#I like giving him cauliflower ears | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hellotherepalpalpals · 1 year

Text

Some People Just Need A Little Pampering (Clyde Logan x F!Reader)

Mellie always cut Clyde’s hair. That how it had been his whole life, ever since she was old enough to read her fashion magazines and wield a pair of scissors. All throughout school Clyde sported the latest in Mellie’s favorite hair styles. When he reached high school and started growing his hair out to cover his ears, Mellie still insisted on being the one to trim it. When they’d sit at home, waiting on Jimmy to come up with another cauliflower scheme, Mellie would busy herself with Clyde’s hair, practicing her braids and using her new irons to try and master the art of curling hair.

This was why, when Clyde found himself standing in the middle of the hair salon with no Mellie in sight, he figured he would come back another time. He paused for a second, calling out a hesitant, “Mellie?”, and cringing at the way his voice broke when he raised it. Clyde waited a few seconds for a response and when he got none he took it as his sign to leave. Spinning on his heels, Clyde grabbed the handle to the door, trying to get out as quickly as he could and avoid any awkward encounters. He’d just drive home and call Mellie up when he got there, to see if she’d be around the salon tomorrow. Just as he was opening the door, he heard a voice coming from behind him.

“‘xcuse me, sorry ‘bout that. I was in the back. I thought I heard you callin’ for Mellie, she had to run out real quick but I’m sure she’ll be back soon. In the meantime why don’ you have a seat an’ wait for her. Or if it’s somethin’ simple you need I’m sure I can handle it.”

Clyde felt himself freeze in the doorway, that voice was something magical, sweet and warm like honey. He turned around, trying with no avail to force down the blush that was creeping up his neck. He was grateful that his hair was so long, it covered his neck and his ears, both of which he was sure were very red. It was then Clyde realized that turning around wasn’t really going to help his situation. The woman that accompanied that delightful voice was lovelier than Clyde could’ve imagined. Right as he pulled himself together and was fixing to say something to this pretty little angel he found, she opened her mouth again. A blush dancing across her soft cheeks, she stuck out her hand, “My goodness, I completely forgot, my name is Y/N.” Clyde stared at her hand before raising his prosthetic up as if to show her he couldn’t really shake too well. Her smile didn’t falter for a second as she put her arm down in favor of reaching out with the other. Clyde bit back a smile as he took her hand in his and shook, choosing not to focus on the electrifying feeling of her skin on his, “Clyde. I’m Mellie’s brother.”

Y/N’s bright E/C eyes lit up with understanding, “Ohh so you’re the famous Clyde I been hearin’ so much about.” Clyde felt the heat rising back up to his cheeks and shrugged. “Mellie talks about you and your other brother all the time, Jimmy was it? Anyway, what can I do for ya, Mr. Clyde Logan?”

Stuttering, Clyde tried to explain, “Well, my hair’s been gettin’ a bit long. Thought it might be time for a trim. Mellie’s the only one who cuts my hair though.”

Y/N nodded, “Oh yeah, I’m sure she knows exactly how you like it then. Well, she stepped out a little while ago but I’m sure it won’t be long now if you just wanna wait for her.”

Clyde started to protest, explaining that he could come back later and didn’t want to be a bother. Laughing, Y/N gestured around the empty room, “As you can see we got a whole lot goin’ on, I’m pretty busy at the moment.” Clyde didn’t know how to respond so he stood there silently while Y/N watched. After a moment she gave his arm a light shove, “Aw c’mon Clyde I’m just teasin’. I don’t think you could ever be a bother to anyone.” She turned away from him at that, though Clyde thought he might’ve caught a blush dusting her cheeks again. “Anyway, you can take a seat wherever you like, or you can give Mellie a quick call if you want. I’ll be around so if you need anything just holler, ok?”

Clyde nodded and took a seat in the closest chair, watching as Y/N busied herself tidying up the salon. He found he really enjoyed watching her move around the room, she had an air of comfort around her that made everything she did seem natural and right. He was so caught up in watching her that he choked a bit when she turned towards him expectantly. Laughing lightly she asked,“You mind if I put on a little music?”

Clyde shook his head, praying that his face wasn’t too red though it felt like it was on fire. She giggled and he melted into his chair a little at the sound, “How ‘bout a little Seger, huh?”

He quickly sat back up, “How’d you know?”

She rolled her eyes, the warm smile never leaving her face, “You’re wearin’ his shirt, Clyde.”

The blush returned to Clyde’s face full force and he knew there was no way of hiding it this time, “Right, yeah, ‘course.” He sputtered, trying to respond to her without making it clear how embarrassed he was, “Yeah, that’d be great. Unless you’re not a fan, you don’t gotta play music for me if you wanna listen to somethin’ else.”

She dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand, “Who doesn’t like Bob Seger?”. She walked over to the stereo and fussed with it, picking up her phone and scrolling quickly through her music. Clyde heard the strumming of the opening chords to ‘You’ll Accomp’ny Me’ drift out of the speaker. Y/N started humming along, glancing back at Clyde with a small smile and a raised eyebrow, “This good?” Clyde nodded, a smile gracing his own features.

Y/N turned back to her work, shaking her hips to the music as she moved around the salon. Now, Clyde had seen his fair share of women dancing to all sorts of songs at the bar but nothing beat the sight in front of him. He felt his chest fill with something he couldn’t quite place, warmth and longing and who knows what else. He didn’t really want to go falling in love with this pretty little hairdresser but he had a feeling she wasn’t going to give him much choice. Or maybe he’d just been on his own for too long. Paying more attention to Y/N’s hands he noticed she was organizing all sorts of cremes and what looked like some clay in a jar. Before he could even think he was opening his mouth, “What you got in that jar there?”

Y/N hummed in response, glancing at Clyde with her eyebrows raised before looking back down at her hands. She picked up the jar in question, “Oh this? Mellie’s been tryna branch out lately, we’ve been offering little facials and what not.”

Clyde felt his face contorting with confusion, “Yer puttin’ that on people’s faces? And they pay you fer that?”

Laughing, she set the jar down again and put her hands on her hips, “Yes, they do in fact pay us for this. Have you never done a face mask or nothin’?” The look on Clyde’s face must’ve been enough to answer her question, “Of course, what was I thinkin’. Even with Mellie as a sister, you don’ seem like the type to pamper yourself. You should try it sometime.”

She turned back to her station, moving a couple of things around before she looked back at Clyde from over her shoulder, “Well c’mon now. Get over here, I’m gonna give you your first facial, on the house.”

Clyde stayed sitting, “‘re you sure ‘bout that? Won’t Mellie want you savin’ that for real customers?”

Y/N turned back toward Clyde again with a no nonsense look in her pretty little E/C eyes, “You’re family Clyde. And if Mellie did have a problem with it, then I’ll take it out of my pay. Let me treat you Clyde, everyone could use a little pamperin’.” She pulled the cutest puppy dog eyes Clyde had ever seen and he found he couldn’t say no. With a hefty sigh, Clyde stood from his chair and walked over to where Y/N was, her arms splayed out on either side of her with her hands on the counter of her station.

In a few long strides he was standing directly in front of her, so close he could count each of her pretty little eyelashes. Neither of them said a word, Y/N seemed to be holding her breath as she stared up into his eyes. Clyde held back a chuckle when he saw the heat rising to her face. She averted her eyes and coughed, “Right, so, just take a seat an’ I’ll do the rest, alright?”

He nodded and sat down, eyes on her the whole time. He could tell she was a flustered, and felt a tinge of pride at the knowledge that he had been the cause of such a lovely lady losing her composure. He watched as she went to adjust the volume of the music, ‘In Your Time’ sweetly playing from the speakers, and dim the lights. Without realizing it, Clyde started to sink into his seat, the low lighting, his favorite music, and a pretty girl just itching to take care of him proving to be enough to get him to relax.

Y/N made her way back over to the station, grabbing a headband from the counter. Leaning over Clyde she slipped the fabric around his head, successfully pushing his hair out of his face. Glancing down at Clyde’s flustered face, she giggled and spoke, in a lower and more relaxing tone than she had before, “Have a little faith, Clyde. Just let yourself enjoy this.” Clyde tried his hardest to keep his face neutral and nodded, though it proved more difficult than he thought when he was eye level with Y/N’s chest and she was saying things like that in that voice. He schooled his features and took a deep breath as Y/N turned back to her station. Clyde continued watching her as she mixed a few of the substances from the jars together before facing him again. When their eyes met she laughed again, a light, breathy sound, and shook her head, “You can close your eyes now, Clyde, I’ll warn ya before I do anythin’.”

Blushing, Clyde shut his eyes and steered his thoughts towards the music wafting over from the speakers. He heard Y/N take a few steps around him before he heard her speak again, this time from right behind him, “Alright now Clyde, I’m gonna keep it simple for ya since it’s your first time. This is a sugar scrub, it should smell like apricot mainly. Then I’ll do a mud mask, should smell like coconut.” Clyde jumped a little when he felt her fingers dancing on his face but he got used to the sensation very quickly. She gently massaged the scrub on his face and he felt like he was putty in her hands. When she had gotten around his entire face she paused, “I’m gonna quick wipe this off and then apply the mud mask, ok?” Clyde hummed in response, his eyes still closed and his body more relaxed than it had ever been, especially since he’d gotten back to the States. This time, when she slowly started wiping his face off with a warm, damp towel, he didn’t flinch. He basked in the heat of the towel and Y/N’s soft humming. He heard her move to the station, the sound of her fingers lightly tapping the counter and then she was next to him again, “Last step, this is the mud mask part. Now I’m gonna apply it for ya an’ then you can just rest until it dries, just try an’ keep a straight face, okay?”

Clyde hummed in response, keeping his eyes closed and basking in the feeling of calm, “Whatever you say sweetheart.” He opened one eye ever so slightly and got a glimpse of Y/N’s flaming cheeks as she tried to brush off the pet name. Clyde had to make a conscious effort not to smile right then. And who could blame him for being pleased that he could have that effect on such a wonderful little lady. Clyde was glad he had steeled his features when she started applying the mud. At some point she had warmed it up so it was about the same temperature as the towel. It was thick and heavy on his face, smelled like heaven too, and Y/N’s soft fingers were gentle and sweet on his skin. All too soon his face was covered. He felt the touch of Y/N’s fingers leave his face and had to stop himself from following them.

Y/N coughed slightly, “You can open your eyes now if ya like, or you can keep relaxing that, I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Clyde nodded slightly and continued to lay with his eyes closed.

Soon he felt his face getting tighter. He opened his eyes and looked around, spotting Y/N in the corner sweeping and moving to the music, “Uh, Y/N is it supposed to feel real tight?”

She paused her work and giggled, “Don’t you worry Clyde, that just means it’s drying. It might be ready to take off, lemme come get a look atchu.” Setting her broom down she practically skipped over to his chair, “Well looky there, you’re cracking. Means we can take it off. Don’t suppose I could get a picture first?”

Clyde looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a dried up old river in the desert or something, he had no idea why she’d want a picture of him like this. Grey mud ashy and cracking on his face, the purple hair band wrapped around his head, dark hair sticking up from him laying on it funny. He looked back over at Y/N before realizing his mistake. She’d pulled out those damn puppy eyes again, “Now don’t you go makin’ that face at me darlin’. How am I supposed ta say no to you lookin’ like that?”

Her concentration broke as a wide smile bloomed on her face and Clyde swore that sight alone would make him go blind faster than staring at the sun ever could. “Well darn it Clyde, you figured me out pretty quick.” She laughed lightly, “Does that mean I have permission then? I’m sure Mellie’d love to see this, and I certainly don’t mind havin’ pictures of people as good lookin’ as you on my phone.”

Sputtering, Clyde couldn’t help but ask, “You think I’m good lookin’?”

The look on Y/N’s face was one of pure confusion, “Now, what kind of question is that? Are you kiddin’ me? ‘Course I do.”

Now Clyde was thankful for the mask, regardless of how crusty he may look at least it covered the blush on his cheeks.

“I guess someone doesn’t get told he’s handsome quite as often as he should, your ears look like they’re burnin’ up.” Y/N laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind one of Clyde’s ears as he clenched his jaw in an attempt to quell his embarrassment. “Don’t worry honey, I won’t tease you anymore. Just lemme snap a picture, hold on.”

Clyde mustered up enough self control to respond, “Now, I never said I wanted ya ta stop teasin’. But go ahead, take yer picture, not like I could say no ta ya after all you’ve done anyway.” Y/N snapped a couple of photos, showing them to Clyde for approval. He honestly couldn’t care less, he didn’t think much of having his picture taken, but she seemed so pleased that he had to let her keep them.

Smiling down at him, Y/N thanked him and proceeded to grab another hot towel, “If you could close your eyes again Clyde, I’ll get this mud mask off of ya.”

Eager to feel her touch again, Clyde obliged. He relished in the feeling of the soft towel breaking away the clay and letting his skin breathe. He was drawn out of his thoughts when he heard the song change and the upbeat intro to ‘Take a Chance’ started playing. He felt the last of the clay being wiped away and was about to open his eyes when he felt something soft press against his cheek. He froze, not daring to breathe, “You said you’d warn me before ya did anythin’.” He opened his eyes, a smirk growing on his face. Y/N, trying to play it cool despite the blush covering her face, shrugged, “Felt inspired by the song, what can I say? Call it a kiss for good luck, you look like you could use a little.” She turned away, busying herself with the items on her station’s counter in an attempt to move on from the conversation. Clyde stood up, taking a small step so that he was right behind her. Placing an arm on either side of her so she was pinned to her spot, he cleared his throat. She turned to him, seemingly unaware of his movement, and was startled by his proximity. The blush that already stained her cheeks flared up yet again. Clyde smiled, “That’s real sweet an’ all but I’m not quite sure a kiss on the cheek will bring me enough luck.” He glanced down at his arm and then back up at her, “I’m an awful unlucky person.” Y/N fought a smile and tilted her head up towards his, “Well, how could I say no to you when you’re lookin’ at me like that.” She lifted her hands up to meet his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. Clyde let go of the counter and brought his good hand up to cup her face, while he placed his other at the small of her back. He pulled her in closer to him and bit back a gasp when her body fell flush against his. She tangled her hands in his hair, tugging the headband off and throwing it to the side, not caring where it landed.

