#fat freezing service | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 1 year

Text

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

When Eddie asks you on a date, you don’t believe it. He probably meant as friends, right? Spoiler alert — Eddie wants to be more than friends, and he’s willing to prove it. [4k]

fluff, slight hurt/comfort, fem!reader, plus-sized!reader, reader feels undesirable, kissing, obligatory ‘don’t be cruel’ scene, eddie calls you pretty like ten times, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has one of those smiles that screams trouble. Every time he looks at you with that smile he might as well have "I'm gonna break your heart," written across his forehead in tandem.

You sneak a glance at him across the atrium. Eddie’s paused bussing tables to talk to a patron, his customer service voice in play with a matching smile. It isn't the one you mean, but it's bad enough to make you flush red-hot. You cross your arms over the bar, regret it for its stickiness, and let your head rest against the crook of your elbow.

You've been working together for a long time now, almost six months, and he's your favourite coworker hands down. He cleans up after himself, he brings snacks that you never accept (lest you look like the greedy chubby girl you worry everyone expects you to be), and he talks to you like a real person.

It's horrifying and it's not fair, but being fat means that sometimes guys don’t want to look at you. They don't want to be in the same room with you, and you can tell; they avert their eyes, or simply don't talk to you directly.

You've never had that feeling with Eddie. He meets your eyes, unflinching, and he sends you one of those pretty smiles and you think Fuck, because he should've been a movie star, he has the cheekbones for it, or a rockstar like that band he's always raving about. He'd have a slim LA girl on both arms, no doubt about it.

He likely wouldn't waste his time with you.

Not someone pretty as he is. Sometimes he'll lean over and expose the flat stretch of his stomach, his v-lines and the dark trail of hair peeking above his jeans, and you feel acutely miserable 'cause you know you'll never get to touch him. Workplace crushes suck.

"Hey, are you okay?" a voice asks, a hand dropping against your shoulder.

You pull yourself up quickly. Speak of the devil, Eddie stands beside you with his hair tied away from his face. He looks more entertained than concerned, his smile unfortunately genuine.

"I'm fine," you say, stepping back. His hand falls away from your shoulder. "Sorry, just tired."

Eddie leans into your space, squinting. You freeze up, but he's only checking the time on the clock behind you. "Gotta tough it out. Still an hour and a half 'til closing."

Which means there's more than two hours of your shift left. Your face must show how unexciting that is —Eddie laughs, warm and quiet, and gives your hand a squeeze.

"You'll live," he promises. "Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could go get pizza or something."

"What, nobody else is available?" you ask.

His head juts back a touch, put upon shock. "And why can't I ask you? I like you and I like pizza, that's a good combination. And even if you don't like me that much, you like pizza, right?"

You know —you know, you do— that Eddie doesn't mean it as a slight. This isn't some thinly veiled insult on how you look. Why wouldn't you like pizza? Most people do, but his comment twists itself into an evil inky ball in your chest anyways, thick and hot as tar.

You shake it off.

"Who says I don't like you?" you ask, steering the conversation away from food altogether.

His smile gets somehow better, which is to say worse. You're being punished for something, a childhood wrongdoing or a future crime, perhaps. Nothing else could warrant the mental torture that is being so close to him while he looks the way he does.

"Good. Good, then we should get pizza. It's a date," he says, nodding.

Morgan the shift manager calls for him to stop distracting you, though the Hideout is abandoned tonight, and there's nothing to distract you from. Eddie stands at full height, with a soldier's salute. "Yes, sir. No more lollygagging." He turns to you when you laugh, and you share a secret smile.

He and Morgan disappear into the back of house. If you strain your ears, you can hear Eddie complaining about having to keep his hair in a bun, as it's totally against what he stands for, dude, it's stifling his self expression.

"Count yourself lucky I don't make you wear a hair net, kid," Morgan says.

You turn back to your sticky bar, numb. It's a date? Did he mean, like, an actual date? A romantic date?

Not a chance in hell. It's a colloquialism. Nothing more.

Despite yourself, you stare into the silver reflection of a beer tap and try to liven up. You fix your hair, check your teeth, dig a lip balm out of your apron pocket and scratch the corners of your mouth just in case. The entire time you're heckling yourself about delusions. Eddie Munson doesn't like you. He's had a girl come around once or twice, and she'd been everything you're not: slender, confident. You'd wanted to dislike her, but she hadn't done anything wrong. There's no crime in being desirable.

For the remainder of the night, you man the bar and serve the occasional patron. It's a Sunday night, so most stick to light beer or soft drinks. The live entertainment says goodnight and the Hideout empties like an opened floodgate. You clean the bar, Eddie buses the tables, and the kitchen staff turn on the radio and get to work cleaning. Soon, you can smell cigarette smoke and reheated mozzarella sticks.

You wander into the kitchen to help.

"Hi beautiful," Leon says, one of the cooks, "you want something to eat?"

"No she does not!" Eddie says, helping the dishwasher Marcie with her last round of plates. Suds drip down to his rolled sleeves as he waves his hands around. "We're going to get pizza."

"Yes!" Marcie says, delighted.

"Where are we going?" Paul asks, another cook.

"We," Eddie says, pointing at you and then himself, "are going to Marletto's. Yeah?"

You startle when you realise he's asking you. "Oh, sure. Anywhere you want."

His head bobs up and down, pleased. He goes back to his dishes. "Anywhere I want," he murmurs to Marcie, though he's saying it for everybody to hear, "hear that, Marc? I'm spoiled."

You wipe down a few counters, label some leftover iceberg lettuce and put it back in the fridge. It's easy work, made better by the camaraderie of your coworkers, but you can't settle down. Your heart races at what's to come. "It's a date," is starting to feel less colloquial now Eddie's dissuading the other from joining you. That's how that works, right? He wants to be alone with you.

It might not mean anything. Maybe Eddie needs something from you he doesn't want the others to know about, like money. Maybe he wants girl advice, finally chasing that pretty girl who drops by sometimes. Or boy advice —there's a guy who comes around too, tall and blond and handsome.

There's a logical solution. Any other girl would hear the word date and take it at face value, but you aren't them. You're you. You can't remember the last time somebody looked at you with desire in their eyes, if they ever have. High school was a shit show and work isn't exactly a hub for romance. Eddie joining the team here is the most excitement you've ever had in your life, for all his gentle squeezes and teasing elbows, his inside jokes and his tendency to burst into an air guitar solo at any given moment. He's a cheeseball, and you like him. It sucks.

"Hi, are you ready?" he asks, coming out of nowhere. You're kneeling down near the lockers tying your shoelaces.

It is a horrible position for him to see you in. You can't imagine what you look like, but you know it won't be pretty. You spring up with your shoelace untied still and smile weakly. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"You need help with that?" he asks, eyes on your shoe.

You burn with embarrassment. "I– no, I–"

Eddie kneels down on the floor and reaches for your shoe. He ties it quickly in a double-knotted bunny-loop and pats the side of your ankle when he's done. When he looks up at you, you're in the middle of hoping a natural disaster will occur and put you out of your misery.

He smiles at you from his position. Does he ever stop?

"Cool," he says, standing up. He grabs his coat from his locker and doesn't bother closing it. "Let's go! I'm starving, man, Leon needs to mess up more often so I can steal the rejects."

You follow him in a daze. Through the lockers and out of the kitchen, waving goodbye to the lingering closers and a grimacing Morgan. You aren't looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow. You're more than sure he'll have something to say about workplace fraternising and general dawdling.

"You okay for us to take the van?" he asks.

Eddie's given you rides home before, and what felt awkward before has lended itself to a familiarity. You nod your agreement and cross the small parking lot out back, your breath rising in the cold night air.

Eddie pulls open the passenger door of his van with a strong-armed tug.

"Been meaning to get the latch looked at. I'd rather it have trouble opening than trouble closing, though, so that's a plus."

He waits for you to climb the short step and sit before he closes the door.

“All limbs inside the ride?" he asks.

You laugh. It comes out weird. You kind of sound like you're being held at gunpoint.

Eddie gets in the van and makes small talk as he starts the engine and pulls her out of the lot. Your mind isn't there, exactly, or rather it's too close. You want to think about your answers but instead you're worrying about how you look while you say them. You're worried about the seat belt around your stomach, and the way you look from the side. Being around Eddie makes you more self-conscious than usual.

Marletto's isn't the best pizza place in Hawkins but it's open until three AM. You and Eddie take the first empty booth you come across, and the agony of ordering in front of someone else begins.

"Meat feast for me, obviously," he says, pulling off his jacket.

The cracked vinyl seat beneath him crunches with his movement. You dedicate yourself to staying still.

"I'll get a margarita," you say, glancing between him and the menu for his reaction.

"Didn't take you for such a bore," he teases. "Drinks? Sides?"

"Just water will be fine."

"Are you sure? I'm paying. If you wanna take advantage of me, now's the time."

You shake your head, pushing your cold hands under your thighs.

Eddie frowns. "If you're sure…"

He gets up to track down the register. You sit there, wondering why you agreed to this, what possessed you, why you could ever think this was a good idea. You don't wanna eat in front of him, you don't know what to say, he's looking at you like everything's normal but this is so not normal, this is the opposite side of the spectrum.

Eddie returns with your water and a coke, all smiles despite your clear nerves.

He puts the drinks down and clambers into the seat with a leg folded underneath himself, his elbows halfway across the table. He looks you straight in the face.

"That guy just looked at me like I was crazy. I'm hungry, sue me. Three orders of mozzarella sticks is a normal human thing to get, right?"

"Three?" you ask.

His hand reaches toward you. If your hand were there, he'd likely squeeze it roughly as he sometimes does, like a playful scolding. "I'm hungry," he repeats. "I didn't get any lunch on my lunch break. What's the point in that? Just sat down in the locker room thinking about it. It was actually worse than working."

"You should've had Leon make you a burger. He's always offering."

"Always offering you, maybe. The rest of us gotta fend for ourselves."

"That's not true. He asks Marcie, too."

"Yeah, well, Leon's a sucker for pretty girls."

You look down at the table.

"I got enough fries for both of us, I know you didn't want any sides but everyone wants fries. I won't be sharing the mozzarella sticks, so if you want some you better speak now." He raps the table with his knuckles. When you look up, his face softens. "Well, alright. Maybe I'll share them with you. I'm a sucker, too."

