#when she’s in the field she wears what the other soldiers do but she has those little shoulder pieces on her shirt indicating rank

[aldoodles]

Solovet designs that have been rattling around my skull for a bit

[room-surprise]

Modern Military Uniform of the United Empire (Dungeon Meshi modern AU)

AO3 Version here!

AEGIS

In my fic, “Show Me How to Get Off the Ground,” Mithrun was once a member of an elite military unit, the Advanced Expedition Group for Intelligence and Security, or AEGIS.

Most civilians refer to them as “the Canaries” instead, a pejorative nickname that has become so well-known that most people don’t realize that it isn’t the unit’s real name, or that it’s an insult. Even AEGIS members sometimes use it.

The nickname is a reference to the yellow bird on the AEGIS logo, which looks like a canary, the bird that coal miners famously use to detect gas leaks. The canary warns the miners of the presence of dangerous gasses by dying, implying that AEGIS members frequently die while doing their duty, and that the government treats them like they are disposable.

The bird featured in the AEGIS logo is actually a skylark, which is one of the many birds that are associated with the elven goddess of warfare and wisdom, Atana. Skylarks are the first birds to sing in the morning, and so they are believed to bring news quickly. Every morning, Atana’s skylark returns to her, and sings the latest news from the war front. The aegis was also a device carried by Atana, usually depicted as a shield or armor made of goat skin, and sometimes decorated with the head of a defeated enemy or monster.

(In the real world, the aegis was either a shield or armor made of goat skin, used by Athena or Zeus. It often had a gorgon's head on it.)

AEGIS operatives are commissioned officers from other branches of the United Empire’s military who have been scouted by AEGIS for their special skills. They are put through extremely advanced magical, military and espionage training, and are considered some of the most elite soldiers in the world. Because all AEGIS agents are selected from commissioned officers, the vast majority of them come from elven nobility.

AEGIS specializes in undercover spy work done behind enemy lines. Because of this, they don’t have a field uniform since they spend most of their time in disguise, dressed like ordinary people. They only wear their formal dress uniform while they are at their home base, doing training, administrative work, or preparing for their next undercover mission.

MISC LORE

ATANA (𐀀𐀲𐀙)

Atana is one of the most popular gods in the United Empire. She’s strongly associated with the capital city and the royal family. She’s usually depicted as a beautiful elven woman with obsidian skin, white hair, red eyes, multiple arms, and wearing nothing but an aegis. Each arm bears a different weapon or tool, and her face is always serene, even when she is smiting her enemies. She’s usually shown surrounded by many different types of bird, and in ancient art, she sometimes has a bird’s head.

She is the goddess of wisdom and warfare, and most people consider her the “primary” god of the elven pantheon, and other gods are usually treated as subordinate to her. Atana embodies elven virtues such as intelligence, cunning, charisma, skill with magic, and stoicism. 

(Atana is a fusion of the real-world goddesses Athena and Durga.)

THE GREAT WAR (1932-2000)

Sometimes called “the great war between the long and short-lived races,” this war began with the Far Eastern Alliance attacking the United Empire’s colonies in the Eastern Archipelago to reclaim what they saw as territory that belonged to them. After 68 years, the Great War ended in a stalemate, with both sides committing atrocities, and both conceding and gaining territory.

The Great War had a huge impact on the relationship between the long and short-lived races, and technology and magic developed during the war has shaped the modern world into what it is in the story.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 3: The Summer Has to End Someday

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter three of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect.  Reader is occasionally described as "curvy." If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Philadelphia 1935

"Sit still." You say, dipping your brush gently in the small pot of water at your knee, before stroking it through your paints and placing it against the pad of watercolor paper in your lap.

It was a beautiful day at Fairmount Park. Children ran across the grassy fields flying kites and avoiding the outstretched hands of their mothers, while couples lounged on blankets with picnic baskets overflowing with sandwiches and champagne. The sun was sending gilded light across the pond that gently rippled with the breeze that brushed through your hair, pulling it across your rosy cheeks that blushed under Ben's gaze.

It was your 16th birthday and despite your mother's insistence to take you shopping in the busy stores that lined the streets downtown, you had refused, choosing rather to come to the park and prepare your mind for the party that would follow this evening. You had already glimpsed the abomination of purple tulle that your mother expected you to wear and you hoped that a quiet afternoon in the park would wipe the monstrosity from your memory.

At least before you were squeezed into said dress later that evening.

"I’m bored." Ben stated, leaning back on his elbows where he was sprawled next to you in the lush grass that was no doubt staining the light blue dress that clung to your body. One you had chosen for yourself that accentuated the way you looked, rather than hid it as the other dresses your mother bought for you. However, when Ben came to pick you up this morning your mother had insisted you bring a coat, despite it being the middle of summer. You hadn't missed the flash of anger in Ben's eyes when she wrapped the coat around your shoulders to hide your curves. The same coat that Ben immediately removed when you walked out the door and threw over the wrought iron fence that surrounded the front of your home, before looping his arm in his to direct you toward the park.

"It was you who said you wanted me to paint you." You sigh, looking up at your friend.

Ben's navy suit jacket was open, the buttons of his matching vest and white shirt underneath strained as his muscular shoulders pulled against them and made your breath catch as your eyes traced them. There was a pale pink phlox flower in his front jacket pocket, one you stuffed there earlier despite the roll of his eyes. You had wanted some contrast between his suit and the color of the flower, and despite Ben's annoyance, he obliged you as he always did.

"I was hoping there would be less clothing involved." Ben grins at you.

"You know, no other gentleman speaks to me the way you do."

"I didn't know you considered me a gentleman y/n. I thought that you knew me better than that." His grin quickly shifts into a mischievous smirk that makes you bite the inside of your cheek and turn back to the page.

A year had passed since Ben got you watercolor paints and ignited a unquenchable passion for painting. Something about the way the colors ran together soothed you, the gentle stroke of the brush against the page calming the usual frustrations of your life.

One of which was sitting beside you, looking entirely too attractive for someone who'd just rolled out of bed and was wearing the exact outfit he had been wearing when he snuck through your window last night. This morning he had crawled out the window and rang the doorbell at the front of your home, acting as if he'd been up for hours.

You pause at the thought of last night. Ben was leaving for boarding school number seven at the end of the week, but the way he looked when he showed up the night before, rumpled and smelling of cheap whiskey, meant that he and his father had another disagreement. Despite his inability to talk about what happened, if it was your burden to bear, to always be there for him, you welcomed it.

"Hey." Ben's hand comes down on your arm to draw your attention back to him.

You look back up at him. "Hmm?"

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" He turns his head to the side to examine you.

"Thinking about the party."

"Oh right. Should be fun. Can't believe I received an invitation. I thought your mother would have burned it-"

"She tried." You smirk. "I snatched it from the fireplace just for you."

"How thoughtful."

“Selfish really. There’s no way I’m going through one of those parties without you again.” You snort, catching his emerald gaze.

“The Christmas party was not that bad-“

“Says the guy who got drunk on eggnog and then preceded to flirt with a potted plant!”

“That potted plant was more interesting than that idiot How-“ Ben’s next words are cut off.

"Y/n!" You hear someone shout from behind you.

Howard Stine struts towards the two of you across the sidewalk, where a few other boys stand in a tight group. He’s wearing a sand colored suit and vest, with the chain of his golden pocket watch catching in the warm sunlight with each stride forward. At Howard’s appearance, Ben sits up from his relaxed position, leaning towards you.  

“Speak of the devil.” You hear him mutter.

Ben nods his head towards the group of boys, who nod back in greeting. Ben was more popular than you. Your own circle of friends was reduced to Ben, your housekeeper, the gardener, and a handful of girls your own age that only wished to talk about how close you and Ben were and once they realized you were just friends, they then proceeded to ask you if you could set them up.

As if you would ever set them up with him, you were still trying to set yourself up with him.

A few of the group of boys you recognize as the sons of your father's friends and others boys you'd seen Ben stumble around with on the streets after a night at the bar around the corner. You watch Ben's left hand go to the flower in his front jacket pocket and crunch it in his fist before the others can see it.

The action made you smile to yourself, because despite Ben not wanting them to see him with the flower, he had still allowed you to place it there.

Howard blocks the rays of sun above you so that you don't have to squint up at him. He wasn't terrible looking. Howard was your height, with reddish brown hair that was slicked back over his head and he had a dusting of cinnamon colored freckles on his cheeks, but he was nowhere near as tall or broad as Ben. Where Ben was muscular, Howard was lanky, his hands small and sweaty. Ben moved with a grace and elegance that you couldn't comprehend, while Howard plodded along, stumbling on solid ground. Howard's pointed chin was nothing like the strong jaw of Ben's rugged face. Something that you studied whenever Ben was with you and you spent several nights devoted to capturing in your sketchbook.

"Hi Howard. How are you?" You smile at him, brushing back your hair from your face with your free hand.

Howard's eyes move from Ben to you, taking in your close proximity. Ben's hand was still touching your arm, and the tip of your knee an inch away from the outer edge of Ben's thigh. In fact, Ben had leaned towards you so close when Howard came over that his breath rustled through your hair.

"Good. What are you doing?” Howard moves a hand through his hair to tousle the reddish waves.

“Ben is obliging me. It’s a beautiful day and I wished to capture it.” You wave the brush in your right hand for emphasis.

“Ah.” Howard squints at the watercolor paper. “Well it’s certainly interesting. I didn’t know you liked to paint.”

“She likes all kind of things Howie.” Ben responds with a smirk, his voice dripping with suggestion.

Your eyes flash a warning to where Ben sits. He’s withdrawn his hand, but he’s still leaning close enough to you that you can smell the spicy scent of his shampoo and cologne.

It reminds you of this morning when you woke up and realized that Ben had pulled your back into his chest while he was sleeping. When his arm was curled around your waist as he buried his head in your hair and muttered something in his sleep that you couldn’t understand. The thought makes you flush bright red, remembering how wonderful and intimate it felt to be there.

Howard ignores him. “We're all going to go to Wallman's on the corner for shakes, I was wondering if you wanted to come?" He doesn't acknowledge Ben.

“Well-“ You begin to say, taking in the beauty of the pond and your paint stained hands.

The truth was you didn’t want to go, you wanted to sit there in the grass forever with Ben, where you couldn’t tell if you were warm because you were under the golden light of the sun or under Ben's gaze.

“She’s busy.” Ben says before you can finish your sentence.

Howard’s smile becomes tight. “I think I was asking her.”

Ben shrugs. “And I think I just gave you an answer.”

"Why don't you just-" Howard begins, but Ben is already up off the ground, pressing his chest against Howard's, his green eyes blazing in the light of the sun.

"Why don't I just what Howie?" Ben's voice is low, the deep rumble stirring something in the pit of your stomach.

You loved a lot of things about Ben, but his temper was not one of them. Ben rarely lost his temper with you, yes you did annoy him and he would lose his patience, but he often turned that anger into teasing.

"Ben." You stand, leaving your watercolor pad on the ground, so you can place your hand on Ben's shoulder. It was supposed to be a gentle reminder. Ben knew that you were more than capable of making your own decisions, but you couldn't help but wonder why Ben had responded the way he did.

Is he jealous?

