowed to bring individuals back who weren’t strictly soldiers, creating reunions for others much like he had for the two of them. This had the added benefit of encouraging more individuals to tithe. It was a lot easier to accept what Felix had done once others got to experience that same joy.

            And yet, things weren’t exactly the same between the two of them, either. The stress of catching up with the resurrections had left him little time for anything other than work and taking care of his physical form as best he could. They’d been companionable, of course, but outside of sharing the occasional kiss and sleeping in the same bed, the affection between them wasn’t what it had once been.

            She supposed that’s what she got for being dead for two years.

            One evening, though, after an exceptionally productive day, they went to eat dinner in the mess, and Felix kept tossing her weird looks across the table for nearly the whole meal. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore and asked, “What is it?”

            He hesitated for a moment, looking abruptly shy, then said, “I’m tired of being cooped up in the citadel. I’m thinking about flying to the lake tonight.”

            “Moonwing Lake?” she asked. She assumed, since it was the largest lake within easy travel distance of the citadel, especially if one flew there, something they both knew from experience. Felix nodded.

            “I’m not supposed to go anywhere without an escort—I’m ‘too valuable’—so I wanted to ask if you’d like to come with me,” he said. He was entirely nonchalant about it, except for the way his eyes left hers for a moment—skating down her neck and then darting away entirely.

            She felt she grasped the meaning of the invitation without him expressly needing to say it.

            “That sounds nice,” she answered. “As long as we’re back by morning, of course.”

            “Of course,” he echoed. “Always more work to be done.”

            “Always,” she repeated back to him. “All the more reason to let off a little steam every once in a while.”

            He gave her a pointed look, a look she remembered well from before her death, and knew for certain she had not misread the situation. “My thoughts exactly,” he said, and the tone of his voice, a purr so low in his vocal register that she would not have caught it if she weren’t so close to him, kicked off butterflies in her stomach.

            “Glad that’s settled,” she answered, unable to help the airy, breathless quality in her voice. Felix smiled, an edge to the expression that put all his sharpest teeth on display.

            She knew she’d feel those teeth before the day was out, and the butterfly feeling spread to places other than her stomach.

Though only one of them had wings, they were both swift fliers. They took off for the lake after dinner, Felix’s silent, wingless flight alongside her strong wingbeats. They couldn’t fly too close together thanks to her wingspan, but it would be clear to anyone who looked up that they were indeed flying together.

            It was a temperate summer’s eve, the perfect time to go swimming in a lake that had been warmed by the sun all day. When they landed on solid ground again, she folded her wings, her tail flicking eagerly. The two moons were rising—one full and one a sliver—their reflections playing on the water.

            Felix dropped the pack he’d been carrying—containing towels and snacks—and then tugged his shirt up and over his head. She watched him closely, marveling at every bit of his lean, strong form. It wasn’t unusual even now for her to see his bare torso at least once a day, but every time she saw him gave her pause like it was the very first. It was as though he’d been perfectly molded to attract her. She supposed she had the previous resurrectionist to thank for that.

            In kind, she loosened the ties at her neck and hips that kept her shirt on, letting the article fall away, leaving her top half as bare as his. Like her, he couldn’t keep from staring, his lips parting slightly as he drank her in, his eyes widened like he couldn’t quite believe what he was being shown. Just as easily, she slipped out of her pants and walked into the water, leaving him to gape after her on the shore.

            “Oh, come on,” she teased. “This isn’t the first time we’ve done this.”

            “It isn’t,” he agreed, his voice sounding the slightest bit strained, “but it has been a long time.”

            She turned back in time to see him strip, too, and despite his previous surprise, there was nothing stilted or nervous in his motions. He met eyes with her a few times, as though to make sure he still had her attention, then waded into the water after her. Despite most of his body being widely considered plain, she thought he was the most beautiful being to ever walk their world. The last month had been kind to him, and as he approached her, he looked every bit as lithe and strong as she remembered.

            When he stood face to face with her, the water up to their hips, he raised his hands, trailing them up the line of her body, her waist, the sides of her chest, then further, his left hand tracing the line of her right horn while his right hand moved from her left shoulder to her wing-arm. Her wings stirred, an involuntary reaction to his touch not just there but everywhere, and she watched his eyes, his wide, dark pupils, the way he watched every move of hers as though in rapture.

            “I missed you,” he said, his voice so low it invited a shiver in her. He’d said those words dozens of times since her resurrection, but she was well aware that they meant something different this time. It was not her presence as a whole he spoke of now; his words implied her carnality and his yearning for it to match with his.

            In answer, she pressed her hungry mouth to his. His hands went back to her waist, perching as perfectly as they ever had, drawing her bare body flush with his. He kissed her like he was starved, like he might devour her, and she welcomed it. Their tongues skimmed, and he moaned into her mouth. She grazed his lower lip with her teeth—a taunt, a plea—and he nipped hers in return, pulling a breathless sound from her.