When the two finally broke apart for air, Y/N chuckled, “If that’s what I get after givin’ you a facial I can’t wait to see what you’re like after a home cooked meal and a nice massage.”

Clyde smiled, “Well, how ‘bout you come ‘round to mine tomorrow night. I’ll treat you to the home cooked meal and we can see about that massage. I’m sure you could guess I’ve never really had one of them either.”

Shaking her head, Y/N smiled softly back at him, “Well, we’re gonna have ta change that. You need some good ol’ fashioned pamperin’. And I’m more than willin’ to pamper ya, only thing I want in return is for you ta keep callin’ me those sweet little names in that voice of yours and keep kissin’ me like that.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer again, using his good hand to tilt her face back up to meet his, “Darlin’, I think that can be arranged.”

#clyde logan #adam driver #logan lucky #mellie logan #x reader #female reader #reader insert #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan imagine

157 notes · View notes

imsparky2002 · 10 months

Text

Ghoul Squad - Adrien

Adrien - Human

Age - 14

Species - Human

Appearance - Shaggy untamed blond hair, rosy cheeks, freckles, emerald green eyes, fair skin, peach fuzz

Attire - Orange, black and white Jack Skellington hoodie, blue jeans, Converse trainers, simple grey t-shirt, green Oogie Boogie backpack, orange beanie

Personality - Kind, innocent, has a usually hidden playful side, optimistic, understanding, passionate, spoopy (has a love for Halloween that he had to hide from his Dad)

Likes - His partners, video games, anime, Halloween, all things spooky, Nathalie, Nino, his other friends, charity, pumpkins, cats, monsters, scaring people (as Cat Astrophe), his kwami Cheshire, plain pancakes, acting

Dislikes - Modeling, Chloe and Lila, liars, unappreciative people, cauliflower, his father, people judging him at first glance, Hawk Moth, having to stay in his father’s home, bullying, Christmas

Adrien is the son of Gabriel Agreste. What his father doesn’t his realize is that his child is an avid lover of all things spooky and mysterious.

After heading to a pumpkin patch that he and his mother visited when she was alive, he finds a delightfully creepy-looking pumpkin brooch and put it on. This turned out to be the Jack O’Lantern Miraculous. He met Cheshire, his catlike Kwami, and became the spooky superhero known as Cat Astrophe.

As Cat Astrophe, Adrien is able to show his true spooky self, and then some. He has a face like a Jack O’Lantern, claws, cat ears and is able to use pumpkin bombs. He is known for his eerie cackling, and for being a mischevious trickster who offers candy after giving you a fright. He, Zhīzhū, and the Ghoul Squad know each other’s identities.

He loves Marinette and Kagami with all of his heart, and they look at him as their golden angel of death. They and his other friends helped him realize he could stand up to his father.

After the ghouls discovered how horrible his home life was, they asked if he could join them in a ritual, to which he agreed. After the ritual was finished, Adrien became part of the Ghoul Squad, and their new brother.

Quotes

Who says Halloween has to be once a year?

It'd be a grave mistake if you kept lying about my friends, Lila.

It’s my turn to pick for movie night! We’re watching Nightmare Before Christmas! Don’t hiss at me, Juleka! I don’t complain when we watch every Dracula comedy ever made. (Dracula was a series of comedy movies in this universe)

You aren't the boss of me anymore, father. I've got a family who actually loves and cares for me.

(To Marinette and KagamiMy heart jumps straight out my chest when I’m with you two, in the most frighteningly amazing way possible!

It’s spooking hour for you, Akuma! Let’s get wild!

Adrien leaps onto the scene as Cat Astrophe, and the spook always has sweet treats for his Ghoulish family! He’s certainly a spoopy boi. Thanks so much to Weeby for doing the quotes with me. This is the last character post, but more content is coming soon! As usual, make sure to reblog, reply, post and ask. @artzychic27 @msweebyness

Adrien: Make sure to stick around. It’ll be a treat to trick you again. (He cackles and disappears into the shadows.)

#adrien agreste #adrien #human #ghoul squad au #ghoul squad #miraculous ladybug #miraculous

21 notes · View notes

seiko-yume · 1 year

Text

Bishop headcanons

This is a long post, so I'll cut it here for anyone who isn't interested.

EDIT: added Narinder since he's technically a bishop too, and I have a few more HCs for him that I didn't make during the time of the Narinder and Lamb HCs.

Leshy

Physical age is stuck in his early 20's

Absolutely minuscule in size compared to the other bishops and followers (Shorter than Heket and Lamb)

Likes to put his hands in a raptor formation

Hates being touched in any manner (ex: being pet, or picked up)

Experiences sensory overload more often than before becoming a follower due to his heightened sense of smell and hearing when he went blind.

Burrows underground when he feels discomfort, or on the verge of a meltdown.

Vegan, cannot digest meat or any animal food product.

Enjoys gardening, even though he can't see. He likes the different smells and textures of plants.

Extremely quick to resort to violence in disagreements with other followers.

Goes apeshit over rain (he really likes rain)

Heket

VERY subtly petty, and knows exactly what'll make you tick.

Can crack open an ostrich egg in one punch

Will absolutely hold her own on a crusade, without being turned into a demon.

Learned sign language from the Lamb, since speaking causes her pain.

Transgender MtF

Food-motivated, loves to cook. Developed from a famine-causing goddess to hating seeing any follower go hungry.

The only one in the Old Faith family without any kind of food allergy, or dietary restriction.

Heavyset build. Height is similar to Narinder's

Sleeps long hours, and is late to nearly every sermon.

Exclusively T4T due to bad experience with transphobic people.

Physical age is stuck at 25

Loves bathing and soaking in water.

Narinder

Middle child syndrome (gets forgotten by the other bishops, but is legally allowed to bonk them for it.)

While chained, his legs were broken to prevent him from escaping easily. They weren't able to heal correctly. He currently uses forearm crutches, or a cane to get around.

Second tallest next to Shamura

Very thin build from naturally high metabolism. Heket tries to feed him more, but his body just turns it all into pure rage instead of fat.

Demiboy. Uses both he/him and she/her pronouns.

Lactose intolerant, but eats dairy-based dessert anyways. Constantly has IBS from this and can fill an outhouse halfway. Followers beg him to stop eating dairy (he doesn't and earned the "Poopshitter" nickname from Lamb.)

Severe allergy to fish and shellfish.

Likes to do makeup, and is actually really artsy with it.

Had an emo phase (and still is)

Severe guilt and self-loathing around his siblings. Feelings of guilt are especially intense around Shamura. Shamura tries their best every day to show him that they forgive him.

Gets stuck in a tree at least twice a week

Kalamar

The most dramatic of cult drama-queens. There's a new crisis happening with him every week.

Got a septum piercing after learning he couldn't reattach his amputated (pierced) ears.

Refuses to learn sign language, despite being deaf. He's exceptionally well at reading lips, however.

Monologues about how handsome, and beautiful his temple was, usually to himself because he doesn't realize that other members had walked away.

Accidentally discovered Narinder had a deadly allergy to seafood while Nari was a kitten. (He had to babysit him, and fed him fish stew because he thought cats liked fish.)

Doesn't like to do assigned work in the cult, but enjoys forging weapons and jewelry.

Very picky eater. Almost everything makes him sick. No known food allergies, but is known to be intolerant to meat, fish, dairy, certain vegetables, mushrooms, most fruits, and bread. He usually eats cauliflower soup to stay on the safe side.

Had several near-death experiences due to illness as a child.

Very lithe and underweight. Tentacles give the illusion of being heavier than average.

Physical age is stuck at 33.

Shamura

Severe migraines and memory problems.

Tries to dissent against the Lamb due to often forgetting the entire chunk of their life from Narinder's betrayal to dying at the hands of the Lamb.

Has crying fits upon recalling parts of their life they forgot, and fears the next time they'll forget.

Clings to the other siblings, needing constant physical reassurance they're still alive. They're unable to sleep alone.

Had to re-learn basic motor skills including how to speak when they were first indoctrinated.

Knits and crochets in their spare time.

Likes to watch dance circles, but avoids any activity that might cause a migraine.

Allergic to camellia flowers. Avoids farming and seeking the medbay when sick.

Taller than Narinder (HC Narinder is the tallest member before his siblings were indoctrinated)

AFAB

Has always yearned to become a parent during the time they were a god, but could never bear any children due to being infertile. When they found several infant gods, they couldn’t help but take them under their wing.

Physical age is stuck at 40

#headcanons #cult of the lamb spoilers #spoilers

44 notes · View notes

philliamwrites · 2 years

Text

SWYAATL 14: The Happy Years

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

Warnings: they're all horknee

Summary: “May Queen!” the girl shrieks, and throws a bright flower crown with frightening precision on your head. She then points at you. “We’ve found our May Queen!” Oh. Oh no. “Oh no no no no no,” you say out loud the moment someone swoops you up your feet. Nausea rolls through you—you hate hate being picked up, hate how it makes you feel like the small kid from five years ago during Shiganshina’s attack—before you start hyperventilating, you glimpse Jean in the crowd, doubled over and supporting himself against Marco, laughing at you so hard he almost topples over. Bastard.

Notes: [01] || 13 | 15

Words: 9.5k

A/N: Sorry updates are so scarce! Everything is changing for me with the apprenticeship but it’s a good change and I’m very, very happy where I am right now!! Might go into hiatus for a while because writing just isn’t doing it for me at the moment though. I’ll definitely bring Cadet Corps Arc to an end though, it’s only one or two more chapters after this one!

Don’t flock me, but this might slip a little into Reader/Jean (with Eren/Reader endgame, I promise). Also I’ve decided from this chapter on they’re all finally 18, you’re welcome. They’re all gay, they’re all horny, whoopa.

14: The Happy Years

January, February, March. The winter is a torrent of snow. Falling slow and fat. Falling quick and bright. The sun, if it rises at all, is a weak white flame until spring marches into the battle with all her blossoms and light, banishing the cold for another year.

This time, you were put into farm duty, something you’ve been looking forward to ever since the ground, formerly brownish or covered with snow, is now painted in greener tones. It beats having to prune trees or vines since you’ve always enjoyed working with soil and what the earth grants. There is also the benefit of seeing Dolly again, the only compound ox used to draft the ridge and furrows where you’ll plant this year’s harvest. Apparently, cadets long before your corps named him, realising too late that he was a male—as though the pointy horns are easy to miss—but the name has stuck ever since.

You’re leading the old boy over the field now, towards the other handful of cadets assigned to the duty. Reiner and Marco are tinkering with the bullock cart, checking if, after the long winter, anything has broken and needs to be fixed. Annie, standing a little apart from them, gazes out at the field. She looks as though she could think of a hundred different places she’d rather be. You can get a little behind her indifference. Many consider this task as a waste of time, for every compound receives the majority of vegetables, fruits, fish and dairy from outside farms and fisheries. The annual harvest you yield around autumn is only meant for reserves and emergencies should the usual deliveries not make it on time—which hasn’t happened in the almost three years you’ve been in the military.

You don’t mind the work at all—it is a nice diversity from the tasks you usually get, and you enjoy working outside in nature, where the air is fresh and the last hint of winter still lingers in the air.

“We’re ready,” Marco says now, rising from where he was perching in front of the cart. Already, his pants are dirty where he has knelt in the soil. “All good to go.”

“You two lead the old boy, Annie and I will be right behind you.” Reiner shakes his small basket with cauliflower seeds as you put the cart before Dolly and give his nose a good rub. He flicks his ears and trots after you across the field, occasionally bumping his snoot against your arm as if saying Look, I’m doing it! What about a little treat?,and of course you scratch him under his chin until his eyes fall close for a second in sheer contentment.

“He’s very enamoured with you,” Marco says, watching you two from the side. Even though it’s still cool outside, he’s rolled up his sleeves, showing his strong arms streaked with hard cords of muscle. Recently, his harness seems to be a size too small, cutting into his body parts that were extra thick with muscle such as his arms, thighs and upper chest. Not that you’re complaining about the sight. “Are you hiding treats or something in your uniform?”

“It’s my natural charm,” you say, grinning. “I don’t have to use cheap tricks like that.”

Marco laughs at that, and you notice how he doesn’t disagree. You continue down the field in companionable silence, only making comments whenever one of you spots a falcon gliding over the fields in search of mice. It feels like the build-up to something, but what exactly, you don’t know until finally, Marco says, “Only two more months left now. Those three years passed so quickly, I can hardly believe we’re almost done with our training.”

“Why are you in such low spirits then?” you ask. “What happened to all that enthusiasm of being able to serve the king once you join the MP?”

Marco’s silence makes you look over at him. There’s something wistful about the way he looks out at the fields—his mind seems to be as far away as the rising and sinking curves of the mountains in the far south.

“It’s weird, I know,” he finally says, scratching his chin where you see a dark stubble. “I also thought this was something I’m sure of. Graduate with a good score, join the MP and work my way up into the King’s Guard. But lately…” He gives a half-hearted shrug. “I had this weird dream, you know? There was a parade and the King was there as well but something wasn’t right. There were orphans crying and people seemed distressed. In my dream, I heard rumours about the true nature of the Operation to Reclaim Wall Maria a few years ago, and when I woke up, I realised this must have been because I talked to Armin and Eren recently. Armin told me that there was a parade back then as well, after his grandfather died, to distract from the disputes on food; to have the people be lenient towards the King’s sentence. And weirdly enough, I started to wonder … do I really want to protect the King, or is there maybe something else I should be protecting.”

