oceansvanidicus

[oceansvanidicus]

Armin’s expression doesn’t change, the emotion in his eyes doesn’t shift — it’s almost eerie, really, the way he can so easily make himself unreachable.

“Billy,” He starts and then stops, like he’s trying to find a way to make his words cut a little less but his tone does very little to belay his thoughts, “I don’t think I could possibly be anymore disappointed than I am right now.”

It’s not said aloud but it’s there, whispered between his consonants and breaths — even the possibility of a severing, of a leaving, would not be enough to shake him further.

“I don’t beg, Billy, which is why I’m asking you directly.” He’s capable of being gentle, he’s got a degree in being gentle and calm and understanding but he finds it hard to make those feelings come to the surface, to settle himself.

Billy undoes him. He doesn’t want to say it, but he does and he feels as if that’s a testament to something but he sets the thought and the feeling aside to be picked apart and explored later on when he’s alone.

Armin’s brow curves in with an expression of — something sad and unsettled, that doesn’t quite fit on his delicate features. He doesn’t speak up or talk over Billy but the silence that follows is just as loaded as any words could have been.

Poignant.

“I want you to try. I’m tired of excuses.” His tone is short and to the point — not quite cutting but the blade is being sharpened on his tongue. “I’m tired of you using your anger at the world as a reason to be angry at me. You don’t think I know what the world looks like, is that it? Do you think I’m ignorant to it? Because I’m not, Billy. I know what the world is like and I know how it works but I’m not scared of it the same way you are. Your fear makes you.. harsh. Cruel.” His brow falls into a line and his lips are pursed, looking his age for once. Looking a little older.

“I’ve given you more chances than most but this is the last one you will ever get from me.” The firmness in his tone belays the truth in it — beneath the drinking and the drugs and the parties, Armin is strangely cold, absent is the quirky oddness that lingered in every interaction. The mask, it seems, has been taken off and what lies beneath it is as close to Armin’s real face, his real self, as possible.

“I understood that something was wrong, I just never asked. It’s not my place to pry you open while you’re still alive. I was hoping you’d come to me in your own time and tell me but this?,” he motions between vaguely, “I can’t do this. The.. the cruelty. The resentment.” The words are burning on his tongue, his eyes flickering with heat behind the tears but it burns out slowly.

“I want you to tell me why you won’t talk to me. Why you’re so quick to give up before even trying to fix it. But if you don’t want to, if you’d rather go, I’m not going to stop you.”

#v1ctimplagued — ;; #you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse.

[oceansvanidicus]

 ᭢ຶ⵿seashells. ̴̟̇

#( aes ) — ;; hear the crashing waves?

[oceansvanidicus]

Armin’s brow curves in with an expression of — something sad and unsettled, that doesn’t quite fit on his delicate features. He doesn’t speak up or talk over Billy but the silence that follows is just as loaded as any words could have been.

Poignant.

“I want you to try. I’m tired of excuses.” His tone is short and to the point — not quite cutting but the blade is being sharpened on his tongue. “I’m tired of you using your anger at the world as a reason to be angry at me. You don’t think I know what the world looks like, is that it? Do you think I’m ignorant to it? Because I’m not, Billy. I know what the world is like and I know how it works but I’m not scared of it the same way you are. Your fear makes you.. harsh. Cruel.” His brow falls into a line and his lips are pursed, looking his age for once. Looking a little older.

“I’ve given you more chances than most but this is the last one you will ever get from me.” The firmness in his tone belays the truth in it — beneath the drinking and the drugs and the parties, Armin is strangely cold, absent is the quirky oddness that lingered in every interaction. The mask, it seems, has been taken off and what lies beneath it is as close to Armin’s real face, his real self, as possible.

“I understood that something was wrong, I just never asked. It’s not my place to pry you open while you’re still alive. I was hoping you’d come to me in your own time and tell me but this?,” he motions between vaguely, “I can’t do this. The.. the cruelty. The resentment.” The words are burning on his tongue, his eyes flickering with heat behind the tears but it burns out slowly.

“I want you to tell me why you won’t talk to me. Why you’re so quick to give up before even trying to fix it. But if you don’t want to, if you’d rather go, I’m not going to stop you.”