            Once her lips felt sufficiently marked by his, she pulled back and moved to his jaw, his neck. She kept drawing those throaty moans from him, and when she dragged her tongue up the column of his neck, he made his most ragged sound yet, his hips flinching into hers. She clamped her mouth to his right trapezius muscle, sucking a mark into his skin, and the flinching turned into bucking, an intentioned effort at chasing any friction he could get.

            “This is why we came here, isn’t it?” she asked, needing to be sure beyond a shadow of a doubt before she actually touched him. He nodded, his ponytail coming loose, making him look all the more disheveled, all the more in need.

            “Yes,” he gasped out. “Needed you. Needed to be with you away from prying ears.”

            She kissed him again, one of her hands feeling for him in the water, finding him already mostly hard. He made a deep, strangled sound against her mouth while she explored the shape of him, wrapped her hand around him, her grip fitting him exactly the way she remembered.

            “Are we going to have to come all the way out here whenever we want to do this?” she asked, a teasing note in her voice. He flushed but shook his head.

            “No, I just . . . I wanted our new first time to be special,” he said. She smiled, all hints of jest melting away. “I missed you,” he said again, and it was like he’d put his entire soul into the words, so bared was his longing.

           She put her hands on his hips, gently guiding him back a few steps into shallower water. Then she settled onto her knees, trailing kisses on his body all the way down.

            Until she was at eye level with his hardness.

            She looked up at him for permission; he was still pink in the face, but he swallowed hard and nodded. She put her tongue out, licked along the underside of his shaft, and he shuddered. His fingers wrapped around one of her horns, and she knew instantly that it was for the sake of his own stability rather than any kind of bid for control.

            Determined to savor, she took him slowly into her mouth, a little at a time. He tasted of lake water and salt, and every sound he made, deep in his throat and escaping as though unbidden, let her enjoy her work even more. Stasis had been kind to her; with the exception of those little moments of awareness—awareness of him—time hadn’t touched her mind or her heart. Not as it had touched Felix. The way she took him now—softly, ardently, wholly—was her apology for the loneliness he had endured.

            Finally, when he could take no more, he did use the hand on her horn for control, holding her back and keeping her from sinking his cock back into her mouth. She looked up at him, saw the fight for self-control on his face, the edge of delirium in his eyes, and hummed in question. He groaned again and pulled her all the way back by her horn, forcing her to release his length, sloppy with spit and pre-cum, from her mouth.

            “We didn’t come here just for me,” he said, his voice scraped raw, low, near the bottom of his vocal register. She shivered to hear it.

            “You know I wouldn’t put your cock in my mouth if I didn’t like it,” she answered, but stood up out of the water all the same. He watched the rivulets drip down her form with more attention than strictly necessary.

           “I know,” he said, “but I want so much more than that.” He swallowed hard, vulnerable, and added, “It’s been so long. This body has only ever known you.”

            Her eyes widened a little, staring. He held her gaze so earnestly, so honestly, that she couldn’t question him further.

            She knew, of course, that in his sphinx body he’d had other lovers. But after his resurrection into his current body, she had been the first one to lie with him. Up until her death, she had been the only one. Now here he was, telling her he’d waited, denied himself physical comfort for two long years waiting for her?

            “Felix,” she breathed, bewildered. “You didn’t have to do that. I wouldn’t have held you to that. I wouldn’t have asked that of you.”

            “I couldn’t imagine being with someone else,” he said. “So I just didn’t.”

            She kissed him again, and when they broke apart, he took her hand and led her back to the shore. He spread one of their towels on the bank, and laid her on her back. She let him guide her body, let him look, let herself be plied when he spread her legs open and settled between them. He didn’t enter her, not yet, but pressed his hardened length against her abdomen. She shuddered.

            She could wait. Her waiting was nothing compared to his.

            He lowered his face to her neck, his lips eager on her skin, kissing over and over. He trailed up her sensitive flesh, making her squirm under him, until he came to her ear, his teeth skimming the lobe, which made her whimper.

            “I want to see if you’re still sensitive in all the spots I remember,” he said, voice scraped low, making her shudder again, and her next sound was a moan while she nodded her agreement, her eager permission. He moved his mouth back to her neck, a soft scrape of his teeth against it before he clamped his mouth to her skin and sucked in a mark to match the one she’d given him. Then his mouth traveled lower, dragging over her collarbones. He licked and kissed his way down, and just when she thought he was going to put his mouth on one of her breasts, he pulled back.

            She groaned and fidgeted in frustration. There was faint amusement on his face when she met his eyes.

