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Entry tags:
June 2023 Test Drive Meme
June 2023 TDM
Introduction
Welcome to Folkmore's monthly Test Drive Meme! Please feel free to test drive any and all characters regardless of your intent to apply or whether you have an invite or not.
All TDMs are game canon and work like "mini-events". For new players and characters, you can choose to have your TDM thread be your introduction thread upon acceptance or start fresh. Current players are allowed to have in-game characters react to TDMs via the Network or make a Log with the prompts they want to participate in.
TDM threads can be used for spoon spending at any time by characters accepted into the game.
Playing and interacting with the TDMs will allow characters to immediately obtain canon items from homes especially weapons or other things they may have had on their person when they were pulled from their worlds! There will always be a prompt that provides some sort of "reward" to characters who complete certain tasks.
🦊 New Star Children meet the Fox still in their worlds, and she brings them into the new realm of Folkmore. As you follow her, your body begins to change and new characteristics emerge. These may stay for a while, or perhaps they will hide away after. And during all of this, the Fox explains to you where you will be going: to Folkmore.
and then... you fall like a shooting star, falling to the land in a burst of starlight.
🦊 Experienced Star Children are already familiar with this time of the month. There are shooting stars all across the sky, and some fall to the land, which means the Fox has brought new arrivals. These newly arrived Star Children will face some tests, but Thirteen wants the more seasoned residents to participate as well.
Perhaps you follow the falling stars on your own, or perhaps the Fox simply teleports you there, but it appears you too will be part of this.
Content Warnings: Alternate Universe, Memory alteration/altered sense of self, Exhibition
If This Was a Movie
If This Was a Movie
You forget everything the fox told you on your way over. You forget your own history. You remember a completely new one, one that matches whatever story you're now in. It could be a story from your world—a folk tale, a novel, a movie, a telenovella—or one you've never heard of. Whatever it is, this is your life now. Your memories match as though you've lived here your whole life. The tone may match your world, or it may drastically differ.Big Red Button
And you're not alone.
Whatever scene you're in features at least one other Star Child in the same situation you are. They might also be a new arrival, or they may be someone Thirteen has plucked up out of Folkmore and brought here to join you. Whether you've known each other your whole previous life or never met before, you know each other as the people in the story—whatever relationship that is. You don't remember being placed here. It's your life! It always has been.
The two (or more) of you pick up at whatever point in the story it is. Perhaps it'll go the same way as the original story. Perhaps not. You still are you—memories redacted—after all. This story is yours to write together!
The outfits, the setting, the NPCs (played by Spirits going along with things), etc. all perfectly match the story and adapt with you as you create your own retelling.
As it turns out, you aren't only in an entertainment, you are an entertainment. Across Folkmore, large screens showing these stories appear: in every school, in public squares, before a large meadow, in the middle of the desert, you name it. It's also streaming on everyone's relics. Everyone has the chance to see your story play out.
That's not all, Star Children are your key out of the story and into Folkmore itself. Along with these screens, there are big red buttons. Digitally, a big red button appears on people's relics when they watch these stories. It's pretty simple. Someone presses the big red button and you're free! The reason doesn't matter—boredom, pity, recognition, the irresistibility of buttons. These are the only way out, so when you get out is completely up to your fellow Star Children.
Once the button is pushed, an invisible wall between your story and Folkmore falls away. With it, you regain all your memories from home and from the walk to Folkmore with the fox. All you have to do is step out of the story and into the school of Baba Yaga. The school of magic. Thirteen isn't there personally, but you may feel her spirit around you. Baba Yaga—Thirteen—is the school itself.
A small chest is also there as soon as you leave the story containing an item from your homeworld. This may even be a weapon or magical item.
Small bat spirits have a couple stations set up within the school near where Star Children exit their stories. If you're injured or need to rest, they are ready to help treat you or provide you as many pillows and blankets as you wish. If you're hungry or thirsty, the other station has food and drink for all. Steaming tea, freshly baked bread, and all sorts of warm comforting foods. You'd be forgiven for thinking it might be autumn. They want you to be at your best when you leave Baba Yaga and enter the rest of Folkmore via Exile.
