#I’m dropping even more subtle hints which character has a complete death grip on me rn

[w1lmuttart]

Enough guilt you can make a bouquet out of it

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

Drunk Corin strikes again

Yeah, uhm, I’m having far too much fun writing these and thinking about unleashing him upon character by character.... xD

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Today marks the one standard year anniversary of when Kiergan, Hauroko and Leave-it had met Corin and Din for the very first time and while Hauroko’s death still looms like a shadow, it was decided to celebrate the day as the founding of ST-2199’s safe haven for Troopers.

Paz was not a part of it back then, but he doesn’t mind taking part in the celebration. While slipping out to chug down the occasional drink by himself, he spends most of the time soaking up the atmosphere and observing this odd gathering of allies. 

The ex-Troopers are singing and making poor efforts at dancing, except for the one who is trying to win favors with Zev’sonya. The blond is met with sour looks and snappy remarks, but even Paz can see her relaxed body language and the slight flush to her cheeks have nothing to do with the drink in her hand.

Then there is the limping Trooper making sure Mose has enough to drink as well. The Hutt kept strictly to himself when they first acquired this castle, but Paz has noticed he has started to spend more and more time outside of his room, even if his large eyes will occasionally narrow with wariness and he prefers to stick to the corners of a room. If someone had told Paz he would be allies with a Hutt a year ago, he would have thought it so unlikely it wouldn’t even be funny.

A loud laugh draws his attention and Paz can’t help smiling a little as he sees Raga shaking with mirth while Din stands in front of her and his posture is everything but pleased. She always did know how to piss him off in five words or less. It’s an impressive skill and one of the countless reasons why he loves her so karking much.

Turning to head out for another sip of his drink, Paz walks directly into someone, which happens all the time, but for once he apologizes when he sees who it is. “Corin.” He reaches out and grabs his upper arm to prevent the happily smiling man from falling over. “Sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Corin responds with a cheerful hum and toppling forward and wrapping his arms around Paz’s torso, hugging him tight.

Paz amiably pats his back. Corin is tactile on a regular day, so it figures he’d be even worse when he’s drunk. “You okay?”

“You’re awesome.” Corin declares, cheek squished against Paz’ breastplate. “Like… really.”

Snorting a laugh, Paz feels a wave of affection and wraps his own arms around Corin. “You’re drunk, vod.”

“Yes!” Corin brightly declares, wiggling even closer. “And you give awesome hugs. Like a big plushie. With armor. I like you, you know. Din’s so lucky, has the best big brother ever.”

Even more amused, Paz can’t help himself. “Make sure you tell him that.”

“I will.” Corin swears in a solemn voice.

“Okay then…” Paz lets go and straightens up, only to realize Corin isn’t budging. He waits a couple of seconds, but when he still won’t let go Paz hints by lightly prodding Corin’s shoulder.

Nothing but a happy hum.

Placing his hand on Corin’s shoulder and gently increasing the pressure confirms Paz’ suspicion; Corin is not going anywhere. His arms even tightens around Paz’ torso and he makes an unhappy whine at the no longer so subtle hint to let go.

Fine, if Corin won’t let go, then Corin will have to suffer the consequences.

Paz bends his knees, wraps his arm around Corin’s upper thighs and hoists him up as he straightens with a slight twist. It’s not the first time he’s carried a child around on his hip.

Yelping, Corin lets go, but only to throw his arms around Paz’ neck instead and automatically wraps his legs around his waist in an instinctive move to keep from falling. He relaxes his grip almost right away as he realizes what just happened and that there is no danger of Paz dropping him.

Expecting to hear demands to be let down right away, Paz hoists him on his hip a little and the smirk on his face turns a little resigned when Corin responds by sink against him and happily rests his head on the area between Paz’s neck and pauldron. Great. Is there nothing that fazes this guy?!

Paz glances over at where he’d seen Raga and Din, only to find no sign of Din. Of course. Absently placing his free hand on Corin’s back, not trusting his balance, Paz starts walking towards Raga to ask where Din had slinked off to so he can pass Corin on to him, but that’s when he hears it.

A soft sniffle, the sound of muffled crying, and there is nothing fake or theatrical about it.

Paz freezes up and horrified unease prickles up his neck. “Corin?” Was he injured but had kept it quiet, and now Paz unknowingly made it worse? It would be typical Corin to keep quiet about something like that. Paz would never have picked him up like this if he knew he was in pain! It was just a joke. He tries to ease Corin back a little to see his face, but the man holds on tighter and refuses. “Corin. Look at me. What’s wrong? Are you injured?”

Corin shakes his head against the fabric.

Even more unsettled, Paz stands there, afraid to move and make it worse. “What’s wrong?”

Corin shifts his arms a little so he can hold on tighter. “I just… This reminded me about someone.”

No less confused, Paz dares to give him a couple of awkward pats on his back. “This? Carried like this? Someone carried you like this?”

“A friend.” Corin replies in a quiet whisper. “I miss him. I miss the three of them.”

Paz has absolutely NO idea what to do. “I, uh… Maybe we could… You want to go looking for them and bring them here? We’ll help you find them, you know.”

“They’re dead.” Corin replies, word clipped but with endless amount of raw grief and pain. Then he firmly burrows his face in the fabric next to Paz’ pauldron and his fingers dig in hard where they can find a grip.

Oh. Paz’ hand rests on Corin’s back and he feels how the man has gone from so relaxed to the point of just oozing against him to his entire body being tense enough to compete with Beskar. And Paz understands. He has lost many friends too. The memory of them still hurts.

“Well, I’m still here.” Paz declares with a weak effort to sound cheerful and he pats Corin’s back again. “And I’ll carry you around whenever you want, okay?”

With a final sniffle, Corin lifts his head a little to speak. “You’re really strong.”

“I know.” Paz says, far more comfortable with this topic.

“I wish I was this strong…” Corin continues, then adds a little thoughtfully; “Din would have liked that.”

“Din thinks you’re strong enough as it is.” Paz reassures him. “You’re a good fighter.”

“Yeah, but…” Corin leans his cheek on the pauldron. “Din really likes it when I hold him down.”

Paz blinks. “I… didn’t need to know that, Corin.”

“If I was stronger, I could-”

“Okay!” Paz cuts him off, for the sake of his own sanity and Din’s dignity. “Time for you to get down now.” Little by little, he loosens his grip on Corin, expecting him to slide down and land on his feet.

That doesn’t happen.

Paz has a moment of disbelief when he holds his arms out to the sides and Corin is just hanging there. Effortlessly. Like a barnacle!

“I know you want Din to be happy too, just like me.” Corin is completely unfazed. “You two act like you don’t care about each other, but you do. You really do. And he does too. He loves you and you love him. It’s beautiful.”

Paz looks around the room, scouting for Din with a touch of panic now. “Din!”

Corin sighs. “You two need to stop fighting all the time. Just hug it out. You give the best hugs and he likes to be hugged.”

“DIN!”

“What?!” Din’s voice snaps, clearly annoyed.

“Unless you want me to bring him along to take a leak, I suggest you get him off me!” Paz snaps back.