Ben looks down at you with a frown, but finally he sighs and takes a step back.

Howard's eyes are narrowed at where Ben now stands to your right, Ben's arms crossed over his muscular chest, but Howard's gaze shifts back to you expectantly.

"Howard that's really sweet, but it's getting late and I have to get ready for the party tonight." You force a giggle to ease the tension in Howard's shoulders. "You are coming right?"

"Of course." He smiles. "I was hoping that you'd save a dance for me."

"She-" Ben begins to say, but you elbow him in the side, hard.

"Of course I will."

“Great. I guess I’ll see you tonight.” He frowns one more time at Ben before turning back to the group of boys on the sidewalk and leaving with them.

Ben stands there for a minute watching him go.

"You should try to be nicer to him." You say, tugging on the sleeve of Ben’s jacket to grab his attention.

"Why?" Ben snorts.

"Because-" You shrug. "He's sweet and he’s interested in me. I’d hope that you two would get along.”

Ben rolls his eyes. "You could do better."

"Last time I checked the suitors aren't exactly lining up. Not to mention you tend to scare them all off." You wave a hand around you for emphasis. "And I'm not getting any younger."

"Neither am I, but you don’t see me settling for Howard Stine.”

"I didn't realize he was your type." You snort rolling your eyes at him as you sit back down in the grass and pick up your painting again. "I haven't seen you courting anyone recently."

You try to keep the happiness from your voice at the thought. Ben hadn't been trying to chase after as many girls in the past few months as he had previously. And you wondered if his father was trying to arrange him with anyone. If Ben’s mother had still been alive you knew that she would have found someone suitable for Ben, but you’d heard your father say something to your mother behind a closed door that Ben’s father had asked about one of the daughters of his work colleagues.

The thought makes something in your chest tighten to the point of snapping. You hated the idea of watching Ben court someone else, watching someone else kiss him, run their fingers through his hair, and hated the thought that Ben would spend the night with someone else other than you.

Of course when he spent the night with you, all you did was talk, but it was possible that Ben might find that sense of companionship with a lover rather than you.

And then where would you be? Alone.

Ben reclines back as he did before, shaking his hair out behind him, and closing his eyes. It's lighter in the sun, more of a honeyed brown than the usual oak. "I leave in a week."

"Hasn't stopped you in the past." You mutter more to yourself than him.

"Maybe nothing has caught my eye." He opens one eye to study you.

"Hmm."

“Or perhaps I’d much rather spend my last days of freedom with you.” He flirts with a wide smile.

“Last days of freedom?” You laugh, ignoring his tease. “We both know you’ll probably be back within the month.”

Instead of laughing, Ben’s smile fades into a frown and you wonder if he’s thinking of his father.

“Ben I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“

Ben shrugs it off and pulls out a silver flask from his jacket pocket. As soon as he opens it, the sour smell of whiskey floats through the air before he takes a swig. He holds it out to you, but you wave it away, focusing back on your paper.

"So if he's the one, why didn't you go with him to Wallman's? You made up a bullshit excuse that you had to go home." Ben takes another pull from the flask, but you can't shake the shift in his tone.

"I wanted to finish painting." You say to avoid the truth, that you didn’t want to leave him, because you could tell he was still upset over whatever he and his father talked about last night. “But I do need to go home. Mother is no doubt waiting with a horde of maids to make me presentable.”

You frown to yourself imagining next few hours where you would be slathered in creams, your hair tugged and swept up over your head, your body scrubbed almost painfully, and finally the corset that would cut off your circulation and make it impossible to breathe.

You wondered if any other girls your age were subject to such torture.

“Just admit it y/n, you find Howard as boring as a sack of flour.”

“He’s from a good family, he’s a gentleman. My mother would be pleased-“ You start to say, defending Howard even though you didn’t like him as much as you liked Ben.

“Your mother would be pleased with a cactus as long as it meant getting you out of her sight.” Ben snaps back.

His sharp words sting against your skin and you drop your eyes to the paper again, welcoming the silence that follows. Because he was right.

Your mother thought you were a disappointment. She had started comparing you to your sister-in-law who was flawless, effortlessly beautiful and graceful. Your mother voiced her disapproval many ways with disapproving looks, snide comments on what you wore, how you looked... It wasn’t for lack of trying. You did whatever she asked but each time it was never good enough for her. You weren’t enough. And it was something you kept close to your heart. Ben knew that better than anyone.

That’s why his words hurt so much.

“Sweetheart I’m sorry-“

“It’s okay.” The tears that burn in your eyes smear the image of the page in your lap.

“Y/n please look at me.”

You don’t raise your head. “I should go. She’ll be mad if I’m late-“ You begin to put away your things.

Ben’s fingertips come to your chin, tilting it back to look at him once more.  He looks sorry. His green eyes are paler now, like clover, wide and open, his mouth pulled down into an apologetic frown.

“Please don’t go. I’m sorry. Just stay a little longer.”

You sit there for a moment, his hand cupping your cheek and as a tear falls Ben brushes it away with his thumb. The gesture is gentle and surprising. Ben tolerated the occasional hug, but this was more intimate. It made your breath catch.

“Okay.” You whisper.

Ben relaxes and drops his hand from your face, but he’s still watching you. You know he’s trying to think of something to say to make you feel better, but when he can’t come up with anything, he reaches over and plucks another flower from the bush on his left, before stuffing it in his front jacket pocket.

It enough to make you smile and this time he returns it, understanding that he's been forgiven. You allow the warmth of his gaze seep into your skin and you bask in the warm glow of his smile.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series, let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak

[mightiestofmumblers]

Simon Riley, who's been surrounded by death for longer than he can remember. It's become harder and harder to remember the years without it. Whether the ones who fall are the soldiers beside him or enemies at his own hands no longer matters to him, not really, not like it should.

Ghost, who becomes used to watching that final spark leave a set of eyes before they become glossy and empty. It takes him years to notice that final little thing. Nothing more than a reflection, but She's there.

Ghost, who questions Price and Soap, quietly and reluctantly, but they don't understand. They don't get it like he does. And it doesn't make sense, he knows it doesn't. Soldiers are known to go insane after too long in the field, perhaps that's what's happening to him.

It's after not sleeping for 60 hours that he sees Her after all, sweeping or floating through the battlefield, draped in every colour on the spectrum and not a single one of them. Ghost has never seen a face like it, and he knows he never will. All of Her reeks of paradoxical features and curves that swirl and change whenever he thinks he's finally grasped some aspect of Her. She bends down, soft and caring, as the final light slips from his teammate's eyes, and She carries him with her while his body remains.

The second he tries to stop Her, reach out and touch her, his hands slip through her. For one moment lasting years and less than a second, She glances at him. He doesn't blink, but She disappears anyway.

Years pass. Ghost recognises her. Always. In time, she watches him through reflections. She follows him wherever he goes. But there's nothing cruel about it. It's impossible with the sad smile shining from Her. It's not something she does but rather something that she is.

Ghost, who no longer has any true fears on the battlefield. It's simply another work day. But it changes when he sees Her. How She looks at him. He isn't afraid of Death but he manages to stagger back. Running is futile, he's seen others feverishly try to crawl from Her, fingers scraping at the ground until the skin wears away, a bloody trail following the leg no longer there and all of it with no use. Fighting is quite the same: as impossible as this entire thing is improbable.

"Shhh." Something beyond a voice, coming from his own head, he's sure, coos. "So close to me. You rarely ever are. How long has it been? No... you're alright, my love."

Ghost stops. She's infinitely tall yet he looks down at Her. Her smile isn't sad as She stretches a hand towards him, lifting the bottom of his mask, and that's when an inkling of fear finds him. For years, She's been his sole comfort on the battlefield. A single neverending entity he could always trust to be with him no matter how many years were to pass, but after wishing for so long to see Her, have Her closer, he wants nothing more than hundreds of miles to separate them.

"Is it time?"

"Afraid not, love." She smiles with a thousand pleasant summer days and cosy winter nights. "I have a job to do, but you've been close to me for so long. I want to see your face before I go."

Death lifts the skull, removes every layer until his scarred skin is visible to Her.

"How can I see you?"

"What a wicked thing it is." A sigh falls from wonderful lips as She caresses his cheek with a cool touch. "I'm sorry, Simon."

"Simon..." He repeats, tasting the foreign word.

She's fading.

"Wait! How can I-"

"Don't worry, love. No matter what, you'll see me again at the end."

Ghost becomes worse, more than he's ever been. With enough blood on his hands and enough souls at his feet, he can see Her again. He haunts the battlefields like never before, staring into the eyes of his victims for the mere chance of catching a glimpse. However long, no matter how many bodies it takes, he will see Her again.

« ⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑ »

I've had this in my ideas doc for, like, years, and I just needed to get it out lmao. I'd love to write a full fic but unless I'll get 30 hours in a day, I don't have that kinda time lmao.

[dutchdread]

Got a question why do some fans say tifa know the real cloud when in ff7 original she says they were never close as kids in the life stream scene? Even in remake and rebirth she say on the gs ride I can't remember us ever being this close before. Doesn't that make the playing field equal for aerith because tifa didn't know the real cloud either right?

I don't know if they're saying she "knows the real" Cloud, because I sort of agree, she doesn't really get to "know" the real Cloud until he bears his soul to her in the lifestream sequence. I think it's better to say that Tifa is "connected" to the real Cloud, narratively speaking, while Aerith is not.

First though I have to address the misconception that Tifa and Cloud weren't close as kids. They were, traces of two pasts gives us some insight into the childhood of Tifa and Cloud, and in it we learn that Tifa and Cloud were closer when they were VERY young, but grew apart later on. The implication is that this is when Cloud started developing feelings for Tifa, which caused him to distance himself. But there is still a difference between that and Aeriths connection. I think the best scene to explain this is the most obvious one, the water tower scene. In the water tower scene we discover that while Tifa likes Cloud, she wasn't sure yet what sort of "like". Mirroring Aeriths scene at the end of rebirth. But while Aeriths scene ends with the "but" of "liking, BUT not like liking", Tifas story goes a little different. Cloud says he'll be a soldier, and that he's not like other boys, not knowing that this was the 4th time someone has said this to her. And yet, the proclamation didn't disappoint her. Because it's not the alure of Cloud being a famous soldier that catches Tifas eye.

"she'd discovered that Cloud - the quiet neighbour who had always seemed as unreachable as the stars - was just a normal boy like any other. She'd come to understand that she did like him. And it was that special kind of "like" - the one that ties up your heart, making you yearn to be with that person for the rest of your days.

It's that moment, where Cloud bears his soul to her for the first time, when he's "just a boy", that Tifa falls in love. In other words, Tifa fell in love with the exact antithesis of the fake soldier persona that he put on later in life. The irony, and beauty, of this story lies in the fact that Cloud believed he needed to be this heroic soldier for Tifa to notice him, but all he really needed to be was just a boy with some dreams, he just needed to be himself, to be human. For Tifa, Cloud was already a hero just as he was, the boy that followed her up the mountain.

