#blutkrone

I.

Before his induction into the Commander of the Survey Corps, Zoe knew very little of Squad Leader Smith save for what they saw at a glance during missions and around headquarters. There wasn’t any ill will towards him specifically, of course - he was just fine as a squad leader, brave and brilliant, but given their  previous idealism of Keith Shadis, Erwin paled in comparison to the hero-worship mess in their head towards the twelfth commander. This, of course, was short-lived. Being directly lead by him changed their entire outlook towards the new commander and cemented within them a very stark and steady devotion to Erwin, his ideals, his methods, and his end goals. A lot of their own tactical skill was honed and perfected by watching and growing alongside him. 

II. 

His very palpable and very obvious (to them, at least) self-loathing and guilt worries them, they live in concern for his mental and physical well-being, they find themselves more upset over his losses and the weight on his shoulders than their own - in a perfect world Zoe would like nothing more for Erwin Smith to live a peaceful life away from this world, somewhere where he isn’t considered to be the devil of humanity but this is also rooted in hypocrisy because when the time comes for him to finally be at peace and rest away from his hardships, they are the one actively fighting to keep him on the stage. This, they’d never admit, is both because their faith in his leadership is so strong and because they struggle with the idea of life without someone they’ve known for so long, and have grown so close to. 

III.

Given their common interests, Erwin and Zoe get along quite well, both being intellectual, bookworm types, but they also share personality similarities that cause rifts from time to time - stubbornness, determination, the two butt heads over this and that when their opinions differ but it never does any real harm or causes anything but maybe a few hours (or days) of stifled silence. What Zoe finds most comforting about Erwin (as opposed to Levi, who is also a great deal of comfort for different reasons) is that a lot of their more ‘hyperactive, upbeat, positive’ facade can be laid to the side in favor of a more realistic conversation. Both are very guilt prone but also more than willing to be “monsters” for the sake of humanity, so to speak. Levi is too, most definitely, but Levi and Zoe’s relationship is different in that they’d rather not divulge too much into personal feelings unless things are just absolutely going to shit, providing distractions instead (shit jokes, etc). Zoe has bled out a good deal of personal information at Erwin’s feet because he’s openly relatable without really trying to be.

IV.

Those four panel comics that are floating around out there somewhere? Absolutely canon, 100%, Zoe often urges Erwin to take a break, finds him sleeping in his office, doesn’t return his pocket change when, in sleeping stupor, he assumes they’re the carriage driver. You cannot change my mind on this.

ﾟ 〢    ✕    //        𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒     ⸻      //       ⌜   accepting   /   @blutkrone​ ⌟

𝐈.           athis feet,  grounded  /  soaked.  furious,  stiffened  &  ripened ; the core of him exposed to the sensitive flesh hidden behind the metallic barsof his ribs.   reluctantly,  he chokes.  defiantly—he joins him,  in the survey corps.

𝐈𝐈.        athis feet,  preaching  / drenched.   willing to riskflesh  &  bone for his cause.   his triumph .  rising like wildfire,  but he’s a far-fetched  hypernova  of faith.   he swallows his pride  & leaves it behind,  with them—taking a new path ahead.

𝐈𝐈𝐈.      over city homes,  fresh blood beneath the hotter layerssteaming through.   the city in chaosand his newly - formed squad at his side.  they clash with just as much bafflingjudgement as he is due.   a frown in faceas he hesitates to follow.   but hedoes .   when there’s nothing left,  all he can do is believe in that judgement.

𝐈𝐕.      beneath overhead leaves,  fuddled.  the high of novelty leaving him sick.   he has a team to save and no time towaste,  but there’s a plan he’s only halfpart of and a purpose he needs to trust.  he’s settled on his path,  and he’s going to continue trusting in his judgement.

𝐕.        in thatoffice,  fuming.   another mistake waiting to happen as hewatches him take it from his control.   heoffers to break his legs but he mostly just wants something to  crush  amidst rage.   he’d never callhimself a follower,  but it’s in this room he realizes the reality of losing hismap.

⸻⸺      he feels the chest of him choke,  insides sharp  &  raw ;  digging at chipped bones andcracked ribs.   overwhelming sensationfrom his hand  /  his chest /  his head  —  pounding. aches,  tears. 

ringing.   nothing.   his eyes blur through void,  flashes of skythat strike blue,  red.   now it’swhite ,  and there’s a hand brushing over his cheek as it tells himsomething.   he can’t hear over theringing,  but he knows to breathe.  he knows to grit his teeth and he knows tostay utterly still.  his eyes open againand there’s a line of trees in the distance.  the shape of them sun - spilled and disastrous,  remnants of an explosion all around him.   buried in machinery  &  gear.   his eyes shut with another breath.   the ringing eases into a small tremor thatshoots through his head.   the affectedbits of him pang in a way that grows much more apparent with every passingmoment.   he is rusted,  rotting .  there’s smoke in his lungs andburns at his cheeks.   cuts through his handsthat mimic the pain in his feet clamoring any hope to reach back to the city before they bleed him open.   he’s finally leaving them to ferment thegrounds of this false paradise .   WAR - CHAMPION ,  LIVE - WEAPON . they’d find a new - armed machine to replace him.   new steel to clash against the flesh of thepeople they threw into hell for the sake of their shields.   but who is he to talk .