Sighing, Din steps up next to them and reaches out to touch Corin’s shoulder. “Come here, ner kar’ta.”

Corin makes a happy sound. He reaches out his right arm, slides it behind Din’s neck and yanks him close to trap him with Paz and himself with such intensity that Din’s helmet hits Paz’ breastplate with a solid ‘clang’. “Vod hugging time!”

And none of them sees Raga, barely able to suppress her laughter, as she holds up her vambrace and scans the image as Paz yells, Din flails and Corin smiles and hugs them tight.

-

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Gorgeous and heart-breaking flashback to Pat carrying babyCorin home with Drop and Dee endlessly amused by the sight... Compliments of the art deity @cacodaemonia​ herself <3 <3

[otonymous]

Afternoon Delight (MLQC Lucien - NSFW)

Description:  Your afternoon date with Lucien takes an unexpected turn. Warnings:  NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Spoilers for the “Afternoon Date” with Lucien, NOT for the main plot Word Count:  2732 words (~14 mins of smut) AO3: read here Author’s Notes:  I recently started playing Mr Love: Queen’s Choice and am now completely addicted to this game.  I absolutely love it, especially Lucien’s character.  So in order to quench my Lucien thirst, you know I had to write some smut. This story is a variation on Lucien’s “Afternoon Date.”  The lines marked with an asterisk were taken directly from the game.  Please keep in mind that at the time of writing, I have only reached Chapter 5 in the game, so apologies to all the readers who have advanced much further if Lucien seems out of character.  Happy reading!

Tagging: Fellow Lucien lovers @alva-radio @tomeyooo

And other lovely readers: @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons, @artemira-sengoku, @dear-mrs-otome, @pseudofaux, @fieryanmitsu, @otomediary, @suzi-q-uinn, @kitty-kat-ty, @saizoswifey, @belxsar, @anyakane, @friedchikyorice, @whalebubblez, @selenecrawford, @akiza-hades-rose, @rubyleeray, @heavenzfiend, @duerme07, @classy-mc, @dani677, @kitsune-mana, @azuchi-princess

All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex.

It was wholly irrational, the anger that had you seeing red when you caught a glimpse of the girl in his office.  She had the annoying habit of twirling her hair around one finger, biting onto her perfectly glossed lower lip as she stood just a bit too close to Lucien for your taste.

Yes, it was irrational indeed, considering how everything about his body language indicated in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in the slightest.

Yet somewhere in the back of your mind, you entertain the possibility that it wasn’t red that you saw, but the vivid, verdant green of jealousy.  As much as Lucien remained an unreadable mystery, you could not deny the irresistible sway of his attraction, whether or not he was aware of the power he exerted over you.

Sharp eyes with their fathomless depths.  Baritone laughter, all at once smoky and sweet like burnt caramel.  White lab coat stretched over the broad musculature of back and shoulders.

Everything about the man was mesmerizing.

“Don’t be so afraid of me,” he had asked of you that day while seeing you home from the shoot.

His request had given you pause then as it does now, hiding behind a pillar outside his office like an overgrown child.  Was it fear that Lucien had sensed in you that day?  You weren’t sure at the time, but the unpleasant emotions currently churning in your gut shed new light on your predicament.

No, you did not fear Lucien.  Quite the contrary.  In this day and age where courtship was a game of smokescreens and ulterior motives, it was rare for someone to be as upfront with their feelings as Lucien was.  While refreshing, you never really knew what to say in response, so preoccupied were you with hiding the heat that crept onto your cheeks whenever he behaved that way.

Perhaps the only thing that gave you pause was how deeply in love you would inevitably fall with Lucien once you owned up to the truth.  And if your reaction to seeing that girl’s attempt to flirt with him were any indication, you were already in way over your head.

So much so that you it took you a moment to realize you were crushing the box of cream puffs in your hands, a gift you had made to thank him for helping with the shoot.  You gasp audibly, quickly relaxing your grip while hoping its contents were still intact.

“And who do we have here?”

You startle at the sound of Lucien’s voice by your ear and quickly look up to see the man leaning against the pillar, the striking features of his handsome face hovering mere inches away from yours.  And in the background, your peripheral vision catches the girl shuffling away from his office, head hung in dejection.

“Oh, Professor Lucien!  What a coincidence!  What are you doing here?”*

Stupid!  Stupid!  You didn’t realize how dumb you sounded until the words already left your mouth.

“This is my research centre…of course I’d be here.  A “coincidence” indeed.”*

“I…I…,”* stammering, you briefly glance around for a hole big enough to crawl into and found, much to your dismay, that there were none.  Luckily, ever the gentleman, Lucien saves you from your own embarrassment.

“And since it’s such a coincidence, why don’t you come in?”*

Straightening up to his full height, the man gestures towards his office with an outstretched arm, the other falling around your shoulder to gently but insistently usher you inside.

The door locked behind him with an audible click, but you were already too enthralled with the view of the impeccably landscaped campus from his office to notice.  

“Take a seat.”

Despite the soft tone of his voice, there was no mistaking the command, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the subtle notes of musk and cedar wood in his cologne as Lucien perched on the edge of his desk, long legs so close they almost touched your knees.

“Shall I assume that part of the reason for your visit pertains to that box in your hands?”  

“Oh, yes!  These are cream puffs that I made to thank you for your help…”

Your words dropped off as you lifted the lid to proffer the desserts to Lucien, so mortified were you to find that they did not survive your overzealous death grip from earlier.  The battered puffs lay in a messy pool of cream.

“I-I’m so sorry!  I didn’t realize I crushed them!  I swear I’ll make it up to you another way!”

Lucien stared at the contents, his face an expressionless mask.

Great.  First, he finds you hiding behind a pillar like a stalker.  And now you can’t even manage to deliver cream puffs intact!  Surely you must’ve been mistaking Lucien’s kindness for more amorous advances…

The sight of him dipping his index finger into the cream and bringing the elegantly tapered tip to his lips brought an abrupt end to your internal monologue, for you found it entirely impossible to focus on anything else besides how incredibly...erotic he looked.  And in the back of your mind, you wondered if Lucien could see the flush rising to your cheeks as surely as the heat gathered at your core.

“Don’t apologize.  It’s delicious.  Care to try?”

That finger dipped back into the box to reemerge with a dollop of cream.  Bending forward, he brought his finger so close to your lips you could smell the fragrant sweetness.  You shifted in your chair, feeling your nipples harden beneath the lace of your bra as you shyly peeked your tongue out to seek that flavour, licking at his finger like a kitten lapping milk.

Lucien swallowed, and your eyes were drawn to the bobbing motion of his prominent Adam’s apple, silently wondering how he would react if you were to run your tongue up and down the length of his throat instead.

“What do you think?  The flavour is…rather tantalizing, isn’t it?”

Your eyes flit back to his face, breath catching in your throat to feel the pad of his finger tracing the contours of your lips.  And when the tip pushed insistently into the warmth of your mouth to gently stroke your tongue, you are so surprised you cannot help but nod obediently.  Lucien smiles, eyes intense as he says,

“Make sure to suck it clean.  We don’t want to waste a drop of something so precious, now do we?”  