Content Warnings: Optional mind/body split, Possible invasion of privacy, Possible monster/creature violence
Eyes Open
Eyes Open
When you leave Baba Yaga, you're somewhere in Exile. Not even the Spirits or experienced Star Children can tell you where exactly you are. The school walks around on its chicken legs. Unless someone leaves at the same time as you, you'll start in different places. You'll have to find your own way out.Cowboy Like Me
If you have been exiled before, you'll have an easier time navigating the land. It'll help guide you toward where you want to go. If you have never been exiled before, you'll have a harder time navigating this section of Folkmore. The trees may try to push you back. Perhaps nothing happens, exactly, but the aura is one that doesn't want you. Regardless, there's enough fog that it's difficult to see where you're going. Attention certainly seems to be on you. Are the trees watching? Is the water listening? Those are simply stories Spirits share to scare new Star Children isn't it?
Suddenly, you may appear to be in another part of Folkmore! It could be anywhere. It could be a public area, a business, someone's home… Wherever it is, if you try to touch something, you realize you cannot. Instead you pass right through solid objects. You cannot open a door, but you can walk right through it. You may surprise someone with your sudden appearance, or perhaps you reach out to people you see for help. Perhaps you simply explore this new area where you were.
Take all the time you want. Hopefully nothing bad is happening back with your body still in Exile… On second thought, perhaps you don't want to spend too long away from your body. You can use your own skills or get help returning to your body or find yourself suddenly back in it. Time to take stock and maybe find your way back to the rest of Folkmore body included.
On your way through Exile, you may come across weapons sticking out of the ground. Swords, axes, shields, bows, guns… All manner of non-magical weapons. They're simply there, scattered here and there, free for the taking. It looks like someone had a bad time trying to get out of Exile. Whoever the weapons belonged to, they don't need them now.
A word of warning to those who grab the weapons, as soon as you do, one of the dangerous creatures in Exile will find you. These creatures don't only have sharp claws or fangs, poison or sharp senses, they are intelligent. You'll need not only the weapon(s) you grabbed but your wits to defeat them or the luck of someone else coming along to help you out.
bertolt hoover | attack on titan | familiar
Big Red Button
Eyes Open
Wildcard
( hit me with something else! )
ooc notes: i default to prose but am happy to match brackets; please use whichever you prefer!
bertolt's canon point is ch 78 / ep 52, right when he transforms in shiganshina. i'm 100% fine with him finding out about future events if that comes up.
hmu by pm for any additional questions/plotting/etc!
wildcard-ish combo
Also a fresh curiosity, now that she actually has the time and freedom to indulge. She hasn't yet watched a movie all the way through—the experience is weird, still difficult for her to penetrate, and she gets antsy staring at a screen for too long.
When Bertholt appears on the screen, transfixation naturally takes hold. Her chest feels like it starts to crumple, rib by rib. The pacing and rapid cuts of a modern action film make it hard for her to follow what's happening, but Bertholt is unmistakably one of the leads. He's paired with someone inside a machine monster. Fighting other monsters? Also ugly giants, but distinct from titans. Annie stares hard and keeps still, straining her eyes.
Damn the Fox. This is the first time Annie has felt truly livid since arriving. Even running into Eren doesn't compare. Because this, this is...
Thirteen is really fucking with her this time. That's the first conclusion she draws. And what's the red button really supposed to do? It's impossible for her to put any faith in it. But she pushes it anyway—twice, three times just to be sure. Then she immediately sets out to track him down, even though she still refuses to believe that she'll ever see the real Bertholt again.
Though, en route, her thoughts clash. There is a chance. Erwin Smith is dead, but she's seen him here alive in the flesh. This could be the same. The journey otherwise passes in a haze, but torturous in how long it takes, almost like she's barely conscious again and back in that damn crystal. Annie's determination cuts her across Exile and directly to the school. Once inside, she weaves and jostles past students in order to find him as soon as she can.
Her breaths are heavy by the time she does. When Annie finally spots him seated alone and facing away from her, she hesitates. There's the beat of her heart and a low garble of chattering students. She presses ahead. One step, two. Once at his side, she seizes his shoulder.
"Bertholt."
She's wearing her typical plainclothes: hooded sweatshirt, practical pants, boots. The hems are dirty and she smells a bit like the swamp she just trudged through.
