(closed)

[usurpers]

Who: eren + people
When: february
Where: aefenglom, dorchacht, respective wildes
What: a catch-all for closed starters! hmu on discord @owlie#3609, liberos or eren’s plotting comment if you’re interest in doing something!
Warnings: n/a, will updated where needed.

“eren let me see what you have” “a knife” “no!!!!!!!!!!”

Comments

@ dantes

[usurpers]

[ at least eren more than vaguely remembered the way towards one theater hall a turnskin loosely calls home. the more he walked the more he remembered, really— even though once he had gotten through the doorways things got increasingly foggy. he remembered he was there, but not so much what he said or did, with a rather floaty sensation to any memory he attempts to recall.

that is what happens when you put the innards of a changeling in your mouth, where it’s not supposed to be, then again eren has eaten crystal in the past. his reasoning wasn’t comparable to anything here, but. it happened. it’s ironic.

the dragon doesn’t make much of a habit when it comes to knocking, even when situation has proven time and time again that he should reconsider a different approach. that day wasn’t today, and to signal his entry far more than his footsteps, he rams his fist against the door behind him, and creates a booming echo across a vast, acoustic ceiling. reverse knocking, that’s what this is. knocking when you’re already inside. ]

[ressusciter]

[the response comes after time - the softest of footfalls that know the layout of this place make no more than a breath of sound, dark clothes shield him in low light and shadow. an intruder that loud sets off all his self defense reflexes, and so he quietly, quietly creeps out. if it's some street rat trying to break in again, he'll scare them into quiet before he'll decide where to chase them off to.

he practically melts out of the darkness behind Eren - oh, he remembers and recognizes him, but instinct rages so high that he will not cease his planning - and the cool metal of a blade will touch the side of Eren's neck, the edge sharp and keen. a threat, not an action just yet.]

It's rude to storm into someone's house without a word. One might think you were intent on robbery.

[usurpers]

[ there's not a move of eren, not a sound, still as can be if only not for his tongue, which flits right across the blade's flat face so close to the scar that not only gashes from behind his ear, but lines upon lines around his neck, as if choked once upon a time with wires that cut through hide. 

eren knows that death would've tried itself upon him far before words could be spoken if dantes was truly intent. the threat is heard, perhaps for a next time, but it would not lead to action. the blade has his lovely attention, and only then does he casually lift a crystal talon to test its edge until the two softly clash and make a sound— like music to his ears, and very sharp. he could just take it. but, he won't. yet. ]

I knocked.

[ he kind of . . . . did? who knocks after? eren. ]

@ gwen

[usurpers]

[ renovation day was soon upon them. did eren truly know anything about reno— mildly. he’s collected more than one thing during his life when it came to construction (he was asked to build a cabin as a titan, it wasn’t so different), helping geralt and the refugees with their houses here has also certainly expanded his mind’s eye to tear away the floor separating the upper and lower spaces.

it’s coming along rather nicely and even gives the establishment an open air to it. high ceilings, tall windows, natural sunlight. at the moment, he’s doing some cleanup in the form of messy artwork: paint. a lot of paint, but. it’s an exercise, and he’s being guided to using it more often. he’ll never utter the word therapy, but. welcome to his newer, healthier coping mechanisms. eren has long since discarded his poncho and walks freely in cropped trousers up to the knee at most. the rest is . . . . blotches of whatever color gwen picked, caking charcoal scales and seeming to mind little of it.

he does ask, out of the blue when silence eventually rings between them: ]

I need to ask you something.

[ not asking if he could— he just decided that he needs. ]

[trouvaille]

( being roughly as useful in a renovation as tits on a bull, gwen's role is primarily supervisory: choosing colours (a yellow so pale that it's almost white, clean and bright and opening up the already-opened space, she'd said, but not so stark and clinical as a true white), sorting through fabric samples and options for the silk install and some sketches she's made herself of how she'd like to set it up once it's done.

maybe a lyra hoop. floor to ceiling pole? that could be fun. at least half of that far wall needs to be mirrors. big, clean mirrors. all the way up would be ideal, but,

she looks up from it, cross-legged on the floor, her prism-pupils briefly dilating (my god, she's full of stars—), )

Okay.

