#but my hand slipped oops

[evnnkinard]

thinking about buck either being super sleepy after a long shift, or minorly hurt, or maybe both. and he's in his bathroom, using the counter to hold most of his weight up and staring at himself in the mirror. he's somehow managed to successfully shower, after waving away tommy's earlier worried offer to help, and now he's trying to muster up the energy to grab his razor so he can shave his stubble, but losing more of it the longer he stands there. debates leaving it, knows that with the way he's already feeling, the feeling of it against his pillow is going to be sensory hell and drive him crazy if he does.

and then he startles as tommy knocks on the door, always respectful of buck's space, and waits for buck's quiet consesnt before popping his head in, saying, "evan, are you okay? you've been in here for a while."

buck hums, shoots him a smile that he hopes actually looks like a smile and somehow manages to respond, "m'good. just need to shave and i'll be out."

he looks down at his razor sitting on the counter, misses the way tommy's brows furrow in concern. hears a soft sigh, hears tommy say, "evan," in the way only he can and his footsteps as he crosses the bathroom to where buck's standing. he expects tommy to wrap his arms around him from behind, but instead he's gently but firmly spun around until his back is against the counter and he's staring into worried blue eyes.

tommy rests one hand against his waist, brings the other up to cup his cheek and rubs his thumb, soothing, across his jaw once, twice, and says, "you gunna let me help you now, huh?" and when it looks like buck's gunna protest, says "evan. let me take care of you, please?"

and buck deflates, drops his head to rest against tommy's shoulder, murmurs his consent and then lets his boyfriend take control. guide him and carefully deposit him on the closed lid of the toilet. says, because he's buck, "you- you really don't have to. we can just leave it, go to bed. i-i'll be okay."

he's familiar with the two fingers tilting his chin up in response, and then he's looking into blue eyes again, framed by a raised eyebrow, "yeah? you gunna be able to sleep with it scratching against your pillow?" and buck opens his mouth. closes it. feels his cheeks heat slightly and doesn't respond because they both apparently already know the answer. can't help the way his body, his heart, quietly hums, feels pleased and warm and safe at being known, being seen so well.

"didn't think so, kid," and tommy leans down, presses a quick kiss to buck's lips, and then his forehead, says, "i like taking care of you, okay?" releases buck's chin and moves away before buck can respond. fills the sink with water, grabs what he needs, and then he's back between the space of buck's legs, gets to work, careful, gentle, like taking care of buck is the most important thing he'll ever do.

[winterreigned]

💞 ( i promised you i had two to write for this prompt ) @prodigum

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘆 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀 , she cannot help but falter , crumble beneath it. sansa stark typically has it all together , or she at least pretends that she does , but as of late her composure is frantic , scattered , even. there is one common denominator : theon greyjoy. ever since he came into her orbit , it feels as if all equilibrium has been lost. sansa cannot focus , her mind wanders to places it shouldn't. it recounts nights of passion , lingering thoughts , movements that cause heat to flush every corner of her body. it had been their little secret, they were set on robb never finding out. he would never forgive them , and since there was nothing more to this new dynamic other than sex , what was the harm in hurting him? ( all while hurting herself that this would never be more ).

they had gotten lazy ( or perhaps desperate for more ) , parties provided a camouflage. intertwined bodies disguised by dark basement lights in frat houses. those who noticed never said much , and the ones they worried about finding out never knew. it seemed to be a perfect balance of getting whatever it was between them out to see the light of day , and still being bound by the rules they crafted. the stupid , idiotic , rules she hated with her whole heart. though someone seemed to notice , a certain ex-boyfriend who had a habit of decorating sansa's skin with black and blue marks. who used his tongue as a weapon , degrading her and making her feel absolutely worthless. sansa had escaped him , or so she thought. joffrey had seen them , they weren't exactly subtle after all , thus he made it his mission to find sansa alone on campus , he had then shown her the displeasure he had about her being with other men (despite the breakup long ago).

sansa knocks on theon's door , she's trembling , unable to find her gravity. it feels like she has been hit by a car , forward , reverse , then perhaps several more times this action is repeated. her arms and face sport a new shade of yellow , black , and blue. her lip is split open , and she echoes the degrading insults he calls her in his head. 𝚆𝙷𝙾𝚁𝙴 , 𝚂𝙻𝚄𝚃 , 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙶𝚄𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 , it's on repeat , and she cannot help but wonder if he is right. he has that magic ability to make her see the worst of herself ( even if it's not there ).