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He walked out of that cruel world. Stepped out of his Titan to follow a fox, wanting to see something (anything) else. Trusting that the version of himself he left behind would complete the mission; trusting that Reiner survived the blast; trusting that they would kill the Survey Corps, secure Eren, and go find Annie.
He just didn't want to see it anymore. He wanted it to end. He wanted something else.
A hand lands on his shoulder, small but strong. Bertolt startles at both the contact and the sound of his name.
His name. His name, spoken with that voice—!
He turns his head, looking up (though not far), his green eyes widening as his breath whooshes out of him. She's unmistakable, her face one he knows better than almost any other. Still, when Bertolt speaks, it's a question.
"Annie?"
Spoken as though he's not sure it's her, even as wonder nudges aside the surprise on his face, hope alighting in his eyes.
She was being tortured; Armin said so. Even if that was a lie, her cover was still compromised. And Bertolt knew in his heart that something was wrong. He knew that she was being detained, or hunted, or worse. Why else would she have stayed within the Walls after their enemies discovered her identity? Why else wouldn't she have fled to Marley's ship?
Instinctively, Bertolt twists in his seat, raising his opposite hand to his shoulder. Clasping her hand and squeezing, an action that would normally make him flush and start sweating if he dared to do it at all.
"Annie," he repeats, surer this time. Almost as if by saying her name, he can keep her here, safe and whole. "You're here…"
He's yet to realize that there's anything different, anything out of place. The shock of seeing Annie at all has barely settled in.
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When he turns, she's close enough to read the progression of his expression, the way surprise shifts to... what would she call that shine in his eyes? A shiver trills down her body. No one should ever look at her that way. It's wrong.
Her reactive, anti-social instincts flare, but Bertholt's hand ends up on top of hers before she pulls it away. Next comes the affectionate squeeze, and she blinks and stares and listens as he repeats her name—steadier, firmer, more assured.
Annie only finds herself less sure, of what to do or say. Her mouth hangs open a little before she replies.
"Yeah..." She hesitates again. "It's been a month."
There are plenty of important things she could start explaining: that this world knows relative peace, that Eren and some of the Survey Corps are here, that Star Children like him appear from all different places in time. Yet, words fail.
It's remarkable to see Bertholt again, and it's painful. She doesn't know what to do with him being here and holding her hand. Annie managed to find some stability in her emotions while spending a peaceful month here, but now they're back on tilt. But that isn't his fault. She's glad he's here. She is. It's just...
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That is, under different circumstances.
As it is, Bertolt is so stunned that Annie is here and whole that he doesn't initially register it. At least, not until he realizes that he's holding her hand.
He's … holding her hand.
He's holding her hand.
Bertolt narrowly avoids choking on air, his ears flushing, a nervous sweat threatening to break out on his brow. He's holding Annie's hand! What is he doing?! He immediately releases his grip, letting his hand just sort of sink down to rest on his bicep, clearly not knowing what the hell to do with it. Awkward, even in a brand new world.
No wonder Annie looks so uncertain. What was he thinking, grabbing her hand like that?
"It's, um," Bertolt starts, determined to say something despite his misstep. "It's been longer than that since we saw you."
He doesn't bother defining "we." Even if Zeke and Pieck are on the island now, he could mean only one person.
His brow furrows slightly, traces of concern in his eyes. "The last we heard, you'd been"—his eyes flick to the side, remembering the public setting—"recognized."
It's not all they heard. Not by a long shot. But Bertolt is exercising caution, avoiding more suspicious words. (Identified. Captured. Tortured. Held hostage.) He doesn't know the situation here; he doesn't want to say anything that could endanger Annie.
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She was disgusted with Reiner when he made the choice to take Marcel's role, to adopt a persona that he was never fit for. But he'd probably recognized something hard and true in that moment: neither Annie nor Bertholt were fit for leadership themselves.
So, here and now, that's what's strange. It's just the two of them. But Annie has been here longer, and it's on her to take the initiative. It's a bad look for her to just stand still and gawk. She should have been more prepared for this possibility. Her feelings, her inner weaknesses—all she has to do is push past them and focus on what matters practically. It's something she's done a thousand times before.
