#revolutionary war soldier oc

[we-continental-soldiers]

Amias: I’m late on this m, I know, I know. I’m over two weeks late on this but… irs hard to talk about.

Brandywine.

Everything it meant and represented to the Continental Army; the longest single day battle, a hard battle, having to face losing Philadelphia… we still held together but… it was hard.

What the battle meant for me. What I lost… what I put my friends though. What Udney and Cyrus and Obadiah and Billy had to do afterwards… what changed for them. For me…

Losing my sight.

So forgive for not saying anything until almost three weeks later. The memories still burn hot in my mind and weight heavily on my heart. But, mod and the others encouraged me to do something. So here’s my post.

Thank you.

[artlessoutlaw]

Hellsing OC Masterpost

(Sorry if this post makes zero sense..)

The general premise:

It takes place post-time skip, there is some sort of international threat (still under development) that leads the Hellsing Organization to have to travel to America. However, the US government figures this out and says if they want to continue their investigation without legal persecution they have to work with their own vampire-fighting organization: Morris Co.

The characters of Morris Co are meant to be ‘mirrors’ of those in the Hellsing organization.

Morris Co:

(Since Quincey Morris was shown being dead at one point; I basically just added in ‘he left behind a son’ and made Quincey Morris a widower (which is why he proposed to Lucy))

Morris Co is a very similar organization to Hellsing, dealing with any supernatural threats that threaten the US. It was founded by Quincey Morris, and gained a reputation after he captured and sealed away ‘The Headless Horseman.’ After Quincey’s death assisting Abraham Van Hellsing in capturing Dracula, his son, James Morris, took over the company.

Inspired by the the Hellsing Organization’s idea of using Count Dracula (Alucard) as their own personal weapon, James decides to unseal the monster his father had captured for the same purpose. He coins the name ‘Bishop,’ which the horseman uses from then on.

The present-day head of Morris Co is Elizabeth Morris, the granddaughter of Quincey Morris. The organization works closely with the CIA, and receives large sums of money from the government.

Elizabeth Morris:

As stated before, Elizabeth Morris is the head of Morris Co as Quincey Morris’s ancestor. She uses a regenerator, as well as carries silver throwing knives and a gun with silver bullets on her person for protection.

Unlike Integra, she keeps a much more hospitable and ‘professional’ attitude, dealing with things with a calm demeanor. However, this nice demeanor is simply just courtesy. She cares very little about the civilians she is supposedly trying to protect, but rather cares most about “getting the job done.” She is willing to put her men and civilians lives in danger for the sake of protecting Morris Co’s reputation and continue receiving government funding.

To put in simple terms: Integra seems harsh, but she genuinely wants to protect humanity, and cares for those who work under her. Elizabeth, on the other hand, seems friendly and hospitable actually only cares for profit, and she sees the people who work under her as mere pawns to serve her interests.

Bishop:

Bishop is Morris Co’s ‘Trump Card,’ a willpower vampire that once roamed the west under the title of ‘The Headless Horseman.’ (More notes on how that works in the pic)

Bishop’s backstory follows a similar story to the story of the Headless Horseman, an American Revolutionary War soldier gets his head blown off by a canon in the battlefield. However, all the blood flows to him and he becomes a Willpower Vampire, and his head regenerates ‘wrong’ (like Seras’s arm). He spends many years wandering around the US as an undead legend before being defeated by Quincey Morris. He is sealed away in a locked coffin for many years before James Morris unsealed him. After his release, he takes a slightly different form to better ‘blend in’ with the humans he lives with.

He comes off as a “strong silent type” at a first glance, though over time it becomes more apparent he is under an unspoken ‘do not speak unless spoken too’ rule. This becomes confusing for him when members of Hellsing talk to him semi-casually, or when he sees Seras and Alucard talk to Integra casually.

When he does speak, he talks with a heavy southern accent, uses a lot of contractions/slangs, a kind of opposite way of Alucard’s sort of regal way of talking.

Also, unlike Alucard, he isn’t one to push buttons, and l will back down if Elizabeth (or later Integra) shows any sign of hostility or irritation because his relationship with humans is much more rocky. He will still keep his ‘tough guy’ front by acting like he doesn’t care. For example he’s likely to shrug something off and go “alrighty then” instead of argue his point.

Elizabeth and Bishop don’t have any sort of friendliness between them the way the members of Hellsing do, nor does Bishop really see any honor in what they do because he can see past her friendly front.

He is also much more likely to take bullets for/protect humans, because he sees it as his responsibility to do so. He sees humans in a similar way a farmer sees his livestock, a way that is still ‘below him’ but also has a bit of respect and care to it.

In the same allegory as Alucard = Guarddog, Bishop = sheepdog.

[callsigns-haze]

Loves Revolution

Chapter 1

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw (as Micheal Collins) x Jake Seresin (as Harry Boland) x OC! Madison Cassidy

Word count: 3.2K

A/n: This is the first post to my new series so please be nice! I'm going to try to make this into a series so please show this story a bit of love and reblog!

Summary: Bradley, Jake and Maddie have been friends for many years ongoing. Bradley from Cork and Jake and Madison from the troubled Dublin, have been close for life. Now fighting in the 1916 Easter rising and the ongoing history to the Treaty and the independence of Ireland their story lives on...

History: Bradley (represents) :Michael Collins (October 16, 1890 – August 22, 1922) was an Irish revolutionary, soldier, and politician who was a key role in the early twentieth-century campaign for Irish independence. During the Irish Civil War, he served as Director of Intelligence for the Irish Republican Army (IRA) and as a government minister in the self-proclaimed Irish Republic. From January 1922, he was Chairman of the Provisional Government of the Irish Free State, and from July till his death in an ambush in August 1922, he was Commander-in-Chief of the National Army.

Jake (represents) :Harry Boland (April 27, 1887 – August 1, 1922) was an Irish republican politician who led the Irish Republican Brotherhood from 1919 to 1920. From 1918 until 1922, he was a Teachta Dála (TD).He was elected as the MP for Roscommon South in the 1918 general election, but, like other Sinn Féin candidates, he did not serve in the British House of Commons, instead sitting as a TD in the First Dáil. Boland was elected to the second Dáil as a TD for Mayo South-Roscommon South in the 1921 general election. He was re-elected as an anti-Treaty candidate in 1922, but he perished two months later during the Irish Civil War.

History :The Easter Rising (Irish: Éir Amach na Cásca), often known as the Easter Rebellion, was an armed insurgency in Ireland in April 1916 during Easter Week. While the United Kingdom was waging the First World War, Irish republicans started the Rising against British control in Ireland with the goal of establishing an independent Irish Republic. It was Ireland's greatest important insurrection since the 1798 rebellion and the first armed battle of the Irish revolutionary period. Beginning in May 1916, sixteen of the Rising's leaders were executed. The executions' nature, as well as following political developments, eventually contributed to an upsurge in popular support for Irish independence.

Warning: Mentions of gun use, ptsd, mentions of death, mentions of shooting, flirting, mentions of abuse, description of dead body, death, blood

Year 1916, Easter

"Sir, we got the General Post Office surrounded, Sir! We believe that inside are De Valera, Macdonagh, Clark, Connolly and a lot of other rebellions, sir!" One of the funny dressed British soldiers replies to their head commander, with hand at forehead, ready for a salute. This is how the English planned it all along, for the most important rebellions to be stuck at one place, surrounded with no escape.

"So we have the G.P.O, good, very good, but what about O'Connells street, Stevens green, The Liffey and the four courts?" The head commander asked the young man who still held his hand above his head, not moving an inch. "The areas are empty, sir! Either captured or escaped but the rest are at the G.P.O, sir!"

They're all where they were supposed to be, all in one place, no room to escape and they'll give in to this nonsense, they had no way to continue fighting against the British or loyal Irish. The undertakers or loyal Irish were against the rebellions, fighting against them at this very moment, all they had to do now is give themselves up to the English.

"Are there any women inside, lieutenant?" Any innocent woman that had been stuck inside the G.P.O that had been inside the building for the past five days, did not deserve the faith they may face in several minutes from now. The soldiers aligned outside of the building will not hesitate to kill anyone on the inside but the women didn't deserve it.

"There's women of aid and very little volunteers, sir! We believe that one of the fellow female friends of De Valera's help is inside the building. Her parents put her off name Madison Cassidy, but to the public she's known as 'Maddie', sir!" A woman so apparently known to the public but how? No woman that the commander has heard of went by that name or was 'known to the public', no woman has ever had the might or power to be so known in the streets of Dublin or the county of Leinster. "What do you mean 'known to the public', lieutenant?" "She's a public speaker, sir!"

A female public speaker? And that was apparently known to people. Absurd. An absolute absurdity. Some young girl, that he has never heard of decided to become a public speaker. What a joke! She should be scrubbing the dishes, washing the linen, taking care of the kids or cooking and not wasting her time over public speeches. And who would even listen to her? Some sort of female, trying to put her thought into a speech that is apparently supposed to motivate people to do something.

And she believes that's gonna work, but like the lieutenant mentioned, she did work with De Valera. "Bring her to me, nobody lay a finger upon her, understood?" "Yes sir!"

---------------

The gun shots echoed in your ears. It was a sensation as if your ears were violently and rapidly ringing, due to the awful noises that have been haunting your brain for the past five days. You've been in the G.P.O for so long and at this point, it felt like you haven't left in centuries.

You're hiding behind a big, destructed pillar at the moment, leaning your back against it, catching your breath. There was no way out, there was English all around the grand building and mostly everything inside was burning and what didn't make it better is the roof, it's too weak to hold more racket. Even if the English didn't manage to get you guys out, the roof looked like it was only gonna last two more days before swallowing all of you.

"Maddie!" Bradley's voice, called out as the rebel has been looking for you. Him and Jake have been shooting from further up front of the building and now you were unsure if to answer. You couldn't fight more, even though it was written in your blood to fight for the right of being an independent country. But now Leinster, Munster, Connaught and Ulster should forgive you but you've had enough.

"I'm here!" You call out from behind the pillar, Bradley immediately runs over to you, diving behind the pillar like you did as a shelter from not getting shot.

"We're giving up," he told you, those baby cow eyes never dropping your gaze, not even for a second. "What?" You couldn't believe it. You guys destroyed Dublin. The streets of your hometown were in ruins from this rebellion, just so you could give up. That was bloody nonsense.

"They got us surrounded, we have no choice but to give in." "Bradle-" He cut you off, he knew you'd argue or do some sort of disagreement but there was no other way. "I know Maddie, but we had a meeting upstairs and there's nothing we can do they have the four courts and Stevens green and the rest. We have to make it out alive and this is not a step towards that."

You look over the pillar to see men on your side fighting, tired wrecked and most likely depressed. They're not going to make it out alive if we don't give up but if we do they'll probably be shot, either way.

"BRADSHAW!" De Valera calls out, with his old, crispy sharp voice. Sounds like a snob but is the chief, the man everyone listens to and who is leading your group forward. He had to go, you wonder how or when they're going to give up but he lays a soft, delicate, quick kiss on your cheek and gets up and runs towards Jake to help. Jake looks like he had enough.