— continued from x.

Armin stares at @v1ctimplagued as he speaks, expression carefully smoothed over, impossible to read further than the obvious disappointment that twitches his brow. It’s clear that he wants something.

He remembers comparing Billy to his wayward soldier before, privately in the safety of his mind, but he sees now the similarities are too hard to ignore. His nose still hurts from their last fight — he and Eren had rarely ever came to blows with each other but they didn’t shy away from it either.

Turning his eyes away from Billy, Armin isn’t surprised to find his vision blurring a bit through the tears filming over ocean blue. There’s no shame in them but he’s aware that he’s putting his hand into cage of a feral dog by being so visibly affected. It’s no revelation — he’s always been a crier.

“That hurts, Billy, it really does. I give a fuck about you, I thought that was obvious, I don’t why I did, I mean, I’ve gotten more emotional complexity from fucking children.” He grits the words out from between his teeth because he’s learned to be vicious but he’s never liked showing his teeth. He’s always preferred the shadowy work of manipulation, if he can help it, but he tries, really, not to be that way with those he cares about.

The world had not loved him, so his only weapon against it was kindness and that was a strength and rebellion all its own. Oftentimes, it proved never to be enough.

“You think any of this makes you strong? Makes you better? It doesn’t. You’re just going to keep ending up alone and with no-one to blame but your damn self.” There’s a frustration in his chest that is not aimed at the blond before him but feels like a close enough target anyway. Pushing his fingers through waves of blond, he smoothes his hair back from his face, eyeing Billy was something that wasn’t quite anger but lingered on the edges of it.

“Either you can put some effort into talking to me like an adult and fixing this or you can leave.” He says softly, “but I’m not opening that door for you again if you walk out it.”

The second time in his life he’s fallen short of arguing and settled on the ever painful ultimatum that will dog his steps if it all goes wrong. But he’s tired too, of things not going how they should.

#[ showing Billy that Armin is just as fucked through facial expressions alone KWNSJWNS ] #you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse. #v1ctimplagued — ;; #[ is my dialogue enough to show that I REALLY liked the gay cannibal show 🧍 ]

[oceansvanidicus]

#( visage ) — ;; who are you? on the inside? #you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse.

[oceansvanidicus]

— continued from x.

Armin stares at @v1ctimplagued as he speaks, expression carefully smoothed over, impossible to read further than the obvious disappointment that twitches his brow. It’s clear that he wants something.

He remembers comparing Billy to his wayward soldier before, privately in the safety of his mind, but he sees now the similarities are too hard to ignore. His nose still hurts from their last fight — he and Eren had rarely ever came to blows with each other but they didn’t shy away from it either.

Turning his eyes away from Billy, Armin isn’t surprised to find his vision blurring a bit through the tears filming over ocean blue. There’s no shame in them but he’s aware that he’s putting his hand into cage of a feral dog by being so visibly affected. It’s no revelation — he’s always been a crier.

“That hurts, Billy, it really does. I give a fuck about you, I thought that was obvious, I don’t why I did, I mean, I’ve gotten more emotional complexity from fucking children.” He grits the words out from between his teeth because he’s learned to be vicious but he’s never liked showing his teeth. He’s always preferred the shadowy work of manipulation, if he can help it, but he tries, really, not to be that way with those he cares about.

The world had not loved him, so his only weapon against it was kindness and that was a strength and rebellion all its own. Oftentimes, it proved never to be enough.

“You think any of this makes you strong? Makes you better? It doesn’t. You’re just going to keep ending up alone and with no-one to blame but your damn self.” There’s a frustration in his chest that is not aimed at the blond before him but feels like a close enough target anyway. Pushing his fingers through waves of blond, he smoothes his hair back from his face, eyeing Billy was something that wasn’t quite anger but lingered on the edges of it.

“Either you can put some effort into talking to me like an adult and fixing this or you can leave.” He says softly, “but I’m not opening that door for you again if you walk out it.”

The second time in his life he’s fallen short of arguing and settled on the ever painful ultimatum that will dog his steps if it all goes wrong. But he’s tired too, of things not going how they should.