Marco looks at you now, and there’s something bare in his eyes that makes you turn your head away. All you manage to answer is, “Jean will be very sad if you change your mind last second, you know? You’ve become one of his closest friends and …”

“And what?” Marco inquirers—part hopeful, part reserved.

And I know there’s more, but you’re afraid of it. One afternoon on a rare hour’s break in the barracks, you went over to the boys’ to get Marco for laundry duty, who had slipped inside just a moment ago. Standing in the entryway, you found him and Jean alone. Jean was sitting with his back turned to the entry and Marco used that moment to leap upon him in a fit of enthusiasm, screeching and squawking like a child at play. Jean wrestled Marco off him and they rolled around on the floor, grabbing and jostling, laughing at nothing. When Marco had Jean in a clinch, pinned to the floor, his knees on either side of Jean’s torso, he looked down at him and smiled, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

Even from that distance, you were sure that he had looked at Jean’s lips for a moment, turning his head a little and staring at him, his body arching forward just a touch. Jean raised his knee slightly and risked a smile. They looked at each other—“Ah, Jean,” Marco said mournfully, his voice soft—and then their heads both swivelled around at the sound of creaking wood beneath your feet as you shifted your weight to make a silent retreat, positive that you had walked into a private scene not meant for anyone to see.

Marco jumped up, turning away from Jean. He looked at you, startled, unable to catch Jean’s eye. After a moment of silence, Jean, to lighten the mood, had simply asked if you had lost something, and when the moment was over, everything had returned as if nothing had happened between them.

“And nothing,” you say now. Whatever is between Jean and Marco, it is none of your business. You don’t think Jean would appreciate you poking your nose into his business—especially one that seemed a foreign territory to even himself. Ever since the incident with the wolf last winter, he’s become curt—sometimes even downright nasty whenever Eren is around or you so much as mention him. The only reason you can think of is that with graduation drawing closer, they’re both reminded how opposing their future wishes are, and suddenly nothing of what has happened before—standing together against Victor; fighting the robbers and saving Christa—seems to matter.

“Yeah, I still need to talk to him about that,” Marco says, cutting off your thoughts. “If he’ll join the Scouts.”

“The Scouts?” You almost trip over a mound of dirt, saving yourself only by flinging your arms around Dolly’s strong neck. He snorts appreciatively. “Why the Scouts?”

“You know … the way Jean is, I feel that if he joined the Survey Corps … he could save a lot of lives.”

You give that some thought, and initially, nothing about it seems wrong. Jean is an exceptional soldier, both capable in ODM and analysing the situation in battle to find the best outcome. Funny enough, Jean’s talent seems specifically the reason why Eren keeps blowing the fuse whenever they talk about their future goals—Eren can’t seem to understand why anyone would waste their talent like that. You’ve stopped bringing that up with him. It seems easier to get along with him if you two don’t try to bust each other’s heads about which Corps to join after graduation.

With the field ploughed, the seed sown, you take a little break. The sun stands high on the zenith, and the work has left you sweating. Dolly, freed from the cart, lies on the ground. His tail flicks at flies in lazy swipes, and whenever someone bends down to pet him, he closes his eyes in cosy satisfaction.

“Did I hear that right, you’re thinking about joining the Scouts, Marco?” says Reiner now. He’s perched beside Dolly, and gives his back soft claps. You have a hard time not staring at his thick thighs. “How come?”

Marco, leaning sideways against the fence enclosing the fields, shrugs with one shoulder. “Feels like I might be able to do more if I join them.”

“The Scouts will be happy with a guy like you,” Reiner continues. “You’re a great soldier, Marco.”

Marco ducks his head as if he can hide the red tinting his cheeks. “What about you guys?” he quickly asks. “You’re both at the top as well.” Reiner throws Annie a quick glance which she promptly ignores.

“It’s gonna be the MP for me.” Reiner isn’t shy about his decision, giving Marco a crooked grin. “I’m pretty sure that’s where I can do my best as a soldier.”

A snort comes from Annie’s direction, so quiet that you think you’ve imagined it were it not for Reiner turning his head in her direction. She’s looking down at Dolly’s head resting on top of Reiner’s thigh, and something in her eyes is short enough to send a shudder up your spine.

“Best as a soldier?” she scoffs. “You think anyone joining the MP has such a pretentious, noble goal in mind?”

Even though Annie and Reiner didn’t seem to get along well, or have any common history you’re aware of, sometimes she is capable of saying things that make him go silent for a moment—like right now. Maybe that was just Annie’s expertise—saying things people didn’t want to face.

“What about you?” Reiner turns to you, choosing to run from Annie’s glacier-cutting gaze. “Changed your mind yet? Your performance has dropped, but you can still make a comeback in the final exams next month.”

You look up from where you’re crouching on the ground, digging your hands through the soil. The smell calms you, and nothing is quite a testimony to a hard day at work than the dirt and grime under your nails. “Nope, still don’t care about the MP,” you chirp.

“Really? Has Eren finally convinced you to join the Scouts, then?”

“Eren?” You throw a quick glance at him. “No, why would he have anything to do with that?”

“After everything you’ve been through, I thought you two are like this,” Reiner says, crossing index and middle finger. You throw a handful of dirt at him and pretend it doesn’t please you that the others think you and Eren are that close.

It shouldn’t be a surprise.

Not after you’ve survived the wolves; not while you two gradually gravitate towards each other like moths to a flame. Certainly not when every time you practice together in hand-to-hand-combat, it is like rough, desperate fucking where no one wants to relinquish the upper hand—and dominance—to the other. There is no finesse to your fighting, unlike Annie or Mikasa, you two just rely on brutal force and a desperation to win that is downright frightening at times.

Last time, you had almost won. Almost, if you hadn’t been so blind with joy and stroking your own ego having handed Eren his ass. Then, everything happened so quickly. He hooked his feet behind your ankles and tugged, swiping your legs from under you. Not even a second on your ass, his feet locked behind the back of your knees, he turned to the right, forcing you to turn with him, and suddenly you were the one on all fours, bending over. You had tried to scramble back up, but Eren snatched one arm from under you and his other hand found the back of your neck, pushing your face into the dirt, the other pinning your arm behind your back. His hips pressed hard against your ass. Stunned, you had remained still, and you could have sworn Eren had muttered something along the lines of “Right where I want you,” but you couldn’t be sure because a moment later, Jean was already there, kicking Eren off you. You didn’t pay any attention to their squabble—you didn’t pay attention to anything happening that day because your mind kept conjuring very unnecessary images of Eren using his strength to manhandle you in a bunch of different other positions.

“I made my decision a long time ago,” you say now before your mind can venture to those fantasies again, “and I’m not going to change it. Just like Eren won’t change his mind if I tried talking him out of joining the Scouts. Besides—” You clamp your mouth shut. Three pairs of eyes stare at you, waiting for you to continue, but you can’t just tell them about the deal you’ve made with Ymir.

She approached you two months ago, on a grey, rainy day—though maybe ‘approach’ was too tame a word for how she had slithered after you like a snake sneaking after prey for days on end. It was a simple, small mission; heading out to a long-abandoned manor close to Wall Rose and checking the damage after a vicious storm had swept through it. The rain had subsided enough to venture out, and during a short break under the coverage of a tree’s canopy, you had veered off the group to refill your water bottle with fresh rain water.

The landscape was not gentle and rolling, but harsh and foreboding. Green hills dotted with grey gorse swept up into crags of dark rock. Long lines of mortarless stone walls, meant for keeping in sheep, crisscrossed the green; here and there was dotted the occasional lonely cottage. The sky seemed an endless expanse of white, brushed with the strokes of long, dark grey clouds.

You had noticed Ymir shadowing you all week prior to that conversation. Standing in dark corners, watching you with her unnerving, small eyes like little pinpricks of a dagger’s sharp tip aiming for your throat. You’d known it was only a question of when she’d corner you, and when on that day, she had risen behind you, you were already expecting her, meeting her eyes only slightly obscured by the hood drawn over her face from her cape.

“What do you want?”

Ymir had stared at you, unblinkingly. And then she’d thrown her head back, barking out a laugh that cracked like thunder. “Right to the point, then. I like how you turned out after that whole fiasco with the dogs in the woods.”

“You mean when I almost died? Yeah. Great times.”

“Oh, come on.” Ymir rolled her eyes and joined you kneeling at the ground, wiping forth her own water flask. “You survived. You grew a pair of balls most of the guys here don’t have. It wasn’t all bad.”

You gave a gruff sound of acknowledging her words—the compliment. Ymir never handed out compliments unless one was small, blonde and named Christa, and the fact in itself only proved your theory that she was after something.

Staring at you some more, Ymir’s grin didn’t cool, but it sharpened. A muscle in her jaw clenched, as though she was chewing on her words before she spoke. Finally, she said, “I need you to do something.”

“You need me,” you repeated, just to check that you didn’t mishear, “to do something for you?”

Ymir nodded, a single curt movement as one would chop up wood. Or someone’s head. You felt as if ice water had been dumped down the back of your neck, shoving you to full alertness. “And what exactly would that be?” you asked.

Ymir stood still as a statue, unblinking. You felt as though something very serious was happening right now, and allowed her to take time to find the words. Then, she finally looked up, and said, “You don’t care about the ranking. Let Christa have your spot.”

“Hmm.” You watched the rain droplets collect at the mouth of your flask where they didn’t disappear in the narrow black hole. The wind picked up, whipping your coats left and right. So many thoughts whirled inside your head until they finally settled. “You want Christa in the MP, even though you won’t be able to follow her? Why?”

“None of your business,” Ymir snapped, not even trying to bite back a sharp retort. “Just say Yes or No. I’ll figure out something else.”

“Is it because you love her?” you continued, ignoring her. “Or are you arranging everything so that she’ll help you from inside the Inner Wall later?”

Ymir didn’t respond for a while. When you didn’t think she’d answer at all, she gritted out, “I want a safe life for Christa. Don’t pretend you’ve never had anyone like that.”

You pressed your lips together. The water in your bag had started spilling. You watched the water flow over and soak into the already wet earth.

“Okay,” you said.

There was only a brief pause. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “It’s like you said, I don’t care about the ranking.”

Very quietly, you heard Ymir exhale a long breath. She rose to her feet, looking like she wanted to seal the deal somehow. With a handshake or a clap to your shoulder. Maybe even pat your cheek like she had done when she’d talked to you for the first time all those years back. Ultimately, she preferred her hand intact and wouldn’t gamble with you biting it off, and stood to go back to the other cadets.

“Ymir,” you said before she left. Ymir stopped. Slowly, she turned. “What’s in for me?”

She positively flashed her teeth at you like a cornered wolf as though you have not already learned how to dance with wolves. You were not afraid of them anymore. Screwing the water flask shut, you closed the distance between you two. “You didn’t think I’d just do you a favour with nothing in return, right?”

“I was hoping you’d be that naive, yes.”

You gave her a smile. It was not a pleasant smile. “No, you’d hoped I’d let you use me. But I’m not letting my chance at having you owe me pass.”

Ymir clicked her tongue. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, and looked mildly annoyed. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know yet,” you answered truthfully. Ymir’s mild look of annoyance grew into a very physical, very palpable thing she looked like she might use and whack you with.

“You had me thinking you’re badass and smart for a second. Who’s to say you hold up your end of the deal but I’ll disappear forever?”

“I’m not worried about that,” you said, climbing after her back up the hill. “I will find you and make you hold up your end of the bargain, Ymir.”

Ymir didn’t stop to look at you. “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s a promise.”

***

Two years away from Trost, you have almost forgotten how badly crowded the narrow streets are. Carriages roll side by side with costermongers’ carts piled high with fruit and vegetables; women shawled and carrying shallow baskets full of flowers dive madly in and out of traffic as they try to interest the occupants of various carriages in their wares; and cabs come to a full stop in the midst of traffic so that the cab drivers can scream at one another from their seats. The noise adds to the din—ice cream paddlers shouting “Hokey-pokey, coin a lump,” newspaper boys hawking the day’s latest headline, and someone somewhere playing a barrel organ.

It is a vast contrast to today’s morning exercise where you’ve practised evacuating the civilians during a Titan breach, the streets empty save for the giant wooden Titan dummies and a few citizens acting out an emergency. The instructors dubbed it a simple exercise, but everyone knew it was part of the ongoing final examination that had started a week ago and is slowly creeping towards its end.

You’re surprised how easy it is to perform badly. Ymir’s deal gives you a nice way out of carrying the responsibility to make a choice after graduation. Already, other cadets have been mumbling “what a waste it is” that you would “only” join the Garrison when so many would use your rank and buzz off inthat hside the Inner Walls. Now that you’re leaving the spot to Christa, it’s like a weight has slipped from your shoulders.

Shadis notices, of course. The first two weeks had been the beginning of your military training all over again—screaming at you until his spit ran down your face in rivers, penalty drills for slacking off, threats to send you back home where you could pick up and sell shit from the gutters for all that he cared.

You’re still here a week later, though now you wish you weren’t because slowly, you’re running out of patience to deal with Jean’s bitching.

“And why would she just barge in like she owns the place?” he repeats for what must be the third time today. “I told her I’d drop by eventually.”

“Like you dropped by the last time we were stationed near the farms and didn’t visit her?” You haul another basket stacked to the brim with flower garlands onto the cart, pushing it to the very back against the other caskets you’ve already stored. As a little girl, you never noticed how many flowers were involved in the May Day. You were way too busy stuffing your mouth with sweets and pastries, and playing at the game stalls while the adults staggered past you with heavy beer and ale filled jugs, hollering and screeching songs.

The excitement for the holiday is like a charged up buzz jumping from person to person. A day and night full of revelries and pleasantries, games and drinks and good food. A break for cadets before their graduation—and a little pick me up for the Scouts as they’re heading out for another expedition outside the Walls the week after.

You’re mostly looking forward to the food and enjoying a great time with your friends before everyone goes their own way. Who knows when you’ll see each other next time. If you see each other next time.

You shake your head, banishing these thoughts to where they don’t wear down your excitement.

