#physical descriptions of Napoleon

[microcosme11]

Description of Napoleon, 1815

Described by the Englishman, Hobhouse, who was a friend of Byron's.

Napoleon recaptures Paris, March 20, 1815 by Manceron, Claude, 1969.

Can be borrowed from archive.org

[captainknell]

A few years ago I copied all this down onto paper 😅 fortunately I wrote myself a source so I didn't have to type it all back up! @empirearchives @hoppityhopster23 @ic-napology

[captainknell]

He looked me full in the face which gave me an opportunity to observe the colour of his eyes which are lighter, and more of a blue grey, than I should have expected from his complexion

- Joseph Farington (some guy that saw Napoleon apparently)

Napoleon’s eyes in paintings

“Did you notice his clear gray eyes, which are so piercing that you can hardly bear his look?”

— Tsar Alexander I

“I have to admit, shivers went down my entire body. I will never forget the fiery eyes.”

— A monk who saw Napoleon in Lithuania in 1812

[miffy-junot]

Junot's head injuries

You're all probably aware that Junot received many head injuries throughout the course of his career, and that these contributed to his eventual descent into insanity. But there's not much awareness for the actual effects of brain injuries and how they work, so I'd like to make a post (using information from some medical manuals of head injuries and their effects) to outline how these injuries may have effected Junot.

!! Disclaimer 1: I am not a doctor and have no medical qualifications, I simply know more about this topic than the average person and want to share that knowledge

!! Disclaimer 2: obviously it is impossible to discover the exact health issues that a man who died 200 years ago dealt with. It is known that he suffered many head injuries, but the exact parts of the brain affected and to what extent are unknown. Therefore I'll just be describing the potential effects of head injuries like the ones that Junot suffered, but it's up to the reader to interpret how many of these symptoms he truly dealt with.

Without further ado, let's get started:

Part 1: what type of head injuries did Junot suffer, and why does this matter? (tw for detailed description of injuries - skip to part 2 if you're sensitive about this)

Wounds caused by bullets or sabres (so the type of wound that Junot suffered) are categorised as 'open injuries'. While other forms of head injuries can cause damage to the whole brain, open injuries can be more localised, only affecting certain functions rather than everything.

However, open injuries also involve the skull being broken, which can cause further issues. This makes the affected part of the skull more fragile in the future, making it easier to break if another blow is suffered in the same area (which I'll get onto in the next bullet point!). In modern day, surgery can repair the skull and prevent complications, but as far as I'm aware these surgeries did not exist in Junot's time. Complications can arise from skull damage, such as chronic headaches, brain bleeds, and seizures.

Junot suffered multiple head injuries, which makes matters even more serious. A head injury makes both the brain and skull more susceptible to damage from future injuries, creating a sort of snowball effect. If the brain is already a damaged, a seemingly small injury can cause disproportionate harm.

It's most likely that Junot suffered injuries to the front of the brain rather than the back. With all head injuries but specifically open injuries, the part of the brain that gets damaged is crucial with determining the effects. In general, injuries to the front impair cognitive function, and injuries to the back impair physical function. Often injuries to the back of the brain cause symptoms like impaired spatial awareness, loss of control over limbs, or impaired vision. (to give an example from the Napoleonic era - Marshal Andre Massena was shot in the head during a hunting accident, leaving him blind in one eye. This is a localised injury to the back of the brain, impairing a physical function but leaving the mind unaffected). Junot showed no signs of physical disability, so it's clear that his injuries caused no serious damage to the back of the brain. However, the symptoms he did express (which I will get onto later in this post) are consistent with those of an injury to the front of the brain, specifically the frontal lobe which controls what we think of as the mind - emotions, behaviour, personality, problem solving skills, social skills, etc.

Unlike injuries to most parts of the body, brain damage is usually permanent. The brain can create new "pathways" to make up for the damaged areas, but those areas cannot be regrown.

Part 2: what are the symptoms of brain damage?

As covered in part 1, I will only be focusing on the cognitive side of things, since that's the part of the brain that Junot's injuries affected

For the following list of symptoms, I'll put a green tick next to the ones that Junot certainly suffered from, although many of them are up to interpretation

Fatigue

Chronic headaches ✔

Frequent nightmares ✔ (an example is the intense nightmares he suffered after an assassination attempt on Napoleon)

Difficulty starting/completing tasks ✔ (this seems apparent in his career)

Reduced concentration span

Reduced problem solving ability ✔ (again, this seems apparent in his career)

Impaired reasoning and judgement ✔

Unrealistic view of oneself and others ✔ (particularly in his blind faith in his own abilities and in Napoleon)

Intense mood swings (including rapidly changing between experiencing emotions very strongly or appearing cold and emotionless) ✔ (very evident in his relationship with Laure)

Depression ✔

Anxiety

Impulsive behaviour ✔

Reduced ability to tell what's appropriate in social interactions (including sexually inappropriate behaviour) ✔

Lack of insight ✔

Irritability and aggression ✔

Obsessive behaviour ✔ (particularly in his devotion to Napoleon and obsession with becoming a marshal)

Reduced capacity for memories (usually this only affects memories made after the injury - the person may be able to recall events many years ago but have little memory of yesterday) ✔ (this is shown in Junot's poor memory at the end of his life)

Part 3: in connection with other factors in Junot's life

Overuse of drugs and alcohol already cause mild brain damage, and will make any head injuries much worse. Additionally, it makes recovery more difficult.

Complete recovery from a brain injury is impossible, but rehabilitation can help the person to lead a fairly normal life afterwards. But unfortunately rehabilitation, particularly to the extent that Junot clearly needed, did not exist in the 19th century. Even with the best efforts of Junot's family, he could not have received all the support that he needed.

Many people with head injuries are able to regulate themselves more around strangers, but will show symptoms more intensely around trusted people. I believe this is shown somewhat in Junot's interactions with others.

Often when somebody in a long term romantic relationship gets a head injury, this causes the relationship to become less romantic and more platonic. Similarly, Junot's mental condition worsening and his relationship with Laure cooling off happened around the same time.

Part 4: so what does all this mean?

Honestly, it means whatever you want it to. Junot's behaviour matches many of the symptoms of an open injury to the front of the brain, but you could either interpret this as being cause-and-effect or merely coincidental.

Whether you love or hate Junot, I hope this gives you at least some insight into why he was the way he was, and the possible issues he was dealing with.

[xxsycamore]

Hello there since Yokohama req for kink let's see two of my faves with your boy Size kink and body worship how do they sound ?I love them all and I already can't wait to read wgat you will come up with this time 😍😍

GASP i should've seen this coming!! This is so much like you :D Let's see if I can spark (more) interest in Napo for you with the use of your favorite kinks~ With pleasure, Julie! <3 Let's start with Size kink!

Napoleon + size kink

tw: includes descriptions of short/tiny reader

If you're of a way smaller build than Napoleon, you can bet that he's going to have strong feelings about that. What kind of feelings? Protectiveness, first of all. The more his feelings deepened for you, the smaller you looked in his eyes - like a precious creature he desperately needed to wrap into his cape and hold close at all times. That being said, the size of your soul is entirely different; your inner strength might stand taller than him at times, and he's not blind to that. He won't measure your disposition by your physical appearance.

Then his feelings for you deepen further, and he starts to notice how your size affects other aspects of his love for you. How it affects his libido. How the things he finds cute about you during the day are all coming back to him when the night wraps the both of you in its veil and tints everything in a different color... During the day, he laughs at how you can't reach that one cabinet in the kitchen, even on your toes. During the night, he lets you enter his room ahead of him and he thinks about taking you standing against the wall, just so he can tower over your back again like earlier in the day when he helped you out. During the day, you complain about him always involuntarily walking ahead of you, and he'll snort and tell you to grow longer legs. During the night, he'll stroke the side of your foot because he can't believe it's nearly the size of his hand, before hoisting your leg over his shoulder.

You might catch him expressing this infatuation of his, and you might think he's simply being a bully. All the times he ruffles your hair just because your pretty little head is in perfect proximity, or when he jokingly rests his arm on your shoulder, or when he holds up an item above you where you can't reach it without jumping in the air... you'll have to look for the signs of him doing this purely out of his love for the difference in your sizes, mostly manifesting through an act of affection coming immediately after this teasing. He's not kissing you only to apologize - he's kissing you because you're terribly small and angry and he's the big bad wolf who can eat you up if he wishes but he chooses to be kind and nice instead.

Of course, there's a certain area where he dwarfs you completely, and where the psychological enjoyment of it is highest - as well as the physiological. And that's when he enters your tight little hole.

Now, you'd say I'm biased for this part but my guess is that Napoleon is on the well-endowed side, something a little above average. If Napoleon made the difference in your builds strikingly noticeable enough before you moved to the next step in your relationship, then chances are you were a little scared of what he was hiding in his pants, and rightfully so... But don't worry, he's going to soothe your worries; the very first time and every other time when you're faced with having to accommodate him inside you. He's talking sweet nothings in your ear, making you cum on his fingers that are stretching you open. If you're genuinely concerned about the tight fit, he'll leave any teasing behind - any that is not for the sake of smoothing out the furrow in your brows, that's it, he has a good judgment of when enough is enough - and focus on reassuring you. Once this becomes a regular thing between you, once he notices how you clench on his fingers at the mere mention of exchanging them with something that's going to fill you up properly... He'll use this information for personal gain, I'm afraid. He's going to make you lightheaded with the things he says, and he'll find countless opportunities to remind you of how obviously smaller you are than him. He might make you watch in the mirror while he has you in his lap, his cock in his full erect glory resting heavy against your lower belly, knowing that this thing is going to disappear into your depths exactly as you see it in the reflection. And then you get to see that too, as he lowers you on his cock, whispering of how good you're taking him all the way in.

I'm going to take some points off though, because his strong belief in equality is bound to make him upset if your height leads to people disrespecting you. He's prone to overprotectiveness too and he knows it, so in order not to sound like he's underestimating you, he might do the opposite of reminding you of how small you are. He still finds it cute though, he can't help the hair ruffling for instance...

6/10 "Here, place your hand down. Do you feel me? I'm all the way in here inside you... Who knew your little hole could be so greedy, hmm? Alright, I won't bully you anymore. Just let me feel more of you."

-> (ALWAYS OPEN) send me a kink & I’ll give you a headcanon and rating for Napoleon!

