Levi’s knees are knobby and pink, their color interrupted by the presence of neutral-colored bandaids slapped on them, the dissonance in tone almost jarring against the pallor of his skin.
Levi’s a boy of contrasts, really; finely boned but thickly muscled, sharp-elbowed and sharp-tongued. His hair is inky and the spill of it across the desk is smooth, but it’s surprisingly coarse to the touch when Erwin plays with it. His knuckles are a painter’s palette of the shades of bruising. He’s a terrible, terrifying, troublesome boy, but his toes and fingers curl as Erwin sucks him off.
some erejean doodles
levi makes his one speech so much all the vets probably know it by heart and make bets on how long it will take him to say it to the new recruits
Back during AX I promised gaybravado I’d draw more bara mikes and this is all I have to show for myself bc I am a huge whiny baby when it comes to drawing (ノ´＿ゝ｀）ノ
please accept my small token of hairy bara affection
why has no one drawn mike in the one thigh highs uniform yet oh my god
lord have mercy
small side note, if you ever wanna throw writing prompts my way, go ahead? I always need the practice and if I’m inspired i’ll write it ;o;
The first time Levi sees him is in a bar on the edge of the city. He’s tall and vaguely intimidating as he walks with two beer mugs in either hand, for friends, Levi supposes.
But Levi is used to intimidating, it’s something he does himself.
The second time he sees him, and his stature is nearly impossible to miss, it’s inside a Spar’s. Levi writes it off as a coincidence until he ends ups behind the larger man in line to check out.
He isn’t quite sure why he decides to say anything, it’s pointless and there’s nothing interesting about what he says—I’ve seen you before is so generic that he regrets it as soon as the words tumble out, slightly stilted.
Despite this, he still manages to get angry when the man in front of his doesn’t respond. He furrows his eyebrows and his breath comes out heavier, and still the man doesn’t turn around.
So Levi tugs at the man’s jacket and speaks with an irate tone of voice that he realizes might scare the man off if he hasn’t been intentionally ignoring him.
Too fucking late, Levi thinks.
But the bigger man gives a small smile and taps at his ear. His hair covers either one, slightly shaggy. He looks sort of like a large dog to Levi, not entirely used to his own size, but carrying himself in a way that looks nothing short of untroubled.
Levi finally understands, I’m a fucking idiot.
He had, Erwin realizes now, conceived of Levi as more component than whole; a sword for the Corps rather than a person. The transition in thought comes from seeing Levi waiting for the sounding alarm of an expedition set to go out: in the hooded cape of the Survey Corps, Levi is near small enough to be mistaken as barely out of adolescence. Surrounded by men and women and military precision, his friends gone from his side, Levi is utterly lost.
It feels unfair to ascribe loneliness to him—he doesn’t really know Levi in any resolute way, except that Levi pulls his horse up to Erwin’s, his mouth thin and tensed as he does so. Something about the cant of his shoulders and his pursed lips says he blames this on Erwin.
He hadn’t known Levi’s dead, but Erwin has his own. It’s easy enough to understand.
It would be nice if during expeditions outside the walls, Armin tried to pluck out plants and flowers he has never seen before, and kept them in a herbarium. And people who know about it sometimes give him flowers and leaves to add to his collection (and he keeps them even when they’re actually common plants inside the wall).
finished koujaku’s route
tragic life of mike zakarius
Erwin’s head spins as he looks around. His eyes are having trouble focusing so he feels more than sees the thick wetness running down the side of his thigh from the cut on his hip. It isn’t very deep and he’s certainly had worse, but if he keeps moving, it won’t close.
But he does keeps moving, fighting and swinging. He’s outnumbered and most of his men are dead. The field below him is wet and when his vision finally clears, he sees it’s blood mixed with rain—the mud runs an unholy color.
Mike is no longer beside him, he had been given the order to retreat. Erwin was bold but he was not stupid, and saving those he could was better than seeing all those under his command buried in the coppery mud.
Mike would lead them, he thought. He was capable, worthy.
Someone strikes below the shallow cut on his hip, deeper this time, enough for Erwin to fall to his knees. A cry catches in his throat, something deep and primal and he lashes out.