            “Open,” he instructed, and she did as requested, opening her mouth and putting her tongue out just enough to shield her bottom row of teeth. He put his right middle and ring fingers in her mouth, and she closed her lips around them. She held his eyes while she began giving his fingers the same treatment she’d given his cock just minutes ago, and reveled in the way he moaned, his hardness twitching in either remembrance or need. She hummed, pleased with herself, the sound muffled thanks to her full mouth.

            He sighed as he lowered his mouth again, picking up where he’d left off and going right for her breast this time, lapping his tongue repeatedly over her nipple before sucking it into his mouth. She whined around his fingers but didn’t let them go. He kept up his ministrations until she felt she couldn’t take it anymore, and then he moved to the other breast. Her whining was all but incessant now, and he pulled his fingers out of her mouth, letting her be as loud as he wished.

            Which, once she found out why he’d taken his fingers back, was pretty damn loud.

            He sheathed his damp fingers inside her, and she was already wet enough that he met no resistance. She moaned, arching as he immediately curled his fingers forward, pumping them just right to hit the spot inside her that made her writhe. He was watching her so closely that she flushed. She knew him well, had been with him so many times, but she’d never received a look quite like that one before. He looked like he wanted to pounce on her, and it was taking every bit of his self-control to draw this out instead.

            So, naturally, she decided to make that ten times harder for him to do.

            It was the dab of stickiness on her stomach that gave her the idea, which meant it was actually his fault. But feeling his tip leaking on her like that, looking down and seeing it, too, she couldn’t help reaching for him again, jerking him quickly. The sound he made then was almost a growl, his eyes going unfocused for a moment before he gritted his teeth.

            “You want me to last, don’t you?” he chided. She smiled innocently, and he sighed raggedly.

            “Maybe,” she said sweetly.

            “Then don’t do that,” he said.

            “Maybe I have an agenda.”

            “Which is?”

            “Making this unbearable so you hurry up and put your cock inside me already.”

            “Fuck,” he snarled under his breath, and then, to her shock, pulled his fingers out of her and lay down next to her. “Well, come on, then.”

            “You’re going to make me do the work?” she asked, pretending to complain, though she was already in motion, lining herself up above him while he held his cock in perfect position for her.

            “I already told you,” he ground out while she slid down onto his length, unable to tear his eyes away from the point of contact, “I want to see if you’re still sensitive to the same things. I seem to recall that this is one of the best ways to get you to orgasm on me.”

            She shuddered, both because of his words and because of the way he fit as perfectly inside her as she remembered. As far as she understood, the art of resurrection was just that—an art, and therefore inexact. Rarely did chimaera end up with an exact replica of their old bodies. Though, she supposed, few people knew the resurrectionist as intimately as she did, and vice versa.

            “You have a good memory,” she sighed, both in response to his words and her own thought. Then she leaned down to kiss him, all the while working her cunt slowly up and down his cock.

            He moaned into her mouth, unable to keep silent for more than a second. She hummed in response, but unlike him, she wasn’t purposely holding herself back. She wanted to savor, to draw him out as long as she could.

            “You can hold out for me, can’t you?” she murmured. “You aren’t going to finish too quickly, are you?”

            “I’ll do whatever you want,” he answered. “I don’t care. I just need you. I don’t care how.”

            She bit his lip lightly. Felix had always been a generous and thorough lover, and she was happy to find the last two years hadn’t changed that.

            “Good,” she breathed, sitting back up and rocking on his cock more soundly, “because I want to come all over that cock, and then I want you to wring every last drop out of me until you can’t take it anymore and make the biggest mess of all.”

            He nodded eagerly, gripping her hips hard while he stared up at her. Every time she dropped down on him, he pulled, too, making sure every thrust was felt acutely by both of them.

            “I can do that,” he groaned. “I want to do that. I want you to get so fucking slick that I don’t even have to think about restraint while I fuck you.”

            She nodded too, picking up her page. “Want that. Want you to take out all your pent-up feelings on me.”

            “I will,” he moaned, moving his hands to squeeze her chest now, making her whimper, her hips stuttering for a moment. “I’ll show you just how badly I missed you,” he promised.

            She put her elbows down by his head, rutting back hard on him, shallow whines accompanying every motion. His moans were deep, so close to her ears.

            “Please, please, Felix, I’m so close,” she whimpered. His hands clamped back down on her hips, keeping up the punishing rhythm she’d set even when she faltered.

            “That’s it, that’s it, love,” he said, his voice so low, every syllable an aid to her. “Let me feel that sweet cunt coming all over my cock.”

            She broke. For a moment, her body locked up, her eyes squeezing shut, and then she was shuddering on top of him, moaning his name and a hearty combination of swears. His hands kept guiding her hips, less brutally now, ensuring they both got every bit of possible pleasure from her orgasm, prolonging on her end and teasing on his.

            “That’s it,” he praised, “gods, I’ve missed you so much.”

            She nodded deliriously, panting while she came down from her high. She met his eyes again, saw the perfect combination of adoration and lust in them, and ground herself down on his cock again. He groaned, and she clamped her lips down around another whine.