when theon opens the door , she doesn't have to say a word. she knows he's aware just by the look of her. a year ago she was on his and robb's doorstep after she had finally gotten the nerve to break up with joffrey , and she looks a similar shade tonight. ❝ he - he saw us. ❞ she whispers , tears streaming down her face. her body is consumed with guilt and pain , sore and broken. it is shame she feels as well , that she finds herself in such a position , not when she prides herself on being strong and capable. though the second she sees theon , she folds like a deck of cards.

he holds her , and it reminds her not every touch is meant to inflict pain. he speaks kindness to her , and it's a nudge to her brain that some words are coated with honey , not all drip in poison. sansa makes theon swear not to seek revenge , as last time her brothers and him nearly ended up in jail for it. joffrey's father was far too powerful. instead , she just makes him promise to hold her , and to never let go. it takes hours , but she drifts off to sleep , the safest place in the world being theon's arms.

[itsmeaxumii]

im going insane :))))))

[tagerrkix]

rage.

[knockknockwhosthereartistism]

I’m sorry I’m not him

[loopyart]

Vox ‘n Val✨

LoopyArt

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

more of the dapper lad! i Cannot get him out of my brain

[hitoshiskitty]

jason redraw of that one summer magazine model.. truly a trend setter…

[getosugurusbangs]

hngggghhhh

post 1

post 3

[antisocialshoe]

My prediction for netflix avatar season 2 (real no fake)

Netflix i beg

[zero1qn2]

safe and sound

[xynwrites]

Setter! Albedo who fucks you, their libero in the shower room. Hand on your mouth to keep you quiet, while the other holds your knees up as he pounds relentlessly in your hole. He cums and cums inside of you, overflowing out your hole, the water washing it away. It's inappropriate, but that itself is arousing.

[swordsandholly]

Keep it Casual

NSFW | MDNI

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x fem.plus size.Reader

cw: injury mention, death mention (in passing - no character death), brief weed smoking

Word count: 3.7k

One-shot/Drabble

Boy loves girl, girl loves boy. They’re not allowed to admit it, though. It’s good, right? All the benefits without any of the commitments. It’s what they both want, right?

Johnny MacTavish is an enigma to you in many ways. You’ve known each other for years - ever since you came over to the UK for Uni. He was in basic training then, out drinking when he approached you. His buddies were brutish and rude, only looking to add a soft American to their list of conquests, but Johnny… he spoke to you differently. Looked into your eyes, listened intently, gave you his full attention and nothing less.

You’ve been thick as thieves ever since. Beyond that, even. You and Johnny are entirely indivisble. Even when he’s gone for weeks, months, at a time, you’re inheretnly interlinked. Whether by phone calls or the matching tattoos you got on your ankles one drunken night, you’re connected.

There aren’t any labels for it. When people ask you default to best friends, but that doesn’t quite encapsulate it. There isn’t a word in the English language for what you have. You’re not partners - you’ve both had plenty of those each, however briefly. Even those always end. You and Johnny can’t be torn apart, though.

You know what the problem is. The reason you both keep it this vague, amorphous thing between you. Labels are frightening. Labels make things real. Labels mean you have to tell other people what you are, that suddenly there are expectations to live up to.

Labels feel like a death sentence in his line of work. Too many lost husbands, partners, lovers.

You lay on your belly in bed, legs kicked up in the air as you engross yourself in a book when the door knob clicks to the side. Johnny has a key to your place, of course, just as you have one to his. You don’t bother to get up. The chain always hangs loose when he’s gone - knowing he’ll come around at any moment. The door would stay wide open if it could, just for him.

You hear a thunk as as he drops his duffle on the ground. He didn’t go home yet, just came straight here. His boots fall on the floor next, then his jacket drops quietly in the hallway as he slowly makes his way to your room - to you.

“Bonnie lass…” Johnny greets, crawling across the bed toward you. He managed to get down to just his standard issue t-shirt and boxer briefs before climbing in. He knows you hate outside clothes on the bed.

“Johnny.” You smile, rolling onto your back as he climbs over you. Your fingers card through his mohawk, tugging gently on the strands curling at the base of his neck. “Need a trim there, bud.”

“Aye.” He chuckles. “Was waitin’ tae see ye. No one does it as good as my girl.”

His girl. Your boy. That’s the closest either of you ever get to tempting fate.

You hum. “How was work?”