When Tifa meets Soldier Cloud, she's put-off by his eyes and his soldier persona, because that's not who she hoped to see. She hoped to see that hopeful shy boy from Nibelheim that asked her to come to the water tower. Meanwhile Aerith liked his eyes and soldier persona, because that IS who she hoped to see, only in Zack. She's longing for the boy she's wearing pink for, whom she sent letters to for 4 years. Of whom it was her one wish to "spend more time with". Both girls in essence are looking for that connection with the fake Cloud/Zack conglomeration. But only Tifa has the real connection, because at the heart of the fake Cloud lies the real Cloud, and not Zack. Which is why her dates and interactions with Cloud go naturally, because that's his heart shining through from underneath the fake persona. And that's why all the dates with Aerith are so rough, because Aerith is bouncing energy off of him in a way that would work with Zack, but Cloud is not Zack, and because of that the entire thing feels forced and unnatural.

[exbex]

@katatonicimpression, @abarbaricyalp

prompt: 🥋

“You use the wings too much.”

Sam floats down, wings out and withering look on his face. “Not a super soldier, android, alien, or wizard. No special suit. The wings are all I have to even the playing field.”

Bucky scowls. “Your wings could get damaged.”

“Or ripped off. Yeah, I remember.” Sam isn’t smirking, there’s nothing teasing in his expression. He’s sore, maybe physically, maybe brooding over something that would make reminders of his vulnerability sting. Bucky considers, then reaches for his left shoulder. “Let’s both lose the vibranium, make the playing field a little more even.”

He removes his arm before Sam can protest, but Sam stands, looking skeptical. “Alright,” he finally says and removes his wingpack.

Sam doesn’t take advantage of Bucky being down an arm. Bucky’s honestly annoyed by it, until he realizes that Sam is looking for other openings, other weaknesses that Bucky wasn’t even fully aware he had.

Weaknesses he could only know from having paid very close attention. That has Bucky feeling…something. Impressed, yes, admiring even.

Exposed. Vulnerable. And for some reason, Bucky’s not mad about it. A memory comes to him, out of nowhere. A cute girl, Rachel something, who knew how to make him blush, and she could do it real subtly. Not even always flirtatiously, no, she’d point how how sweet he was, how good he was with his sisters. The kinds of things not everyone noticed, and Bucky had felt seen but not exposed. It’s similar to how Sam has pointed out how good he is with Sam’s nephews, without a hint of worry or hesitation over whether he can trust Bucky with them.

Bucky’s on his back all of a sudden, Sam hovering over him. Bucky is suddenly aware of Sam’s tendency to wear jewel toned, form fitting shirts that suit him particularly well.

“You good?” Sam peers down at him.

“Yeah,” and it comes out raspier than it should.

“Need a hand?” Sam offers his hand, Bucky considers pulling Sam down, flipping him…and then his mind goes to a place he’s going to have to unpack later, when he’s alone. So he accepts it instead, and uses his lower body to leverage himself off the floor.

“You’re right.” Sam doesn’t let go of Bucky’s hand for an extra second. “I can’t afford to get complacent.” Something crosses his expression, worry or sorrow or anger, but then it’s gone. “Thanks for your help.”

It’s not fair, Bucky wants to say, that Sam has so much stacked against him, but there’s no use pointing out what they both know. “No problem,” he says instead. “You’ve got this; I’m just here to back you up.”

That gets a real smile out of Sam, and Bucky feels butterflies, or maybe hummingbirds, take up residence in his stomach, but Sam just claps a hand on his shoulder and asks if he wants to go get dinner before Bucky can do anything stupid.

“Yeah, sounds good.” And this time his voice isn’t raspy at all.

Sam retrieves the wingpack. Bucky reattaches and recalibrates his arm. Interestingly enough, he still feels a little off-balance as he watches Sam walk away. Yeah, that one will have to be unpacked later.

[satureja13]

After an early breakfast (it's still raining cats and dogs in Brindleton Bay beyond the Veil. It almost seems like there's really no sunshine without Ji Ho).

Jack dragged Kiyoshi to the swamps to drag the TukTuk out and Vlad was just coming back from caring for the goats (they decided to move to the Screaming Mandrake due to the rain :3) and Adriano.

Jack: "Kiyoshi is so cool, huh?" Vlad laughed: "Yes ^^' But hurry up. First Defense against the Dark Arts lesson is starting soon and you know how much Ms Coombes dislikes you. Don't upset her." (They are supposed to wear school uniforms while here :3)

Ms Coombes: "Where's Callahan? I told you how exhausting it is for us professors to remain here. We can't waste our time like this!" Vlad: "I told him to hurry up." Ms Coombes: "Ach - he's a lost cause..."

They already come running - almost there! Gladly Kiyoshi has an I'm-fully-here-day today!

But in the entrance hall... Kiyoshi: "Which portal was it again to the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom?" Jack: "Omg look! Dragons!" (Jack never had an I'm-fully-here-day ever...) Kiyoshi studied the schedule: "I think it's this one? There are just the numbers of the portals on the schedule but not which portal is which number..."

It was the wrong portal - of course. But it took them to an amazing subterranean bathroom! Jack: "Ohhh! We should come back here after classes! Wow!" Kiyoshi agreed, but it's not the time to linger when Ms Coombes is waiting!

Ah finally the right classroom! Ms Coombes: "Callahan! What were you thinking?! I informed you thusly not to pester your professors and you're starting right away on your first day! And I told you not to drag Vlad - or Kiyoshi - down into your disrespectful behavior! Kiyoshi, you really shouldn't hang out with this menace." Jack: "It's not Kiyoshi's fault! You know how absent he is, doing his diety stuff. It's all on me. I'm sorry." (Aouw - Jack defending Kiyoshi! And lieing... tststs.)

Ms Coombes: "I don't care! Both of you are going to weed the Cursed Cabbage Field after Class - as punishment! Vlad and Jeb - you are responsible for Kiyoshi from now on. Keep him away from Callahan. And you, Saiwa, are in charge of Callahan. This is too important to be lenient with you. Your lives are at stake!" All: "Yes, Ms Coombes."

Ms Coombes was so upset, she showed no mercy for the Boys' first Defense against the Dark Arts lesson! They have to dodge (mildly) poisoned arrows while being occupied with other stuff! Ms Coombes: "Here you can show how well you built your awareness skills while practising yoga and meditation! You'll never be prepared when you're ambushed!"

Jeb is so cute ^^'

Sai and Jeb had to box... ö.ö'

And Jack and Kiyoshi had to - dance? Ms Coombes: "Since poor Kiyoshi is so absent, you'll have to lead him. For each arrow that hits Kiyoshi, you are going to do for one day all of the chores for your diligent, punctual and honest classmates!" That's Jack's punishment for lieing ^^'

Since Jack is the Super Soldier, his reflexes are flawless and not a single arrow hit Kiyoshi. And only two hit Jack. Which was an amazing achievement since 71% of all the extremely fast arrows were aimed at Jack and Kiyoshi ^^' And Jack also was highly distracted from getting to feel Kiyoshi so close again after all those months... (Last time they'd kissed was September 2023 ö.Ö' and a little later in Jack's weird Heidi dream.)

Vlad, with his vampire speed, was even able to catch the arrows in flight! Ms Coombes: "Take a cue on Vlad, Callahan! Very well done, Vlad! A+ with a ⭐"

What an exhausting lesson! And Jack and Kiyoshi still had to weed the Cursed Cabbage Field - in the pouring rain... The weeds were prickering and thorny. Of course they are - it's a cursed field for a reason -.- Jack: "I'm so sorry. Maybe Ms Coombes is right and you should avoid me. I'm trouble all the way and you're a diety now. You have way more important things to do than weeding cabbage..." Kiyoshi: "I've seen decades passing by in that tree. The time I have with you ...guys... is the most precious for me."

Finally done for today! Jack and Kiyoshi went through the portal into that stunning bathroom again. The essences healed their sore, itching skin. Jack moaned in delight. Jack: "I enjoy my time with you, too. It's a shame we weren't able to do things like this more often while we were still together... Uhm - of course I know it wasn't your fault. Your duties for the Resistance and the Temple are more important than me and I understand that. It's just sad, you know? And now it's too late. But we can still do all this as 'mates', hm?" Kiyoshi: "Of course we can. Jack, I utterly failed you. Now I know I should have taken my time to spend it with you. Neither Dtui nor Kojin nor anyone from the Resistance ever asked me to work as much as I did. I just thought - since I was so powerful all out of sudden and my family caused so much pain - I had to do everything to make it up again and to give something back. But instead I burnt myself out and didn't even notice how much I hurt you. You are right, it's too late now. But I won't ruin this friendship of ours. I will be a good mate." Jack: "I never appreciated how much you did for me, either. You landed on the pyre and almost died because you saved me and Saiwa from the lab. And you saved me and Ji Ho from burning to death. And so many other times you helped me out. Yet still I thought the worst of you. I never understood why you wanted someone like me." Huh. Seems Kiyoshi has a very I'm-here-day today - and Jack also gained some insights o.o Kiyoshi had a lot to think about over all those years in the tree and it seems he learned his part. And he paid for his mistakes. And both of them are glad they have these cucumber slices on their eyes, so the other can't see their tears.

Then they went over to the underground pool. The water was warm and the air fresh. That's not how you look at your 'good mate', Jack...

He's even ogling Kiyoshi when he's about to climb out of the pool!

Meanwhile in the Common Room. Since Jack is busy with Kiyoshi, Jeb is playing Simbles with Saiwa. They are so glad they are able to spend some - halfway- easy-going time together. And Vlad misses his Ji Ho, he sadly plays:

'Ain't no sunshine when she's gone Only darkness every day Ain't no sunshine when she's gone And this house just ain't no home Anytime she goes away'

Bill Withers - Ain't No Sunshine

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

[luketaluketa]

i was organizing some files and found all the wip stuff from the previous secret samol for @/seamonsterart (go check out their work!), and these are two of my favorite illustrations ever, so here's some insight into how i made these!

for starters i already had a pretty much finished design for pickman that i had first drawn back in 2021

she has a completely wrong gun in this version because i did not remember how it was supposed to look like and couldn't find a description of it anywhere. she's wearing a hat because i forgot it was supposed to be a helm and so i ended up giving her the large hat just because the long horns coming through it are a fun image, though today i cannot imagine her wearing anything else. she already has the sword she takes from the lake skeletons, also. her armor is based on the armor the torumekian soldiers and kushana wear in nausicaa of the valley of the wind, with the incredible neck guard and long cape covering their entire body

i've always loved these designs and how the plates are evocative of insects, but also how mysterious they look with covered faces and bodies. matter of fact, at this point i had no fucking idea what pickman looked like below the cape.

the second inspiration is the young man from angel's egg.