Has his voice always sounded so low and husky?

You could already feel your back arching, instinctively lifting your chest towards Lucien.  Then suddenly, he pulls back, finger leaving the pucker of your lips with a slight pop to break the spell.  Or so you think, until that same digit disappears back into his own mouth for a moment before he adds,

“The taste is dangerously addicting.  I’m afraid my appetite for this sweet treat may prove insatiable.”

You press your thighs together beneath your skirt, the damp satin of your panties clinging so uncomfortably to your skin you wished for nothing more than to be rid of them.  Unable to withstand the heat of his gaze any longer, you push up off your chair and wander over to the windows, feigning interest in the sight of the campus to take your mind off the question of how well-endowed Lucien was beneath his dress pants.

“You have a beautiful office.  I love this view.”

You cringed at the sound of your voice, so meek and strangely foreign to your own ears.  And from behind, you heard Lucien approach to stand much closer to you than that girl in his office ever hoped to achieve with him.

“Don’t be so afraid of me.”

There was that line again, except this time it was delivered against the shell of your ear.  Your knees shook so badly you were afraid you would buckle and fall.  Seeming to sense this, Lucien brought his hands up to your bare arms, palms running soothingly up and down their lengths as his fingers grazed the capped sleeves of your silk blouse.

“I would never do anything to hurt you.”

His whisper is so soft, so sincere, that you cannot help but turn your head to look at him.  And when you find that gorgeous face a hair’s breadth away, close enough for you to inhale the last breath of his exhalation, your lips naturally find his, open and ready.

Mint and a hint of sugar.  The taste of Lucien was delectable and you became ravenous, tongue sliding against his in a fervent exploration of his mouth.

He responded in kind, his kiss masterfully seductive in a way you had never experienced before — intense one moment and gentle the next, drawing back and pressing forth in a teasing dance that enticed you to give chase after those lips which inevitably drew into a smile once caught.

Solid chest at your back, his hands inch towards your stomach, fingertips tracing languid circles on the swell of your hips before they make their way below the waistband of your pencil skirt, the silken slide of the blouse against your skin as it came untucked leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Ahh, Lucien…”

His name rolls off your tongue as his hands roam hot on the skin beneath your blouse, seeking the knowledge of every dip and curve.  And when his fingers tug on the cups of your bra to gently knead the supple flesh within, he presses you up against the window, Lucien’s arousal hard and evident as he whispers into the nape of your neck,

“Do you trust me?”

You were well aware that this may become a decision you regret days or even weeks later.  You had only recently met Lucien, and while you knew of his professional activities, the subject of his personal life was as much of a mystery as the man himself.

Yet you couldn’t deny that instinctively, you did trust Lucien, that you believed him wholeheartedly when he said he would never hurt you.  Perhaps it was naïveté, but you also couldn’t deny the fact that every fibre of your being called out for his touch.  There was no stopping this now.

Placing both hands upon the glass to steady yourself in anticipation, you replied,

“Yes.”

With a grip strong and sure, Lucien pulls your hips towards him, hands slowly sliding down the sides of your thighs like viscous honey until they reach the hem of your skirt, dragging it higher and higher to bunch at your waist in haphazard folds.

You watched the students below crisscross the paths of the campus like marching ants, aware of the possibility that all it would take is for one person to look up at that exact moment to see the faint outline of two people embracing before the floor-to-ceiling windows.  You were also aware that the only thing blocking you from the view of passers-by in the hallway was the swell of Lucien’s lab coat.  

But as you quietly moaned to feel his mouth around the lobe of your ear, his long fingers pushing aside damp satin to gather the wetness on your folds before deftly penetrating, you found that your concern with potential witnesses grew smaller and smaller with every curl of his fingers deep within you.

And if you were at all embarrassed by being exposed to the world — panting and clothes disheveled in a way that left little to the imagination — it was nothing compared to how Lucien’s words made you feel.

“Your pussy is gripping onto my fingers so tightly.  I can’t wait to know how you’ll feel clenching around my cock.”

You bite back a moan of disappointment when he pulls his hand away, but then are mesmerized by the sight and sound of him humming in approval as he licks your arousal off his fingers, saying,

“You are indeed quite talented at making the most deliciously sweet cream.”

“Oh my god, Lucien…”

So it was with the man who always knew just the thing to say to throw you off-kilter.  And if your cheeks weren’t inflamed before, they certainly were now.

You heard him chuckle in response, the melodious sound melding with the clink of his belt buckle coming undone and when you could wait no longer, you glanced over your shoulder to see Lucien extricate his cock from his trousers.  Your suspicions were confirmed: the man was incredibly well-endowed, so much so that you wondered about your ability to accommodate him, knowing you were more than willing to try.

Shivering to feel the length of his cock settle between your ass through the flimsy fabric of your underwear, you let Lucien adjust your hips until you are flush against the hard plane of his pelvis.  Then, he pushes aside the crotch of your panties for the second time, only to introduce something much larger than his fingers.

Your breath fogs up the glass to obscure the view before you as you try to relax, feeling so incredibly stretched as Lucien slides into you, your arousal making a complete mess of your underwear each time the man pulled out only to bury himself even deeper inside.

“Does this feel okay?”

Incapable of finding your voice in between pants as Lucien settles into a hard and fast rhythm, you merely nod.  All the same, you try to lower the volume of your gasps, uncertain of how soundproof the walls in his research institute were.  You could only hope that no one in the vicinity could hear the telltale rhythm of skin meeting skin, or the undeniable fluid squelch of pleasure.

But then Lucien’s hand snakes from your hip to your pussy, and you look down to see the sleeve of his white lab coat before you feel his fingers circle your clit, the sensation pushing you over the edge until your knees tremble and you’re biting into your fist, desperately trying to suppress a scream as you violently come undone.

You clench down hard around Lucien and it isn’t long before he grunts softly into your hair, yanking down the back of your panties as he withdraws only for you to feel the heat of his release paint the cheeks of your backside.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.  You have a great ass.”  

Lucien chuckles as he grabs a box of tissues from his desk to wipe you clean.  Clearing your throat, you say,

“I have to admit, this was not what I was expecting when I came to deliver the cream puffs…”

You turn to face him in the midst of tucking your blouse back into your readjusted skirt.  A look of uncertainty passes his face, and for some reason, it makes him seem even more endearing.  

“…But it definitely made for a nice surprise.”

His lips curve into a smile, mirroring yours.  He watches intently as you suddenly start, hiking up your skirt again to pull your panties down and gingerly step out of them in your heels.

“No use holding onto these now,” you say as you throw the damp mess into the trash can beneath Lucien’s desk.

“You’re leaving without wearing any underwear?”  His brows are raised.  You shrug, secretly amused by how disconcerted he seems to be at the prospect.

“I don’t live that far from here.”

Lucien lifts a finger, motioning for you to wait as reaches for the phone on his desk.  

