#chaoslulled.

[huntershowl-moving]

@chaoslulled said:

is that  …  blood ? *gojo

IT IS BLOOD. A LOT OF BLOOD. though it blends near-seamlessly into persephone's clothing under the pitch-dark sky, the dark splatters on her face — and the iron tang in the air — are unmistakable.

shit. bad luck. normally, hellhound's blind rage only cools down once everyone in the vicinity is dead. they're careful to plan their kills so that minimal, if any, bystanders are caught in the crossfire and mauled, but occasionally someone is quiet enough that she doesn't notice them. either someone escaped her and called that stupid school, or ...

... well. it wouldn't be a stretch to say he found them on his own. hellhound isn't exactly stealthy — the barely-human screams of rage, the ripping and tearing. most simply lock their doors and windows when they hear it beginning.

most.

dark eyes lock on the spindly form in front of her; hellhound bares her teeth, takes a step back. even now, after expelling so much of it during her attack, cursed energy leaks from her body through the ends of her hair. if he were anyone else, they would simply push themself farther than usual and kill him on the spot. ( but he is not anyone else. ) time is ticking — they need to get out of here before the adrenaline crash hits.

❝ walk away, ❞ she calls out, voice a low snarl.

[gravesung-moving]

🌴 ✨️

positivity meme! / accepting

send 🌴 and i'll recommend a blog i haven't spoken to yet but admire from afar

@inverteds and i only became mutuals recently, but the wayyyyyyy i EAT UP thomas's meta posts about toji already omg. his grasp on the character is so solid and i'm so glad to see another english dub enjoyer here on the dash (absolutely no shade to ppl who prefer the sub, i just. auditory processing made it easier and then i fell in love with the english VAs JKSDHKJSHDDS) i base my geto's voice and characterization on the dub too! that was a tangent, but i enjoy thomas's toji portrayal a great deal and am greatly lookin forward to plotting/writing :D

send ✨ and i'll recommend a multimuse blog

@chaoslulled hol....... my light....... my joy......... i owe her so many replies but i swear i am chipping away at them because i MISS OUR DYNAMICS!!! she was my intro to jjk rp, and truly i am head over heels in love with her portrayals of satoru, toji, and sukuna (curseless/yakuza, i haven't gotten to write with her canon sukuna yet but one day i will sink my teeth into him). seph, over on my other blog, is also head over heels for them but we . we won't talk about that they don't want to be looked at thanks. IUHSDFNKJSDFS but in addition to her canons, the ocs of hol's that i have interacted with so far are absolutely delightful. charlotte has wormed her way into the hearts of three of my muses so far and i adore her soooo much. dante and malachi both have such rich lore behind them, i really need to throw more folks at them (AND AMELIA. COME HERE PSPSPSPS) not to mention hol is such a kind and patient rp partner, i'm so thankful i got over my intimidation and started talking to her <3 much love. xoxoxo

[pontevoix]

i have no idea what you like anymore. *eren & armin

there  had  been  a  moment  when  he  stood  as  a  defense  for  the  half-formed  ruin  of  the  attack  titan,  stood  in  front  of  the  cannons  of  the  garrison  with  his  hands  in  the  air  &  feeling  a  smaller  than  he  had  ever  felt  before.  he  had  been  fifteen,  &  somehow  desperation  had  been  enough  to  strangle  luck  into  submission.  he  had  come  out  alive  &  with  the  receipts  for  borrowed  time  in  his  hand  —there  had  been  at  least  a  little  more  time  to  figure  out  what  to  do  with  eren’s  shifting  &  politics  &  continued  life.  the  fact  made  him  so  nervous  that  he  threw  up  later  —  when  everyone  had  finally  stopped looking  at  him  &  waiting  for  him  to  do  something.  then  he  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand  &  felt  that  he  had  been  useful  for  at  least  a  moment.