            “More,” she said, and he nodded. He coaxed her hips up off of him and guided her onto her back again. She opened her wings wide, laying all of her body—his work—out beneath him. His eyes roved over her every feature, and the sigh it prompted was long, like she hollowed him out entirely.

            “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, positioning himself between her legs and tapping her entrance with his cockhead several times in quick succession, a sticky slap accompanying each one. She moaned and squirmed, hating and loving the teasing all at once. “Good thing you’re all mine, hm?”

            She nodded eagerly. “All yours. Forever.”

            “Good girl,” he praised, then entered her again. She fisted her hands into the towel under her, her hips shifting up to get as close to his as possible while she whined. She was already so sensitive that his every motion in her was acutely felt. His moans were deep and ragged as he picked a rhythm, and he wasn’t slow or gentle about it. Just like he’d said before, she was plenty slick, letting him abandon any semblance of self-control. He fucked her like mating with her was his only directive on this planet.

            He pinned one of her thighs back with his hand, using the other for balance above her, pounding into her hard and fast. She didn’t know where to look. There was his face, a frown of concentration and need, his lips parted while he moaned again and again. There was his musculature, pronounced all along his chest and abdomen while he put all his physicality into fucking her rough, chasing that high. And then, of course, there was his cock, glistening and sticky where it sank into her again and again. He was entirely mesmerizing.

            She put her hands out, trailing his body, feeling every dip and ridge of muscle at work. That drew a different sound from him, sighing deeply like he was the most blessed creature alive to have her attention.

            “More,” she urged again, her greed plain in her voice. The challenge flashed dark in his eyes, and he pinned both her knees back, shifting himself further over her in the process so that his hips thrust down instead of forward, hitting her deep and hard with the force of gravity on his side.

            “Yes, yes, that’s it, don’t you dare stop,” she said, her words tripping over themselves with little thought behind them.

            “Yeah?” he said, his turn to goad now. “That greedy cunt gonna come for me again?”

            “Yes,” she whined. “So close, please, Felix, please.”

            “That’s right, love,” he purred. “Show me what that pretty cunt can do.”

            Her moans were high and loud when her second orgasm tore through her, unable to make herself shut up. He moaned, too, the sound filled with both pleasure and pride.

            “That’s my girl,” he praised. “So good for me. And so fucking sexy, too.”

            She couldn’t answer him intelligibly, whining wordlessly instead. He let one of her legs go, but hooked the other one over his shoulder, straightening up on his knees and resuming his hard, fast rhythm. She knew him well, knew that when he fucked like that he was close to meeting his end. His hair was in his eyes, and he ran a rough hand through it to push it back.

            “I’m not the only sexy one here,” she whined. “You’ve always been so fucking beautiful.”

            Her words seemed to shatter his fervor for a moment, and his eyes snapped wide, sweet and full of love, as he met her gaze. His thrusts didn’t slow, but he leaned over her to kiss her, pressing her thigh into her body in the process. She moaned into his mouth. He broke their kiss with a surprised noise.

            “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

            It was so like him for kissing to be his last straw. His lips parted as he came hard inside her, every pump of warmth from his cock punctuated by a thrust of his hips. His moans were deep and throaty, his eyes shut tight against the sensation as he spread hotly inside her. He was so fucking gorgeous that it made her dizzy.

            After he’d finished, he stayed propped over her, breathing hard while his senses came back to him. She rubbed his back, feeling his heart hammering from his efforts. He put her leg back down, then pulled back enough to just look at her, and she looked back.

            “I love you so much, Felix,” she said softly, pushing his hair out of his face and tucking as much as she could behind his soft ears. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

            “I could never,” he said, his voice gentle but a little hoarse from how noisy he’d been before, “because I love you just as much.”

            They lay tangled together while he softened, and only after that did he remove his length from her. He helped her up, and they went back into the lake to gulp mouthfuls of water and let their bodies rinse naturally. After swimming leisurely for a bit, they got out and Felix produced the snacks he’d brought. They lounged about on the towels together, neither of them bothering to put their clothes back on.

            “Do you want to head back after this?” she asked him, licking a trail of fruit juice from her finger. She caught the way Felix watched her tongue work with singular attention.

            “What’s your hurry?” he asked softly, dragging his gaze back to her face. “We won’t be missed till morning.”

            She gave him a sly, lazy smile. “And how are you going to entertain me until morning, hm? What if I fall asleep on you?”

            “By all means,” he answered, his mouth pulling into a matching smile, “fall asleep on me as much as you’d like.”

            At that, she climbed back over him, slipping his soft length inside her. He flushed; he clearly hadn’t expected her to call his bluff so soon. As she stared down at him with a satisfied expression, she felt his cock twitch inside her, the beginnings of a new erection.