“Hello?  It’s Professor Lucien.  Could you please cancel my two o’clock lecture and reschedule it for Thursday?  Thank you.”

You blink, bewildered by this turn of events as Lucien steps away from his desk, grabbing his coat from a nearby rack.

“Lucien, what are you doing?”

Closing the door to his office behind him, he places an arm around your shoulder as he leads you to the elevator.

“Giving you a lift.  There’s no way I can let you wander the streets without wearing underwear.”

“You do realize that we just flashed the entire university campus from your office window?  Besides, it’s not like anyone will know I’m going commando.”

“I will know…”

Ding! The doors of the elevator slide open to reveal an empty car.  And as you both step inside, a mischievous light glows in Lucien’s eyes as he continues,

“…And you can’t expect me to let this opportunity slip by.  What do you say to a nice, long drive?”

Thanks for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[fahcandall]

Fictober 2019 - 4 (FAHC)

Prompt 5: "I might just kiss you."

Fandom: Roosterteeth/Achievement Hunter (Fahc)

Characters/Pairings: Ryan Haywood, Jeremy Dooley, Michael Jones, Gavin Free, Geoff Ramsey, Jack Pattillo, Trevor Collins, Fiona Nova, Matt Bragg, Lindsay Jones, Alfredo Diaz, Ryan Haywood/Jeremy Dooley

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Death, serious injury, guns, knives, blood, torture - mentioned, mature language, gta 5, rpf

...

...

...

"What the fuck do you mean they got Jeremy? Michael! What-"

"Ryan. Shut up." Geoff cut in, stepping forward and holding up his hand. "Jack! Can you-?"

"Yeah on it already." Jack had pulled out the first aid kit while Ryan was staring at Michael, frozen still. "Michael-"

"Help Gav first." Michael said. Gavin was swaying on his feet, blood seemingly all over him. Michael himself had a bloody rag wrapped around his arm and a bloody nose.

"Fuck. Gav sit." Geoff said pointing to a chair and pulling out his phone. "Actually both of you sit. Ryan, snap out of it." He held his phone up to his ear. "Yeah, Trevor. Send up the best medic you have here right now. Michael and Gavin are hurt. Jeremy's been taken. Tell Matt to track his cell, see if he can find anything. I'll call when I know more." Geoff paused listening. "Fine, just send them up...Fine." Geoff hung up and looked over at Ryan again, now staring at the ground as both Michael and Gavin had sat down. Ryan looked up and met Geoff's eyes.

"Let me go find him."

"Not until you have enough information to be useful out there. When they're not bleeding they can tell us what's going on and we can decide what to do."

"Jeremy could be being tortured! They could kill him in that time, we have to go look now!" Ryan said angrily.

"You can't find anyone if you don't know where to look." Geoff answered back. "Once Gavin and Michael are patched up-"

"That could take too long!" Ryan interrupted.

"We don't have a choice! It's our best use of resources."

"Geoff!" Michael said. "I can tell you what happened. We were doing a pickup, usual shit, but they were late. When we finally saw the truck pull in, I guess we'd let down our guard,  from impatience. When Jeremy and I walked forward with the money, some fucker grabbed Gav. It wasn't the weapons dealers, it was the Black Wings." Ryan almost growled. Upstart little gang that thought they could play big leagues, but this was pushing the line too far. He'd deal with them, once and for all. "They tried to grab us, they tried to threaten us, then they threatened to cut Gavin's throat right in front of us. I managed to get Gav, and get behind cover but they knocked Jeremy out when he tried to cover me. When I tried to get to him they shot. Got a lucky hit.  Gav was out already, and I'm not much good hiding without a fucking shooting arm."

"So what, you left him there?" Ryan said, not exactly angry at Michael, well, maybe a little.

"No. They grabbed him and left. I couldn't get to him in time. But if they just wanted to kill us they wouldn't have taken him. So I got back here as fast as I could."

"I'm gonna go burn down their whole fucking building." Ryan said calmly, turning around.

"No! Ryan. We don't know where they have him. Let Matt trace it first. Michael do you remember the vehicle or anything?"

"I'll call Matt on the way. Send anyone else who can help after me."

"Ryan." Geoff said in warning.

"Geoff." Ryan answered in a matching tone.

"At least talk to Trevor and take whoever he has in? I think Alfredo should be in at least."

"I'm not waiting for him to get ready. He can catch up." Ryan turned to leave but Michael's voice stopped him again.

"Ryan! Check with Fiona. She's been keeping an eye on them recently. She's probably somewhere near there anyway, take an extra gun for her." Ryan nodded briefly before heading out. Geoff was already on his phone with Trevor again.

"Ryan's on his way down, he probably won't stop anywhere except the armory. Tell whoever you have to follow him and get Matt or maybe Fiona to connect with him. The Black Wings have Jeremy. Ryan wants to burn their whole operation to the ground...yeah, I'm not opposed either but I'd rather he had more backup. Ryan's good, but so are the lads."

...

Ryan pulled up around the side of the building Fiona and Matt had identified. There was no door on this side and apparently no one looking out of upper windows because no one shot at him as he moved toward the back corner, and the Vagabond was a pretty recognizable enemy. Ryan knew why Geoff was worried, one man going in where all three of the lads had been taken by surprise? But Geoff was forgetting, the Vagabond wasn't really a man, he was a monster, and anyone who thought they could take his crew from him, could take Jeremy from him, were very, very wrong.

There were two men standing outside the back door, smoking and talking. Neither had a chance to lift a gun before they were dead. The door wasn't even locked, Ryan could just walk right in. As soon as he did there were two more guards and an alarm started to blare. Like the first two, these guards didn't stand a chance, though one did get the chance to recognize him, fear crossing over his face before Ryan shot the expression off. Sure Ryan intended to kill everyone in this damned crew but he needed to find Jeremy first. So as he heard feet and shouting coming his way he stepped back into an unlocked room. They were checking doors, he could hear them opening down the hall,  but he also heard some of them run off again. The smart thing would be to wait for then to come to him, but the waiting was grating on him, he didn't have unlimited time. So when he heard them slam open another door he opened his and slipped out, a few quick shots and the group was down, the ones in the room having stupidly come out to try and get him. One groaned as Ryan stepped closer and he bent down to fist a hand in their shirt.

"Where is he?" Ryan growled.

"Go back to hell!" Was the response and Ryan snarled and dropped them again.

He stepped around a corner just as two people came up on it from the other direction. This time Ryan grabbed one, gun to their head. The other pointed a gun at him but didn't risk a shot.

"Where is he?" He asked.

"Let her go!"

"Play dumb, and I'll make it hurt." Ryan threatened, pressing the gun hard into the woman's neck. She made a small noise of fear and her partner looked between the two of them quickly. Ryan gripped her neck tightly with his hand then slid the gun over and shot her foot. She screamed and tried to move but Ryan held her up and pressed the gun back to her neck. "Done playing?" He asked the one staring at him.

