isyoursummer

[isyoursummer]

[isyoursummer]

fem gojo doodles

#jjk

[isyoursummer]

grown ups itafushi doodles

#jjk

[isyoursummer]

The brainrot is rotting

#i will never stop grinding my teeth at the fact that we never got a scene of jean riding on the armor's shoulders like what a waste #aot

[isyoursummer]

👮‍♂️🔫🤠🤠💫

#aot

[isyoursummer]

Chapters: 12/12 Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Reiner Braun/Porco Galliard Characters: Porco Galliard, Reiner Braun, Pieck Finger, Zeke Yeager, Theo Magath, Porco Galliard’s Parents, Karina Braun, Gabi Braun Additional Tags: Canon Universe, Canon Compliant, Pre-Marley Arc (Shingeki no Kyojin), During the Four Year Time Skip (Shingeki no Kyojin), Porco Galliard-centric, Original Character(s), Pregnancy, Abortion, Sterilization, Medical Experimentation, just snk things~, Sparring, First Kiss, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, …sort of Summary:

War is coming. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the world realizes Marley has lost two of their titans and strikes on their vulnerabilities. Until then, the empire is biding its’ time. The remaining Warriors are sent home and instructed to stay behind walls, lay low, and lie.

If only standing still were that easy.

#not kidding when i say this fic changed my life. oh my godddddddd #aot

[isyoursummer]

doodle dumb but it’s mostly reiner

#baby boy.. #aot

[isyoursummer]

Fuddlewuddle Ginger Cat

Ko-fi / Instagram

[isyoursummer]

What's that poem about the cockroach and the moth where the cockroach is like "I wish I've ever wanted anything the way that moth wanted to burn itself up in that lantern" because we had to read that in high school and it still fucks me up to this day

[isyoursummer]

James Baldwin.

[isyoursummer]

the nights here are different. dry air, harsh wind. the sharp tongue of pine needles, the distant bleat of wild herds. a cold so brittle, reiner’s skin might break if he stays out much longer. he stays out, regardless. he lingers on the outskirts of the base, as far as he is allowed to stray from his tent. his boots stand firm in the sand. his eyes burning when it blows in his face, tearing up. the salt dries on his face in a frost. he wishes he was a smoker. for the warmth. for the familiar. 

galliard joins him at the outpost. pensive, gloved, the collar of his jacket tucked over his chin. “you’ll freeze to death,” he says with a furrowed brow.

reiner stares over the sand dunes. “no, i won’t.”

“no,” galliard scoffs. he sighs. he zips his jacket all the way up and turns his face towards the sky. a wide blue horizon. a moon unfamiliar, though reiner is sure— as he was sure before— that they are all counting the same stars. 

“no,” galliard repeats, softer, the moonlight on his face. “you won’t.”

#aot

[isyoursummer]

something sticks to reiner’s fingers. he pries them from the bartop and wipes it on his pants leg. he would have guessed the beer was too watered-down to leave any stains. a thud behind him, and a curse. the tavern tilts in his vision as he turns his attention back to the darts game. he’s kept his seat warm all night, hands full to prevent awkward conversation. the bartender rings for last call, and reiner drains his drink.

“watch,” pieck says from the throwing line. “like this.”

her dart sticks square in the center of the board. colt attempts to imitate her form. he exaggerates, holding a hand out to steady his stance. he stumbles instead. a misstep at the last minute means a dart fallen flat. it sticks in the wall beneath the board, before coming loose and dropping to the floor. 

chuffed, pieck pushes colt to the other end of the bar. “better luck next time. finish your beer before they close for curfew; you’ve only had half.”

a barstool squeaks against the floor. galliard slides into the seat with his mug, jacket draped over his shoulders. white foam spills over the edges of the glass. it drips onto the bartop, and reiner reaches out to dab at it, a warmth pooling in his stomach. floating through his veins. drunker than he thought, after sitting still all night. galliard watches him deep his finger into the foam, then wipe it off somewhere else. he furrows his brow. 

“it’ll stain,” reiner says. 

galliard rubs a finger on the rim of his glass. “i don’t know why you would bother. have you seen the state of the toilets?” 

Seguir leyendo

#aot

[isyoursummer]

hygiene is the first thing they were taught as warriors. how to scrape the dirt from under their fingernails and scrub the dead skin from their legs. how to wash their hands, properly, with soap, and kill all the livings things lurking on their skin. how not to touch anything inside the zone: no curious dead birds on the cobblestones, no makeshift playgrounds in the gutters, no family who cough with their eyes squeezed shut or breathe like their lungs could give out tomorrow.

it was a problem for some of them. bertholdt remembers the long baths he used to take each time he returned from the zone, a tub of warm water and white soap waiting for him in a clean room somewhere inside the military hospital. he didn't realize until later that not all of the others had to do the same thing, but before that, there was something ritual about the bath, something clean and sacred that he reveled in each time, ducking his head all the way beneath the water and letting the world around him fade out, if only for a little bit. that was the only way he could seem to find some quiet. in a world of orders and bullets, that silence was the closest he came to peace.