🦶foot fetish 🥵breeding kink 🥕pregging 😈dom/sub 🍈breast kink ⛓bondage 🩸period kink 👄marking 🐺predator/prey 🏙public sex 🤗praise kink 👅 cunnilingus 🍌blowjobs (receiving) 🚪getting caught 🖐️masturbation 🥛lactation

[cadmusfly]

Help I drove to work and while doing that sketched out Napoleonic Dragons AU That Isn’t Temeraire in my head, just jotting it down because I'm unlikely to work on this more than tiny snippets for the moment

Cavalry Dragons AU or Every Infantry Marshal Has Scales Now, The Worldbuilding

Baseline points:

If Temeraire is "dragons as navy" worldbuilding, this can slot into "dragons as cavalry" - things may be stolen from Temeraire though

I don't feel like doing a lot of logical extrapolations to make a coherent alternate history, so I want to restrict the abilities and capabilities of dragons enough so that their existence is still cool but things like Ships Made Of Wood and Napoleon not flying over the ocean to conquer Britain make sense

I like to do things systematically, so I want to have a reason for which marshals are dragons and which ones aren't - I've decided on "all marshals who started out as infantry" which unfortunately means Murat, Bessieres, Ney and Davout aren't dragons, but maybe in the alternate universe next door only the cavalrymen are dragons but

Also, I have decided that many naval ships are bonded with/accompanied by a giant sea serpent dragon who can spit water, because that means that dragons cant burn the ships down and also. friendly sea serpent friends. insert aubreyad/hornblower thoughts here

Anyway, dragons! A lot of rambly worldbuilding thoughts under the cut, followed by brief text descriptions of Dragon Lannes and Dragon Soult and Dragon Junot and a bonus

They range in size from as big as a car to as big as a suburban house - sea serpents tend to be a lot bigger but are constrained to the sea

They have human intelligence and pretty much human minds, though there's room for some quirks and nonhuman POVs

They speak telepathically into people's minds, it sounds like audible speech that bypasses the ears, it doesn't bypass language so a French dragon will be speaking French

They don't really breathe fire - some spit sparks, others spit bursts of flames, but no sustained fire laserbeams

Except for some techniques that involve the dragon eating some special foods, which allow for fireballs/sustained flame, but they can't be flying and they have to be still and prepared

a certain artillery officer didnt invent this but he did work out new and exciting ways to use this

Maybe some dragons have acid sprays instead, others have a very chilly breath

Smaller dragons can fly longer than larger dragons

Dragons come in many different colours and shapes and tend to be categorised into something along the lines of Temeraire's lightweight/mediumweight/heavyweight categorisations but they don't have breeds for reasons I'll get into later

When a dragon likes collecting stuff, that's stereotyped as a hoard lol - yes this means Dragon!Soult has an art hoard, Dragon!Massena has… a pile of gold, Dragon!Lannes has his Armagnac collection and sheep

Dragons don't have a specific magical or psychological bond with a single person or rider, but they do get very strongly attached to people, they do prefer these people to ride them but can be persuaded to take others, and because of the next point, it’s strongly incentivised for dragon-bonded (need a better term) to accompany dragons

The Dragon Stupor:

The big thing about dragons, why they havent taken over the world, is that for all their might and grandeur, they are susceptable to the dragon-stupor.

Basically, when a dragon pushes themselves, when they exert themselves physically to the upper bounds of their ability - during a battle or a prolonged flight - after everything is done, they just fucking go to sleep.

Well it's more like a coma. Smaller dragons fall into the stupor for days to weeks, while larger ones can go up to months or even years

there's rumours about big mountains being Really Big dragons in the dragon-stupor for centuries!

This means that dragons are really good at sort of singular and short term attacks and operations, and they can walk around and push themselves a tiny bit, but they can't do long extended trips or long extended fights without needing long naps

However-

The dragon-stupor can be shortened and the effects lessened by the presence of things they like and feel comfortable with like their "hoard" and their favourite people

For example, Dragon!Soult usually has a stupor of, say, six months because he’s a pretty big dragon, but let him curl up in his Gallery Of Murillos and it’s shortened to about three to four months

Let Louise visit him and chat to him and he’ll wake up in a low energy state, but he’ll be conscious and this state is reduced to 1-2 months

Because Soult even as a dragon is a workaholic, he brings Louise with him and does planning and strategy stuff while low-energy

Napoleon is the bonded for. quite a few dragons. I mean one dragon can have multiple bonded to different extents but Dragon!Junot and Dragon!Lannes both consider him theirs

This is an excuse for cute moments I will admit. It does also solve some questions but it’s cute!

Sea serpents, who are bonded with naval captains and ships, also have the dragon-stupor but slightly less long and also they’re more conscious during it, but this means that naval ships with serpent friends have a cute setup where they harness the serpent to the ship and give their serpent a wind-assisted ride, with the serpent paddling a tiny bit

The reason that dragons and humans work together is that dragons are very vulnerable during the dragon-stupor, dragons don’t have opposable thumbs and good fine motor skills and it’s generally helpful for the dragons to have human help, like an extra pair of eyes in the sky because the dragon is likely looking at where they’re flying

But humans also still need horses for longer journeys that need more consistency - I guess there could be something where a human courier changes dragons on their trip but you’d need to set that up beforehand too

Dragons don’t have physical binary sexes. They do have gender that they identify with, but physically they’re weird magic alien reptiles. Any two dragons can make a clutch of eggs together, and doing this sends both dragons to a low energy stupor state where they’re cuddled up on top of the eggs and will bite anyone who is a threat but won’t leave.

They don’t have breeds because dragon genes are weird and actually kinda environment based sometimes

Many dragons have feathery quills or fluffy manes because I love feathered dinosaurs

Berthier is a small dragon who has actually, unlike other dragons, mastered telepathy to the point of directing it and with an immense range, able to whisper things into people s minds. Along with his dexterous claws that can grip a quill, he uses both letters and telepathic messages to direct the operations of the Grand Armee. But unfortunately, this is not a skill that can be learned easily and quickly.

Technically a dragon could have another dragon as a bonded and if they are bonded with each other they can have sleepy half awake naps together

Oh yeah there's something here about St Martha taming the Tarrasque being a cultureal thing

Dragon People!

The marshals who are dragons are still marshals because even if dragons were not given titles back in the day, the Revolution and Napoleon’s reign shook things up.

Dragon Lannes

On the medium to small side of things, the dragon Lannes is a loud energetic dragon that’s mostly shiny green. His dragon-stupor is unusually short for his size, with him jumping up after a few days of lightly conscious rest. Scars mark his hide and there’s a few places where scales are misshapen and crooked but he doesn’t give a shit.

His first bonded was Paulette but then Something Happened. I’m not sure what his relation to the Lovely Louise is, but it’s something. He does consider Napoleon to be one of his favourite people.

Dragon Soult

Soult of Saint-Amans is a large dark maroon dragon with crimson markings. He really should have been born a human, and he enjoys things like reading and looking at nice art. He limps on one of his legs and one wing is a little ragged, but he can still fly- but it does send him into the stupor very easily.

His favourite person is of course Louise Berg. Unfortunately he can’t have her as a rider because misogyny and also he wants to keep her safe so he wouldn’t accept her as a full time rider anyway, stupid chauvinist dragon, so he has to take other riders.

Like Ney.

He likes strategising and planning more than actually fighting, but he will begrudingly go and Do Dragon Stuff

Dragon Junot

La Tempete is named not just for his ferocious style but for his elongated breath of sparks that resembles lightning in manner. He's either a medium or small dragon with black and navy scales, maybe a white mane/quills?

His favourite bonded person is Napoleon. He sometimes argues with Lannes and Duroc over who gets to carry Napoleon. Lannes and Duroc are chill and usually drop the matter, and then Napoleon picks Duroc anyway.

His rider is Laure Permont who will not shut up.

hmmm. either murat or bessieres..?

there's a myth of those people called melusines who can shift between dragon and human form

but they can only do so for so long

and then they are trapped in one form or the other

[dolphin1812]

I recognize that "dark-haired and beautiful" is a really vague description of Montparnasse, but somehow it's still enough for me to imagine him as "Marius, but evil and with self-confidence." The emphasis on his youth is intriguing. As a former "street boy," the repetition of language related to youth ("a child," "springtime," his age, etc) reminds us that his crimes likely began around the age a child would "age out" of being a gamin (13). With that also being around the age he would have become a teenager, he might have also become more interested in his appearance then (and would have attracted more attention while also not having a place to turn to), leading to his crimes. Montparnasse isn't meant to be sympathetic - he's said to have every "vice" and he literally murders people because he wants to look nice - but it's still concerning that someone so young could have been positioned to commit violence crimes. It's both an indictment of Montparnasse and of the society that created him.

I don't know that I'll have much to say about Claquesous beyond how much I enjoy his description. His disappearances make him almost supernatural, a mysterious force of night rather than another criminal. He's also the least trustworthy of the group from any angle. No one in Patron Minette is trustworthy, of course, but Claquesous specifically is unknown even to those he works with. Between spying and betrayal within the criminal underworld and on behalf of the police (think of Leblanc's porter accusing Marius of being a police spy), someone this mysterious is even scarier than the known murderer Montparnasse, simply because it's impossible to say who he is or what he does with his knowledge.

Babet feels like the kind of criminal who is the biggest threat to someone like Fantine: a vulnerable person in desperate circumstances, hurt more by manipulation than by outright violence. Part of this is just that he extracts teeth, which she notably had to sell. But it's also because he's "learned." Another issue Fantine had was that her illiteracy meant that another had to know her secret, which made it easier to discover. Her situation wouldn't have been uncommon in Paris, suggesting that Babet could exploit others through actual knowledge acquired by reading and by the pretension to expertise that "learning" gave him (see how he calls himself a "chemist"). A small and funny(?) detail is that he lost his wife and children like a "handkerchief," which only seems humorous because it comes so soon after Marius' obsession with M Leblanc's handkerchief.

Gueulemer is the most heavily racialized of the Patron Minette, made more explicit by the suggestion that he was "creole." His description mostly just feels racist in how Hugo describes his physical features and emphasizes his physical strength. There is a brief historical reference, though. Marshal Brune was an officer during the French Revolutionary Wars and under Napoleon. He was murdered, so the suggestion that Gueulemer was connected to him likely means that he was involved in his death. Notably, he was a porter at the time. Doors in this novel are significant in how they show acceptance and care (opening) or societal rejection (closing), so it's interesting that he sidesteps this entirely in favor of violence.

[auguste-marmonts-only-fan]

What are the most and least flattering physical descriptions of Marmont?

Hey!

Thanks alot for the question....now physical descriptions of Marmont are very few/nonexistent. So finding any description was difficult but the one I did find was mostly positive!

Together with two other generals, he defends Napoleon's retreat all the way to Paris. In March 1814, he offered a tough resistance in the very suburbs of Paris. Here is how Sainte-Beuve evokes him in the skirmish near Belleville at the head of the remnants of the former Grand Army: »And finally, let's show him in this last venture when we saw him at the head of a group of about sixty men repulsing the Russian column. Let's remember that his right hand was weak since the battle of Arapilès, that the thumb and forefinger of his left hand were crushed at Leipzig. That's how he looked on his feet, because the horse under him was hit once again (the fifth horse since the start of the battle). He always went into battle standing tall, with his head held high, his chest/breasts and heart proudly protruding. Let's add to that his warrior demeanor and his unique uniform: a tailcoat without laces, a hat with white feathers, always white trousers and sturdy high riding boots. We saw him like this on the way back to Paris, covered in dust, still trembling from the excitement of the battle. And he was only forty years old at that time.<<<

After 1812. he had his right hand always in a sling and was extremely wounded on his right side (he was hit by a cannonball 😢)

Here are some of the only full body photos of this asshole 😭

[berrypass-de-murdler]

1. Murder in Hollywood

It's the show version my good murdlers.

First thing to make clear, is there a design for every character no, but WILL there be a design for every character, planning on it yes, so uh... Dame Obsidian will be here eventually rip. Check the first post for designed characters ofc

BUT FOR THIS EPISODE...