he  takes  it  as  a  lesson  that  desperation  can  make  things  happen.  armin  tucks  this  knowledge  against  his  chest.  then  he  starts  to  learn  that  desperation  kicks-back  when  fired. it  makes  things  happen,  but  there’s  always  a  price.  he  sees  theprice  when  he  starts  serving  with  the  scouts.  those  who  have  survived  long  enough  to  act  as  a  mentor  always  carry  something  weathered  on  their  skin  that  promises  the  worst  is  yet  to  come.

the  worst  is  coming.  armin  starts  steeling  himself  for  it.

he  steels  himself  by  how  :

1  )  he  watches  the  commander.  the  way  that  there  is  something  devilish  in  his  leadership  that  proves  to  be  effective,  efficient,  &  ruthless.  armin  starts  to  see  his  inhumanity  as  a  necessity.  he  thinks  it’s  another  shape  of  desperation  plucking  at  the  strings  of  luck.  2  )  it’s  becoming  easier  to  see  where  he  can  be  useful  (  where  his  strengths  are  ).  expeditions  in  titan-land  mean  accepting  powerlessness  anyway. 3  )  he  sees  something  delirious  &  grieving  on  annie’s  face  before  she  transforms  in  the  heart  of  the  city.  it  terrifies  him  —  he  thinks  he’s  seen  that  face  on  eren  before  too.  cornered  creatures  can  cause  such  wreckage.  4  )  the  walls  offer  no  protection.  5  )  he  shoots  a  man  with  less  hesitation  than  he  expects. he  shoots  a  man.  the  worst  is  yet  to  come.

he  starts  trusting  less.  starts  believing  that  people  are  often  weak  in  their  loyalties,  that  they’re  capable  of  such  awful  things  when  they  do  not  steel  themselves.  he  starts  thinking  more  about  the  things  that  have  been  done  to  him,  to  eren,  to  mikasa,  to  the  corps.  then��the  commander  is  slated  for  the  noose,  &  armin  shoots  a  man  dead.  the  city  seems  to  delight  in  the  demise  of  the  corps.  armin  remembers  it.

these  are  all  casual  types  of  cruelty  that  have  made  it  necessary  to  feel  desperation,  to  pay  steep  prices, to  know  the  worst  that  comes. 

armin  thinks  that  casual  cruelties  have  made  him  good.  he  thinks  that  they  have  also  made  him  terrible.

people  are  often  weak  in  their  loyalties,  but  he  is  not.  he  holds  tight  to  his  utility,  to  family,  to  the  scouts.  he  lists  the  things  that  he  has  &  makes  it  a  private  religion.

private,  make-believe  religion  is  the  only  thing  that  could  resurrect  a  man  &  pull  him  from  the  grave.  private,  make-believe  religion  is  the  only  thing  that  find  life  from  char,  that  could  mix  the  value  of  his  life  with  bertolt  (  a  man  that  he  had  eaten  &  killed  ),  with  the  commander  (  a  man  who  had  died  because  he  lives  ),  the  colossal  (  a  wasteland  burning  at  the  nape  of  his  neck  ).

he  lives,  &  he  is  the  product  of  a  mix  &  matched  identities.  his  shape  is  more  his  own  than  it  has  ever  been  before,  &  he  is  muddier  than  he  has  ever  been.

i  have  no  idea  what  you  like  anymore,  eren  tells  him.  today,  armin  feels  as  though  he’s  trying  to  be  a  little  more  like  the  commander.  he  thumbs  through  worn  pages  of  a  book  on  old  family  dynasties  that  he  had  found  in  the  library.  it  had  been  at  the  top  of  a  pile  of  partially  sorted  books,  new  donations  to  the  scout  library.  he  has  a  feeling  that  the  book  had  been  part  of  the  commander’s  personal  library.  it  might  be  of  use.

he  turns  the  page,  stretches  his  legs  beneath  the  table.  eren  eats  an  apple  opposite  of  him.  they  have  half  an  hour  before  they  should  bring  in  the  horses  from  the  pasture,  so  it’s  something. 

i  have  no  idea  what  you  like  anymore,  eren ( @chaoslulled  ) tells  him.  armin  pretends  that  he  hasn’t  noticed  the  sideways  looks  that  eren  has  given  him  since  he  has  inherited  the  colossal,  since  the  colossal  was  shoved  down  his  throat.

he  pretends  too  that  he  hasn’t  noticed  that  eren  has  grown  sullen  &  thoughtful  recently.  armin  can’t  remember  when  the  change  had  come,  &  the  lost  memory  needles  at  him.  to  forget  is  to  ignore  the  worst  to  come.

armin  flips  another  page.