            “Ah,” she said, poorly feigning surprise, “I see.”

            It was a very long night for them, indeed.

[ilions-end]

statius very clearly invoking achilles mourning patroclus in how polynices mourns tydeus is doing something to me

and it's the thebaid so of course it's always more fucked up below the surface. polynices is the reason there's a battle at all. he's NOT a hapless soldier mourning a fallen comrade he loves, he's the MAIN COMMANDER who started the war! HE's who everyone's fighting for or against!

like IMAGINE your sinking feeling as you watch the exiled king you've all pledged yourself to, the man so many of your friends have already sacrificed themselves for to put on the throne, immediately try to kill himself because his boyfriend died

[deadpresidents]

The Feuding Presidents of Westmoreland County, Virginia

Of all the Founding Fathers, it would seem like George Washington and James Monroe would have been the closest comrades.  The two men were born just miles apart from one another in Westmoreland County, Virginia.  They both were large men physically, not known primarily for their intellect, but instead for their hard work, their courage, and their devotion to the Revolutionary cause.  They were the two Presidents who saw the most action during the Revolutionary War and Monroe served bravely under Washington.  To top it all off, Washington and Monroe kind of looked like each other, too. 

On Christmas Day in 1776, Lieutenant James Monroe was one of those legendary soldiers who famously crossed the frigid Delaware River with General George Washington to engage the British at the Battle of Trenton.  Monroe led a charge in that battle to help capture some cannons that were about to be fired upon the Americans and was wounded in the shoulder, a severe injury that would have resulted in him bleeding to death if it weren’t for the fortunate presence of a local doctor in New Jersey.  Monroe’s heroism led to a promotion as Captain and he continued serving bravely during the war and was amongst those troops who survived the terrible winter of 1777-1778 at Valley Forge.  It would seem as if none of the Presidents could have established more of a bond than the two Virginians who helped fight in the Revolution.  Indeed, General Washington wrote that Monroe “has, in every instance, maintained the reputation of a brave, active, and sensible officer.”

So why did they despise each other?  And did James Monroe indirectly help kill George Washington? After the Revolution, Monroe entered politics and supported the national government being formed under George Washington despite the fact that Monroe had voted against the ratification of the Constitution in 1788.  As one of Virginia’s first U.S. Senators, Monroe continued his support of Washington, who was now President, but began to fear that too much power was being placed in the hands of the chief executive and found himself opposing Washington’s Proclamation of Neutrality.  When Washington appointed Monroe as Minister to France in 1794, something snapped. Monroe, like his friend and mentor Thomas Jefferson, loved France.  He loved the country itself and, as an American Revolutionary, he found himself in love with the French Revolution.  President Washington’s Proclamation of Neutrality insisted on American impartiality towards France and the countries that France was at war with at the time – Britain, The Netherlands, Austria, Prussia, and Sardinia.  Monroe was vehemently opposed to neutrality because the French were the first and most important allies of the United States during the Revolution.  Plus, James Monroe loved France.  In fact, Monroe loved France so much that Secretary of State Edmund Randolph was forced to officially reprimand him due to his glowing compliments about France when Monroe presented his credentials in Paris. From there, things continued going downhill between Washington and Monroe.  Monroe rescued Thomas Paine – another one of America’s early Revolutionaries — who had been thrown into prison in France for criticizing the execution of Louis XVI.  Paine was very sick and believed to be close to death, so after securing his release, Monroe arranged for Paine to stay with him at the American Ministerial residence.  Paine recovered and proceeded to brutally attack George Washington verbally for allowing him to rot in prison instead of rescuing him as Monroe did.  President Washington felt Monroe should have muzzled Paine, or at least repudiated Paine’s disrespectful language towards Washington. 