( which is not a promise to answer, but getting the guarantee of an answer out of gwen is tricky. )

[usurpers]

[ he’s just gotten another dash of yellow on him, that drops from his brush and onto his hind talons. at least the floors are protected by sheets of massive paper, because he leaves half a footprint behind by the time it seeps to his soles. when he asks again, eren is only partially giving his back to her. ]

What are you, other than a merrow? [ it’s not something as strong as the fae here— but it’s exotic, to the point that even if he scents the lingering aroma of fresh water and alien sweetness, he could swear that there is a kick to her exhales, almost wanting to become a fizz that sparks his draconic curiosity. ] I can smell it.

[ his body language is subtle, but the pupils of his eyes are full like moons and only growing, with every flicker his tongue makes. ]

@ kaede

[usurpers]

[ the coven’s training grounds seemed like the right place: obstacles to weave through, targets to evade or hide behind, terrain and more— even a touch of magic would help the round in either simplicity or difficulty. once kaede has gotten her tattoos, eren asks to meet him here as he sets up a round. or was it kaede who asked? either way it went, an idea emerged: let’s make sure those tattoos actually work.

what ever time kaede gets there, there’ll be a neatly folded poncho and pants where the grounds begin and where belongings should be left, a dragon in it’s center picking up— what were those, pieces of meat? flesh? it smelt strongly of blood, and he seems to be gathering it all into a pile.

it’s his pile of flesh and guts, for the record. gross. ]

[long_live_the_queen]

[eren that's unhygenic

at least use a tablecloth]

[The soreness from the tattoos on Kaede's forearms had been quick to fade, the much larger, spiraling broken chain on her side...less so. It still felt like there was something drilling into her ribcage even now, the skin still inflamed and achey.

But it wasn't enough to stop her. Even the prospect of visiting the Coven grounds wasn't. The executions had put them on much better footing with Kaede, and the training ground wasn't too far away from the infirmary.

Eren had still gotten here first; Kaede spotted his clothes before the flicker of motion further in drew her gaze. She folded up the shawl she'd been wearing against the cold beside the poncho--cold wasn't something she would need to worry about soon. The vest and skirt she wore were made of coarser wool than usual, with a fire-repelling charm stitched crudely into the hems. Wool may have been a bit less flammable, but whatever enchantment lay in the ink probably didn't apply to anything not actually a part of her.

Kaede stepped closer to the center, unworried about the Dragon or the gory pile he was amassing.]

A bit cold for a barbecue, isn't it?

[usurpers]

[ at least there isn’t too much of it; there’s only so much flesh and bits on what’s considered your outer shell to begin with, but just leaving it around for the public to find would just leave a stank. or a murder mystery.

flat humor like that reminds eren of other qualities he enjoys in kaede, and how deeply familiar it was to him as a scorch of flame licks off his fangs and torches the flesh, raising a charred, smokey scent into the air. ]

Best time to stay warm. [ he could do the same, really, dry in execution and voice a rumbling gurgle as he gets his front lips to move. ] Are you going to take anything else off?

[ asking for a friend. ]

@ mettaton

[usurpers]

[ this has become a bit of a routine; there was no way eren could truly evade her forever, and such wasn’t entirely the case when he could be found in the same vicinities when unoccupied. whether mikasa is working for money or looking for new clothes, maybe a dragon just so happens to be there, too. at least he’s subtle, and at least he’s rather experienced in the art of deception (if he’s able to cut off his own leg for a perfect disguise, you can imagine). he’s never too close to notice, never too flashy to bring attention to himself, and never takes more than a few minutes before disappearing. eren bundles up in ponchos still fit for the winter and a hood to obscure his face and hair— only his horns poke out from the knitted holes tailored for his head.

whether it’s just lingering curiosity to check up on her, or that blasted scent of fae that keeps him coming like an addict, or perhaps a good mixture of both, eren rests at a storefront’s table corner and orders some tea in the haven. only if someone’s been tailing him for a while would they notice the pattern. he does what he has to do, blends in perfectly, and when everyone is relaxed and unsuspecting, he watches her. he stares, and before sadness could more than visibly creep onto his face, he mind’s his own. looks at his tea, scents it, talks to other people. when conversations are over, he’s back at it again, a brief glance casting to find her and a tongue flick to confirm.