"What's that mean?"

"What?"

"You know what," you say.

Eddie crosses his arms across the table. His hands and arms are pale, the ink of his black tattoos stark. You could draw them without prompting, that's how often you've fallen into his trap. When he crosses his arms like this, his biceps bulge up a little bit, emphasising the pretty curves and ridges of his arms and the hints of greeny-blue veins hiding under his skin. He tilts his head toward his shoulder, his limp curls dragging against the table.

"It means…" he says, holding your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips, "that you're pretty. You're so pretty, I'd do anything you asked me to."

You flinch. You pull your numb hands from under your thighs and cover your stomach with your forearms, glaring at the table between you thoughtlessly.

"That's cruel."

"What?"

"That's cruel, Eddie. You're being mean," you mutter.

"I–" Eddie stammers. "What? I'm just trying to tell you how I think about you– how I feel. I'm sorry if you don't wanna hear it, I'm not trying to be mean."

Hurt creeps into the lines of your face, your eyebrows pulled down and the starts pulled up, your lips pursed. Heat bursts in your throat as a molten lump takes shape there. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you have to.

"I thought you were my friend," you say quietly.

"I want to be more than that."

"You're making fun of me."

"No."

Eddie reaches across the table again. There's nothing for him to grab so he spreads his fingers and presses his palm flat. He ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are ridiculously big, the black of his pupils blown and leaching into his dark irises until they're almost indistinguishable in the fuzzy lighting of the restaurant.

"Come on," he says quietly, "when have I ever done that to you? I mess around, but I wouldn't say shit like that unless I meant it." His fingers lift off of the table. "I mean it. I think you're beautiful." His voice takes on a raw quality.

You bite the tip of your tongue, fully frowning now. "I don't believe you," you say.

"Why not?" he asks, frowning back.

"Because I'm– I'm– I'm fat." You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

People hate that word. Usually, if you admit to it, there's a rushed response. No, you're not. Pretty friends talk you down, loved ones wrap an arm around your shoulder and harp about puppy fat or big bones.

Eddie doesn't do either. He sits back in his seat and smiles hesitantly.

"Why's that a bad thing?" he asks. He shakes his head at himself. "I mean– I'm sorry, I should've said you aren't, you aren't–"

"No, I am," you say.

"You're so pretty," he says again, in a rush. "I don't care what size you are, I really don't. I just think you're beautiful and I wanted to ask you on a real date but I saw you and I couldn't wait anymore." He wraps his hand around the neck of his coke bottles and pulls it towards his chest. "Shit, I've made a huge fucking mess of it."

You lean forward. Your body doesn't know what to do, the whiplash of hurt smothered by his enthusiastic, sincere compliments.

Why's that a bad thing? means more than anything else he said to you.

"You really think I'm pretty?" you ask timidly.

"Drop dead," he says. Hope flickers behind his eyes. "Morgan pulled me aside on my second week, you know that? Said if I didn't stop staring at you he'd put me in the back for the week."

"He did put you in the back," you say, confused.

"Exactly."

Oh. You raise your head properly. Eddie's watching you, just you, obviously waiting for you to speak. The hope on his face is clear as day now, his lips parted, the tiniest peek of his tongue on display.

"You promise you aren't messing with me?" you ask finally.

"I promise." He holds his hand out, palm up. "I swear."

Your heart a hummingbird, you take your hand from your waist and put it carefully in his. His fingers curl around yours like a prince, the tip of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles slowly, half an inch at a time. You exhale out of your nose as goosebumps race up your arm.

He looks like he has more to say, but the pizza and all his sides arrive. You spring apart like teenagers, blood rushing in your ears. The server unloads his tray.

"Alright guys," he says, looking down at you both with a knowing smile. "Anything else I can get you while I'm here?"

Eddie sneaks a look at you that holds way too much meaning. "No, I think we're alright."

There's a tiny, awkward silence. You busy yourself with unfolding a napkin over your lap, not sure what to say to bridge the gap.

Eddie takes the plunge.

He slides a basket of mozzarella sticks at you. "Pretty girl privileges," he says.

You feel insecure eating in front of him, but the sheer ferocity of his compliments discourages any shame. He thinks you're pretty. He held your hand like it was made of glass and he got put in Hideout jail for staring.

"I think you're handsome, too," you say.

Eddie almost chokes on a handful of fries. "Shit," he says, swallowing roughly, hand thumping at his chest. "Thank god for that. I mean, of course you do. My devilish good looks are hard to resist."

He's not wrong.

—

Getting put on kitchen duty isn't half as bad as Morgan seems to think it is. Eddie kind of likes it, the noise, the chaos, the heat. Plus, he can steal fries hot and fresh out of the basket. He's only burned himself once.

"What're you in for?" Leon asks him.

"Staring."

"You're a freak, Munson, you know that?"

Eddie shrugs. "If your girlfriend looked like mine, you'd stare too."

"Uh-huh." Leon grabs up a spatula to flip a burger, pink meat down and brown side up. Fat sizzles dangerously. Neither man flinches. "She ain't going nowhere."

"You don't know that. Some rockstar might blaze through here and snap her up. Who would I be to stop her? She should be a trophy wife, she's a stunner."

"Christ," Marcie says from across the room.

"How the fuck can you hear us?" Eddie asks. Over the sound of the overhead spray and the sizzle of the burners, Marcie must have superpowers or something.

"Uh, 'cause you're fucking yelling," she says.

Eddie looks to Leon for some defence, but Leon agrees. "You are super loud."

"You would be too–"

"If I had a girlfriend as pretty as yours," Leon says, audibly grouchy. "I know."

"Don't be jealous that I got there first."

"How is this fair? You get in trouble and I'm the one punished."

Eddie blows a big breath out of the corner of his mouth, one of his shorter curls dancing away from his warm face. Ridiculous. They're all awful, and jealous, and nobody wants him to be happy. "Losers," he mumbles.

He's kidding, mostly. He knows that everyone is actually very happy for the both of you. How could they not be? Eddie's happier than ever and you've turned to mush. It's his favourite thing in the world.

He thought you were pretty before. These days, you're gold dust incarnate. You see him and smile like you've been waiting for him, no more nervousness (which, he found out, was down to a raging crush on him) (he walked on air for days), no more shying away from his touch. Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder and you don't tense; you melt. Butter in the sun.

It's glorious.

And sure, Eddie ends up in the brig a lot. He 'hovers' apparently. So what? He'll say it again, if any of these guys were in his shoes, they'd fall victim to the same compulsion.

He waits for an opportunity to arise, four dinner tickets and a dishwasher disaster, and sneaks away as silently as he can manage, creeping out of the kitchen and to the bar. You're busy pouring a beer and don't notice him until the customer's left and he's wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Eddie," you scold lightly, leaning forward to accommodate his weight against your back, "come on. You might actually lose your job."

"They can't fire me. I'm the best bus boy ever."

You turn your face to look at him. Eddie wants to put you on TV, you look that sweet.

"No, you're awful, you," —Eddie interrupts you, leaning down for a quick chaste kiss— "distract me, and you," —he steals a second— "don't actually bus tables when you should," you finish, disjointed.

He brings his hand to your soft cheek, stroking a badly behaved baby hair back into place. You go lax like he's some kind of quick fix drug, and your eyes contain a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He covers his heart with his hand.

"You're awful," you murmur.

He takes your face into both hands slowly. One cups your cheek, and the other slides behind your ear. He pulls your face forward and down toward his chin, his lips by your ear. You smell amazing. His eyes close on instinct.

"A little. It's not my fault. You're just–"

"So pretty?" you ask. "Yeah, you've told me."

"I have, have I? Have to let me tell you again." He kisses the skin before your ear, more a press of his lips than anything. "You're beautiful," he mouths.

You shiver, but ultimately end up planting your hands against his chest and ushering him away from you.

"Stop it. I mean it! We're in public, at work, and you're gonna mess me up."

"I want to mess you up," he says easily.

"I know you do."

Eddie sighs, agonised, but heeds your warning. "Alright," he says, squeezing your shoulder in goodbye. You smile and squeeze his elbow in return. It's your new thing, silent conversation in fond touches.

He's a couple of feet away when the urge to turn back is too much. He jogs back to your side, gets his hand behind your neck, and kisses you with enough pressure that your lips part underneath his in shock. He adores the side of your neck with his thumb one sweeping stroke at a time, his nose digging sliding against yours as he inches in further, and further. The dizzy pleasure of your lips can't be understated. Eddie fights back a kiss-ruining smile with all he's worth.

"Sorry," he says, pulling back. Your lips shine and you blink, dazed. "Sorry," he says again, leaning in to kiss them dry.

You laugh quietly, a breath against his cheek, and he's a goner, dropping pecks all over your pretty face until you're giggling and sinking into his arms.

"I really am sorry." He punctuates with a kiss under your jaw.

"No," you say breathlessly. Your hand twines loosely in his hair. "You're not."

No, he isn't. He's never felt less sorry for anything in his life.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please consider reblogging, it helps more than you know!! <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader #eddie munson x plus sized reader #eddie munson x plus size reader

5K notes · View notes

uchihabbynic · 2 years

Text

One Piece - Relationship HC’s (ft. Zoro & Ace)

warnings: small NSFW sections/18+ under the cut. oops 😏

Zoro:

1000% loyal as fuck. Zoro’s ability to be unbothered by practically everything comes into play here as he’d find one girl he actually gives a shit about and decides he can't be bothered with the rest. After all, his primary focus is training to get stronger and becoming the World’s Greatest Swordsman, not getting distracted and thrown into a frenzy by every woman he see’s like that dumb cook, Sanji.

He isn't the grand gesture type of man and not exactly a romance expert but he’d hone in on the little things that make you smile as his way to reassure you and make you feel loved.

Speaking of reassurance, the man is terrible at vocalizing how he feels about you so it's safe to say he’s a “I can show you better than I can tell you” type of boyfriend - making his love language Acts of service and Quality time. He will fight till the death for you, sail across harsh seas for you but ask him to spill his guts and he’ll freeze, becoming a grumpy, flustered mess.