When the United States signed Jay’s Treaty with Great Britain, easing tensions between the U.S. and it’s former colonial power, Washington expected Monroe to be a good Federalist and support the rather unpopular treaty.  Monroe opposed it and refused to speak out in support of the treaty.  His silence on Jay’s Treaty was the last straw for Washington.  The President was furious and noting that he expected a diplomat who would “promote, not thwart, the neutral policy of the Government” recalled Monroe as Minister and ordered him to return to the United States.  When Monroe learned of his recall, he said that Washington was “insane”. Over the next few years, Monroe spent his time at home in Virginia and worked to undermine Washington and criticize the first President.  Monroe questioned Washington’s capacity as a leader and felt that he had sold out the French, who had done so much to help the Americans during the Revolutionary War.  Washington felt that Monroe was unqualified to critique his Presidency and that Monroe was a hopeless Francophile.  In 1797, long before Monroe was considered to be Presidential timber, Washington cautioned, “If Mr. Monroe should ever fill the Chair of Government he may (and it is presumed he would be well enough disposed) let the French Minister frame his speeches”.  Washington added, “There is abundant evidence of his being a mere tool in the hands of the French government.” Monroe wasn’t ready for the “Chair of Government” on a national level, but after Washington retired to Mount Vernon and handed the Presidency over to John Adams, Monroe decided to aim for the “Chair of Government” on a state level.  In 1799, Monroe campaigned to become Governor of Virginia and as Monroe’s candidacy was promoted by his friends and supporters, 67-year-old George Washington maintained his estate in Virginia in retirement and tried to do whatever he could to prevent Monroe’s rise.  If Monroe was going to be Governor of Washington’s beloved Virginia, then it would practically have to happen over Washington’s dead body. Washington wasn’t powerful enough to prevent Virginia’s state legislature from electing Monroe as Governor in December 1799, however.  On a cold and snowy day, George Washington learned of his former lieutenant’s victory and took off on horseback to tend to Mount Vernon.  When Washington returned to his home, cold and soaking wet, he got into an animated discussion with guests about Monroe’s victory and angrily denounced the newly elected Governor.  Washington continued his discussions without removing his wet clothing.  Already ill with a cold, Washington’s illness worsened.  On December 14, 1799, George Washington said his last words, “Tis well” and died. Monroe continued his public service as Governor of Virginia, a special envoy to France to secure the Louisiana Purchase for Thomas Jefferson, Minister to Great Britain, Governor of Virginia once again, and Secretary of State and Secretary of War under his close friend James Madison.  In 1817, it was finally Monroe’s turn to take the “Chair of Government” as Washington had so feared.  Supported by Jefferson and Madison, Monroe easily defeated Rufus King and became President, kicking off “The Era of Good Feelings” where Monroe’s popularity was almost unparalleled by any other President and the nation was unified and free of almost any partisan bickering.

In 1820, Monroe ran for re-election and was so enormously popular that no one dared to run against him. In Massachusetts, 85-year-old John Adams -- a stalwart Federalist and George Washington's Vice President -- even supported Monroe. Yet Washington got the last laugh. Running unopposed, Monroe was not only certain of victory, but it looked like he would become the only President besides Washington be elected unanimously by the Electoral College. However, Governor William Plumer of New Hampshire decided to deny Monroe that honor and reserve it for Washington and Washington only. Some stories allege that Plumer did it solely to prevent Monroe from joining Washington as unanimous Electoral College victors and some stories note that Plumer truly disliked President Monroe and voted for John Quincy Adams as a protest. Either way, the records will always show that George Washington was the only President elected unanimously and I think it's pretty clear that Washington would have appreciated that Monroe of all people was prevented from joining him in that exclusive club.

[madame-wilsonn]

Midnights: Chapter 1

MASTERLIST — MIDNIGHTS MASTERLIST

Summary: In the tunnels, Tommy is haunted by the green-eyed man: the soldier he killed. 

A/N: well here it is, the first chapter!! For this first sleepless night, I chose an event that had to do with the war because it is quite central to Tommy’s development and I felt like it was important! It’s quite short (and so will some of the other chapters) but I really hope you enjoy!! 💗

Ps. You can always send me an ask or a dm if you want to be tagged in the story 😊

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, war; angst 

Word count: 847 words

Tommy observed his hands in the dim light, dirt covering the dried blood. Not his blood. No, the blood of the boy he killed. A young German soldier—probably younger than John—stabbed ruthlessly with his knife.

They had fought in the constricted tunnels, each trying to have the upper hand. Each showing no mercy to the other and for what?

If it hadn’t been an order from the king, Tommy could have met this boy and talked to him. Maybe they could have been comrades, sharing pint of beers and playing card games in a pub. Instead, Tommy shoved a bayonet in his heart.

His hands hadn’t stopped shaking since. It took both Freddie and Barney to tear him away from the now lifeless green eyes. Tommy had noticed them as he pinned the soldier to the ground. Green eyes, light hair darkened with dirt. And a gaping wound in the chest.

He had to, Tommy kept repeating to himself. If he didn’t kill the soldier, the soldier would have killed him. If he didn’t stab the soldier, the soldier would have stabbed him. If he hadn’t volunteered, he would have never met the soldier, the soldier would have still been alive.

He clenched his jaw, tearing his gaze away from his bloodied hands. So much blood staining his fair skin. So much blood that shouldn’t be there.

“Stop thinking about it, it won’t do you any good,” Jeremiah had whispered to him as they moved deeper in the tunnels. “You had to do it, you didn’t have a choice. God forgives you.”

But Tommy wasn’t worried about God’s forgiveness. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been in a church.

So why did it hurt so much?

He wasn’t afraid of some sort of punishment. And he knew what he had signed for. But it became too real. There was a difference between saying he was going to war to fight the Boches and actually murdering one.

That look. The look the German soldier gave him haunted him. As if he was begging in his last moments. As if he was calling to him.