at times like these, he wonders what the hell he’s going to do about this, and always comes up empty-handed— and his tongue bustling his mind up with a fizzy-floral taste. maybe to an outsider this just looks . . . ]

[metalcrusher]

[ let's not kid ourselves: mettaton is not a bot built for combat, stealth, tactics, or warfare. sure, he possesses an eye intended for long-distance aim. he's loaded with weaponry specifically geared to dissolve even a human's physical body, but a lot of good that does to somebody not trained to use any of it. (let's not discuss defense.) he's not trained to notice the suspicious patterns of strangers or the art of deception.

what he is good at doing is seeing something he likes. it's a moment about thirty minutes prior to his encounter, where he sees the hint of claws that have captivated him so before, both black and icy blue, and he knows: it's eren. others might have them, maybe, but there's a special place in his heart for these things.

not that he does anything with this information but remain in a resting position, himself. his month has been odd, and he's found that repose... charges his battery. so he's doing that, and people hardly regard the large metal box. it's not a person. it's an object, odd as it might be.

here's when suspicion starts to settle in: he sees mikasa, and lights up. he thinks to follow... and eren does. so does mettaton, though from a distance. he loses sight of eren for a bit, and instead chooses to pursue mikasa...

and eren is there again, with those claws. it puzzles him. is this deliberate? so here's where he starts to watch.

he knows mikasa's been looking for clothes. it's a process. he had the pleasure of doing so with her, in fact! and eren's not watching her, no. he's talking to somebody. maybe it's coincidence... he thinks, until he sees him from profile, flicking out his tongue and watching her. for sure, he's staring. something about him changes, but mettaton's too far to make it out. then... he does it over again. chats. examines his tea. winds down conversation. and... stares.

who would do such a thing? for what reason? how often does he do this? mettaton drawn to this mystery, especially as it pertains to his new friend, and... eren, who he's known for longer.

mettaton rolls over with a suddenness, though eren should be able to hear him coming with ease. there's no use in stealth, on his part. ]

EREN, DARLING! WHAT A SURPRISE! [ and, because he's never seen him in this body and understands the confusion: ] IT'S ME, METTATON!! WHAT A COINCIDENCE, THAT I MIGHT FIND YOU HERE. THOUGH YOU WEREN'T MY INTENDED COMPANY... (*COUGH*), YOU WERE AMONG THOSE I WISHED TO CHANCE UPON SOME TIME!

[ and instead of wanting to show him how he's been healing, he's altered his trajectory. he wants to do something else. he is rEADY, though the gears are still turning in his head. is this creepy... is this dangerous? is this... pining??? ]

AH. BUT WEARING A HOOD LIKE THIS... IT'S NO WONDER I'VE HAD DIFFICULTY LOCATING YOU. I IMAGINE MANY WOULD!

[usurpers]

[ it’s a good thing eren isn’t a jumper— when such an odd but at the same time familiar sounds (along with the dazzling smell of metal that very well pops against his tongue more than any fizz), eren takes to his tea, measures his reaction and slowly turns his head. there’s only one thing that does that to this day, so he could take a wild guess! of course, it’s the appearance that puts him off. ]

It’s chilly. [ which, it, in fact, is. his poor pointed ears can’t handle the nip of a freeze. ] You look, [ different? talkative? ] well.

[ eren sticks with “well”, and for the time being— acts completely natural, all eyes on the metal slab of mettaton. something tells him he wouldn’t be so chattery if he weren’t well in the first place. ]

@ asura

[usurpers]

[ conflict presses constantly into eren’s thoughts these recent days, but not because of his choices— he was well aware and set on his choices. it’s the feeling of duty, responsibility and his own personal drive that clashes with a unique draconic desire to be with the childhood friend he once called family, black pixie-cut hair, a stoney air to her and a zest of fizziness, flora and honey where her taste and smell was concerned. there were times where eren could separate it as instinct, as something brief and split apart from him, all until it grew stronger, until it argued back with a terrifying snarl that this was him, translated through the mythical gates of talam and gifting him scales to represent his heart and soul.