He loves to simply exist in your presence. You don’t have to be doing much of anything and the swordsman is just… at peace. Whether you’re napping together, tucked into his big muscular arm or if you’re caressing his minty hair while he’s passed out in between your legs, Zoro is one happy man.

(NSFW)

Sex with the swordsman is usually intense, sweaty and filthy. Zoro isn’t really the love making type. However, on occasions, like your anniversary or if he’s feeling particularly needy and missing you more than usual, he’ll slow it down by rewarding you with deep, slow strokes letting you savor every inch of him.

With that said, Zoro typically likes it fast and rough when milking his cock with your pussy. He loves to fuck by either holding you tightly against a wall and or free standing since his muscles are as big as your head and he thoroughly enjoys gripping the soft meat of your plushy ass while he slam you down onto his fat cock over and over, ramming it deep inside your wet hole making you drool and blabber nonsense.

Basically, he loves to fuck you dumb.

God Bless, Roronoa Zoro.

Ace:

Best boi Ace is the boyfriend you’d love to have. He’s a good balance of all the best things. He’s passionate, goofy, charming, a protector, big golden retriever energy but he knows how to be serious when necessary.

Can be hot headed but rarely ever directs his anger towards you. If he does, he’ll feel like shit afterwards. He won’t wanna go to bed still angry and while he’s quite stubborn, he’ll realize he needs to apologize when he fucks up.

Like Zoro, Ace isn’t the best verbal communicator when you both speak about your feelings but he doesn’t necessarily shy away from these conversations either, especially because Ace loves reassurance. As a man who carries many insecurities, he really appreciates when you tell him how much you love him, need him, how much he means to you and he’ll do his best to do the same.

He eats that shit up, ok? Lives for it.

Ace’s love language is definitely Words of Affirmation and Touch. Ace loves to be all over you. He can be a bit clingy and doesn’t shy away from PDA (even in public). If you were with your crew mates, he wouldn’t tongue you down in front of the group but planting a gentle kiss on your lips or even giving your ass a small, playful squeeze is not out of the question.

The boy is definitely loyal despite being a bit of a flirt before you got together. He knows how to appreciate exactly what he has because he knows how precious time spent with loved ones is.

(NSFW)

Is 100% into lovemaking. Even when Ace was single, it was rare he’d fuck randoms just simply trying to get his dick wet as he really prefers sex to be full of passion and mean something to him. Souls intertwining as your bodies do.

Ace is a wildcard though. Some nights he may want to fuck you roughly, watching you lose yourself on his massive length but most nights he likes to take it slow and steady, planting gentle kisses on your lips while his cock kisses your cervix.

Ace will whisper sweet nothings in your ear while fucking you, telling you that he didn’t know how much he needed you, that you’re his everything or just how pretty you look full of his cock.

He will definitely hold your hand while having sex (intercourse or oral) and depending on how clingy and emotional he’s feeling - may end up crying and saying how much he loves you in the afterglow of the steamy session.

Loves when you cum together. It’s like, the ultimate high for him.

Acey boy is simply a 10/10 - no questions asked.

Tags: @titanialev ��

#one piece headcanons #zoro x you #roronoa zoro #zoro headcanons #portgas d. ace #portgas d. ace x reader #ace x you #one piece smut #zoro smut #ace smut #hc's #one piece hcs

2K notes · View notes

whump-kia · 11 months

Text

a comprehensive overview of burns and burn treatment: whump writer reference edition

extremely long post ahead! here's the lowdown:

Degrees of a burn (first through sixth)

First aid

Medical treatment

Complications and infection

A Whump Writer's Reference/Recap

End notes

(also huge shout out to @i-eat-worlds for helping me out! this is all inspired by a one-shot, and they hopped in to give me some ideas and things to research. thank you worlds!)

(disclaimer: I am not a doctor, nor have I been to medical school. this is done through research and from the eyes of a writer. if I have incorrectly listed something, correct me via an ask and I will change it. thanks for understanding!)

1. Burn degrees

There are six degrees of burns. The first three, lower level degrees, are the most common. Here's a quick overlook on all of your options:

First degree: A superficial burn affecting only the outer layer of skin. Symptoms include redness, itchiness, dryness, and a low-to-medium level of pain. Scarring is possible, but minimal.

Partial second degree: Extends past the outer layer of skin and partially into the second layer. Symptoms include darker red tones, blistering, swelling, white splotches, and higher levels of pain. Complications include infections.

Deep second degree: Extends deeper into the second layer of skin. Symptoms include severe pain, dark red, blistering and swelling. Scarring is much more common here.

Third degree: Burns surpassing the skin layers and entering the layer of fat below it. Symptoms include black, brown, yellow or white leathery skin, either intense pain or numbness if nerve endings were burned, loss of feeling and movement.

Fourth degree: Extending into muscle. Symptoms include complete lack of pain, burn site is charred and blackened or white and lifeless, possible exposure of bone. Complications include infection, loss of feeling, and can require amputation.

Fifth and sixth degrees: Past muscle and into or through bone. Symptoms include exposed or charred bone, similar to fourth degree in coloration. Complications result in permanent body damage, total loss of skin and nerve endings, and fatalities from just the burn.

2. First aid

Upon immediately receiving a mild burn covering a small portion of your body, such as your forearm or hand, run it under lukewarm or cool water* for twenty minutes. This will encourage the skin to cool and release trapped heat, reducing damage later.

Ice cold or freezing water will cause blood vessels to constrict. This lowers the blood supply to the burn, further damaging the tissues, and increasing swelling, pain, and chances of scarring.

*If there is no running water, immersing or using a wet towel are your next best options. Keep in mind that cloth contact on a burn is painful and despite the cooling effect will still be uncomfortable.

Upon receiving a severe burn (third degree and beyond), you'll want to cover the wound with a clean cloth and get to emergency help immediately.

If the skin is broken, do not use water. Any possible pathogens or bacteria can get inside the body and cause sepsis, which we'll go over in the next section.

Upon a victim receiving burns on over 20% of their body, you'll want to remove any jewelry, belts or tight items to release heat and promote breathing. Cover the burn in a clean dry cotton cloth if possible. Check for symptoms of shock, and administer CPR if necessary. Call services to bring care to you, or aid the victim in getting to emergency care immediately.

Although you want to remove metal and jewelry, you do not want to attempt the removal of cloth stuck to the skin. Doing so can cause open wounds and increase the chances of infection, detailed in the next section.

3. Medical treatments

Upon entering medical assistance, the victim will first be stabilized with oxygen/machine breathing and fluids. After the patient is stabilized, focus returns to the burn.

There are three main goals to medical treatment of a burn: reducing/minimizing oedema, or fluid buildup in tissue, reducing tissue damage, and preventing infection. Treatments include:

1. Fluid replacement: Replacing fluids to the body through an intravenous (IV) or intraosseus (IO) infusion. Fluid loss can be caused by dehydration, vomiting, diarrhea, bleeding, or fluid shifts*.

2. Hyperbaric treatment: exposing the body to 100% oxygen content. This can increase circulation, reduce oedema, and assist in the preservation of damaged tissue.

3. Uses of antibiotics or topical ointments: Aloe vera is a topical lotion used to cool minor burns like sunburns. Mafenide is the most commonly used antibiotic to protect against infection in severe burns, and bacitracine for minor burns.

To clean a burn wound, rinse it in water and wash it gently. Pat it dry, and cover it in an antibiotic ointment. Then, cover it with a clean, dry gauze, and wrap it with a bandage. Avoid sticking bandages that will pull against damaged skin, and avoid rubbing alcohol, iodine and hydrogen peroxide, which will slow the healing of the wound. Do not pop blisters, as it increases the chances of infection. Change the bandages daily.

4. Complications and infection

And my favorite part: everything that goes wrong even after the initial burn.

1. Shock: A condition occurring after injury when the body isn't getting enough blood flow. This is an extremely lethal complication.

There are four kinds of shock, but the most common is hypovolemic. Symptoms can include pale, clammy skin, rapid and shallow breaths, rapid pulse, anxiety, confusion, disorientation, weakness, nausea and vomiting.

To treat shock: if the victim's legs are unaffected, raise them above their heart, immobilize any fractures and administer first aid, loosen any tight clothing, and maintain the victim's body temperature. The warmer they are, the faster the blood flow.

2. Capillary leak syndrome: A condition common in burns, when anti-inflammatory chemicals are released, causing the capillary walls to shrink and allow fluids like plasma and water to leak out.

The body's blood pressure rapidly drops. White blood cells can escape, which assists in initial burn treatment, but now that it's outside the capillaries, any fluids lost can no longer circulate, leading to dehydration. This is the main cause of oedema, as stated above. Symptoms of CLS include malaise, lightheadedness, headache, and feeling faint or dizzy.

To treat CLS: Fluid replacement to ensure dehydration does not become too severe, and hyperbaric oxygen treatment can assist in increasing blood flow. Capillary permeability will lessen close to a day after the initial burn is recieved.

3. Hypothermia: A significant drop in body temperature, most commonly associated with prolonged exposure to the cold.

Yes, you read that right--you can get hypothermia from a burn. Victims of burns covering a large amount of body surface area (BSA) will have trouble retaining warmth, due to the heat of the burn attempting to escape. Symptoms include shivering, exhaustion, confusion, numbness in extremities, difficulty speaking or thinking and slow pulse.

To treat hypothermia: Treat the patient in a warm area, ensure any fluids in their IV or IO are warm, let them drink something warm, give them blankets, etc. etc.

4. Infection: when a wound is infected, bacteria or pathogens have entered and compromised the healing process. If left untreated, the infection can spread to the bloodstream and cause sepsis, an extremely dangerous condition resulting in organ failure or even death.

Infections are incredibly serious complications, especially when the burn covers more than 20% of the victim's BSA. Symptoms include fever, discoloration of the wound, pus or other leakage, increased heat around the wound, and possible foul smells emanating from it.

To treat infection: Additional antibiotics should be taken, possible added painkillers, daily cleaning may be increased to more than once a day. Occasionally products made from ionic silver may be used, which provide quicker clearing of infection.

5. Sepsis: Inflammation throughout the entire body, caused by infections leaking into the bloodstream. Critical and incredibly fatal if not treated properly.

