Shingeki no prog rock

[shingekinoprogrock]

Shiganshina, Wakeman House, whatever year i have been setting this in idec

i wrote this rly fast dont judge me royroy

If Pete Sinfield had had to wager a guess, he wouldn't bet he would find himself backed up in the alley behind his employers' house with his wrists pinned to the wall and an eager soldier grinding against his hips.

If Pete had had to wager a guess, he would've said that he'd broken the soldier habit by the time Greg had finished his cadet training. And yet -

Keith scraped blunt teeth at the base of Pete's throat, drawing a little sigh forward from his lips. Pete could practically feel the smug smirk press against his collarbone.

"Never would've thought you'd be this noisy," Keith murmured, his breath hot against Pete's neck. He slid one calloused palm over the crest of Pete's hipbone and drew him in close. Pete whimpered and hated himself for it.

"Can we," he started, interrupting himself with a high whine as Keith sucked a lovebite into purplish existence under his left ear. "Jesus, Keith." Pete's breath came in thick, humid gulps. "Can we not do this behind my boss's house?"

"Wot, Rick?" Keith smirked as he said this, curling thick fingers around Pete's slender wrist. "He knew I'd try it on with you weeks ago, hate to be the one to tell you." He reeled Pete in first by the wrist, then the forearm, finally the shoulder, to kiss him full on the mouth.

Pete whimpered.

"Let me, ah," Keith said against Pete's mouth, punctuating each word with a promising kiss. "Walk you home, yeah?" His eyes, half-lidded and vibrant blue in the twilight, sparkled. He looked like trouble.

Pete reversed the shifting ballast between them, tugging Keith by the hand that still held his wrist in the vague direction of his house. They made it about fifteen feet before Keith plastered himself to Pete again, one hand clutching clumsily at a fistfull of his hair and tugging gently, the other pulling aside the collar of Pete's shirt to kiss roughly across his collarbone.

"Keith," Pete said, breathless, "It's really going to be in your best interest if we get to my house as, you know, as quickly as possible." Keith's eyebrows twitched upwards as he grinned, too smug for his own good, horribly attractive at the same time. They walked quickly, fingers laced together, pulses thrumming firmly where they touched at the wrist.

[shingekinoprogrock]

Remember when I used to update this Idk anyway I just wanna point out that tony levin looks like dot pixis

[shingekinoprogrock]

REIMIN AND ALSO, CONNIESASHA, AND,, no thast it i m an EGG

REIMIN

• when or if I started shipping it. it took me actually kind of a lil bit bc when i first watched the anime i was like "reiner is so bland idec i dont remember his name" and then i like. rewatched and read everything and... yeah so probably around like september???• my thoughts: okay well! basically you've got this Big Dude who is ultimately really. like. he's a gentle giant, he can be gruff or even overly blunt but he's always trying to do what he thinks is best, to the point where he literally dissociates. and then armin who is so worried about being a burden, and if anybody could make being a burden seem like a gift, it's reiner.  • What makes me happy about them: they have such complementary flaws• What makes me sad about them: they both exhibit... suicidal tendencies, which they could exacerbate in each other• things done in art/fic that annoys me: armin topping• things I look for in art/fic: responsible dom reiner with a lot of explicit aftercare• Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: idk if i like reiner with anybody else. uh armin and jean is ok, but i don't think i'd want them to like. End Up Together. • My happily ever after for them: :/ tbh i don't really have ideas for an in-universe happily ever after, unless reiner like. turns• what is their favorite non-sexual activity? when they're still in training i bet they like to sneak off and just hang out in nature. especially reiner. i bet they like to like... wander down to the lake and skip stones

CONNIESASHA

• when or if I started shipping it. i don't even remember it was just like. it's in my blood • my thoughts: i mean they're both such goofs but they're both such sort of. complex, thoughtful goofs. particularly when both of them join the survey corps despite being the two cadets out of the ones we really get to know who are the most outwardly, debilitatingly afraid of the titans. they share a lot of traits but they're also different - sasha has this simple kindness and generosity and overall easygoingness to her while connie is more energetic and enthusiastic. they don't have the opposites attract thing so much as they have the groundwork for a really stable relationship happening quickly.. • What makes me happy about them: everything tbh. but like. i think sasha is a little taller and i lvoe that• What makes me sad about them: not very much, at least not about them particuarly.. like. other than the stuff that jsut makes me sad about snk in general• things done in art/fic that annoys me: there isn't enough of it? or it's really angsty• things I look for in art/fic: anything that shows their lighthearted sides• Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: no one really............ • My happily ever after for them: they both retire from the military with injuries that make it impossible for them to continue in the scouting legion when they're like. in their early 30s and they have kids and maybe sasha like works in a restaurant and connie does.. idk something low-key physical but not too much and their kids grow up and it's lovely • what is their favorite non-sexual activity? just making each other laugh omg