The building's broken architecture, dust has covered his body and he looks wrecked. He looked over at Bradley running and quickly yanked him behind to a standing pillar up front of the G.P.O. The military has brought in machine guns, full loads and everyone crouches down with full might trying not to get shot. You all were going to die, you knew it. Either shot now or shot later is how you're all going to end, just each had to decide what's best for themselves.

For a full ten minutes of nonstop shooting, the military guns stopped, waiting for a reaction out of the rebellion group. They were going to give up now, you knew it. Dev and the rest ran over to a soldier and wrapped a white flag around his shotgun and told him to head up front.

This is the sign of the rebellions giving up. This was the sign to signify that you guys had enough. One by one they leave the building and you get up from behind the fallen pillar and run to the exit. The second you reach behind De Valera, Bradshaw and Seresin you could tell they were going to give up and this was the end for them.

You stand behind them as the English General calls out orders, "FOUR STEPS FORWARD!" You all do as told. "DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" Anyone who held a gun or anything of that sort does as they're told. "NOW, TWO STEPS BACK!" And that was the last order till the round up.

---------------

An English General was calling out English rebellion names, one by one, dragging them out of the crowd by his ugly cane. "McDonagh. Thomas Clark." Both were dragged out of the crowd by the bloody officer. Each name was dragged out in his tongue and then the actionist was dragged out of the group, except one injured man, Connolly, who was lying down due to a leg wound and instead he was just kicked and carried away on the cloth stretcher.

"Get up, you Fenian swine. Now who else am I missing?" The general murmurs are loud enough for you to hear. He looks up and down the crowd and lays his gaze upon you. "Cassidy!" He calls out your second name and dragged you with his cane forward. Beside you stood the rest of your friends just like before and called out one more name before leaving. "De Valera!"

At that Bradley grunted and pulled a bit forward but Jake got a grip of him and pulled him back. "Brad, if we wanna make out of this shit hole alive, I'm sorry to say but we can't do anything about this," Jake says as he watches the officers drag you and Dev away. And murmurs lowly below his breath, "We can't do anything now."

---------------

They dragged you out of your cell. Death by the firing squad, you can see it so clearly now. Your own fellow friends, the 'Loyal Irish' are about to shoot you and cost you your life in just minutes.

As they drag you through the halls that are dim with no light, you expect happy memories to come but your mind stays dark and blank. You were dragged up as far as the outside where on the floor all you saw was blood from the last corpse that was shot and too heavy and invaluable to carry so just dragged like a worthless shit.

You were lined up against the wooden wall and you looked over to the soldier that was supposed to put a bag over your head but instead said, "Pray." That simple four letter word was a suggestion, a way that god would forgive you but the soldiers were gonna be pissed off more because you were catholic not some prodestant like the English tried, but you still say your prayers as a command. You do the sign of the holy cross and pray.

"I confess to almighty God and to you my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do.

Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault; therefore I ask blessed Mary ever- Virgin, all the Angels and Saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God.

Amen."

And at that the same male officer who just two minutes back, barked at you to pray, gets handed a sack. The sack that was about to be thrown over your head, before one of the fellow Irish citizens on behalf of the English shoots you.

You wanted to scream but nobody would listen. You wanted to run but you wouldn't get far. You wanted to tell Jake and Bradley that you cared about them. You wanted Dublin and all of Ireland to be free again. At that thought the sack was thrown over your head and the big bang of the guns stopped your thinking for all….

----------------

'The fact that l was born in America might save my hide. Either way, I am ready for what comes. The Irish Republic is a dream no longer. It is daily sealed by the lifeblood of those who proclaimed it. And every one of us they shoot brings more people to our side.They cannot imprison us forever. And from the day of our release, Bradley, we must act as if the Republic is a fact. We defeat the British Empire by ignoring it. Now I hear the payers of our beloved friends, Macdonagh, Clark, Cassidy, each of them ended their last speech with Amen and to us that will stand for peace, yet so we shall still try to make it our peace and remember the men and woman in a way that no one ever has.'

That was the first and last letter from Dev and the way that your second name stood out to Bradley was significant. He loved the way you cringed when he said your full name and you crinkled your nose, which caused him to laugh uncontreablly, but now that's all gone.

"She's dead, Jake, they shot her," Bradley, tries not to break apart on the prison steps as he lets those words leave his mouth. The young woman that he admired, fought with was now easily put six feet underground due to a bullet. Such a short, beautiful life of a lady, wasted due to a firing squad.

"She died like she wished, Brad, she wanted to fight for her country and die trying," Jake lets out as he can't stop thinking about you just standing there, waiting for the bullet to pierce your skin. He wanted to cry, scream but he couldn't, not here or now. Bradley was the same he wanted to choke the next guard he saw because there's a chance that it was their bullet that hit you.

"She didn't deserve it, Jake. Not her. She fought but we dragged her into this." "We may have involved her into this, but nobody deserves this faith, Brad. Absolutely nobody."

Year 1918, May

"They let us out of jail so we can do our best to be put inside again," Bradley smirked as the two got of the train that has brought them out of prison sights into town. Shirt drive but freedom for the first time in two years. Final peace with no officers at your back or stupid cells and jail uniforms.

"Don't you see a certain paradox in that?" Jake looked over at his companion in a short shock and repeated. "Paradox." At that Bradley crumbles the piece of paper that he was reading and states like some dictionary. "A contradiction. An immovable force meets an immovable object kind of thing."

The two of them continue walking forward and see a young bride and groom saying their goodbyes to their family as the town was too small for them and they wished to see the world, explore. It brought sadness in both of the men's hearts thinking both about the lovely lady in their past. And sadly the main word of that sentence was past, because whatever hopes they had for her were over now.

"Look, isn't that a lovely picture?" It truly was. It's the kind of picture everyone wishes for and desires at heart. "Maybe we should settle down." Probably a smart thing. To find love in this hopeless place may have made it easier the get through in life and focus on the main goals in a different perspective. In a love kind of way. "Just the two of us?" The other friend joked causing the two to laugh.

"And him." Says Bradley while Jake looks to him in pure confusion. "Who?" Jake had no clue who his fellow friend was referring to and you could easily tell that by the expression on Jake's face. Bradley simply points at the car with two men standing outside. Tom and Sean the men they've fought the Easter Rising with. The two, were friends with Jake and Bradley and somehow we're still not chickened out to help them.

"How are you?" Bradley asks giving Tom a hug as the two have not seen each other since the line up. Tom smiles up at him, since he falls rather short in height and pats Bradley shoulders. "Well, as best as a rebel can be." With those words leaving his mouth, Tom turns to Jake giving him an equal hug as Sean quickly hugs Bradley. "Get in you two, we got a show to attend!"

"How did they know we we're here already?" Bradley wonders looking over his shoulder to find two of the loyal Irish that have been following him and Jake even since the two of them have left jail and entered the not so free freedom. They were gonna get chased down on every step they make every. Any plan will be tracked and this is not what freedom is supposed to be about.

"They know what we eat for breakfast Bradley. This is the bare minimum of their poxy power," answered Sean while driving on a country side road, filled with branches everywhere and no actual pathways for pedestrians. It was a quite Irish road; nothing close to being straight, it was filled by potholes and indents and it wouldn't even be defined as a road, it was just a bunch of loose gravel.

"Well there's only one answer to that. We find out what they eat for breakfast!" Bradley exclaims as Jake looked at his friend in pure confusion and a bit of terror. The terror of how had he managed to survive with the lad for so long. The two years in prison together and many years of friendship before that. People would call him mad if they seen that he survived that long with the crazy brunette. "You're a mad fucker, Bradley," Jake said shaking his head side to side.

"Yeah, but I'm the mad fuck you hang out with," said the brunette, laying his baby cow eyes upon his friends, spring green ones. The two of them are close. They've always been that way but some bond that they have will never be broken. No such thing on this world can interrupt their friendship.

"So are the two of you looking for anyone out the old leading squad?" Asked Sean, with a hint of suspense in his voice. Was there really anyone from the old leading squad left that wasn't shot, hung or killed in any kind of way. Bradley looked over his shoulder to see that the loyal Irish were still behind them, hunting them down like hawks for their pray, right on their heals, step by step behind them. "Well, who can we look for? Either shot or some other cruel way of getting put down into the poxy earth!" Said Jake as he was sitting down, in a kind of slouch, hand behind his head, leaning back with his old fashion cap over his eyes to block out the Irish sun that was barely ever showing at times.

"Ah, Maddie made a big fit out of it a whole while back. Pissed her off, it did! Several speeches and annoying the British that they bloody had to have a full law talk with her but she won!"

Maddie? As in their Maddie? Madison Cassidy? The woman that the two grew up with and who sadly lost her life to the firing squad in 1916? That can't be right. She gott shot, just like the rest. Full prayer ending and mad shit like tha'. This didn't make sense. It didn't add up. "As in our Maddie?" Exclaimed Bradley, thinking he's mistaken, he saw his dear friend get dragged out the line up and heard about her shooting. "Yeah. Don't you guys know Maddie? Madison Cassidy? She worked with De Valera, yeah she still does all the speech things." Answered Tom , expecting the two men to have met the young, independent, confident woman.

This shook the two men inside. They've heard and believed for the last two years the woman that the two of them shared interest for had died, cruelly, due to the firing squad. "We thought she died!" Jake said, he's still shocked. Once he heard that she is alive, he quickly sat up from his slouched position, rubbed his hands down his face and fixed his flat hat. "Nah, they wouldn't manage to put her down that easily!"

"We heard she got shot by the firing squad after the G.P.O!" This is what they have believed and hearing the news that she's been alive the whole time doesn't quite add up to the two men. "Nah, she's alive mate!"

Current taglist:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

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[hotmonkeelove]

My Top Ten Anime OTPs

(plus a bonus OT3!)

Orochimaru x Anko - Naruto

My one ship to rule them all! As far as I'm concerned, they have reconciled and are now an official couple in the Boruto timeline.

Juri x Shiori x Ruka - Revolutionary Girl Utena

They live as a tender, loving, polyamorous triad, rent free inside my head. It has been decided. I have spoken!

Saionji x Wakaba - Revolutionary Girl Utena

Saionji is Wakaba's true prince. She loved him despite his flaws. Why wouldn't she give him another chance after the Revolution, when he's matured into a kinder, calmer person? What, should she end up with that nice guy, Tatsuya, who also hurt her and for whom she feels no passion?

Mitsuki x Chocho - Boruto: Naruto Next Generations

They're the only reason I watched Boruto! Give me more MitsuCho!

Zabuza x Haku - Naruto

I think Haku was always secretly in love with Zabuza, whereas Zabuza forced himself not to care about anything apart from fighting and his own ambition. Even reanimated, he didn't want Haku to know he cared about him. So tragic! I want to see them reincarnated into better circumstances, where they can be together, in peace. That's why I like to imagine Iwabe and Denki are their present incarnations.

L x Misa - Death Note

This one's weird. I used to hate L's guts, yet I found him hot in a messed up/ prison fantasy sort of way. Then a few months back, I read some L x Misa fics and started to prefer him to Light. Maybe it's just AU versions of L? I still think he was pretty much as bad as Light, but at least, like Misa, he had a tragic background that drove him. Light was just an ego-maniac. And of course, I've always adored Misa!