DEDUCTIVE LOGICO - he's a magnifying glass and the logo... obviously lmao. Follows his in-book physical description to a 0, my deepest apologies, when I made this smol man I couldn't imagine him to be 6 feet tall, as such, the heights of the characters will be (sometimes very) off. Such as Logico being 3'4". Anyway, cartoon Logico is British, has an extreme Napoleon complex, and a humorously high-pitched voice for his angy personality. In this version he was originally just an actor who played a detective in the Midnight movies, until he naturally ends up in the face of real murder, day after day after day after

THE AMAZING AUREOLIN - my very first design, I was so stupidly proud of her original sketch that I turned it into... this entire project. I LOVE MY RABBIT DAUGHTER AND NO ONE CAN LAY A HAND ON HER - she made me get invested in the storyline after being framed and shit. ANYWAY, unlike most of the Murdlers who just kind of resemble animals, Auree is... just a rabbit. She is also British because because, and in this storyline, she was suspected of murdering her husband after he left her for making too little income. Now she has to raise her Marshmallow Peep-looking triplets on her own, with a target on her back at all times... I love her sm

MIDNIGHT III - For the least creative design there is probably, and the only non-anthro character, have this man whose design is so boring, he doesn't even get an official artwork, I just scribbled him in two seconds. A tiny blob of smoke even smaller than Logico, he sounds more or less exactly like Red Guy from Don't Hug Me I'm Scared and is... that. He doesn't even have eyes underneath his shades!! In this storyline, Midnight is Logico's boss from the beginning, and convinces him to take up real-life detective work.

Dame Obsidian is planned to unsurprisingly be a golem-type creature

DON'T READ THE EPISODES UNTIL YOU'VE FINISHED THE FIRST BOOK!!!

But anyway, the summary/dialogue:

Logico drinks his coffee somehow, despite not having a mouth, so he kind of just pours it down his coat, like... eh???

LOGICO: MY!!! That is simply the PERFECT temperature.

He watches a screening of one of his detective films and squeals like a little girl. Midnight III, his boss, greets him with news.

MIDNIGHT: You need to stop doing it in the film. You need to do it for real.

Logico doesn’t want to.

LOGICO: I don’t give a shit about a murder!

Midnight has a plan.

MIDNIGHT: Fine. Just come to the high-end Hollywood party we’ve invited you to, with all the best directors, and Dame Obsidian.

LOGICO: KI-KA-KU-FE-JET WHAAAAT? I ADORE Obsidian’s work!! I MUST GO, I MUST GO, I MUST GO!!! [jumps around like an idiot]

MIDNIGHT: Good. See you there.

He goes to the party. Midnight is there and The Amazing Aureolin is doing tricks. Logico meets his idol Obsidian.

OBSIDIAN: YES, YES, VERY EXCITING I’M A BUSY WOMAN.

LOGICO: Oh… my dear heart!

Anyway, one of the directors drops dead in a bathtub - inappropriate!! Logico REALLY doesn’t want to have to do this but his inner workings are tingling and he has to know who does it. 

MIDNIGHT: Look at my pipe, it’s nice isn’t it. LOGICO: No one cares, Midnight, this is a crime scene! OH… YOU’RE ONE OF THE SUSPECTS!!  MIDNIGHT: Hurray.

Logico digs Obsidian out of the seats. Aureolin acts extra sus and fights audibly with her.

AUREOLIN: I trusted you! I trusted you and your fork, you dumb… fork!  OBSIDIAN: THIS WOMAN IS ACCUSING ME OF MURDERRR 

Logi gets a call from a voice blabbing about how ironic it was that Obsidian had a fork… and ate with it. 

LOGICO: Oh, hahaha, eating, with a for- WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU??

In the end, Logico places the blame with his answer. 

OBSIDIAN: OOH, SHOCKER, IT WAS THE LITTLE ONE. AUREOLIN: …Obsidian!... 

Auree fights for her claim.

AUREOLIN: I thought you said you were a detective! You have no proof of what you’re saying! LOGICO: My proof is plenty - the other two suspects did not do it!  AUREOLIN: Who do you think you are?? MIDNIGHT: She’s fighting it, she’s clearly guiltyyy

Guards grab Auree and drag her away.

AUREOLIN: No cell can hold me! You know what you did! I’ll have you a- MIDNIGHT: Shut uuuupppp LOGICO: I suppose… I kind of did give a LITTLE shit about a murder. MIDNIGHT: Good. That’s your new job. LOGICO: MY NEW JOB?!?!?

THE END-

Episodes are formulaic bc book format, so some will be shorter than others when nothing much happens, but hey, time for short king to solve a hundred murders!!

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See ya next time murdlers!!

[josefavomjaaga]

Joseph and the ladies

Even Thierry Lentz, very well disposed towards Joseph and really trying to show in his book that Joseph was much more than the weakling he is often perceived as, is quite open about how Joseph spent his free time from the job as king of Spain:

In the Royal Palace or in La Moncloa [a country house], Joseph indulged in two of his favourite private activities: getting rich and loving.

With regards to the first activity, there’s a long story involving, among other things, the crown jewels of Spain, of which a certain amount at some point disappeared from Madrid (Napoleon blamed it on Murat but later learned that the thief had been his brother dearest). And as far as the second activity is concerned, Lentz of course also names the Marquise de Montehermoso, »non exclusive holder of the title mistress« [maîtresse en titre non exclusive]. But there are more. Plenty more.

So many that Colonel Desprez, Joseph’s clumsy aide de camp who had gone all the way to Moscow in order to hand Napoleon a letter of complaint, would later have some acerbic comments on his former master, put together in a report called »Caractère du roi d’Espagne, Joseph Bonaparte«. But this was indeed much later, after the fall of the empire, during the July monarchy, and – possibly on demand of one Marshal Soult . (The question of allowing the exiled Bonaparte family back into France frequently came up.) Soult and Joseph obviously kept up their mutual dislike a long time after Napoleon’s death.

Desprez in this report comments about the Marquise de Montehermoso as follows [quoted in Thierry Lentz, »Joseph Bonaparte«]:

This woman had an exquisite mind, a strongly organised head [...]. She didn't know anything about love other than the physical pleasures and she readily acknowledged this [...]. Her constant aim was to become rich [...]. The weak prince poured out showers of gold and, although forced to use this means, he never ceased to believe himself tenderly loved […]

and about Joseph’s way of life in Madrid in general:

I have often groaned to see a man called to such a prominent role waste his time in vain occupations, laying out paths, planting trees, tearing down walls, building others, changing at every moment the comings and goings of his chambers; giving parties [...], supervising the preparations himself, reading tragedy and repeating to exhaustion the passionate roles of which he thought himself suited to express the delirium [...]. I laugh with pity to see a king, whose throne is trembling, exhaust his attention on hemistichs [...].

But not everyone judged Joseph so harshly. Somebody who seems to even have greatly admired Joseph’s success with women is another aide de camp, General Bigarré. That’s not all too astonishing, as Bigarré’s own memoirs are a crude mix of brutalities, battle scenes, and lewd descriptions of himself seducing teenage girls. About Joseph he says:

In Spain, as in Naples, this prince has been bitterly criticised for occupying himself a little too much with women during the time he governed these two kingdoms. I will agree that he had a particular fondness for this sex, that he did not disdain conversations with the liveliest ladies of his court, that he was even very gallant with several of them, but nevertheless, I repeat, he never forgot what his duties as sovereign required of him.

Which is something, I guess. About Joseph’s entry into Sevilla and his tour around Andalusia, Bigarré also has an interesting remark:

The noble Andalusians, for their part, did not know what to think of in order to show the new King of Spain their love and devotion; some sent him a dozen magnificent bulls as a present, others perfectly harnessed Andalusian horses, and several placed their wives, daughters and houses at His Majesty's disposal. [...]

Hello there, strange French king! Here’s my bull, my horse, my house, my wife, my daughter – take your pick!

[…] the ladies of Sevilla who were invited also found the King of Spain very amiable and attractive. It is a fact that this prince had a wonderful gift for pleasing women. I do not know whether winning over women formed part of his policy, but in all the cities he visited he made many conquests, not only as a king, but also as a man.

Bigarré’s admiration here is palpable.

Bigarré also must have been very well informed about Joseph’s successes in this field, as apparently (according to Thierry Lentz), Joseph took care of Bigarré’s favourite mistress, a Madame Finesi, wife of an Italian actor, whenever the general was on a mission out of town. Bigarré in turn claims to once have had a fling with the Marquise de Montehermoso. But as Napoleon’s police spy Lagarde wrote home, these were hardly the only ladies whose company distracted Joseph from his »political chagrin«. Lentz also lists a Marquise de Jacuso and a Nancy Derrieux, wife of some official in the administration, as regulars in this early 19th century edition of a royal swinger club. Varying female extras were approached through Joseph’s valets, who habitually had to adress young ladies about their willingness to meet the king in private.

For the final judgement on this topic, here’s Napoleon, in Bertrand’s »Cahiers de Sainte Hélène«, echoing what cardinal Ruffo had told him:

Prince Joseph had gentle manners, fine qualities, but he could never attend to business and never pursued anything. He was locked up with a few women, not to fuck all the time, but for the pleasure of society.

Yes, that’s Napoleon using the F-word with regards to his brother. And I honestly do not know if he wanted to somehow excuse Joseph in emphasizing that it was only »for the pleasure of society«, or if he wanted to make sure people didn’t think too highly about Joseph’s stamina...

[twistedtummies2]

Top 5 Portrayals of Irene Adler

The past three lists I discussed some of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson’s most notable allies: Mrs. Hudson, Inspector Lestrade, and Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft. However, no detective and his sidekick would be able to function without cases to solve…without villains to conquer. While Professor Moriarty is the most famous and recurring Holmes antagonist, Holmes solved many, MANY other cases, and faced many other rogues, aside from the Napoleon of Crime. I think it’s time to give some of the more noteworthy criminals Holmes went after their fair due. Just to warn you, these lists will be simple, quick Top 5s rather than Top 10s, and once again, the descriptions will be brief. This is typically for one of three reasons: a.) there just aren’t that many versions of the character out there to begin with, b.) all the versions after a certain point sort of gel together in terms of my personal preference, or c.) a bit of both. With that said, let’s start with arguably Holmes’ second greatest adversary: Irene Adler, the Mistress of Disguise. In the original story “A Scandal in Bohemia,” Adler is actually one of the few criminals to escape and thoroughly outwit Sherlock Holmes. Notably, she is the only woman to outsmart the Master Detective, which is one of the reasons Holmes refers to her as “The Woman”: a sign that she is, in his eyes, the finest of her gender. It’s heavily implied in the original stories that Holmes is in love with Irene, or, at the very least, she is the first lady he has come truly close to loving. He loves Irene not so much in a sensual or physical way, but more for her incredible wit, daring, and mystique. While Adler is an antagonist in the story, on that note, she’s not by any means the worst of Holmes’ opponents. In short, Adler is the original Femme Fatale: the alluring, morally ambiguous, dangerous female who both entrances and hinders her hero. The Catwoman to Sherlock Holmes’ Batman, if you will. Various adaptations and reimaginings since have toyed with this idea, and especially latched onto the romantic overtones, ever since. There are lots of versions of Irene Adler; she’s one of those characters who falls into Point B, as I mentioned earlier: after a certain point, a lot of them just sort of gel together for me. However, picking my Top 5 was fairly easy; it’s just harder to do any number beyond that. With that said, let’s waste no more time: The Woman is waiting. Here are My Top 5 Portrayals of Irene Adler!