“What do you mean, No?” Jean asks incredulously, which is a problem because he stops and you walk right into him, and the second basket you’re carrying bounces off his back and right into your stomach as you walk into him.

“Ooof.” You glare up at him. “Do you mind? I want to finish this work before lunch break.”

He stares at you, and realises too late, “You didn’t listen to anything I just said, did you?”

You don’t bother trying to look contrite. Jean looks like he might throw his hands up, but the basked in his hands makes that impossible unless he’d prefer a broken foot. Instead, he settles for pulling a face at you.

“I can’t believe I’m pouring my heart out to you like that and you don’t care.” He drops the casket unceremoniously into the cart so that half its contents spill, and turns around to you, thick arms crossed over his broad chest. His white shirt sticks to his skin from the hard work, outlining the strong chords of muscles running along his arms, his abdomen. He always used to be taller than you, but now after years of hard, rigorous training, he’s also broader, and he has no problem letting you know that during hand-to-hand-combat practice or whenever he wants to make a point and hands your ass to you.

“It’s hard to be on your side when all you do is bitch about having a mother who’s looking after you,” you snap. The effect is immediate. Jean takes a step back as if he has been punched and doesn’t know where the blow has come from. When he stares at you, it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time. Something inside his face shuts close.

“You don’t understand—” he begins, but immediately seals his mouth shut.

You cock your head to the side, challenging him. “Why? Because I don’t have a mom? No parents who can fuzz around and worry about me?”

Jean goes very quiet. “That’s not what I meant.”

You stare each other down like two strangers trying to determine if the person standing before you is a threat. It is as though even after these three years and everything you have been through, Jean feels more distant lately.

Before you can open your mouth, a female voice shouts from across the plaza, “You two, stop slacking off and move your asses! We’ve still got too much work to do!”

“Let’s go back,” you say, subdued.

Jean sighs and makes an after-fucking-you gesture. You move to the next row of baskets in silence. Working with your body is easier than working with your brain on how to undo the damage. But one look at Jean tells you his face is still a closed door. You have no patience for delicate lock-picking, and instead decide to kick the door in.

“I’m sorry,” you say at the same time he blurts, “I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”

You look at each other. Smile. Order has been restored.

“Ida just means well. After graduation, she won’t be seeing you anytime soon,” you say. The next basket is full of white daisies, tulips and roses. You stare at the soft-petalled mount, feeling the strange urge to shove your face right into them and inhale. Maybe you’ll get high on the sweet smelling pollen.

“I know, I know.” Jean waves his hand. “I’ll visit her. After that stupid cook off next week.”

“Why did you want to participate in the first place?”

“You think I’d let Sasha and her big mouth go around and tell everyone she’s a better cook than me?”

“Oh, woe is men and their fragile pride.”

Jean shoves you with his elbow, only hard enough to make you lose your balance.

You finish your work, the next assignment already waiting for you on the other side of the District. Your supervising officer orders you to join with the others who are already busy setting up the sets of tables and benches, and the minstrels’ stage.

You walk the same streets as three years ago on the day you signed up for the military. The District hasn’t changed at all, but you two have. You don’t miss how Jean tilts his face upwards, examining the roofs and crenellations of the buildings. Looking for anchor points for his gear. You’ve also categorised the best advance points by height. The whole world looks different since the ODM gear has become a part of you.

As you cross the plaza, Jean throws an apple at you, a leftover from Ida’s surprise visit last week. You catch it with ease, your reflexes sharpened to an arrow’s tip precision over the years. Turning it over in your hand, you barely dodge a cart transporting a row of stacked benches onto the plaza. Good service those reflexes do you. But Jean has pulled you into his side for good measure as well, staring daggers after the cart.

“Bloody Hell, it’s like suddenly they don’t know how to manoeuvre those things,” he says.

You glance at his hand still closed tightly around your upper arm.

“They’re just excited,” you say. “And a little nervous. They still haven’t found a May Queen.”

“I wonder why they don’t just pick a random chick, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“The people of Trost think differently about it.”

Jean mumbles something to himself and lets you go. “That’s why you don’t change tradition. If they’d just pick a pretty lass, we wouldn’t be under this pressure.”

“Anyone specific in mind?”

Jean looks down at you, snuffling. “Mikasa for example.”

“Wow. Okay.”

“What? Do you want to be May Queen?”

You raise your chin. “I mean, I don’t, but why do you sound like I wouldn’t be able to pull it off?”

“I mean…” Jean kneads the back of his neck. “I don’t remember the last time you wore a dress.”

“It’s not like I forgot how to move in petticoats and girdles,” you say. “I just prefer not to.”

“Come on, how hard can it be?”

“Hmph,” you say. “I’d like to see how you’d manage sitting and standing up straight in stays and petticoats for a whole night.”

“So would I,” says Marco, appearing out of nowhere with a table thrown over his shoulder as though it weighs nothing. Jean and you share a moment of silent appreciation for Marco’s arm muscles.

Jean shakes his head. Either about your comment or to clear his head from whatever images Marco’s sight conjures in his mind. “Whatever. I only really care about the food, and after that, it’s straight up inside the Inner Wall and away from this sewer of a District.”

You question that ‘straight,’ but you question even more if Marco has managed to talk with Jean about a change of heart. When you give him a sideways glance, Marco catches your eye and subtly shakes his head. Not yet, it seems.

“You know, if there’s ever a chance I’ll meet your Military Police regiment, I’ll do my best to embarrass you and tell them all those funny stories about little Jeanie how he got trapped naked in a rose bush,” you say, and drop the apple Jean has given you in a beggar-woman’s lap as you enter the wide, open marketplace.

“You wouldn’t—” Jean begins, but is interrupted by cheers erupting like a thunder storm around you. People scream, their hands thrown high in the air. You’re the definition of confusion. Marco almost drops the table and crushes a little girl darting between the adults crowding you three like ants climbing over themselves to reach food.

“May Queen!” the girl shrieks, and throws a bright flower crown with frightening precision on your head. She then points at you. “We’ve found our May Queen!”

Oh.

Oh no.

“Oh no no no no no,” you say out loud the moment someone swoops you up your feet. Nausea rolls through you—you hate hate being picked up, hate how it makes you feel like the small kid from five years ago during Shiganshina’s attack—before you start hyperventilating, you glimpse Jean in the crowd, doubled over and supporting himself against Marco, laughing at you so hard he almost topples over.

Bastard.

“No sense of modesty, not one of them,” you spit, holding your breath as Mina, Hannah and Christa try to get you into that prison of a dress made specifically for this year’s May Day celebrations. The seamstress who worked on the dress, Hilda, smiles patiently.

“Well, the people … and I mean the women, have been complaining for years that only choosing the most beautiful girl seems a little unfair. I liked that no one new this year’s criteria. I’ve heard a woman in Stohess adopted a litter of kittens, and another performed a handstand for hours and hours in Jinae. Acts of kindness make for a far better queen than her appearance, don’t you think so too, girls?”

They grunt their replies, too focused on tying the bodice on your back.

“Since we’re at it,” you wheeze, feeling as though your lungs are being crushed and all your organs squeezed into a pipeline, “how about we change the dress code as well?”

“Now, let’s not get too hasty,” Hilda says, smiling. “Or I will be out of a job.”

“But I will be out of a life.”

“Beauty is harsh,” Hilda provides unhelpfully, “but you will be the most powerful woman tonight.” And with that, she jitters away like a little excited bird to grab more silk ribbons. It’s probably the first and last time you will ever wear something so expensive.

“Last chance,” you say, turning to your friends after Mina finishes tying the last knot at the back of your corset. “Any volunteers? Christa? You would make such a better May Queen than me.”

Christa beams. “Nonsense! You look so stunning, [Name]! And I think this is exactly what you need after dropping out of the ranking.”

Gods bless her heart. You don’t know what to say should she find out you do this for her sake.

“All eyes will be on you tonight.” Mina takes your hand and twirls you around as if you are a princess and she is asking for a dance. The frilly, heavy dress brushes against your thighs and leaves a sliver of skin visible, showing exactly where—and how tight—the white tights you’re wearing end. “I can’t wait for all the festivities and drinks and music!”

“I heard the Scouts will be there as well,” Hannah chimes in. She lets her hand roam over the different fabrics Hilda has laid out before deciding which colour would suit your eyes best. “They’re off to another expedition next week, right?”

“Just a small one. I can’t imagine most of the execs joining tonight though. There’s still the final test at the end of this week, and then the official choosing of our branches.”

“It’s so weird,” Mina whispers, her grey eyes big. “We’ll graduate tomorrow.”

She’s met with silence. Between most of the cadets there is the unanimous agreement that nobody talks about the graduation; about the friends you’ll part from. You look over at Mina, oh and there it is again, the expression on her face you have recently come to see—and loathe—more often: as though her saint has forsaken her and now she is facing a brewing storm all alone.

Mina catches your eyes and gives you a sad, little smile. You have already been instructed that if you join the Garrison, you will be stationed at your home districts. You will stay here in Trost, but Mina will return to Karanes District. Even the promise that you will visit each other is only bitter-sweet knowing the first two or three years will be strictly to settle in your new unit.

“Oh, stop making those faces,” Christa says. “Tonight is a night of fun! I won’t allow you to go out frowning like that.” She grins and takes your hand, and in that brief second something flashes in her eyes that is so unlike Christa that you hesitate when she starts pulling you towards the shop’s front door. It makes her stop dead in her tracks—and there it is again, the timid look etched onto her face like a painting you’re more familiar with after all those years.

Mina must have realised Christa’s plan. She takes your other hand and kicks open the door. “Come on, we’re done taking measures. Let’s go and see the plaza.”

“I don’t think Hilda is done with the dress—” you begin, but your protest falls on deaf ears. Mina’s eyes sparkle with mischief. You have always been unable to tell her No when the Saint of Adventures holds her captive.

She pulls you outside the small tailor shop and into a narrow street where vibrant garlands of flowers hang from the roofs like exotic snakes. Already, the streets are filled with mouth-watering smells of food, the sound of laughter and joy.

Mina plucks a colourful flower wreath from a vendor’s stand. The man’s face behind the counter, just a moment ago a brewing storm, immediately clears of any wrinkles and lights up when he sees you. He bows like a knight courting a princess, greeting you with a loud, jolly “Maienkoenigin!” and with that, you are in the centre of attention.

You’re pretty sure the revelries would have started with a small speech from Trost’s mayor during Commander Pixis’ presence, but now that the people see you are out on the streets, they’ve taken it into their own hands to toast to you.

From all corners you see flower petals thrown in your direction. “Maria Maienkoenigin, wir kommen dich zu gruessen. Oh holde Freudenspenderin, sieh uns zu deinen Fuessen!” they sing the holiday’s song in honour of the May Queen and Wall Maria where the May Festival five years ago should have taken place.

Boys and girls dance around your knees, grabbing for your skirts to get your attention and accept their little flower bouquets as the crowd moves to the plaza with you in the middle. Tall poles stand at the entrances, decorated with more flowers and paper garlands snaking around them to the very top. The May pole, this year a birch tree, has already been erected in the centre where a wide square has been outlined to mark the dance floor and where later boys and girls weave the colourful ribbons around the pole.

Surrounding it are multiple, long rows of tables and on the side, right next to a wooden square where the band plays, officials have prepared a celebratory banquet fit for a queen. Your mouth waters just thinking about all the delicacies waiting to be devoured.

Were it up to you, you’d immediately charge for the food. But Mina has other plans. She pulls you towards a table—you didn’t even notice your training corps has gathered and selected one closest to the banquet.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mina announces. “Our May Queen!”

A round of polite applause sounds until they get a better look at you.

Connie starts howling like a wild animal.

Somewhere Ymir is screaming her case that Christa should wear that dress instead.

Jean, sitting at the very front, just stares at you—and that of all lashes uncertainty across your chest like a spiky whip. You don’t think you have ever felt self-conscious in front of him, but now you are painfully aware of the low cut of your dress, the corset hugging your body tight and pushing your tits up into full, round mounds. It feels as though one move too much and your tights will rip in two. You are very aware of how you look as you slide onto the bench next to Jean. He doesn’t scoot over to make you place, leaving your thigh pressing right against his, but turns his head away and takes a big swig from his cup as though his mouth is parched.

Compared to Eren, Jean has manners, at least. Ever since you have joined, he hasn’t stopped staring blatantly at your tits.

“Hey,” Jean snaps. Eren doesn’t blink. “Hey, Jeager!” He snaps his fingers right in front of Eren’s eyes. “Eyes up, you freak.”

Eren startles, and blinks as if he’s just woken up from a dream. He looks from you to Jean, and very intelligently says, “Huh?”

“You look very pretty,” Marco mumbles into his cup from Jean’s other side because he is the only gentleman in this rowdy round of pigs.

“I could do with a little less cleavage,” you admit. “And a little more breathing.”

“Well, it’s tradition.” Jean fumbles with his wooden spoon as if it is particularly hot to the touch. When he drops it and it falls in the non-existing space between your touching legs, he glares at it very hard as if by doing that, he might will it back into his hands. You pick it up, hold it out to him. Jean stares at you as if he sees you for the very first time.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with a tradition that puts women into skimpy dresses?” you ask. Jean needs a full minute before he finally takes the spoon from you. It is deliberately careful as though you are handing him a sharp tool rigged with thorns that might jump at him any second.

He makes a point looking right into your eyes. “I just think you made a lot of guys very happy today.”

“Meaning how?”

He shrugs. “We guys just talk about stuff.”

You look sideways at him. “Anything interesting?”

Jean gives you a quick once-over and says, “Oh, you have no idea.”

You can tell he wants you to ask what, so you don’t.

Once the excitement settles and the feast begins, you slowly begin to feel more comfortable. You don’t think you’ll get used to the stares and gawking, and you can’t wait to wear your comfortable uniform again where the greatest offence is someone staring at your ass. But for only one day it is nice to be revelled for your womanhood, for your beauty, and the power a woman holds for bringing forth life from her womb.