there is a hot bath waiting for him when he finishes the decontamination. he has been stripped down and scrubbed so raw he thinks he's already steaming before he steps into the water. the nurse locks the door and tells him he has ten minutes. there is a toothbrush by the sink. a comb, and a razor.

he cannot remember the last time he had a hot bath, and for a moment when he plunges his head under the water, the last five years seem to disappear.

reiner is there when he resurfaces, the heat dripping from his skin. the room sweats with steam clouds that fog the mirrors above the sink, and he finds it strange, watching reiner cross the room, that he cannot see either of their reflections.

"finally," reiner is saying, naked at the tub opposite him.

he raises a leg and goes into the bath toe first, testing it with his foot before the rest of his follows, clumsily, the water spilling over the sides like a ship rocking on the sea. like the ship in the harbor now, an otherworldly sight beheld when they came over the wall in their quartet. it all seems otherworldly now, each side of the sea he has seen. all strange and unfaithful.

reiner sinks into the water, and in their tubs they face each other, the lengths of their bodies exposed. there is nothing unusual about that. immodesty was the second thing they learned as warriors. their bodies are vessels, weapons. they do not belong to themselves.

reiner splashes the water onto his face, his eyes shut tightly. "do you feel like yourself again?"

bertholdt sinks beneath the surface until his lips cannot be seen. he could ask the same.

#aot

[isyoursummer]

when he breathes in, he can smell the smoke. something bitter lingers in the acrid aftertaste that touches his tongue, but he breathes again, and the room is warm, the cabin alive with golden light, the pale smoke from their fire drifting out the window into the night. it is open, the window by his bed, and in his warmth he feels the chill wrap around him like a blanket. warm in the cold night, watching the shadows of his friends dance on the cabin walls from where he sits in his top bunk, legs curled up beneath him. the beat of his heart feels strange in the back of his throat. it tastes the smoke, another day, another place, another fire. someone is reciting a poem to the beat of a drum. the world is heavy, like a bottle of wine stuffed with a cork, and he feels as if he could sink into its deep red, watching the glow of the fire light reflect his shadowed face on the glass. he feels as if he will never wake again.

when he does, it is night, still. still. he wakes to the cold wind with a leaden head like he's rising from a thousand days, like he has not slept in years. these years, he has done nothing but sleep. his throat burns, dry, and his eyes are heavy. it must have been only minutes. an hour. two. minutes, still, somewhere in the night over the walls of shiganshina.

the blue darkness feels hollow overhead. the moon lies behind the clouds, a sliver of light that lines the trees on the horizon with its glow. the plains before the wall lay open, a clear path to the sea that calls his name. whether it beckons him or warns him, he will not know until dawn comes in the west. another day, another place, another fire. for a moment, he thinks he can smell it. smoke or salt. but when he blinks, looking around, it's only the fire there, their scraps of wood roasted to its last kindlings as it burns and crumbles into embers, leaving ashes on the stone wall. its warmth has all gone out. its light, all but whittled down to a single wisp that shudders and wanes when the cold wind blows again.

his eyes fall to reiner on the other side of the fire. he lies prone with his face to the dim moonlight, a hand over his forehead, and the lines of his face drawn tight as his brow furrows and he dreams. then to ymir, opposite him, her back to bertholdt with her shoulders hunched up to her chin. in the blue light of the moon, her fingers are pale and cold as they clench at the edge of the stone wall where she sits. in the weeds of his dreams, bertholdt thinks for a moment that they ought to go back inside.

have they not been stupid long enough? ignorant little boys, too blind to see the things so plainly laid before them. too hungry, too greedy. have they been less than the monsters they were made to be? have they been like the wicked half-men of old witches' fairytales, stepping through open doors with smiles of teeth, only to find the taste of wine sweeter than that of blood? four walls, when one would do? have they grown so fat and lazy by the hearth of the fire in those cabins where they once lived that they have forgotten what it means to truly burn?

he finds his eyes on reiner again. he lies with his hand over his eyes, and his chest hardly moves as he breathes. he may not be sleeping. but he is dreaming.

bertholdt turns his gaze south again, the parched plains of the island laid flat before him in the moonlight. summer has rotted this land to its roots. there is nothing left of this place. these walls, like withered yellow grasses beneath his feet. he breathes in, seeking the call of the sea. it smells like smoke.

#aot

[isyoursummer]

Six 10characters challenge from twitter!

#FALCO AWWWWW #aot

[isyoursummer]

It's a real shame your life got longer, Reiner.

ATTACK ON TITAN: THE FINAL CHAPTERS | 4.30

#they can tag team me idk.. #aot

[isyoursummer]

Give them a hug

#aot