5. Anne Baxter, from Masks of Death.

In this made-for-TV movie, Peter Cushing and John Mills play an aging Holmes and Watson on their final case before retirement. Anne Baxter appears as an equally “advanced” Irene Adler, in a relatively small but important role in the story. It’s primarily the uniqueness of this Adler that gets her in my top five: Baxter was a great choice in casting, her interactions with Cushing as Holmes are fantastic, and the idea of these old adversaries re-encountering one another in their twilight years is an interesting one indeed.

4. Gayle Hunnicutt, from the Granada Series.

It’s largely due to Hunnicutt’s “scene partner” as Holmes - the unmatchable Jeremy Brett - that nails her placement on the countdown. Granada’s adaptation of “A Scandal in Bohemia” was actually the very first episode of the Brett series, and it serves as an excellent first impression for the show as a whole, with Hunnicutt playing a very book-accurate take on the character. (Albeit with a different pronunciation of the name from the usual, with an accent at the end of “Irene,” so that it is pronounced “Ee-Rain-uh” instead of “Eye-Reen”...unusual.) While Hunnicutt’s calculating, cunning Adler is phenomenal, I personally feel other versions that go “beyond the books” make her even more interesting.

3. Rachel McAdams, from the Guy Ritchie Films.

Conan Doyle fans seem polarized about McAdams’ take on Irene Adler. For me, I personally think she’s an excellent, albeit somewhat different, interpretation of the character. This version heavily ups the romantic side of her relationship with Holmes, and really plays up the moral ambiguity, as she helps Sherlock out almost as often as she gets him in trouble. Using the earlier analogy, she’s at her most “Catwoman-esque” here. It’s eventually revealed - SPOILER ALERT - that Irene is working for Moriarty, although it’s not altogether clear why. She is seemingly killed off early in the second movie, when Moriarty feels she has become a liability. Sad.

2. The Version from Moriarty the Patriot.

This is a rather weird one, to be honest. It’s hard to talk about this version of the character without giving away some MAJOR spoilers for the series as a whole, but I will do my best. Irene first appears in an adaptation of “A Scandal in Bohemia,” entitled “A Scandal in the British Empire” (which borrows some minor influence from “The Bruce Partington Plans”). Weirdly enough, she’s actually EXTREMELY book-accurate here, and the way Holmes’ relationship with her is showcased is equally so: the two aren’t depicted as being romantically involved so much as being, I suppose, “flirtatious best friends.” This is fitting, since the strong romantic overtones in THIS series go between Holmes and Moriarty…but that’s another story. Speaking of, after this initial story arc, Irene’s character goes into some…UNEXPECTED territory, but it does nothing to make her character any less interesting.

1. Lara Pulver, from Sherlock.

Once again, much like the Guy Ritchie version, Pulver’s incarnation heavily emphasizes the romantic tension between Adler and Holmes. Also like the Ritchie version, this take on Adler ends up embroiled with Moriarty, although things end rather differently in this interpretation. This Adler, I felt, hit a good balance between a proper villainess - and a very fine one, at that, able to prove a solid match for Holmes - and the more sympathetic love interest at the same time. 

[microcosme11]

Description of Napoleon at the Briars

A gentleman returning from India wrote this in a letter:

Napoleon: Extracts from the 'Times' and 'Morning Chronicle', 1815-1821.

google books

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Baby, it's cold outside

A/N: Another little something I wrote for @sillyrabbit81's milestone event. I still can't stop taking screenshots so there's a slight chance this may not even be the last one.

You can find the masterlist for the event here! (And my masterlist here)

Pairing: Napoleon Solo (Jack Deveny) x OFC (Evangeline Dubois)

Prompt: Playful & Happy + Uniform or Costume

Summary: A stewardess recognises a certain Mr. Jack Deveny from her flight earlier in the day. He just so happens to be staying at her layover-hotel.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Actually... There's some kissing and groping but other than that...

@geralts-yenn @fvckinghenrycavill @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @peaches1958 @keanureevesisbae @ellethespaceunicorn

From the corner of her eye, she spotted him. He had been on her flight. A Mr. Deveny, row 7, chair B. Handsome, charming, and practically the only male passenger that hadn’t propositioned her. Even the pilots didn’t always grant her that courtesy.

Of course she was pretty; she was a stewardess for Pan Am, after all. Beauty was part of her job description, but why did that have to mean she had to endure countless more-than-friendly hands sliding up her thigh with a smile on her face? On the one hand she was glad that Mr. Deveny hadn’t made any untoward advances, but on the other… Was she not attractive to him? And if so, why not?

Napoleon – though to anyone in this room he would introduce himself as Jack Deveny – glanced at her from behind his newspaper. His eyes did not habitually deceive him, and so he was fairly certain that it was her; the stewardess from his flight. She was still in her uniform – against regulations, no doubt – which had that particular shade of blue that anyone would recognize from a mile away. He headed over to the bar, right when she did. A terrible coincidence, of course.

She ordered a glass of white wine. Not an unusual choice, as it was July in Paris. He noticed her French was absolutely flawless – as far as he could tell, anyway.

“Allow me,” he said before she could take her wallet out of her purse.

“No need, Mr. Deveny,” she said without thinking. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, only turning his head so far as was absolutely necessary, while a smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You remember my name,” he said. It became immediately clear to you that you didn’t have to be concerned with inflating the man’s ego. It could hardly become bigger, anyway. Yet he didn’t have the usual air of brazen arrogance to him that they usually had. She wasn’t special to him, she knew that. Just another pretty face in what was no doubt a fairly large collection of pretty faces. Luckily, she did not mind, as she kept her own collection of pretty faces that he would slot into quite nicely. Men of his character were usually well-rehearsed in the art of physical affections, and they made long layovers so much less dull. Besides; her employers paid her well, but nowhere near enough to see the inside of a room on the higher floors. She flashed him a smile and turned away.

“Thank you for the drink, Mr. Deveny,” she said as she took the glass in her appropriately white-gloved hand and prepared to walk back to the table where she had been reading.

“My pleasure, miss…” His implicit question stopped her in her tracks, and she looked at him with a sweet smile.

“Dubois,” she said demurely, “Evangeline Dubois.”

“Where are you from, miss Dubois?” He asked her. In her mind, she rolled her eyes at his impeccable ability to keep his voice and face free of any overt implications or unsavory ends.

“New Orleans,” she answered him truthfully. He nodded. That explained the French.

“Normally, I’d ask what brings you here, but…” He gestured briefly to her attire. “I fear the question in this case would be redundant.”

“Don’t tell me that your ability to hold a conversation ends there, Mr. Deveny.” He was dangerously close to her, she noticed. His tall, broad frame hovering over her, the scent of his cologne seducing her slowly.

“Allow me to prove it indeed does not,” he said, and only then did she realize what she had fallen for, “join me for this one drink.”

The invitation naturally led to the offhanded mention of a rather expensive bottle of complimentary champagne that was currently sat in his room, waiting to be opened, but of course she had to decline the offer.

“Should you change your mind, miss Dubois,” he said as he got up from his chair, “I am in room 809.”

“This is a very nice room you have, Mr. Deveny,” she said softly as she stepped into the room. It was much larger than her own, and much more luxurious in every aspect. She noticed that the man in front of her didn’t seem the least bit surprised that she had been unable to resist his invitation, and she commanded his restraint and skill in hiding the utter smugness she was convinced he felt as he saw her standing there. He had taken off his jacket and tie, and for the first time she got a good look at the way the buttons of his shirt were struggling to do their work against the forces the size of his chest exerted on the fine fabric.

“Indeed it is,” he replied. “Champagne?” He gestured to the already opened bottle that sat in a cooler on the small table, and the already poured glass next to it. He himself sat down in the armchair next to it. There was something outrageously presumptuous about that glass, but she lifted it from its tray, nonetheless.

“Santé,” she said as she raised her glass. The glances the pair shared were different now. Not that decorum was completely out the window, just yet, although either of them knew it was only a matter of time. The bubbles in the sweet liquid tickled his tongue as he took a sip from his glass. His eyes never left her figure, though they didn’t quite stay on hers. In fact, they scanned her complete form rather thoroughly. Of course, any stewardess in a similar uniform looked fantastic, but there was something about the way she wore it that aroused Napoleon more than he ever thought possible.

“Why don’t you sit down?” He asked her nonchalantly, knowing very well that he currently occupied the only chair – a fact that she did not neglect to point out to him.

“Oh my,” he said, “how inconvenient?” With a few steps, she closed the distance between them, but she didn’t dare sink down onto his knee until he caught her hand in his and guided her closer to him. She now rested comfortably against his chest, while he used one hand to pull her legs over his other knee. Almost painfully slowly, his hand crept up her calf, fingers tracing the fine seam at the back of her stockings, until he reached the hem of her skirt. He pulled his hand away unexpectedly, taking his glass into his other hand again and drinking in silence as she leaned against him.

Finally, a quick brush of his lips against hers put things in motion, and she smiled demurely when he looked at her again.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she said, feigning shock with obvious ostentation.

“I disagree,” he said as his lips curled into a smile. Of course he disagreed. They always did.

“I have to go, Mr. Deveny,” she said, this time more sternly, but still clearly hoping for a particular response. A response she wasn’t going to get from him, or so it would seem. These conversations were usually over much quicker, but he seemed to be in a mood for playfulness.

“I know.”

“I couldn’t possibly stay.” He chuckled softly at the way she betted her eyelashes at him while she said it. He knew exactly the response she was after, but why should he give it to her immediately?

“Of course. You are a lady, after all.” As he spoke, her irritation grew. Was this man arrogant enough to expect her to throw herself at him, begging him to spend the night with her? She was in no way inclined to do that, and more than determined to let him know.

“Indeed I am,” she answered almost coldly, barely able to hide her displeasure at the way he played his games.

“With a sense of decency,” he continued, the same cocky smile still present on his face. She couldn’t quite figure out why he was dragging this out. He should know she wasn’t opposing his intentions; she’d had every opportunity to get up and walk out.

“Exactly, Mr Deveny.” She could no longer keep impatience and dissatisfaction from seeping into her voice, and he laughed. The glint in his eyes caught her attention. It was something devious. Rakish. Bold in the most careful, calculated way. God, how it made her want him even more.

“You have no choice but to leave.” The playful undertone in his voice got stronger as he feared that keeping her guessing for too much longer would actually get her to up and leave, and she picked up on it immediately.

“There will be talk.” It was her mistake for using the present tense, she figured as the smile disappeared from his face and was replaced by a stern look that sent shivers down her spine. She had enough trouble controlling her breathing as things were, and she cursed in silence his good looks and charm.

“What if I insist that you stay?” The sound of glass against metal told her that he put down his glass on the tray again, which was confirmed not long after, by nimble fingers who slid up her leg, resting just above her knee to toy with the hem of her skirt.  

“Well, I would need a good reason to do so.” She bit her lip when she moved to put her own glass away, accidentally brushing her leg against the bulge that was evident in his pants. His face showed no embarrassment, or anything resembling an apology.

“Well, it’s late.” She stifled a laugh when he said it; it was barely 8PM.

“Very late,” she agreed as she swiftly opened the top buttons of his shirt before sliding her hand across his chest.

“No gentleman would send a young woman out on the streets at night, unaccompanied.” Another absurd excuse – after all, she was staying in the same hotel – mumbled this time against the sensitive skin on her neck.