#[ I love these two I need to put them in marriage counseling SKWJSKSKW ] #you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse. #v1ctimplagued — ;;

[oceansvanidicus]

Monica Vitti in "Fai in fretta ad uccidermi… ho freddo!" (dir. Francesco Maselli - 1967).

#you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse.

[oceansvanidicus]

“You remind me of my Eren.” He chirps, perking up at the boy’s name. His lips curve into a smile and it’s obvious that he loves him — but in what way, it’s unclear. “I met him when I was 17, he was fresh from Germany, he spoke with his fists and not his words. He was a protector.” He looks up, a question in his eyes that he doesn’t voice.

Are you a protector? But it’s too early for that, too forward of a question.

Armin begins fixing a cup of coffee — two sugars, drowning it in creamer — and nods a little as if to encourage himself to keep talking.

“You should take care, that’s not an easy life.” He pauses and smiles then, “easy lives are the hardest ones to manage.” The question perks him up a bit — he’s more used to people asking about if he’s ever seen a ghost or what it’s like having to cut someone open.

“Eren’s father, he was a doctor, he practically raised me when my grandfather passed. I wasn’t a very healthy child, not by any means, so I spent my time reading his books.” He frowns a little then. “I was… eight, yes, eight when I left Italy. There was an earthquake a few months prior, it destroyed the whole town.” Armin takes a small sip of his coffee. “There was nowhere to bury the dead.” A small pause as he calculates where he wants to go with the story, considers the setting and skips over something.

“I was going to be a doctor, that had been the plan, initially, but I wasn’t good at it. Too cold, my professors said, not personable enough.” Armin looks up at Billy and smiles, but his eyes aren’t warm underneath the memories, “they were right. Cadavers don’t mind though. It’s a privilege too, to be with someone when they’re most vulnerable. You think you’re most vulnerable when you’re alive, when you’re sleeping, but it’s when you’re dead that you know true vulnerability. You lose the twenty-one grams, your soul leaves your body, but it’s still your body, you know? That takes more trust than you can imagine.

“It’s also nice to.. give the families something back. Trauma deaths are the hardest because you’re trying to remake a person, and there’s a beauty in that too, but mostly, it’s just sad. But it must be done.”

He pokes lightly at his bowl of salad. “Most morticians don’t make it through training, the cadavers move, ya know? And there’s some things you.. can’t unsee. It’s hard to take work off, the mindset necessary to stay sane is hard to explain, and there’s always worry that a familiar face will cross my table, but for the time being, it’s.. not horrible.”

Smiling softly after, his shoulders relax from the tension they’d unknowingly gathered. “That was a lot. We can talk about something far less morbid than my work.”

Armin nods to show he’s listening, plating the food and humming every now and then — a practiced sort of attentiveness that gentled some of his more jagged edges.

“Gigs, huh? You a musician or something else?” He’s turning to face Billy after sitting the plated food aside, leaning the small of his back against the counter to face the other. His words settle Armin, they make sense. There is a feeling to Billy he rivals to drifting storms, never staying where it ought to for long.

“Oh, it’s a tale. I used to live in Italy, born and raised, but my folks moved around a lot. From France to Denmark to Canada.. America, eventually.” He pauses, frowning a little.

“I’m here because a friend of mine ran headfirst into the war, stupid boy, but what can I do?” There’s something stubborn in the line of his brow that he smoothes out with ease, following up with: “I’m a mortician,” He waves a hand around the kitchen and smiles cattily, “dying pays the bills.”

“Don’t worry,” His eyes trail over Billy’s form clinically, pushing off from the counter with plate and bowl in hand, and lightly jostling him aside with his hip as he walks past, “you look healthy enough.”

He’s only in the dining room for a moment, back to grab plates and mug, nodding to the press, “bring that along, there’s fixings for it on the table.”

“It’s not a bad place,” He says after a few moments, “there are worse places to be, worse company to have. But what do I know? I spend my time with cadavers, starving artists and Beatniks. Not exactly the picture of respectable society.”

#[ he’s a real yapper ] #v1ctimplagued — ;; #you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse.