The food is more delicious than anything you had during your trainee days. You don’t remember the last time you had meat. Roasted pig, a fatty chicken broth with fresh vegetables. Familiar recipes from your childhood are served at the banquet: raviolis, tardpolane, blancmange and clarer. The mead and beer flows in rivers, served by beautiful girls who all wear a distinct flower in their hair. Children come and share their treats with you, piling hills of sweet rolls, candies and honeyed biscuits onto your table. You’re glad Sasha is already working on it.

District Mayor Singman holds his speech about work and prosperity, about the great solidarity that made this feast possible in the first place and the great harvest waiting as a reward later in the year. Commander Pixis is next, but you barely listen to his praises about the recruits showing great promise and how he can’t wait to welcome them. You’re too busy peeking over at Eren who is peeking back at you from time to time. His pupils are blown black whenever his eyes trail over the crimson ribbon holding your front together—one pull on that ribbon alone and your whole dress would come undone.

So you don’t pay much attention when Jean and Sasha and their teams go to the front and hold their competition. Only when the familiar scent of Ida’s omelette wafts to your table, you look up and see Jean standing up on the podium, looking a little lost as he presents his culinary creation to Commander Pixis. The fact that he used his favourite meal, one of Ida’s many dishes she has perfected over the years just so her little Jeanie would go nuts with joy, unfurls something in your chest, making you feel a warmth that you know has nothing to do with the mead in your belly.

Jean wins, and thus the festival’s games begin.

Everyone who wins a small wooden chip can switch it for a free drink, a treat or a small token of affection from yours truly, the May Queen—all in accordance with your consent, of course, and you’re glad Garrison and MP soldiers on duty make sure no one oversteps your boundaries. You doubt anyone is out for quarrel and blood today, anyway. Revelries like this one are such a rarity that nobody wants to fight.

Most have been very sweet so far. Old grannies and grandpas give you their gifted tokens to hold and pat your hand, telling you their stories—about past May Days and the games and feasts and joyous times before Wall Maria’s fall.

Sometimes you stop listening because you spot a handsome young man or pretty young woman throwing starry-eyed, flirtatious gazes your way from a distance, their chips held close and dear to their chests, unsure if they can come closer. You’ve only had a few sips from the mead served at every table, but you feel so warm, so comfortable. You always smile back at them.

Others would come to chink glasses or invite you to a quick dance under the intoxicating sound of a jolly fiddle and the beautiful voices of a bard duo.

Not even an hour in, the first familiar face emerges from the crowd of strangers. Reiner grins down at you when you roll your eyes in a teasing way.

“Popular, aren’t we?” he says, flipping the chip between his fingers. His shirt is torn at the collar, dust and dirt patches adorn his cheeks and the lower part of his shirt that’s half-tugged into his breeches. Behind him, Bertholdt trails him like a shadow, looking anxious as always when he’s swallowed by a foreign crowd. It isn’t the first time you notice that he’s attractive in this non-conventional way. He doesn’t stick out even though he is so damn tall; he isn’t overly handsome but you really adore his nose and his pale green eyes. Bertholdt catches your eyes and gives you a small, sheepish smile. He looks as though he’d rather face a dozen Titans than asking someone for a quick dance.

“Why am I not surprised?” You smile, slightly leaning forward as you prop yourself up on a fence you’ve been leaning against. Reiner’s eyes immediately drop to your neckline. He mirrors your smile, and you feel all warm and tingly in your belly, the honeyed taste of mead still sweet and heavy on your tongue. “But you look like someone roughed you up real good.”

“Grappling.” He gives a lazy shrug, but you can see that he’s secretly pleased to have won. “You should see the other guy.”

“Tell me then, what affection do you seek?” you recite the quote—not for the first or last time for this night.

His only answer is a suggestive grin, and then he leans over and brushes his lips over your cheek. It sends a bolt of electricity from your face down to your legs where your knees turn to cotton. Satisfied with your reaction, he saunters away, leaving you feeling warmer than after any dance so far. It takes a minute or two until your heart stops thrumming when the next suitors already wait in line.

“Just like I predicted,” Christa beams up at you. She’s circled by Ymir and Mina, and judging from the rose-red blush on their cheeks, you aren’t the only one who’s a few drinks in. They’re wearing flower crowns as well: blood-crimson and virgin-white petals sit proudly on their heads. Except Ymir. You can hardly imagine her a queen anyway. A knight seems more likely. Christa’s virtue has always been Ymir’s biggest priority during trainee days.

Mina sways a little. It takes a moment for you to realise she’s trying to pull something out of her pocket, and when she finally manages it without losing balance, she proudly presents you a wooden chip. “I have a chip,” she declares, just to make sure you don’t miss it. She holds it under your nose as if you might still doubt her. “It was Christa though who won it,” she adds very sadly.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who can give Christa anything,” Ymir quickly butts in, throwing her arms possessively around Christa’s small frame.

You’re about to blurt that allowing Christa entrance into the MP is already more than anything one could get around here, when Mina slaps her hands on your cheeks and smashes her mouth on yours. Her lips are very, very soft, and she tastes like sweet apple cider.

As quickly, she pulls back, a happy smile spreading on her face.

You grin back. Before joining the military, you’ve kissed one or two boys in Trost, their names already long lost and withered in a garden where you’ve pledged to take care of new flowers that have grown over the last three years. The bouvardia’s little pink heads shake in excitement today.

Mina takes your hand and weaves you surprisingly soberly through the dancing and laughing crowd, dodging expertly whoever tries to reach for you because they want to invite you for another pint or dance. She leads you to a table a little off the main plaza where couples and children dance in never-ending circles to the music, and only when you sit down, a little confused from the new surroundings, you notice the familiar faces of your squad.

Connie and Sasha, arm in arm, sway to the music, singing gibberish lyrics that could be the right ones, could be their whole new take on it. Daz and Samuel try to outdrink each other, not caring about how unkindly their bodies will repay them come tomorrow. You notice Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt are not present and wonder what they might be up to. In your half-drunken state there’s only one answer you arrive at, one that makes you giggle into your mug and almost choke on the mead.

“What are you laughing at?” Jean asks. He has Marco and Armin in tow—one distinctly blushing, the other too aware, too attentive for your liking. Clearly, Armin hasn’t touched any booze yet, and clearly, that is about to change.

The moment he sits down, on cue, a bartender from the closest counter swipes in and distributes new mugs spilling over with beer.

“Here’s your drink, stranger,” he says. “Bottoms up.”

Armin obediently starts getting up.

The bartender gently presses him back down. “The drink, lad.”

“What’s it like, being the popular one for one day?” Jean asks as he leans over the table, wearing that stupid smug smile you’d love to punch off his face. Maybe with your mouth even. The thought whips you sober; kicks up dust that’s settled in a corner for such a long time that you forgot all about the feeling it’s hiding and what it’s like to mourn her.

Answer. You still have to answer, even though you’re afraid you might choke on that dust.

“That’s a whole day more than you’ll ever get, Kirschstein,” you say, quickly locking your lips to your tankard because your mouth feels too dry.

Jean flips you off. Beside you, Marco is fiddling with something in his lap, and when you take a closer look, you see he’s pushing a wooden chip into his palm with his thumb. He catches your gaze and flushes furiously.

“Jean,” he begins, startling Jean opposite from him. Quieter, Marco continues, “Jean won it.”

You level Jean with a long, silent gaze.

“What?” Jean mumbles.

“You saying you wouldn’t wanna kiss [Name]?” Connie shouts from the other end of the table.

Suddenly, it’s deafeningly silent.

“It’d be like kissing my own cousin,” he shouts back, his voice loud enough it almost breaks. From nervousness? From disgust?

The table laughs.

You laugh.

Suddenly, the mead sloshes heavy in your stomach like acid. Maybe you’ve just drunk too much.

The jest unlocks something that’s been holding Marco back. He quickly snatches your hand and presses his lips to your knuckles before dropping it again and lifting himself from the seat. He flees into the crowd of dancers, ears crimson red, Sasha’s cries to bring her more of the sticky honey roast falling on deaf ears.

When you look over at Jean, he’s staring at you, then at Marco, as if he’s just realised something, and his pupils grow large, black. Fathomless.

You need to know what’s going on in his head, but before you can voice your question—bold by wine and pleasure, you’re ready to cross the line—a storm in the form of Eren appears right beside you, trailed by Mikasa who—do your eyes deceive you?—looks as though she’s trying not to smile. She catches Armin’s eyes, and they both share a silent glance.

Eren announces his arrival by slamming a wooden chip right in front of you as though you have insulted him and now it’s his right to demand reparations to his status.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he demands.

You blink up at him, and it takes time before your eyes meet his as your attention gets lost on the way to his face: on his biceps, on his sharp collarbones winking at you from under his white shirt.

“What’s so hard to understand about it?” Jean snorts into his tankard. “It’s just for fun, Jaeger. Maybe you should look it up in a dictionary.”

Eren does look a little as though he’s never heard of that. You also can’t imagine him participating in a game for fun. He’d make a game of can knockdown into a question of life and death.

“You can give it to me, if you don’t want it,” Connie pipes up.

“You scared of girls, Jeager?” Jean continues, talking over whatever Connie has in mind with you. “This might be your only chance ever getting kissed by one before you head out beyond the Walls and die a horrible, pathetic death.”

“It’s stupid,” Eren says to you, as if you are the inventor of the May Queen’s tradition. “It cost me two coins to play the damn game and this is what I get?”

“No one is forcing you—” Connie tries again, sneaking his hand across the table to swipe the chip.

“Ohh, look at you, Eren, trying to pretend like you’d hate it,” you speak up now, slamming your hand over the chip and almost squishing Connie’s fingers under your palm. He jerks back, cradling his hand close to his chest. “You want to kiss me so bad, it makes you look stupid.”

Once more, laughter rises from your table. You look into the faces of your friends and relish in being the reason for their joy.

Eren doesn’t think it’s funny. Eren Jaeger is fucking determined to prove you wrong. He slaps his hands around your cheeks, holding your head in place. Every sound dies at your table.

You’re about to tell him it’s just a joke, no need to get his knickers in a twist, but he’s dead set on his mission: Giving you a concussion because he smashes his mouth against your forehead and almost knocks you both out cold.

Jean, who’s still been laughing until this point, goes dead silent, looking sickly grey.

“Hey—” he begins, but gets knocked over by an over-excited and slightly drunk Connie, splashing beer all over himself.

Eren reels back, hand pressed against his mouth, his bottom lip bleeding where his teeth have grazed it. Your head throbs and you’re pretty sure your cheeks show red lines where he’s pressed his fingers into your skin with a bruising grip.

“Oh my God, don’t you know how to kiss someone?” Connie hollers, banging his fist on the table hard enough it shakes and you hear a distinct crack. Jean starts to climb over the table, ready to administer rough justice, but his foot gets stuck at the edge and he topples off the table right to the feet of a few girls who misinterpret it and haul him up to drag him away to the dance floor. Your whole table is attacked by merry dancers, and you’re yanked away from your friends when the minstrels begin their performance and the music picks up again. The sounds swell to a roar—as do the guest’s voices when they chime in with the jolly song.

The Fishmonger’s daughter, ba ba The Fishmonger’s daughter, ba ba The Fishmonger’s daughter, ba ba The Fishmonger’s daughter, ba ba ba

A great classic to start off the night. Ring-a-ring-of-roses it goes as the guests dance in a wide circle, arm in arm, shouting in tandem. You don’t know the faces to your left and right, but their smiles are infectious. You laugh so hard your belly and cheeks hurt. The circle breaks, pairs find together like bees to flowers. Now that everyone is on their feet and in a dancing mood, the minstrels start a new song. On and on in circles it goes—left and right, from partner to partner until faces blur and become unrecognisable.

Your head feels light, as though filled with cotton. You want to stay in this moment forever—dancing, singing, laughing.

A strong hand gently settles on your underarm. You look up at strong, broad shoulders and arms the size of logs. The man has slicked his blonde hair back neatly, and when he walks through the crowd, it parts naturally as though he is a force of nature to be reckoned with—and then he turns, and you look up in the sharp, blue eyes of Survey Corps Commander Erwin Smith.

A/N: Fingers crossed I'll upload the final chapter of the first act at the end of October.

***

Taglist: @arisu003, @brooki, @prttyangelbaby, @honeylmnade, @berriesandcrem

#aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #snk x reader #snk x you #snk x y/n #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #swyaatl

71 notes · View notes

is-the-owl-video-cute · 1 year

Note

Since everyone is sending you stuff tonight I might as well vent a little, and maybe ask for advice. I have a cat and live with a roommate who also has a cat. My cat is sweet but uper skittish and basically hides 20 hours of the day, and only comes out for food or water or (rarely) cuddles with me. My roommate's cat has single kitten syndrome and is a nightmare. She poops and pees on the floor, scratches up all the furniture, turns the food and water bowls over 10+ times a day, and plays roughly. Like really, REALLY roughly. Draws blood, leaves puncture wounds roughly. And sees any attempt to shoo her away or run away from her as you playing back. Pulling away doesn't help. Making loud noises don't help. Pushing her or bopping her doesn't help. Spraying water doesn't help. Distracting her with toys doesn't help. If she wants to attack you she will. Not. Stop.

And still, all this I could tolerate if it were just me. But she attacks my cat too. And my poor sweet boy who's afraid of his own shadow now won't even come out to eat or drink or use the litter box. He's hiding in a corner, in his own filth, because she'll sit and watch him for hours on end and attack him if he comes out from under my dresser. And last time I managed to coax him out I noticed he's lost a lot of weight, AND he's got cauliflower ear really badly.

I tried talking to my roommate and asked her if we can't rehome the cat could she at least keep her in her room? So she stops attacking me and my cat? And she said that's not fair, because her cat was here first and it would be cruel to not let her roam every room in her home. I don't have anywhere else to go right now, and I can't afford to move out, and my local vet said it would be a $600 surgery to treat my boy's ear, which I also can't afford. They said it would get better on it's own eventually, but that was almost 2 weeks ago and it's only getting worse. I really, really don't know what to do :(

I’m not qualified to give you an answer on this sadly as I am not a cat behavioralist.