(soul, if he had one)

eren walks with his partnered witch through dorchacht’s wild, in a form much larger and fitted with metallic plates of armor. it’s all enchanted and changed to protect his more susceptible self from the dangers of infection he can’t afford to have, and carrying on his sides large, empty canteens to take as many samples of the pool as they please.

it they could find it. changes in location made it fickle to pinpoint, but— at least there’s a hint of moisture his tongue detects in what would only drift from bodies of water. there’s something he wants to ask, when a trail is caught. something that has little to do with the mission. ]

How connected are dragons with fae, where you come from?

[ he hasn’t failed either, to notice the ever-slight fizz of fae coming from the summer dragon, himself. all this time and since the dream he had, when fae bones crunched between his teeth— it’s a taste that he’ll never rid himself of, like attempting to remove the attraction a wild dog would have to a slab of meet once it’s fed blood.

although, it’s a little unfair to call this feeling a hunger, or to even consume. it’s simply . . . imprinted, now. ]

[mirshikar]

[ More and more, the Wilde feels like home. In turns, it reminds the King of Arcadia's primeval forests, and in others, it seems no different from the thorny trods of the Hedge, where the pull and pulse of Faerie filled briar-marked pathways with maddening hobgoblin grotesqueries and the beauty of natural wonderments both. What they search for, now, in Dorchacht's Wilde where Summer still writes its name in the spill of sunlight between the slats of the trees, is certainly akin to one such wonderment: a pool reflecting the heart's desire (strange, that humans could never discern such things for themselves; irreverent, that the Coven would seek to weaponize its power), its waters lost to the Wilders who had discovered it.

And as they stride the forest, black loam and vegetation underfoot, they walk as witch and monster, primordial and human, friend and confidant— friend, the reason why the question which Eren poses to him is greeted with a simple crow of laughter rather than the rankling of Asura's temperament. Eren, he does not know what he asks, not truly, and Asura can hold no grudge against him for it, though it does not stop the King from cautioning with the rolling thunder of his voice: ]

A day will come when you ask of me the wrong question, and I will see you buried for it. [ In some tomb which Eren would have to work to tunnel his damn way out of. Regarding the ebon dragon (whose ability to shift could be something Asura were envious of, if only he allowed himself to be) with a side-long glance, the King's kajal-lined eyes are foreboding and s h a r p, until...! The moment when they are not, and he eases with a huff: ] But it is not this day.

[ Instead, it is a day when Asura will choose to speak words to Eren which he has only ever divulged to a handful of others, both in Aefenglom and in the worlds (realms) where he is the Iron Spear and Crimson King: ]

Dragons and fae, they are often considered as being one in the same. [ Being creatures of the Wyrd, able to freely traverse worlds and dreams. ] True Dragons, True Fae, [ how sibilant his voice becomes, when he speaks of them, the Gentry ] both are native to the world of Arcadia, a place ruled by the forces of time and fate.

[ Arcadia, his home (though only one of them). Inexorably, it would always remain a part of him, demanding that he return to its grasp and shed his human skin. Fate would have this be so (and Asura would refuse its call time and time again). ]

However, the True Dragons have diminished, retreating into the realms of the Forgotten Days, and in their place, the True Fae created... [ With a resounding thud!, Asura beats a closed fist against his chest, denoting none other than himself. Proud as he is, fathomless as he is, he never allows himself to forget: ] ...beings in draconic image, bound to True Fae will and service.

[ Once, Eren had heard the intonations of such a Fae in a memory ("so you have returned to Svarga, my great golden dragon."), and at that time, Asura hadn't known what choice was— not until an Ogre of a man woke him up, breaking the chains which held Asura suspended in the thrall of his Keeper. ]

When I said to you before that Changelings could come in any size and shape, dragons were not excluded.