OK, STAY WITH ME. i cannot explain this other that in my head pickman and him are VERY similar characters. the image of the half pulled cape while he holds his sword-cross-thing over his shoulder and the quiet demeanor are pretty fundamental to how i try to make pickman FEEL. i actually wanted her armor to have more piping, pulling from the biomechanical appearance of his sword-cross, but it didn't feel quite right

and the third inspiration is less inspiration and more reference work, the book "arms & armor, a pictorial archive" by carol grafton

it's a compilation of illustration works sourced from several books from the 19th century. VERY cool book to take a look at historical armor. it's on the internet archive for free!

there was also a fair ammount of looking at goats and sheep, but eventually i reached this after learning i suck at drawing furry designs. big shoutout to the furry community for making so many tutorials available btw. in highlight a very important study of the character.

now that i kinda knew what pickman looked like i entered the wonderful phase of "i don't know what the fuck i'm doing" which resulted in a bunch of bad doodles now sitting in a folder dubbed "dev hell". at this point i kinda had an idea for a relaxed scene based on one of the prompts, which i developed for a while on blender but eventually gave up on.

i then moved on to the second prompt, of pickman being badass. i decided on a low angle to make pickman look incredibly tall but the low angle of a goat's head legitimately kicked my ass so i eventually made a goat head on blender and used it to generate references with the help of designdoll. here i made her design a lot more muscular and fat, also, eventually coming to her final design.

the valve on her chestplate looks WRONG to me now, but at the time i was so tired i just rolled with it. the first pass of her armor was in a completely wrong color, which i corrected later on photoshop. i added the little metal forks pulling from her 2021 design, and the idea of little musical forks for atunning to the shape was cool to me. i also corrected her gun after actually learning what the fuck it was supposed to look like. i already knew i wanted her to be standing on the field of canola flowers, and the sky in the background was the last thing i added, also the time when i decided to really make the picture tall.

i liked the final result so much i went back and started working on the first prompt again. had a horrible time drawing the horns in the second image which led to this hell cage for building the perspective. im still not confident on the horns on the side of the head. i wanted to bring the atmosphere of a cold winter or fall morning in the second one, and to make pickman seem tired but relaxed. i overall like the second picture a lot more than the first and was very happy with how it came out.

AND THAT'S HOW THE SAUSAGE IS MADE I GUESS. if you read this whole thing then thank you for your time!

[lime-sketches114]

Welp...FF7 Rebirth came out and ummm....I have this ship with an OC called Raven and I put her with Sephiroth...Ravenroth??? Idk

I'm debating on what prompt to do them with but we'll see with the actual story. This may also tie into a painting I did~

(they also have a kid named Mercury, he's a sweetie and I made Sephiroth a sister named Seri...yay) (Mercury is not in this story but Seri is!)

Without further adoooo let's get started.

May I Have This Dance?

Rating/Warning: minimal stuff but also AWWWWW

★★★★★

Ever since I can remember, I've always been by his side. Sephiroth. The Golden Child of SOLDIER. Ever since we were young we'd be teamed up together. He was there when my father died in that freak accident. There i remained in SOLDIER. Even as a First Class rank I didn't care much for the formalities or the perks of being this popular. I always thought myself a medic and only that.

Genesis or Angeal will always tease us as teenagers. Teasing about dating, who would win in a fight, best aim, you name it. As the years passed by, I found myself trying to answer why. It had been years since Genesis and Angeal disappeared and I still hear their voices egging me on. I had things, priorities, to attend to, especially one that was his very sister, Seri.

"Raven!!! What do you mean you're not coming to the company ball?! Everyone will be there!" Seri whined as I checked her vitals on the screen and took some tests.

"I told you Seri, I have my duties to the hospital and you. Sephiroth will have a conniption, you know he doesn't dance anyways" I replied.

"well I'm going with Zack! He invited me in Aerith's place because of her circumstances! She insisted!" She fussed as she crossed her arms.

"Oh are you? Then I guess I have no choice~" I rolled my eyes playfully as I gave her medicine and a change of clothes from her closet and helped her put them on.

"Yay! Dress shopping!!!" Seri squealed. I helped her onto her wheelchair and we walked to the elevator to get to the bottom floor.

We walked along the streets of Midgar to a dress shop nearby. I was never really into girly stuff even as a kid. The only girly thing I wear is earrings bc my face still says masculine. I guess looking more like my father was half of a good thing. I'm glad I developed nicely up top and got ass for days. My dad would try and get me to wear hair berets or make up to make me look more feminine but I was a part of SOLDIER. I couldn't/it would run or snag in the field.

Seri and I walked through all the clothing racks. Seri picked out a few dresses her size. She kept on pointing to other dresses that might look good on me but none were speaking to me. Seri started scanning the whole store. I know those eyes too well, just like her brother's, always on target and ready to pounce. Then she grabbed a dark colored dress and snuck it under her picks, thinking she was sneaky. I only caught a glimpse of the color but not the style. I was worried but not in a scared way.

As we made our way to the changing rooms, she picked out a cute pink dress because she told me Aerith liked pink and wanted to respect her favorite color. Seri really has grown fond of both Zack and Aerith these past few years. I've never seen her this excited unless it was Sephiroth coming home to take her to a fancy dinner and toy shopping. She's 7 years younger than him yet they're both a spitting image of each other. They definitely are siblings.

I remember the day my father showed us her, so small and frail. It was devastating to see her health decline when she reached 10 years. My dad did so much for her, even as he got up in age, he was like a father to her. His death put a toll on all of us, I stayed with Shinra because I had nowhere else to go. That's when I became on call for SOLDIER and mostly full time at the Hospital. I made a promise to my dad and myself.

Seri showed off her dresses and then from underneath she revealed the dress she swiped for me. It was a long sleek slender gown with a slit up the leg that stops at the thigh and has one strap. It was a dark blue with shimmers.

"oh no...that's no me..." I deflected.

"Come on Raven just try it on! You never wear dresses so how can you know?!" Seri pouts and shoved the dress and shoved me into the changing room, "imma go find ya shoes! Be right back!" With those parting words she wheeled herself away and I was alone. In the changing room. With a floor to ceiling mirror...

I placed the dress over me to get a feel then I started to undress from my uniform into this dress. Once it was on I saw myself. My figure helped but I had muscle. Was that sexy? Appealing? I even posed with my leg out the slit.

"Raven! I'm back with shoes!" Seri snapped me out my thoughts and shoved the shoe box under the door. I looked inside. They were black high heels...

"You sure about this Seri?" I called out.

"trust me!!!" Seri giggled.

I gulped and tried on the shoes. I looked at myself again and was amazed. Everything...matched me... Was Seri some kind of fashion genius? Maybe those fashion magazines around the hospital didn't help.

"come on out I wanna seeeeee!!!" Seri whined and scooted her wheelchair back.

I opened the door and revealed myself. The look on Seri's face said it all. She looked like she saw an angel.

"you look...amazing!!!!" She took a picture with her phone. "Sephi will FLIP when he sees you in this dress!!!"

"you think so?" I blushed.

"I know so! And with your silver earrings to match him it'll be perfect!!! Zack is already matching me with a pink tie already. He is not scared of pink!" Seri laughed.

I smiled, "then I'll get this dress. And maybe a necklace for both of us"

I quickly got unchanged and went to go pick out some necklaces. I got matching silver bang necklaces for us. I paid for the shopping spree and we headed on home to the apartment. Only god knows what will happen tonight...

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

The ballroom of the venue was packed with higher ups and other important people. I adjusted my dress. My hair and make up fixed up to match my dress. I touched my necklace and took a deep breath and walked into the venue. Seri already left earlier with Sephiroth for the venue. She was adamant Sephiroth doesn't see me get dressed in my pretty gown. My heels clicked along the floor as my presence started to turn heads and unwanted whispers. Why am I so nervous?

Then I saw Seri and Zack talking it up in the SOLDIER section of the venue with our names on the tables on the outside of the dancefloor.

"well look who decided to show up!!" Zack chuckled, "you look pretty good in a dress and is that a clutch?!"

"yes Zack...and you look stunning in that suit. Really brings out your eyes" I teased. Zack's cheeks turned pink. "And your cheeks~"

Seri chuckled, "he at least has some good dance moves."

"Seri where is your brother?" I asked.

"over there next to the corporates and higher ups. He's been sipping champagne for an hour with them..." She pointed.

I rolled my eyes and walked over to them. The drunken fools started whistling at my appearance. I deflected their looks and focused on Sephiroth.

"Look who finally decided to wear make up after so long" Sephiroth commented as he left the drunken old men to come to me.

"you don't look half bad yourself" I adjusted his blue tie. I knew Seri would make him match me.

"Shall we go out to the balcony? Away from these fools and noise?" He suggested. I gladly accepted and we walked outside.

"I'm so used to the sound of the battlefield and hospital. Yet I always get nervous around other people." I chuckled. "At least Seri and Zack are having a great time."

Sephiroth chuckled and held Raven close, "who says we can't have our own fun out here? May I have this dance?"

I blushed and smiled, "you may" he soon pulled me in and we began slow dancing on the balcony to the muffled music of the ballroom. The moon shines full and bright above us.

We swayed back and forth and he spun me a few times. I knew he wasn't much for dancing but he learned to cheer me up when we were teenagers. He knew my father loved to dance with me. Even Genesis and Angeal got on the bandwagon. They were all my best friends. Well now I only have Sephiroth. Ever since we were young we were glued to the hip, even in battle we had each other's backs.

My heart started pounding faster at the thought of feelings for Sephiroth. Are we allowed? I'm not in SOLDIER anymore by default but I work with Seri now so it might be?

"you're making that face again~" Sephiroth spoke softly and snapped me out of my thoughts.

"what face?"

"the cute face you make when you're deep in thought or worried." Sephiroth smirked. Cute? Cute?!

"oh...sorry..." I chuckled embarrassingly.

"don't be sorry, I like it, besides you're beautiful tonight. Seri picked out a nice dress" he placed a hand on my hip, trailing his fingers against my exposed back, "and don't worry about the muscles, I like that about you, you're not dainty or fragile like Seri. Strong and stubborn."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, "you think so?"

"I know so" Sephiroth placed his other hand on my hip, leaning in closer to where we're almost nose to nose.

"I'm glad you said that, because I like a man who can keep me on my toes and always had my back for the past 25+ years" I stared into his eyes as the moonlight hit them.

"then I'll hold you to it for the rest of our lives. You've done too much to just be rewarded once" he leaned in closer.

"it's a promise" I closed the gap and kissed him. We held each other. He lifted me a bit to get one last jab at the toes statement. His chapped lips were soft and his hair was like silk. He even put it up for once in a low pony with a small braid.

We separated with a few good breaths between us. Was dad always right that I might end up with Sephiroth? I don't care, if it is true, I know where my heart lies tonight. It's definitely with him. Soon we were surprised to see Seri and Zack. Seri looked like she was about to lose it at the fact we finally kissed. Zack was dumbfounded that Sephiroth knew how to be romantic.

"I did it! I knew you guys would come out here! And you kissed!!!!" Seri squeaked out giggles and stumbled to her brother and I.

Sephiroth held her steady, "I guess your constant nagging about me staring and smiling paid off, little sister."

Seri smiled, "it's only a matter of time till I hear wedding bells! I wanna be the maid of honor! Can we invite Aerith?! Cloud?!"

"Slow down Hyperactive Kitten, it'll be way down the line for that possibility. What if we just eloped?" I chuckled.

"don't care! I still get wedding bells!" Seri smiled as Sephiroth twirled her around in his arm. She brought him so much joy. I don't remember a day where he tried to visit her and play with her, even being a muse for her paintings. She loved him just as much.

"maybe once I retire, we'll see about that" Sephiroth smiled.

Zack gasped, "you're leaving me all alone no fair! It'll just be me and Cloud!" He pouted playfully.