Work. That word doesn’t even come close to what Johnny does. You can’t say more - can’t utter the word deployment. Coward.

“Ach no’ tha’ bad this time. Go’ my heid knocked around a bit.”

“So the usual?”

“Oi.” He scoffs in mock offense. “Donnae be rude.”

“I’m never rude.” You snicker, turning over and reaching for the top dresser of your nightstand. “Do you want to roll or me?”

“I think I’ve earned some princess treatment.” Johnny flops back on the bed, a finger hooking in the hem of your cotton panties as you sit up. He always does this when he first gets back - has to have some part of him touching some part of you. Not that you’d ever complain. You need it just as much as him, though you’d die before admitting to it.

Those blue eyes bore into you as you roll. It’s tradition - a celebratory joint when he gets back. Then you’ll binge all the TV shows and movies you saved up while he was gone and order an ungodly amount of take out. Indian. His favorite. Sometimes Johnny will go back to his apartment the next day to get some quiet time, maybe visit his parents, before he has to go back to work on the base but other times he’ll stay with you his whole time back home. Just taking up your space and being so domestic it makes your teeth hurt like too-sweet candy.

You always hope he stays.

“First hit for the guest of honor?” You smile, holding the joint out for him.

“Och, yer a blessing, hen.” His hand is warm as it brushes yours when he takes the joint from you, eyes locked on your own. There’s something intense in his stare that you aren’t used to. It makes you look away, almost shy under his gaze. He coughs suddenly, a harsh burst of smoke puffing from his lips.

You can’t help but laugh at him, “Getting weak lungs, soldier boy?”

“Oh, feck off.” He elbows you gently.

Somehow you’ve already got the giggles. It’s just something about being around him that makes everything feel better - brighter. More lively. Even the colors of your ugly little ashtray (the one you painted terribly when Johnny’s niece insisted the three of you go paint pottery while babysitting) feel so much more clear with him near.

“Oh!” His brows shoot up suddenly, as if he just remembered something direly important. “I got somethin’ fer ye. Be right back.”

You watch him jog down the hall - definietly not staring at his butt, no ma’am - and listen to the sounds of Johnny rooting around through his duffle bag. Your lips quirk up into a smile when he lets out a distant “aha!”

He comes back with a small, velvety box, flopping back into bed beside you and criss-crossing his legs. “There was this little artisan shop in a town we stopped through. The Captain wanted tae get his wife somethin’ an’ I saw this an’ thought of ye.”

The box slips into your hands. It’s small and light. You roll it between your palms a couple times before shaking it with a grin. Before you can make one of your usual silly quips about what might be inside, your eyes meet Johnny’s. They’re on fire, sparkling with anticipation for you to open the little gift. He’s gotten you things before (you actually have a shelf dedicated to his nicknacks from around the world) but this seems… different. There’s a heaviness to his expression that you’re not used to.

You glance between him and the box briefly - opening it slowly. Your eyes turn to saucers as you come face to face with a finely crafted silver necklace. A little four pointed star with a sparkling gem in the middle that looks the same icy blue as Johnny’s eyes. Little flecks of pink and green catch the light as you turn it between your fingers.

“Johnny-“ You gasp, at a total loss for words.

“Ye like it?” He asks with an uncharacteristically nervous pitch to his voice. His palms rub together absently as he glances between you and the necklace in your hand.

“I love it.” You smile softly, heart fluttering as Johnny breaks out in a grin of his own. “Put it on me?”

“Course.” He whispers, pushing your hair to the side and locking the clasp with deft fingers. It hangs perfectly underneath your clavicles, resting between the other jewelry you wear daily.

Those hands linger for a moment, before both slowly brush down over your shoulders. Rough, calloused fingers glide across your skin and leave an electric current in their wake as light kisses trail up your neck. “Missed ye, bonnie.”

You sigh and lean back against his broad chest. “Missed you too.”

Teeth sink into the crook of your neck, pulling a gasp from your lips. Large, rough hands grab and knead your tits through your thin tank top. He plucks at your nipples - rolling them between his fingers as he sucks deep marks into your neck.

You open your mouth to complain about leaving visible hickies but all that comes out is a breathy moan. You run your hands up his thighs on either side of you, dragging your nails across his skin in the way that always leaves him panting.

One hand travels down, grabbing onto the softness of your belly appreciatively before continuing. His fingers glide over your covered pussy, teasing you to gasp and squirm under him. Rough fingers continue to pluck at your nipple, eventually pushing their way under your tank top for better access. A low hiss escapes Johnny’s lips as your breasts fall free of the camisole.