‘  why  ?  does  it  seem  like  i’ve  changed  ?  i  still  like  what  i  like.  ‘

sometimes  private,  make-believe  religion  gives  him  blind  faith.

[cursesavior]

i heard a rumor that you're sleeping with someone who isn't a vampire. the scandal!

— rumors / accepting.

"Oh, my, where did you hear something like that? Please, do tell me." It's less of a question and more of a demand - his vampiric thrall makes him rather persuasive, anyways. "You have some nerve, speculating about my private life. Shouldn't you just be grateful that I'm leading the fight for vampires regardless? I'll give you one chance to apologize and keep your mouth shut about this - you know what happens otherwise." Which is to say... The rumor is very accurate.

[flamurai]

am i bleeding? is that my blood? / akaza

    𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄. demons reveled the scent, savored like precious rubies in ravenous mouths. mannerisms that churn ones stomach, their teeth gnawing flesh and bone ! unknowing fire pivoting to desecrate a skulking 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄 , past life diminished, wearing human flesh and parading around in mockery. pitiful existence, does he feel no empathy ? could something so sinister leer without emotion to guide it ? focus, you need to scarlet steel 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 at the hilt. breath quakes between ribs, stumbling now. feeble steps are retreating, maintaining eye contact. jagged end remains pointed in his direction, held with pride despite its humiliation.

    vision would scatter, wavering and unable to concentrate. slow down, energy should be paced. it was demeaning, those words piercing the veil and finding 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 in his misgivings. there is crimson across the other's features, a mixture of their blood and metal fragments embedded in his skin. ❛ don't patronize me ! ❞ chest tightened, clinging against the lapel of his kimono, as though to claw at the 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 and incapability to catch his breath. nevertheless, weakness stifled, swallowed down with a head held high. ❛ what is your purpose here ? ❞ do you not fear the sun, it will rise soon enough. he was foolish to reveal himself, having stepped away from shadow, unshrouded only to be met with immediate uproar. this was no mistake, how long has this entity haunted his steps ?

[cryptscreams]

⠀“ Killing people in the hope you remain off the grid is a guaranteed way of being found, y'know? It's not exactly a measure of discretion ”⠀⠀Bucky knew just that from experience—he was only found because SHIELD followed the trail of bodies he left in his wake, and well, they brought him out of cryostasis and he couldn't fend for himself, at least not to the lethal extent that he was known for. Several agents were killed due to his conditioned state of mind, and essentially came from being frozen since his last mission, but with time, the winter soldier programming was weened out of him, and he was left with the remnants of whoever James Barnes was.

⠀Although, he corrected most people when they called him James—he couldn't taint that name. James would be the fallen soldier he researched and found at the Smithsonian;⠀America's sergeant and George's prodigy. He was Bucky—the man turned weapon.

⠀Tilting his head ever so carefully as to not disturb the sharpened edge of the blade threatening to slice open his jugular, silvery blue eyes flicker towards the lethal woman.⠀⠀“ And killing me now isn't exactly smart, Munroe. You'll get yourself killed, and then what was the point of everything you've been trying to achieve? ”

@chaoslulled liked this for a starter

[mindsafe]

@chaoslulled || SATORU X SUGURU

❝ time is luck && i wish ours overlapped more, or for longer; orange leaves, but we're the ones falling off trees ❞

[gravesung]

i heard a rumor that suguru sold his soul to a certain fallen angel

send a rumour about my muse and they will both react and respond to the rumours' validity. | ACCEPTING

❝ AH... IT WAS WORTHLESS TO ME anyway. why not put it to better use, hm? ❞ in his smile, all the malice of a man with nothing to lose. he can still feel the sear of satoru's hands and lips upon him, the six-eye brand cauterized into his chest. it was the most pain he'd ever felt. a blinding. a blackout. and yet, in all of his years walking the earth, he had never felt so alive.