Symptoms of sepsis may include but are not limited to: chills, dizziness, low blood pressure, fever, shivering, low temperature, confusion and altered consciousness, rapid and short breathing, delirium, rapid heart rate, organ dysfunction, skin discoloration and exhaustion.

To treat sepsis: Continue fluid replacements, possible mechanical ventilation, added use of antibiotics and steroids, added use of a catheter. Essentially, full hospitalization with constant medical attention until the body fights off remaining infections.

5. A Whump Writer's Reference/Recap

A short ending section of things to think about when writing a scene with a burn victim whumpee.

Before delving into the scene, decide which degree of burn your whumpee receives. First aid, treatment and symptoms will all depend on that.

When writing from the whumpee's point of view, use comparisons. Not everyone knows what it feels like to fall torso first into the bonfire at the house party, but everyone can imagine the flood of panic when you touch a hot stove--so use that metaphor and elevate it. The more description of the pain, the more involved you'll feel.

When writing from an outsider's point of view, don't be afraid to be gruesome. Be visceral. There are levels of discovery to a burn--initial receiving, panic and chaos, and seeing the entire wound--so really get those details in, make the reader see that burn in their mind's eye.

The pattern goes burn administered, first aid, medical treatment, and recovery/complications, so if you're like me and have trouble laying out scenes, use that as a backbone.

Touching a severe burn and removing your hand can take the skin with it! It's gross, but great for shock factor!

All those times I said "do not do this, do not do that"? Ignore 'em when you're writing. You can make the worst of the situation. Not everyone knows first aid, so if you want the pain, let your caretakers screw up, and badly. The consequences are listed too, so play around!

Some words to use when describing the pain of a burn:

Burn, fire, flame, inferno, blinding, flash, disintegrate, digging, agony, pull, tear, rip, burrow, cave, searing, roaring, boiling, sizzling, melting, ache, pins and needles, blurring, catch, white hot, coil, threading, frenzy, howling, writhing, thrashing, pulsing, torture, numbing, chafing, loss of feeling

And some words to describe someone who's been badly burned:

Pale, pallid, heaving, shaky, shivering, dizzy, swaying, hissing, panic, sweating, fluttering, weak, nauseous, thready pulse, limp, hoarse, shuddering, slumped, in and out of consciousness, exhausted, mumbling, murmuring, incoherent

6. End notes

things to look up for further study: burn pathophysiology, capillary permeability, and first aid treatment of burns. this is all just for first glance and ideas, if you get stuck in a scene like I did, so do further research if you want to!

thanks for reading, folks! i hope you enjoyed this very very long post. do you want to see more of these, or do you prefer the shorter prompts? if I make another reference list like this, what would you like to see?

have a cookie for making it to the end 🍪 and go drink some water. i hope you have a wonderful day!

(sources: Mayo Clinic, Cleveland Clinic, National Institutes of Health, and many others. this isn't an official research paper, it's a tumblr post, and I don't claim to have written the articles myself. these words are compiled for wide range of reference for writers specifically, and not for deliberate study. thank you for reading!)

#whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump reference #reference post #whump community #burn whump #burns #burning #medical post #medical whump #hurt/comfort

136 notes · View notes

healthy-liiviing · 16 days

Text

50 easy ways to lose weight

Swap sugary drinks for water.

Snack on fruits and veggies instead of chips.

Cook more meals at home.

Use smaller plates for portion control.

Read food labels and choose lower-calorie options.

Drink water before meals to feel fuller faster.

Slowly sip your beverage, savor each mouthful.

Take the stairs instead of the elevator.

Park further away and walk to your destination.

Do bodyweight exercises during commercial breaks.

Subscribe to a healthy meal planning service.

Pack your lunch to avoid unhealthy temptations.

Declutter your pantry of junk food.

Brush your teeth after dinner to curb nighttime cravings.

Add spices to your food for flavor instead of relying on salt.

Start your day with a protein-rich breakfast.

Infuse your water with fruits, herbs, or vegetables.

Chew your food thoroughly to feel satisfied faster.

Limit fried foods and opt for healthier cooking methods.

Take a brisk walk after dinner for improved digestion.

Try a new healthy recipe each week to keep things interesting.

Unsubscribe from tempting food marketing emails.

Track your progress with a weight loss app or journal.

Find an accountability partner to support your goals.

Get enough sleep, lack of sleep disrupts hunger hormones.

Manage stress with relaxation techniques like yoga or meditation.

Celebrate non-scale victories like increased energy levels.

Forgive yourself for occasional slip-ups and get back on track.

Focus on long-term healthy habits, not quick fixes.

Replace sugary snacks with air-popped popcorn for a light crunch.

Add chia seeds to your oatmeal for extra fiber and protein.

Make a smoothie with spinach, banana, and protein powder.

Sweeten your drinks with stevia or natural sweeteners.

Choose lean protein sources like grilled chicken or fish.

Incorporate healthy fats like avocado and nuts into your diet.

Plan your grocery list to avoid impulse purchases.

Freeze portion-controlled snacks to avoid overeating.

Clean out your fridge regularly to prevent unhealthy temptations.

Experiment with healthy meal prepping for the week.

Find an exercise you enjoy, like dancing or swimming.

Join a fitness class for motivation and social interaction.

Invest in a comfortable pair of walking shoes.

Take the dog for a walk or play fetch in the park.

Do some stretches or light yoga before bed to unwind.

Listen to music while you exercise for a mood boost.

Reward yourself with non-food incentives for reaching goals.

Surround yourself with positive influences who support your journey.

Read inspiring weight loss stories or watch motivational videos.

Focus on how good healthy choices make you feel.

Believe in yourself and your ability to achieve your goals!pen_spark

I will be your nutritionist for weight loss diet plan and meal plan

8 notes · View notes

tropes-and-tales · 1 year

Text

Love-Struck

December 17: Cookies/Mug - Love at first sight (Horacio Carrillo x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts found here)

CW: Talk of injuries (nothing graphic); the writer’s own thoughts on instant coffee; nothing but typos

Word Count: 1216

AN: There is a sequel here!

AN2: Requested by anon!

Colonel Horacio Carrillo has been shot before. Given his history of service with the Republic of Colombia and his latest role as the head of the Search Bloc, it’s not surprising.

He’s been shot before—twice, in fact—so he knows how it feels.

The first bullet that found him hit his bulletproof vest, but the shot still hurt. Took his breath away so sudden and fierce that for the span of several long seconds, he thought he’d never pull in air again. And then the afterwards, the dark bruise that sprawled across his chest and made every move and breath a painful reminder of how close he came to dying.

The second bullet that found him hit his leg. A clean shot, in and out, nothing major struck. That had been a searing pain, a line of fire that streaked through the meat of his thigh. Then the sizzle of the disinfectant at the clinic, the bee-stings of the needle as the nurse stitched him shut. The recovery from that wound had been awful—the stretch and pull of each step as the stitches strained, the maddening itchiness as it healed.

If anyone ever told him that love at first sight felt like a combination of those two wounds, he wouldn’t have even deigned to respond. A ridiculous concept, love at first sight.

Carrillo and his ex-wife hadn’t had love at first sight, not on either side of the equation. It had been a mutually beneficial partnership with a fair amount of attraction that ceded to affection, which was a version of love, he supposed. But it hadn’t been love at first sight for either of them.

They’d been introduced by mutual friends, and mutual friends had sold them to each other.

Horacio, the friends told Juliana, is a rising star in the government. A good man with good principles.

Juliana, the friends told Horacio, is a steady woman who will help her husband succeed. The sort of woman who can handle late nights, government glad-handing parties for very little recognition.

It had been a solid marriage until it wasn’t, and now Carrillo is alone again and even less convinced about the existence of love, let alone instant love, love at first sight.

Until he gets shot again.

It’s a stupid sentiment, but Carrillo will never be able to come up with a better analogy for the first moment he lays eyes on you. It’s like getting shot. It’s like all of those Valentine’s Day decorations always portrayed, like a fat, naked cherub fixed him in his sights and shot him square in the heart with his arrow.

It feels just like getting shot. The sudden, fierce loss of breath. The searing line of pain. The panicky way his heartbeat quickens, jumping against his sternum at the sudden danger.

Because that’s what it feels like—danger. Something unknown and unexpected found him the moment his eyes land on you.

*****

It’s sweet of the guys to throw you a welcome party, though the more cynical part of you thinks it’s just an excuse to spring for better refreshments than the usual fare. Actual good coffee, a tray of sugar cookies. A real bacchanal.

You’ve worked with the DEA in enough countries to know that the U.S. government never springs for good coffee, even in a place like Colombia that is literally known for good coffee. You figure that Maxwell House has a defense contract to supply the freeze-dried shit to people out in the field.

“Let me introduce you to some of the people you’ll be working with,” Murphy says, and he leads you around the room. You clutch your mug of coffee and your napkin with a half-eaten sugar cookie and awkwardly juggle them as you shake hands with DEA and Search Bloc alike.

You meet the women who listen to the spools of tape, the soldiers you’ll be working with. You shake hands with Trujillo, who welcomes you to Colombia, asks where you’ve been before now.

“Oh, everywhere,” you reply. “I did a spell in Panama, but I just got back from Johannesburg. Short assignment there.”

Murphy stands beside you, listening, then jerks his head towards the other side of the room.

“C’mon. You gotta meet the Colonel.”

You let your fellow agent lead you across the room, fumbling with your hands full of food and drink but awkwardly unsure where to put it down. You look at the man Murphy takes you to: broad-shouldered, dark hair short and neatly parted. Dark eyes, serious face.

“Colonel, this is our newest agent,” Murphy says. He turns to you and adds, “this is Colonel Carrillo, head of the Search Bloc.”

“I’ve heard the name, yes.” You carefully balance the napkin with its half-eaten cookie across the top of your mug, then hold your hand out to the Colonel.

He seems…pissed. He grumbles out his name, but he takes your hand gingerly in his own, gives you the weakest handshake you’ve ever had. Which is strange—in your experience, these international partners always want to crush your hand as a show of strength. Because you’re an American and a woman. Two strikes in many of their books.

Then he releases your hand, and you see the way he drops it to his side, fingers spasming. Like his first instinct is to wipe his hand against his thigh, your touch offensive to him, but good manners hold him back.