Sebastian x Mey-Rin - Kuroshitsuji / Black Butler

My most recent otp. I had some knowledge of the series and thought Sebastian was hot. But oh, when I sat down to watch the first episode, it was nearly instantaneous! The klutzy, nervous, redheaded maid who pines for him... I want these two to get together! I need it!

Zagato x Princess Emeraude - Magic Kinght Rayearth

My second anime otp ever, from back in the 90s. Along with ZabuHaku, this one still makes me cry. It's so, so sad! And Zagato is still one of the sexiest characters in anime!

Gaara x Matsuri - Naruto

I don't know why this ship gets so much hate. (I've gathered a lot of it is from fangirls with Sue-ish OCs. Being someone who resembles and identifies strongly with Gaara, I feel no personal attraction to him. Maybe I think Matsuri is cute and sweet?) I thought they were so adorable together in the Four Celestials filler arc and have shipped them since.

Neji x Tenten - Naruto

I'm still jaded by Neji's death. So much lost potential! And it's cruel that Tenten did get to be like Tsunade, but in the worst way; they both lost their men to a war while fighting beside them.

Sailor Uranus x Sailor Neptune - Pretty Soldier Sailor Moon

My very first anime ship! Haruka and Michiru are still the yardstick by which all OTPs should be measured.

[bessamanu1986]

Les muestro un fanart de seis diseños míos de seis personajes de mi AU o fanfic "South Park: The Holy War" 💕🚬🗿

En el fanart aparecen 4 personajes canon y dos OCs: El musico, estudiante de ingeniería y soldado estadounidense Stan Marsh, el intelectual de izquierdas y candidato a Primer Ministro británico Gregory Fields, el ex Embajador de EEUU y actual Primer Ministro golpista del Reino Unido de origen alemán y Anticristo Damien Thorn (alias Damien Heuer-Schäfer), el revolucionario y profesor de Historia francés Christophe DeLorne, Evgeniy Novikov, soldado y Teniente coronel ruso que lucha en la Guerra ruso-ucraniana y Gunther Heuer-Lehmann, el medio hermano de Damien por parte de padre y que es un joven militante progresista considerado una gran promesa politica en Alemania 🇺🇲🇬🇧🇨🇵🇩🇪🇷🇺

I show you a fanart of six designs of mine of six characters from my AU or fanfic "South Park: The Holy War" 💕🚬🗿

In the fanart, 4 canon characters and two OCs appear: The musician, engineering student and American soldier Stan Marsh, the left-wing intellectual and candidate for British Prime Minister Gregory Fields, the former US Ambassador and current coup Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of German origin and Antichrist Damien Thorn (alias Damien Heuer-Schäfer), the French revolutionary and history professor Christophe DeLorne, Evgeniy Novikov, a Russian soldier and Lieutenant Colonel fighting in the Russo-Ukrainian War, and Gunther Heuer-Lehmann, the half-brother of Damien on his father's side and who is a young progressive activist considered a great political promise in Germany 🇺🇲🇬🇧🇨🇵🇩🇪🇷🇺

[neige-leblanche]

your OCs? 👀 would you like to talk about them?

tamias and mica yes!!! i wrote a really long rant abt mica a while ago that i can try to find in a sec but. =_= the more i write mica the more i realize they r just dimitri fire emblem. anyway i love them + have actually started writing the story theyre in so im gonna talk about them more!!!! as a preface they are both faeries

mica is the child of two war heroes (luckily both alive) who's on their second year in charge of a platoon of newly recruited fey wingsoldiers. they are Extremely socially awkward when it comes to any topic other of spearfighting + military training, until one day they are ordered to preside over the brutal massacre of a human township for food that the fey dont actually need. this traumatizes them and drives them to discover a cursed spear thats possessed by the spirit of the revolutionary who overthrew the fey government about a decade ago. the spear gives them charisma and emotional intelligence they never had whenever they wield it, and in turn urges mica to seek out justice for the humans who are slaughtered. where im at in the story right now theyve resolved to go infiltrate the resurrected government and kill the queen :3 they have a greyish white carapaced body, white hair and eyes, a vein of shimmering silver through one side of their face, and the wings of a dragonfly, and always favor a spear both in training and combat.

tamias is an interesting character!! he's one of the soldiers in mica's unit and even though his skills with a spear are fairly average, he distinguishes himself by being super outgoing with the intimidating general mica and eventually swearing loyalty to their quest of justice. in truth, when he was a child, his sister was betrothed to the faery princess and lived in the old court, and wrote letters to him detailing her life. though tamias is grown up and his sister died in the fall of the court, he privately holds her childhood faith and idealism up passionately, and wishes to achieve virtuous glory in her stead. he admires mica tremendously, which is a mix of him thinking mica the pure-hearted general would be a valid part of the ideal government he secretly wishes existed, and his optimistic outlook toward life and the people in it. he comes from the woods and has orangey brown eyes and the wings of a finch; also he fights with a bow!

edit heres the mica essay from before i started writing lol

[a-sandquist-art]

Starting off this blog with a ref-sheet of my OC, Igor Snegov! He’s the main antagonist of sorts of my Grand Hunt story that I’ll primarily be posting about here.

Some more info about him under the cut as not to dump it all out here!

Before The Pelt

Once upon a time Igor was a fur trader and artisan before being recruited among the first unit of Streltsy, he primarily worked in military operations but would also work along border patrol when not at war.

Turning

Igor was known for his ruthlessness in battle and apparent blood lust the longer he'd be in service. His proficency and effectiveness nearly earned him a title of Warlord but he humbly refused as he wanted to stay a foot soldier and battle head on still. As he got older his body started to take its toll and he began to grow desperate to continue fighting. This eventually lead to engaging the superstitious and rituals of witches.

One such ritual worked, and he became as much a wolf as he was a man, melding with the pelt he'd shorn from a great wolf and ravaging a nearby settlement. When he was found he was nearly executed quietly but soon was pardoned as his new nature was discovered and he became a tool of war much to his own delight. He'd continue on like this until the death of the Romanovs, when he'd realized a swath of the revolutionaries knew what he was and had prepared the necessary steps to hunt him down through weaknesses inherent in Lycans.

Now

Igor traveled across Europe, leaving a bloody pack in his wake as he was chased out of town after town. He finally traveled to America shortly after world war 2 and started to lay low through the cold war. Recently he's started to come out of the woodworks again with more ruthless and reckless abandon, taking to hunting down Monster Hunters and dispatching them brutally.

Personality

Igor is loud and headstrong. He’s very set in his ways and spends most of his time these days in underground fighting rings, be they mortal or supernatural in nature, pubs or bars, or going out to valleys and wooded areas to run free for some time. He is brutish and values strength both of body and of spirit vastly. He does have quiet moments where he weaves blankets or works on his tailoring but it’s overshadowed by his tendency to cause trouble and reap havoc.

[breitzbachbea]

Like, I am going to have such a throwback moment, you don't KNOW how obsessed I was with local history when I first got into Hetalia.

Sicily really only came after I had been to the island and I did have a passion for the UK, especially the non-English parts, and I am excited to delve into Irish History and get more insane there (Charlie should make more allusions to his Viking ties, most of which he learnt from history nerd Harry).

But my brain is EXPLODING with ideas for my hessian city OCs. Do you KNOW how much love and dedication I pumped into these places that globally, most people won't ever have heard of?

Schafi, whose full human name is Janine Katharina Schäfer, was my darling for a long while. Representation of the city of Cassel, these days Kassel, and more importantly, for as long as it was in place, the people ruled over by the house of Hessen-Cassel.

Schafi as a dedicated and courtly young woman, interested in the fine arts and architecture at home, but abroad more often than not part of armed forces that fought wars all over the world! Surely, many nations these days may still have a headache when they see the young woman who was such a pain in the ass as a teenage brat. Those soldiers that fought in the American Revolutionary War with the British? That wasn't ALL of Hesse, those were specifically mercenary troops provided by the Landgraf of Hessen-Cassel, who along with his ancestors turned such a pretty buck with it over the years that it financed one of the most fabously splendid cities of Europe.

And I am thinking about writing a One-Shot where Schafi is asked during museum excursions how it was to be a nation at war, what was one's purpose? Did one really mostly go toe to toe with their other superhuman counterparts? And it's then mostly a flashback to how she DID seek out Hannes*, how she could feel another presence and how they kept trying to lob each other's head off.

*Johannes Martin Hofmann, the representation of Darmstadt - and Hessen-Darmstadt, for as long as it existed. Who should have been a brother to Schafi's sister, both of them still Hessian, their rulers family. And yet, these two were always too different, both calling Hesse father (the only ones out of my Hessian City OCs btw) and yet not acknowledging each other as siblings. Also, I shipped them and I still ship them and Johanine is hate-love PAR EXCELLENCE.

[solipseismic]

my friend, what is blue/fainn from? coz ur tags were very :eyes:

HOHOHO this is the ONE GUY that i will NEVER shut up about so thank you for enabling me!! this literally made my whole evening ❣ mentally i am kissing u on the mouth

blue is one of my ocs from as-yet unnamed space opera wip! the name his mother gave him is sepehr fainn which he occasionally uses for Official Business but everyone calls him "blue" (or "sek" which is blue in kahali) because he's had his hair (shaved short on the sides and back but long and in neat lil brads on top) dyed THE most Obnoxious blue in existence.

so re: the tags: "thinking about blue (fainn) and despite how long and hard he fought for freedom he will never truly belong to himself." short answer, he's a Man of the People and he will never escape his mother's legacy. long answer ...

so ok imagine there is space korea (sporea, if you will) and it is a planet called kahal. previously, it has been invaded by another colonizing race but got their asses kicked and sent on their way--after about a hundred and fifty years of occupation. in the wake of this, kahali society split into three main social castes--the noble ruling class, the military, and Everyone Else (artisans, farmers, merchants, etc). contrary to what many think, the military is not just at the bottom of this social ladder but perhaps six feet below it. the ruling class use and abuse their military for centuries, driving them to greater and greater heights yet all the while denying them basic human rights

about five hundred years of this goes by, and kahal becomes one of the most formidable planets in the system--not just for their exports, but because their military is unconventional but also the Scariest around (built on guerilla tactics with an emphasis on ending wars before they begin via assassination)

this is mostly just a Vehicle for me to insert themes about compressed modernity in a post-imperialism, post-invasion society (and the implementation of children / future generations to achieve impossibly high standards economically and societally that comes with this) into even MORE of my writing

so our guy blue is a soldier at the time of the five hundred-year mark. his mother, sikan fainn, is formerly the leading general of kahal's military and also his trainer*--and as a result, she pushes him the hardest out of anyone else. in a very bad way. his childhood is Brutal. at age 12 he decides he's had enough of this and runs off on his own to another planet, where he makes friends and heals from his trauma in healthy and fulfilling ways. at age 18, the socio-political climate on kahal is ripe for change--and this comes in the form of a revolution led by This Guy Right Here, who's been surreptitiously keeping tabs on the whole thing even though he left

blue and his cadre (closest friends, also all soldiers except for this one guy called formosa who used to be one of the ruling class) overthrow the noble elite and essentially upend the entire system and re-haul the governmental system top to bottom. it's all very fast and efficient and results in lots of executions, despite people (blue) trying to keep bloodshed to a minimum

after this, blue is known as the Revolutionary of Kahal, or just the Revolutionary, and now he is no longer his own person--if he ever really was. he's a representative of kahal and its people, formally or informally, whether he wants to be or not

"but sol," some might say, "you never covered his mother's legacy! also, how on earth is a child doing all this! he is a baby!"

