#he is not a fan

[varpusvaras]

There are enough similarities with how the life was before and during the war, and how it is now, so that Seventeen doesn't lose his mind instantly.

He still gets up early. That was the easiest similarity to keep. He was told that he needs more sleep, so he gives himself until five thirty instead of his regular five sharp. It's acceptable. He still has enough time to get himself ready and then try to make food.

There the similarities end when it comes to the morning. The clothes aren't right. They are soft and while good for moving around, they are not tactical in the slightest. He feels like he is missing a layer of skin with them on. It grates on him, and it doesn't make the fact that he has no idea how to cook any better.

Not that he is giving it any more voluntary thought than he has to. Any of it. It's just clothes. It's just cooking. He has learnt to repair weapons, ships, armor. He has learnt how to fight, how to kill, and how not to be killed. He has made through all of it and has now ended up in a small kitchen of all places. This is not going to end him either.

He reads all the manuals for every single kitchenware they have. He reads of the nutritional values of every single item of food there is in the cupboards and in the cooler. He studies the diet plan he had been given enough time so he remembers every word. He downloads a cook book. He watches tutorials from the holonet.

Fifteen minutes after 6 in the morning, he has made caf, tea, toast and five other things that goes with the toast. It all tastes how the book and the tutorials describe them to taste like.

Then he cleans. He does the dishes. He looks through the kitchen again. He makes a list of things they need more of. He gathers every single item on all of the counters and puts them back in their place. He goes back to the bedroom. He makes the bed. He goes back into the kitchen. He dries the dishes. It's a repeating task, like cleaning a weapon. Take a plate. Turn it around in the cloth. Put it away. Take a plate. Turn it around in the cloth. Put it away.

He goes through all the plates like that, then the cutlery, then the glasses. He puts them away in the same order in their correct places inside the cabinets and drawers.

Then he goes into the living room and stands in the middle of it and stares at the wall for fifteen minutes.

After the fifteen minutes is over, he thinks about his therapist, who had told him to pick up a relaxing hobby that he can do with his hands but that gives him enough to think about. Something that is a little bit more removed from his life so far. Something softer had been the implication.

Seventeen doesn't want to do anything softer, but he still picks up the needles he had got for himself, despite it having felt like he was giving up, finds another tutorial, watches it, and starts learning how to put the thread through itself.

It's just past eight in the morning when he makes his first row of stitches. He stares at it for a minute, and then throws it at the same wall he had spent fifteen minutes staring at before.

His legs hurt. They do that a lot, these days. Seventeen thinks it's because they hate him just as much as he hates them.

He gets up. Takes the first dose of his allotted painkillers and tries not to feel like the biggest failure in the entire Galaxy, because it's thirteen minutes before he usually takes them, and then gets angry at himself for a moment for being stupid. Because the thing is, Seventeen does not care about anything.

He waits for a moment. The pain goes away. He picks up his needles. The stitches have fallen of off them.

It's nine in the morning. He has made 28 rows of stitches.

Seventeen hates the fact that he had forgotten to hate everything while focusing on doing them.

He doesn't throw the needles this time, though.

[mephiles-the-jester]

human bill design and his favorite niece and nephew,,,,

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Daz’ai’s toxic trait is that he speaks alliance common just fine, but he refuses to unless he really doesn’t have any other options.

[monicafinias]

3 Things A Man Does when he is NOT in love

[mittensxd]

He's just built different 😜🙄

(No, literally🦾💀)

[paintedcrows]

Did anyone tell Ford (bonus doodles: Family Movie Night, 70s Classics)

[gongyussy]

good thing from jp twitter this week is queen of old man yaoi michiru sonoo discovering the term old man yaoi

update: somehow it got impossibly more wholesome

quick translation: おかえり: welcome home あ 終わった 終わった: ahhh, it's over! it's done! コーヒー? お茶?: coffee? tea? コ~ヒ~ ありがと: coffee, thank you~ ネクタイレア★★ ネクタイ取るレア★★★★: seeing him with a tie on, rarity level ★★, seeing him take a tie off, rarity level ★★★★ にあうな~: it suits him~

also please do follow: AraigumaSha: sensei's twitter account marureviere: maru, who does such valuable work highlighting bl manga for an international audience

[kiryuing]

[hichufox]

Kabru of Utaya

Twitter: https://x.com/hichufox

[eggsistential-breakdown]

Okay, but hear me out -- what if his parents weren't usually red and blue?

[proxythe]

as long as ur my partner in time >_>

[prlssprfctn]

Give me Bruce and Jason, who are not on the war path anymore, but they are still awkward and absolutely clueless on how to make things up, so they pretend that they need something from each other in order to spend some time together. Even if these things are absolutely simple, and both of them could handle it themselves, if they wanted to.

Bruce, calling Jason in the random Friday night: So, Alfred left for a week. And I promised kids to do a homemade cake for them. And you know how useless I am in the kitchen. So.

Jason, who knows that Bruce is, in fact, not useless in the kitchen, but low-key misses cooking with him, because the last time they did it, it was Alfred's birthday before his death, and they did the cake together: Theoretically, I agree.

Bruce, sighing in relief: Theoretically, I will need you in Manor tomorrow in the morning. And I theoretically will pay for that.

Jason: Theoretically, see you tomorrow.

Bruce: Theoretically, thank you.

Jason, dealing Bruce in the middle of the night: Old man. Bail me out of the prison. I am in CGDP's building.

Bruce, knowing well that Jason wouldn't be caught in the first place, if he didn't want all of this to happen, and even if he did, he would easily escape without him, getting involved, but also knowing that today is anniversary of the day Bruce adopted Jason, and it is his way to spend time together: ...Okay. May I ask what did you do?

Jason: ...Stole Gordon's tires.

Bruce, stifling his laughter: I see. I will be here in a few minutes.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

the highguard meet their biggest fan

[that-sweet-jester]

should have become a hairdresser, less war crimes

(hey just so we're clear - DO NOT TAG THIS AS A SHIP)

[spidertroupeart]

the jokes write themselves