I would see if your roommate wouldn’t mind at least letting your cat stay closed inside your room in the meantime at least, and keep food and water around the house as opposed to just one location. Same with litter boxes and you should have at least three. It seems like a territorial dispute from what you’re describing but again I can’t really analyze through tumblr.

If your roommate refuses to rehome the problem cat however and you can’t move out any time soon, my best long term advice is unfortunately to seek out a new home for your cat. It isn’t ideal, but if the situation doesn’t improve it isn’t fair to make him stay there.

43 notes · View notes

nostalgiachan · 1 month

Text

A Terrible Lie

Fifteenth Prompt: Vier has been betrayed. What happened?

Summary: Someone lies, everyone dies isn't thrilled about it (520 words)

---

“That’s it! Never again!” Vier shouted after thoroughly rinsing her mouth out with water. “Wyll is never again to be trusted with cooking duties!” Gale quickly seconded her complaint.

“Oh, come on, this tastes perfectly fine!” Wyll protested.

The sound of loud arguing was like music to Shadowheart’s ears, and she wandered over to the campfire, curious to see who might draw daggers first. “Ooh, the local paragons of virtue are going at it…and Gale, I suppose. Who’ll make it to the end of dinner, I wonder?”

“Well, it won’t be Wyll if he tries to make me eat another spoonful of that atrocity!” Vier spat, pointing at the bowl in Wyll’s hands. Shadowheart’s eyes traveled to the bowl and saw something fluffy, white, and steaming inside.

“...Mashed potatoes?” she asked, the corners of her mouth struggling not to raise in a smug smile. “Did you screw up mashed potatoes that badly?”

“Not mashed potatoes,” Vier hissed. “Mashed cauliflower. He certainly said he was making mashed potatoes!”

Wyll wasted no time defending himself. “If I didn’t, Gale wouldn’t have eaten it! The man’s…how old are you now? Nevermind, what matters is he’s more than old enough to start eating some damned vegetables! And I had fully expected this sort of tantrum from him, but from you, Vier?”

In one swift blow, Wyll had managed to scandalize both Gale and Vier. “I’ll have you know, I am more than capable of eating a vegetable,” Gale objected, “but when making a fine roast or stew, anything more than carrots and onions simply distracts from the flavor, I feel.”

“And I just don’t like fucking cauliflower,” Vier interjected with a bit of a pout, “nor do I like getting a big spoonful of what I think is salty, buttery, fluffy potato and instead receiving a mouthful of lies.”

“So if I cooked up a batch of broccoli right now, you’d eat it?” asked Wyll pointedly. While Vier was quick to answer that she quite enjoyed cooked broccoli, Gale was far more hesitant to answer.

“Look, I won’t deny Mr. of Waterdeep here’s got issues getting his leafy greens,” Vier sighed, “but the next time you try to sneak him some proper roughage, can you not do it with cauliflower, at least? And, you know, maybe don’t lie to the rest of us about it.” Gale looked as though he’d been abandoned by his truest companion.

“I-I do not have problems with vegetables! I will prove it to you, damn it! Give me the mash!”

Wyll gladly handed over the bowl of mashed cauliflower, and Gale stuffed an absolutely heaping spoonful into his mouth. From the tears in his eyes, it was clear he was immediately regretting his decision, but he continued to soldier through it; for if there was anything which drove that man to breaking his limits, it was being told he wasn’t capable of something.

“You know, I was almost hoping for a fight to break out,” said Shadowheart through a smirk as she cracked open a bottle of wine to watch Gale shovel down cauliflower, “but this is honestly funnier.”

#my writing #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #drow tav #cleric tav #vier alurlssrin

3 notes · View notes

luwupercal · 10 months

Text

warmup doodles potpourri #1 (days 1-10)

contents: eye strainy colors/near pure CMYK, crackships, bad music with weird lyrics, abaddon, traced doodles, the usual caliber of suggestive joke you find on this webbed site, links to sad poems, and primarch errant au

july 4th: traced fulgrim/ostian doodle

source. its a draw the squad meme, sorta

if you don't remember him Ostian Delafour is the remembrancer sculptor from fulgrim the novel lol. i've probably mentioned i think shipping him with fulgrim is funny before but i don't think i've ever realized it to any extent? in the book he's pursued by two, respectfully somewhat unstable girlypops, i think it would be really funny to add a third larger one to the mix. also (ostian voice) i can't fix him mr frodo. but i can fuck him

image description: a simple drawing of Fulgrim and Ostian Delafour from warhammer 40k. they are sharing a bed, their sides pressed together. Ostian is a normally-sized man with darker skin and short curly hair, wearing a pair of sweatpants. he's blushing furiously. Fulgrim is a huge man, easily twice as tall as Ostian, fit and with long white hair, with lighter skin, only wearing a pair of boxer briefs. he's looking at Ostian and smiling, one eyebrow raised. he's too large for the bed, his legs hanging off it, and one of his arms is slightly squishing Ostian. the drawing is done in purple hues. end image description.

july 8th: two idiots

the story behind this (ft @horuslupercal):

image descriptions: the first image is a scribbled doodle of ezekyle abaddon and horus lupercal in a simple style, drawn on top of a small light blue rectangle on a white canvas. horus is holding abaddon close to himself and attempting to draw on his eyelid. abaddon, who's squinting angrily, is resisting by placing his entire hand on horus's face, as if to push him away. horus looks disappointed at this development

the second and third images are screenshots of a discord conversation, with nicknames redacted, dated to "yesterday", 2:13 AM. user luwupercal says "also calling upon you bc youre the only one posting rn [@ user horuslupercal] gimme something to draw in this rectangle. anything of your choice". attached to the message is a screenshot of a small light blue rectangle on a larger digital canvas. user horuslupercal replies "abaddon squirming like a wild animal while horus tries to give him eyeliner". luwupercal replies "Hella, incoming". end image descriptions.

july 9th: magenta snake-eating ferrus

this one is a little more elaborate so i might post it independently if i like it enough in a while

the lyrics are from yum yumm by the pompoms. forewarning: this song is not very good in my opinion! but i like it anyway if only for these perplexing fucking lyrics. what do they mean?? i don't know. but they're ferrus core anyways

it's not very visible also but the ear on the left of his face is a cauliflower ear lol bc i thought it was fitting. i want to update the way i draw ferrus to differentiate him more from his fellow baldies/short haired dudes. idk if the broken nose will stick, i might give it to horus or perturabo, we'll see. i also dk why he doesn't have eyebrows i forgor to draw them. also the screenshotted lyrics r straight from spotify & the magenta + blue are lifted from the album cover for this song ok yeah

image description: a bust drawing of ferrus manus in greyscale and bright magenta. he's seen at an angle, looking at the viewer with a frown. he has a very square jawline, a broken nose, a widow's peak, and a cauliflower ear, and he's wearing a black tanktop. his eyes are solid magenta. next to him is a cut-up screenshot of black text on magenta background, reading "I eat hoes like you, no plate, no fork, no sauce / Just live raw snakes". the background of the image is a diagonal pastel gradient from purplish-magenta to light blue, framed by an uneven magenta rectangle. end image description.

extra note: i keep associating ferrus with magenta? here's an excerpt from a fic i have half-written. (this is from the primarch errant au where ferrus beats fulgrim at isstvan and separates him from the blade of laer; specific context is that fulgrim is wrapped up in a shock blanket telling ferrus about everything that happened leading up to isstvan). roll quote:

Besides, the palpable magenta Fulgrim's recollection was tinged with makes Ferrus sick to his stomach. He'd always felt uneasy around that color, what with it being fake and all. There's no getting used to evidence of your own failure. But he doesn't say that, because fuchsia's loud and startling. Poison is neon. Though then again, so is the shock blanket.

idk something about magenta being a color that doesn't exist makes me think about ferrus. i feel like he'd be annoyed about that bc hes that kind of guy lol but it's also kinda metaphorical for his own life(?). + it's the color that kills him kinda bc it's slaanesh's color... it could be a powerful color motif for his and fulgrims relationship to each other lol idk. and the snake thing above is also a thing abt these two bc when is it not, it's the whole, fulgrim wasn't a snake until he stole it from ferrus thing i think a lot about all the time

july 9th part 2: this

redraw of this (heres a reblog with alt text). i dont think it needs further explanation

image description: a two panel comic drawn in purple of ferrus and fulgrim from warhammer 40k. the first panel shows ferrus saying "My knees hurt from sucking dick" with a forlorn expression. fulgrim enthusiastically calls out in response "What were you suckin dick or something". in the second panel ferrus looks back at fulgrim scandalized while fulgrim looks at him with a shocked and disturbed expression. end image description

july 10th: radioactive piss emperor

quote from a toast to the alchemists by laura giplin

image description: a simple bust doodle of the emperor of mankind from warhammer 40k. he's a man with a thin face, a long neck and long, middle-parted wavy hair. he has a halo in the form of a doodled laurel crown. he has a neutral facial expression. there are heavy shadows covering the upper half of his face, including his eyes, as well as part of his hair and neck. the lines of the drawing are black with bright yellow copies underneath. overlaid where his eyes would be is a screenshot of text reading: "and gold, you can make / gold, an isotope so / radioactive it would / sparkle before your eyes." the text is duplicated in yellow too. end id

the meaning behind this one is like. ok. the poem is exalting the miraculous advances of modern science in the eyes of a medieval alchemist and obviously there is the immediate layer in this drawing of like, haha hes bright golden and hes toxic as fuck thus radioactive but also ive been learning recently through youtube video essays about like, the history of the study of physics throughout the 20th century and all the absolute nightmares that have occurred throughout, theres some bits that really stick with me like a woman being denied due to sexism participation in an experiment that couldve won her a nobel prize - that experiment being the detonation of a nuke over the open ocean & collection of whatever new chemical elements waft up to the atmosphere in the smoke. or ronald raegans existance just generally. and so theres something kind of, it's mournful that the alchemist will never see this but to me in a way it's mournful in a tear-stained dirty-faced way, like, because of all the horrors we've committed for science... anyway that overlaid on the emperor and his weird... pseudo scientific shit for an advancement of mankind that humankind might genuinely be better off without, i find parallels. i also think theres a lot of weight on the following lines in the context of a comparison to the emperor: "Alchemists, / you were right. / It is magic." because such a beautiful sentiment turns really sinister when thinking about the emperors pseudoscience: he was always lying. you cant build a guy that ignores the square cube law. it is magic

i phrased all of that in a deeply stupid way but youre looking at my doodles. youre in geralds world now baby

(i have a lot of thoughts about poetry! i will take the moment to link some poems i like, or things i consider poems at the very least:

"the night shift" by tumblr user goodbyevitamin

"lies about sea creatures" by ada limón

untitled ("to tboy") by anonymous/"tgirl"

this excerpt from "three of swords" by tumblr user gender0bender (link to full zine)

"not horses" by natalie shapero [cw: animal abandonment &/ death]

untitled ("gambling with angels is easy") by tumblr user play-now-my-lord

"how to be a dog" by andrew kane [cw: animal abandonment &/ cruelty].

yes most of these are kind of sad oops. i like sad poetry bc it sticks with me! but if you want a sweet one there's "to tboy" above and i can also link you to "gathering green tomatoes by the rain" by jeff mann, aka an actual published poem lol)

july 10th part 2: handwriting headcanons (or, headwriting handcanons?)

in the usual reading order: Fulgrim, Perturabo, Night Haunter aka Konrad Curze, Angron, Mortarion, Magnus (the red), Horus Lupercal, and Lorgar

image description: a series of handwritten names. first in purple in a cursive script is "Fulgrim". colored grey, in an angular, all-caps script is "Perturabo". colored dark blue, in a childish scrawl, is "Night Haunter". colored dark red, in a wobbly all-caps script, is "Angron". in a round, "bubbly" cursive script, colored pastel green, is "Mortarion". colored bright red, in an illegible chickenscratch cursive scrawl, is "Magnus (the red)". in a carefully-typed semi-cursive script, colored dark green, is "Horus Lupercal". finally, in a golden mustard yellow are a series of runes, meaning "Lorgar", with the word typed in a computer font to the runes' side as clarification. everything is written on a series of light gray lines. end description

i didn't QUITE nail fulgrim's and these are not at all set in stone, except for magnus's and ~5/6ths of lorgar's lol. i've tried to do fulgrim's handwriting before (thats what inspired me to do this, finding that again), this i think remains my favourite attempt ever at fulgrim's handwriting:

image description: tiny purple cursive script reading "no.", underlined, atop the corner of a mostly unseen form or template. end id

my notes for the rest: perturabo's script is surprisingly fast to write but i'm also partial to him having illegible cyrillic doctor script, KC/NH's was achieved through lifting my elbow way too high (i do not freehand) and is indeed aiming for little kid, angron's was achieved through using my left hand, mortarion gets round bubbly cursive because i think it's "mathematician handwriting" for some reason?, i've mentioned before i think magnus writes in illegible chickenscratch, horus has weird script bc he learned to write from either custodes or the emperor or both, and lorgar is writing in colchisian script here - ive posted, maybe, some bits of my colchisian script? but heres a guide just in case:

image descriptions: the first image is a set of digitally hand-drawn glyphs, standing in for the following letters: P, R, A, I, S, E, B, T, O, H, L, D, Y, F and G, the last of which is drawn with a different brush and in a different color, and labeled "(New!)". the second image is a copy of the first, with multicolored arrows on top of the letters' lines, to indicate how they're written. end description

edit: I forgot I also made U lmao, it's like O but the lines at the top go up creating a diamond shape instead of a heart(?) one

i'll get around to doing the full colchisian cypher alphabet at some point. also the font i used for lorgars name and above in the sucking dick comic is atkinson hyperlegible my beloved and no.1

and july 10th part 3: its britney bitch

image description: a drawing of fulgrim traced over the "Stop Being Poor" britney spears meme image. he's a muscular man with brown skin and long, white/lavender hair, smiling cheerfully and with his hands thrown up in the air. he's wearing a long purple skirt and a cream tank top that says "Stop Being Poor" down his chest in large all-caps text. the background is a photo of people at a concert, with fulgrim drawn onstage. end id

yeah this one is self explanatory too

#lines #*fulgrim #i will do a big compilation of my favs at the end of the month i think #*july doodles