[huntershowl-moving]

uhhhhh... devotion unlocked?

@chaoslulled liked for a doodle of persephone & yakuza sukuna!

[gravesung-moving]

@chaoslulled ( satoru ) — binding vows.

SUGURU GETO KNOWS HE SHOULD BE more nervous than he is. perhaps he should even be angry, shunted off by his family as a bargaining chip to unite their clans politically without any say in the matter. and he is bitter about it, but only in the same way he has been bitter for his entire life: this is not new. it only proves what he has already known about his family since he was very young.

that bitterness, he knows, is his own. he cradles it carefully within his heart, guards it like a starving dog against the curses that shove stolen emotions into his soul like a hand down the throat. surges of anger, fear, envy, melancholy, rejection linger on the back of his tongue, but the bitterness is his. so is the shame at the root of it all, deeper still.

the gojo clan estate is massive. easily several times the size of his family home and exponentially more opulent, he finds himself feeling lost as he stares up at the entryway. no one told him what to do when he actually got here. was he supposed to wait at the gates? should he knock? the place is so damn big, how is anyone even supposed to hear it if he does—

suguru's hand is already poised at the wood of the door when it swings open, and suddenly he is face to face with the bluest pair of eyes he has ever seen. even behind the shades, they are arresting, wide and gleaming, framed by snowy lashes and a face that can only be described as objectively beautiful. when they met before, it was brief and gojo was shrouded in a hood to hide away from the rest of the suitors. suguru remembers the flash of those eyes when they stood together on the balcony and he handed the frustrated heir a lighter. the hint of a cheekbone and tousled white hair. but that was just it: a flash, like a passing car.

here, right in front of him, gojo's ethereal beauty is almost overwhelming.

❝ gojo-san—! apologies, i... ❞ he stammers, steps back out of gojo's personal space. ❝ wasn't sure where to go. are you... ❞

a glance up and down at the bedhead, the slippers, the tousled clothing. ❝ did you just wake up? ❞

[pontevoix]

❛ know that i would gladly be the icarus to your certainty, oh my sunlight. ❜ *levi & erwin ~

he  had  been  a  child  of  conspiracy.  he  pressed  into  beliefs  (  shaped  like  bruises  )  that  wondered  at  the  presence  of  life  outside  the  walls.  of  course,  he  had  been  tentative  about  the  idea  of  imaginative  worlds  &  about  hypotheticals.  but  even  so  -   he  entertained  himself  easily.  there  were  late  nights  spent  : 1)  scratching  his  pen  into  potential  formations  &  angles  &  directions  2  )  reading  old  books  of  records  3  )  thinking  about  the  politics  of  things.

if  there  were  life  outside  the  walls,  then  the  walls  likely  come  under  the  guise  of  self-protection.  in  which  case,  there  are  enemies  outside  the  walls.

there  are  enemies  inside  the  walls.

erwin  had  his  conspiratorial  dream.  &  he  never  imagined  that  anything  good  would  come  of  it.  after  all,  they  were  beliefs  shaped  like  bruises.

so  then  it  makes  sense  when  shiganshina  means  rain.  it  means  shrapnel  made  of  thrown  debris.  it  means  a  hole  in  his  side,  a  stain  on  his  uniform.  it  meant  that  for  a  second  he  told  no  lies.  his  aims  were  honest.  he  rode  as  a  diversion  against  the  beast  titan.  &  he  had  imagined  no  return.  he  imagined  no  peace,  no  resolution,  no  version  of  himself  beyond  that  one  made  the  final  decision  &  let  his  dream  die  in  a  basement.