[shingekinoprogrock]

ffff i will probably never get around to finishing this but check it out, it's lieutenant greg lake

[shingekinoprogrock]

Shiganshina, The Barracks

Bill slept fitfully and then didn't, jerking into consciousness so suddenly and completely that his heart hammered against his ribcage and he couldn't help but scrabble and grip at the sheets, trying to steady himself. The barracks was quiet - Bill peered toward the large clock at the other end of the hall but couldn't make out the time. Whenever it was, though, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it back to sleep right away.

He fumbled for his trousers, wrinkled and tangled up at the foot of his bed, and put them on with a worn out undershirt, shook the hair out of his eyes and padded outside barefoot. He needed a smoke, or fresh air, or something to calm his goddamn nerves.

Outside on the barracks porch, though, Bill wasn't alone. He tapped his packet of cigarettes against his palm, eyeing the figure seated on the steps. The other man's back was turned so Bill couldn't see his face, and he contemplated how easy it would be to sneak back inside unnoticed, or hop the railing, go someplace more private. The other man turned, just then, to look at him, and Bill recognized Lieutenant Lake, from Karanese. They had been in the same cadet corps, and while they weren't particularly close, Bill remembered one fleeting fact about Greg Lake's life before the military that made him stride over, sit down, and offer the other man a cigarette.

Greg took the cigarette, thoughtfully rolling it between his forefinger and thumb before placing it between his lips. "Thanks," he said. "Got a match?"

Bill lit Greg's cigarette, then his own, inhaling deeply and trying to compose his thoughts.

"Say," he said, finally, immediately wincing at his own word choice. "You uh, you came up with Fripp, yeah?"

Greg took a long drag on his cigarette. "Yeah, I did."

Bill paused, unsure how to continue. "Was he always so..." He let the sentence hang there. It was difficult to describe Colonel Fripp in words besides "terrifying" and "alien."

To Bill's intense relief, Greg chuckled. He took another drag before turning to Bill. "Yeah, I guess. I mean..." He bit his lip in thought. "Well it's not like he's really everything he seems now."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Greg laughed again. "Oh well you know, I knew him when we were just kids, so. I guess he's quite particular but once you get past all that..." He stared out into the night sky, squinting at the stars. "I don't know. I mean it's hard to describe. We're sort of two sides of the same coin, or that's what he used to say."

Bill tried to imagine what in the world Robert Fripp could have in common with the cherub-faced young soldier beside him. "Oh," he said.

"Why d'you ask?" Greg inquired, round face still turned to the sky.

Bill dragged hard at his cigarette. He didn't particuarly know Greg, and found it hard enough to speak frankly with people he liked. With Steve. "He's drafting me into the scouting legion tomorrow."

Greg spun to look at him. "Can he do that?"

"That's word on the street, anyway," Bill murmured.

Greg chewed on his lower lip, eyebrows knitted in thought. "So you want to know how to get him to let you off the hook." It was more of a statement than a question, but Bill nodded anyway. "Weren't you..." Greg started. "Wasn't scouting sort of your goal at the academy, though?"

Bill snorted. His reputation had preceded him. "Things change, Lake, you know that."

"I guess so." Greg tapped long, slender fingers against his thigh. "I don't know if there's anything I can really tell you. I mean, when Robert's set on a thing..."

"That's the best you've got?" Bill exclaimed. "What about all this 'two sides of the same coin' bullshit, surely you can do better than that."

Greg smiled sadly. "That's what I mean, I guess. I mean, we're both stubborn. If I was in his place there's not much you could do to dissuade me."

"So why aren't you colonel, then?" Bill snapped, and immediately wished he hadn't. Greg's face fell, and he he flicked the stub of his cigarette into the gravel.