WELL! kahali soldiers are known for hypercompetence from scarily young ages as a result of how they are trained and how society is set up--you don't go into the military, you're born into it. blue may be the most mentally healthy of my ocs (the bar is in the ninth circle of hell), but he does have mommy issues the size of at least half of alaska (for those not living in the states, this is Large). blue was never a child, he was a weapon. he was a tool in the hands of his mother and in the hands of the elite and though he may have freed his kin and repudiated his mother, he was stepping from one forge into another. if that makes sense.

*note on the training system: typically a one-to-one ratio of an experienced soldier training a Child from exceedingly young ages. these trainers are often one of the child's parents or legal guardian

fun trivia:

the elite are on average like 6'5 and the soldiers are usually in the 5'3 range. everyone else is somewhere between, but because of the social stratification that is more or less most rigid between the soldiers and nobility, the biggest discrepancy is There

blue is 5'7 because he's only half kahali, so he's considered Very Tall for a soldier

a cadre is essentially a squad of soldiers raised and trained together (sometimes) with whom one generally forms close ties with. blue's cadre was nine people strong, but two died in the Civil War--i talk about adeth del, zhelan nox, 27, and formosa fuyue a LOT as well, but there's also beran mire who's Just a Guy albeit one that is banned from 37 planets

[ggukkiereads]

Hello! Omg I just read your ask about the soldier jungkook fic recs and was wondering if you could recommend some for Taehyung with same gener? I've been meaning to ask this for a long while but I get shy- 🚶🏻‍♀️

🌷 Hi there! Aww thank you for sending this ask despite your feeling shy about sending it in 😊. Sorry I actually turned off anon because it helped me control/manage my inbox =). I guess if you prefer to be anon you can tell me and I can reply privately to your ask =) or maybe I will share the list with others but I won’t post your ask to help you stay anon 😊

Anyway, I don’t think there’s a lot of fics with Soldier!Taehyung? But here’s what I know:

Fic Recs | Taehyung Soldier AUs

Mars @to-star-lake​​ -  series [4/?] | 18.6k | Captain!Taehyung, Ahistorical AU, War themes, Military AU, kind of Enemies to Lovers | a, s, f

🌷 It also has a yandere tag and some might find it uncomfortable because people seem to just associate this behavior with one-dimensional type of obsession (like stalking, “I'll keep you forever”, etc) but this fic is tastefully written and their dynamics were just written so well. Once I started reading it (even if there wasn’t a summary and I didn’t know what I was getting into), I just couldn’t put it down. I love how it was all set up (the war theme, the way the two of them got closer, the power play that exists in this society). You can read my random comments here. Actually just check the comments per chapter and you’ll find my random screaming here and there lol (sorry but I hope they’re helpful)

Chapters:  01 02 03 04

Strands @xjoonchildx - one shot | 8.8k | american revolutionary war au, soldier!taehyung who got lost in the woods, supernatural/spooky au | a bit of smut, more on horror actually

taehyung can’t figure out how he got separated from his men, or how he ended up stranded in these woods – hurt. the only thing he knows is that he has no choice but to rely on the beautiful, secretive stranger who’s found him.

🌷 so I started reading this a day ago and I swear the "Good Morning, Soldier" line just keeps repeating in my head like some spooky dream. This is in written form but I can imagine how OC's voice sounds like. OC is so mysterious yet in an odd, unsettling way. Reminds me of some Twilight Zone episodes. 😱💀👻

All I Want @ardentlyjae - series [6/6] | 126k | War AU, Soldier!Taehyung, Childhood Friend!Taehyung, Nurse!OC, Love Triangle AU, Jungkook x Reader too, Soldier!Jungkook (he is one of the patients she’s treating) | Heavy Angst, S

You were seven years old when you first met Kim Taehyung. You were sixteen years old when you first realized that you were in love with him. At eighteen years old, a brutal war starts. At nineteen years old, Taehyung leaves to fight in the war.

🌷  Ah, how can I forget this? Part of the TaeKook Love Triangle Fic Recs too. The drama is just a rollercoaster ride for me 💯(reminded me of Pearl Harbor film for some reason because of the war set up, the feeling that the other person won't come back and you trying to move on, etc.)

If anyone would like to recommend more Soldier!Taehyung fics they know, feel free to reply =)

.

[we-continental-soldiers]

Udney: Independence!

Amias and Cyrus: Huzzah! Huzzah!

Obadiah: Down with the King!

Elijah: Liberty!!

Joseph: freedom! Huzzah!

(Mod: Happy Fourth of July everyone! Raise a glass to independence!)

[skybristle]

GOING INSANE AGAIN. this time about STRAWBERRY CREPE COOKIE. copy/pasted this from my dms but this is MY fanon and I make the rules. some oc stuff in here but honestly i don't care god is dead and i can do whatever i want. putting it under the cut because it's long and ALSO tw for manipulation/abandonment of children

okay so for context white lily in my fanon was always kinda,,, Off??? like i def see her as a brilliant mind with good intentions and misguided ways but shes very distant and gets kinda obsessed with her ideas of creating the 'perfect' cookie, even after the massive failure at the acadamy resulting in what happened happening pv gets kinda dragged into it because,,, she's his sorta lover sorta friend sorta ????? [idk i headcanon them as qpr with a really complicated relationship] and he has the healing magic in case anything goes awry, not to mention the kingdom and revolutionary technology so she can work. he kinda turns a blind eye to it because,,, it's his beloved lily,,, she wouldn't do anything like that,,, again. she was extremely remorseful over what happened at the acadamy [we see it in the flashback chapter 10 cutscenes] then she drags him in the lab one day, finally executing one of her biggest experiments. strawberry crepe. he's there for their creation and,,, crepe comes out faulty. they're crumbling, very easily [they lose their arms first but could have easily died right there], are mostly deaf, and while they can process what's happening its obviously,,, Very hard to grasp considering they can't hear anything + dude they were created 5 seconds ago. white lily immediately dismisses them as a failure [she's in deep at this point, it's only a couple months before the night of the witches] and pv is like HELLO???? THAT'S A CHILD??? but he doesn't know What to do with crepe at all [healing magic is just as much about a plan of action as the power behind the magic] so freezes them in stasis and tries to figure it out,,,, but dark flour war happens, he loses time for it inbetween everything, running off to other kingdoms to heal wounded soldiers,,, and by the time the war's over, he's gone. having rejected the light of truth feeling he failed and is no longer worthy of it, and healer doesn't remember anything, let alone crepe of course, dark enchantress knows what happened to them, and when she takes over the castle in the sky as her base of operations she takes a look around,,, and is surprised to find them intact [or, as intact as they were when pv froze them]. she wakes them up, slaps some cake arms on that fucker [PV did some more general long-term spells to keep them intact], and basically starts the manipulation from day one. she realizes quickly crepe is far smarter than a failed experiment would let on so,,, indulges them. plays with them, and introduces them to the wafflebots. crepe is immediately fascinated with them and is practically clambering at the chance to get into engineering. perfect. she claims they must be a prodigy and sets them off to mess around. one of the first things crepe makes is their headset [which are also hearing aids! tons of anatomy texts lying around for em to reference] and later their paw prosthetics [cake limbs tend to kinda mess with your head and crepe absolutely Hates it. they gotta stay in their own mind!!! de praises them all the time for their intellect,, they can't lose that, can they?]. their prosthetics r modeled after cat paws. they wear gloves over them most of the time but u can see it a bit in one of my drawings de basically immediately puts lies into their head, blaming PV for their failed creation, blaming PV for them being frozen for decades, blames PV for everything [which, admittedly, some of it is kinda PV's fault but like he only did that because of what SHE did and his denial over it], and grows distant with time. isolation is one of the best weapons of a manipulator, and as crepe desprately chases that shred of attention from the only cookie they know [DE even keeps the other cookies of darkness away from them], they'll do practically anything for her. they're so alone,,,, they fill the void with building shit like the waffle goliath and setting them all off on the surrounding wasteland to break shit,,, not thinking that there are cookies down there. there can't be, everything is dead down there. right? tldr chapter 9 is a. Shitshow. they

spend

most of the time messing with the starter squad because. hey!!! cookies!!! :]]]] they haven't seen any besides the rare glimpse at the cookies of darkness and DE herself. but,,, towards the end,,, it kinda,,,,, Hits them??? when black raisin freaks out and says "YOU'RE the one who's been attacking our village?" not to mention they get the shit beat out of them,,,, they're destroyed with guilt + DE told them that nobody was down there [distracting the village with wafflebot attacks was good to keep them off her back up in the castle in the sky, especially because there's no way she doesnt catch on to healer being pv] and crepe starts to unveil the lies, especially afterwards when PV is back and goes back,,, guilty as hell it took him so long to help them and let DE play her twisted games with them. they heal crepe up and try to start them on reversing the damage done but,,, crepe at this point has a deeply instilled hatred of pv. they almost try to kill him and spend the rest of their time avoided them and smashing shit in the workshop. they're entire reality crumbled apart in front of them and they are NOT ready to let someone else worm into their head claiming that they're 'the right one'. never again. actually funnily enough the way that crepe gets out of their 'i can't trust everyone everyone wants to hurt me everyone is lying!!!" deal is a. road trip. when messenger returns to their kingdom,,, they see pv's attempts with crepe aren't working [they know about everything white lily did, including the creation of a failed cookie who they quickly figure out is crepe], they're incredibly blunt with crepe [good for someone who thinks everyone is trying to worm into their head] and basically says "hey, i know what happened, i'm not going to tell you because you'll think i'm lying, i would too, but i can show you the direct evidence and letters" and they take crepe to the grove,,,, being really silly and fucking around and taking them to all sorts of spots to pad out the journey and help the poor kid open up and eventually letting crepe read the letters and diary entries and diagrams,,,, comforting them through the ensuing breakdown. it's what crepe needs,,, but it's definately hard on them, especially reading it point blank that their creator simply saw them as a failure and truely abandoned them, only coming back when they could be 'useful' to her schemes. messenger is no therapist, but they can play the cool older brother motif and open them up so PV can get in and help them properly i dont think crepe will ever be Not a bit of a little shit and kinda a chaotic asshole but. they have tons of trauma to work through and it would be good for them if they understood cookies and cared for them a bit more

[callsigns-haze]

Loves Revolution

Prologue

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw (as Micheal Collins) x Jake Seresin (as Harry Boland) x OC! Madison Cassidy

Word count: 500words

A/n: This is the first post to my new series so please be nice! I'm going to try to make this into a series so please show this story a bit of love and reblog!

Summary: Bradley, Jake and Maddie have been friends for many years ongoing. Bradley from Cork and Jake and Madison from the troubled Dublin, have been close for life. Now fighting in the 1916 Easter rising and the ongoing history to the Treaty and the independence of Ireland their story lives on.