before  the  temptation  of  the   basement,  his  cause  (  a  selfish  dream  of  curiosity  )  had  once  been  easy  to  imagine  —  the  discovery  grandiose  &  free  &  windwhipped,  windlashed  on  horseback.  after  the  temptation,  it  becomes  sin.   reality  would  be  morbid.

the  reality  is  that  he  could  be  useful.  he  could  continue  to  be  useful  —-  he  could  stand  as  a  copper  statue  in  the  middle  of  a  courtyard,  act  as  a  figurehead.  he  could  oxidize,  turn  green.  he  could  continue  to  be  useful.  at  the  time,  he  would  become  a  detriment.  he  would  become  poison.

sometimes  poison  seems  preferable,  so  he  understands  the  prospect  of  his  utility.  still,  this  would  end  the  person  that  levi  thought  that  he  was.  he  would  end  the  integrity  of  the  scouts'  aspirations.  they  would  see  him  weaken.  they  would  see  hope  mutate.

before  shiganshina,  erwin  stood  on  a  mountain  of  corpses.  he  climbed  upwards  &  kept  his  footing.

the  reality  is  that  he  could  continue  to  be  useful,  &  it  would  be  dreadful.  the  reality  is  that  he  doesn’t  want  to  be  dreadful  like  that,  like  decay.  he  can  handle  tragedy  gripping  his  throat,  but  only  if  the  decision  is  his. 

shiganshina  means  rain  because  it  had  been  his  decision.  he  folds.  shows  his  hand  &  lays  his  cards  on  the  table.  when  he  surrenders,  he’s  sitting  on  a  wooden  crate.  he  smiles.  &  he  thinks  he’s  waiting  for  levi  to  give  him  permission  to make  this  decision,  to  claim  his  life  for  his  own,  to  give  his  life  for  preservation  of  levi  &  others..

levi  ( @chaoslulled ). indulges  him  &  tells  him  to  give  up  on  his  dream.  it’s  a  blessing.

erwin  gives  his  eulogy  to  the  recruits,  tells  them  their  future.  they  ride.  they  die.  shiganshina  means  rain.  it  means  shrapnel  made  of  thrown  debris.  it  means  a  hole  in  his  side,  a  stain  on  his  uniform.

before  the  charge,  there  had  been  the  potential  that  erwin  would  have  been  close  enough  to  levi  that  in  the  worst  case  scenario,  he  would  receive  the  serum.  he  could  be  useful.  he  could  be  personal.

the  charge  itself  meant  that  they  should  be  separate.  that  levi  should  be  his  worst,  be  his  best  —  that  erwin  should  be  fodder.

the  charge  itself  means  the  elimination  of  potential.

then  a  nameless  soldier  (  too  young  to  die,  too  old  to  survive  )  hated  him  so  much  that  he  preserved  erwin’s  life.

then  he  became  something  colossal.  he  became  fucking  tabula  rasa.  it’s  for  the  better,  he  supposes.  after  all  (  as  it  turns  out  ),  there  is  no  world  in  which friendly  relations  are  concealed  in  a  series  of  walls.

he  needs  to  formulate  a  new  version  of  himself.  one  that  can  be  bought.  one  that  can  be  understood.

even  if  he  survived,  the  thirteenth  commander  had  died.

the  position  goes  to  hange.

it’s  the  smart  thing  to  do,  but  then  erwin  has  to  settle  into  a  new  rank  &  into  a  new  body.

he  has  to  settle  into  the  growing  realization  that  he  had  managed  to  survive  long  enough  for  the  basement.  he  hadn’t  been  cohesive  enough  as  a  person  to  witness  that  revelation  of  information.

he  had  been  a  child  of  conspiracy.  he  pressed  into  beliefs  (  shaped  like  bruises  )  that  wondered  at  the  presence  of  life  outside  the  walls.

if  there  were  life  outside  the  walls,  then  the  walls  likely  come  under  the  guise  of  self-protection.  in  which  case,  there  are  enemies  outside  the  walls.