"Fine. He's in the interrogation room. Second floor, first hallway to the left, third door. It's locked and guarded." The person seemed to suddenly grow a spine, or they remembered who he was and that he wasn't letting them go anyways, because they suddenly spoke with a lot more heat than they had been. "They've had him in there since they got him here. I bet he's cracked under what they've done to him. They'll kill him before they let you get him back." Ryan considered the two of them for a second before shooting the one who'd spoken in the head. The one he was holding screamed again and he shot her too before moving to find stairs.

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard gunfire coming from the front of the building. His backup must have arrived, and as usual, the Fakes weren't subtle. That alarm was still going off and he could only credit that as to why he hadn't been completely swarmed despite his own gunshots. Stupid idea that alarm. And stupidly annoying. Ryan pressed back against a wall as footsteps thumped down the stairs above him, but they didn't check lower before he heard the second floor door swing open and shut again.

As had been predicted, the second floor was swarming with guards, though many of them seemed to be moving toward the front. Ryan glanced through, then leaned back against the wall beside the door. He reloaded his gun and considered waiting for Fiona and the others to get up to this floor and clear some of the guards. He considered what they might do to Jeremy if they had a chance to think they were being overrun while still holding him. Then he pulled a knife and pushed open the door. The first person who saw him tried to shout a warning but got a knife in the throat instead. The next person who saw him was far enough away to get a bullet instead, which ended his hope of a more stealthy approach. So he mowed them down. Anyone who came near him got reminded exactly who he was, not that it would help them any.

He had lost track of the directions he'd been given, but he reached what must be the room based on how many people had tried to stop him from getting to it. This door, at least, was locked, so Ryan broke it down.

Inside the room were two men. Jeremy was handcuffed to a chair, bloody and breathing heavily but he looked up when Ryan came in. The other man held a knife pressed to Jeremy's throat.

"Stay back! I'll slit his fucking throat right in front of you!" The man's voice was shaking and Jeremy let out a strained laugh.

"You're fucked. He's the fucking Vagabond, don't know how you think you can beat him."

"Shut up!" The man yelled pressing the knife in harder. Jeremy winced and Ryan growled.

"Let him go."

"No way in hell. Drop your weapons or I'll kill him!"

"How about this, you let him go right now and I'll shoot you in the head. You'll be dead before you feel anything. Or-" The man started to speak but Ryan just talked over him. "Or, I'll show you just how much pain your body can feel. You know who I am, you know what I do. Let me tell you, my reputation is only based on the stories people can stomach and the hint of more. But trust me there is so much more. If you don't let him go right now you'll be on the fast track to finding out just how far I can go." The man wasn't going to remove the knife, that wasn't what Ryan was counting on. He was waiting for the moment the man was distracted enough by his own imagination to let his attention stray from holding the knife to Jeremy's throat. As much as Ryan wanted to tear this man apart for touching one of his crewmates, he just needed Jeremy away from him, and so he would get a quick death, regardless how little he deserved it. And there it was, that moment he got lost in his own head. That's when Ryan shot and Jeremy jerked back to get away from the muscle spasm. The knife made a shallow cut instead of a fatal one and Ryan rushed to Jeremy's side. He popped the cuffs off quickly. "Are you okay? Can you walk?"

"Shit. Yeah, I should be fine. They didn't break anything. How are Gav and Michael?  Wait, who's with you?"

"Gavin and Michael are back at the penthouse. Lindsay and Fiona are here, and maybe Alfredo? I'm not exactly sure. I didn't exactly wait for them."

"You're telling me you came alone to the main base of a group who took down Gav, Michael and I? And just walked in shooting?"

"Um, kinda?"

"You're crazy." Jeremy said. "I think…" he paused then grinned. "I might just kiss you. You crazy man."

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of CLEOPATRA. It’s extremely rare for an applicant to convince me they’re the right person for the role before I even get to their in-character writing, but Lia, you did just that. You made it abundantly clear from the beginning just how well you understand Calina, and because she’s a rather hard character to nail down, it was so refreshing to read. Your interview and sample were lovely, but what really sealed the deal was the drabble you posted on your mockblog; it was short and sweet, but it packed quite a punch in terms of characterization, and I loved it. I trust you’ll do our Queen of Spades justice. Welcome to DiVerona! Your request to change her faceclaim to Aisha Hart has also been accepted. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within twenty-four hours.

                                                                          WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Lia

Age | 21+

Preferred Pronouns | she/her they/them

Activity Level | 8-10/10 I can usually be around every day. ATM I’m slightly busier than usual since I’m the most mobile person available (my parents both just had hip replacements) but that should be easing off within the next couple of weeks.

Timezone | GMT

In Character

Character | Cleopatra, Calina Sokolova. FCwise Aiysha Hart (or any actor fc of your preference tbh? the only reason I’m requesting an FC change is my discomfort with fcs who aren’t known for playing characters, so apologies for that)

What drew you to this character? | Well, first of all I’ll have to mention what drew me to the roleplay (as though this is a legacy interview and you’ve instead asked about my six ex-husbands). Since fruition I have been lurking diverona, with every intention to apply. I have watched my favourite potentials be claimed by much more talented and capable writers- and it has brought a lot of strange feeling; obvious annoyance that I couldn’t apply at the time, and ridiculous gratitude that I’d get to see them all come to life in such a beautiful setting. I’ve vaguely mentioned the reasons in my Activity Level section, but suffice to say it was always beyond my control to apply here before now. I could have, but never would have been able to guarantee activity or dedicate myself in the way this roleplay and all of the members deserve. At the very beginning of my rp experience, I adminned and was member of an rp where we only wrote lengthy paras, but there were merely a handful of us for a core group of two plus years, meaning not a lot of major plots or developments were able to happen. Imagine my delight to find an rp with similar essence and many more characters for lives to be tangled in. Diverona is an Oasis. And so my longing had settled soundly on Cleopatra. Unfortunately the timing still wasn’t optimum, and once again I pressed my nose to glass and stared in. It feels almost fated, to my mind, that she is available for application. For whether I am accepted or not, this is an opportunity I have been granted. (Also s/o to Minnie for encouraging me to take it)

As for the actual question, I will have to admit that it has been a long time since I have written anyone who could be considered with heart tainted to the evils of the world, to desperation, like Cleopatra has experienced. My characters of choice seem to, these days, always be the innocents and the gold of heart. Calina is one of those, and still she is not. She has layers and layers of memories and identities and vulnerabilities all hidden behind the titanium of her mind. Her heart is gentle but fierce, fluttering as a hummingbird in her chest at the idea she could return to that vision of bright star in someone’s life- as she was for her mother. And yet her ribs have caged it in very purposefully, her skeleton demanded to action (as a more brutal ally) by that cunning mind. She is both a mess of contradictions, and not. A contradiction in itself. There is softness to the way she appears, relief in her freedom, but only hardness renders her as survivor, commander. Even in her role as advisor she must be both strong, steadfast in the face of changeable tides, and delicate, willing to accept when her course of action can not continue, withdraw from conflict herself. There is no room for anything but brain. Her blood may call out for anything it desires, that which stems from the heart or the throat; revenge, violence, acceptance, union; none of it finds sanctuary in her plans for Faron, for the Spades. She is indifferent to her own motivations, dedicated to their cause. She is not heartless, and truly those who claim to be are always the ones who fail, they have underestimated their enemy their ally. Her heart is of use because it has been targeted time and time again by sorrow, and she has melded it for better use- it is not untouchable, but it is proof of her ability to rise triumphant (heart bruised but beating) from the remains of the beasts that would try to tear it apart. She knows better than most that subtle, gentle things (creeping illness and whispers of doubt) can tear your world apart instead.