[oceansvanidicus]

Armin nods to show he’s listening, plating the food and humming every now and then — a practiced sort of attentiveness that gentled some of his more jagged edges.

“Gigs, huh? You a musician or something else?” He’s turning to face Billy after sitting the plated food aside, leaning the small of his back against the counter to face the other. His words settle Armin, they make sense. There is a feeling to Billy he rivals to drifting storms, never staying where it ought to for long.

“Oh, it’s a tale. I used to live in Italy, born and raised, but my folks moved around a lot. From France to Denmark to Canada.. America, eventually.” He pauses, frowning a little.

“I’m here because a friend of mine ran headfirst into the war, stupid boy, but what can I do?” There’s something stubborn in the line of his brow that he smoothes out with ease, following up with: “I’m a mortician,” He waves a hand around the kitchen and smiles cattily, “dying pays the bills.”

“Don’t worry,” His eyes trail over Billy’s form clinically, pushing off from the counter with plate and bowl in hand, and lightly jostling him aside with his hip as he walks past, “you look healthy enough.”

He’s only in the dining room for a moment, back to grab plates and mug, nodding to the press, “bring that along, there’s fixings for it on the table.”

“It’s not a bad place,” He says after a few moments, “there are worse places to be, worse company to have. But what do I know? I spend my time with cadavers, starving artists and Beatniks. Not exactly the picture of respectable society.”

“It’s simple,” Armin is already filling a kettle with water to settle onto the stove. At the mention of names and other pleasantries, the blond smiles a little.

“Oh, love, I’m Armin. You are?” He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about not knowing the name of the man who he slept, quite comfortably if he had to say, beside. He’s moving like someone with a routine, grabbing a jar of coffee beans labeled “from Mika” in tight and neat cursive, humming softly to himself as he got the hand grinder.

“Now, here’s what you do. When that water starts boiling, taking it off the heat and let it sit — about thirty seconds is perfect. Can’t be too hot. Next,” He motions to the ground coffee he’d prepared, “a few tablespoons of this. Six should do it if you’re making yourself a cup, just three if not. Add the water after, stir till it’s foaming and then let it sit for a few minutes.” He smiles a little after, “simple, right?”

He sets everything aside for Billy as he goes about rinsing off the fruit and salad, humming softly to himself.

Despite the lack of awkwardness, Armin doesn’t really know what to say — he talks to plenty of cadavers but those never talk back. Most of the time.

He peels and slices the grapefruit with care, glancing at Billy and then back. The fruit bleeds pink juice down his fingers and drips leisurely onto the cutting board.

“Don’t mind me asking, but you don’t seem like you’re from around here.” He considers toasting the bread for something warm to offset the salad’s coolness and dips down to find a pan under the cabinet, rinsing and drying it before setting it on the stove.

“Not really from around here myself, so there’s no shame in it.” Armin likes to think he pretends very well, being something he inherently is not, calm and confident and an aesthete. Where it counts, he is those things — he also prefers jazz clubs and bars and drugs when he isn’t staring into forever silent bodies. He is as much privileged as he was that little orphaned boy who could barely afford books, let alone an entire house where he can make space for himself.

He’s careful not to burn the bread — it was expensive.

#[ this is the 70s version of Sk8r boy and ballet girl don’t ask me why eksndnd ] #[ it’s no worry you’re fine 🥺 ] #you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse. #v1ctimplagued — ;;

[oceansvanidicus]

[ 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 ] : sender has made the receiver bleed. / r u still taking these because 👀 — @usurpcr

Armin drags his tongue over his bottom lip, swallows a mouth full of blood before raising his eyes to meet Eren’s — always him, it seems, always the one doing the most hurting. His own knuckles ache, they’ve never fought like this before. Armin had always just been too fragile, more likely to burst a lung than he was to get even a glancing hit in.

I’m not a runt anymore, he wants to say, but he keeps the words to himself because he isn’t sure Eren would even listen. Besides, he’s the one on the floor, cradling an arm to his chest and Eren is not.

“You gonna hit me again?” He asks softly, shakily climbing up his feet, managing to look both unimpressed and hurt, emotionally, by Eren. His mouth tastes like iron and salt, there is a divide between his mind and heart that he doesn’t want to acknowledge while the very reason for it is close enough to touch.