History: Bradley (represents) :Michael Collins (October 16, 1890 – August 22, 1922) was an Irish revolutionary, soldier, and politician who was a key role in the early twentieth-century campaign for Irish independence. During the Irish Civil War, he served as Director of Intelligence for the Irish Republican Army (IRA) and as a government minister in the self-proclaimed Irish Republic. From January 1922, he was Chairman of the Provisional Government of the Irish Free State, and from July till his death in an ambush in August 1922, he was Commander-in-Chief of the National Army.

Jake (represents) :Harry Boland (April 27, 1887 – August 1, 1922) was an Irish republican politician who led the Irish Republican Brotherhood from 1919 to 1920. From 1918 until 1922, he was a Teachta Dála (TD).He was elected as the MP for Roscommon South in the 1918 general election, but, like other Sinn Féin candidates, he did not serve in the British House of Commons, instead sitting as a TD in the First Dáil. Boland was elected to the second Dáil as a TD for Mayo South-Roscommon South in the 1921 general election. He was re-elected as an anti-Treaty candidate in 1922, but he perished two months later during the Irish Civil War.

History :The Easter Rising (Irish: Éir Amach na Cásca), often known as the Easter Rebellion, was an armed insurgency in Ireland in April 1916 during Easter Week. While the United Kingdom was waging the First World War, Irish republicans started the Rising against British control in Ireland with the goal of establishing an independent Irish Republic. It was Ireland's greatest important insurrection since the 1798 rebellion and the first armed battle of the Irish revolutionary period. Beginning in May 1916, sixteen of the Rising's leaders were executed. The executions' nature, as well as following political developments, eventually contributed to an upsurge in popular support for Irish independence.

Warning: Mentions of gun use, ptsd, mentions of death, mentions of shooting, flirting, mentions of abuse, description of dead body, death, blood

"Sir, we got the General Post Office surrounded, Sir! We believe that inside are De Valera, Macdonagh, Clark, Connolly and a lot of other rebellions, sir!" One of the funny dressed British soldiers replies to their head commander, with hand at forehead, ready for a salute. This is how the English planned it all along, for the most important rebellions to be stuck at one place, surrounded with no escape.

"So we have the G.P.O, good, very good, but what about O'Connells street, Stevens green, The Liffey and the four courts?" The head commander asked the young man who still held his hand above his head, not moving an inch. "The areas are empty, sir! Either captured or escaped but the rest are at the G.P.O, sir!"

They're all where they were supposed to be, all in one place, no room to escape and they'll give in to this nonsense, they had no way to continue fighting against the British or loyal Irish. The undertakers or loyal Irish were against the rebellions, fighting against them at this very moment, all they had to do now is give themselves up to the English.

"Are there any women inside, lieutenant?" Any innocent woman that had been stuck inside the G.P.O that had been inside the building for the past five days, did not deserve the faith they may face in several minutes from now. The soldiers aligned outside of the building will not hesitate to kill anyone on the inside but the women didn't deserve it.

"There's women of aid and very little volunteers, sir! We believe that one of the fellow female friends of De Valera's help is inside the building. Her parents put her off name Madison Cassidy, but to the public she's known as 'Maddie', sir!" A woman so apparently known to the public but how? No woman that the commander has heard of went by that name or was 'known to the public', no woman has ever had the might or power to be so known in the streets of Dublin or the county of Leinster. "What do you mean 'known to the public', lieutenant?" "She's a public speaker, sir!"

A female public speaker? And that was apparently known to people. Absurd. An absolute absurdity. Some young girl, that he has never heard of decided to become a public speaker. What a joke! She should be scrubbing the dishes, washing the linen, taking care of the kids or cooking and not wasting her time over public speeches. And who would even listen to her? Some sort of female, trying to put her thought into a speech that is apparently supposed to motivate people to do something.

And she believes that's gonna work, but like the lieutenant mentioned, she did work with De Valera. "Bring her to me, nobody lay a finger upon her, understood?" "Yes sir!"

Current taglist:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@callsign-dexter

@rosiahills22

@horseslovers2016

@djs8891

@hookslove1592

@emma8895eb

@hardballoonlove

@kmc1989

@dempy

@mamachasesmayhem

@senawashere

@emma8895eb

@buckysteveloki-me

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@a-beaverhausen

[quillsink]

AIGHT WHO WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT THE BLORBOS FROM MY MIND!! part 1/???

Okay so if you’ve followed me for a bit you’ve probably heard about my OCs. I have a Lot of them but the main three whom I love with all my heart are James, Alan and Chris!! Putting this under cut because it is Long as hell. Please send me asks about them I love them so fucking much

Okay so James, Alan and Chris are a trio of friends! I created them in January 2021. James is the most developed character and my personal fav (don’t tell alan and chris shhhh) he was the first one to be created! Alan, his best friend, followed and then Chris. 

The trio are a group of low ranked soldiers in the Revolutionary War, all of the trio in their early twenties with Alan being the oldest at 25 and a half and James the youngest at 21/22/23 (haven’t decided his age yet rip). 

All three have very different personalities although they all look like your average dude and they all bond over a bunch of shit especially mental illness and being queer (totally not projecting here. nope not at all)

Anyways enough rambling time to introduce them!!

In this post I’ll be talking about James, I’ll talk about Alan and Chris in other posts!

James Evans

JAMES, MY CHILD MT SWEET BABY BOY I WANT TO CRADLE THIS FULLY GROWN MAN AND KISS HIM ON THE FOREHEAD AND TUCK HIM INTO BED, HE IS MY BOY, MY SWEET CHILD, MY LVIE MY DARLING ANGLE CHILD I WOULD GIVE MY LIFE FOR THIS MAN THAY I MADE UP

Okay now time to actually introduce him to yall!

James is your average mentally ill white boy, you can find millions of them in high school classrooms across America. He was born to a poor family and his parents were okayish but he basically fucked off and did his own thing like jon clark and then proceeded to be traumatised because I can’t let my OCs have nice things!

James is cis, he uses he/him, is the sort of guy who’s like “i do not understand what trans people are in the slightest but if anyone misgenders you i will push them into a river,” and yeah he’s pretty cool!! He’s gay and I basically coped with my internalised homophobia by projecting it onto him so yeah that fucked him up Badly.

I basically like invented him because I needed a gay character for a fic and then realised I accidentally gave him like, character traits, and now here I am over a year later still obsessed with this white guy I made up

Anyways him being gay is pretty central to his character, it reallt contributed to the alienation he faced growing up and this whole sense of being different from everyone else, it also made him more withdrawn but it also made him stronger and helped him learn how to endure the unendurable and being gay led to him making some reallt strong connections with some of his closest friends.

He has depression and anxiety and is some form of neurodivergent, probably adhd but he has no clue what is going on Up There except that he is Different  and it fucked him up as a kid. He was bullied and teased a lot so he became reallt withdrawn and quite. He wasn’t like teacher’s pet gifted kid but he was decently smart and got through til tenth grade, then had to work to support his family.

Now, when he’s like 20ish, ✨ le amrev ✨ starts and this mf signs up to be a soldier because like idk why not. That’s his entire motto brosties hes literally just some guy. He wakes up and he does things and he’s gay and then he goes to sleep. That’s it that’s his life and that’s very sexy of him actually

Anyways he signs up for the army and so does our bestie Alan. Alan and James are very very different but they end up becoming besties and James being the gay idiot (affectionate) that he is ends up falling head over heals for this depressed mf and spends his days being gay for Alan! They’re very close friends and I haven’t decided when they met yet, childhood or teens or army but ah well

Anyways onto James’s personality! He is my sweet baby boy and I love him very much in case I have not made that clear! Anyways he is Anxious. A lot. All the time. And he’s a major people pleaser as well and he often puts others before himself to his detriment at times until alan is like motherfucker take care of yourself

James is also one of the victims of something I like to call the great depresso  and he’s had it since he was like twelve but he’s just like vibing at this point. Like yeah I hate my life and I want to (redacted) sometimes but idk life’s pretty neat. Depression is shitty for him and he can be pessimistic at times 

but at the end of the day he is an optimist and he always finds hope in *everything* to the point where alan is like brostie if you don’t stop being happy then you’ll cute mt depression and the one steady thing in my life will be gone and james is like well what about me and they have an awkward gay moment 

ALAN AND JAMES’ DYNAMIC THO >>>>> i love them sm it’s unreal i will literally just think about them. like just have thoughts about them. like literally.

I’ll talk abt that later after I introduce Alan’s character!

OKAY NOW. AN IMPORTANT PART. JAMES AND LAURENS!!

James and John are like, besties and I love their dynamic so fuxking much. I would kill to see the two of them interact like i fucking love them so much you don’t even understand.

Anyways James and my interpretation of John are very very similar. Both very withdrawn very quiet very repressed desperate for affection sensitive affected really badly by homophobia internal and external dont trust very easily. They bond instantly and there is something there and they don’t really know what it is bevause it’s like they’ve never met anyone else so similar to them before. They’re like brothers.

The two of them have a quiet understanding. They can wander the woods for hours and say barely a few words but they understand, one heart can speak to another if they are designed to fit together. They met and they....clicked. It took time for both of them to learn to trust the other and realise the other wouldn’t betray them and report them for being gay but soon they’re the closest of friends. And then John fucking dies 

Also like the dynamic between James and John is entirely platonic btw they don’t have any romantic feelings for each other, they’re like soulmates but platonic 

Also I cannot understate how much I love James and John silently wandering the woods together. The woods are very very important for James and Alan and to John too and James and John find a shared peace in this. They just wander the woods for hours on end John lying down with his eyes closed head resting on a log James staring up at the canopy watching the sunlight filter through asking John why God invented sunlight John saying because he needed a place to put love.

Wait that was oddly poetic 

Anyways James james james. James my sweet beloved boy. James james james anxious smiles hugging his best friend coming to terms with being gay nervously approaching people he thinks are cool laying in grass fields wooden cabins soft breezes James. James mt angel darling child. I would die for this man. *shakes you by the shoulders* DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I LOVE HIM

[iattachtooeasilytocartoons]

I made a Night At The Museum fic

It's an OC insert story and it's based after the third movie, and the first chapter explains why Ahkmenrah is still in New York. Here's the OC intro, as they are an exhibit, this would be their info sign.

Also thank you too @yonkitybonkity and @tappanoot for helping proofread this!

Cornelia 'Onyx' Payne

Cornelia Payne, born on July 13, 1763, and was a spy during the American Revolutionary War, helping many times in dangerous situations with the information they had acquired. Through one of their journals, it was discovered that they liked when people used they/them as their pronouns, and their chosen code name, Onyx. Of course, this was only disclosed to close friends, and it is assumed that they were non-binary, but we will never truly know. It is also assumed that they were biromantic as they talked about both women and men in their journal, but only was described as wanting to be physically close, but also stated they were disgusted when the other people would mention anything past kissing.

Their childhood was described as nice, but their father left them at 3 years old. His name was unknown, but their mother was named Miriam Payne. Onyx went by their mother's last name, as their mother wanted them to forget about their father. They were taught by their mother in English and french, along with basic math and religion. This led Onyx to realize they didn't truly follow their mother's religion and hid this fact from Miriam.