drumming.   measured  / deliberate,  even beats.   like the tapping of a boot in a midnight’scentered concentration.   the man stillawake with his hands clenched together in front of his mouth,  brows furrowed in frustration over his nextmove.   always playing a game of chesswith  pigs  who never got word of the rules.  he can’t blame him for hating it.  he can’t blame him for the thorns that weaved into his laurelwreath.   he can’t blame him for theblood he never even tried washing off.   he can’t blame him for the hyper - fixation onthe origins of his fears.

                but he could blame himfor this.

in utter isolation.   with no one listening.   he could blame him .   he could blame him for being mislead.   he could blame him for feeling like he hadto appease all he could in their final moments.   he could blame him for triggering his ownfixation.   a means to stop from projecting his pain again  &  again as he threweverything over him at once the way that he did.  he’d chosen to follow him and he would never change the fact that hedid.   like a lost puppy at hisheels,  he could barely even complete theone task he’d finally given himself.  he could only hope the hairy bastard was dead but he knew in his gut that hewasn’t.   by the torturous twists the soldier had gotten there himself.   yeah—that’s all he was.   a fuckingpup.   tail in legs,  trailing down the stairs of hell with his head in his lap.  he’d sneer at the thought of being a follower so long ago.   he swallowed his pride and did what he knewwas right.  

                           is this what you heard,  too?   slowly encompassing yourdeath.  fatality enveloping you.   the weak hits of a distant paean.   uneven trills and rigid pump-a-rums.                                                                   do you hear them?

‘   HEY  !

                            pain.  peace. push.   setting tempo behind therate of his sinking bones.   where fleshmeets soil.   stand utterly still.

‘   ARE YOU ALIVE   ?

    do you hear them?                                       tepid.   tender.  timid.   breathe.

‘   LEVI …

                           they’ve faded.   their pounding morphed by hooves,  their snare the flow of a river.   carefully,  now.  don’t let yourself move;  butbreathe.   you know they’ll catch on.

the gates of hell areopen.

                                                                                  ‘   HE’S DEAD .and he hopes you’re proud,  old man.

❛ We believe in all sorts of things that aren’t true; – we call it history. ❜

such a manipulative religion for sinner-saints to practice  ;  praised  &  preached 'till proven as erroneous as it was perfidious.  devoted to their falsehood-bibles.  devoted to a raster of verses about the creation of a delusional paradise, set on a globe possessed by the same repetitive hexes, springing whensoever nature willed for the strong to out-eat the weak.  although, only half-truth had a home in stained claims, printed on pages.  ignoble, how the completeness revealed, the strong were raised as entrapped prey, for their wild greatness.  (  old friend, there was evolution’s process embedded in our veins, but in our spines slept a ghost we should hope to not wake ;  and with it, stigmatized hearts and shared synapse-systems.  ) here, one would find two men without any qualms to sneer blasphemously, in the fashion of antichrist’s brood against the shepherds and their sheep, prepared for the cannibalistic banquet.  against all worshippers of goddess-walls  /  our protectors  /  our cage bars.   devils or princes of hell be our name, categorized as heartless / inhumane  ---  synonymous with celestial species in the hiding, adamantly designed in patterns of fatality and grave beginnings.

Tight throat, tongue-tied. Lungs expand in surprise; his question’s sharp but he dwells on its edge, still. Brother, his calling has a name but no body, gone with the wind as if it never were. Hands turn to fists, blood rushing and boiling and his face tenses, body coils, rigid like a snake waiting to strike; teeth-gritted sight.

( MY MUSE IN A RELATIONSHIP | ACCEPTING !! )

🤐 Would they ever confess their feelings first?

Jean would! Depending on his partner, and whether or not they take verbal affection well, Jean would make it known he’s in love or is holding some interest during their beginning stages. It wouldn’t be too long after he believes they’ve began dating that he does it too, and when he does… man is it embarrassing.

❤️ Do they fall in love easily?

Yes he does. Jean has fallen victim to the love at first sight trope. In his earlier years he was a self proclaim lady killer, and I’m talking super young ( early puberty). It was always in private however, because he’d never really spoken to a girl before and all the boys well… he was still trying to figure that one out. Did he just like them because they were very good friends? How would he know if it’s love or not; would it feel the same like falling for a girl?