there  are  enemies  inside  the  walls.

erwin  had  his  conspiratorial  dream.  &  he  never  imagined  that  anything  good  would  come  of  it. he  had  wanted  it  anyway,  &  he  never  liked  the  idea  of  imaginative  worlds  &  hypotheticals  so  he  didn’t  .  .  .  plan  for  after  the  dream.

he  wasn’t  supposed  to  live  so  long.

he  wasn’t  supposed  to  live  that  long  when  levi  told  him  to  give  up  on  his  dream  &  die.  by  levi’s  hand,  erwin  survived.

the  reality  is  that  he  can  continue  to  be  useful.  he  just  doesn’t  know  how,  &  he  didn’t  know  how  to  recreate  a  chimera  that  looks  like  new  certainty  in  the  midst  of  globalization  starting  to  become  reality  &  weight  at  his  heart. 

surviving  into  this  new  era  means  the  end  of  one  dream;  it  means  that  something  else  needs  to  be  built  from  mud,  &

erwin  spends  some  evenings  studying  -  reading  through  rhetoric  that  he  had  previously  memorized,  staring  at  maps  as  though  they  would  be  adequate  to  understand  world  geography.  he  meets  with  hange  sometimes,  to  consolidate  what  they  together  know  about  terrain  &  temperature  —  the  surviving  scouts  scrap  together  their  knowledge  of  resources,  &  the  reality  is  that  he  can  be  useful.

the  reality  is  that  levi  made  a  justifiable  choice  when  he  saved  him.

the  reality  is  that  erwin  is  scrambling.  &  he  doesn’t  know  how  to  look  at  levi  properly  when  he  is  formless,  broken  out  of  his  chimera  crucible  &  trying  to  adapt  into  colossal  damage.

he  feels  cruel,  petty,  childish  —  the  way  that  he  lets  his  eyes  gloss  over  levi  in  meetings,  the  way  he  turns  his  gaze  towards  conference  room  corners.

but  he  doesn’t  know  what  to  say.  he  isn’t  familiar  with  this  type  of  anger,  this  type  of  betrayal  that  means  that  nothing  of  erwin  smith  belongs  to  the  man  himself.  the  man  is  dead.  the  man  is  dead.  &  even  that  hadn’t  been  his  choice.  the  body  had  been  reused,  reshaped,  &  now  his  second-life  is  someone  else’s.

it’s  easy  to  forgive  levi  for  this.  it’s  nauseating  to  live  with.

so  he  feels  himself  swallowing  cotton,  feels  cotton  in  his  ears  when  they  work  together  (  hange,  levi,  himself  )  looking  through  old  documents  &  trying  to  understand  something  new.  it  becomes  suffocating  when  hange  leaves.

something awful  bursts  out  of  him  —  hollow,  low  laughs  because  he  is  absurdity.  levi  is  too  good,  too  hurt,  too  stubborn.  he  is  betrayal  that  isn’t  really  betrayal,  &  erwin  laughs  because  he’s  grieving  for  pieces  of  himself  that  he  can’t  identify,  that  he  never  got  to  hold.

&  amid  all  of  that  :  levi  still  trusts  him.  levi  tries  to  soothe  him,  tries  to  fight  him,  tries  to  get  him  to  acknowledge  him.  because  erwin  laughs  absurdity,  levi  extends  himself  ——  erwin  doesn’t  hear  levi’s  exact  words,  but  he  says  something  that  sounds  like  know  that  i  would  gladly  be  the  icarus  to  your  certainty,  oh  my  sunlight.

it’s  an  awful  thing  sometimes  —  to  know  you’re  loved.  to  know  you’re  loved  for  all  the  wrong  reasons.  to  know  that  he  used  to  hold  a  torch,  &  now  it’s  dying.  levi  still  follows,  & he  will  fall  because  of  it.

erwin  (  the  colossal  )  are  made  to  be  destroyers.  they  are  made  to  ruin.

regardless,  the  laughter  dies.  erwin  runs  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  goes  sullen,  holds  his  grief  &  hates  it.