“It would be dangerous,” she replied. Napoleon’s fingers abandoned the hem of her skirt and slid further up her thigh. She squealed when they dug into the soft flesh of her rear, biting her lip as she looked at him with devised outrage.

“Far too dangerous,” he said with a smile, “there’s all kinds of people out there.”

“Men, Mr Deveny, all kinds of men.” It was a subtle commentary on his forward behavior, though she was the last person to ask him to stop. They had been playing this game for more than long enough, she decided.

“With unsavory intentions,” he spoke again, “you’ll be much safer here.” He pulled her in closer, squeezing her ass again, as he planted a soft kiss in her neck.

“Without a doubt,” she sighed, no longer trying to hide her arousal from him. Without further ado, she undid the buttons of his waistcoat and the remaining ones of his shirt, and allowed her hands to explore the exposed skin of his chest. His lips moved from her neck to her ear, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. Occasionally, she felt the pressure of his teeth on her skin, and she moaned.

“And it’s cold,” he whispered directly in her ear before taking her earlobe in between his teeth and biting down on it softly. It took everything she had not to laugh, as the excuse was just as preposterous as the last; it was July in Paris.

“Terribly so,” she gasped as Napoleon continued his exploration of her neck while his fingers worked on opening the buttons of her blouse. He was less adept at the practice than she was, she noticed, but soon he slid his hand beneath the fabric. He hummed softly when his fingers met the lace of her bra. They carefully sought out her nipple, making her gasp as he drew careful circles around it.

“You wouldn’t want to get sick,” he said plainly. Their lips met – briefly at first, and then… He kissed her – really kissed her, and she lost her train of thought easily. Soon, his tongue traced her lip, begging for entrance, and she did not leave him begging for long. When he broke the kiss, they were both out of breath.

“That would be most unfortunate.” She moaned the words rather than said them as he shifted her in his lap so that she was straddling his thighs, her skirt riding up as she spread her legs, revealing the delicate fabric of her underwear.

“I really think it best if you stay.” He lifted her with ease, firmly holding her thighs, which she wrapped around his waist. Within a few steps, they were next to the bed.

“I tried,” she managed – barely – between ragged breaths.  

“Certainly,” Napoleon said with a wink before he once again kissed her neck. This time, his affections were rough and uninhibited, but he did lower her carefully until her back hit the mattress.

[captainknell]

I love reading descriptions because paintings vary so much and there are obviously no actual photographs.

Description of Napoleon Bonaparte by the naturalist and explorer, Alexander von Humboldt:

Source: A History of France, by John Julius Norwich

[itsagrimm]

Hinterland

König X she/her OC

After a battle, König struggles with getting to safety, wondering how he got here and if he will ever make it home.

This taps into where König comes from and why König is part of the military.

CN: angst, mentions of injury and blood, mentions of death, mentions of nausea & vomit, warzone descriptions, sexual assault, queerphobia and transphobia, this whole thing is steeped in patriarchal themes and violence, violence against women* in warzones, themes of sexual assault and extreme stress situations, hunger and starvation, mentions of rape, bullying, failing in school due to untreated neurodiversity, bad parenting, teen romance and teen romance emotions, untreated mental health issues, i guess i am giving König both Autism and ADHD, getting dead named, mentions of needles and medical procedures, medical inaccuracies (I have researched too much for this already don't expect me to correctly describe a medical facility too)

has kind of a happy end, kind of not.

5,8 k words

beta read by @musigrusi thank you so much 💕

Notes for cultural context:

The name Hannes is a German boys name.

Amalia is named after the Prussian princess Anna Amalie who was known to be an independent woman, a musician and generally well educated. She stayed unmarried her whole life and was a close confidant to her brother king Friedrich II. Her baroque organ is still in use in the church “Zur Frohen Botschaft” in Karlshorst, Berlin. Should you have the chance, check it out, it's beautiful and they play free concerts regularly. Also, Since Prussia under Friedrich II waged war against Austria, the name Amalia low-key mark her as foreign in Austria.

The Perseiden are a yearly meteoric shower visible in the summer months.

The sweat never stopped being a nuisance, dripping into his eyes and down his back. König grimaced under his hood, trying to ignore the thirst in his throat and heat under his armor, and dragged on.

Every time he left a battle, he forgot how punishing physical discomfort was and how harshly it gnawed at his body no matter how much he trained.

Every time he told himself it was the last time that he would go out to kill and get killed in a thousand little ways.

Every time he forgot and returned anyway.

Might have overdone it this time.

He looked down.

The bandage on his leg started to bleed through. And he still had a long way back to base.

It had been his usual employment with his usual rates, enough to buy a house or run a little shop back home. Maybe a bookstore or café where they could sell overpriced coffee to the tourists and have a well curated book selection for the locals.

She would like that.

König banished his thoughts and concentrated on the here and now as he limped on. He was out in the open. Any sniper, hell, anyone with a decent aim and a rock could turn into a problem for him now. He was an easy target and in need of cover, rest, and a pick-up.

Quickly, he scanned his environment. It was a stony valley he had seen a thousand times. No water or settlements in sight. Patches of dried-out greenery littered the barren landscape here and there. Further up, he spotted a couple of boulders ideal for cover from anyone passing through the valley.

It would do.

He moved carefully not to hurt his leg even more and climbed up the stones with practiced ease before sitting down and turning on the radio to call for help.

Static.

No answer.

He tried again.

Static.

-

Hannah was always the tallest girl in class, sitting at the back of the room while the teacher babbled on about history and war and peace and war and peace again. She looked outside. Spring had started and the nearby trees turned greener by the day, calling to her to-

“Hannah! Die Tafel ist vorne, nicht draußen im Wald!”

She turned back. Her teacher shook her head disapprovingly at Hannah for the interruption, before continuing with the wars. To show her eagerness and to appease her teacher, Hannah grabbed one of her pens and tried taking notes.

1809.

Napoleon had made it here and laid siege to Vienna like the Osman’s before him. At least they had bought the coffee to Austria. Napoleon on the other hand got Hannah only  into a particularly boring history class. Little cups of coffee started to litter the side of her history notes. A small graphite-coloured Napoleon trying to grab a cup with his tiny hands half-finished as the teacher slammed down the ruler onto Hannah’s papers and interrupted her art.

“Hannah! Aufpassen!”

-

König woke up from the cold. The sweat had soaked his shirt and even his heavy armor and layers of tech wear couldn’t keep him warm in the early hours of the day. He looked up into the sky to get some clue where he was only to see clouds hiding any chance of him navigating this way. He needed help.

If he couldn’t get someone to pick him up, he was massively fucked.

Click.

Static.

He spoke into the Radio. No answer.

Click.

Static.

Click.

Static.

Click.

Would someone even tell her where he had died?

He shivered and started to rub his body to get himself warm again.

-

“Na, Lange, wie ist das Wetter da oben?”

Hannah rolled her eyes.

“Halt’s Maul.”, she dismissed and kept walking as the boys and girls snickered and giggled behind her in the hallway of the school. Her long stride took her quickly out of earshot from them.

“Sorry, are you alright?”

She stopped in her tracks.

A girl Hannah hadn’t seen before, eyed her with shy concern.

“I saw how the others treat you. I didn’t understand. I speak only ein bisschen Deutsch.”, she smiled shyly, “But they looked mean. So, I thought I’ll ask.”

“It’s okay. I am fine.”, Hannah quickly dismissed, hating her own clumsy accent and her shaky voice. She sounded exactly like her father when he tried to explain some lost hikers the way back to the town, overwhelmed and nervous.

They stared at each other, Hannah feeling the awkward silence creeping up her neck as the pretty girl fluttered her lashes at her expectantly.

“Thanks for asking.”, Hannah added in an attempt to break the uncomfortable quiet between them.

“It was nothing. What’s your name?”

“Hannah. I’m in class 10-b. What is yours?”

“Amalia. I’m in 10-a.”

“Nice to meet you, Amalia.”

Another weird pause in which Amalia waited for Hannah to say something.

Oh Gott.

“Would you like to have lunch together, Hannah? It’s lunchbreak and I don’t know where the cafeteria is yet.”

Hannah smiled.

Showing the new girl around. And she was nice.

“Sure.”

-

The pebbles under his feet made his walk harder and König kept stumbling while he pushed himself further down the valley and into what must be north towards the US base. Back home he had a map with a pin for every base he had visited. There were a lot of pins over their sofa in that map, and sometimes she teased him about pins possibly falling down into the cushions of their sofa and pricking them into the ass.

He smiled at the thought of her little delightful ass.

Sometimes she lamented different things - like him going to add more pins.

Might not make it back and add a pin this time.

-

Amalia was from the US. Her father had worked for the military in Ramstein where her mother was from. They had lived in a couple of places around the world, always on the move following her father’s station until her mother had enough and they ended up in Austria because of some distant relative and a job. It was like that sometimes.

Hannah did not care about the whys and ifs.

She only cared about Amalia being here now.

“I am so envious!” Amalia called out as they walked through the town from school, “you always lived in a beautiful place like this.”

Hannah snorted.

“You think it’s pretty? It’s mostly just boring. Nothing ever changes.”

Amalia took Hannah’s hand and pressed it with unbroken excitement.

“You are just feeling like nothing changes but I bet, there have been plenty of changes.”

Hannah looked down at Amalia’s hand in hers. It felt good.

“This town is a few centuries old”, she said, “The house my family lives in has been in the family for over 200 years now. And even back then we were known as the tallest from around here, so it’s built higher.”

“That’s so cool.”

“That’s so repetitive. It’s like living my ancestors’ lives without ever breaking away from their paths. The furthest I ever got was Munich for a school trip. Even my name is from a great-grandmother and a family tradition. You on the other hand-“

“I have been to military bases”, Amalia protested and interlaced her fingers with Hannah’s while dragging her onwards, “Honestly, they are all the same wherever you go. I’d rather be here instead of looking at ugly barracks, guns, and buff dudes with tattoos and too much testosterone.”

Hannah grinned.

“Are buff dudes not your liking?”, she teased.

Amalia giggled.

“Some are okay to look at.”

-

After a day of walking, he made it to a settlement. Waiting for the twilight to give him cover he rested behind some boulders and observed the handful of buildings. It was a simple farmhouse surrounded by with a few sheds, huts and a well. He heard voices speaking a language he did not understand, an older man was sitting in front of the house resting and looking after a little kid playing on the ground. The elder spoke tenderly to the child and the child answered sweetly, sometimes with laughter and sometimes with the unmistakable higher pitch of a curious question. A woman worked the farm, running around and finishing the days business. She looked tired, thin, and worn out.

No Fighters. No younger men.

Briefly, very briefly, König considered leaving. Disrupting this family’s warzone lifes with more warzone stench, made him uneasy.

Killing during a battle was simple. This was not.

But he needed bandages, food, and water.

His battered body and mind made the decision for him. Hunger brings out the worst out of men. Hunger and the hope of getting back home. He reached for his rifle.

-

The halls in Amalia’s house were littered with pictures of her family. Smiling children, dutiful wives, stern looking men in uniform. Was this how family is supposed to be? Hannah didn’t know, barely daring to call her own home a family.

Amalia was easy to recognize in several of the pictures, she had that shy pretty smile with the excited glint in her eyes since she was a child.

“Who is that?”, Hannah asked, pointing at one of the men in uniform.

“Oh, that’s my cousin. He is a marine.”

Hannah nodded. Marine sounded important. Militaristic. Far away from little town Austria.