And then there’s an awkward beat of silence—no small talk from him, and Murphy seems cowed into silence too—so you finally nod and say something about looking forward to working with him, and then you turn away to find somewhere to toss out your trash.

“Sorry,” Murphy murmurs near your ear as you walk away. “He’s a tough one, but he’s usually more polite.”

“It’s fine.”

“He works well with Javi and me.”

You glance at him. “Probably because you’re men.”

“I’ll talk to—”

You find a bin, toss your sugar cookie away. “It’s fine, really. Not the first tough case I’ve worked with. Just that much more incentive to catch Escobar and get out of the Colonel’s way, right?”

Murphy smiles. “That’s a good way to think of it.”

You glance back at the Colonel, and you’re surprised to see him staring at you. Intently, like he’s trying to figure out how you’ll irritate him. How you’ll mess things up. You’ve dealt with it before: Americans have a reputation, and in your experience, men all over the world have less-than-charming ideas about women…

You turn back to Murphy. “He’s glaring at me.”

“He gets better. I promise. He just needs a little time to get used to you.”

Another glance over your shoulder, another view of him staring at you.

“I don’t know if I want him to get used to me. Doesn’t he play rough? Let’s catch Pablo, like, tomorrow, okay?”

Murphy chuckles, jerks his thumb to where Peña is standing and chatting with another embassy worker.

“Let’s get you to friendlier waters for now, at least,” he says, and you let him lead you over to your other new partner, though your mind spins at the months ahead of you—working with the Colonel, waiting for him to get used to you.

#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo imagine #horacio carrillo x reader #colonel horacio carrillo #colonel horacio carrillo x reader #colonel Carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo imagine #narcos #tropes-and-tales #winter prompts 2022

136 notes · View notes

kashas-stuff · 3 months

Text

Disclaimer: Each OC will be in a universe where they would want to smash you if given the option and/or are less awful than they would be in their original universe.

Pros:

While he's a Hirudian Warlord, he looks the other way for people he cares about and will ignore orders to protect them.

He's very protective of his loved ones too.

He's a seasoned stud and knows how to handle himself for his size.

He's not used to being tolerated, let alone liked, so even the smallest kindness wins him over.

Cons:

He is a Hirudian Warlord and still deep in that propaganda sauce. This led to him getting Vocatia's neck on the chopping block (she survives obvs)

The chip on his shoulder has its own orbit.

Starts off with an alcoholism problem, but it gets better when he gets cursed.

Btw, he has a contagious immortality curse after a point.

Neutral:

The man's 10ft 2in tall and doesn't have a lot of body fat (The diet in the service is very lean and famously tastes terrible. Then the curse low-key freezes him in that slightly malnourished state).

Spicy details here

#Torqueonus #OC Smash or Pass

7 notes · View notes

katelyn-marie323 · 1 year

Text

My apple pie for my church's Pie and Praise service is done and look how beautiful she is 😭....I need to share the recipe with you guys because I genuinely believe I have close to perfected this apple pie recipe and it is so good. This is the crust recipe....I have tried tons of different pie crust recipes and this is the best one. Swap the 2 cups of shortening for 2 cups of butter. Cube your butter and freeze it for 30 minutes. You want to make sure that your water, butter, and egg are all very cold; this will help stabilize your dough and make it more workable and flaky. Use a food processor, you can make the dough by hand but it's much harder and you very much risk melting the butter. You want your fat to stay as solid as possible so if you see big chunks of butter in your formed dough, that's great! Freeze your dough about 30 minutes before you plan to roll it out. The filling:

6 or 7 large apples peeled and cut into 1/2in thick slices (I usually use 7 and I think Honeycrisp is the best)

1/4 cup of butter

3 tablespoons of flour

1 cup of brown sugar

1 tablespoon of cinnamon

1/2 tablespoon of cloves

1/2 tablespoon of nutmeg

1 teaspoon of cardamom

1/2 teaspoon of salt

1/4 cup of water

1 teaspoon of vanilla extract

Demerara sugar

Method:

Melt your butter in a medium pot over medium heat, add your apples and stir to coat.

After the apples are coated, add in your flour, stir to coat, and then add in your sugar, stir.

Add in your ingredients cinnamon through salt, stir.

Pour in your water and let simmer, stirring occasionally so the bottom doesn't burn.

Once apples are fork tender, add in your vanilla extract, stir.

Place apples in a bowl, cover, and put in fridge until cool (about an hour).

Roll out one of your pie crusts to fit a nine inch pie pan, butter your pie pan and place crust into pie pan.

Preheat your oven to 425F.

Once your apples are cool, place them into your prepared pie crust.

Roll out your second pie crust into either a lattice crust or a full covering. If you did a full cover, make 3 slices on the top to let the steam vent.

Crimp your edges, brush with an egg wash, sprinkle with Demerara sugar and place in the oven for 15 minutes

Reduce the heat to 325F, place foil over the crust, and bake for another 45 minutes.

Let set for at least 4 hours before serving.

#baking #cottagecore #cottagecore recipes #recipes #pie #stay at home wife #stay at home moms #tradwife #fall aesthetic #grandmacore #comfy aesthetic

88 notes · View notes

otmaaromanovas · 1 year

Note

hi! Approximately how long was OTMA’s hair when they died? I have heard something about them being able to part it but that’s it. Thank you!

Hi!

Off memory, it was about shoulder length. One source describes their hair as being "tumbled and disorderly" the day before their murder, seen by the washerwomen who came to clean the house. However, take that with a pinch of salt because it comes from Helen Rappaport's book, and she did not bother citing her sources :(

They shaved their heads in Spring 1917, so it had just over a year of growth from being completely shaved.

Here's what I could find:

The search of Ipatiev House revealed a number of hair pins (now owned by the Russian History Museum, Jordanville), indicating that the girls' hair was at least long enough to be pinned back, or perhaps pinned up, as this photo of Anastasia at Tobolsk in OTMA's bedroom suggests.

Most of the sources directly relating to their hair come from Tobolsk.

Here is a letter from Alix to Anna Vyrubova dated 15 December 1917:

'...Anastasia, to her despair, is now very fat, as Maria was, round and fat to the waist, with short legs. I do hope she will grow. Olga and Tatiana are both thin, but their hair grows beautifully so that they can go without scarfs...'

Funny story about her short hair from Anastasia sent during the journey to Tobolsk (I think that this was actually an English exercise set by her tutors, I've kept in her original spellings):

17 August 1917

My dear Friend. I will describe to you who [how] we travelled. We started in the morning and when we got in to the train I went to sleap , so did all of us. We were very tierd because we did not sleap the whole night. The first day was hot and very dusty. At the stations we had to shut out window curtanse than nobody should see us. Once in the evening I was looking out we stopped near a little house, but there was no staition so we could look out. A little boy came to my window and asked: "Uncle, please give me, if you have got, a newspaper." I said: "I am not an uncle but an anty and I have no newspaper." At the first moment I could not understand why did he call me "Uncle" but then I remembered that my hear is cut and I and the soldiers laught very much. On the way many funy things hapend, and if I shall have time I shall write to you our travell father on. Good by. Don’t forget me. Many kisses from us all to you my darling.

Your A.

And here are some photos for context...

Olga's hair in 1917, before being shaved off:

Two photos of Tatiana in Tobolsk, one with very noticeably shaved and short hair and one more full (featuring Olga). I would guess that the first photo is from when they just arrived (the sunny weather also gives this away) and the second is towards their end at the Governor's House.

We know that the photo of her with her head shaved is from Tobolsk, rather from 1913 when she had it shaved, as the same little child appears in this photo sat between Olga and Alexei:

Maria's hair in Tobolsk (middle, without hat)

Of course, they mostly wore hats in Tobolsk (it sounds absolutely freezing!!!) so it's hard to tell under their hats and shawls the exact length, especially considering they probably pinned their hair up as soon as it was long enough

But there is this photo, taken after Maria, Nicky, and Alix left for Ekaterinburg:

I'm sorry I couldn't answer more specifically about their hair at Ekaterinburg! I am 99% sure I have read in a book that their hair was shoulder length, I believe it might have been from the account of the Father Ivan Storozhev who gave service to the family shortly before they were killed, however I cannot remember which book... You can read more about Father Storozhev's testimony here and here. A number of Father Storozhev's personal items were auctioned in 2017, including items tied to the Imperial Family. You can view them here.

If I come across the quote I'm thinking of, I will add it here.

Also, unrelated, but there is a very interesting scientific paper you can read here (I think you might need library of uni access unfortunately) that describes how strands of hair found in a portrait of Alexei helped with DNA identification. It's far too scientific for me lol, but interesting at a glance.

This next bit is VERRRRRRY very very unlikely, but the whole family and their entourage had identification photos taken when they arrived in Tobolsk. I would assume that this would include photos of their hair uncovered as it was for ID. However, this are seemingly lost to time. They might turn up one day, but I'm not too hopeful unfortunately. But if they do, it would give us a lot more info, and some good quality close ups of the family.

29 notes · View notes

valeriel · 10 days

Text

happy international bat day! here’s a reminder to all my cave enjoyers that it’s important to decontaminate yourself + gear before traveling to protect our bats from white-nose syndrome </3

the white-nose syndrome response team has some useful resources on decontamination here!

im inserting a readmore here for WNS info

WNS occurs when bats are infected by the fungus pseudogymnoascus destructans (Pd), which often appears as a white fuzz around the bats’ noses. the fungus forces the bat to act strangely and to move more while they are preparing for hibernation, causing them to use up fat they need for the winter. (photo from united states fish and wildlife service)

according to USGS, millions of bats in 40 US states and 8 canadian provinces have died from this disease. the local bat population from one of my favorite caves has gone from over 100,000 bats to 48 appearing in the last bat survey. there are studies for vaccinations and other ways to mediate the disease, but so far there is no cure.