Annie spares her hovering hand the briefest glance. She isn't good with affectionate touch, she assumes he isn't either, and it's fine. From there, Annie recognizes that he's being careful with his words, and she immediately understands why. Their old secrets, and their old mission, carry only a tiny fraction of the weight they once did—to her. To Bertholt, coming from four years in the past, they must still matter a hell of a lot.
It takes one last steadying breath, then Annie feels in control again. She casually rounds the table and slips into the seat across from him. There, her expression takes on its typical flat, neutral contour.
"We're safe to talk here," she says in a low voice. "Not that we should blab too loud about certain things, but these people don't know or care about us."
She pauses, considering where to begin. "The Survey Corps found me out and set up an ambush in Stohess. It worked, and they captured me. I spent four years underground in a hardened crystal that they couldn't break into. Anything else you want to know?"
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He's missed looking at her eyes, though. That clear, icy blue. How long has it been since they last spoke face-to-face? Bertolt didn't even see her Titan during that expedition outside Wall Rose.
He's missed Annie. He knows why they had to part, choosing separate branches at that ceremony. But still, he's missed everything about her.
She circles around the table and takes a seat, the angle of her face and her expression returning to something more familiar. Maybe she's forgiven him for his hand-grabbing. Maybe his lingering flush will fade soon.
… Or maybe she'll drop a bombshell that leaves him wide-eyed, lips parting in surprise.
"Four years?" Bertolt repeats, as uncertain and disbelieving as that first 'Annie.' His mind feels sluggish, trying to process it. Trying to make sense of it. The Fox must not care about time, which makes as much sense as any of this. (Meaning: next to none.) Annie encasing herself in crystal makes more sense; it would explain why she couldn't flee to Marley's ship after her identity was compromised, especially if she was kept underground. But … four years?
Bertolt's gaze drops, his hands finding their way around his mug, its steady stream of steam nearly gone. He's quiet for a moment, letting it sink in. Feeling the absence of Reiner's presence more keenly, the quick words Reiner might have spoken lost to silence. Thinking about how Reiner and Annie were both pushed to extremes: Reiner sending his consciousness throughout his nervous system; Annie encasing herself in a substance harder than any other.
"It … shouldn't have taken so long to rescue you," he says at last. His brow furrows, staring at the steam as if it might reveal hidden mysteries. "We were supposed to go find you soon. It was supposed to be over." Then, quieter: "I promised to end it."
All of it. Their mission in Paradis. Reiner's fractured psyche. Annie's tears. Marco's screams. Connie's pleading, Jean's outrage, Ymir's sacrifice. It was supposed to end. He was supposed to end it.
Bertolt's fingers tighten around his mug. Then he takes a breath, raising his eyes. "I'm sorry. I guess that's not very helpful right now."
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The face—faces—that Annie is used to seeing him wear are iterations of the one he eventually settles into while fidgeting with his drink: some form of reflective consideration, whether it's serious, careful, soft, or strained. This... is the serious sort. The guilty sort.
In her head, she can hear some iteration of Reiner's words, too. Fuck that. She's going to stick to her own. Annie believes what she told Bertolt; they're safe to talk here, and safer in general than anywhere they'd ever been on Paradis. This isn't enemy territory. They aren't at war, and they aren't neck deep in a mission to exterminate an entire society. Annie is far from fully acclimating, herself, but she's had at least some time.
It matters to her that he's hurting, and that he feels responsible for the suffering she endured. But it wasn't his fault. Not even a little. She made her own damning mistakes—and their mission was a farce to begin with.
The main issue is that she has plenty more difficult and intense things to reveal. Though she's just going to have to trust that he can handle hearing it. At the very least, Bertolt isn't mentally fragile the same way Reiner is. And it's not like she needs to tell him everything all at once; that wouldn't even be practical.
"That whole time..." she she begins, then pauses. It was hell, but— "I wasn't alone, at least. Armin actually came to talk to me more than a few times, and so did my old roommate. They kept me up to speed on certain things. I know that you, Reiner, Zeke and Pieck ended up in an all-or-nothing battle with Eren and the Survey Corps."
And I know what happens to you. The tips of Annie's fingers tremble, and she flexes her hand under the table. Otherwise she stays composed, and is able to keep holding his eye.