"I had other priorities," he said shortly. "I could ask you the same, why's Squire a captain and you're still pulling grunt work on the wall?" His scowl invaded Bill's periphery, aggressive in its passivity.

"I wouldn't exactly say me and Squire are sides of the same coin," Bill snarled.

"Right, right," Greg huffed. "You were too busy failing to sleep with Steve Howe to think about going for a promotion."

Bill looked away. He stubbed the flickering butt of his cigarette out on the porch step before tossing it out into the darkness, scraped the dirt out from under this thumbnail before he faced Greg again. "Yeah. I guess so," he bit out. "But I just got a goddamn death sentence, so."

Greg chewed on his lip again. "It's not like he's heartless," he said finally.

"Hmm?"

"Fripp. He might not seem it, but he's a human being."

Bill blinked slowly, suddenly feeling bone tired. He rubbed at an ache in his wrist.

"Okay," he said finally. He flexed his bare feet, cracking his toes, the tight joints in his ankles. Stood up.

"Sorry," Greg said. He worried at the hem of his sleeve. "I guess."

Bill stumbled back inside, leaving Greg where he'd found him. The barracks was pitch dark, the lurking shapes of the bunks leaping out at him as he approached them. Steve was curled up, impossibly small, under a blanket, his hair over his eyes. Bill stood beside his bunk, waiting for his eyes to adjust until he could see all the details. Steve made soft breathing noises through the little gap in his teeth.

When Bill made it to his bunk and crawled under the covers with his clothes still on, pulling the blankets over his head. He heard the faint squeak of the door opening, of Greg coming into the barracks and making his way to his own bed.

He wondered what the chances were of him dying in his sleep, a heart attack, something peaceful. He wondered when he'd started wishing for such things.

[shingekinoprogrock]

celestialroy replied to your post “Shiganshina - The Garrison”

'a boy he'd never been brave enough to love' FUCK

I AM OF THE UNPOPULAR OPINION THAT UNREQUITED BILL/OBLIVIOUS STEVE IS WAY MORE INTERESTING THAN THE REVERSE BUT THATS JUST ME

[shingekinoprogrock]

Shiganshina - The Garrison

Bill stretched his arms out and back, trying to crack the tightness in his spine that lay just below the plate of his ODM harness. No pop of relief came, and he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a rough palm. His entire body felt stiff and mechanical, too long without oil.

He was walking along the top of the wall, towards the southern tip, “patrolling.” It was a joke. Those things didn’t even scrabble helplessly at the foot of the wall anymore. You could see them, loping along across the plains on a clear day; the occasional stray would wander too close and be taken swiftly out by an artillery shell. But patrol was nothing more than a break from fortification, and calling it anything else didn’t sit right with Bill.

Steve was on fortification today. Sometimes their patrol shifts would line up, and those were the days Bill liked best, sitting on the rampart, passing a pipe back and forth, watching the daylight slip away. Even doing fortification with Steve, elbow deep in wheelbarrows of cement filling in eroded spots of the stone, seemed alright by Bill. Pacing the top of the wall alone was endlessly boring by comparison.

He leaned against the smooth face of the battlement and took out his pipe, filled it, fumbled for matches in his jacket pocket. When he located them he struck one on a rough patch of stone and held the flame to the bowl of the pipe, inhaling sharply before shaking the match out.

He hadn’t enlisted for grunt work. And yet, age fifteen, he’d eschewed the glory of the scouting legion for the comfort of the garrison and the company of a boy he’d never been brave enough to love. Three years later he was still stumbling, bleary eyed, from the barracks to the wall every day with Steve Howe, thinking about how he’d like to push the smaller man against the smooth stone, pin his wrists down, and -

"Bruford!"

Bill’s lips quirked into a sneer. Captain Squire was approaching. His tall, elegant figure seemed to ripple in the heat coming off the wall.

"What do you want, Squire?" he called when the captain was close enough. Squire frowned at Bill’s casual tone - he was his subordinate, after all. Ought to act like it.

"Having yourself a nice break?" Squire asked, eying Bill’s pipe with distaste.

"I was," Bill said shortly.

"I’ll be quick then - " Squire began. Bill snorted. "Fripp wants you to join the survey corps."

Bill blinked. “What?”

"They’ve got…" Squire paused a moment. "Apparently this next expedition is. Understaffed."