“Everyone missed you. I missed you.” Missed him enough to try and bash his head in on against the heavy, mahogany table but if asked, Armin will deny that death was the end goal —if anything, he will say his emotions took hold of him and they are many and they are like a wildfire.

“Did you miss me?”

#usurpcr — ;; #verse tbt. #[ 👁️👁️ ] #[ as manipulative and bordering on pathetic as always Armin ]

[oceansvanidicus]

what kind of love are you?

Love as Religion

Devotion, that is the name of your love. Your love is an act of worship. Your love is like witnessing the birth of Venus, like seeing the sun come alive, or the stars fall. When you love, it is because you have found God in a lover. You have found the meaning of life itself in the heart of the one you adore. They are everything to you; they are your Maker, and you are their lamb, their flock, their first and holiest worshipper. When you fall in love, it is as a baptism. You are born anew, made a believer in the divinity of the one you love most. Being loved by you is an ascension; it is holy and golden. It is all-consuming, and all-faithful, loyal as the dog. You will never, ever bite back.

tagged by: @v1ctimplagued <3

tagging: @massensterben @micsmasmuses @usurpcr @gcldensnflwr and you!

#[ GOD yes yes I don’t think you understand how pleasing it is when Armins love is also his greatest downfall ] #tag game — .

[oceansvanidicus]

*poke*

HELLO

#[ I arose from the head a little bit ago what’s up chief djsnxjd ] #usurpcr — ;;

[oceansvanidicus]

Sorry I smell like formaldehyde can we still make out

#[ omg. ] #( musings ) — ;; as i narrate this tragedy. #you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse.

[oceansvanidicus]

“It’s simple,” Armin is already filling a kettle with water to settle onto the stove. At the mention of names and other pleasantries, the blond smiles a little.

“Oh, love, I’m Armin. You are?” He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about not knowing the name of the man who he slept, quite comfortably if he had to say, beside. He’s moving like someone with a routine, grabbing a jar of coffee beans labeled “from Mika” in tight and neat cursive, humming softly to himself as he got the hand grinder.

“Now, here’s what you do. When that water starts boiling, taking it off the heat and let it sit — about thirty seconds is perfect. Can’t be too hot. Next,” He motions to the ground coffee he’d prepared, “a few tablespoons of this. Six should do it if you’re making yourself a cup, just three if not. Add the water after, stir till it’s foaming and then let it sit for a few minutes.” He smiles a little after, “simple, right?”

He sets everything aside for Billy as he goes about rinsing off the fruit and salad, humming softly to himself.

Despite the lack of awkwardness, Armin doesn’t really know what to say — he talks to plenty of cadavers but those never talk back. Most of the time.

He peels and slices the grapefruit with care, glancing at Billy and then back. The fruit bleeds pink juice down his fingers and drips leisurely onto the cutting board.

“Don’t mind me asking, but you don’t seem like you’re from around here.” He considers toasting the bread for something warm to offset the salad’s coolness and dips down to find a pan under the cabinet, rinsing and drying it before setting it on the stove.

“Not really from around here myself, so there’s no shame in it.” Armin likes to think he pretends very well, being something he inherently is not, calm and confident and an aesthete. Where it counts, he is those things — he also prefers jazz clubs and bars and drugs when he isn’t staring into forever silent bodies. He is as much privileged as he was that little orphaned boy who could barely afford books, let alone an entire house where he can make space for himself.

He’s careful not to burn the bread — it was expensive.

“You’re right, I could have.” Blue eyes peer beneath gold, fanning lashes — cunning and warm in equal measure. “I just didn’t feel like sleeping alone.” Let’s the smoke curl around him and feel the gaps in his words where one would look too closely.

He huffs a little laugh at Billy’s words, pushing aside the sheets and stretching his arms over his head, putting his ribs on display.

Cigarette firmly between his teeth, Armin slips from the bed, completely unabashed in his nakedness. He runs a hand through his hair, catching tangles and easing them out as he hums softly, dipping into his closet to pull out of a robe. Black and heavy, soft-looking as he wraps it around himself and ties the middle shut, ashing the cigarette in a stray teacup that resided on his vanity.