[usurpers]

[ eren, for the most part, only snorts at the cordial threat with nostrils flared. it was funny, and rather ironic, that eren was the type of dragon meant for the earth, where he sought shelter from the weather and kept his hoard of precious knives, blades and even sharp slips of paper in intricate tunnels underneath the main city’s (aefenglom’s) domain. working day and night at times to make them perfect had even become a past time to think less of his troubles.

a tomb could be so bad, if not therapeutic to burn his energy in. it’s why he has the nerve, to reply to such keen eyes on him: ]

I’ll just crawl out again. [ he muses this with a bit of friendly-toned audacity that possibly either comes from his own confidence of never dying when he has to, or from the scales and wings that build part of who he is today.

a long stretch of silence follows even after asura has elucidated the analogy the two beings would have with each other, stillness that’s only filled with the whispers and chips of the wilde canopy hugging them from above, and summer leaves that rattle against each other when a breeze weaves between them. it’s long and thoughtful— he figured, that asura’s case had been similar to persephone and finds grand gratification in the golden dragon belonging to that profound voice of the castle in the skies no more.

he does, though, concern himself with his own affair, and vocalizes it in a hiss that doesn’t bring him much comfort. amazing, how karma hits you (though eren was no where close to believing or even being aware of the concept)— when he had once spewed lies to his loved one of being bound to him by blood, and the anguish that came with the slimmest possibility of eren having enslaved mikasa, if the conception was ever true (and there is far more evidence that this is untrue); here was eren, bound to beings he doesn’t understand how or why and needs to know. ]

I’ve been attracted to them. [ the fae. all kinds of fae, anything that has touched fae or tastes like fae— even asura, where he could taste the witch’s fizz at the back of his throat like he’d smell mikasa across blocks. it worries him, and his voice is somehow sounding more grave than a guttural, draconic voice could further sound. ] Before I realize what I’m doing, I smell them. Taste them— and I’m on top of them.

[ in a sense, but not in the literal one— yet. ]

It feels like being drawn to them out of, [ his says this with words literally spat, wet and clattering against too many teeth, ] compulsion.

[ the one thing he hated and, at times, felt like he was becoming. ]

@ dany

[usurpers]

[ eren’s chosen a few days before the full moon’s start to better prepare dany. show me, she said, demanding experience and clarity to dominate a wild side that needed not reigns— just understanding. there was no successful attempt in history to ever contain a dragon, he assumes, and it helped to know even when their own hearts were the beasts themselves.

in an open plain seated by the farm’s plantations, eren prepares by removing all articles of clothing he had. poncho first, over his head and in a swing, grateful for the summer air rolling in from the wilde. ]

I have a power similar to this, in my world. [ slacks after, and then, rather neatly, tucks them into near perfect squares to set them aside with the rest of his belongings. you’d think, how could someone so naturally imposing fold fabrics as considerately as they do in hospitals? let us say, he had a stern teacher. now, to the facts: he continues. ] It just wasn’t a dragon, and my body didn’t exactly change. Another would form around it.

[ but it explains, perhaps a little, of why he was okay with it all. ]

[freeing]

[ Daenerys had found herself as a student to many things in life. She learns from teaching as much as she had learned from tragedy. When Eren speaks, she listens intently. It makes little sense to her, how he describes it with minced words and no flowery tone to it. It was as if maybe he wanted to bait her to ask questions – so she finds the answers more personal to her. ]

Another... [ Did he misspeak? ] Armor, you mean? Or protection?

[ A literal titanized body seems so far from her mindset. Daenerys did not undress herself – but... she loses her jacket and he is one of the few who had seen her wounds since. Some of the bandages on her arm and shoulder fall limper and begin to unravel, but she makes no effort to hide them. Not with him. ]

Explain it to me. What you were before... you've heard my stories and I'd like to hear yours.

[usurpers]

[ she’d have the liberty to ask what she desired this way— that, and eren hadn’t always been intricate with his words. explanations were long, and stories would take more than an evening to tell in full. after a moment, eren takes a step back to his clothes, pulling something out of one of his pockets— a curved blade, a karambit, that follows the full contour of his crystalline knuckles with a handle carved from antler. ]

. . . I could show you. [ he says, as a detailed and worded explanation would only deter their time— one answer would only pull in another, as curt as he offered his words. there was nothing private of this anyway, and thus, he extends his hand. perhaps it would even help her in her own transformation curiosities. the blade had been recently enchanted, as not to rely on asura for any sharing, and as a conduction for the mental blocks he puts forth on his own accord.

her wounds were healing, his eyes brief but noticing even as his palm faces up and awaits her’s in his. ] It’s called a titan. Muscle, bone, flesh— it’s all created through wounds and surrounds who summons it until a giant takes their place. Any one of us who could do it freely were called shifters.