-

After the family retreated into the farmhouse König crept closer. With his rifle ready he sneaked to the well for water, quickly refilling his canteen and quenching his thirst as silently as possible before moving past the little shed with some hens and through a simple garden, with plants fighting to stay alive in the midday heat, before reaching the door. A little bell was next to the door. He reached for it and stilled.

He was a soldier. He knew he was a terrifying sight with his hood and his height and most importantly - his rifle. Should he really do this?

Before he could decide, the door opened, and the woman cried out in fear and surprise.

Trained instinct took over and he aimed his rifle, moving himself into the house and pushing the woman back while checking the room for targets.

It was a kitchen. The old man was sitting at the table leaning before the child to shield it while staring up at this giant intruder with the hood and the rifle, staring up at König in fear. The child whimpered and the woman talked and cried as she got up from where König had pushed her.

“Quiet!”, he roared, and they all stilled.

Another check for enemies, he did not expect to find but the practice was too ingrain in him not to.

“Quiet”, he repeated breathlessly.

-

Schnipp. Schnapp. Ab.

Mother had disapproved of Hannah cutting her hair, sending her to her room without dinner while her father just shook his head disapprovingly.

“Du siehst aus wie ein Junge. Furchtbar.“

Hannah just stood up from the family table and left, thinking to herself that looking like a boy was not the worst thing she could be.

Climbing up the stairs in the old farmhouse, skipping the one that creaked loud like an old pine tree during a heavy storm, she thought about mothers’ words.

Cutting off her hair had been an unexplainable need. It was so quick. She barely registered how it cut free from the weight of those blond plaits of hair. Carefully, she reached up and touched her head, her fingers gliding easily through her soft short strands now. Like a boys.

-

“Quiet.”, he repeated in his normal speaking voice, his eyes darting around the room and trying to see the woman, the elder and the toddler at the same time while gripped his rifle to keep his hands from shaking.

“Do you understand me? Verstehen Sie mich? Me comprenez-vous?”, he tried thinking of any other way to communicate, he wasn’t even sure in which country he was right now. Every warzone looked the same after a while.

“Yes.”

It was the woman.

“Yes, I speak American. I speak English”, she continued, “Leave son alone. Leave father alone. Please.”

Nausea swept through him, and he felt the sour taste of vomit rise in his throat. The sound of the woman begging him hit him harder than a kick in the stomach.

“Please, please!”, she continued leaning towards him, “You want me! Take me! Leave son alone! Leave father alone!”

“No!”, he tried to calm her and himself, “I don’t want to harm you. Or your family. No danger. No harm. See!”

He lowered the rifle while lifting one of his hands to show his intends.

“See!”

She started tearing at her dress. “Take me! Leave son alone! Leave father alone!”

König stilled, mortified at the sight of the woman in undress and begging for him to not harm her family.

He swayed back.

“No! Don’t!”, König tried to stop her from undressing further, fighting his own battle training to keep focus on everyone in the room while avoiding seeing the woman’s bare body.

I shouldn’t be here. I should be home.

It was too much. The disgust in his stomach flared up sharply, and he hated himself for coming to this house, this country, this continent – for disrupting a family’s dinner and terrifying a woman so much that she was willing to offer herself to a random soldier just to save her family.

He tore off his glove and lifted his hand.

“NO! Don’t worry! See-“, he wiggled with his fingers in a macabre comedic way to show the ring he wore, “I am not going to rape you. I am not going to kill your family. I just need help to get home. To my wife.”

-

Hannah had climbed out of the window again. It became a habit of leaving late at night to stroll through the forest before navigating her way to Amalia’s house. And it was better than feeling locked up in her childhood bedroom again.

With practised ease Hannah climbed over the fence and checked for light in Amalia’s window before throwing a pebble against it.

“It’s late!”, Hannah whispered as silently as possible while also trying to be as audible as possible for Amalia.

“Yeah, and you are marauding around. Shouldn’t you at least try to sleep before school?”, Amalia shot back from upstairs.

Hannah shrugged.

“I will be a farmer no matter if I pay attention in school or not. Why are you up this time?”

Amalia giggled.

“Studying. I want to go to university. I need good marks. And my German is still shit.”

“Oh.”

Amalia would leave one day, for a different life. Away from the pretty town in the countryside that was so stuck in time.

“Hey.”

Amalia sounded different, nervous.

“Hannah, uh…”, She leaned down closer, “Can I kiss you?”

The words struck Hannah like lightning. In Hannah’s mind it felt like an impossibility for her to kiss a girl, to kiss Amalia with her nice smile and her kind teases and her soft hand holding Hannah’s and the way words rolled off her lips and-

“Yes.”

Who cares about possibilities.

-

König stumbled outside and puked right next to the entrance, retching what felt like his guts onto the stony ground.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here at all. No soldier should.

After his stomach was empty, he heaved heavily for air before standing up again and wiping his mouth with the gloved hand.

Scheiße.

“Man?”

He turned around. It was the woman, peaking fearfully through the door at him, holding her dress together with her hands.

“Sorry”, König gesticulated at the puddle of puke.

“Ok.”, she just replied flatly as if anything was ok.

He cleared his throat.

“I am sorry.”, König repeated,” I just need a new bandage, some direction and maybe some food. I will leave right after.”

“Ok.”

She repeated and closed the door, leaving him to wait outside.

He couldn’t blame her. To calm himself he started checking his rifle out of habit, while monitoring the dark garden and surrounding valley.

Could he trust her? Was she just getting her weapon to shoot him out of fear? Or rat him out to whoever was in charge in this area?

It’s not like he had a choice. The wound on his leg throbbed, he was lost and out of rations.

Nervously he drummed against the rifle, eyeing every shadow with suspicion.

After a few minutes the door opened again, and the woman stepped outside. She had a jacket on now, a couple of acidic smelling rags in her arms as well as some kind of bread. With as much distance as possible she passed the things he had asked for to König and he took them with a nod.

“Thank you.”, he mumbled.

“Directions. Yes?”, she asked coldly, ignoring his words.

“Yes.”

“You go there.”, she waved into the direction König had assumed the next US military base.

He nodded again.

She looked at him, before turning around and stepping to the door.

“Leave.”

He heard the door getting looked and a chair dragged in front of it after she closed it behind her.#

-

“Zieh dich an, Hannah! So kannst du nicht zur Feier.”, the mother ordered.

Hannah just looked at her and the dress she was holding.

“Nein.”

“Hannah!”

It was Sunday. A cousin was getting married. With the church and the whole family and flower girls and a white dress.

But not with Hannah in a dress.

“Wenn du dich nicht fertig machst, kannst du auch nicht mitkommen.”

“Okay.”

It was a clear calculation: no dress, no piece of the wedding cake, no Hannah in the family pictures.

She could live with that. If she had to wear a dress, she wouldn’t go.

Silently she got up and left her parents to go to her bedroom - her mother still staring at her disapprovingly and her father mildly uninterested in his wife’s attempts to raise his daughter.

It was sunny outside, beautiful. She didn’t even wait for her parents to leave before climbing out of the window and sneaking away.

The forest was humming with life as Hannah walked through it before making her way to Amalia’s house.

Amalia was sitting in the summer sun in the garden and studying. As always.

“You know, we have a gate in the fence if you feel like not showing off how tall you are, Hannah.”, Amalia greeted with a smile.

“I’m not showing off. It’s my natural grace to jump fences like a gazelle”, Hannah shot back, before kissing Amalia and taking a seat at the table on the garden veranda.

“More like a giraffe with your long legs”, Amalia scoffed.

“Either way, do you want to go for a hike today? It’s nice in the forest.”

“You should become a ranger like my uncle or a soldier like my marine-cousin with your never ending need to be in the forest and on the move. You would be the queen of the mountains! The most feral one out there”, Amalia stated and shook her head, “I can’t! I need to study.”

Hannah chuckled while getting up again, “Alright, have fun studying.”

“Wait!”, Amalia called.

Hannah turned back while Amalia reached over the table to kiss her.

“Be safe out there.”

-

The bread felt like the best thing König had eaten in weeks. With his stomach emptied and the sour taste of acid on his tongue it felt like a piece of heaven in his mouth. He knew it would only keep him satisfied for a short time. But it would give him strength to get himself to the base.

Next, he looked at his injury. Hidden between two boulders a click away from the house he sat down and took out his emergency light. Turning it on the lowest setting he quickly checked his wound. It was deep and due to the lack of fresh bandages and only his minimal first aid so far, slightly infected. Grimacing from the pain he started putting the rags onto the open flesh. It wasn’t ideal but the acid would keep the bacteria at bay while the rags protected the wound from dirt getting into it.

At least he hoped so.

Tired, so, so tired he reached for the radio and turned it on.

Click.

Static.

“Hello?”

No answer but static silence.

Click.

-

They were laying on the grass staring into the summer night, holding hands, and watching as the Perseids flared up and gifted them one shooting star after another.

“Hannah.”

“Hm?”

“I’m cold.”

Wordlessly Hannah moved closer and embraced Amalia with her taller, bigger frame, steeled from working her father’s farm, rubbing her sides to warm her up.

She giggled and kissed Hannah, “Thanks.”

The grass they lay on was green and starting to get wet from the morning dew as the milky way glanced beautiful and disinterested down at them.

Soon they would have to leave, part. With Amalia returning home and walking to the front door of her family’s neat little house. And Hannah climbing back up through the window of the old farmhouse.

Hannah sighed, nervously making a fist, and relaxing again to calm her nerves.

“Can I be your girlfriend?”, Amalia asked into the silence before Hannah had even started to search for the right words.

“Yes! I-“

Hannah paused, not sure why.

“Hannah, love, what is it? Did I say something wrong?”

Amalia sat up and looked down in concern to Hannah.

“No, I-“, Hannah closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, “Can you stop calling me Hannah?”

Amalia paused. “Okay. How else am I supposed to call you?”

The other girl let her shoulders sink and dropped her head. “I don’t know. I keep getting told I am a boy-ish. That a Hannah would be different than who I am. And I know it’s mean. But I don’t think they are wrong.”

Amalia’s fingers were cold as she reached out and touched the other one’s shoulder, rubbing little soothing circles before scooting closer and turning it into a full embrace.

“If Hannah does not work for you, let’s try out other names, okay?”

Nodd.

“I am not very creative and maybe I don’t understand you correctly. How do you feel about ‘Hannes’?”

Nodd. A choked sob came out of Hannes as he leaned into the embrace, feeling many things as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Let’s try it out then, Hannes.”, Amalia whispered and hummed, slowly rocking him in her arms until his sobs stopped.

He stayed anyway, her arms around him feeling like the strongest thing in the world holding him under the stars covered summer sky until he felt Amalia shiver.

“You are getting cold. I am sorry for keeping you here.”

“Don’t be. I have a boyfriend who will give me his jacket and rubs my arms to warm me up now, you know.”

A surprised laughter escaped him as he took off his jacket for her.

“Yes, you have.”

-

The sun rose mercilessly into the sky over König, turning his world from shivering darkness into blazing clarity about his situation. Weakly, he lifted his head, took a few sips from his canteen, and summoned his strength to grab the radio.

Click.

Static, the eternal static that never bothered to answer him.

He asked anyway: “Hello, anybody out there?”

Static.

He was about to turn it off again as finally, after days of dragging himself through the dust and stone, an answer.

