Matthew is bright and beautiful and everything the war isn’t. He wraps the shrapnel wound on Arthur’s arm with steady, gentle hands, his skin soft and lily-white. Arthur thinks of kissing his fingertips, but shoves a badly rolled cigarette stuffed with tasteless tobacco into his mouth instead.
"It’s bad," Matthew hisses. "I think it may be infected." Arthur’s held the same suspicions, but had hoped—it doesn’t matter now, does it, what he had hoped, not with Europe all torn up and Matthew dead.
The surgeon sets the saw against his arm; no morphine for Arthur, but he’s been numb for months anyway. It doesn’t matter.
(over the top, the general had ordered, and Matthew had ducked a step too late to sneak a kiss to the wounded Arthur; I’ll be back soon, he had smiled)
Francis’ skin is waxy and blistered, and he tastes like salt and blood when Arthur kisses him. Their lips are cracked and the salt of the sea constantly stings them. Some nights, Arthur lays awake in the tiny lifeboat and thinks carving them off would be preferable to the constant ache (but then he’d have nothing left to kiss Francis with, so the thought subsides; if he’s to die, it will be without the regret that they never had one more kiss).
On the twenty-second day, Francis is delirious. “Eat me, eat me,” he moans, waving his long, spindly arms with fever bright eyes. Always thin, Francis is now practically non-existent; look, the invisible man, turn him to the side and he’s gone. “Arthur, if we are to die,” he breathes, “eat me, eat me. Live on, live on.”
Arthur grips his flailing arms tight instead, kisses him with stinging lips. “Idiot,” gruffly he says, “I won’t. We’re not going to die. We’ve lived this long, how can we die?” Francis coughs, wet and rattling. Arthur shuts his eyes tight.
By the thirtieth day, Francis is cool and still.
In an act of great love, Arthur eats his heart.
He says his name is Alfred, so Matthew scrawls it across the red front of the disposable coffee mug in something that’s half-cursive, half-sloppy and rushed. When the coffee’s done (and thank god for simple orders, though Alfred had kept shooting longing glances at the specialty menus), he hands it back to Alfred, their fingers brushing slightly.
Alfred, smiling, takes it, and then spots the tip jar and apparently decides to dig around in his pocket for extra change (he’d paid with a card, and the signature on the blue VISA had been all straight, strong lines, in fat, black Sharpie.) His coffee, in the same hand that he’s gathering the change in, proceeds to drop to the ground.
Matthew stares. Alfred winces, the expression muted by his glasses. “Gravity,” he mumbles, then shrugs and grins, and adds, “what can you do about it?”
Matthew isn’t really sure, seeing as gravity is a constant. He points that out and Alfred laughs warmly. “Not for me,” he says. He taps a finger at the logo of his white polo.
(Alfred drops a dozen things on their first date, looking more and more disappointed each time they don’t float; Matthew sighs, but picks each and every one up)
(the hazards of dating an astronaut, he supposes)
I haven’t drawn these two in awhile <3
Done in 09.2013
Because chapter 49, that’s why.
OK! Spoiler Arlert alert. If you haven’t read chapter 49 of Shingeki no Kyojin manga (oh, how I envy you…), this is a spoiler. You have been warned. There is also blood and gore here, so, you know, be cautious?
Click on the pic to go to the DeviantART page with the full version or, if the link on the picture doesn’t work, click here: [ SNK - Forward - ] ~~♥
Anyway, meet Commander Erwin “Badass” Smith. Oh, missing an arm? Tis but a scratch! Forward!!!
$5 off and free shipping on my photos!
Finally finished something! ヽ(；▽；)ノ
It’s meant to be Napoleonic France, but my apologies for inaccuracies - I’d started using an Ingres drawing for uniform reference but when I searched for a color reference I couldn’t seem to find that exact uniform again, so I’m not completely sure if these colors are correct.
tiny pushy seme
toddler scribbles as I attempt to run away from my art block
I wanted to draw a morning shaving boys as a week booster but somewhere in the process it went extremely wrong/right.
i feel like jean and marco would be those two people everyone knows should be dating but they say they arent and then when they do end up dating everyones like you mean you werent before
poor connie though
POLISH ERWIN IS LITERALLY MY FAVE
*Polish person* …What?
ah! there are people who headcanon Erwin with polish descent, it just happens to be my fave
making out with your boyfriends