Some states like california have field survey forms that you can submit if you have seen bats in your area! these are helpful for monitoring and providing data for groups working on mapping bat populations and WNS cases!

if you find dead or dying bats, with or without visible symptoms of WNS, USGS recommends contacting your state’s wildlife agency!

personally i don’t like touching dead animals, but some states recommend (if you are comfortable AND have gloves on you) putting the bat in a plastic bag, freeze it, and reporting to local wildlife staff.

happy international bat day! im not going to stay on my soapbox any longer so here's a cute bat photo of the pacific sheath-tailed bat <3

#happy international bat appreciation day!#bats #white nose syndrome #caves #caving

2 notes · View notes

dorminchu · 4 months

Text

Between Heaven and Earth: Chapter Two

Another morning, another day spent in enemy territory. The date in the ledgers and newspapers and Grice's letters was always the same. One thousand and sixty four years away from home. Six into her term. Seven left for a civilian life back in Marley. If the situation didn't improve, her father's request might be his last.

A few days ago, she'd been training as usual, with Jaeger. On the way to the mess hall, the ring wasn't in her pocket. Carolina asked why she was so distressed, and Leonhardt said she was fine. She'd just forgotten something.

Keepsakes be damned, Instructor Brecken said, she had kitchen duty this afternoon. If it was that important, she could check the grounds after she was done. First thing tomorrow, the 104th Training Corps had mandatory service with the Garrison. No doubt, he was only saying it because of her reputation as a truant.

Leonhardt, Kirschtein and Blaus ended up together. Blaus was better with the knife, so Leonhardt ended up fetching the water with Kirschtein. The worst he could do was call her moodier than usual.

"I was thinking about something I have to do tomorrow," Leonhardt said. "And if I have to talk, I can't focus on carrying the water, nor can you."

Kirschtein scoffed. "How are you not freezing?"

"Maybe I've just got better genes."

He laughed, which wasn't what she intended. "You're all right," he said. "You and Reiner."

Leonhardt held her tongue.

Back inside, she got to setting a fire whilst Kirschtein brought more water.

"You figured where you want to go, once you graduate?" Blaus asked. "'Cause I've been doing a little thinking about it myself. I hear the Scouting Legion has undergone a lot of changes from within. The Garrison's always overcrowded and the MPs, well," she snorted, "a fat lot of good they've done for humanity. They're not the real problem. Life ain't that much better if you live closer to the cities than not. Sure, it's not regulated, but no one's going to offer you a hand when the Walls come down."

Great. Now they were having a conversation. "Where'd you grow up?"

"Pardon?"

"Your accent," Leonhardt said. "You don't sound like anyone else here."

Blaus cleared her throat. "I try to speak properly, you know. The attitude around here is that folk from the country a-aren't of much use, save menial labor." She looked Leonhardt up and down. "I've been meaning to ask, uh. You know Reiner, don't you?" Leonhardt gave a slight nod. "Well, last night at the bonfire we were all swapping stories. He says he's from Ragako. But Springer grew up there. He's lived there his whole life before the Titans broke through Wall Maria. He'd have seen 'im, but he told me Reiner was never there. You and Bertholdt neither." She gave a little shrug. "I reckoned that Reiner was really sloshed and meant a different town, but he and Fritz went off to get more beer and I never got to ask 'im. And he wouldn't recall even if I asked him now, I reckon."

Private Ackermann shouldered the door open and let it fall shut behind her. Blaus looked over.

"Mikasa. Are you on kitchen duty?"

Ackermann didn't answer. She nodded to Leonhardt. "Eren was looking for you."

"Tell him I'm busy," Leonhardt said. "He shouldn't have you delivering messages for him."

If Ackermann felt any particular way about the slight, she didn't show it. "He didn't ask me to." She walked over until she was behind Leonhardt's shoulder. She was about the same height as her brother. She reached into her own breast pocket and took out something small. "He found this on the training grounds," she said. "Is it yours?"

Leonhardt glanced at the ring. "Yes," she said. "I must have dropped it." She took the ring, placed it back in her pocket, no emotion.

Ackermann's expression did not change. "You should be more careful," she said.

Blaus chimed in, "I didn't know you wore rings, Annie."

Goddam it all. "It's just a keepsake, Blaus."

…

Despite Grice's presence in the Garrison, they'd yet to actually meet in-person as Paradisian soldiers. The most overt action he'd taken was to provide a disguise for her infiltration into the interior. After it went south, he stopped sending letters for a month. In Marley, he'd probably be promoted to Vice-Commander when all was said and done. She'd be lucky to be a Captain, if she continued to drop the ball during critical moments. Grice's letter didn't cast any blame, just assured her that they'd talk more about her career once she was in Stohess.

Hoover and Braun didn't seem too upset either. They could just be playing along, dedicating their hearts to humanity with all the rest of these devils. When the only real difference boiled down to a coat of arms and culture, what was the sense in buying into someone else's war?

If Finger and Galliard were alive, they'd be ushered on the front lines. Whether you were in the Warrior Unit or a lowly ground soldier, you were still pawns in Marley's proxy battles. Even if she could write to them, there wasn't any guarantee they'd see the letters. Liberio's postal service was heavily scrutinized by Marleyan secret police. Even if you were clever enough to couch everything in entendre, if it was sent from within the internment zone, you'd be better off throwing it out.

It wasn't like they were close to begin with. What would she even say? We're six years deep into this mission, and we've made no meaningful progress. Tell Gabi she shouldn't wait up for her cousin. And tell Galliard I'm sorry about his brother.

None of this was particularly constructive, but the instructor was droning on about ODM gear maintenance and gears while Leonhardt took notes without thinking too deeply. The best weapon to kill a Titan were their blades, or a lucky cannon shot, which was so inaccurate you might as well hope for Wall Maria to magically seal itself, too.

Pure Titans usually wouldn't stay still and let you at their napes. So the exercises with the dummies were more of a means to build muscle memory on the theoretical battlefield. Aberrant Titans were notorious for baiting out a soldier from his horse, or catching him on the wires of his ODM gear, and that would be the end of it. It was customary to take out the heels—as Titans were still formed in the image of Man, according to their textbooks—and dispatch them face-down if it were not possible to slice the nape directly. Many of these Titans might have been sent to Heaven. If one of these subjects were to return to their original form, how much would they remember?

Old friends abandoned or sacrificed in the name of a war inherited. Nothing on the island was hers to keep. Not even her old life.

After the lecture was over, Fritz got up and started talking to Lenz as usual. Lenz went on by herself. Fritz hung back, started walking down the row towards Leonhardt's desk.

"Hey," she said. Fritz had spoken maybe a couple sentences to her in three years of service. She was usually busy sucking up to Lenz, who was either too polite to refuse or had some undisclosed motive. She was the only one Leonhardt hadn't figured out. "Heard that it was your birthday a few days ago." Fritz cracked a sly smile. "Thought I'd congratulate you on staying alive one more year."

"Thanks."

"I would've wished you a happy birthday then, but you were slacking off, as usual. I guess I just forgot." Leonhardt's stomach tensed. She stood up to leave with the other cadets, and Fritz followed her. "With your score, I guess you can afford to be a little lax." This wasn't just about swapping chore duty. "Those MP Brigade men aren't like the lazy idiots you hear about in Wall Sina, are they?"

"What do you want?" Leonhardt said coolly.

"To put in the bare minimum when it comes to civil service. Same as you." Fritz glanced meaningfully at Leonhardt. "I'd rather the two of us stayed friendly."

"Did Instructor Brecken put you on latrine duty again?"

Fritz blinked twice. A short burst of laughter. "Nah, not this time." She was looking at Leonhardt in a way she never had before. "Who's Marcel Galliard?"

An instant, where there was no other recourse but to kill Fritz. Facilitating a training accident by herself would be next to impossible with all these other cadets around. Fritz could just as well be lying about Hoover's involvement, or Braun's. She was imposing her way into Leonhardt's mission, like Carolina and Jaeger.

Fritz shrugged. "Reiner mentioned that you grew up in the same hometown. He was pretty sozzed when he said it though."

The Warriors were loyal to Marley and only Marley. It stood to reason that Paradis and the interior would have their own methods of dealing with abberations in this "last of mankind" farce. Was it possible that Paradis had its own branch of Titan Shifters?

"You've never asked me about my home before," Leonhardt said.

Fritz's expression was difficult to read. "We're going to be stuck together for another year. Why not get to know each other a little?"

"I'm not interested in making friends."

Fritz straightened up. "Ditto."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

…

Before ODM inspection, Leonhardt passed by Braun's seat and said, "Hey. Did you see Fritz at the bonfire, last night?"

Braun went still. "Only for a bit. I got pretty drunk. So I don't remember much of what we talked about. It probably wasn't that important." His smiles didn't tend to reach his eyes.

If he had said anything, he'd sooner die than admit to it. "Annie," Hoover said, catching her eye, "I was just thinking we should review our notes. After practise?"

"Sure," she muttered.

"Yeah," Braun said with a snort, "that's likely."

Hoover stiffened. As Leonhardt kept walking she heard him say, "Shut up, Reiner."

…

Privates Jaeger, Arlert, Lenz and Blaus, wished her a happy birthday. Evidently, Carolina wasn't the type to keep a secret well. But they were bunkmates, and it was easier to let Carolina remain friendly than not. In return for her tolerance, Carolina did not ask anything in return than Leonhardt's occasional time and attention. She'd probably have a standard, unobtrusive existence pushing papers in the Garrison or the Scouting Legion.

The ring, she'd keep in the breast pocket of her uniform jacket. No use flashing it around unless she had any real need. Each Warrior had a preferred method of activation. Braun used a knife. Hoover, too.

…

"It's your birthday?" asked Carolina out of nowhere during lunch.

Leonhardt glanced over. "Who told you?"

"Bertholdt."

That figured. Hoover and Braun had different ideas of what constituted as "justifiable" information to volunteer to the enemy. The last time anyone had asked Leonhardt, it was to confirm her birth records and blood type.

"Hannah was thinking about going into town, the next time we have a day off. We could pool our allowances. Is there anything you wanted?"

Leonhardt had been wearing the same jacket since she was fourteen. She took pretty good care of it, so it wasn't threadbare, but it was getting a little dingy. Easier to manage than their uniforms. Whoever decided white chinos were suitable should've been put on latrine duty. Or thrown over the Wall and fed to his Eldian brethren.

The next time they had voluntary service in Trost, she couldn't talk her way out of accepting a new hoodie. She made a mental note to ask Carolina when her birthday was.

…

Last night, they'd had the first bonfire in a while. The weather was damp, but permitting.