I laughed at his expression and we had a fun night for the rest of the evening. My feet were sore and tired from dancing. At the apartment I helped Seri get ready for bed and hung her cute dress up for her to look at in her room. I made my way to the other bedroom and got undressed into pajama shorts and a tank top. I wiped off all my make up.

Sephiroth was just in sweatpants as he looked at me with soft eyes. I walked to him and gave him another kiss. Memories of sharing a tent or a bed together on trips, even into older age, came into my mind. Entangling our bodies together to stay warm. Him placing his head on mine. Even in uniform it was comfy. Like we were two sides of one coin. We laid down in the large bed, embracing each other, with me laying my head on his chest. Listening to his strong heart. His strong arm wrapped around my figure. My olivey complexion is a clear difference from his pale skin.

"Goodnight Sephiroth" I yawned softly.

"Goodnight Raven...I love you" He smiled.

"I love you too"

[aestariiwilderness]

BB Season 3 Thoughts, Part II, since this is apparently a thing I'm doing at the moment *SPOILERS*

For the new episode. I have already forgotten what it's called. Aside from "The One Where Omega & Crosshair Become Hustlers"

So, from what I'm seeing from this, Crosshair is most relaxed and content (a) in an inversely proportional relationship to the aggravation of the people around him; bonus points if he is causing the aggravation and (b) when someone else -- ANYONE ELSE -- is in charge. Up to and including small blond civilian. That's when he can snark the most at the people soldiering on under the actual responsibility (see: Hunter, Rex), footloose and fancy-free in the knowledge that even when the plan goes wrong, it won't be His Fault. This is, objectively, hilarious. ("Smoker-Coded Angst Man Manifesting As the Physical Representation of a Hard-Bitten Hedgehog Perfectly Happy Being Smoker-Coded Angst Man: Film at Eleven"; "Younger Sibling Most Fulfilled In Life When Criticizing Older Siblings' Plans While Bringing Absolutely Nothing to the Table").

The extent to which he is taking this in "Life Changing Field Trip with Little Sister Less Than Half My Height" is both hilarious and concerning. (Seriously. Is there brain damage here? Is he just that determined to Not Be Making the Decisions? No wonder he identified so hard with the Empire, the man can't seem to function without an overlord to be bitter about).

Omega is setting her sights too low. JUST letting all the animals free? JUST helping Gregor? JUST helping Hera's parents? With a squad of elite commandos (who were also, when they met her, cocky nine-year-old morons with blasters and mild superpowers, I will grant you that) wrapped around her little finger against their better judgment, she could have pointed them at the Emperor by now and BANG. The next thing you know, through the power of plot, family, and completely unhinged clone shenanigans? Palpatine is a smoking pile of nerf nuggets, someone's lost a limb, Omega's hanging from the Senate Dome, and we're still retrieving Hunter after he accidentally grappled onto a passing speeder and got dragged three planetary blocks downtown.

Omega, having just survived prison, a prison escape, and a violent crashlanding into a planet that actually seems to be the geographical equivalent of Crosshair himself, flying high on step 45.7a of this escape "plan": wait we need the navicomputer so we can go back and rescue all the other prisoners! Crosshair (who was on step 2: survive?? Maybe?? Why is there a dog behind my seat??): what

Crosshair's biggest complaint with Omega's leadership: you're wasting my murder skills! Rampart wouldn't do this to me

Omega's first idea for a moral, peaceful resolution: um. Gambling. I've done it before and earned lots! (Crosshair, frantically rearranging everything he knows about his brothers in his head: you've what)

Omega's second idea for a moral, semi-peaceful resolution: RELEASE THE KRAKEN

Baby Goggles Victorian Street Urchin Child (which Crosshair was totally 100% down with beating into the ground at the slightest provocation, which is also 100% in character)

Omega, morphing into Hunter after five minutes with Crosshair in a mildly snarky mood: STOW IT

Omega, ship thief master. Han Solo wishes he had what she has

Scottish?? Imperial Officer??

All the clones. They're all so homeschooled

Crosshair, wearing a soft quilted jacket instead of the black gothic armor caked with blood his soul naturally craves: ugh mom why

Oh, don't even with this ominous music and Wrecker not smiling. Please. Pull the other one, it's got bells on. Is being miffed at Crosshair a rational reaction? Absolutely. Would they be in this mess without his, uh, everything? No, they wouldn't. Is being suspicious of Crosshair a rational reaction? Yes, and VERY HEALTHY TOO. Do I want them to be mad at him? 100% with this garbage man. Which is why it will be very hard to convince me that in the next episode, actual marshmallow Wrecker and currently-held-together-with-string-and-duct-tape Hunter aren't going to take one look at Crosshair, missing-stray-cat-with-one-ear-and-no-redeeming-qualities, and burst into tears.

[keytomind]

INSPIRATION 101

This post will be two-fold. You shall see.

Have you ever felt inspired to do better for yourself because someone that you cared about did not see the best in you?

We can dissect all of the flaws in such a person’s thinking, but rather than doing so, let us use such a scenario as fuel for our growth.

When another person whom you cared for begins to say negative things about you by either hurling insults in your direction or invalidating your beliefs, they are only verbalizing their own insecurities and attempting to weaponize them against you. They will call you weak, soft, stupid, and litany of adjectives that will either bring you to tears or bring you to laughter as they do not know you as well as they think they do.

I have been single for going on six years now. There are times that I am incredibly bored and dissatisfied with my life, but it beats the option of being stuck with a person that you are miserable with, just to have a warm body laying next to you in bed at night.

Shortly after this dissolved relationship, I made the greatest purchase of my life: hold up, that was buying a dog… several dogs, actually. OK, the next best purchase that I ever made was investing in a Peloton. I am at the age where running and other cardio becomes too much wear and tear on my bones and joints, and cycling has become the perfect alternative for me. Rather than purchasing a mountain bike to hit the roads, a stationary bike works best for me as it allows me to avoid making any bullshit excuses, because if I was stuck with only an outdoor bike, it is too easy for me to say that it’s too late, it’s dark outside, it’s cold, it’s raining, it’s snowing, etc. When that stationary bike is staring at me in my living room, it holds me accountable from not getting the work done, and consistent accountability is the determining factor towards achieving results, and results are so fucking addicting.

As I rode my bike tonight, I was planning to only do a short ride to break a sweat. I manicured an incredible playlist to get me going and with each mile that logged in the odometer, it only fired me up to keep going farther. And as I rode, all I could think about was that one person who did not value me in the same light that I valued her. She thought that she knew me, but the truth is that she will never get to experience the best parts of me, and as I continue to work and I feel my core burning and my weight dropping to return back to where I want to be, all I could think was “keep fucking going… don’t stop now.”

The second fold of this piece…

In honor of arguably America’s greatest holiday tomorrow, the Fourth of July, I am only reminded of the greatest man that I have ever known and who I miss in more ways than I can efficiently put into words: my mother’s father, whom I called Pappy.

Pappy was a 17 year old boy when he went to war. He lied about his age because his best friend (his brother) was drafted and he wanted to enlist in order to fight alongside him and protect him. (Do they still make men like this anymore? I fucking doubt it.)

As his grandson, I used to ask him all the time “Pappy, what did you do in the war?” and Pappy always downplayed his role, saying that he was nothing more than a truck driver. He told me that he fought in Germany and that he never saw any true battle, but he had scars that said otherwise and he claimed that it was shrapnel that caught him here and there.

When he passed away at the age of 92, we studied his DD214 (his discharge paperwork) when applying for his military benefits and his paperwork stated that he was the recipient of four bronze stars. This honor is only given to soldiers who exhibited incredible valor in the field of battle. When I shared this information with some of the local veterans that I knew, they were all amazed and eager to learn how he earned them, and they were equally disappointed to learn that he never shared those stories with us, although they understood why. Some of those boys left those stories behind because they just hurt too much and they wanted to forget about them.

As a civilian, even I knew that a soldier is not awarded four bronze stars for being “just a truck driver”. My Pappy was so much more than that. Knowing who he was and what he stood for, I know now that my Pappy was a bad mother fucker who somehow had a heart of gold. He didn’t take any shit from anyone because he learned that life was too short and it could be taken from him in a heartbeat.

As I ride my bike, and as I grow tired in my rides and I consider cutting the ride short or taking break, I remind myself that there were times that people like my Pappy were not afforded such breaks. When he was charging unprotected into battle with artillery flying aimed in his direction, did he get a break? Fuck no. Did he complain? Again, fuck no. This is a man, or a young boy, who lied about his age to fight for his country and to protect his older brother from our enemies. If they weren’t given a break, do I deserve one? Arguably not.

On this Fourth of July, and with an incredibly important election on our horizon this November, make sure you thank a veteran for the freedom that you have today. Work a little harder and give thanks for everything you are blessed with in your life, even if it isn’t much, because you could have so much less, and most importantly, none of us deserve it. We aren’t as special as our parents may have conditioned us to believe as innocent little five year old children. There is always someone out there who has it much worse than we do, so quit your bitchin’ and count your blessings because you woke up today and you are still here.

I will end on this note. When I was a youngster, there was a popular TV show called MASH. It was about a medical unit stationed in Korea that helped care for sick and injured soldiers, and most surprisingly, this show was a comedy.

Pappy absolutely hated this show. It disgusted him to even see it advertised, and when it was, or if my grandparents left the TV on and MASH was about to come on, I used to tease Pappy and ask him if he wanted to watch MASH. Every single time that I can remember, he would get up from his recliner, throw his hand at the TV, and he would mutter the same thing: “there is nothing funny about war.”

These words have so much weight for me today, in ways that I simply could not understand as a child.

As a grown man, I feel horrible for every time that I unknowingly teased him about watching MASH. As I said earlier, my Pappy was a bad mother fucker and you could not convince me otherwise. Enjoy your life, count your blessings, thank our veterans (regardless of however you feel about any wars), and pray for America…. and work fucking hard, because nobody owes you a thing except for what you owe yourself, which is to live your best live.

Love you, Pappy 🖤🖤🇺🇸 and thank you for everything

[arisenreborn]

5 Character Associations - Olivia

EMOTIONS/FEELINGS:

Proud determination and defiance. Eschews tradition, sometimes with a childish petulance. (Nevertheless, perhaps hypocritically, loves traditions that let her dress up and have fun.)

Charismatic; positive and friendly, she seeks to protect and uplift others, naturally drawing people to her

Confident, sometimes to a fault. She pursues her path and what she believes is right without hesitation - (if she hesitates, she's likely to spiral into one doubt after another...)

Passionate. Very much of the "go big or go home" sentiment: Work Hard, Party Harder. She wants to experience everything fully, no half-measures, nothing half-hearted.

Has deep-seated hurts related to emotional abandonment and not being good enough that really ought to be addressed but she'd rather just keep working herself raw to prove herself than sit too long to do the hard emotional work.

COLOURS:

sapphire blue

emerald green

blue goldstone

iridescent opal

amethyst purple

SCENTS:

lavender & honey - (her bathing go-to's)

the fresh green scents of vermund's wilderness

wheat & oxen - (she spends a lot of time in the fields outside of Vernworth)

new - new leather, new steel, most everything she's wearing has a scent of 'newness' to it, fresh bought and yet to be tested.

iron & fire - (she spends a lot of time around the smithy)

OBJECTS:

Necklace of elven make - said to be an heirloom of an ancestor, she was the only one in this day and age to care for it.