He does not have the awkwardness one comes to expect with finding a stranger in their bed, he takes it in stride, and waves Billy to follow.

“Come now, surely you can brew a cup of coffee.”

The house is relatively clean — it’s obvious there was a party but less of a keger than should be expected. Cornflower eyes scan the room as if considering if it was dirty enough to need his immediate attention before he pushed the thought aside and led the other into the kitchen.

“You know how to work a French press?” Armin is decidedly at home in his kitchen, washing his hands before he even opens the fridge, digging out grapefruit and salad alongside a loaf of artisan bread and prosciutto.

“Wash your hands before you touch anything.”

#[ i love that we’re playing barista simulator right now ] #v1ctimplagued — ;; #you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse.

[oceansvanidicus]

by alexbeckett_

#( aes ) — ;; hear the crashing waves?

[oceansvanidicus]

“You’re right, I could have.” Blue eyes peer beneath gold, fanning lashes — cunning and warm in equal measure. “I just didn’t feel like sleeping alone.” Let’s the smoke curl around him and feel the gaps in his words where one would look too closely.

He huffs a little laugh at Billy’s words, pushing aside the sheets and stretching his arms over his head, putting his ribs on display.

Cigarette firmly between his teeth, Armin slips from the bed, completely unabashed in his nakedness. He runs a hand through his hair, catching tangles and easing them out as he hums softly, dipping into his closet to pull out of a robe. Black and heavy, soft-looking as he wraps it around himself and ties the middle shut, ashing the cigarette in a stray teacup that resided on his vanity.

He does not have the awkwardness one comes to expect with finding a stranger in their bed, he takes it in stride, and waves Billy to follow.

“Come now, surely you can brew a cup of coffee.”

The house is relatively clean — it’s obvious there was a party but less of a keger than should be expected. Cornflower eyes scan the room as if considering if it was dirty enough to need his immediate attention before he pushed the thought aside and led the other into the kitchen.

“You know how to work a French press?” Armin is decidedly at home in his kitchen, washing his hands before he even opens the fridge, digging out grapefruit and salad alongside a loaf of artisan bread and prosciutto.

“Wash your hands before you touch anything.”

continued from here / @oceansvanidicus

　It's easier when he doesn't know the people. There is no risk of attachment. Just another night that will blend into others and be forgotten after some time. Soon, the other male's face would be indistinguishable in a crowd and Billy could go back to pretending, burying these urges and killing that ache that surfaced in him every so often.

It's harder when they're his type. Pretty, gentle-appearing, and making Billy want to melt in them. He's always gotten carried away. It's why he even does this — find strangers so he will not have to see them again, will not have to face any truths he rather keep hidden, and protect the soured heart he kept in his chest locked behind bone and regrets.

"You could have woken me." He would have left. His eyes follow the other male's movements and he sighs, relaxing some in the bed now that the surprise has washed over him. He should be leaving soon. But he doesn't quite want to just yet. "If I was going to make it all the way to your bed I might as well lose my clothes too," Billy mumbles more to himself than others, deducting on the events that are a little fuzzy from the night prior. He should have been kicked out already, clothes tossed afterward, and night promptly behind them.

"Breakfast doesn't sound too bad," He adds after a second. But it's merely an excuse for a second longer.

#[ don’t worry he’s too smart for me and I write him LENSNWNSND ] #you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse. #v1ctimplagued — ;;

[oceansvanidicus]

Armin thinks he knows the shape of his bed better when there’s someone else in it. The snuffling noises followed by a soft swear are not unfamiliar in any way, and it relaxes him more than a shot of absinthe ever will.

Prying his eyes apart, he tilts his head up from the pillow it was buried in to peer through his hair, sunshine waves tangled together around his face. Pretty thing, is his first thought, followed by the acknowledgment of his wandering eyes before he lays back down, content to laze in the sunlight as it slowly filters in.

“Don’t worry, your clothes are still on.” Armin is simply naked because this is his bed and he’d be damned if he laid in it while smelling of bleach and booze, uncomfortably warm from the rush of dancing. He was already walking the fine line of staining it with formaldehyde and stray blood, no use making it worse.