To me she is incredibly multi-faceted, with room for every version of her to take centre stage at some point- to be given credence. And what more could be asked of a character, a person, but to allow opportunity to get to know them for their strengths and their weaknesses- even if hers are gripped tight in hand and revealed with a flourish, settled before her enemies as though a ruse. Try if you dare.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

[Paradise Circus] This is such a basic thing, but I just can’t wait to see Calina’s interactions with everyone. I’ve mentioned that she’s very detached and logical in her plans, so I could absolutely see her able to maintain relationships with people she would willingly sacrifice. It’s just war. They may be on opposite sides, but that does not need to permeate their very beings in such visible ways as spite or ignorance. It will be a real test to see if she is able to befriend someone or develop some sort of feeling about them, before removing herself from the thought of it completely when the success of the Spades deems it necessary.

[Dirty Whirl] When browsing the locations page I have wondered time and time again on what her thoughts are on The Dark Lady. I’d really appreciate being able to explore whether it’s an uneasy reminder of her past, or how she feels about the treatment of employees there, even if she would return to her old career if it were to benefit some plan. If that is the one limit she would set in her loyalty to their cause.

[Lift the Curse] ‘Brutal and gentle things alike have always left a bitter taste in her mouth…’ and I can utterly understand her motivations in that; how they remind her with such punctuation of her past lives, of her own suffering. And while I feel that is of such significance to her, I also wonder whether her thoughts will change, whether she will push herself to check if she can avoid reacting to them. Calina doesn’t like having any tells but feels she is most likely to show her hand in this case, with her immediate distaste for these extremes of character. When faced with Trinity or Maeve or anyone so firm in form, I want to see her thought process and her interactions with them developing, to a point where I can actually answer whether this is something concrete and unchangeable for her.

[The Boxer] Calina doesn’t get her hands dirty. She had far too much of that with her previous occupation, with the grime she could never quite wash away, and the stains upon her ghost. She had to be more than capable of it, however, with the life she lived. She’s only ever played at being submissive, so it stands to reason that she has confidence in her own physicality as well. Another simple idea, but I’d like to see her in training when it isn’t just about her mind; when she might be preparing herself for the worst case scenarios. After all, she can take care of herself but doesn’t usually have to.

In Depth

I hope it’s alright but I imagined the questions as taking place at different times with different people.

What is your favorite place in Verona? | “My favourite place in Verona” the words curl thoughtfully from her lips, the hint of a secret behind them. She is relaxed back into the leather chair, body soft, no angles about her.And though her elbow is propped against the arm of the chair, her wrist curves fluidly, fingertips grazing through the air, an artist with her brush relaying words. She thinks of the obvious answer, the one she knows in her bones as well as heart, the Cathedral. A lifetime passes behind her eyes as she recalls every association to her mother; the way she had whispered to the crook of Calina’s neck as she tucked her in ‘oh how I prayed for you’, the sunlight that seemed cast from heaven itself to spill across the woman’s face and lighten her in near-death ‘you have your faith and I have mine’, the sound of Calina’s words tearing from her throat in the abandoned church in Novosibirsk ‘We are all our own gods’ as the very reason for her repeated visits to the Cathedral. No matter that she didn’t believe, when it would honour her mother’s choices instead. The lifetime passes but is not betrayed in time. The perceived secret allowed only seconds to be shaped by her. “Well” she leans forward just a tad, coquettish grin on her face as her gaze scatters, both eager and uncertain of sharing such a story. The enticed and trusting tourist, with inhibitions cast away as holiday allowance. “if you promise it’s between us.” She shakes her head, sinks back in retreat, moves forward again, hand lifted and settled into her lap. All in the blink of an eye. Go on, ask me again. Force my hand. The grin is eaten by presumed uncertainty and the curve of her mouth, lips flexing and dropping, a glance at the pearls her secret is shielded behind. Pretty girl, food for the wolf. “I’d have to say the Tempest Lounge.” Oh it’s unbearable for this tentative youth, so enamoured by the interest and terrified the words might betray a scandal. Calina brings her voice to a hushed whisper, shifting her full body forward now, palms pressed against knees or brushing hair behind her ear in furious submission. “I hope that isn’t a terrible answer?” her gaze fixates on the speaker for just a second, confirmation sought, before she casts it down to her hands. “I mean, nothing too salacious has happened when I’ve been there.” her voice returns to a more reasonable volume, “And certainly I’ve never .. I wouldn’t be involved in anything so.. but I have heard rumours.” Her hands twist together, and she watches the reflection of the sun in her rings, the light of virtue. “I didn’t realise when I went first of all, so please don’t think that’s what appealed to me. I just..” a sigh of defeat, she’s making this worse. “It almost seemed the heartbeat of the city, with it’s bold lights and sounds. It made me feel less alone, less scared somehow. There’s always someone wherever you look. I really..” the tiniest huff of inhalation through her nostrils, bolstering herself against having admitted too much, this girl this dove. “I really hope my answer doesn’t reflect badly on me.”