"So they need more titan fodder." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "But I chose the garrison."

"I know," Squire said. "But you were the top of our class. For fighting, at least. You could have applied for the military police if you’d learned to play nice."

"Play nice?" Bill scoffed. "Like you, kiss ass to get myself a cushy position as captain three years out of the academy? Chris, you know that’s not me."

Chris smiled. It looked, Bill thought, almost genuine. “Believe me, I know.”

Bill cast his eyes out toward the sinking sun. “Do I have any choice?”

"I don’t know, Bill," Chris said. He leaned against the battlement, gazing out in the same direction as Bill. "I know the oath we took when we finished at the academy, I don’t know if it leaves much room for debate."

Bill bit his lip. “Yeah. You’re right.” He turned to Chris. “Do you know anything else?”

"Just that Fripp wants to see you first thing tomorrow. If anyone’s enough of a stubborn ass to out-argue Fripp…" He turned to Bill, eyebrows raised.

"Sod you," Bill laughed.

"Anyway," Chris said, pushing himself away from the rampart. "Good luck, I guess."

"Yeah. Thanks." He watched Chris’s retreating figure until he couldn’t anymore, pipe still firm between his teeth although the flame had gone out.

As the sun dipped below the lip of the horizon, the end of shift bell sounded across Wall Maria. Bill tapped his pipe clean and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, hurring down the steep steps and nearly plowing right into Steve.

"Hi!" Steve said brightly, his face flushed from the exertion of a fortification shift. "How was patrol?"

No fun without you, Bill thought. Kiss me now because I’ll be gone in the morning, he thought. “Same old,” he said.

"If I never smell cement again it’ll be too soon," Steve grinned. "I think I’m off tomorrow, though." They turned down the hard-packed dirt path toward the barracks, weaving between buildings, night falling quickly behind the wall.

"That’s good," Bill said. He watched Steve’s profile, the way the fading light glinted off the end of his pointed nose, the slightly dry, auburn hair that whipped into his eyes when he moved too suddenly. He imagined grabbing a fistful of Steve’s hair and drawing him close enough to feel his breath hitch, imagined brushing the calloused side of his thumb across the ridge of Steve’s cheekbone, imagined kissing him bruisingly, holding him tightly, never letting go so that Fripp would have no choice but to let him stay.

"I’m can’t wait to have a shower, I reek of concrete," Steve said as they reached the barracks. They stepped inside and began the tedious process of unstrapping their ODM gear. Not like they ever used it, anyhow.

Steve peeled off his shirt, stripped out of his trousers and wrapped his scrawny waist in a towel. Bill’s eyes traced the lines of muscle in his back. He wondered if he could get himself off unseen before Steve got back from the showers.

He crawled under the covers of his bunk and fumbled with the button of his trousers for a moment before sighing deeply. It was a goddamn death sentence. Maybe he wanted to go out there once, but he had found his piece of heaven where he’d never expected it, inside the wall, two bunks over from his own, wiry and cautious and optimistic and very nearly all his.

Bill rolled over and closed his eyes, struggling out of his clothes under the covers, determined to put his mind at ease in the warm embrace of sleep. When Steve returned from the shower, toweling off the ends of his sopping hair, Bill was sprawled out, one bare leg escaping the covers completely, a frown splashed across his full lips. Steve smoothed the curls off of Bill’s forehead with long, careful fingers. He tucked the blanket around Bill’s shoulders as gently as he could, sighed, and went off in pursuit of something to eat.

[shingekinoprogrock]

johnroyanderson replied to your post: Shiganshina, 838 - The Next Day

also dont feel bad i fricken didnt finish this chapter i jsut could not concentrate tonight im a Capital F Failure

yoooo don't feel bad either i feel u i have literally only posted filler/intro/bullshit so far

[shingekinoprogrock]

Shiganshina, 838 - The Next Day

Jon frowned sleepily and padded across the room, tugging on the sleeve of Rick’s cloak until he leaned down for a lazy kiss. Jon tucked himself close to Rick’s body, their figures casting a single, dancing shadow in the lamplight.

“I’m going to be late,” Rick mumbled against Jon’s mouth.

“So be late,” Jon replied, standing on his toes to wrap a bare arm around Rick’s neck. “Isn’t that one of the perks of being in charge?”

