Poetry and Order

“Aiming for the goal!”

With written permission to post. | Artist: ♕

He pulled away, barely an inch, as those hands took hold of his face, out of some habit or instinct that had long since mistrusted sudden contact. Not to mention the clam cakes—well, they weren’t any good, but he’d still lifted them fair and square—were now decorating the floor.

“I was eating those,” he informed the commander, eyes on the ground, seemingly unfussed by the close proximity or the unsettling and intimate nature of the line of questioning. Drunks. Always spilling truths and crying into shit. Any minute he’d start singing some old world depressing romantic song about dead girlfriends or something. Best to get ahead of that.

“You don’t worry about me,” he ordered, voice clipped even as he made no move to break out of the grasp. “I’m not some blushing bride with her panties in a twist over this. You’re the one acting like I just busted you out of your convent. What’s that about? It’s work. Duties and expectations, just like you have. Like we all have. Who cares about the particulars? I’d do worse if you asked me.”

It was true. He would do worse if Erwin asked it of him. He knew that implicitly. It made the knowledge of what Levi even less tolerable. That there was no volition. Only the totalitarian obedience of a soldier whose loyalty he did not deserve. 

“This is not your duty,” Erwin intoned, his jaw tight, his words seething through his grinding teeth. “You are a soldier under my command. Not a harlot. Not a commodity to be traded and used and wasted. And certainly not for me or for the Scouting Legion.”

“Do you think it is so simple for me?” he asked, his voice darkening to a melancholic murmur, his hands dropping away from where they had dared be so familiar. “To ask you, a man who can hardly stand to shake hands with another, to use it in such a manner? It is no hardship of mine compared to yours, to be sure. I have often said I would throw away my humanity in devotion to my cause. But it was not my right to ask you to discard yours.”

His lips trembled a moment, fluttering soundlessly with a thousand apologies with which he wanted to beg forgiveness, but the cold in Levi’s eyes stopped him short. He wouldn’t want to hear them. He wouldn’t understand the guilt behind them. He wouldn’t appreciate the sentimentality. 

Hi everyone! I have returned and decided to clear out my inactives and non-mutuals. If anyone is interested in roleplaying with an independent, selective, multiship Rico Brzenska then please like and/or reblog this post. Muse and mun need a boost and it would be gladly appreciated~! C:

4+ years experience in roleplaying on Tumblr, 6+ years experience in roleplaying as a whole

Updated with SNK manga

Open to crossovers with other fandoms (discussion may be necessary prior to crossover)

I blame Order for being unable to start any sort of proper conversation with you. Alas.

Levi did, in fact, manage to get two contracts. Perhaps spurred by the commander’s suggestion—if he’d mentioned it, he must have wanted it done—or perhaps trying to get the lingering (metaphorical) taste out of his mouth from the last one. It hadn’t worked.

He got the literal taste out of his mouth with another glass of the too-sour bubbly shit that he wouldn’t deign to call champagne, swishing it between his teeth before spitting it out in some way too fancy potted plant that looked a bit like it was wearing a fancy hat. He thought he might could go for a third—really over-achieving to impress the boss there—but his hips bore aching fingerprints on the points of the bone where he’d been gripped, and he didn’t much care to have those exacerbated. So he breezed into the thick of the party, relieved a passing server of his entire tray of something he thought might be crab cakes, and went right back into the hall to find the vestibule where he was supposed to meet the commander.

He was already there and seemed to be half-crawled into a bottle of bourbon; Levi didn’t remark on that as he leaned against the opposite wall, laying a crab cake—shit, it was a clam cake, what a waste—on his own tongue.

“Why do you look like someone up and died?” he asked, voice flat around the food tucked in his cheek. “I got the contract. Two, actually. It’s like I’m following the family business.” He held out the tray. “Clam cake? They’re disgusting.”

Erwin’s stomach turned at the sight of him, a weightless, noxious feeling that threatened to make him sick. The bourbon was set to the side, put away lest he exacerbate that particular foulness. 

How could Levi be so flippant about the whole ordeal? How could he act as though it hardly bothered him to use himself and let himself be used for the sake of provisional advantages? While Erwin, who had little to do with the arrangements outside of pandering, despondent over the ordeal preceding and succeeding, and during the trysts.  

Erwin rose, dragging himself up on unsure feet, and staggered to where Levi leaned against the wall. He swat the silver platter from out his hand and ignored the discordant clang against the marble floor, his hands catching up Levi’s small face to cup his cheeks with the tenderness one might reserve for a broken passerine. 

He could have kissed him then. Bourbon warm on his breath, he might have had an excuse. But even in his inebriation, he knew he had no right to those lips, and instead, his eyes roamed his face, searchingly, as though he’d meant to examine him. 

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” It was a stupid question. Levi could more than handle himself in any situation. He knew that. Levi knew that Erwin knew that. But at least it was indicative of the affection he bore for him. More than worry, more than care. More than the duty of an officer to his subordinate. 

ugly hair

ugly andraste

ugly u who look like andraste

stupid templar skills