What does your typical day look like? | “A typical day, hmm?” she tends to repeat questions back, confirmation she has been listening, fuel for the ego as way to ingratiate herself. “Shall we start with waking?” she reclines against the desk chair, busying herself with tugging her sleeves back. All business. And still she waits for confirmation, when this is not intended as negotiation- the interviewer is there for guidance and she is there for declaration. “Alright then,” she nods firmly, wrapping her hands against the arms of the chair before she continues, “I seem to have a habit of waking five minutes before my alarm.” A crease of forehead, the tensing of eyes, “Most unfortunate if you ask me, for now I’m stuck with the question of what would happen if I simply didn’t set the alarm. Would I awake as usual, body expectant of the noise? or would I be left to sleep in peace, only to later find out that I’ve wasted part of the day?” Her right pointer finger taps against the chair, the root of emphasis. A break between speaking. “And then of course there’s breakfast, rather a dull tale I’m afraid.” She corrects the straightened posture, though it has barely slipped, head inclined to the right, offering herself in half-profile to her questioner. Her lips purse mildly, expression neutral as she clutches at significant details to relay. She turns back after a moment, lips slipping from plumpness to an awkward flattening, enquiry written across her brow. “I suppose I’ll have to blanket the ideas as touristy things, when really every day I take in another sight. Not so familiar yet with the best places to spend my time.” The roll of her fingers tapping against the chair arms in order, left to right, covers the noise of exhalation as her face settles to neutrality again. “In the evenings I like to find a new eatery to try for dinner. Thankfully there’s been no true disasters yet.” The profferred facade spends the rest of the time offering the most vague overviews of the night prior to returning to her hotel room. Calina Sokolova finds joy in the idea the questioner is more bored by her answers than she is, which seems to be an incredible feat. She might never have been able to answer the question truthfully anyhow, when every day seems as different and as similar as the one before. They have not fully stepped into the breach, and still she can not call any day typical. Perhaps she could mention her morning coffee with Faron, or the way she checks in with someone new every night to subtly question them on Boris, or how she buys a single flower from the market every day and drops it from Castelvecchio by the set of the sun. Except she’s already telling so much of herself in her answers, it is not her fault that they can not see.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? | “Oh goodness, hit me with the hard one why dontcha” she slaps at the table, the noise reverberating in unison with her laughter. Her eyes light upon the neutral expression of the asker and perceive it as something more. Laughter subsides and energy dissipates. “Now darlin’ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you all upset. It’s just a bit surreal to me, ya know?” The hand that had slapped the table is led to touch it once again, this time fingers unfolding and laying flat against the wood, gliding forward in direction of the interviewer with soothing stokes of motion. “I’m here for ye if ye wanna talk about it, ‘course I am. It’s just my momma warned me about it, she didn’t want me to come here at all..” Eyes widen in sincerity, those fingerlengths tapping against the desk. “So what a fine fool I was to ignore her. Thought it was all a bunch of hooha. And then i get here and well.. you know the rest.” Her accent is still tinged as stereotypical Eastern European, but coated with a Southern lilt most likely learned from television. It’s sloppy with intent, for had she meant to pass herself off as some Southern Belle she would have done so. While the listener will question her origins and authenticity, they may not question her sincerity. “God have mercy on all their souls.” The question is not novel, but somehow still leads her to be thoughtful, long after she has left the room. Her thoughts thus far on the topic having been we will use it. She hasn’t particularly considered what she actually thinks of the war beyond how it can benefit the Spades.

In-Character Para Sample: tw for allusion to abuse, prostitution

He comes in with mouth wide and teeth bared, desperate to sink the grimiest venemous parts of himself into her, as though the balm for all his ails. She comes to hours later with purple blossoming and bones sinking to water. It is in submerging herself, with lungs burning more intensely than any other ache, that she can finally let herself wake. Calina. The moon is out still, resplendent in freedom, and she stretches her hand to it. “You’re late for shift Calina” the frantic voice of her …coworker? the frantic voice of her ..cellmate batters against her heart, jumping the rhythm and fraying her nerves, as knuckles batter against the bathroom door. Her fort breached with a warning She turns her back to the moon, afraid to gaze upon it or she will be transfixed. Scrambles to robe herself instead.

Every footstep against the stairs echoes with the force of a wardrum, or so it seems to a head so tender. In truth she is the most graceful of dancers, gentle and light in her descent. It could be that her head has prepared her for the noise, the ringing reverberations of Marda’s shriek in her ear. The one that joins the hand tugging at her hair and pulling it from scalp, the signal that she is late. “They have hands to put to use” is her reply, even when she knows it will earn her (and does) a mark of wild red across her face, and stars against her eyes. She can be grateful for the stars at least, the thought of their fellowship with she and the moon. And now she has an excuse even further than the last beast she has not recovered from. This most recent beast, the one of her choosing, has her wrist caught in vice. Calina tugs her arm away, “Marda” with name she can defeat it as Rumpelstiltskin, if only for a moment. Her hand drops to the delicate bow of her robe, just as jarringly misplaced as she, and she pulls in spite of the twinge of pain. The robe falls open, for she will not tear it asunder, and reveals her naked flesh beneath. “You may cover my face but not this.” the words lie heavy in their logic, that most of the time her face does not matter, she needs no identity.

—

It is a full hour before Marda’s grudge against her has waned enough to invoke sense. The madame bites the words and chews them before they are spat at her employee. “Swap with Yuliya, she’s not showing yet.” It is of little consequence when Marda finally permits her exit. For Calina could have easily conducted her business during her shift. Still, it settles much easier in her head as a certainty, when she has a particular assistant in mind. She is draped in wool and cotton, high neck and long sleeves to cover as much skin as possible. It may not be as questionable as she likes, so she continues to tug at her sleeves and pull them further, forming the temporary habit with every step toward the bar. She reaches the door and mentally checks the contents of her pocket, determining she has enough for one drink to nurse. She can make it last for an hour or two, secure in the idea he will appear before then. Still she lingers in the cold outside, gaze stretched to meet that of a patron or two behind the glass. It doesn’t take more than minute for one of them to open the door and guide her in. A test of her persuasion before the task. He buys her a drink and she adds two hours to her clock, just in case.

It is 32 minutes before she sees him enter. Another 16 before she takes to watching him. She isn’t dismayed he has not noticed her, for she has pressed herself against a darkened booth, arm stretching across the table for her drink, the light of the room beyond displaying her skin as the loose sleeve falls at every motion. A full hour has passed before he brushes past her booth to reach the toilets. She settles her half-full glass of vodka and apple just the right amount across the table that her sleeve will drop. Watches the hallway behind her through reflection on the tv screen. He is returning from the bathroom when she stretches her leg out from the booth, forcing him to pause before her foot. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise someone was there.” she is still hidden in the booth, but it is he who peeks around the corner to hear her words more clearly. “Calina?” his face lights immediately, and she rewards him with confirmation. “Dima. I did not know you came here.” She doesn’t move except to draw her legs back, does not offer him invitation to sit. Still he lingers, cheeks ruddy and eyes ablaze with delight. They exchange pleasantries, and he offers tale of how often he frequents the bar, expresses confusion she has not seen him there, asks what her plans are for the evening. When sufficient time has passed to ensure he is engaged effectively, she reaches for her glass. The notion of wetting her lips and soothing her voice for the conversation. His gaze has followed every slight motion from her, as though drinking her in, this vision suddenly before him in life as well as fantasy. When her sleeve falls back to reveal the unnatural colours blotching her arm, she glances up to him. He catches her eye and she wrenches a breath from her lips, surprised, while moving swiftly to correct her mistake. She falters in grasping for the glass, almost knocking it over in her haste to cover the offending sight with her sleeve once more. A likely story.

—

When the wolf is declared missing, Calina’s only reaction is to offer Dima first choice of his regular timeslots. There is no business lost due to the clamouring of men Dima introduces her to. Three years later surprise registers when one such man does not want her for body, but offers identity instead. Faron Vasiliev is her reward for never strictly using the words ‘I want him dead’. She is his reward for ambition.

Extras: I didn’t have a chance to get to this til late, so if I do have any extras they will be posted here. Thank you so much.

[sparda3g]

Attack on Titan Chapter 117 Review

What a time to be a fan. You have the anime covering an intense arc; you have the manga covering an intense arc so far. What’s even crazier is how those two parallel each other all too well. Hell, even my reaction towards the fight is similar; the only difference is I’m rooting for Reiner. If you thought the anime was the only adrenaline rush to receive for your fandom need, then this chapter will grant you another. What a rush.