“Please, Tommy, don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. I have a family waiting for me.”

It was ridiculous. The soldier didn’t know his name. He was a stranger. For all he knew, he could have been a real scumbag. Someone horrible who deserved to die. But Tommy realized it wasn’t his place to choose. Who was he to decide who could live and who couldn’t? He was no one. No one who had just killed a boy.

And now, all his mind could do was think of the possibilities. The what if's.

What if a child would be growing up without their father?

What if a mother had just lost her only child?

What if, what if, what if?

That war was stupid. It made no sense. Tommy could finally see it. He thought volunteering would help. It would make him feel proud. He would be doing his duty. But maybe he volunteered because Small Heath hurt too much. Maybe because he needed an excuse to get away.

Greta was everywhere, there. She was in the alley behind the bakery where he used to bring her those cakes she loved. She was near the canal where he used to take her, in every street, every passageway. She was everywhere.

Oh, Greta…

What would she say if she saw him? If she saw the red tinting his fingers— the same fingers she used to kiss and hold and love.

Would she even recognize him?

The man she adored, the man whose laugh echoed through the dingy streets, the dust and soot. Where was he, now?

Tommy’s eyes fell on his distorted reflection in his pocket knife. He couldn’t find that man. All he saw was a bloodied, dirty soldier. A mere pawn in a game he should have never agreed to play. The glint in his eyes had vanished, turning the vivid cerulean into a lackluster, faded color.

Everyone around him was asleep, enjoying a few hours of calm before it was time to dig again. Tommy knew he should try to rest. But he was terrified to close his eyes. Terrified the boy would come and haunt him. Terrified his green eyes would beg him to spare him again. Terrified to hear the writhing gurgles. Terrified to see the blood spilling from his half-opened mouth.

Instead, Tommy stared back at himself. Or what seemed like himself.

It almost made him wake up his comrades and ask them.

Do you recognize me? Am I still the same?

Maybe the shift wasn’t physical. Maybe it was deeper. But Tommy felt it. Something in him had changed. Something was lost and he hopelessly searched for it, digging through the dirt to get it back.

He tried to catch a glimpse of the old Tommy, the one with his clean hands and liveful expression. But every time he tried, he could feel the green eyes staring at him— the man and his red right hand.

Taglist: @aaskoct @cillmequick @dandelionprints @edmundo-diaz @forgottenpeakywriter @huntingingoodwill @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @jokim @julkaamazing @lili12356 @look-at-the-soul @lyarr24 @midnightmagpiemama @milkshakelol @notyour-valentine @rangerelik @salvatoremeanssavior @thesoldiersminute @wretched-mischief @zablife

[margindoodles2407]

Of Hands and Heartbreak- First Draft Completed

Why have I come back to this after like. A month? To finish it. Here you go. Come get y'all's juice.

Hey @whyoneartheven you might enjoy this

It’s late. Or it’s early. The man in the dusty, bloodstained armor can’t tell. It’s dark, that’s what matters, and he can’t sleep. It’s too hot for that. 

Doesn’t stop his comrades, though. He’s glad; they’re all strewn about the camp, collapsing into the shoulders of their brothers or passed out where they were sitting for the feeble excuse of a meal the Grand Army affords to give them, half-eaten rations still resting in their limp grips. Good. War’s an exhausting business, and rest is a luxury few soldiers can afford, and these boys are too young to have to worry about things like that. Newest recruits are barely nine-eighteen.

(Not that he should be talking. He’s not much older.)

The General sleeps a few feet away; he fell asleep talking to the crimson-haired general of the other battalion and is currently using his shoulder as a pillow. Looks a little absurd, considering he stands a full head and shoulders above his brother-in-arms. The man smiles, a faint, fond smile. Absurd, he may be, but the plain and simple fact is his General’s a good man.

And he’s trained a good apprentice. A little girl, curled up next to the armored Captain, tucked under his arm and squishing herself into his side. All of fourteen standard years, wide-eyed, quick to flash a toothy smile and quicker to double over in bubbly, fanged giggles. For now, though, she’s sound asleep and snoring softly, which makes him chuckle, just a little bit. She’d be mortified if she knew.

But the chuckles subside, as they always do, and after a moment (a few seconds? an hour? but what is time to a soldier) he catches himself staring into the fire again. He isn’t a man much given to introspection; he never has been, and not many of his brothers are either. Wasn’t something their minders seemed to consider important enough to teach them.(Probably cause they weren’t meant to think for themselves, not really. Of course, that never had stopped any of them.) But he sometimes catches himself thinking about things probably more suited to Jedi philosophy than a Captain’s insomniac musings. 

Tonight? Well, it’s what people’s features can tell a person about them.

Hands, for instance.