Hoover and Jaeger sat by the waning embers. Braun, Fritz and a handful of cadets took turns swapping beers, trusting the inebriation to keep them warm until they wandered back to the barracks. The more sensible ones had already retired an hour ago.

"Can't sleep?"

Jaeger didn't answer. "Do you dream about it?"

The back of Hoover's neck prickled. "About what?"

"Life before." Jaeger wouldn't look at him. His jaw set. "I used to. It was worse when we were living in poorhouses. I'd wake up and forget where I was. Scared the hell out of Armin." He stole a glance at his nails. "Everything after that day feels like a nightmare."

Hoover said nothing.

Jaeger rolled his shoulders. "My dad and mom, they weren't close. He was always working, he wouldn't come home for months sometimes. And she never talked about it in front of me but she'd talk to Mikasa, when she thought I was asleep. We both remember that." He stole a glance at a discarded flask. "I keep having this dream. Not about Shiganshina. I'm in a room I don't recognize. My father is there, too. I ask him where Armin and Mikasa are. He's ignoring my questions. I try and tell him that mom's dead, and he goes berserk. He tells me that—" a short, sharp intake of breath "—it's my fault. Everything that happened, it's my fault. And if I try to desert the mission, the MPs won't have a body to identify. But that's bullshit, because if he knew something why'd he leave us to—" His eyes glistened in the light. He took a swig of ale, wincing. "It's fucking crazy." He took another swig and coughed, wiping his mouth. "Dad never spoke to me or my mom like that. It has to be a dream. But it doesn't feel like one."

"Do you blame yourself for what happened?" Jaeger's hackles raised. He didn't answer. "What happened in Shiganshina wasn't your fault," Hoover said quietly. "There was nothing you, or I, or anyone could have done differently."

Jaeger's face was blotchy in the flickering light. He scowled. "They should've been destroyed a long time ago," he spat, his voice thicker. "Fucking pestilence on our country is what they are." He blinked rapidly and turned, as if Hoover would pretend not to see. "I mean, an animal, even one that's dangerous to a human, has something to offer from being killed. Titans don't have any use."

Hoover nodded. "You've made up your mind about joining the Scouts."

"Why wouldn't I?" Eren poked at the fire, drawing sparks. "The bitch ate my mother."

Hoover paused. "The bitch?"

"The fucking Titan." He seemed to sway in-place, his expression hitching. "They're parasites."

…

The snow was spread thin across the grounds, retreating with the promise of warmer weather. The sun hadn't set, but it was getting closer to lights-out. Hoover stood alone on the porch overlooking the boy's barracks.

The seasons in Paradis were easier to bear now they weren't living on the streets. When Leonhardt was twelve, she woke up feverish in the almshouse. She was weak enough that she couldn't get out of bed, so Reiner had to go into town and see a doctor. They sat there for hours, while Hoover picked and did his best not to fret, and by the end of the day Reiner was back with Annie in tow. He'd said the doctor chalked it up to heatstroke, rather than consumption.

Pieck's parents would have called it anhidrosis. For a Subject of Ymir, it was natural.

Hoover perspired less after the injection. He was better at hiding a flush than either of them. He didn't sweat so much as glisten. The spells used to be a lot worse, especially right after their deployment. Reiner was flushed like a lobster. Their bodies simply needed time to adjust to the effects of the serum. It would be uncomfortable for a while, but eventually they'd get used to it. As if it was that simple.

He leant into the banister just to feel the grain against his wrists. He'd taken a book with him, on the pretence of reading, but he couldn't settle down. He could see his breath, but wasn't even shivering.

Last mock-expedition, when Blaus commented that Reiner was physically steaming in the cold, he chuckled and said, "Guess I've got good genes."

He was charismatic enough to brush off discrepancies like that. No surprise that he'd fit in and let Hoover fall into step beside him. The two of them had garnered plenty of admiration from a bunch of impressionable, shellshocked Paradisians desperate for a hero. Easy to drag others into a lie when you were so good at fooling yourself. Deep down, Reiner would always be the terrified boy, begging for mercy under the beech tree.

Bertholdt wasn't as confident, but he'd always been an excellent marksman. His quiet nature was mistaken by others for passivity. Reiner's other half, the boys would call him, and Bertholdt would offer a tight-lipped smile and let Reiner clap him on the back like they were kids again.

When they asked, why do you want to become a solider, his mind would conjure the kindly man who'd taken them in after Shiganshina fell. His death, whatever led him to it, was a more useful gift to the Warriors than the scant amount of money left in his pockets, or the clothes they took. With a few changed words, Bertholdt had a ready alibi. The Titans had ravaged a small village south of Wall Rose. He and Reiner and Annie were the only survivors, and they'd been struggling to get by ever since.

No one ever thought twice. This penal colony was their birthplace, and the King's iron grip on education and history limited their imaginations to the span of each gleaming Wall, hitherto impenetrable. So they let their military fall by the wayside whilst the government grew more corrupt and the divide between economical classes widened. It was a miracle anyone from Shiganshina was permitted past Wall Rose—but of course, the interior still needed able-hands to do the farming and fishing, ready to give up their lives for Paradis. All Bertholdt cared about was finding the Progenitor and going home, and looking after his comrades in Marcel's stead.

"Where've you been?"

Leonhardt said nothing, just wandered to the other side of the banister. "Did Doctor Jaeger ever mention having a son?"

Hoover paused. "Not that I recall."

"Fritz said she talked to Reiner. About Marcel." Hoover wouldn't look at her. "Did she, or not?"

"I don't remember," Hoover admitted, heat creeping through his skin. "He and Ymir and a couple of the cadets were off by themselves. I was talking to Eren."

"About what?" She sneered. "What, it's OK for you and Reiner to lie right to his face?"

"That's not the point. What you're suggesting would be impossible. Dr. Jaeger would have to live many miles away from our hometown in order to cross the ocean. He couldn't return to Shiganshina without raising questions."

"What if he wasn't even Paradisian to begin with?"

Hoover shook his head. "You're scared. You're looking for the simplest explanation. We have to stick with what we know to be true, and Eren doesn't factor into the plan after we graduate."

She glared at a point above his right shoulder. At times like these, she still looked like a kid, hungry to prove herself. Bertholdt was better at disguising his feelings as indifference. Annie always had to insist hers into being, and Reiner had to make himself useful off the goodwill of others. Marcel, if he'd lived, would no doubt suffer from his own hamartia—a word that Armin had taught him from one of his battered notebooks. From the old world, though Arlert had only the breadth of his own imagination.

"I really hope you're right," she whispered. "Because I don't know what we're going to tell Reiner otherwise."

Bertholdt shrugged. "Whatever we have to."

She pulled her hood back up. "How much does he remember?"

Hoover stiffened. "Just his hometown."

Leonhardt turned, her heel leaving a slight divot in the earth. "Do you miss it?"

Most days, it would be easier to wake up in Paradis as a sentient udometer. Hoover looked at his hands. He'd forgotten what it was like, to have callouses and bruises that yellowed on his skin. "Of course."

He was used to being alone, but he had parents awaiting his return, whose love for him wasn't conditional or frayed, or so they always told him. Harbouring empathy for these cadets would only make it difficult to do what was necessary when the time came. Just look at Reiner, split between his feelings and his duty to Marley. And unlike Pieck and Porco, Bertholdt couldn't afford to get his feelings mixed up with duty, even for duty's sake. It was just as likely one of them would be coming home in a box, or not at all.

Thirteen years of uninterrupted service was difficult to fathom at twelve years old.

She said, "I'm going to clear my head. We'll talk about it later."

…

On the way to the training field, she caught sight of Jaeger by himself. He was approximating a kick. He wasn't close to perfect, but he seemed to understand the point of grounding himself. Too perceptive for his own good, in spite of all of his idealistic, pigheaded talk. He wasn't putting on airs, like Braun and Kirschtein.

He turned, back to attention, and waved.

That wasn't an invitation, Jaeger.

"You're still out?" he called. He didn't flinch, like she was expecting. He started jogging towards her.

"I just wanted to go for a walk by myself," she said, once he was in earshot. "Evidently that's not going to happen now."

"It's still dark this time of year," Jaeger said. "I'll walk back with you."

Leonhardt let him trod along in polite silence.

"Thanks," she said. "For finding the ring."

"It's no problem."

She'd done him a favour, keeping him at arm's length. It was the only way she could protect him without lying through her teeth. He'd wind up in the Scouting Legion, and she'd stay on course, wasting away behind a desk in Stohess, and never have to worry about his bright eyes again.

"Are you cold?" he asked, suddenly wary.

She was trembling a little. Hands drawn to fists at her sides. She didn't turn away or knock him to the half-thawed earth. She glanced down at where his heart should be. He wasn't particularly aware, regardless of whether he was underfoot.

She said, "Want to spar?"

…

By the last couple of spars, Jaeger started opening up. He wasn't above deceit—he'd kick up dirt or try to fake her out, but never cheap tricks. His chivalry was holding him back. "In a fight," he panted, "your opponent isn't going to be sporting. It's your life against his."

Leonhardt nodded. "You're smarter than I took you for."

He scoffed. "C'mon, it's just common sense."

He wasn't laughing when she flipped him over. "Now I don't have to go easy on you."

Jaeger groaned. "Are you serious?"

"You were serious," she said, "a second ago." This close, her bangs fell across his face. His eyes were green. His pulse fluttered under the skin of his throat. "I told you not to let your guard down."

Jaeger, breathing hard, struggled against the cold dirt. Bravado shifting into awareness of their proximity. He managed to get his legs up. The ground knocked out from under her. Ankles pinned. The exaltation of his success was all over his face—his eyes shining in the lamp-light, his grip clammy. Close enough to bump noses.

"I did it!" he exclaimed, the same tone as when she flipped him on his ass the first time. Up close, he was awfully loud.

She drawled, "Don't let it go to your head." As they got back to their feet, she was staring at his face, under his eyelids. The skin there smooth and flawless. Each day brought them closer to the inevitable. She couldn't look him in the eyes and play along forever. Not in any good conscience.

She moved closer, reached up to frame his jaw in her fingers without thinking about the consequences until he croaked, "Is this part of the lesson?"