When it comes to a full-fledged battle, Isayama puts his A-game on and delivers some of his finest work. Case in point, this chapter; the entertainment, the investment, and the suspense are top notch. Before things go straight to hell, we get to see Armin and other Survey Corps to react to a sudden invasion, and they have no part of it. They can lay back and play cards, while The Yeagerists are up there getting rightfully deserved slaughtered. I know I’m a sadist for saying that, but they had it too good for too long. I believe Armin and his friends will join somehow, but for now, let Eren and others have their fun.

Marley Army is dropping their men and weaponry, one in which is a cannon that will come in play. After so many intense moments with titans, let alone shifters, the view of human and titans in the same platform is still chilling. It has that kaiju sensation that takes it serious. I wonder how the live-action failed to deliver that atmosphere. Pieck asks Porco to break the chain, and so, he cuts her hand off. Well, that’s one way to break free. If the shifter didn’t have regeneration, this would have been B-horror movie stupidity level. Time is essence I suppose but damn, that got to suck.

Pieck does shift to Cart Titan and saves Gabi. Best girl and best sister; I can’t wait for her in the anime. It’s interesting to note Eren didn’t think Marley would spring into action so soon, which is why he doesn’t understand their move. Granted, everyone else probably feel the same way, but whatever Eren has in plan, this slows him down significantly. I think I can prove that in the end. Yelena begs her savior to come back inside, but he rejects it. So much for your God. On one hand, did she really think he was going to ignore this? On the other hand, there’s a sign of “distance” in planning. He could just run away, maybe, but he chose to fight in a possible disadvantage state. Why? Yelena could only speculate but she goes ahead and order everyone to protect him.

Eren could only think it was Reiner that pushed Marley to engage war with Paradis Island. Nailed it. Here we go. In this corner, we have Reiner, no longer suicidal. In the other corner, we have Eren, now have Warhammer ability to boot. The stare down got me so damn hyped. You know it when those panels focus those two greatly. My legs shake, Eren roars, charges forward, and the battle is on! Well, after the words from Gabi and others, but they are interesting and somewhat charming.

It’s a good thing Gabi knows Reiner came back for her; now I hope he lives to see her joy, whatever what’s left in her. What I truly like about this conflict is how Marley Army doesn’t act like true evil people, rather normal human beings. With the exception of the Yeagerists to an extent, all factions have their ups and downs. Case in point, Magath holds Gabi, relief to see her alive. This was a nice moment that subtracts his character from being a total hard-ass. He may be a general, but he’s a person first and foremost. This is why I’m very invested with these characters and plot.

It’s a shame Falco is still in prison and bonus, he is enslaved to Zeke due to spinal fluid consumption. I am reminded that Marley doesn’t know Zeke’s heritage and why Founding Titan has yet to trigger anything. It’s only when Gabi realized what Zeke meant about having the royal blood and the Founding Titan together. She may be traumatized, but she can still put two-and-two together. Now that they know, they can’t afford Eren and Zeke to unite. They made it sound like they will perform fusion. But seriously, I can imagine the pressure when Zeke does show up. I like the closing line with the world depends on this very battle. No more war; the Founding Titan will be eaten today. Now, let the battle begin!

As expected, it’s intense and exciting with Reiner and Eren brawling in a death match. Amazing how we have seen them fight many times before, yet it continues to be thrilling as always. Eren breaks the hell of Reiner’s face, but he’s not going out like that. He slams Eren like an MMA fighter, only to receive a kick. The raw display of combat sequence is tensed. Jaw Titan joins in to redeem himself as a nutcracker. No joke, he even notes it and takes it on Eren. That’s funny in its own right, but he’s not wrong though. He and Reiner tag team against Eren, but surprise, surprise, Warhammer’s ability unleash. This is the real King of the Monsters brawl; save your ticket money!

The Yeagerists gained confidence after the two titans were stabbed, finishing the job. The last thing I need is them feeling smug. That’s all ruined when the best girl takes aim and snipes Eren right through the head. No wonder she has fans. You got to love her for owing up for her words about brain splatter. That shot stopped the momentum quickly and the faction gets gunned down by Marley Army. This is what they deserved. If only Floch was there; then, it would have been incredibly satisfying. Two things to note. One is Yelena is losing her hope when Eren looks close to be defeated. I can imagine her mentality will go completely insane if he were to die, but she is getting there. On a more important note, I believe Onyankopon left to do something. Maybe releasing Survey Corps? That’s worth considering.

The battle resume for more intensity. Pieck snipes another round at Eren’s head and this time, it’s brutal with one eyeball out of socket hanging. Damn. Magath’s line really makes Marley as the good guy; needing a hero to save the world and Eren cannot be the one. Throw this chapter at someone, they will think Reiner is the protagonist. Speaking of him, his line to Eren is strikingly heartfelt. Despite Eren’s intention isn’t similar to his, they can relate in many grounds. People have suffered from their action; both have suffered to themselves. They have done a lot of burning bridges and what not, so he wants to put an end to Eren’s struggles. The emotional connection is deep, even on different paths; may consider him as a foil character. It’s why this battle has been intense; it’s personal and kind of emotional.

Eren is somewhat a wild card since lately, his intention is questionable. Because of it, it doesn’t really matter who you root for; everyone there has a reason to fight. Sure, his faction is full of crazy people, but he himself must have his own agenda. His struggle is tensed, outnumbered across the field, but that face of fierce determination when Reiner was close to devouring is striking. That face defines “a man with a mission” perfectly. I got chills just by that panel.

He shoves his hand through Reiner’s inner mouth so hard, it breaks off his jaw. The brutality in this chapter is crazy, but that’s the way fans like it. The roar from Eren is chilling; that roar screams his last stand. If Reiner doesn’t stop, Eren is done; at least, that’s the feeling I had. That page is so intense, I have no idea what was leading to. That sensation is unnerving. A random crater hit Reiner’s face hard, knocking him away from Eren. It’s reunion time!

It’s clear who threw that at Reiner, but the momentum build to the culprit is hype. The greatest fear for Marley is for the brothers to reunite, and that time is here. Zeke returns to save Eren like a good older brother. The next chapter is already hype, but I wonder how much disadvantage Marley is in with Ape Titan around. They don’t have a Levi, so this is going to be difficult as hell. Before closing, I want to comment on Eren’s reaction towards Zeke’s arrival. I don’t know if it’s a look of shock in relief or concern way. It’s been a while since Eren looks “vulnerable” to something. Did he not want Zeke to appear or something? Perhaps I’m looking into things too deep, but you never know with a series that leaves subtle hints. We’ll see.

I thoroughly enjoyed this chapter for its intense action, thrilling sequences, and a really good hype boost to end with. While I did cheer for Reiner, there are moments where I cheered for Eren as well. It’s a battle that no one is really a villain, unless you count the cult followers, seeing how they treated others awful in the past chapters. Regardless, every character has a reason to fight. It was captivating from start to finish. The sequences are tensed and gripping. The ending left me wanting the next chapter right now. I can’t say this is the endgame, but it’s certainly the turning tide that will eventually lead to one.