“Fuck, bonnie. Can I taste ye? Please? Need ye so bad.” Johnny groans in your ear. “Please.”

How could you ever say no to him? He doesn’t even have to ask, really.

He repositions you on your back, tucking a pillow under your hips. Ever the considerate type. His fingers hook in your panties, a low, pleased rumble echoing through his chest as he shucks off the soaked fabric.

No matter what he’s doing, Johnny’s eyes always find yours. He could be across the most crowded room in the world and, imminently, they’ll find yours. They crinkle at the sides with his smile that pulls the scar on his chin.

“So pretty fer me.” He murmurs, lowering himself between your thighs as he bites and kisses up the soft flesh between your legs.

Johnny is a lot of things, and a total much is easily near the top of the list. Maybe number one, even. He presses his face into your cunt - mouthing over your clit and dragging his tongue down between your lips. It’s almost more for him, you think, the way he drags his tongue through the crease between your thigh and pussy. You can’t complain - you would be a fool to with the way he absolutely worships your body.

A harsh suck to your clit as your back arching. Strong arms wrap around your thick thighs to hold you down as he devours you.

“Taste so good, lass. Sweet as fuckin’ candy.” He moans against your cunt.

“Johnny!” You gasp, hand tangling in his overgrown mohawk. A low moan pulls out of you as he licks from your back hole to your clit before stuffing his tongue as deep in your pussy as he can. Chants of obscenities and pleading and oh, god, Johnny please you’re so good fall from your lips.

You know better than to try to hide your sounds. If he could he’d devour them just as much as he already does you - inject them straight in his veins to live there forever. Two fingers push into you, the stretch causing you to gasp. Johnny chuckles as you buck into the touch. The fingers curl directly up into that spot inside you as he nips at your clit.

Your climax hits you like a train - stars blooming behind your eyes and your back arching sharply. You’re always so sensitive after he’s been gone. So ready to have him again.

“Thassit, tha’s my good girl.” Johnny kisses up your thigh, working you through your orgasm with his fingers. “Ready fer me, baby? Missed this pretty cunt so bad - thought about her every day.”

You nod excitedly - mind too fuzzy and content to come up with the words to respond. Lazily, Johnny reaches over to the nightstand to grab a condom. He knows your home, like you, inside and out. Every nook and cranny might as well be his.

It could be his.

It should be his.

Johnny cups your cheek, kissing you slow and deep. His tongue parting your lips gently before exploring every inch of your mouth. Those rough hands trail down your body with reverence. One going from your cheek, to your sternum, over your belly to sink into the softness of your waist. The other holds tight on your hip as he lines up.

You gasp and moan against each other as he pushes in. The stretch is delicious. Your nails sink into his strong back.

“Practically made fer me, bonnie.” He groans as he moves. It’s slow, languid.

He’s so beautiful. Always has been. No matter how he changes - new hair, new scars, new tattoos - he’s still beautiful. The prettiest man you’ve ever met. You run your fingers through the downey layer of dark hair over his chest - tracing the outlines of his muscles, up over his thick shoulders to cup his cheek.

Your bodies move together easily - a well practiced dance that you’ve perfected over the years.

“Christ.” Johnny gasps into your ear - strong forearms bracket your head, burying you under him. “I lov-“

You turn your head, catching his lips in a kiss. It’s terrible of you, you’re sure, but there’s nothing those words can communicate that a well timed gasp or a perfectly placed caress can’t say better. His nose knocks against yours, your hands travel all over him, seeking out any purchase they can find.

It turns desperate. A clawing need as you rediscover each other for the millionth time. Wet, open mouth kisses against each others skin and bodies moving perfectly in tandem. The light high from smoking leaves your skin warm and buzzing with electricity. It borders on overstimulating - just barely this side of too much.

“Johnny…” You whine, tilting your head back.

“Aye?” He pants, laving at your clavicle. “Gonnae cum f’me? Cream all over my fuckin’ cock?”

All you can manage is a keen, teeth sinking into his shoulder to hide you face form him. A hand tangles in your hair, pulling you down to stare up at him.

“Eyes on me, hen. Want - ah - want ye lookin’ at me when I make ye cum.”

It’s too intense. It always is looking into those baby blues. As if they can see right through to the most buried parts of yourself. Johnny shifts your hips up ever so slightly, the new angle bullying his head against your g-spot with each thrust. Your nails claw across his shoulder blades.