“This is Claris Airfield speaking. Claris Airfield speaking. Please identify yourself.”

-

Another night, another sneaking out of the window, another walk through the forest.

For the first time in a long while Hannes walked the familiar paths with light feet.

It felt right, the road felt right, he felt right as he hiked the short road down the mountain to Amalia’s house.

The window to her room was open and Hannes climbed up to her room with practised ease, knocking at the glass to alert her to his presence.

“Hannes!”, she greeted him from her bed while putting down one the current of many books she read.

Peeking into her room he smiled and asked, “Can I come in? I couldn’t sleep and I missed you.”

She nodded and waved him inside, making space for him on the bed.

He sat down next to her and pointed at the book.

“What are you reading tonight?”

“A guid handbook for kids from military families about studying. My father insisted on me reading it.”

“Why? I am sure the Universities in Vienna, Graz or Salzburg will be more than happy to have you. Munich or Brünn are not too far away either. There is no need to go back to the US for University.”, Hannes shifted closer to Amalia, putting an arm around her.

She leaned against him, fumbling nervously with the book.

“My Dad…”, she started carefully, “He wants me to study back home in the US. He became strange since the divorce with mum.”

“How so?”

“He…”, she paused, “He became strict, mean. He has many rules and expectations, more than ever. When I mentioned that I had a boyfriend he started questioning me.”

“Isn’t that what dads do?”

“I don’t know. Oh, I don’t know, Hannes. It was strange. I wanted him to stop so I agreed to take a look at universities away from here.”

She pressed into his side, taking his other free hand and interlacing her fingers with his.

”Hannes, I don’t want to leave. But I might have too. Dad … he is the one who can finance my schooling, mum can’t.”

He closed his eyes, thinking about how he felt when Amalia was gone, how he had felt before he had even met her. The solution was as clear and simple as the night sky. If she had to go, he would follow.

“I will always find a way to you, should you want me to, Amalia. Don’t worry.”

-

The Heli circled over the valley. König tried to get up but felt too weak from the loss of blood after hours of working the radio and slowly bleeding out. A medic had made his way up to him, telling König he got lucky while he worked on his leg. Another medic argued with the pilot of the helicopter how to best move König up.

“Yo, big guy!”, he shouted over the noise from the heli above them, “You need to get up and secure yourself. We lost our stretcher during that last shitshow of a  battle.”

Oida.

König groaned and worked himself into a standing position, half leaning against the stone and half getting dragged up by the medic at his side.

“Oh wow, you really are big. What did they feed you as a kid?”

Luft und Liebe.

He kept his mouth shut and concentrated on the ropes before him while the silent medic at his side helped him secure himself as his colleague babbled on.

“For real, the ladies must love you back home.”

“Oh, shut up”, his helper snapped. Must be new, “You think our guy wants to hear you point out something he has heard a thousand times before while bleeding like a pig?”

“I’m just making small talk.”

“Good luck small-talking with a German.”

“I am Austrian.”, König grunted, surprised by his own lucidity and insistence.

The medics stared at him.

“Isn’t that the same as German?”, the blabbermouth asked.

König groaned, unsure if from pain or annoyance.

-

Amalia had left for the US, just days ago but it like years to him. It was getting cold outside, winter creeping up over the mountains and with it snow, and wind, and darkness.

The familiar forest paths were bare and lonely to wander on. Hannes kept walking there to keep the habit, to not forget the feeling of just strolling down the forest and then seeing Amalia.

His Amalia.

She had given him her phone, saying she would just tell her parents she lost hers so that they could stay in contact. They had talked yesterday. Her voice was a bare whisper as she quietly told him of her journey, describing him all the things he hadn’t seen while trying to not alert her father.

He hadn’t approved. Of course, Amalia’s father hadn’t approved of Hannes. He was just some guy from the middle of nowhere Austria. Amalia had cried after that, telling Hannes only bits of what her father had said about Hannes, apologizing repeatedly and leaving out the most horrendous parts.

Still, he knew.

Hannes had grown up in a little town with his classmates’ pointing fingers at him for his unusual height for a girl, with neighbours raising their eyebrows at the sight of him roaming the forest and fields with town skirts and unkept hair, with his parents becoming bitter and uninterested in him for not behaving like they wanted a daughter to behave.

Of course, Hannes knew that her father called him Hannah and a girl, disapproving of their relationship no matter what Amalia said.

He used to be angry and hurt about it, but the feeling ebbed since what felt like about the same eons since Amalia left.

Now he had better things to do than fighting for the approval of people he only cared little about and who would never change their ways no matter what he did or who he would become.

Fickt euch alle, he thought to himself as he walked down the creaking stairs into the kitchen.

He needed to get out of this town, fast.

And he had to find a way back to Amalia. Hannes knew of a way, thinking of all those men in uniform back in Amalia’s house, her cousins, her uncles, her father - thinking of the power and dignity - and most importantly money - they got for traveling to far away places, wearing uniforms and carring guns. It was nearly funny that the man who disapproved so clearly of Hannes, showed him the easiest way back to his daughter.

“Mama”, he asked while stepping into the room, “Ich brauche deine Hilfe. Kannst du das unterschreiben?”

The mother turned around from the stove, moving what she had worked on to the side, before sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Was ist das?”, she asked, “Wieder schlechte Noten in der Schule?”

He shook his head. No, this wasn’t about school.

“Ich will gehen, Mama. Weg von hier. Ich muss.”

She starred at him, blinking a few times before smiling softly like all parents do when gently but firmly hurting their children with words.

“Hannah.”

He shivered, hating every syllable, and passing his mother a pen instead. He needed her signature to leave. Nothing else.

“Hannah, du kannst nicht weg. Wer soll sonst den Hof machen?”

“Wenn ich bleibe, bin ich lebendig begraben. Gib mir eine Chance zu leben. Lass mich gehen.”

She starred at him, tears coming to her eyes as she reached over the table for the son, she did not know she had.

“Mama! Bitte.”, Hannes said to break the painful silence and pushing aside all those emotions raising their heads like snakes inside him, passing her the enlist document for the Bundesheer instead. He needed this to be done or he might break under his mothers sad gaze.

She starred at him, shaken, and breaking before him, finally putting down the pen to sign his freedom.

-

König woke up laying on one of the field beds most lazarettos used. His head felt painfully heavy and like it was about to drop through the bed onto the floor. He groaned.

“Konik”, a medic greeted him, walking closer.

He groaned again, not sure if from the oh too familiar mix of pain and annoyance about having his callname so massively butchered or just the pain.

“Konik, glad to have you back. How are you feeling?”

“Scheiße.”, he mumbled, deciding to not argue with someone yielding needles which could aleviate his pains.

The Medic chuckled and started fumbling with an IV bag currently slowly dripping into his body via a catheter in his arm, “I’m adjusting your pain medication. You are a big fella and need a bit more than usual. But don’t worry, we will have you back up in no time.”

He grunted an acknowledgment, too tired to talk much more.

“Ah Mr. Konig-“, the medic called as the medication started to take him out again, “I was told you are getting a nice ride home after this. A littl’ vacation waiting for you so better get well soon and don’t let those at home wait longer than necessary.”

Home, he was getting home.

Finally.

-

Vienna main station was as unpleasant as every station, a busy place where people ran around to get to their train or forcefully stood still until it was their time to catch the right connection.

Better than Frankfurt am Main or Berlin. Fürchterlich. Ugh.

Vienna generally had a different pace, better suited for Königs still recovering leg.

Venerable and pleasant.

He had learned to love that once he left Austria for the first time. Leisurely, he strolled out of the building, careful to not knock somebody over with his duffel back, and got on the right tram home.

Outside of the rolling tram the houses stared down at him through the window with familiar fronts. König wondered when exactly he had become so accustomed to the sights: A castle here, a Gemeindebau there, cafés and parks he had visited - after all, he had not grown up in Vienna, barely stayed here for longer than a few months at a time, and only moved to the city after getting married - continuing to leave when the need to move became too unbearable to be quenched with runs in the Prater or when running into someone back from the old town and getting called 'Hannah' again.

Vienna had become a sanctuary so fast.

So normal, he could only stand it for short times.

Stepping out of the tram at his stop he decided to make a quick detour for some flowers before finally making the way to the apartment.

Not looking at the names on the bell signs of the house he pressed ‘Kaiser’, their shared family name for years now.

With a quick buzz the entrance to the hallway opened and he stepped into the pretty tilted hall and up the flight of stairs.

He made it half the way up before she bolted down and into his arms, nearly knocking him over and down the stairs again, hadn't he sacrificed the now crushed flowers and grabbed the railing.

“Hannes!”, Amalia cried out as she pressed herself into him, “You're back.”

He embraced her tightly, enjoying the feeling of her in his arms.

“Yes, Amalia, I’m back.”

For now.

-

something something protect transkids, warzones are full of people CoD conveniently hardly engages with, women* are the first targets in war, neurodiversity has little to no space in our ableist societies unless it can be exploited, the military is shit and preys on those in need, patriarchy needs to go, going to war means not returning as the same person you left as, did i miss something or do you feel like i could have improved some points feel free to send me a message something something criticism is essential to improve

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

Character Profiles: Scotland Yard and misc.

Index: Rowan, Mayne, Randall, Disaster Trio (Cadell, Falk, Geoffrey), George, Cager, Ignatius, Quirino, Dr Alan, Wilbur, Antonia, Theresa, Edmund

(All character ages are as of the latest chapter, or when they died. All information as of the latest chapter too.)

Navigation: Main and extras | Cloudia's grandparents and maternal extended family | Cloudia's paternal extended family (and Florentin) | Other servants and employees | Antagonists | Scotland Yard and misc.

Name: Charles Rowan

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: ca. 1782

Age: about 66

Physical description: grey hair

Affiliation: British Army (former); Scotland Yard

Occupation: Lieutenant-Colonel; Police Commissioner

Base of Operations: London

Random fact(s): He used to play chess with Oscar not long after they first met when Oscar was still a teenager. Rowan did not like it though and soon stopped this because he kept losing.

Background info:

There is not much to be found on the actual Charles Rowan (e.g., I cannot put down a birthdate because there’s none listed anywhere!). I absolutely character-assassinated him for the sake of the story. As I mentioned in the “Freebird” notes, he and Richard Mayne “have been dipped into a heavy portion of artistic license.”

Bear with me here: We once watched some Napoleon documentary in History class (I think it must have been in 8th grade?), and only one scene with Napoleon and Queen Louise of Prussia got stuck in my mind. They despised each other (she called him a “monster” all the time), but it was a diplomatic meeting as Napoleon won the War of the Fourth Coalition, and the Queen pleaded for her people. I searched the documentary to rewatch that part for the first time in ages, and it’s not quite like how I remembered it. In my memory, Louise was even more quietly imposing, and Napoleon even more quietly seething being in the same room as her. At any rate, they are portrayed as disliking but also admiring each other for their qualities, with him being slightly drawn to her but ultimately (and with “great strain”) not giving in (to her pleading). I sort of always think of that bit when I think of Rowan and Trudy’s relationship if that makes any sense. (And looking up the Queen now, she was similar to Trudy in many aspects.) As Rowan says in “Destruction,” there was something that drew him to her, and it bothered him greatly.