Leonhardt pressed the pads of her fingers in, slightly. Hand on the back of his neck. His skin was feverish. She tipped her head up, so her lips barely touched his jugular. She could bite down, now, and draw the steam into her lungs like air. The same phantom taste of iron. Spinal fluid. A moment of ambiguity, full of potential, and she could serve the remainder of her term twice over and still flounder for an explanation when it came to him.

"Uh," he said.

"Stop talking," she said, her voice small and halting in a way she could not disguise. He lowered his head. Their mouths met, teeth clicking together. His hands groped for purchase, settling on the back of her head and her waist.

On the way back to the barracks, her skin still tingled.

…

Braun and Hoover were mistaken. So was Carolina, and her light teasing about how often Jaeger asked to partner up. It had nothing to do with Jaeger as a person but his existence, itself an enigma. The only one who hadn't caught on was Jaeger himself.

Each time he sat beside her, or agreed to train with her, asking innocuous, unimportant questions about her false life on Paradis and sharing bits of his childhood in return, she became less of a Warrior and closer to this façade. An ordinary girl he would not outlive by twenty three. After graduation, perhaps he'd come to visit her during leave, and let him say a lot of sappy, stupid things that usually made her itch to hit something solid.

The summer before graduation, she cornered him after ODM practice. She fed him some half-hearted lie about Bodt catching her slacking off, which he never stopped to question. He saw her cool veneer and the truth beneath it, close enough to grasp at her ennui but not its cause. Like a kick he couldn't master, only block, he'd push for her to stop bullshitting and say whatever she meant.

It had been about sparring, at first, but he wasn't clever enough to pick up on her ulterior motives. He didn't seem to dwell upon Ackermann, no matter how desperately she clung to him or that scarf.

She'd never snuck anyone into the barracks, and she didn't plan on starting now. It seemed like an obvious way to get caught. Nothing could deter him from signing his life away to an underfunded military regime. But he ought to learn how to treat a girl.

…

In a couple weeks, she woke up in the girl's barracks without an appetite. Carolina insisted she mull over the porridge anyway, and Leonhardt went along with it. It didn't get any better. She couldn't manage a full lap around the field without falling over.

She vomited before she could help it, and Carolina volunteered to take her to the infirmary. Everyone was speculating about her and Jaeger and all those late training sessions. None of it had ever amounted to much.

At twelve years old, the medical staff in Marley didn't really talk specifics beyond venereal disease. Warriors were not encouraged to make families of their own—defying the odds, it would be an Eldian bastard. A Warrior's internal temperature was elevated a few degrees, thanks to the serum, and it would be impossible for anything to survive.

Back then, it ultimately meant nothing. Civilian life was never in her future. As if Marley needed anymore half-Titans running around, the doctor might say to his assistant, just loud enough to be overheard.

At sixteen, she had to go to the infirmary like any ordinary girl. The doctor didn't seem to think anything of it and chalked it up to food poisoning, because she hadn't eaten. He was only saving face, not for her sake but for the military's reputation.

In Paradis, pregnancies were a faster path back to the fields, in wedlock or disgrace, usually in the same tone as bastard or whoreson. Incidents were more common before the decree to lower the age for the draft.

An honorable soldier, he said, would dedicate oneself for the good of humanity. It was the right thing to do. Leonhardt was looking out the window, the bright lights beyond, anywhere but his face. The same old diatribe about dedication to the fatherland with a few changed words.

Carolina would be inconsolable, in her place. Not everyone could be a Warrior.

After the scare, even when Leonhardt was cleared for training, Carolina would sulk at the table during mealtime, while Diamant and a couple of the obsequious cadets expressed sympathies and surprise about Leonhardt's speedy recovery. Leonhardt never made it a point to converse with anyone, and she wasn't going to start now. These bad moods always cleared up.

Carolina wasn't talking to her before lights-out either. She barely would look at Leonhardt as she took her spot in the top bunk. Leonhardt stared at the wooden slat separating them. She wasn't going to beg Carolina to reveal her feelings. Ingratiating oneself with other people just implied weakness. Even the nicer ones couldn't really help but push their luck.

That night, they had a short, awkward heart-to-heart where Carolina got a little emotional as she expressed her concern for her comrade's well-being, and Leonhardt did her best to afford her some dignity.

…

The next time they'd speak to each other, it was in Trost.

A mess of viscera already going cold and sickly-sweet smell of rot. Clump of black hair saturated with blood and brain matter. The ODM gear, torn from the wires when the Titan ripped its prey from the wall, was found battered but intact not too far from the body. If she didn't check the canister, she wouldn't ever have to know for sure who it had belonged to. For her own sake, she did not look.

When the woman from the Garrison asked for a name, Leonhardt's eyes caught on the discarded gear. The woman went over to it. Five syllables, and Leonhardt didn't weep. That luxury had been stamped out of her long ago.

As long as the spine and brain remained intact, a Warrior could survive just like any Pure Titan. She'd never given a thought to trade her powers for mortality, with the bruises and weariness, just for a concrete end to her guilt and false promises of going home. Marley did not reward failure or half-measures.

After graduation, life didn't come to a screeching halt. The Garrison could always use some extra hands, despite the lack of a foreseeable threat. Better, to not be caught unawares. So the graduates were carted off to Trost to attend to Wall Rose.

The rest of the 104th didn't notice a missing cadet. When the flash of lightning struck, a shockwave so intense, the survivors said, it rattled the cannons and shook the Wall itself. Jaeger and the survivors formed an impromtu squad to combat the Colossus Titan, but the damage was already done.

The captains were lining up the survivors into groups, establishing a chain of command that quickly broke down under the stress of the Titans' onslaught. Hoover melted easily into the panicked throng of civilians and reappeared just in time for deployment.

Next visitation day, Diamant caught on. "Ever had one, Annie?" Leonhardt caught herself staring. She shoved her hands in her pockets. "No." "My grandmother used to make them," Diamant said. "But the ones here are about as good as hers."

Hours before, she'd found Arlert curled up in the shadow of a second-storey's eaves, unharmed, out of gas. It would be Ackermann who went over to him, who touched his arm. It was Leonhardt who posed the question that had been eating away at her since that morning.

Eyes on his knuckles, curling into the fabric of his ragged chinos, he would not look at any of them. His shoulders shook. In a stumbling voice that no one could understand very well, he began to rattle off names. Zeramuski, Wagner, Carolina. They'd called out to each other, if they weren't immediately killed. Carolina managed to seclude herself between one of the narrower alleys. Eventually she'd stopped screaming.

Jaeger, he said, had given his life to save him.

Such should have been the tragic, but conclusive end to the 104th Trainee Corps' suicidal bastard.

…

"He's one of us," Leonhardt said afterwards. "He has to be."

The three of them were hunkered down in the shell of a building that used to be a tenement. Hoover was crouched down next to her, which he hadn't done since they were kids. Braun kept pacing.

"I knew something was wrong with him," she said, her voice small. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. "I should have said something."

"The interior mission was a wash. We can't afford to be sidetracked." Hoover forced a little smile. "We have to stick to the plan. You've got the grades to make it into Stohess. That's more important."

Leonhardt's shoulders stiffened. "We've been looking at this from the wrong perspective," she snapped. "The King doesn't have any real influence. The MP Brigade and their sponsors in Mitras are the ones who'll have answers about Dr. Jaeger."

"What's Eren's father have to do with this?"

Hoover's terrified expression mirrored how she felt. "Eren's father has been missing for a while. We thought, if anyone might know why Eren did what he did-"

Braun looked from one to the other. "D'you hear yourself? It would be a blow against humanity, to admit to knowing what we do now. Nothing we say or do would excuse Eren's actions in the eyes of the military, much less these people we swore to protect. They all want him killed." He shook his head. "I just can't believe it. He seemed like a normal kid to me." He really didn't remember anything, did he? She didn't look at Hoover for confirmation. Braun exhaled. "Look, I understand what you're going through is difficult. It's difficult for me, as well. You've got to get your act togeth―"

Leonhardt wheeled around, grabbed him by the front of the shirt and slammed him with all her might into the nearest wall. Hoover's cry of alarm did nothing to dissuade her.

"We can't keep avoiding this forever," she spat, meeting Braun's eyes from below. "Right now we're going to allow humanity to deal with the fallout. But it's going to catch up to you soon, and it's not going to just be you that's made a pariah." Braun grunted, seemingly unaffected by the blow. "Don't lose sight of the mission," she said. "For humanity's sake as much as ours."

She let him drop. Turned away, refusing to look at Hoover. The only difference between them was how thoroughly the lie had seeped into his consciousness.

…

Waking up to sunlight. Feverish, the taste of salt and iron in the back of her throat. Her new dorm had curtains. Life in Stohess's Military Police HQ meant little beyond a change in scenery. Ennui settling in with the lack of any meaningful progress or purpose. The sound of crickets replaced by horse-drawn carriages and conversations from passersby. Maybe the occasional drunken brawl outside during the evenings. Those were pretty easy to break up. Leonhardt didn't usually get patrol duty. It would seem putting a stop to fights, with or without resorting to force, was directly antithetical to the MP MO. Lately they had her pushing papers.

Days turning cyclical and uneventful. The hollow in her chest made for a better companion than her new roommate.

"You can't lay there like a dead fish," Dreyse said, already half-dressed. "We need to be downstairs in ten."

Leonhardt got up. She walked over and pulled her hair into a bun. "Why aren't you downstairs already?"

Dreyse sniffed. "Freudenberg's a stickler for protocol. He's a pain in the ass. I get why he's so serious, but he's the only one who cares."

Anything to get away from her faster. "Eren Jaeger's supposed to be going on trial soon. The Scouts have got him locked up." Leonhardt hummed noncommitally. "He was in your division, wasn't he? What was he like?"

Leonhardt shrugged. "He seemed like he'd make a good captain one day, if he didn't get himself killed first." Dreyse looked a little underwhelmed. "What were you expecting?"

"I dunno." She shuddered. "It's a horrible idea, isn't it? A human turning into one of those things."

#fanfiction #fanfic #snk #aot #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #annie leonhardt #reiner braun #bertholdt hoover #mina carolina #canon divergent #slow burn #ao3 #ffnet #eren jaeger #hitch dreyse

4 notes · View notes