It doesn’t take long before you’re careening over the edge with him, bodies tensing against each other. Clenching down around him like a vice while you gasp for air.

“There she is. Tha’s my girl.” Johnny murmurs against your lips, still rocking into you in short, sloppy motions. Just to drag it out a little longer until you whine at the overstimulation.

You let yourself lay back to catch your breath, floating back to earth while Johnny disappears to toss the condom in the trash. He’s back nearly as fast as he left, pulling you against his chest and burying you both under the soft sheets of your bed.

“Shower?” Johnny whispers into your hair, eventually. You nod against his chest, slowly peeling yourselves apart. Your fingers remain tangled all the way to the bathroom.

He whirls you after you turn on the shower, kissing you slow and deep as you wait for the water to warm up. A warm hand splash across your lower back - keeping you close. You’re left breathless when he finally pulls back, pupils blown so wide in the low evening light that you can hardly see the blue of his eyes.

You sigh to yourself as you step into the shower, grateful that you splurged on the apartment with the especially large bathroom. It definitely wasn’t with Johnny in mind. You’d never make your decisions based around such a nebulous relationship.

Not the size of your bathroom - enough to fit both your wide frame and his broad shoulders.

Not the location of your apartment - only a few blocks from his.

Not keeping his favorite snacks stocked at all times just in case he comes home early.

Not referring to your apartment as his home.

“Lean down a bit.” You smile, pouring a glob of shampoo into your hand for him. Johnny’s always been picky about his hair care. You always make sure it’s on hand in your bathroom.

He does the same for you, of course, when he can, but somehow you both always end up at your place instead. Not that you’d ever complain. You like your place. It’s safe. Warm. A cocoon away from all the parts of the world that have scarred you so deeply.

Johnny groans happily as you scratch his scalp, the quality shampoo cleaning far more deeply than any of that standard issue stuff he gets on deployment ever could. You watch the suds slowly drip down over the lines of his back, breath catching as your eyes settle on a nasty, raised patch of skin you hadn’t seen before.

It looks like a chunk got ripped out of his back, right under his ribs.

“Johnny.” You gasp.

“Hm?” He looks over his shoulder at you, brows raising as he realizes what you’re looking at. “Oh tha’? It’s nothin’. Just go’ a bit knocked around, remember?”

You bite your lip, tamping down the rising fear in your gut. “D-does it hurt?”

“I’m fine, lovie.” Johnny turns, giving you that sparkling, million dollar grin. He knows it scares you, shakes you to the core.

You’ve already lost everyone else in your life, having the ever present threat of losing Johnny as well is too much to handle sometimes. It keeps you up at night, when he’s away, imagining all the worst that could happen to him.

How easy it would be for a simple bullet or knife to shatter your world.

That’s why the two of you keep up this little arrangement. This song and dance at arms length. To spare you. Both of you. Either when he doesn’t come back or you break and run.

You won’t run, though. As much as it hurts, the good is too good to give up. You’ll stay through it all, with just enough distance to keep your sanity.

“Ye with me?” Johnny asks gently, slowly pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Long week.” You lie, leaning up on your tip toes to plant a small kiss in the corner of his mouth.

He hums, turning to meet your lips. You let yourself fall into him, fingers running through the hair on his chest, up to the back of his neck. He just feels right under your hands. Perfectly molded to press up against you - hard muscle to balance out the softness of your body. Angles and curves. Push and pull. Sun and moon.

Holy hell, you’ve become a sap.

“Sit.” You point to the chair you drug into the bathroom and Johnny happily plops down - big, fluffy towels tied around your chest and waist respectively. A content smile settles across his face as you slowly work your way across his scalp with the electric razor. You let your fingers to scrape along after you just the way he likes.

When you were young, you watched your mother cut your fathers hair. It seemed so subservient to you. Shameful, almost. You said you’d die before doing that for any man.

You carefully raise each section of his mo-hawk, cutting it down to the exact length Johnny likes to style it. A little on the short side, actually, so that it has time to grow before looking messy. Shearing the sides and taking extra care around his ears. He doesn’t need any more nicks or scars.

Johnny suddenly looks pensive as he watches you in the mirror - carefully taking in each of your movements.

“You’re worrying.” You murmur.

“I-“ He sighs. “It’s nothin’.”

“Johnny.” You level your gaze on his in the mirror, he looks off to the side.