Tramont family amulet - denotes her as a member of the family, despite kind of being disowned.

Wolf fang - while she has many of these, this one she had crafted into a necklace - it was the first 'gift' Emrys gave her.

Crow mask - for masquerades or skullduggery, it is equal parts beautifully ornate and alluring, and frightfully forbidding.

Hand mirror - Made of pewter and engraved with ornate birds and flowers, it was a gift from her younger sister when she left the family estate.

BODY LANGUAGE:

Open - almost dangerously so. Any drill instructor of the knights would reprimand her for being so lax. But she's quick like a spring to respond, and thinks that 'laxness' is what better enables 'flexibility'.

Flowing, each step feels like a dance. She turns to someone calling her name and smiles, waving, as the sunlight dances around her - like a moving image of some princess from a storybook.

Almost princely, charming, bends and yields around the object of her attention, gently guiding touches as if leading a dance.

White knuckles. Her whole body tenses seeing soldiers beat down on civilians. Nostrils flared, cold resolution in the eyes. She sees the solution, and acts without remorse.

A dull look in her usually shining, lively eyes, a slouch in her shoulders. Only one person sees it, behind the closed doors of their abode. Tired, so tired of fighting and constantly trying to prove herself and- and then it's quickly gone. The light sparks anew, and she presses onward. She isn't doing this for herself, after all.

AESTHETICS:

swords & shields - to protect, not just to defend but to slay

fresh fruit with honey

beautiful, fancy dresses of many colors

bloody knuckles, bruised cheeks, a cut lip, circles under the eyes

shimmering goblets of wine & glittering masquerade halls VS overflowing mugs of ale & raucous, crowded taverns

SONGS:

Florence + The Machine - King

The Oh Hellos - Second Child, Restless Child

Laura Marling - Hope in the Air

Beyoncé - I Was Here

Florence + The Machine - I'm Not Calling You A Liar

[thebigsl33p]

We Were Angels Once, Don't You Remember?

A/NM: I love this musical and no one can stop me from titling my fics after it, or just general War and Peace quotes. (Natasha, Pierre and The Great Comet of 1812). (I also tattoeed myself with the comet yesterday and idk abt it I reckon it'll be gone in three weeks)

Bold : Aleksander's letters

Italics: The Reader's lettersb

My Dear wife,

I have no intention to bore you with my journey to The Fold, nor the details of the First or Second Army. In summary, the armies are well, as was the journey save for the major flaw that you were not by my side. I suppose, however, that it is good to be with and among our soldiers, to see your plans into action.

Despite my previous words, I will tell you of something I saw during the journey. On horseback and taking a different route from everybody else on the journey, as usual, I came across a field. It was too early in the season for the flowers to have bloomed, however I could see many green, unopened stems and buds, and stopped to think of you. I would very much like to take you there when summer comes, to witness a natural beauty secondary to yours.

I do sincerely believe it will be a sight you will favour, and we could make a nice break out of it - something different from our usual afternoon horseriding, and a savoured rest from The Little Palace. Do tell me what you think.

I beg of you to write me about the most trivial aspects of your day, just so I may have more of you with me while we are apart. Even though it is only a couple days we must spend away from each other I think of you endlessly. I must confess it is hard to work without thinking of you but if I had to choose any distraction, it would be you. In your absence, I see you in everything: in the maps the otkazat'sya cartographers, in the patches of greenery around the camp, in the ruins of the buildings we passed and the lights of the tents.

You haunt me, and yet you are not dead. I know you wait for me at home, and still I cannot help but feel grief over being apart from you.

I beg of you to write me swiftly, milaya,

All my love,

Aleksander.

-

To my love, Aleksander,

How you are so charming through pen and paper, I will never understand.

Moreover, I am well. Genya has been keeping me company between the Tsar and Tsarita, but she does not have your looks. On a serious note, I miss you terribly. A few days since reading your last letter has built a thousand years of longing inside me.

I find myself turning to speak to you in the library or in meetings which results in Genya's teasing when she sees my words catch in my throat. The bed feels unbelievably big and cold, and I'm reluctant to tell you that I have taken to falling asleep next to, or wearing, your old Keftas. Silly and childish, I know, but at night I can dream it is you.

There is not much else to tell. The Little Palace is... well, The Little Palace: teeming with gossip about who is betrothed to who, about us and so forth, Preparations have begun for the next upcoming ball, which I trust you will have returned for. I hope you, my husband, will not leave me to face those horrible people alone.

And you know how much I enjoy our private conversations in front of others. The little looks of distaste, slight taps of our fingers and slight turns of the head. They are very entertaining, even if the company is boresome.

I fantasise about your return too much. It doesn't matter how - whether day or night, whether I fall into your arms or wake up with you beside me - all that matters is that you are finally back with me, in our Little Palace. I long to sleep beside you, to hold you in the night and to wake up with the soft spring sun across us, soft sheets and your ever-inviting eyes.

I have spoken enough about myself. How are you, my love? How has The Fold been treating you? I send my deepest wishes that the work is not too hard... and there are not too many fights.

I wish for you to know that I wait for you, painfully. Though may I urge you to return soon, unless you wish to find Genya sharing your side of the bed...

My heart,

Y/N.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

*Shadow and bone season 2 spoiler warning!!!*

It’s time to talk about the costumes in season 2. I did not think that it was possible to top what the costume department pulled of in season one but damn if they didn’t outdo themselves!!!!

Miracles were performed.

First of all, the Kefta redesigns for the Darkling’s grisha were absolutely brilliant. The costumes featured mostly the same colour choices to represent each order, but in darker tones and with different styles of embroidery to their Little Palace counterparts. This is a physical representation of their allegiance to the Darkling, creating a clear divide between his grisha and those loyal to Alina, but I think it could possibly also represent the fact that their power has been warped by an amplifier from someone born of merzost, since it means they no longer fit in with the other grisha. This could possibly even be foreshadowing the way Nina feels that she can no longer fit in with other grisha after her power is changed by parem, since she believes her new abilities to be closer to merzost than the small science. The new costuming for the Darkling’s grisha also includes a tattoo on their hands, and although I don’t want to talk about it in too much detail here because I’m planning a post with specific focus on that tattoo, I did want to mention it as a very interesting aspect of their appearances that once again separates them from the other grisha. The Darkling’s own Kefta has also been redesigned, I don’t have anything to say about it that hasn’t already been talked about by Ben Barnes and Jessie Mei Li in interviews and the costume department tour video, but basically they said that the gold detailing represents the tether and the way the Darkling and Alina now share some of each other’s powers and I absolutely love that detail!

What’s interesting about Genya’s costume is that she never gets a redesigned Kefta when she’s still with the Darkling, but returns to the red and blue she wore at the end of season one. This represents her allegiance not fully lying with the Darkling, or by this point not at all, but it’s also the Kefta she was wearing when Alina felt she had betrayed her; creating a painful and permanent reminder to the audience of the way Genya has been manipulated and abused even through the control of her friends so that she had no-one left to trust, or who she believes will trust her. No-one except David, who also never wears a redesigned Kefta. One of my favourite things about Genya’s costuming, however, was that they put her in her civilian clothes when she was attacked by the Darkling and the nichevo’ya. This was incredibly powerful, because it highlighted her complete lack of power: in this scene she was not a soldier, she was not a member of the Second Army or any kind of rebellion, she was not even a Tailor. In this scene she was just a girl who had been hurt, manipulated, and abused, and who had run out of places to hide. For me, it made this moment even more painful and even more powerful because it was her renouncing what she said to Alina - “I am his soldier” - and forcing the audience to witness her pain as exactly what Alina replied: “We are his pawns. Nothing more”.

The only thing I would change about Genya’s costuming, is that I would have given her a veil after the attack. For me reading the book, Genya’s veil became a brilliantly important symbol as a physical manifestation of her psychological progress. When she eventually sheds the veil, it is because she feels that she is safe to do so and it’s Alina that helps her come to that conclusion. Both seasons have proven to us that the costume department are FANTASTIC at bringing symbols and little details to life, and I think they could have had an absolute field day with this.

The only other thing about costumes written in my notes is “whoever gave Jesper a skirt deserves a raise, but could they have given him a skirt that went with the rest of the suit a bit better?” but honestly I’m rewatching right now and the combo of that suit and that skirt is growing on me.

…Sorry for yet another massively long post. I’m very excited.

[mykelneedssleep]

MW3 Spoilers!

When Soap dies Ghost lifts the dog tags from his body with more care than he's taken to do anything. They're looped around his neck beside his own. There's no need for them to stay with Johnny's body, there are people to identify him. The people who love him are the ones to file the paperwork. Lieutenant Simon Riley is supposed to sign the death certificate. He never does.

The metal of Soap's feels unnaturally colder than his own, the weight heavier. His body knows he wears two pairs. His mind knows the addition of the second ripped something crucial from his already fractured soul.

When Ghost dies he does so alone. His team isn't there to collect his remains, they aren't there to give him a small but never the less sad funeral, they aren't even there to file the paperwork. They didn't abandon him, he ran away. It's not that they don't love him, it's that they knew he needed the space.

When the men come to collect his body, to record the death, to make him just another number sacrificed in the endless war for peace they find two identities wrapped around his neck. Names pressed to his chest like the locket of a lover.

RILEY SIMON, J. 2073357 O POS ATHEIST MACTAVISH JOHN, J. 2073521 O NEG CATHOLIC

They thought there must have been some sort of mistake, a mix-up in the paperwork somewhere because there was an unknown soldier in the field wearing the identities of two men who had died years ago. Simon Riley, from what they could find went MIA after his team was betrayed well over a decade ago and was declared KIA years later when they couldn't recover him. John MacTavish's tag was newer, shinier than the other, but supposedly he'd been shot years ago. That's what they could find anyway.

No one could account for the body rotting away in the morgue unidentified and unnamed. No one knew him apparently, not even the team he was with.

Laswell finds out a month later, she'd been keeping silent tabs on him until he disappeared. She calls Price as soon as she knows, holding back tears the same way she did with Soap. "He has a grave," she says quietly. They visit with Gaz the day after.

Price laughs when he sees the gravestone. Then he cries.

The other two join him.

They stare at the engraving. Something that should have could have been real if only things had worked out differently. If they'd been a little faster, prepared a little bit more, if Price had let Soap pull that trigger all those years ago. But even though it didn't everything still led to this moment, the three of them at this grave the same way they would've been if things had changed back then. The hilarity of it was heartbreaking.

They'd combined them for the records. Created an identity for a soldier that never existed to mark the resting place of one who died carrying two dead men with him.

In death, Ghost is content, for the first time ever, with the identity his name provides him with.

Simon J. MacTavish Soldier, Lover

Price is the last to leave. He does so with a smile and another glace at the stone, "congrats boys," he says to no one in particular, "wish I could've been there to see it."

[dorminchu]

Between Heaven and Earth: Chapter Three

a/n: Trying out shorter chapters, for the sake of editing and pacing.