Rick could taste the stubborn, quiet frustration in Jon’s kiss. He wanted to swallow it, force it down and out of sight. No such luck.

“Don’t hate me,” he said finally. He brushed his lips to Jon’s brow.

John sighed. “You know I don’t.”

Rick adjusted his cloak. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?” He paused. “I love you.”

Jon shrugged on a dressing gown. “I love you, too.” His wide, blue eyes were weary, though, and he stepped out of the room in silence to go wake Armin. Rick pushed his hair out of his face and tried to shake himself of his guilt.

The road to the militia outpost was deserted so early in the morning. Rick’s breath fogged in front of him, the damp spring air settling, chill, around him. He hugged his arms under his jacket and let himself wonder about his squad assignments. Probably, he thought, he would know plenty of them already. The next class of recruits would surely be shafted onto more experienced leaders.

As he approached the outpost he noticed a slight figure leaning against the railing of the building’s small porch, tapping the spent contents of a pipe out onto the grass.

“Keith!” Rick called.

The figure turned its shaggy head and flashed Rick a toothy grin. “Wakeman!” he shouted back, tucking the pipe into an inside pocket of his jacket. “I hear you’re taking charge of us lowlives.”

“I guess your sorry self didn’t make the cut,” Rick chuckled, leaning against the rail beside Keith.

“Loose cannon like me?” Keith scoffed. “I’m no good for that strategy bullshit, I’m a muscle man, you know that.” Rick shoved Keith in the shoulder, sending the much smaller man reeling off balance. He caught himself on the railing and straightened up. “Anyway, squad assignments are up. You’re…” He paused. “Stuck with me, looks like.”

Rick smirked. “Best prepare yourself for some grunt work, kid. Anybody else I know on that list?”

Keith glanced at the clock. “You will in a minute, we’re late. You’re supposed to be briefing us in strat room four right now.”

“Shit,” Rick muttered. Together, they jogged over to one of the larger buildings. Three soldiers loitered in strategy room four. The tallest, a muscular blond with an easygoing smile, introduced himself immediately.

“Alan White,” he said, sticking out his hand. Rick hesitated, wondering if he should give a solute instead, but took the proffered hand in a sign of good faith.

“Captain Rick Wakeman,” he replied. “This is Keith.”

As Alan stepped aside, a man about Keith’s height with a slightly sturdier build bounded forward. He was completely unknown to Rick, where Alan’s face had at least seemed somewhat familiar. “Phil,” he said, grasping Rick’s hand firmly. “Phil Collins.”

“Not too long since you were in the academy, I’d wager?” Rick asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Phil blushed. “Me and Tony just finished.” He nodded to the last man, quiet, with heavily lidded, brooding eyes.

“Anthony Banks,” he muttered in a reedy voice. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“I assure you, the pleasure is mine,” Rick deadpanned. “Now, can we get down to business?”

Rick briefed his team on the mission outline Fripp had given him the day before, written in his neat, spidery script. He drew sloppy diagrams and referred to his notes to answer questions and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers more than once. At the end of the day Keith trailed him back into town and to his doorstep before inviting himself in for dinner.

When Rick opened the front door, though, Jon was not alone. A willowy young man with flyaway brown hair and big eyes was sitting at the kitchen table, chin propped in one hand, chatting with Armin.

“Oh! Ricky!” Jon chirped. “This is Pete. He’s a tutor.”

Pete smiled. “You must be Rick, and…” He raised his eyebrows at Keith.

“Ahh,” Keith said, bounding forward and offering his hand. “Keith Emerson. At your service.”

Pete placed his delicate fingers against Keith’s wide, calloused palm. “Pete Sinfield. Very nice to meet you.”

After a moment Pete retrieved his hand from Keith’s firm grip and he stood. “Well I think that’s plenty for today.” He knelt to peer into Armin’s face and gave him a wide grin. “I’ll come back tomorrow and we can do some more reading!”

Armin giggled and waved as Pete showed himself out the front door.

Keith, settling into Pete’s vacated seat, ruffled Armin’s hair with one hand. “That one’s a keeper,” he mumbled.

[shingekinoprogrock]

Shiganshina District, Year 838

Rick sat on the edge of the rampart, looking out across the plains towards a pink-splattered sunset. He swung his feet, willing himself to feel the exhilaration of being fifty meters up with a straight drop below him; no rush came, and he sighed. He would never tell Jon, of course, but between expeditions outside the Wall, Rick got restless. Not that I don’t love seeing Armin, he thought, conjuring the smiling face of their young son.