@ hakuno

[usurpers]

[ eren tried his best to maintain the clothes he had. sometimes, he completely loses them to rips and shreds, others just end up scorched when forgetting about heat enchantments. he’s come by to one of the stores to mend some tears and get his soles changed— something warmer and a little more durable. he gets his sizes measured, gets handed another piece to use to keep from walking about without a top, and then, was given the choice to wait tight or browse. it’s hard to stay seated in one place for long, especially when something at the roof of his mouth sparks. he inhales, and the breath feels bubbly, like he’s tasted particles of pop just underneath his nose.

compulsion hits the dragon faster than rationale, and before long he’s already on the move to identify what novelty was awaiting him beyond the loaded garment rack, sifting through them so quickly you’d think he lost something valuable. his tongue flicks, quick and constant, ever so sensitive to the fizz of fae and something— vanilla? efflorescent? it was new, it was different, and it’s gone before he has to taste for the air again, capturing a zest to sweetness that only a sprinkle of salt would give.

it’s not long before he realizes the scent comes from beyond the rack and into the opposite aisle, so close to leaving, where eren doesn’t think twice to stick his head through and— oh, dang. coat on his face, he can’t see, but almost comically does his forked tongue slip out from behind his teeth and tickle the hair of one shopping fae minding her business faster than his talons could pry off the fabric from his head and horns. ]

[sealeted]

[Buying new clothes had been an inevitability. Certainly, Hakuno ought to have gone and bought more as soon as she got here and had the money to spare; while her school uniform might have counted as perfectly respectable back on the Moon Cell and in most areas of the world down below it, here in Æfenglom a knee-height—give or take a few inches due to that unavoidable shrinkage—skirt is... less than respectable.

Being a Mirrorbound gets her some leeway, especially with current events such as they are, but after the full moon and her wings coming in, Hakuno had bowed to necessity and her own budding interest in finally getting new clothes. In the Moon Cell, everything available to her had been some sort of uniform. In this city, from the fashions to the fabric, everything is new, and that's oddly comforting.

The delay in shopping allowed her to accrue enough money for a proper wardrobe, most of which is getting shipped to her residence. Hakuno herself is wearing one ensemble straight out of the store, but she has lingered around the front of the shop for now, examining the assortment of coats and shawls. There's a slit along the spine of her gown and layers for the new wings coming in, and while it doesn't pose much skin at all the wings themselves are still delicate and sensitive.

So really, it isn't too surprising that a sharp yelp of surprise tears out of her when something thin and wet flickers through her hair and across one of them.

She whirls around, clutching the soft, thick-knit shawl she was examining in front of her like a shield.]

Wh—what the—I—!

[She blinks, pulse thundering in her ears.

After a beat, she gingerly reaches out and pulls the offending coat.]

Are... are you alright...?

[usurpers]

[ that is certainly the good fae smell. oh he could feel the bubbles nearly pop along his taste buds and give even more zest to the peaked sugariness that just came off these wings.

removing the coat off his face would reveal the reptilian horned man with eyes very interested on her. pin slit pupils engorge and mostly charcoal scales change to a wonderful sunset splash. raising himself up straight from the rack would give him failure, with shelves in the way— a quick thud of his crystal horns to the shelf just above his skull reminds him that he’s going the wrong way, he either needs to step through the hanger racks or go around. ]

M’, [ he obviously attempts to awkwardly step through the gap of hanging coats he creates, probably in mild, primal worry of her running off or disappearing from his sights. ] alright.

[ at full height now, his tail curls at his ankles and he just— stares. even if his neck has to crane down, he doesn’t seem to care! the offender of her wings from earlier is out again, flickering in the air before disappearing behind his teeth. then again, again— hi, smol. ]

—I was, [ .... ??? ] shopping.