Before the breach, Eren’s biggest opponents were childhood bullies who picked on him or Armin, and the occasional doubter of the Scouting Legion’s potential. Whereas his mother was against the idea of his enlistment from the beginning, his father suggested he could become a field medic. After all, there were more ways to help humanity than killing Titans. A lesser evil, no doubt posed for his mother’s sake. To Eren, it was better than disapproval.

Once Mikasa came to live with their family, she took the spot next to Eren’s bed in the loft. She was so quiet, if Eren hadn’t gotten to know her so well he’d have assumed she was only shy. But she looked out for him in the same way he did Armin, like the sister he’d never had. Sure, she could be a little stubborn and overprotective, chiding him for picking fights he couldn’t win, but Eren never loathed her for it. She was just keeping him on the straight and narrow, same as he’d do for her or Armin or anyone important.

That afternoon they spent chopping wood. Mikasa was pretty good at it, having grown up in the countryside. Armin couldn’t keep the same pace with the axe, too nervous of the potential for harm. He’d struggle to carry home the amount of wood as Eren, though he never complained about it. When Eren offered to help him, though, Armin would snap that he was fine, that he didn’t need to be worried after.

Eren didn’t get it. He wasn’t worrying after Armin, anyone could see that he was struggling, but that just made it worse. So he gave Armin his space, for the sake of their friendship. Eren didn’t mind bringing Mikasa along. If Armin felt differently, he didn’t say.

On the way back, they passed by a couple Garrison soldiers playing cards. Mister Hannes wasn’t at his post to-day. Probably blotto.

“She’s part of the family,” Eren said.

“Yeah,” the Garrison soldier said, “we heard about what happened. You’ve got the luck of the Devil.”

Eren shrugged. “I’d do it again.”

The men shared a laugh, more to themselves.

Mikasa said nothing for a while. Moving on, the usual silence between them felt different. When she asked, “Why the Scouting Legion?” Eren hesitated. Armin had made him swear not to tell anyone about his grandfather’s theories. Not even his mother and father would speak of it.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Mikasa nodded.

Eren turned down a side-street, away from prying eyes. “ Because there must be a world beyond these Walls,” he said. “Just like the Titans. We don’t know where they come from or how they’re created, so it stands to reason we must not know about what’s on the other side of the Walls. Once the Titans are eradicated, we can take back what was stolen from humanity.”

“How can you be sure it’s true?”

Eren shrugged her off. “What does that matter if I’m sure or not? It’s our right to see what’s out there.”

Mikasa frowned slightly. “What’s out there?”

“Armin told me,” he said quietly. “His grandfather knows a lot of things about the outside world. He has books from the world outside the Walls. But his family could get in a lot of trouble if anyone finds out. They’ll say he’s spreading misinformation.”

Mikasa nodded. She readjusted the scarf. She never went a day without it. His mother would’ve chastised her by now.

“You should wash it,” he said, “before you wear it out.”

“I know,” she muttered. “It just reminds me of you.”

Eren said, “Why does that matter?”

Mikasa wouldn’t talk to him. She wouldn’t explain what he’d done to upset her, either.

When they got back to the house and his mother asked how they’d been, Mikasa parroted his statement about the Scouting Regiment.

“Yes,” his mother said dryly, “I’ve yet to change his mind.”

Eren shot Mikasa a look. Was she still upset? Or just playing mother hen? What did she know about the Scouting Legion, anyway?

“The Garrison is already overcrowded,” Eren said. “And the Military Police is corrupt, they'd sooner sit on their asses then fix anything.”

“The military just want to boost their numbers,” his mother said. “They've been working on their slogans to make up for it.”

Eren scowled at the pile of lumber he'd brought in. Mikasa's eyes rested on the side of his neck.

“They’re doing the job that no one else can,” he said. “It’s more than the Garrison have done.”

The plate slipped from his mother’s hands and shattered against the floor. Mikasa flinched. Eren did not.

“The Scouting Legion,” his mother said, in a tight voice, “has taken more lives campaigning for a suicide mission than the plague did. If that’s what your heart is set on, you might as well just throw your life away.”

“We’re no better than livestock then. Why have a military at all?”

“Better to be livestock then carrion,” his mother said.

Even then, Eren couldn't muster any real animosity beyond childish frustration. She was saying it to protect him, the only way she knew. She'd lived her whole life inside the Walls and never questioned what she was told. She’d grown too comfortable, hunkered down in this house, wasting away.

While Eren took out his feelings on the washboard and laundry, Mikasa stayed behind to help his mother with dinner. Usually Eren would be the one pitching in, but with two equally stubborn people living under the same roof, they’d get into another argument if they didn’t cool off first. Besides, his mother had taken kindly to Mikasa. She probably appreciated the extra help.

After dinner, his mother took him aside. Eren was bracing himself for another lecture about humanity’s sake not being his burden, and how he should at least try to think about his future rather than an ideal. But all she asked about was Mikasa’s change in mood.

“Oh, well, I said she ought to wash the scarf before she wore it out. And she said it reminded her of me, which doesn’t change what I said. It’s her scarf now. She can wear it if she wants to, it’s just going to get dirty is all.”

His mother sighed. “Eren, I don’t think she’s unaware.”

Eren averted his eyes. “I reckon that I hurt her feelings.”

“She told me about the day you found her. It’s a nice memory,” his mother said. “Perhaps one of the few memories she has of that day. Sometimes, when people are grieving, they’ll act in ways that might seem a little strange. Just give her some time to adjust. I’m sure she’ll wash the scarf.”

“Right,” he said. He was about to apologise for their fight, but his mother had a habit of shrugging the topic off when it came to the military. So he wouldn’t bring it up anymore, at least not while she was present. Five years was a long time away from conscription.

As he got ready for bed, Mikasa was sitting by the window with the dying flame of a candlewick. The view wasn’t much. From the belltower, you’d be able to see all the way to the river that ran through Shiganshina. But here, you couldn’t even see over the Wall, though that wasn’t much to write home about either.

“It’s a nice view,” Mikasa said. “Even with all these buildings in the way. It’s a lot of roofs.”

Eren huffed. “I guess I never really thought about it that way.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “About those Garrison men. I shouldn’t have talked so much about what happened.”

Mikasa looked at him oddly. “Why not?”

“Because—it’s none of their business.”

“All they need to know is that I live with your family now, after my parents died. Otherwise it would be a little odd.”

“Why would that be odd?”

She shrugged. “Because I had to come from somewhere. Unless Doctor Jaeger kidnaps children in his spare time, which isn’t likely. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible either. Maybe that’s why he’s gone for such a long period of time.”

Eren snorted. “You’re being silly.”

The corner of her mouth turned. “But he could be harbouring secrets we don’t know about. How do you really know he’s going where he says?”

Eren shook his head. “He’s just working in the next town over. Mister Hannes and the other Garrison soldiers know him. Captain Shadis, as well, so they’d know if he wasn’t where he said.”

“Shadis?”

“That’s right, I never told you. Captain Shadis is in the Scouting Legion.”

“Did your father ever join?”

“No, he’s just a regular doctor. I used to think he’d be a field medic at least.”

The candle snuffed out with the breeze. Eren hiked his shoulders up to disguise a shiver. Mikasa went to close the shutters and he said, “I’m sorry for what I said, about the scarf.”

Mikasa paused. “It’s all right.”

⁂

Between the evening of Wall Maria’s breach, and waking up next to Armin and Mikasa in the workhouse, there was a gap in Eren’s memory. Whenever roused, unsure of himself, he would reach for his breast and find the shape of the key. Physical evidence of the home he’d once occupied.

Armin and Mikasa, and Mister Hannes, they hadn’t watched. Eren could’ve closed his eyes against what was happening, but he was powerless. Clinging to rage, it wasn’t for the sake of bravery. It was the only just response in a world so unfathomably cruel.

On the boat, the Garrison soldiers gave them all rations and a canteen to pass around. When Armin passed it to him, Mikasa grabbed Eren’s wrist with a start.

He’d torn his nails attempting to lift the cross-section of a beam too heavy for him. When Mister Hannes pulled him away from the wreckage, Eren’s bloody fingerprints were all over his Garrison jacket. The dull red crust coagulated around his nailbed.

“It’s not that bad,” Eren said. He didn’t react to her grip.

Mikasa’s eyes turned stony. She tore a small scrap of cloth from the hem of her dress, before he could protest, and wrapped it gently around his fingers.

“You’ll see a proper doctor,” she said. “Once we get to Trost.”

Eren nodded. He was staring ahead. Without any Titans present to project his rage onto, he was void of sentiment. Armin laid his head on Eren’s shoulder, and Mikasa’s arm came around them both.

⁂

Despite his record for injuries—concussion in 848, multiple sprains, a broken leg, abdominal puncture in 850—he’d managed to pull through each time. The nurses said he was in peak physical condition.

There was the tattoo inscribed into Mikasa's wrist she always kept covered. Tiny nicks in Armin's fingers from repeated ODM gear maintenance, a shallow cut down his palm—the slip of a knife during kitchen duty. Bruises in the shape of their ODM harnesses.

His body remained uncalloused, difficult to bruise. He’d catch his gaze in the mirror and swear they weren’t always so grey. When he looked at his hands, his body, his mind supplied an impression of pain without proof.

Private Jaeger had the luck of the Devil, they’d said. Eren grinned and went along with it. But it wasn’t some miracle, nor an aspect of his personality he'd choose to define himself—if you’d asked him, he’d say he was no thrill-seeker, just doing whatever was required to become adept with the ODM gear. The sooner he mastered it, the faster he could get onto the front lines and start eradicating Titans.

Mikasa's explanations were too technical, but she was friends with Bertholdt and Reiner and top of the class. She could keep up with them, but she chose to handicap herself by sticking to his side. Even when he made it very clear she didn’t have to, and that he didn’t want to be responsible for her in such a way. If she wanted to join the Legion or the Garrison, she could decide for herself. Just because his mother said to keep an eye on him, he’d think, it doesn’t mean you’re indebted to me.

He’d been reliving the same nightmare ever since leaving Shiganshina. Contrary to what other cadets assumed, it was never about the day itself. His mother’s body, thrashing. She screamed for a while, until the Titan squeezed its grip and her body twisted in on itself. She couldn’t scream anymore, just twitched feebly. His imagination filled in the blanks his emotions refused to accept. There wasn’t much to see at a distance, Mister Hannes’s pace, the cobblestones.

He could go over it, in his mind, but these associations never bled into his dreams. Mikasa and Armin, and the others, they’d just assume as long as he kept his mouth shut. It was easier to explain, under the guise of Titan-loathing mania. Why wouldn’t he dream about his mother’s last moments?

The dissonance used to eat away at him, whenever he wasn’t occupied. Throwing himself into farmwork, training exercises, unarmed combat with anyone willing to scrap, getting thrown around by Leonhardt, a couple snarling matches with Kirschtein. Drinking with the other cadets didn’t stop it so much as heighten his own awareness of his lack—the weight of the key on his breast was an anchor.

⁂

The day Eren's father took him to the basement, Mikasa was running an errand with his mother. It wasn't often Eren got to spend time with his father outside of a work-related context. The basement was where he worked, and he didn’t like to be disturbed.