First appearance: Freebird (Side Story 2)

----

Name: Richard Mayne

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: November 27, 1796

Age: 51

Physical description: grey hair

Affiliation: Scotland Yard

Occupation: Barrister; Police Commissioner

Base of Operations: London

Random fact(s): Mayne and Rowan are good friends. However, their relationship soured for a while after they had gone fishing together at Rowan’s suggestion, and it turned out that Mayne (who has an abrasive nature) was very unsuitable for that activity. They eventually made up, but the Met officers had to walk on eggshells for a few weeks.

Background info: None. (Except for the bit mentioned in Rowan’s section.)

First appearance: Mentioned only (First: The Countess, Mystery; Chapter 22)

----

Name: Arthur Randall

Nickname(s): /

Birthday: 1826

Age: 22

Physical description: dark brown hair, brown eyes; looks perpetually sour

Affiliation: Messenger Boys (former); Scotland Yard

Occupation: Messenger boy (former); Detective constable

Base of Operations: London

Random fact(s): He started working for Scotland Yard as a messenger boy in 1840 when he was 14 because he really wanted to be part of the Met and “fight for justice.” He has become jaded since. The next decades won’t help in that regard.

Background info:

In WotQ, Randall will be bestowed the title of lord sometime after he becomes police commissioner in 1868. That’s why he’s not one right now. He’s just a normal person and not someone from a noble/notable family.

I’m pretty sure I calculated a possible birth date for him out of boredom in class (at school) once. It took quite a long time for him to finally appear in WotQ though.

First appearance: The Countess, Mystery (Chapter 22)

----

Name: Cadell Beaumont

Nickname(s): Cadi

Birthday: 1820

Age: 28

Physical description: black hair, brown eyes

Affiliation: Beaumont family; Disaster Trio; /

Occupation: Lord of Beaumont

Base of Operations: Beaumont Manor; Beaumont townhouse

Random fact(s): He is surprisingly observant.

Background info: He is based on Takeshi Yamamoto from Katekyo Hitman Reborn. (“Takeshi” is written with the kanji for “military, martial,” and “Cadell” means “battle.” “Yama” means “mountain,” as does “mount.”) I needed an “idiot trio” and decided to base it on KHR’s. He uses darts with blue fletching because Yamamoto is the Rain Guardian, and his rain colour is blue.

First appearance: The Countess, Malady – Part 1 (Chapter 23)

----

Name: Falk Flanagan

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: 1820

Age: 28

Physical description: silver hair, green eyes

Affiliation: Flanagan family; Disaster Trio; /

Occupation: Lord of Flanagan

Base of Operations: Flanagan Manor; Flanagan townhouse

Random fact(s): He’s unbelievably the smartest of the group, and not just by comparison.

Background info: He is based on Hayato Gokudera from Katekyo Hitman Reborn. (“Haya” means “falcon.” “Flannagán” means “blood red” which is a nod to his flame colour and a part of the manga.) He uses darts with red fletching because Gokudera is the Storm Guardian, and his flame colour is red.

First appearance: The Countess, Malady – Part 1 (Chapter 23)

----

Name: Geoffrey Bentley

Nickname(s): Geoff

Birthday: 1819

Age: 29

Physical description: white/ashen hair, grey eyes

Affiliation: Bentley family; Disaster Trio; /

Occupation: Lord of Bentley

Base of Operations: Bentley Manor; Bentley townhouse

Random fact(s): Never get into a fistfight with him.

Background info: He is based on Ryohei Sasagawa from Katekyo Hitman Reborn. (“hei” can mean, i.a., “peaceful,” and the second element of “Geoffrey” (fridu) means “peace.” “Bentley” means “bent grass/woodland, clearing.” “Sasa” means “bamboo grass,” and Ryohei is called “Grass/Lawn Head” by Gokudera.) He uses darts with yellow fletching because Ryohei is the Sun Guardian, and his flame colour is yellow. In the future, Ryohei dates a character named Hana; that’s why Geoffrey’s wife’s name is Hannah.

First appearance: The Countess, Malady – Part 1 (Chapter 23)

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Name: George Midford

Nickname(s): Gigi

Birthday: 1826

Age: 22

Physical description: blond hair, green eyes

Affiliation: Midford family; Weston College (former)

Occupation: Lord of Midford; Knight; Prefect of Green Lion (former)

Base of Operations: Midford Manor

Random fact(s):

He is the only son and child of Adaline and Harold Midford. Harold is the current Head Knight.

George likes his uncle which annoys Harold a lot. (Many things and people annoy Harold; George, thankfully, doesn’t take after his father.)

His middle name is “Audamar” which he very much dislikes (it was his mother’s wish, and disliking that name is one of the things George agrees on with his father).

Background info: He’s Alexis’ future father! While I dislike the first two anime seasons, I did consider the full name they gave to Elizabeth (which is dubiously canon) when naming characters. As such, George’s future wife is going to be named Ethel; he hasn’t met her yet, however.

First appearance: The Reaper, Hosting a Party (Intermission/Bridge)

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Name: Cager Castello

Nickname(s): Cager is his nickname

Birthday: April 19, 1809

Age: 39

Physical description: thick, curly dark brown hair, green eyes, sun-kissed skin

Affiliation: Some ass that doesn’t pay him enough

Occupation: Informant; Accountant

Base of Operations: Below the Royal Suspension Chain Pier in Brighton; his apartment

Random fact(s):

He is an American; he moved from New Orleans to Brighton when he was 17.

“Cager” is derived from his full given name. His friend Ignatius used to call him by it.

After Cloudia and Cedric gave him Ignatius’ death certificate, Cager had a picnic to honour his friend’s memory.

Background info: None.

First appearance: The Poker Game (Side Story 1)

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Name: F. Ignatius E. Freeman

Nickname(s): /

Birthday: February 9, 1822

Age: 19 (at time of death; June 1841)

Physical description: fair hair, glasses

Affiliation: ???

Occupation: ???

Base of Operations: ???

Random fact(s): He committed suicide. Maybe he’s still around?

Background info: /

First appearance: Mentioned only (First: The Poker Game; Side Story 1)

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Name: Quirino Quario

Nickname(s): Quiri

Birthday: January 1, 1824

Age: 24

Physical description: black hair, golden eyes

Affiliation: Somerset House (Registry of Births, Marriages, and Deaths)

Occupation: Archivist

Base of Operations: London

Random fact(s):

Even though Quirino is excellent at his job, he is still fallible. After all, registering births, marriages, and deaths still isn’t done diligently despite the Births and Deaths Registration Act of 1836, i.a. because it did not require that the cause of death had to be certified by a medical practitioner.

He has a poor immune system.

Background info: He is actually one of the main characters from my original novel idea Pizza Boy (working title). I needed an archivist, so I transferred over my archivist character, the titular Pizza Boy. I changed his name though, (“Quirino” is in theme with his actual name, and “Quario” is his grandmother’s surname!) and aged him up from 17 to 24. “January 1” is Pizza Boy’s birthday. I hope that I manage to have him properly appear in the story one day!

First appearance: Mentioned only (First: The Poker Game; Side Story 1)

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Name: Dr Alan Reeves

Nickname(s): Al

Birthday: 1806

Age: 42

Physical description: brown hair, brown eyes

Affiliation: His medical practice

Occupation: Physician

Base of Operations: His medical practice

Random fact(s): His lack of presence is partially deliberate on his part as he’s avoiding Kamden as much as he can. (He still feels very bad that he could not help Kamden’s adoptive parents, who had been his friends, when they got sick.)

Background info: He’s named after Alan Ryves from The Demon’s Lexicon. Like that Alan, Dr Alan has a brother named Nicholas/Nick, but he has not even managed to be mentioned yet.

First appearance: Mentioned only (First: The Countess, Captured; Chapter 16)

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Name: Wilbur Hopkins

Nickname(s): Wil

Birthday: 1820

Age: 28

Physical description: brown hair, green eyes

Affiliation: Hopkins’ Tailor Shop

Occupation: Tailor

Base of Operations: Hopkins’ Tailor Shop

Random fact(s): A surprisingly young but very talented tailor. Even though he can create the most stunning clothes, his personal attire is very odd and makes him stick out like a peacock amongst pigeons.

Background info: He’s named after and based on Wilbur Evans from Geek Girl. He is set to adopt Nina in the future.

First appearance: Mentioned only (First: The Countess, Captured; Chapter 16)

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Name: Antonia Rossini

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: 1821

Age: 27

Physical description: black hair, dark green eyes

Affiliation: Rossini’s Tailor Shop

Occupation: Tailor

Base of Operations: Rossini’s Tailor Shop

Random fact(s): Her favourite animals are swans. She likes feeding them in her spare time and always attends the swan upping. (She also thinks it’s silly that Queen Victoria owns all unmarked swans in the Thames.)

Background info:

She’s named after and based on Madame Rossini from Ruby Red. Madame Rossini is French though; I made Donna Rossini Italian because I thought that made more sense with her surname.

I created her before we found out that the Hopkins family has been making clothes for the Phantomhives for generations. I would say Cloudia does still sometimes go to her instead of Wilbur, even if Antonia hasn’t even been mentioned in ages because of his introduction.

At the same time, she was meant to eventually return to Italy and stay there when her mother got sick anyway.

First appearance: The Countess, Meeting the Queen (Chapter 9)

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Name: Theresa Dale (née Light)

Nickname(s): Tessa, Tess

Birthday: 1803

Age: 45

Physical description: dark brown hair, grey eyes

Affiliation: Aristocrats of Evil (former)

Occupation: Aristocrat of Evil (former)

Base of Operations: New York; London (former)

Random fact(s):

Her husband William was a very sickly person. Various doctors would attend to him (they were quite rich). Theresa would watch and listen to them as well as read up a lot on her own so that she could look after her husband herself.

She’s very well-read and often grew frustrated with Barrington because he’s not and could not understand her references. Apart from that, they got along well and were friends.

She asked Simon to instruct her in fighting, just in case, after she became an Aristocrat of Evil in 1824. However, motherhood/pregnancies/widowhood often interfered with her joining Barrington and Simon for more active activities.

Background info: She’s named after and lightly based on Theresa “Tessa” Gray from The Infernal Devices. Her late husband William James Dale is named after Tessa Gray’s two husbands William Herondale (Theresa’s surname is derived from his last name) and Jem Carstairs. Theresa’s children share the same names as Tessa’s: James (1823), Lucie (1825), and Wilhelmina (1828).

First appearance: Mentioned only (First: The Lady, Bonding; Chapter 12); has not appeared in the present yet

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Name: Edmund Oxley

Nickname(s): Ed, Eddie (but don’t call him that if your name is “Cedric Rossdale”)

Birthday: 1731

Age: 19 (at time of death; 1750)

Physical description: dark brown hair, brown eyes

Affiliation: Grim Reaper Dispatch

Occupation: Grim Reaper

Base of Operations: Grim Reaper Dispatch

Random fact(s):

His Death Scythe is a bush trimmer, and he always found Cedric’s choice pretentious and ridiculous.

He exasperates those who oversee the Dispatch supplies with his Turkish delight orders. (Cedric said he doesn’t like Turkish delight when they were trainees, but that’s not the (full?) reason why Edmund cannot stand him.)

Background info: He’s named after Edmund Pevensie from Narnia. Edmund Oxley also had three siblings who were named after the other Pevensie siblings: Peter, Susan, and Lucy.

First appearance: The Green Ghost of Nephelius Cemetery (Part 2): The Reaper, First Encounter; The Countess, Faint and Low 5.0 (Chapter 20; present)