[ it’s a m a z i n g how every one of his neurons seem to short circuit. ]

@ bernadetta

[usurpers]

[ the bonfires during the beginning of the month were alright, even if eren walks around rather— upset, with findings. he wasn’t particularly hungry either, but sets off to distract himself and straighten his thoughts out (even though they’ll never quite straighten with how many knots he’s pulled). perhaps it really was just best to keep his distance; what’s done back home was already done and in motion. he has what he wants. now he just needs to wait it out. he finds a touch of fizzy oils at the roof of his mouth at some point, on his way back to . . . someone’s, anyone’s place (he usually decides where to sleep last minute). it garners investigation that’s compulsory curiosity. like seeing a knife or a sharp object in the distance.

by the time he’s in front of a vendor’s stand behind the girl that smells like oils, some acrid, like polished weaponry, while others were sweet like honey and fresh like greens— he’s towering over her and staring high above her, tongue in and out in equal duress. the bubbly fizz that accompanies each individual taste was like no other: fae. the vendor himself laughs at the dragon’s proximity and height compared to the girl, and attempts to strike up conversation with bernadetta as he hands over a hot crepe. two, in fact.

so does he pick you up or do you hit him when you want a kiss? haha, you kids. ]

[bravelyathome]

[She hasn't noticed at all that there's someone behind her. Largely because she's so amazed by how yummy the food looks. So Bernadetta is startled when she's suddenly handed two crepes. They look good but why two?

Wait. Wait what?

She blinks in confusion before slowly turning.

And then looking up. And up. And up.

And she squeaks when she finally finds the face. He's huge! Like Dedue big but bigger! And he... Is that his tongue? She can't help but stare, not at all sure what is going on anymore and trying to process what to do next.]

@ judar

[usurpers]

[ preparing for the wilder expedition next week was a given, especially when eren had planned to take advantage of the route they’d be taking to bring elliot into the forest to see créia— if there were no miscalculations of course, and he highly doubts the wilde is so predictable. it had its own rules, but, he still had to be willing to try and deviate from the rest of the group in an attempt to help her.

so, he’s out getting his armor adjusted, put some final touches onto it and iron out any worrying wrinkles in its use and enchantments. his transformation to and from dragon were the most difficult to modify, but putting some kind hub on it would get it to slip on and off like covering plates rather than clothes he had to tear off to tear, well. the rest of him off. how does that work? magic. it’s just magic.

expensive as hell, but worth it. and so eren hauls his bag around, browsing for elemental bullets, or any others that would prove useful. it’s also mildly refreshing to see a familiar faun towing himself about on crutches. this the first time in how long since he’s seen him walking? or, at least making progress. buying what he has in hand, he makes his way over, and— ah,

a notebook has fallen, and it just might be the day where the dragon makes his way over, kneels down and helps him rather than let judar do it himself. he’s seen mikasa do sit ups with broken ribs, but come on. that’s mikasa, and even if he worried back then, there are limits! plus, he does just want to help out. ]

You’ve never used one of those, have you?

[ you will hurt yourself with those crutches, as he gestures when he points with the notebook in his free set of talons. ]

[kuroi_taiyo]

[ You can get your things to do almost anything with enough magic. Setting up bodycon armor to slip on and off is probably something that was done as early as possible, when sex magic was being developed. It just makes things more convenient.

Also, seeing the dragon in his armor would be a very nice sight. Getting on his knees is an even better sight. Er- Look, when you've been in a hospital for so long, and unable to do as much as you'd have wanted during the full moons, a lot of things are a pleasantly distracting sight. The faces of people he's been very friendly to? Eren gave him some wonderful imagery back when he was peacocking back in the forest. ]

Never needed to. My world's magic could even take care of building the muscle and bone's strength back up, so these things were for people that couldn't get to magicians. Even after getting my body crushed, after a few days I was moving like nothing happened.

[ The crutches weren't fully set up for someone of his height, but an inch or two off, and while one could get away with the way he was holding them, it was definitely going to lead to wrist strain after long enough.

At least he's gotten by enough to feel comfortable with reaching for the notebook, while keeping his weight on one of the crutches. ]

I usually don't carry bags around, but seems I've got no choice for now.