His hands have seen too much war. Large, calloused, rough and chapped. Littered with scars and blisters, nails uncut and ragged and grimy, dirt in his pores and always, always, haunted with the ghostly sensation of being drenched in blood that will never wash off. Not the blood of the enemy- thank Force he fights droids, lifeless beings of wire and durasteel, and not other living beings… usually. No. The blood of the brothers he couldn’t save, of the fresh-faced boys straight outta Tipoca City, bright-eyed and full of the naive bravado of “I’m Gonna Be A Hero”- boys that might not even necessarily be dead, but who shed their blood on the battlefield nonetheless, and with it, their innocence.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by a particularly loud snore, and it brings his mind to the hands of the little girl. Hers are the opposite of his in every way imaginable; small, soft, and gentle. The hands of a healer, not a soldier.

Jedi were not made for warfare. Their hands were made to help, not to harm; if they hold weapons at all, they fight to defend and not to kill. Hers are no different, and though they wield her twin sabers with ferocious dexterity, he’s always been of the mind that they’re far better at complicated secret handshakes with the General, at playing cards with his brothers, at helping Kix give meds to the injured. 

At holding the war-hardened hands of the dying. 

But it’s too late (or is it too early?) to think about that kind of thing. In fact, he’s finally starting to nod off (thank Force). Not very comfortable to sleep sitting up, though, so he shifts, just a little bit, as carefully as possible so as to not wake her up. He mostly succeeds.

But she stirs, just a little, and she mumbles something he can’t really make out, and as his eyelids finally flutter shut, she moves just barely as well.

And the two of them- the Captain and the little girl- fall asleep, hand in hand.

[judasgot-it]

this isn’t exactly a request but if you have the time and also feel like doing it could you just- idk, say everything that u like about Tetcho?? Just anything and everything that comes to your mind whether it be about the way he’s written by Asagiri, or anything really lol because I have a feeling you really like him

I want to save this for Wednesday but if anything major changes (probably will. Everyday I thank bones for making him their fave) ill add more cause AHGGGHGGHG this man....

Not enough Tecchou lovers out there. Asagari hasn't said anything on his backstory and I'm waiting for it so for now I'm making shit up (all I know is that IRL Tecchou was from a rich samurai family so how that ads to his character? Idk. Im sticking with child soldier tho for now one day ill write a fic)

BUT AHHHHHHHHHH OMG listen with what we DO have he's a good character. He clearly cares for his teammates, he's the person who cares about Jouno even when Fukuchi never believed in him being a good person (thats actually upsetting af but Tecchou is a real one for seeing Jouno for who he is)

HE LOVES ANTS AND RESPECTS LUCY BECAUSE SHE CARES ABOUT HER FRIENDS EVEN THOUGH HE GENIUENLY THOUGHT THAT THEY WERE TERRORISTS AT THE TIME !!! HES A GOOD MAN !!!

He would put those he loves above justice, the thing he put his life on the line for its crazy !!! He plays the hero, but at the end of the day, his friends and family mean more, and that's wild cause that goes against his entire thing !!!

Literally, even though he hasn't been in the series long for what we do have so far, I can't help but like him, idk what it is about him but he's a likable character for me

Sometimes I like to think about him and cry like the loser I am. Anyway.

Since this is my soap box moment for talking about Tecchou and all my thoughts I need to add a theory here - he quite possibly is a foil for Fukuchi

Fukuchi was in the war and saw soldiers die for one another in horrific ways that no one should see - it changed him. He told Fukuzawa that he never wanted to see that horror again.

But Tecchou is clearly thay same soldier again, what he WANTED to prevent from happening, who is willing to die for his comrades in war no matter what

LIKE FUKUCHI MADE A WHOLE ASS FAMILY WITH THE HUNTING DOGS AND THEN DESTROYED IT IN THE SAME WAY HE WAS TRAUMATIZED BY. LIKE WTF

But unlike Fukuchi, I don't think Tecchou would become a monster. He still has some semblance of humanity. He can remove himself from his sense of 'justice' and care about those around him.

It's a ramble but I like to think there's a Tecchou v Fukuchi fight coming up eventually and Tecchou would win. CAUSE ITS SO NOT FAIR THAT HE KILLED HIS COMRADES TURNED THEM INTO VAMPIRES AND THEN GETS AWAY WITH IT CAUSE OF A TIME SWORD LIKE WHAT

Anyway that is another ramble but I love him, he and Jouno are among my favs cuz they're so silly and I think have some deeper character development that might be explored later in the series. I'm praying and hoping every chapter that they come back.

Pleaaaasssseeeeeeeeeee asagari LIKE IM BEGGING YOU I HAVE FAITH IN THEM

Anyway I'll possibly add on later but anon ily I'm giving you many air kisses mwah

My last thoughts on Tecchou. Why isn't he real bro

Also omg I could write a full length novel on him cause this man must be immaculate. Idc if he isn't real I'm gonna make shit up about him. I'm delulu craycray a freak a weirdo !!