“I’m just- I cannae-“ He sighs. “I miss ye.”

You snort. “I’m right here.”

Johnny shrugs. For once, he stops talking. You hate when he does. It’s the only true hallmark that something is wrong.

“Johnny-“

“Do ye want tae hear a new Ghost joke?” He interrupts. It’s an out. You’ll let him have it.

“Lay it on me.”

“Whit’s the difference between the bird flu and the swine flue?”

“What?”

“One requires tweetment an’ the other requires oinkment.”

A huffy laugh escapes you despite yourself. “That’s terrible.”

“Aye. Imagine listenin’ tae that in a life or death situation. Could be the last thing I hear!”

You giggle, finishing up with shaping the edges of his hairline. “How is it?”

Johnny stands, leaning close to the mirror and running a hand over his hair. Your eyes lock onto that newly forming scar again. It makes your throat feel tight.

He stretches his arms way over his head with a groan. “Think it’s time f’some proper lazin’ about.”

The rest of the night goes by as they usually do when he gets home. Indian take out, a romcom in the background, another round of fucking. Or two. It’s near eleven when you finally settle into the sheets, Johnny long asleep beside you. Comfortably snoring with that angelic peacefulness you only ever see in his sleep.

Will he look that peaceful if he dies?

The thought makes you want to throw up.

It takes all your mental fortitude to push that train of thought away. Opting to lay beside him, eyes flicking across his features as you attempt to memorize them all. The curve of his strong brow, the arch of his nose, the slight part in his lips as he sleeps. Your thumb traces the scar on his chin while you cup his cheek. As if sensing your current state - and, if you’re honest with yourself, you’re sure he can - a strong arm wraps around you to lock you against his chest. You let your legs tangle, breathing him in and following the pattern of the rise and fall of his chest. Real and tangible under your hands.

You’re just so glad that, at least right now, he’s home.

[senkiworks]

[itoendme]

i want to talk about war’s effect on individual morality in Golden Kamuy because ethics is a topic that inevitably pops up when war is involved, but Golden Kamuy focuses less on the actual war and more on the impact the war had on the moral values of the soldiers after the fact. Sugimoto expresses in chapter 100  that all the military men (current and former) involved in the search for the gold are unable to adapt to live outside of the military. Being a soldier has shaped their identities. I could do another analysis as to why Ogata continues to wear a military uniform after he’s deserted, but for now, I mainly want to talk about  Sugimoto and Tsukishima. 

Sugimoto admits to dehumanizing people in his head in order to justify their deaths. He did it with the Russian soldiers in the war, and he does it with the Abashiri convicts and the 7th division soldiers, and I think that the fact that he admits to doing it points to the idea that he’s questioning whether or not he is justified in talking all these lives. Did all of those people really deserve to die? Is he a bad person for killing them? I think these questions are very much prompted by his encounter with Ume after the war, he can’t assume a normal life because he doesn’t have the answers yet, and searching for them is a big part of his character arc.

Tsukishima is similar to Sugimoto in that he didn’t really have a life before the war. Both of them were living without much of a purpose, and joined the army simply to stay alive, Sugimoto to escape poverty and starvation and Tsukishima to escape death row execution. And while Sugimoto was given purpose by Toraji’s death and later by his friendship with Asirpa, Tsukishima was given purpose by Lt Tsurumi. He fully believes that he doesn’t deserve to live for himself or be anything other than Lt Tsurumi’s pawn. Being a soldier is Tsukishima’s entire identity, and he doesn’t concern himself with moral questions because there is no life for him outside the army. This relates to the philosophical idea of private use of reason, that reason must be restricted in the case of a contract or obligation like being a soldier. Because of his obligation, Tsukishima doesn’t have the luxury of independent thinking. Being a soldier allows him to remove himself from the moral dilemma.

While being in the military raised questions of morality for Sugimoto, it gave Tsukishima an excuse to suppress those very questions.

We don’t actually see much of the war in Golden Kamuy, only occasional flashbacks, but its effects resonate throughout the story. Different characters are affected differently by similar experiences. I think that Golden Kamuy is so good thematically because it poses questions about who decides what is justified and who gets to be a victim. Even characters that exist for narrative purposes feel believable and fleshed out, and the audience is encouraged to form their own opinions about them. 

[purplepixel]

#24 just breathe for rise disaster twins for the drawing prompt thing? :)

#24 Just breathe + Leo and Donnie

I had too much fun with the color