When they turned 17 they joined the army and because they could dress as a man or a woman and not be questioned they were used as a spy against the British. They helped get information for the patriots by acting and dressing like a British loyalist and drinking with British soldiers, or maybe dressing as a washerwoman and listening to them discuss plans they had heard family discussing or personal issues that the soldiers had so the patriots may be able to use those against them. They were captured in late September 1781. They were finally killed on October 4, 1781, and will never know that they missed the last true battle of the American Revolutionary War.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 24

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N:  the problem with Ernesto’s murderous plans is that they tend to only have a 50% success rate.  Art is by @lunaescribe​ and @swanpit​​

***

“... And you killed how many Villistas?” 

“Ah, I lost count. At least thirty.”

“Five, more like!”

“Shut up! Maybe some were just wounded, but I killed no less than twenty of Villa’s bastards, at any rate.”

“Sí, sí, and then you wounded Pancho Villa himself. One would think that with such a warrior among us, getting through the Zapatistas on our way here would have been a child’s play. I didn’t see you hit a single one. Did you forget how to shoot in the meantime?”

“Ah, shut up. They fought better, is all. Everyone knows Zapata and his followers are twice the mad dogs as everybody else, and I did hit one!”

“Your own shoe doesn’t count, pendejo.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“You’re so full of--”

As an argument broke out, Héctor watched Gustavo sigh and fall back a few paces with his horse. His attempts at buttering up the soldiers to get any sort of useful information had amounted to nothing, when they hadn’t straight-up started an argument like that one. The only question he was able to get a real answer to was why Commander Hernández hadn't allowed them to spend the evening and night in Santa Cecilia before setting off. 

“Ay, he won’t hear of it,” a soldier had replied. “He heard of a battalion that was decimated like that - they stayed in a village overnight, but turns out it was chock-full of traitors and they called their friends in during the night, and the men were slaughtered before they could grab a gun. So he’s paranoid about that.”

The expression that crossed Gustavo’s face for a moment, that of a man who just sucked on a lemon, had been enough to tell Héctor that was very much something he had hoped to pull off in Santa Cecilia. Unaware of that, the man - “call me Chucho”, he had said - had added: “It’s a myth if you ask me, more likely all of them just got sick of this shit and deserted.”

“Can’t blame them,” someone had muttered only a couple of paces behind Héctor, only to be immediately shushed by no less than ten of his comrades. 

“Shut up, idiota!”

“You want the commander to nail you to a telegraph pole or what!”

“He’s off ahead scouting anyway,” the man had muttered, and promptly fallen in a sullen silence. Morale was low, Héctor had quickly realized; he had been aware of the fact the war was not going all that well for the Federal Army, but this was the first time he saw its effects on the troops. All things considered, he got the distinct feeling most of those men didn’t want to be there a hell of a lot more than Ernesto had. 

Only that Ernesto had seized his moment to escape, and they were still stuck.

“-- shoot that cigarette off your mouth from a hundred paces, and if you don't believe--”

“Amazing, think you can hit the men attached to the cigarettes every once in a while, too?”

“If what you're asking is a bullet through your brain--!”

“Brain might be a big word there…”

“Shut your mouth, Nachito!”

As the argument continued, Héctor did his best to tune it out and reached into his saddle bag for the water. They had been warned the water rations were scarce and he had been trying not to drink too much, but they had been riding under the sun for hours, he’d been sweating half his body weight, and there seemed to be no moisture left in his mouth. At least the sun was starting to get lower at the horizon, evening not too far away.

Héctor wondered how they’d spend the night. Would they make camp? Just sit around fires, rifle in hand, and try to shut their eyes for a few hours before they kept marching on? Surely someone would stand guard, were the revolutionaries really going to catch up as Gustavo seemed to think they would? Would there be a battle? How many would come? Or would they decided a few men off Santa Cecilia was not a big enough loss to bother--

“Water?”

“Huh?” 

Héctor looked up to see a man riding next to him, holding out a flask of water. He seemed about his age, maybe a little younger, an attempt at a mustache on his upper lip and an uniform almost as ill-fitting as his own. He tried to smile, grimaced at the heat, and awkwardly avoided his gaze at the same time. 

“You, uh. If you want water.”

“Ah. I’m getting mine, don’t worry. I don’t want to take your ration.”

“... Right,” the young man muttered, and kept riding by his side. Héctor took a couple of sips from his flask, just enough to make his mouth feel a little less like an entire desert had moved in, and glanced back towards the man. He seemed to hesitate, but as Héctor rather expected he finally spoke again. “So you are, uh, a novice?”

“I… I was, I suppose. I suspect leaving the parish to join the Federal Army means that’s going to lapse,” he said, trying to smile like the idea was funny. The man didn’t seem amused, and Héctor cleared his throat. “... My name’s Héctor, by the way.”

A nod. “Alejandro,” the man replied. “Look, me and the others - several of the others, we… I mean, back there, when the commander shot the gringo-- I mean, the priest, I would have never,” he finally blurted out, holding onto the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

Ah.

Héctor had barely looked at Father John’s body on the cobblestones, focused as he was on the fact that man had Miguel, but the mental image had still been lingering in the back of his mind ever since they left. The pool of blood, the way it got into every crack, the sticky warmth of it through his robes when his knees hit the ground. 

Some men had taken him away to get him help, he knew, and the Federales had allowed it, but Héctor had no idea if any help would even be possible. He was probably dead, for trying to reason with someone utterly unreasonable, for trying to save Miguel. 

He found his martyrdom, at last.

Something in Héctor’s chest ached; the gringo was not a simple man to get along with, easy to despise and quick to judge, but he had tried to do the right thing and he did not deserve a bullet for it. Perhaps taking note of his pained expression, the young man fidgeted. 

“Maybe God will save him,” he murmured, and swallowed. “I… we wanted to ask… do you think God will curse us for this? For shooting down one of His servants?”

Why ask me, Héctor almost replied, but then again it was the sort of question one would ask to a priest and he was the closest thing to one those men had at hand. Part of him wanted to believe God would indeed curse them, all of them, Huerta’s damn Federales - but as he looked around himself now, those men who’d seemed to terrifying looked so tired, dirty from days of travel, many of them young and probably wearing their uniforms no more willingly than he did. 

How many had been taken the way they were in the first place?

“There is no mercy in war,” he remembered Ernesto saying when he was found out and they confronted him. “They die or you do. On and on, day after day, until you forget you’re looking at humans because it gets easier if you get that detail out of your mind.”

“... The Church says that as long as there is regret, all can be forgiven,” he found himself saying instead. Alejandro nodded, but he looked far from reassured and just fell silent as they rode on towards the top of a hill they were never going to get past.

***

“Those bastards were supposed to come through San Luz!”

Arms still aching and palms burning from the friction with the rope, Sofía made it down the belltower and to the churchyard just on time to hear the frustrated shout. Right before the church were maybe twenty men and women on horses, all of them armed, being filled in on what had happened by a few very confused bystanders who likely had no idea what was going on but were relieved that these new visitors were not Federales at least.

As Sofía approached with quick steps, the man turned his horse to face her. “Gustavo--” he began, and trailed off. He blinked. “... You’re not Gustavo.”

Sharp as a knife, this one. Nice to see we’re in good hands.

“Gustavo went with them. He told me to call for you,” she added, pointing up to the belltower, where the bell still swung slowly. “He said I should tell you to follow the trail.”

The man seemed taken aback, then he nodded. “Very well. What direction did they--”

“They took the road west, through the hills.” 

Imelda’s voice rang out suddenly, causing several heads to turn. She was riding an aging horse that had belonged to her family for years, but that was not what made Sofía raise an eyebrow.

The robes were gone, replaced by a gown and a blouse, a belt at her waist with ammunition and the pistol they had taken from Ernesto’s room. Her head was uncovered, her jaw set; the man stared at her a few moments before he tilted his head in recognition. 

“... Sister. I was hoping to meet you again in better circumstances than this.”

“José. You probably already gathered as much, but the Federales that took our men outnumber you, at least three to one. I assume you could use an extra pair of hands.”

“We could,” one of the women spoke up. She spurred her own horse closer to Imelda, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her hair was braided back, showing a still healing cut on the side of her head. “How much practice did you get with that pistol?”

Imelda met her gaze. “Not much. I’ll have to hope what practice I could get will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I die. Not the first or last.”

The woman smiled. “Very well. We’ll need someone to tell us what men not to shoot, after all, in case Gustavo can’t,” she added, and turned to look back at the man she’d called José. At this point, Sofía suspected she may have been mistaken in her assumption he was the leader there. “They can’t have gone very far, with the supplies and carts they took. We can catch up with them. Gabriel, you and I go ahead to dispatch anyone guarding the back of the column. If we don’t take them by surprise we’re fucked.”

“Well, you heard her, everyone. Let’s get going!”

As they kicked the flanks of their horses to get moving, Imelda looked back, and her gaze met Sofía’s. “... Sister,” she said, “I should mention this marks the end of my novitiate.”

Something gripping her throat - don’t die out there, she wanted to say - Sofía managed a smile. Trying to talk Imelda out of her plan, she knew, would be absolutely fruitless. “About time,” she said instead. “Go take back your stupid fiancé.”

The smile Imelda gave was sharp, telling her clearly that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not that Sofía had doubted that even for a moment. 

“You can be certain I will,” she said, and kicked the flanks of her horse, riding off.

“Ay, a novio,” one of the men muttered as he rode past. “And my heart breaks already.”

We had enough heartbreak as is for the day, Sofía thought, but said nothing. Instead she turned away from the galloping horses and let her gaze wander across the parish grounds. A few men were running off to grab what horses and hunting rifles they had and join the rescue party, but no trace of Ernesto. He’d returned, she knew, but no one had seen him since. 

Where in the world is that idiota hiding now?

***

Following the trail left behind by the column of Federales - the imprint of hooves, the wheels of carts, the cigarette butts they left in their wake - was easier than finding gonorrhea in a brothel.

Well, at least Ernesto supposed it was; he wouldn’t really know, as he had never in his life had gonorrhea or needed to resort to a brothel for pleasurable company in the first place. His good looks and charm had served him well enough with men and women alike, as Juan could testify.

Except that Juan was dead, shot like a dog in the middle of the plaza, what little color he had on his face draining away along with the blood; Ernesto had not seen it happen, but he could imagine it all too well each time he closed his eyes against the merciless July sun. 

Juan could never testify anything anymore, nor roll his eyes or start a lecture whenever Ernesto said something outrageous. He was far enough from Santa Cecilia that he could barely hear the bell anymore, but its toll was still ringing in his head, in every thudding beat of his heart. 

Dead. Dead. Dead.

I want them dead.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks, or so he told himself. Ernesto kicked the donkey’s flanks to make the stupid animal go faster, the reins of the other clutched tight in his hand, and wiped his forehead, teeth clenched hard. He clung to his fury, allowed himself to bare his teeth in something resembling a smile as his gaze fell on the caskets of wine. Holy wine, plus a special ingredient courtesy of the parish’s old rat problem.