There hadn’t been a new scouting mission in going on three years. The last had seen devastating loss, and while new troops were training for induction into the survey corps, Rick and Jon had had a child, a cherubic, flaxen-haired little slip of a thing. Walking the worn dirt paths of Shiganshina with Armin on his shoulders, Rick had prayed for delays in the next mission. Jon, a baker by trade, had sat Armin on the flour-dusted counter in their home and taught him to knead bread and shape pastries and in the hushed firelight after they’d put Armin to bed had asked, cautiously, about teaching positions in the cadet corps.

And Rick had thought it, at the time, the right thing to do for his family.

So why then, Rick asked himself, was he watching the sunset off the rampart instead of home helping Jon with dinner. The answer, unfortunately, was simple: he had been offered a choice.

“Captain Wakeman, we’re very pleased with the work you’ve done since you joined the survey corps,” Colonel Fripp began brusquely.

“Thank you, sir,” Rick replied.

“I must be frank,” Fripp continued, adjusting the glasses perched on his pointed nose. “We need more squad leaders.”

Rick inclined his head slightly. It was no secret, with the new cadet class incoming, there were hardly enough senior officers to manage. Rumors had been spreading for weeks about who might be called to step up.

Fripp fiddled with his pocketwatch. “I understand you have a son,” he said finally.

“Yes sir,” Rick replied, blinking. “He’s almost three now.”

The Colonel cracked a rare smile. “Squad leader doesn’t have quite the same appeal when you’ve got somebody back home, I suppose.”

Rick pursed his lips. “With all due respect, sir, I hoped I might take on a practicum at the academy.” Fripp gave no indication of having heard him. “After that I would be proud to lead a squad in the survey corps.”

Fripp frowned deeply. “I needn’t remind you,” he said, “of the pledge you took when you joined were recruited?”

“No, sir,” Rick murmured.

“Think on it,” Fripp said quietly. “Give me an answer tomorrow. I can find you a position at the academy but it’s not a favor I will easily forget.”

Rick nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

And so Rick had come up to the wall, looked out to where the river flowed out from under the wall and towards the purpling ligature bruise of the tree line pressed to the sky. Thought about the rest of the world and whether or not his place was in it.

He descended to the dusty street, the shadows of the buildings thrown long in the weak light coming over the lip of the wall. The soldiers of the vanguard lingered around the foot of the wall, smoking, talking quietly in small groups. Rick waved to Lieutenant Bruford, leaning against the wall and blowing smoke rings for a younger officer whose name, Rick recalled, was Howe. Bruford grinned and waved back before passing his pipe to Howe, who smiled shyly. Rick brushed his hair out of his face and set out on the road for home.

Smoke rose from his house’s chimney, and as he stepped over the threshold the scent of fresh bread filled his nose. Jon turned from a stove full of saucepans.

“Ricky,” he called over his shoulder, “We’ve got to find Armin a - “ he paused to stir furiously at the contents of one pot “ - a tutor or something, he’s asking more questions than I know the answers to.”

“That’s my boy,” Rick replied, stooping to scoop up the boy as he came running to the door. “You give your father hell for me, isn’t that right?”

Armin giggled as Rick planted a kiss on the top of his golden head.

“Any word on the next expedition?” Jon asked quietly, spooning rice onto plates and setting them on the kitchen table.

Rick paused. He set Armin down in one chair and folded his lanky frame into another. “Not as such,” he sighed. Jon raised his eyebrows but didn’t press further, and Rick offered nothing more.

That night, as Rick was tucking Armin in under his quilt, his son spoke in a soft voice. “Tell me a story, papa,” he lisped.

“A story, huh? What about?”

“I wanna…” Armin paused for a long moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “I wanna know what’s outside.”

The next morning Rick barged into Colonel Fripp’s small office without knocking.

“Captain Wakeman,” Fripp said, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Give me a squad,” Rick said, slamming his fist down on Fripp’s desk. “I’m ready to lead.”

[shingekinoprogrock]

As finished as it's gonna be. I don't have a scanner. But like fckin Armin's prog prince outfit I'm real pleased