9 notes · View notes

saygracejude · 7 months

Note

glance | motion | stillness | night | change for Jude please

it’s been a while since i done one of these, here we go 🥰

glance

hmm, jude has kinda distinguished ears - they stick out a lil, are slightly more pointed & also he has mild cauliflower ear so people will occasionally notice that in addition to the facial scar on his chin (depending on how much of a beard he has lmao). also he’s got some pretty noticeable tattoos that draw some looks purely cos some people always look at tattooed people.

motion

jude is a fighter for a living so he’s highly coordinated and flexible unless he’s drunk or high then that kinda goes out the window a bit. he’s also a very uh, move-y boy, very active and always going way faster than he needs to & tends to typically wear cut off tees, board shorts, jeans, hoodies & gym clothing so his clothing usually gives him a good range of motion.

stillness

okay so jay’s almost never still, he is fidgety af & has difficulty with staying still. he’ll often tap his fingers against his legs or any reachable surface in random rhythms, jogs his legs, will fiddle with stuff like his cap or nearby objects. if jude’s sitting he’ll often shift about a lot and change positions & if he’s standing he’ll move around and find things to do. oh, he can also be a lil touchy if he isn’t gonna get shit for it, like jude will often sit playing with lev’s hair or tickling his back or other forms of touch and affection.

night

jude prefers to sleep naked most of the time cos it’s just very satisfying to him but if it’s too cold, he’ll wear lounge shorts or trousers.

change

when jude got to an age that he was able to exert a little more control over his own life, he quickly switched from more modest/conservative clothing to band tees, tees with crude words and slogans, baggy shorts and scruffy jeans which caused a lot of tension at home but he didn’t really care at that point - half of what he wore was to start a fight anyway. jude also started getting tattoos in his teens & loves all of them, he likes being able to alter his body in ways that please him.

#for jude #jude sawyer boone #oc meme #oc ask #writing #mutter

2 notes · View notes

sukunasun · 2 years

Note

Reading ufc sukuna because he is ultimate comfort man to me. I absolutely adore it so much you're so talented. ☂️

thank you so much! im so glad you like him, i know he's got his little pool of fans, just know that he'd thank you too and would be so modest about it 💛

ufc sukuna has a special place in my heart, i love writing him because his energy is infectious, it's hard to not fall for the evil king of curses when he's so nasty and sweet and incredibly unapologetic, someone who wouldn't hesitate or beat around the bush, who simply says 'you're mine' and doesn't take no for an answer, i look at him and i wished for someone who would be so bold and brazen for me

to put him in a human body with a human lifespan, who depends on only his physical and emotional attributes, where power and immortality are stripped away, he suddenly becomes so endearing somehow...what is it that makes sukuna who he is, how do i place such a being into a world where he doesn't exist, is he just some alpha male stereotype, or a person with his own goals and dreams—a fighter probably, but one who fights for something beyond his own needs and wants this time, and maybe it just so happens to be the love of his life

('pssh how cliched and overdone, a man fighting for love? how boring, try something else, write something else, no one wants to read about sukuna's cauliflower ears and the way he likes to fuck in front of mirrors, he's not lame and goofy'— HA HA but he is! and he deserves to be seen that way too)

looking back it's some of the more indulgent pieces i've written and it's been a long time since i've read them but it washes me in so much nostalgia for sukunasun origins, i owe it to him and all his little facets as an evil piece of shit who has no heart or feelings whatsoever but that's exactly why writing him feels so euphoric, is giving him these justifications and reasons and anything else i can pull out from a character like him, so much more than whatever fits into the panels of a manga, i just want to rip him out and fight him one on one, then maybe kiss him a little, but not too much tho, i know he bites...

#happy 1 year to sukunasun !#ask #sunbeam

13 notes · View notes

dzmoot · 3 months

Text

TUUNS VS SHREKENOIDS PT. 2

So much for a quiet getaway. I'm not much of a writer so I'll just get right to the point instead of trying to be like the next Ernest Hemingtuun. We found ourselves on this vegetable planet, Manganese I think it was called. It kinda reminded me of the place Igginsworth lives, only the plant life (which is in great abundance) talks! Sometimes, they'll grow right out of the ground and start walking around or vice versa. Asparagus men, onion heads, lemon loafers, heck I wouldn't be surprised if there was a rutabaga running a marathon or a bunch of red leaf lettuce playing chopsticks on the piano.

We were intercepted aka attacked by a guy with a turnip head.

Before we could melt his head into turnip soup, he was eliminated by a giant carrot named Doc. He was a little scared of me at first considering I was half rabbit and rabbits and carrots are kinda like biscuits and butter, but he warmed up to me once I told him carrots gave me hives.

He told us we were wanted by the king and he took us straight to his palace inside a hollowed out green hubbard.

We stood before King Mundungus Brox, Sire of the Scallions, Connoisseur of the Carrots and Leader of the Leafy Greens. It's said his little brother was eaten by a furry three eyed beast, explaining his sour attitude. So this guy Cauliflower sent out a distress call saying he needed 5 warriors with different abilities to come and help him fight these alien guys that came out of a cloud of space dust. We hopped back into the Spaceslinger and headed out to Cauliflower's giant saucer, the Round Thing where we were greeted by a little penguin guy with a fishbowl on his head. Turns out it was just a hologram. My hand went right through him!

GREETINGS 5 WARRIORS FROM AFAR, I AM NUKIO, COMMODORE KOLLIFLOWER'S RIGHT HAND SPACEBIRD. WE ARE CURRENTLY HELD UP ON THE SURFACE OF SUMPLEI-ZELS FIGHTING THE SHREKENOIDS WITH VERY LITTLE AMMO LEFT. YOUR MISSION, TO TAKE OUT THE ENTIRE SHREKENOID SWARM AT IT'S SOURCE, THE HEART OF THE NEBULA. IN THE ROUND THING'S HANGAR BAY YOU WILL FIND HOVERSURFERS AND WEAPONRY TO ASSIST YOU WITH THIS TASK. TAKE OUT THE NEBULA'S HEART AND DESTROY THE SHREKENOIDS FOR GOOD. GOOD LUCK AND MAY THE PARTICLES OF THE UNIVERSE GIVE YOU STRENGTH!

Of course, you probably know what happened next. We hopped on those so called hoversurfers and I was extremely jealous of Siobhan because she got her hands on the lasersword before I did. Still, we soared through starville taking down Shrekenoid after Shrekenoid after Shrekenoid. Hampire even sunk his teeth into one and said it tasted like boiled sardines! I would've killed for an extendable nose or a magic wand. My dinky little gun took like 10 seconds to fry those little freaks! My ears and tail weren't cutting it either!

Finally, we made it to the Heart of the Nebula. I couldn't believe my beady eyes! There was a giant Shrekenoid just floating there, angry faced and all.

As I did many moons ago when taking out a giant Cyclowntopus, I soared right into the bastard's mouth and began frying his insides like scrambled lunar eggs. Turns out my blaster was on the wrong setting. Within minutes, he stopped making miniature duplicates of himself and bursted into little green chunks. Don't tell Hampire, but I do believe I am the true brains of the group! When we got back to the Round Thing, Commodore Kolliflower thanked us via hologram and told me I reminded him of a Mezarp, whatever the hell that meant!

0 notes

mrsleestranger · 11 months

Text

CLAMP SCHOOL DETECTIVES NOVEL VOLUME 2 (Ep 5,6 Chap 1).

(What should I say to kaichou to get today's papers done...?) Suoh always thought about these things when he carried the papers to the student council room.

(Even if I hangs a carrot in front of him, he will get the carrot in a clever way, he will eats only the carrot and won't work at all...)

At that moment, a familiar sound came to Suoh's ears, he could hear the sound of an arrow hitting the target.

"Huh?"

Suoh suddenly stopped and looked at the archery range.

No one should be shooting arrows at this time of lunch break. Suoh tilted his head and walked towards the archery range.

Peeking at the target through the fence, he saw three arrows that had sharply pierced into it.

However, the archer could not be seen because he was inside the enclosed wall, and he could barely see the overhang of the bow.

The archer was about to shoot the fourth arrow now.

Suoh couldn't help but stared

Whoosh!

This time, too, it hit the target perfectly. All arrows hit the target.

Surprised by its accuracy, Suoh leaned forward with an urge to immediately check the shooter's face.

The archer bowed dignifiedly and was about to turn on his heels and walked away.

Only the back could be seen from Suoh's position. He looked like an elementary school boy, but Suoh didn't recognize him from behind.

Just as Suoh was about to take another step forward, a late autumn wind blew and the papers he was carrying fluttered up.

Suoh hurriedly holds down the documents.

And when he looked up again, the archer was nowhere to be seen.

(If I search around here now, I might be able to find him...)

Suoh thought so, but he changed his mind and headed for the student council room again.

“The chestnut potage and sweet potato potage were both popular with kaichou, so what should I make next?”

While muttering such things, Akira was heading to the cooking practice room.

Akira always loved cooking, but when he was praised, he became even more inclined to cook.

Needless to say, Nokoru was good at giving compliments, so Akira's skills were getting better and better.

"That's right! Let's make cauliflower soup next time! His body will be warm!"

And when the door to the cooking practice room came into view...

The door opened slowly and a male student came out.

"Huh?"

Akira suddenly stopped.

The student immediately walked in the opposite direction from Akira, so he couldn't even see his face.

Akira tilted her head because the cooking practice room was a place where most of the male students other than Akira didn't set foot in.

However, he quickly came to a sensible conclusion.

“There is a male student besides me who is interested in cooking!”

Akira was honestly happy and put his hand on the door of the cooking practice room. Then, when he stepped into the room, his eyes widened immediately. There was a yarrow pot with small white flowers on his table.

It bloomed splendidly, as if welcoming visitors. As Akira stood still for a while, the yarrow swayed gently in the breeze from the window.

#clamp #clamp school detectives #clamp gakuen tanteidan #clamp学園探偵団 #imonoyama nokoru #takamura suoh #ijyuin akira #azuya nagisa #ohkawa utako #yudaiji idomu #clamp school detectives novel #csd novel vol 2 ep 5-6

0 notes

jamesyofukashi · 1 year

Text

A Study in cyan

A tall and lanky man walks into his new home, dressed in a dignified orange. He spots his new roommate, a slightly shorter but much more robustly built man and eagerly walks toward him. There is not even an inkling of excitement on the roommate’s pale face.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Dr. Leonhart Lawliet, but please call me Leon. You’ve been in your fair share of fights, I perceive. Is that fact perhaps connected to your being here?”, he exclaimed with a firm handshake.

“How the hell would you know?!”, responds the roommate lethargically, already agitated by the eccentric character that now would new have to live with.

Leonhart bows in a theatrical way before explaining: “It’s quite simple actually. Your cauliflower ears for one, are a dead giveaway for brawlers, but that is not all. You also seem to have quite the amount of scarring on your knuckles and your clothes have wrinkles collar region, indicating that someone grabbed you. In addition to this- “

“Shut up you know it all. No one likes nerds, not even the businessmen.”

“It is common courtesy to state your name, when someone introduces themselves to you.”, Leonhart exclaims in a calm manner.

“Fuck off. Let me give you a good piece of advice. Shut the fuck up. Keep your head down. And don’t act anything like how youre acting right now. Join a gang, if you manage to not act like an insufferable know-it-all. If you continue like this someone is definitely gonna kill you. Don’t you know that in Baker prison, newcomers die quick ?!”, his new roommate threateningly warns him. Meanwhile Dr. Lawliet looks around his new room. He looks fully uninterested in the roommate’s piece of advice. A Bunkbed, with white sheets, a toilet with marked with conspicuously red stains, a gray dirty floor. He looks his new acquaintance up and down. The pale burly man seems to have something hidden in his pant pocket, most likely a shive. He seemed to be shaking, ready to attack. It is better to tread lightly when investigating a prisoners’ pasts, noted. His new cell mate takes something out of his pant pocket and eats it.

“Now, now there’s no need to act so rash. I will try to take your, hopefully goodwilled, advice to heart. I did know that this detention facility is quite high security when entering, but it is not as though I could simply choose the place where I’d end up. For now, let us put this animosity behind us, it will not serve us well. I will make myself at home in cell 221B, and you will act courteously toward me as though you never saw my previous uncouth display of rudeness. And don’t worry about me, I’ll fit in just fine here. Now, your name?”, the thin man tries to diffuse.

“John Henderson”, he replies, no longer seeing the point in arguing with his new cell mate. His shaking and irritable attitude seems to have subsided.

A bell starts ringing throughout the halls, Henderson following Lawliet out of the cell. There was no harm in having a meal, especially since he hadn’t eaten anything since arriving this morning.

Lawliet enters the large cafeteria with John, noting a few things. For example, people were eating instant noodles along with their normal meals. While some inmates were already leaving the dining hall, others were only now getting their food. It seems that different cell blocks enter at different times.

“Look. Imma explain how things work round here. You smart so you probably already noticed, but you don’t sit at the same table with a gang you don’t know, you don’t talk to anybody from another gang. You’re not affiliated yet, but some might peg you as B.M. since I’m talking to you. The only people that are allowed to talk with different groups are the keys. You become a key holder by beating the shit out of another key. As a key it’s your job to communicate with the other cars. If the skinheads already pulled up on the blacks, and their keys don’t see the issue and shake hands, it’s all good. I’m one of the business keys. They might have a crap load of money, but they sure as hell don’t measure up in strength, and smearing the guards to do your bidding only works for so long. And on the topic of strength, I don’t recommend you fight anyone, you’re way too scrawny for that, and people play dirty if they ever lose a fight.”, Henderson explains.