‘  most  days,  i  think  i’m  incapable  of  denying  you  that.  i  am  less  capable  of  denying  you  than  you  think. but  god,  levi.  for  once  in  your  life  —  hate  me  properly.  i  have  no  certainty.  i  have  no  plan.  i’ll  damn  you,  certainly.  now  i  won’t  even  put  on  a  convincing  show  about  it.  ‘

but  god  :  maybe  this  was  inevitable.  he  had  been  a  child  of  conspiracy. 

maybe  this  is  the  price.

[cursesavior]

— @chaoslulled / plotted.

The past just can't seem to let him go. When Suguru was informed of a new initiate into his 'religious group', he'd expected the usual formal affair. Donning their robes to pledge their allegiance to him and his cause, giving him their blood to show their dedication - the same played-out scenario he'd gone through what felt like a million times at this point. He couldn't care less, honestly, he had better things to do - he'd been shockingly busy since he'd died and been turned into a vampire, building up his following and trying to create a world where the undead could live without the fear of being hunted - but he put on a serious face anyways, pulling his own hood over his head as he made his way to the candlelit room where the ceremony would take place. Just another night like any another...

He's quickly shown just how wrong he is about that.

There's an odd feeling in his gut when the new initiate is brought into the room by several other cult members, something undeniably familiar about the hooded figure before him, the height, the way they walked, their posture - the name sat stubbornly on the tip of his tongue as he stared, gaze intense as he tried to figure out just why he was getting such strong déjà vu. That voice, it almost sounded like... But it couldn't be, right? There must be some other explanation...

"... Satoru?"

All bets are off as soon as the others hood is dropped to reveal Satoru's face, the shock in his voice giving him away instantly. A whirlwind of emotions cuts through him - Satoru. His best friend. The one he'd fought side-by-side with for so many years back when he was still a vampire hunter... He didn't think he would ever see him again, the weight of how much he'd missed him hitting him all at once. He wants to be relieved, happy, wants to embrace his friend - but he was a vampire, and Satoru was a vampire hunter. There was only one way this encounter could possibly end. Someone's blood had to be shed. Higher thinking screams for him to have the cultists restrain him, do something to stop the other from reaching for a stake, silver, holy water, anything - but the shock leaves him frozen like a deer in headlights, only moving to pull down his own hood and reveal his wide-eyed expression, his usual composure decimated by their unexpected reunion.

"What are you doing here...?"

[howlrs]

this verse in reference to satoru..... the way the nicer you are, the less likely it is for persephone to trust you, and the way he defied this

[calcitration]

@chaoslulled //  cont.

Even seated, Reiner was a mountain of a man. He had grown in height and breadth, looming larger than he ever had in memory or imagination. At her side, he shaded her from the breeze that lifted from the sea, stroking its briny fingers through blonde hair – gold and platinum – until it became stiff with salt. This close, Annie could smell him, could smell the heat of his body, the copper tang of titan-fuelled healing. There had been a time when she might have wrinkled her nose, when her stomach would have knotted and roiled at the scent, but the only churning was that of the blue-white ocean. She was immune to it. She had grown immune to so much.

“Feed her to the pigs.”

Like a bullet, the words shot from her, and in their wake, Annie bled out. The winter of her eyes pricked until they shone.

“Feed her to the pigs.”

Armin’s gentle voice, sowing seeds. In her ear they germinated, took root, settling into the folds of her grey matter. Her mind had buzzed with blast radiuses and explosion craters, with the cities raised and citizens vaporised by a quiet, grey-eyed boy. In the end, she mattered far less than maintaining an order, than keeping a tongue jammed in the treads of superior’s boots. In the end, she had been nothing but meat, the sum of her disarticulated parts.

Reiner could not speak for Bertholdt, their long-dead companion. He likely did not know the significance of her words, and too many pieces of her had withered and died in the icy cradle of the crystal. Even her anger failed her, even her resentment, even her hurt developed a scab. When she spoke, her voice arrived flat and lacklustre, but still she possessed a wounded animal gaze. Annie watched him carefully from between bars of blonde hair, his presence one of weary patience and regret.