He would see them dead. He would see them writhe and suffer, and he’d let them know it was by his hand; Juan would probably disapprove, that stupid stuck-up gringo, but he was no longer there to talk him out of it. He was no longer there to disapprove of him, and someone had to pay for it. How gracious of God’s church to provide the means to make it happen. Perhaps it was his will, after all, and who was he not to help along divine will?

Todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina, Juan had said.

Todo modo. Todo modo. Todo modo. 

Ernesto let the words echo in his head until they drowned out all noise from the bell, or perhaps it had stopped ringing, or he simply got too far for its sound to reach him anymore. He pressed on through the dusty path and up yet another hill until finally, finally, he saw it just below: a long column of men who were not long for that world. A few men at the back were looking up towards him, surely there to guard against rear attacks. But they saw no rebels there: only a priest, far more charming than the one they’d shot dead in Santa Cecilia.

Ernesto stared for a few moments, and finally let out a long breath, relaxing his frame. He wiped sweat off his face, opened his eyes, and smiled. A real smile, not a grimace; the easy, charming expression that got him in the good graces of men and women alike oh so quickly. 

Who would refuse a blessing in those difficult times? Who’d turn away a friendly face? Who wouldn’t accept some holy wine to wash down the dust and dirt? With some luck, it would be the last thing they’d do before they got to confess their sins to San Pedro himself. 

Good luck explaining away the murder of a man of the Church, Ernesto thought, and got the donkeys moving down the hill as quickly as he could. No turning back now, not anymore.

The thought did cross his mind for the briefest moment - what if they see through me, what if they recognize me - but it hardly even registered. At that point he was one deserter among thousands and he’d left his battalion as it headed north, with no plans to go back down towards Oaxaca. Chances any of those men came from his battalion were vanishingly thin, he thought, and to be fair he was almost entirely correct in that assumption. Just almost. 

Ernesto de la Cruz kept clambering down the hill on top of his donkey, with the smile of a friendly priest eager to deliver a very special blessing to the heroes of Mexico.

***

He wasn’t there, either. The slippery bastard wasn’t anywhere.

Santiago kicked his horse’s sides again, hands clenching on the reins. He had gone off ahead, ostensibly to scout for any sort of possible ambush, but truth be told it was only an excuse to be alone with his storming thoughts for a time. 

He already knew there would be no ambush: the idiots were still waiting for them in San Luz, or had given up waiting and were drinking themselves into a stupor, which was just as likely. A few more miles, and then they could circle back to take them by surprise in the middle of the night.He’d toyed with the idea before, but it was not the current plan: he and his men were expected in Yucatan within days, which left them short on time. 

But it was… tempting, nonetheless.

We could get some scum out of the way. And maybe de la Cruz is hiding there, or passed by. Someone might know something. Someone might talk.

Santiago closed his eyes and lifted his head, letting the sun beat down on his face. It had been a scorching hot day when he had found Alberto’s body, too, shot in the back of the head and left to feed carrion birds by the monster who’d greeted them that morning with a smile before they went off on patrol together. 

It should have been Santiago out on patrol with Ernesto de la Cruz  that day. It was his turn; it should have been him to fall face down in the sand with his brains blown out. But he’d pulled a muscle in his back the previous evening, riding felt like having hot rods pushed into his spine, and Beto had offered to take my place. 

Said I owed him a drink. What wouldn’t I give to pay back that debt.  

Monster, the gringo had called him. What sort of beast, he had said, but the idiota knew nothing of monsters and beasts that must be put down for everybody’s safety. He, at least, didn’t feign friendliness. He didn’t hide behind a smile. He warned before he shot, stated his terms and delivered on his promises.

If it made him a beast himself, very well; perhaps he was. Perhaps trying to take the child had been a step too far - but he’d sooner be a lion than a snake hiding in the sand. 

I cannot turn back anymore. No way to go but forward. 

But first, San Luz. If he’s there, I’ll smoke him out.

Santiago Hernández stopped his horse on a rocky outcrop and reached into the saddle bag to pull out his map, so he could work out the best route back for a quick attack. He opened it and studied it under the merciless sun, waiting for his men to catch up

It took him a while to realize it was taking them much too long.

***

“Oye! Come here!”

“There’s a priest!”

“We’re getting blessed, muchachos!”

“And we’re getting wine!”

“... Huh?”

As word travelled fast up the column, causing men to halt their horses and turn, Héctor glanced around in confusion. He looked over at Gustavo, but he seemed about as lost as he was at the notion of a random priest walking into marching Federales to offer blessings and wine. Where did he even--

“He says he’s the parish priest of the hole we just left,” someone added, and Héctor’s blood ran cold, something clenching in his stomach.

No, no, no, no. What is he doing here? They were looking for him. They’ll kill him.

“Padre Ernesto?” Francisco, a young cobbler who’d been taken with him that day, blurted out. Sidling up to Héctor, Gustavo elbowed him in the ribs. 

“What’s going on?” he growled under his breath. “Why is he here, and why did you get almost as pale as the gringo just now?”

“I…” Héctor swallowed, unable to force words out. Gustavo didn’t know, and this really was not the time to explain him everything. He needed to get to Ernesto immediately, warn him to get away while he still could, so he ignored Gustavo’s questions and spurred his horse to go back, towards the end of the column. The men there were already starting to gather, dismounting their horses… and passing around caskets of wine. 

Héctor braced himself for the moment someone would cry out in recognition and every man present would turn against Ernesto, but there was no such cry; the men were none the wiser as they talked and laughed, took the wine and kept gathering, all semblance of order gone. 

Above all, Héctor heard a familiar voice.

“... And once I realized I had entirely missed your arrival, well, I had to catch up with you,” Ernesto was saying, all charm and smiles as he helped unload the caskets of wine. “I couldn’t let my parishioners leave to serve this country without giving them my blessing, you understand. And you, of course, it is the least I could do - careful there, it’s heavy…”

It was like an impromptu party, but it was soon clear not everyone was simply in the mood to celebrate. Héctor did his best to approach, but he got knocked back by several men gathering around Ernesto. 

“Padre!”

“Can we have your blessing, Padre?”

“I have not had confession in months--”

“Haven’t heard from my family since March, I don’t know if they are well, pray for them--”

“What happened to that other priest-- the gringo, we did not--”

“Our commander lost his temper, a man of God, I would have never--”

“We would never--”

Ernesto turned to the men, and his smile wavered for only a moment. But then it was back, full of understanding. “... Padre Juan was a man of principle who did not always know when to hold his tongue, but he is with God now,” he said, and Héctor’s stomach sank. So he hadn’t made it. He was dead, and Ernesto showed no sign whatsoever of being affected. 

“His soul is safe, and I know he would want me to take care of yours,” Ernesto was going on, and he lifted his hand to impart a blessing, speaking loudly to be heard by all. He spoke in near-perfect Latin John Johnson would have been proud of, giving everyone present absolution before crossing himself. Many of the men mirrored the gesture, relief plain on their faces. Alejandro was among them, looking close to tears.

The blessing done, absolution given, Ernesto smiled and spread out his arms. “Now, let us all drink the blood of Christ and--”

“Padre!” Héctor finally cried out, pushing his way to the front, and Ernesto’s gaze turned on him. His smile grew even wider. 

“My child!” he cried out, and pulled him into an embrace. “Ah, what a relief, having reached you on time to absolve your sins and give you the Lord’s blessing!”

Face smashed against Ernesto’s shoulder, Héctor barely managed to whisper. “What are you doing--” he began, only for Ernesto to turn his head and almost snarl into his ear, his voice so full of seething fury it made Héctor’s heart skip a beat in his chest. 

“Saving your scrawny ass so I can kick it myself. Don’t drink the wine, none of you. Tell the others.”

“Wha-- Ernesto, wait, they’re--”

“Not a drop,” Ernesto hissed, and pushed him off before anyone realized they had spoken to one another, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Go to the others, tell them they have my blessing and that the parish will look after their families,” he added, and before he could add another word Héctor was almost ejected from the small crowd, reeling. 

What does it mean? What has he done to the wine?

He looked around to see Alejandro taking one of the opened caskets, saw the wine flowing and men drinking. Héctor wanted to stop him, tell him not to - he was not a bad person, he could tell; many of them were not bad people - but he knew he couldn’t do so without alerting them all, and in the end he had to back away. 

Guilt twisted in his gut, but he knew he had to ignore it and move quickly. The wine was being passed around so fast, and he had to warn Gustavo and the others not to drink it before it got to them. Regardless how tempting it was not to tell Gustavo, of course.

No one has recognized him. Maybe it will be all right. Maybe whatever plan he has is going to work. Maybe it will make them pass out, no one needs to die, Héctor thought, and with one last glance towards Ernesto - he was positively holding court now, men around him laughing at something he said or crossing themselves and asking for a prayer - he ran back to where he left the others from Santa Cecilia, trying to reach them before the wine could.

Whatever Ernesto had done with it, he knew none of them wanted to find out the hard way.

***

What got Santiago to lift his gaze from the map and realize his men really should have caught up by now was a very distant sound, one he did not recognize at first. He put away the map with a frown, focusing, and for a moment he thought what he heard were distant screams. It made his blood run cold and his hands clench on the reins. 

Had his men been attacked? Could it be? Was there an ambush - had he walked right past the enemy without realizing as much? Heart hammering in his throat, Santiago spurred his horse to trot back, straining to listen… and finally he realized what he was hearing were not screams. 

Well, they kind of were, but those were no cries of distress; there was a rhythm to it, all voices rising up together and then falling, then rising again, like… singing? Was that bunch of idiots singing at the top of their lungs?

Have they all gone mad?

Stunned and furious at the same time, Santiago kicked his horse’s flanks to spur it into a gallop back the way he had come. He knew those men’s discipline was almost non-existent, but that was ridiculous. He would see them punished for it, he’d make them march through the night, he--!

Insortaron a Cortez Por toditito el estado: "Vivo o muerto que se aprehenda Porque a varios ha matado!"

Soon he was close enough to hear the words and, after turning a bend, he could see that the sorry excuses of soldiers he’d been leading were off their horses and standing around or sitting in the dirt, drinking and singing like they were off duty in a damn cantina. 

He opened his mouth to shout at them, demand to know what was going on in their empty heads, but another voice rose up loud and clear and Santiago’s own voice died in his throat. 

Decía Gregorio Cortez Con su pistola en la mano: "No siento haberlo matado Al que siento es a mi hermano..."

He knew that voice; he heard it before in the barracks, at campfires, whenever a comrade picked up a guitar. He never missed a chance to sing, turning each break in a performance. 

Alberto had found it endearing; he’d found it annoying. Now it made him feel as though the sweat on his skin had turned into frost.

Still atop his horse Santiago turned slowly, very slowly, towards the source of that voice. He had not expected the priestly robes, and he’d had a beard when he’d last seen him, but he would recognize that despicable face anywhere; he’d dreamed of it almost every night, grinning down at him as he kneeled over Beto’s body.

And now he was there. 

How or why he had come to be there, let alone in a cassock and singing along with his men as they guzzled down wine, Santiago had no idea nor he cared to know. All that he knew, all that mattered, was that he was there within his grasp, and that he would never escape again. 

Santiago Hernández bared his teeth, and reached for the pistol at his hip.