"That's what you're talking about, right?" she says. Her logic and intuition are pointing in a single direction. "You thought you could end it there? Made that promise to Reiner or something?" She closes her eyes for a beat and shakes her head, two short tilts of her chin. "That's not what happens. Sorry. I can tell you what else I know, but it's not good."
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What was it like for her to be encased in crystal for four years…? Any hopes that Annie might've passed the time in a dreamless sleep are dashed as she continues. Bertolt is grateful that she didn't have to endure it alone, but…
But she shouldn't have had to endure it at all. They should've rescued her. How did things go so wrong?
Unlike Annie, Bertolt has never figured out how to hide the emotions that play across his face. His expressiveness would probably get him into trouble if he weren't so quiet, turning his thoughts over and over in his mind before ever giving them voice. So while a hint of confusion lingers in his eyes, he mostly appears concerned and faintly resigned. Accepting the situation, even if he doesn't understand how it came to be.
Bertolt nods, confirming Annie's assumptions: he thought he could end it there; he promised Reiner he would. It hurts, knowing he was unable to fulfill his promise. Reiner was counting on him; Annie was counting on him. Still, he couldn't put an end to it.
"You don't have to tell me, Annie," he says, not questioning why she can't. His fingers fidget with his mug, then he takes a breath. "Can I ask one thing, though? You don't have to answer it if you can't, but…"
His gaze drops again, watching the increasingly faint traces of steam. Seeing the steam rising from his best friend's half-headless body.
"… Reiner was really badly hurt." An understatement, maybe, but Bertolt doesn't want to describe the details. "When I saw him, he was almost dead. I did what I could to make sure he'd survive once I—I joined the fight, but I don't know if it was enough."
The sickening possibility that his transformation might've killed Reiner churns in Bertolt's gut. He swallows, forcing himself to voice his question.
"Can you tell me if he made it?"
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"He did. Reiner survived."
Though maybe he would have been better off dying. How much torment has his own mind put him through since that day? She can't really fathom it. In the end, if he can help the surviving Scouts in stopping Eren, then at least he'll have endured all that suffering for something.
Still, she's certain it would have been better for Bertolt to be the one that survived—no doubt even Reiner himself would agree. It's a pointless thing to dwell on, but Annie can't help herself. Zeke and Pieck probably didn't have a choice in the end; if they did, wouldn't they prioritize saving the Colossal? Something must have gotten in their way, and with so many potential variables, there's no use in speculating.
What should she tell him next? Maybe hiding the truth about his death is a mistake. He could end up learning about it from the others, and wouldn't it be better for him to hear the truth directly from her? Yet some part of seems to have already made the decision, because she hesitates only briefly before pressing on with a shift of topic.
"Eren is here," she says. The words come out bluntly, and they're also tinged with disgust. "He's changed a lot. After the people of Paradis won that battle, they cleared out all of the pure titans on the island and made contact with the rest of the world. Eren ended up going undercover in Marley, then launched a surprise attack on Liberio. The Tyburs were there, and he got the Warhammer Titan's power."
Annie's face creases darkly, and her eyes slip askance. "When I say he's changed, I mean he's even more insane than he used to be. His goal is to use the Founding Titan's full power to take control of the titans in the wall and use them to kill everyone outside of Paradis. It's the exact thing that's always scared the Marley higher-ups shitless. Here, he doesn't have the Founder's power yet. But he gets it eventually back in our world. Nothing we do to him here can stop that from happening."
She doesn't know how Bertolt will react to this information—obviously, it's a lot. But she might as well bring him up to speed. He's going to run into Eren sooner or later, and it ought to prepare him at least a little.
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Bertolt accepted that it could be worse, didn't he? Just before he transformed, before that fox came to find him, he accepted that he could handle any outcome. Granted, he didn't expect the outcome to involve coming to this place, stepping away from the slaughter instead of killing the survivors. However, he has yet to regret that choice.
His relief wanes as Annie continues, his gaze sharpening, expression solemn. When she mentions Eren's attack on Liberio, Bertolt's composure wavers, a hint of shock and sorrow shining through—but it only lasts for a moment. Annie continues speaking, unveiling horrors far worse, and Bertolt fixes his mind on absorbing as much as he can. Focusing in as if Eren were a target across a field and Bertolt were lining up a shot.