“You did fail me, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore. I’m not even angry.”

Empty. Ringing hollow. Her father, Reiner, Zeke, Dennis – every man who held authority over her had worked her like a dog. Slit her belly, rummaged inside with dirty nails, bled her into chum buckets, hung her like a deer carcass. A girl made of shattered pieces, cobbled together in ugly ways – function over form, always – broken further, ground into sand, into stardust, into nothing.

Nothing, but still Reiner sat beside her, still he forced air into the bellows of his lungs, still he took the time to talk to her, to explain, his vocal chords strumming deep and rich. He had been half a boy when she saw him last, now he was a man grown. Annie felt stunted next to him, her body as it had been four years ago, still clad in the outdated Military Police uniform, the loose fit of her hooded sweatshirt a makeshift shroud.

“... you tried, and that counts for something. If we had gone back to Marley there’s no telling what would have happened. We might have been stripped of our titans.”

A pause, then another bullet squeezed from her throat:

“Maybe that would’ve been no bad thing.”

[mindsafe]

❰❰ WALL ❱❱ sender pushes the receiver against a wall / satoru & suguru

@chaoslulled || from [X] || ACCEPTING

they have fought before. adolescent fists wrapped tight around the glossy finish of a joystick; repetitive grunts && exaggerated noises from brightly coloured flashing screens; barbed tongues in place of bullets: ❛ you suck at this! ❜ // ❛ shut it! i haven't even lost yet! ❜ // ❛ no, but you will! ❜ raucous laughter would bounce off one another in tandem with every pixelated punch. at day's end, it didn't matter who won ― it was almost always satoru. regardless of the outcome, suguru would bite his tongue until it bled, suppressing a smile while the other gloated ( or accused him of foul play ); satoru would always insist that the loser owes the winner a can of soda ― && suguru would always concede.

they have fought before. puberty renders them volatile && susceptible to petty squabbles over inconsequential things ― things which neither of them would remember in the years to come ( although he would wish otherwise ). a brazen remark would rub suguru the wrong way: he is reactive in the way that iron realizes oxygen; a gradual && irreversible rot. harsh reprimand would sour the air; an exchange of sulfurous words accompanied by an exchange of physical blows. it was always a testosterone-fuelled, ego-driven, bloody appeal for the moral high ground, && it would end with them. . . usually in an empty classroom, exchanging knowing smirks while yaga glares.

they have fought before. suguru remembers everything && nothing about that day. since their parting at shinjuku, he has consumed over a thousand curses; && he would consume a thousand more if it meant forgetting that day in its entirety. if he could PURGE his memory of the look in satoru's eyes when he said what he did ( a last ditch effort to push him away ).

they fight again now. it's something different: there is nothing innocent, combative, or tragic at play. it's strangely familiar: a subversion of the past. white-knuckled fists dig into gold brocade, pulling suguru in like the spring tide; an open palm pushes him out, && he crashes against brick like water upon rock. the drowned man struggles to catch his breath; his lungs are full of water && his mind is plagued by memory ― memories of cicadas in the summertime, a symphony of wanton desire; memories of his accompanying piece, as he would chase his own selfish pleasure; memories of the face conjured by his mind's eye, much to his shame. that same face looks upon him ( disgraced ). eyes like heaven cast their judgment: ANGER. SORROW. an elusive THIRD THING that suguru cannot put to words.

❝ --well, what are you waiting for? ❞ he gasps. violet eyes stare defiantly. he anticipates violence, where stakes are higher than emptied soda cans && hours wasted in yaga's office. but satoru has always been something of a wild card.

[aueternus]

i was lost until i found me in you. ⠀i saw a side of me that i was scared to. ⠀but now i hear my name and i'm running your way. ⠀all i feel as i get closer to you is the desire to move like you do.

@maimedaffair & @chaoslulled & @ehlane