***

BANG.

The gunshot was distant, reverberating through the hills, impossible to mistake for anything else. It made Imelda’s blood run cold, but she didn’t slow down; her horse was in full gallop, right at the heels of José’s own - which, come to think of it, looked an awful lot like Ernesto’s own missing horse - and she spurred it to go a bit faster, just enough to sidle with him. 

“Was that one of yours? Did you prepare an ambush?” she yelled to be heard through the rushing wind and beating hooves, knowing full well what the answer was but still hoping against hope to get at least some explanation for the gunshot. 

José shook his head, his expression grim. “No such thing. There may be insubordination among them.”

“Does it happen often?”

“All the time. But we’ll only know when we catch up,” he added, and spurred his horse again. Imelda could only follow, and hope for the best.

If he gets himself killed, she thought, I’ll have to kill him again.

***

The gunshot was deafeningly loud, and close enough to make Héctor cry out - him, and several other men - and the singing to stop abruptly. There were confused cries, men jumping on their feet and dropping their cups of wine to reach for their own guns, turning around wildly to find out who’d shot.

They didn’t have to look far.

“Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Still on top of his horse, pistol raised in the air, Commander Hernández stared at Ernesto with enough hatred to make Héctor tremble. He was vaguely aware of Gustavo and another couple of men from Santa Cecilia talking to him under their breath, asking what the hell was going on, but Héctor was unable to speak, dread gripping his throat. 

He found him. It’s over.

He wanted to cry out for Ernesto to run, to do something, but there was nothing for him to do and he could only stand there, staring in horror. Ernesto had stilled, realization beginning to dawn on him that he’d been recognized, and that he was trapped. 

The soldiers around him were not quite as quick to grasp the situation. “What--”

“Commander, we, uh, can explain--”

“Shut up, all of you, and seize that traitor!”

“... Sir, that is Padre--”

“That’s no more a priest than I am, idiots! It’s the deserter we’ve been looking for!”  the man screamed, and leaped off his horse, pistol still in his hand. “ SEIZE HIM, I SAID!”

“Qué?” Gustavo blurted out somewhere on Héctor’s right, and it seemed that sentiment was prevalent among the Federales as well, most of whom kept staring at their commander as though he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese. 

Then Ernesto tried to run, and all hell broke loose.

Héctor had gone hare hunting once, out of sheer curiosity, watching from the sidelines and not really doing much. The pack of dogs, all of them friendly mutts, had seemed comically clumsy, wagging their tails and snuffling about, seemingly more interested in playing than hunting… until a hare had burst out of its hiding spot to run away, and suddenly the entire pack had pounced. The chase had been brief, the screams unbearably loud, the outcome bloody, and Héctor had felt queasy as the owner of the dogs lifted the prey, grinning from ear to ear while his dogs went back to goofing off.

“This,” he had said, “is why you never try running before even the dumbest dog pack.”

Now Héctor watched Ernesto make the same mistake, and again the dogs pounced as one. The hare had no chance of escape that day, and neither did he now. 

“STOP HIM!”

“Got him, I got him!”

“Get your hands of me, hijos de--”

“Agh! He bit me!”

“Get him over here!”

If any of the soldiers had doubted Commander Hernández’s words and still believed him a priest, Ernesto thrashing and screaming insults to their entire lineage - through the flea-ridden Spaniards who’d forced their way between their great-great-great-great grandmothers’ thighs and all the way down to the Garden of Eden - probably took care of it. 

As Héctor stared, petrified and not knowing what to do, he was dragged in front of the commander and forced on his knees, arms behind his back. Hernández put the pistol back in its holster, walked up to Ernesto, and grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head back. 

He gave a cold, too-wide smile that still did not reach his eyes and said something Héctor could not hear. Ernesto’s scowl turned to shock for a moment, and then his features twisted in fury. He screamed and tried to rise up to throw himself at Hernández, almost made it, but too many men were holding him down and he was pushed back in the dirt. Orders were barked and they began dragging Ernesto away from the rest of the still confused soldiers, off the path and towards a small grove of trees and shrubs. One of the men carried a long rope. 

They'll see me hang, Ernesto had told them after being unmasked, and God, he'd been right. “No, wait!” Héctor cried out and tried to run, but something gripped his arm, pulled him back. 

“Stay here, idiota,” Gustavo hissed, his grasp on Héctor’s wrist tight enough to cut off the blood flow. He glared. “Won’t let you become a martyr on my watch, you’re insufferable enough as is. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it. Did you know about him?”

“I can’t let them kill--”

“Did you know!” Gustavo barked, and Héctor fell silent, his expression probably speaking volumes. Gustavo groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “A Federale right under my nose and I never knew. Por Dios, José is never going to let me hear the end of it...”

“Gustavo, let me go, we have to help him--”

“Help is coming, idiota. Stay here.”

“But--”

“Help is coming,” Gustavo repeated in the forceful way of a man trying to will something into reality. “At least that damn liar delayed their march. Any moment now--” he trailed off when a sudden noise reached their ears amidst the confusion and exclamations, harsh and unmistakable - retching. Soon followed by another such sound, and another. And another. 

One by one, the men around them began looking very, very sick.

***

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastards--!”

Ernesto’s insults got him precisely nowhere, and his attempt at fighting off the men dragging him away was about as useless. Too many of them, too strong, his wrists already tied behind his back before they shoved him on his knees in the dirt before the cabrón who had somehow recognized his face.

When said cabrón stepped forward and grabbed his hair to yank his head back, Ernesto clenched his teeth to hold back a cry and glared up at him. Who was he? Dimly he knew he must know him, he looked vaguely familiar - something about the mustache, the unusually thin bridge of his nose - but he still could not put a name to the face the way that bastard had somehow put a name to his.

Unaware of his thoughts, the man sneered. “Ernesto de la Cruz - so the rat comes out in the open at last. What’s the reason for this masquerade? Did you think these robes would save you? They will not. I shot down a true priest today. Or was the gringo an impostor, too?”

Our commander lost his temper, one of them had said. 

That beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!

YOU TOOK HIM AWAY!

With a wordless scream, Ernesto strained against the men holding him down, against his bounds, wanting nothing more than putting his hands around the man’s neck and choke the life out of him. He almost managed to stand, but the weight of several men was too much and he was thrown back down in the dirt.

“You, take him and follow me. Rojas, get enough rope to hang this bastard. Quick.”

“Yes sir.”

No no no no no!

Ernesto struggled, but to no avail. Bound and overpowered, he was easily dragged away from the path by the small group of men - towards shrubs and trees, where they could hang him by the neck and leave him to feed carrion birds. They would not give him a clean death, he knew. No fall, no broken neck. They’d string him up and… and… 

“Let me go!”

“Oh, as you wish.”

The men threw him down on the ground, and with his hands tied there was nothing sparing his face a painful impact. Ernesto ground his teeth to stifle a cry, only for that cry to be forced out of him when a kick in his side threw him onto his back. A knee pressed on his chest and the man leaned down, all his weight on Ernesto’s sternum.

When is the damn poison going to work?

Maybe the parish got scammed and that wasn’t poison at all. Wouldn’t that be a laugh, a fake priest dead thanks to fake poison. 

As he struggled to breathe, Ernesto blinked a few times to clear his vision and looked up. Seen up close there was something startling in the sheer hatred in the man’s gaze, and it caused Ernesto to still a moment. The soldier, John’s murderer, sneered once again. 

“Tell me, traitor,” he all but snarled. “Do you even know who I am?”

Don’t make him mad, part of Ernesto’s brain said, but the rest clung to the hope the poison would start working soon. Make him waste time.

“Should I?” he spat. A fist connected with his face as soon as the words were out, causing his vision to swim. Blood ran down his face from a split lip, went down his throat. Somewhere above him he saw the rope being thrown up over a branch, one end already tied in a noose. 

And then, before his eyes, the blade of a knife caught the sunlight.

***

He didn’t even recognize him.

Of all the ways Ernesto de la Cruz had wronged him, that somehow was the final straw, the worst possible slap to the face. He’d murdered his best friend since childhood and ran off, leaving him to obsess over revenge for months on end - unable to sleep without seeing his face or Beto’s body in the sand, or both - and now he dared say he didn’t even know who he was.

Ah, but he’d know. Before he died, when he allowed him to die, he would know. 

“I know who you are well enough,” Santiago snarled, and pulled out his hunting knife. “A coward, a traitor, and a murderer. You’re a Judas, and you’ll die as Judas did - and everyone will know why!”

De la Cruz tried to squirm beneath him, still dazed by the blow but all too aware of the blade of his knife. Santiago sneered, held the knife to his throat, and watched him grow still. There was terror in his eyes, unmistakable, and he savored it like a sip from a bottle of fine wine. 

“Ay, you’ll wish I made it this easy for you.” The blade slipped beneath his collar and ripped down through the cassock, baring his chest. 

De la Cruz tried to squirm again, this time with more urgency, eyes wide. “Stop!” he rasped.

Santiago smiled. “Why? Have you recalled my name?”

“I have done nothing to you. I--”

“Liar. I should take an eye for that,” he snapped, and brought the tip of the knife’s blade to rest right beneath a widened eye, drawing the tiniest drop of blood from his skin. “Think again, you Judas. Think of the day you deserted. Someone was with you.”

“What…” Ernesto de la Cruz paused and finally, finally, Santiago saw his expression change - from terror and confusion to realization. Of course, that must have jogged his memory: the two of them had barely shared a few words, but he must remember Alberto. And wherever Alberto went, Santiago followed.

Until, of course, de la Cruz had sent Beto someplace where Santiago could not follow.

You took him away.

Something ached in his chest, and all of a sudden Santiago felt ridiculously close to tears. But he had him now. He would see him die, Alberto would be avenged, and he would finally feel better. He had to feel better. He could not contemplate feeling the way he did forever.

“Thiago,” de la Cruz choked out, and he scoffed. Of course, even now, the self-absorbed bastard couldn’t be bothered to remember anyone’s name. 

“Santiago,” he snapped, and leaned in so close their faces almost touched, pressing the blade a little harder on Ernesto’s skin and causing another pinprick of blood to well up. “But it matters not. You know whose name I want you to remember, sí? That of the man you killed.”

De la Cruz swallowed. “Alberto,” he managed. “I-- I didn’t want to kill him. I swear. I only wanted to get away, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I... he would have stopped me, he--”

“And so you shot him like a dog!” Santiago screamed, causing that disgusting coward to wince. He pulled back, knees still pressed against his sternum, keeping him pinned down. The grip on the handle of his knife was so tight it ached. And he even had the galls, this bastard, to lecture him for shooting a gringo! 

“You left him dead to feed scavengers, and you really thought I would let it stand! You really thought I wouldn’t hunt you down like the beast you are! Tell me, did you kiss him the way Judas kissed Christ when he betrayed him?”

A shudder beneath him that may have been a sob. “P-por favor--”

“Oh, you’re begging now?” Santiago gave a loud, ugly laugh, and pressed the blade against Ernesto de la Cruz’s chest. “Very well, traitor. Go on and beg,” he said, and began to cut.

He did beg, but only for a few moments. For a good while, all he could do was scream.

***

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