“Seemed rude to wake you.” Vaguely European accent, already longing for a cigarette or something stronger as he forces himself to sit up.

“Everyone else cleared out a few hours ago,” Reaching over to the bedside table, he snags a pack of King’s and settles back against pillows and the headboard, fumbling under the sheets for a lighter.

Inhale, long exhale, sinking into the mattress as he turns his eyes back to his bedmate.

“Up for breakfast?”

premise: it's the first of January and billy wakes up in the wrong bed. open to m/f/nb. can interpret it however you'd like.

　His eyes flicker open at the touch of warmth that filters through the cracks in the curtains. At first, he was merely going to groan and pull himself tighter under his blankets — however, it becomes apparent that something is off. Blue eyes open to a room distinctly not his own and he's already wracking his mind over the events of the previous night. Honestly, it wasn't the first time he's woken up in the wrong bed but it had been a long time since he's done something like this.

Old habits, die hard it seemed. Billy stretches, hands moving to untangle the mess that has become his hair, and eyes search for the owner of the room 'cause truthfully, he might have consumed way too much at the New Year's party he had been dragged to. "Shit."

#[ this is ~technically~ a 70s verse but we can ignore the time period. ] #you may say i’m a dreamer but i’m not the only one. — 70s verse. #v1ctimplagued — ;;

[oceansvanidicus]

“We both know it won’t stay in Paradis. Eren has marketed himself as a saviour and far too many in Marley need saving.”

If this was anyone else, Armin would be sweeter — he’d look gentler and sound softer but the other is far too familiar with him. With the games he plays, with the webs he can weave. He considers it a show of morale that he isn’t lying or twisting his words.

The politics game is one that Armin loathes — too many lies twisted together feigning justice and power. Eventually, there’s going to be a lie that’s simply too weak to hold the fortress up.

Bertholdt’s next words bring pause. The blond lets his eyes widen a little. Instead of responding, he sighs low and steady, turning his eyes to the sea. It’s turbulent and angry, like it already knows the outcome.

“You know how stubborn he is. He doesn’t have time to be lured and played with.” He frowns then, it makes him look older and far more tired, burrowing into his jacket to hide from the wind and billowing curls of blond.

“For all intents and purposes, neither of us have anything that Eren wants. I don’t count as a something. He’s gotten cruel. He’d kill me too.” He finishes that with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he looks back up at Bertholdt. He’s grown taller yet still can’t reach the other’s eyes.

“Unless, of course, you think we have something Eren wants.”

He runs a mental map of Liberio and shakes his head. “Too close to the sea. Boats take twice as long as the train, requires too many people to bribe in order for safe passage. It’s too big of a risk. No.. if Eren and Zeke are to be found, we must consider the demographic they appeal to. We have to know who they’ve been in contact with that, even vaguely, would support them.”

[ 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 ] : facing a greater threat, sender and receiver must work together. — @massensterben

Armin sees those familiar eyes and thinks of fire. He fidgets — brushes his hair forward to hide the twisting burn that crawls up the collar of his shirt. He expects there to be something else there, beneath the hesitancy. Maybe anger, maybe sadness, maybe even the betrayal he’d felt when Bertholdt had revealed the truth — “devils” — but it’s all blank and haphazardly empty in a way that would worry a more moral man.

Armin is no such thing.

“Thank you for not disregarding my letter, I’m sure you understand how urgent it is that we find Zeke and Eren before..” He makes a vague motion and smiles mirthlessly.

“We’ve scoured all of Paradis. The only logical place for them be now is Marley but their method of travel is lost on me. We’ve got the train guarded for the time being.” As if that would help, he almost murmurs, but politely keeps the words to himself. No use in saying what they both already know.

“Eren’s been using the Rumbling as a threat but it’s looking more and more like it’ll be reality soon, the problem is that no-one seems to actually believe it’s possible. Not everyone but a shocking majority see it as no more than Marlian propaganda. Paradis is in factions now, they call themselves Jaegerists.”

“I’m not sure we have long before there’s a civil uprising on our hands as well.”

#verse tbt. #massensterben — ;;