“And do what do I owe the pleasure of this explanation?”, Leon questions. It wasn’t like John had any incentive to be nice after he made such a bad first impression.

“I’m the new key holder for the businessmen since a few days ago. Unlike some other gangs that mislead new inmates for shits and giggles, the businessmen want to give their new people a proper impression of how things work here. Breaking the rules means getting the shit beat out of you or worse. Even if you don’t, piss off the wrong people and they spread some nasty rumors that can put your life in danger.”, Henderson states, seemingly not believing his own words.

The Doctor is showing a very offset facial expression at the threat violence. “I noticed that there are a few inmates eating instant noodles, are they the defacto currency here?”, Leon asks to change the topic. He already knows the answer.

Henderson confirms with a smile: ” Don’t look so scared of me Leon. If you do that, you’ll definitely end up in Darnelious’ gang. Look, before I was a little off. Sorry about that. I don’t mean everything I said, and you seem like a good guy, I’ve just been a little irritated for the last few days is all. If you need anything I got you, but it’s gon’ be an eye for an eye typa thing, ‘kay?”

“Message received, man. Lessgo” Leon thanks him in an awkward manner, trying to imitate a cooler manner of speaking.

“Was that your attempt at talking like a normal dude?!”, John snorts out while barely containing his laughter. Leon simply laughs alongside him. When was the last time he could laugh at himself? It does not matter anymore; he now seemingly has a person to laugh with by his side, a familiar face in this new situation. Someone to maybe even call friend.

“Ok man, seeya later, I got my crowd to eat with. Talk to some other people during free time and you’ll be able to eat at a table in no time. Rules are rules so you have to get a little more familiar with the crowd before you can sit with them.”, Henderson explains, still occasionally chuckling at Leon.

“I understand Henderson”, he says, reverting back into his usual speech.

He looks the different tables up and down, outside of your usual tough looking prisoner crowd, there were a few quite peculiar tables. At one bald Caucasian men covered in unsavory tattoos sits, though their tough façade slowly crumbles the longer one observes them. They are acting extremely familiar, like brothers with one another. There was no hate or resentment at that table even though they clearly looked like the hateful type. The men all wore their orange uniforms in prim and proper fashion, and all they ate was their designated food portions. There was one exception, a man wearing a different black uniform, eerily reminiscent of clerical dress. A criminal pastor is quite the sight. They did not even snicker or sneer at the table next to them, which is filled with African Americans, exactly the type of person a skinhead would be hostile to. The aforementioned next table also seemed to sport quite peculiar characters. It seemed that there was a strict hierarchy at the table, with one tall and muscular man eating about 3 portions worth of food along with multiple instant noodle packages. After that a big looking fellow eating two portions, followed by 3 men eating their designated portions. The lowest ranking men at the table looked famished and cyanotic, having received no food from their table, they seem to be trying to get food from other tables. One, seemingly at the end of his endurance collapses. The guards carry him away as if nothing happened. Another tries asking the seemingly civil table of bald men next to him, but the Pastor only gives him a single piece of orange with a smile. The hateful façade seemed to be a lot more than just that. With a defeated look, he whispers something into the leader’s ear and receives a full portion of food. He must’ve struck some kind of deal. The thin man eats his meal quickly in resignation and leaves, presumably to his cell. Lawliet looks over at the last table that is highly peculiar. A table of men in orange suits, drinking wine. What the other tables received was barely able to be called food, while they were eating gourmet. It seems that they were the businessmen, a cabal of extremely wealthy looking men that somehow ended up in Baker penitentiary. But this was no prison to them, it seemed to be a mere hotel. At the head of the table sat a heavy-set man, seemingly of Italian heritage with a notable scar on the side of his face. He did not even wear an orange suit instead opting for a black and white pinstripe suit, classic mafia. But that was not the most outrageous part. The guards were SERVING him. They slowly brought course after course. Soup, Fish, Veal, even cake as desert, all seemingly cooked by a professional chef. At the end of the table was burly, pale Henderson, quietly eating his own food. Lawliet notices the pastor and his group of skinheads leave, even though some of them hadn’t finished their food. He finishes and seemingly lays down after a heavy meal. But something seemed very off. He was even more pale than before instead of less after eating, and the shaking Leon was barely able to grasp previously was now visible to him from another table.

“John, watcha doin’? John? Tony, slap John up a little, he’s had too much of the spaghetti, I think”, the heavy man exclaims in an old Chicago accent. One of the suited men quietly get up from his seat, buttoning his orange suit jacket and proceeds to violently shake Henderson’s torso to no avail as he was still not responding. “Is that son of a bitch tryin’ to die on me”, man in the black suit spits out in panic, “Is there a Docta here?! GUARDS!!! Bring this man a Docta!”

“I’m one!”, Leon souts while running over. “Emergency medicine to be exact, Dr. Lawliet, pleasure to make your acquaintance”, he stammers out at the end of his run.

“Call me Snorky, AND DON’T JUST STAND THERE DO SOMETHING!!!”, the mafia man exclaims.

“Ok, get me emergency aid equipment Snorky, it should near here, a red and a blue backpack, I need at least that to work”, Doctor Lawliet says with tension in his tone.

“GET THIS MAN what he wants!!!”, Snorky yells. Two guards come running out of a door with the equipment. “AND GET SOME MORE DOCTAS HERE”

Lawliet immediately grabs the red backpack, opens it, then opens the middle of three compartments, immediately grabs a stethoscope and auscultates Hendersons breathing from behind ,normal , then drags him onto the floor in recovery position with the help of Tony. Just as they put him into recovery position, he starts vomiting a brown liquid. Breath frequency is also normal. When he listens to the heart beat, it’s irregular, though he doesn’t know if it’s due to his seizing or an actual ailment. He grabs an AED, orders Tony to cut open his shirt and sticks on the defibrillator pads. Then he quickly takes blood pressure 90/65, very low. He notices that his skin has turned from pale to blue, so he uses an SpO2-measuring device to assess his blood oxygen: 85%, dangerous, but not life threatening. The AED shocks Henderson, so the doctor stays away for a second. He opens the blue backpack and takes out the oxygen tank, a tube and a mask, which he places on Henderson’s mouth before connecting the items with each other and turning the oxygen to 10 liters per minute. Henderson stops seizing, so Doctor Lawliet takes the chance to examine his heartbeat once again. Palpitations, and they didn’t get better from a defibrillator shock. He looks back at the SpO2: 83%. He goes to draw blood and what he sees horrifies him. The blood was not the vibrant scarlet red he had envisioned. It looks like mud, a congealed mess of dark brown blood. He saves some of the blood in a syringe then immediately starts with a saline infusion. The methemoglobinemia made the diagnosis as clear as day. Henderson had acute nitrate poisoning. Other Doctors arrive at the scene Lawliet informs them of his diagnosis and they take him away on a stretcher, for methyl blue and Vitamin C therapy among other treatments Lawliet could not perform.

“So, how’s he gonna be doc?”, Snorky asks in a concerned tone.

“Well, it’s difficult to tell. He’s definitely going to need methyl blue therapy for the better part of 3 months if he makes it out of this without any other complications. An IV will be his new best friend.”

“Ok, ok, sounds good. Look doc, if ya want I can take ya in, ok. Johnny was takin care of ya till now, so its only right that I do the same.”

“That’s a very standup thing of you to do. You’re a good man Snorky, but I think I want to go solo for now.”

“That’s fine, but just so you know, you can find me in the kitchen during free time activities. They’re gonna be from lunch until dinner, ok.”

Snorky and his businessmen walk off. Leon looks over to the Muscular mans table. He and his goons were cackling with each other about the incident. Disgusting. Leon walks back to his cell, which already feels empty after only 1 day of living in it. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, his mind starts racing with the possibilities of how Henderson might have been poisoned. Nitrates take about 1-6 hours to take show all of their effects. Someone must’ve poisoned him this morning. But who? The guards? He was a pleasant person the last time they talked, and Lawliet would like to think that that was his usual demeanor. Nitrate poisoning does cause irritability after all. But he was also a brawler. He’ll have to go investigate further to find the answer. The game is afoot.

Leon walks into the free time use kitchen and is met with the most peculiar site. 12 men, all in dress shirts and aprons, suit jackets neatly hung up near the entrance, cooking a variety of dishes. He walks up to Snorky, who’s wearing a pink apron with a cute bear on it.

“Now this is quite the sight.”

“I like staying in tough with my feminine side. Now can you help me make this Semifreddo? First, you’ll need to zest two lemons- “

“I wanted to ask about Henderson. His behavior before the incident seemed odd for me. What is he usually like?”

“I’ll tell ya when ya zest the lemon.”

Lawliet rolls up his orange overall sleeves, grabs a lemon and a grater and starts zesting the lemon, reserving it in a small bowl.

“He’s a good guy, a little crazy, but in a good way. He was always up for a fight, but when he got onna my guys, I tell ya, I got him slapped up pretty good. Told him he was welcome with me if he ever wanted to shape up enough to amount to something after getting outta here. He was with me the next day.”, Snorky nostalgically says. It was probably only a few weeks ago, which Lawliet finds quite amusing.

“That’s very interesting to hear. He was quite jittery when I made his acquaintance, but still a good man. Do tell me, why do you eat different food than the others at lunch?”

“Well, this is the cooking club, anything we make ourselves, we can eat. Look over there, Tony’s makin tha meatballs for dinner tonight and we got Nick on the right there takin’ care of the pasta. We’re taking care of desert. The family always works together to make somethin’ great, I tell ya. Come eat dinner with us today and you’ll see.”

“I don’t see why not. Do you mind if I go see what other free time activities are? It’s actually still my first day, so I don’t want to decide on what club to join immediately.”, Leon divulges.

“I don’t see why not? This family’s doors are open for you, so come back if you don’t like the others.”

Lawliet walks off to the gym, the place where he’ll most likely find the cackling bastard. While changing into a tank top and an orange pair of trousers in the locker room, he gets offered a treasure trove drugs one of the people that shared a table with Darnelious earlier. Steriods, SARMs, stimulants, endurance enhancers, aphrodisiacs and most peculiarly, an erectile dysfunction medication called a popper. Clinically they are called amyl nitrate, and they could cause nitrate poisoning. He declines the dealers offers, being caught with drugs would increase your sentence by up to 2 years, and even if Leon wanted them for research purposes, he didn’t have any instant ramen to buy them with. The dealer must have a life sentence to be doing this job so nonchalantly. Carrying on, he walks into the gym, which is filled with similarly dressed men doing different exercises. The most muscular among them, Darnelious is wearing a tank top and a cross necklace. They exchange a few words about the exercise, but when Leon tries to get more information regarding Henderson, he goes off on a tangent: “Look broski, Henderson was part of the gym squad before that fucking rich wanker poached him from me. And while we’re asking questions, why the fuck did you not help one of my guys when he fainted, but you put on the fucking grey’s anatomy stick when a white guys in trouble. You fitting in with the other two gangs, yeh? Fucking racists! You’re makin it look like I’m tryna kill a guy, and sure I hated him, but if I wanted him dead, I could’ve easily done it when he had 150kg on is neck, you don dough. Ok bruv, Now leaves me alone and stop accusing me of murder.”

“Ok, I am sorry to offend. Thank you for your time.”, Leon curtly expresses before leaving. Last but not least, he went to the woodworking and botanical club to meet the priest.

Though it was only a large room, it actually looked like a small chapel. There were wooden rows of seats that even had pristine kneelers for prayer. The barred windows as well as a speaking podium in the front were adorned with beautiful lilies and tulips. Off to the side, there was a small wooden booth with carefully grown vines clinging to it. A variety of inmates are lined up infront of the booth, the priest is nowhere to be seen. He must be doing confession. Leon was never the religious type, God had never mattered to his work. But he had to confess to get to the bottom of this. After a long time waiting, he is finally allowed to enter the booth, paly along with this farce and maybe find some new information.

“Bless me father for I have sinned. I have never been in confession, how do I proceed.”

“It is ok, lost lamb, for I will guide you. You may state any sin that you recall, and God may forgive you, but you must be honest.”

“Well, hast everyone here sinned, it is a prison.”

“Yes, even I was a lost lamb for a long time before turning to the Lord. Believing in a false idol, I burned many crosses and books of believers because I thought that they were devils spawn. Not even the law of man was enough for me to repent, but the time I have spent here with God cleansed me and so I took it upon myself to guide the other lost lambs for the rest of my life. Sometimes I even revert into a lot lamb, it is very hard to change ones ways.”

“Quite inspiring”

“I have been truthful, so you can be truthful. Tell me, what plagues your conscience.”

“I have lied, and I haven’t been equal to everybody since I came here”

“Is that so. Is there anything else? This honestly seems quite tame compared to what I hear on a regular basis, why just recently somebody confessed to planning a murder under Gods roof.” “Is that so? What was that person like?”

“Son, this is a confidential affair, if you want to know something, you’re better off asking somebody else. Now, is that all you would like to confess?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, as your penance you must come to one of my sermons and pray, son. In addition to this, stop stooping around other people’s confessions. I am saying this for your safety as much as I am for anybody else’s. God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace. And I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. I absolve you of all sins in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy spirit. Now you say Amen.” “Amen.”

“You have successfully confessed your sins and they have been absolved. Do your penance and God will forgive you.”

“Thank you, father.”, Leon says leaving the booth. He had now gathered all the information he could. But the puzzle pieces aren’t connecting. He goes back to his cell to mull it over, only to find a single bed in cell 221B. While thinking about it one of the guards came up to him and informed him of Henderson’s death. Multiple organ failure. It seems there was nothing Dr. Leonhart Lawliet could do but despair. Who did it?

#creative writing #writing #mystery #who done it

0 notes