His father bade him to sit. "This is a perfectly safe procedure. You will enter into a state of increased relaxation and focus, but you will be in control the entire time."

Eren shrugged.

His father pulled out a syringe and rolled up his sleeve. It pricked a bit, but his father was calm throughout the whole process. Eren followed the sound of his voice. That wasn’t so bad.

“Do you feel any different?”

“No, sir.” Eren figured they should probably go back upstairs. Mikasa and his mother would be home soon. His father stared at the desk for a long time. “What was the shot for?”

His father seemed to startle. A slight shift of his shoulders. “For your health. You’re the right age for it.”

His father had no reason to lie.

That evening, Eren turned up feverish. A foul taste lingered in his mouth, like iron and salt. His mother prepared dinner, and the smell of the meat made him want to throw up. He hadn’t meant to. He tried to apologise but all he could taste was iron and salt. It was affecting his sense of smell, or wasn’t it the other way around? He was trembling and blanching, but when he tried to explain he’d just retch again.

His father kept him bedridden and insisted he have no visitors. He said it was stomach flu, but that didn’t make sense to Eren. This blood taste didn’t make sense either. His teeth were fine, no open wounds inside his mouth. He could drink water without vomiting. “Dad,” he rasped, “I think—”

“You’re exhausted,” his father said, in a polite tone he only used with patients that were being unreasonable. “You need sleep.”

That week, his father stayed home and worked in the basement. Eren would listen to the sound of passing horse carts and pedestrians. Mikasa would talk to him about her day, or lay another wet cloth on his brow.

“You’re really feverish,” she said. “I should tell Mr. Jaeger.”

Eren reached for her wrist. “It’s all right,” he said. “I'm feeling better than I was.” He smiled, even though all the muscles in his body were on fire. It didn’t seem to reassure her.

“I’ll just let him know.”

“Mikasa, just wait until he comes upstairs.”

Mikasa held his gaze. “Why?”

Eren frowned. “He doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s working.”

Mikasa was still looking at him.

His parents’ hushed voices, as though he could sleep with midday sunlight pouring through the window.

After a few days, Eren was up and walking again. The metallic aftertaste was still there, just dulled.

The door, usually locked, was open. The food Mikasa left the night before was congealed to the plate. When his father was busy, he could go hours without eating.

He was looking over at the desk, a strange and uncomfortable silence lingered.

“You should be in bed,” he began. It was a strange tone, as if he’d been caught unawares. 

“Sorry, sir. Mikasa wanted to know if you were all right.”

“I’m fine. Just lost track of time.” He readjusted his glasses. “You’re feeling better, I take it?”

“Yes, sir.” Eren couldn’t help it. “Honestly, I feel well enough to go into town with Mikasa.”

“That's precisely why you need to rest,” his father said coolly. “Give it a few more days.”

Surely, his father would’ve locked the door if it were so important. If Eren was contagious, he’d have said as much from the beginning. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that Mikasa didn’t get sick. Nor did you, or mother—so I guessed it wasn’t as serious as it seemed.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” his father snapped. “Armin’s family has enough problems without worrying about his health. You were just throwing up, for God’s sake.”

Eren glanced at the food. He went to take it.

“Leave it,” his father said. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

“You lied to mum about the food. It wasn’t spoiled.”

His father’s laugh was an ugly thing. A rictus grin, as he said, very quietly, “What exactly are you implying? That I’m trying to poison you and your mother?”

Mikasa was upstairs, asleep. There wasn’t anything Eren could say that would assuage this situation. Stupidly, he said, “You’re not making any sense.”

His father grabbed the plate and threw it. It would’ve hit Eren upside the head if his father’s aim hadn’t wavered. Eren flinched as it hit the wall.

“What the hell are you looking at?” he snapped. “I said I’d take care of it, didn’t I?”

The silence was suffocating as Eren rounded up the stairs. Stalking outside, he’d gone for a lap, his skin tingling and feverish, but he didn’t feel anything close to fatigue. He could’ve done several rounds around the neighborhood, but he didn't want to alarm his mother or Mikasa by staying out too long. 

He sat on the riverbank and hurled rocks across the water's surface until he felt a little less like punching something. He took off his shoes and let his feet slip into the water. Up to his ankles, he watched the water steam around his ankles. If he stayed here long enough, he could evaporate all the water in Shiganshina, but his mother would worry and it was a stupid thing to dream anyway.

“Your mother and I wanted to be sure you were all right.”

Eren bristled. "Fine. Feeling better."

His mother excused herself.

“Did you tell that to Mikasa?” Eren spat. “You scared the hell out of her.”

His father blinked. “No, son. I wasn’t angry at her, or you. I’ve been under a tremendous pressure, with work. But that’s no excuse for how I acted this morning.”

Eren set his jaw.

“I just want you to know,” his father said, “that I’m sorry.”

"OK," Eren said. "I believe you."

His father's smile didn't reach his eyes.

⁂

Staring at the underside of the bunk, Eren tasted iron and salt. His eyes were wet, but he could not place a reason.

At the far end of the barracks, Bertholdt was reciting something under his breath. Eren couldn't make out the words, but he laid still, grounding himself in the cadence until his breathing relaxed.

⁂

His first deployment was over before he had the chance to offer more than a few words of courage to his fellow trainees. Defending the Wall from an inevitable breach. Fifteen and bleeding out on the hot rooftop. The damned Titan that ripped his leg was crawling around.

He’d been shouting at Private Kirschtein, stuffing down his own emotions. Kirschtein, if he survived, would just go to Sina anyway. They’d never speak to each other, or get along out of anything other than necessity.

Anyone would be terrified. Eren shoved down his fear and let it expel as authority. He wasn’t any less afraid, just never gave himself into the luxury of that realization. His allies, half-eaten and screaming for help. The best he could do was lie there, leg serrated and pulsing hot blood onto the roof.

Tiles grinding against bare flesh of his knee as he pushed himself up on what was left. The chinos torn and saturated with blood. Bare muscle met tile but he couldn’t feel much beyond the blood pumping from the open wound.

The leg the Titan chewed off felt heavier than it should. His equilibrium was askew. A dull phantom pain shot up the leg he’d lost. He bent double, unable to accept what his sight was telling him. Bones sprouting out of torn flesh, sheathed in sinew and hemic tissue. The flesh wrapped around the newly formed appendage, raw and pink.

He stared at his naked leg, covered in blood and viscera, as if he’d shoved it inside a cow’s stomach. The skin was raw and flaky around the shape of the bite, chinos torn to match.

High pitched scream cut through the confusion. Eren forced himself to crouch unevenly. He was fortunate the Titan had only eaten away the calf. If he could line up with the building he could shoot across and vault over it.

Racing against time. His own body sluggish. He'd lost a lot of blood, running purely on adrenaline.

"You can't die," Eren shouted. "You and I still have to see what's on the other side of Wall Maria."

Armin looked down at where the leg shouldn’t’ve been. He opened his mouth to say something but the Titan’s jaws closed around Eren leaving only the impression of an anguished scream and his own pounding heart.

Falling into darkness.

Impact with liquid, submerged.

Iron and acid in the back of his throat.

Breaking the surface. Hot, rank air sucked into his burning lungs.

Thick smell of pine and cigarettes overtaken by sweeter stink of rot.

Through the haze of pain the small metal shape dug into his breast, burning an imprint into skin. He could keep himself afloat. He’d been swimming in the river by his house since he was little.

Up to his ankles, his skin steamed against the river's current.

Armin was up there.

His left arm from the elbow down had already reformed itself, the skin raw. Bone and muscle where he'd torn the new-grown flesh of his fingers.

"Do you wish to save them, Armin and Mikasa?"

Naked shin bumped against the carrion beside him. The bottom of the Titan’s stomach, or simply the mass of bodies that came before him, indistinguishable. Titans couldn’t digest what they ate, so they’d just excrete the excess and continue. He'd have to cut his way out. Without his blades, that was close to impossible.

Clawing for purchase on the nearest body in-uniform. The ODM canister snagged on one of the bodies, weighing him down. He fumbled with the belt, already corroded by acid, crumbling apart. Drawing the blade from its scabbard, he plunged it into the slick impenetrable surface above him. Up to the hilt, dragging down with all of his strength. The hilt came back, blade snapped off partway within the holster. Blades were built to slash and discard.

He drove it forwards, blind, stabbing into the same slick meat as if the situation would change. An unrecognizable scream tore from his throat. The hairs on his arms and legs stood up. A flash of light from inside himself, the skin on his regrown fingers torn where he’d clawed over so many fallen comrades.

Syringe piercing flesh. 

A trembulous embrace. Tears stained the boy's cheek.

The body he called up from will alone tore apart its confines. Tall as the clocktower itself, a miasma of blood inhaled and exhumed.

The ones who stumbled around like drunken men, unable to recall themselves. Shambling around the narrow streets in search of prey. Dispatching them was simple when they didn’t have the will to fight back. More clustered in the square, encumbered by their own hunger.

Tiny figures vaulted across rooftops, shouting to each other. Significance of their words fell away from his original imperative.

"You must master this power."

⁂

He’d surely wake up to his final moments on a stretcher, all of his hopes dashed to pieces along with his comrades and missing limbs. Awash in a morphine haze.

Instead, his eyes fell to the darkened ceiling. Three stone walls, a hard mattress beneath him and fresh sheets. Manacles at either wrist. On the opposide side of the iron bars, two guards silhouetted in the torchlight. Now that Eren was looking, they weren’t much older than him.

“Hey,” he said. “Where am I? Where’s Armin?”

“Be quiet,” the first MP said, a fair-haired boy of average height. “Commander Irvin’s requested an audience with you.”

Eren froze. “Commander Irvin?” His brain finally kicked back into gear.

I was in the Titan's stomach, and then—Armin. I heard his voice.

A twinge in his shoulder.

Armin was there. Mikasa, too. They must be alive, still. "Where's Mikasa?" 

“I said quiet,” the boy snapped. “You’re lucky enough to be in a cell and not in front of a firing squad, Titan.”

“Feulner,” said the MP on his right, lanky and dark-haired, “leave him alone.”

Was the mission a success? Are Armin and the others still alive? What's the last thing I remember?

Why are they so afraid of me?

"Did—did they survive? Armin and Mikasa?"

"Yeah," the soldier on the right said. "They're safe. A few others didn't make it. You'll be briefed once the tribunal is over."

Tribunal? What the hell did I do? Where's—

He couldn't move his arms. But the lack of the weight against his breast was tangible. A rising panic clenched his insides.

"The key," he blurted. "Where is it?"

Feulner looked at Freudenberg as if to say, what the hell is he talking about?

"Your personal belongings were collected after you were retrieved from the Titan's body," said Freudenberg carefully. "If you cooperate, you'll receive it and anything else that was on your person."

Eren slumped back against the bed. Bare feet planted on the stone. "You're telling me the truth?"

"Yes."

Feulner scoffed. "He's out of his mind."

"Shut up, Feulner," Freudenberg snapped. "The tribunal will decide what his fate will be." He glanced at Eren. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Eren glanced at his manacled hands. "I was in the Titan's stomach. Then—I did what had to be done, for the sake of my comrades."

Freudenberg averted his eyes first. "All right, Jaeger. I believe you."