The idea that they can't do anything here to stop Eren back home is sobering, to say the least. Bertolt almost wants to argue; he would definitely argue with Reiner or even Zeke. However, Annie wouldn't say such a thing if she didn't believe it with absolute certainty. So Bertolt inclines his head, reluctantly adding to the pile of bad news.
"Eren has the Founder's power already," he says, his brows drawing together as he recalls that day. "He used it to command Pure Titans to attack us. That was a few months ago, for me." Bertolt pauses, then shakes his head slightly. "Maybe Eren needs something else to gain full control over it. But we shouldn't count on him not having it here."
Between that and the Warhammer Titan's power increasing Eren's capabilities… Bertolt makes himself take a sip of his now lukewarm drink, mind churning out one terrible scenario after another.
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if this was a movie
so this can be awful when they're normal again, blah blah. ]Eren, in the top bunk, also wakes to the alarm. He's a little slower about it than Bertolt, blinking owlishly, something faraway on his face as he chases whatever terrible dreams he was having out of his mind. The alarm.
Monsters. A memory he can't hold onto.
Green eyes meet green eyes.
Kaiju, Bertolt says, and Eren is suddenly all the way awake, moving without thought, sliding out of the bunk and onto the floor. He's tall enough, but Bertolt has several inches on him still (a fact that has annoyed him ever since he got tall, but not as tall).
"Shit," he says, pulling a hair tie off the end pole of the bunk so he can get his hair out of his face. Comb whomst? They have work to do.
"How many others are here?"
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As soon as Eren starts moving, Bertolt does the same, shedding his sleep shirt and starting toward the locker where his Drivesuit is housed. The inner layer—the one lined with circuitry—is something he can don himself. The outer layer will have to wait for technicians, the battle armor too unwieldy to put on without the aid of machinery.
He shakes his head, his brows furrowing. "Maybe one other team if Kaiser's crew came back early."
It's a big "if." Not enough to count on. Teams are granted leave so rarely that cutting it short would be near-unthinkable. Besides, Kaiser's crew had extenuating circumstances, didn't they?
"I think…" He glances at Eren, the partner with whom he never expected to find such high compatibility. Eren's aggressive nature tempered by Bertolt's contemplative one, bold and quiet strengths balancing each other in the Drift. "… The chances are high that it'll be just us."
Just them, two Rangers standing before the might and unknown abilities of a Kaiju. Just them, protecting this part of the coast from utter desolation.
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A smile that is anything but kind settles onto Eren's face.
"That's fine. I swore I'd kill all those bastards myself anyway, didn't I? We don't need Kaiser's crew. We'll do it."
He says that with the absolute certainty that always drives him. His need for revenge has brought him this far. Kaiju ruined his home, like so many others, but he takes everything so fucking personally. And his talent for fighting them is undeniable, even if he can be wild or unstable. It's fine; that's what he has Bertolt for, isn't it?
He pulls his clothes on, doesn't bother actually fixing his hair, looks at Bertolt with that same half-mad smile still on his face.
When they move to get the armour on, technicians filing around them, Eren stands and lets them dress him. He looks like he could take on the world, one of the golden boys of the Rangers. Humanity's hope, too much placed on their shoulders, too much held inside them.
"You ready, Bert?"
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It's easy for Bertolt to doubt himself, slipping into uncertainty about his strengths and talents, formidable as they are. His self-confidence has always suffered, and his struggle to take the initiative has gotten him into trouble more than once. Recently, the losses he's suffered have forced him to step up—but it's still a challenge at times.
However, with Eren, it's easier. Eren drives relentlessly forward, believing in their mission with absolute certainty. He inspires Bertolt, quelling nagging doubts and uncertainties. When Eren says, "We'll do it," Bertolt believes it.
That belief carries him through as technicians strap on their armor, their quick trek to Shingeki's cockpit passing in a blur. It's just them: Eren and Bertolt against a Kaiju. Two young men holding the line, humanity's first and last line of defense. Tall and dark-haired, green eyes filled with intensity: one set burning like the surface of the sun, the other as deceptively tranquil as the sea before a storm.
"Of course," Bertolt says, finally answering Eren's mad smile with a small one of his own. Then the countdown begins, Drift initiating, and—
A yellowing photograph of a woman with a long face, her soft voice singing strands of a lullaby. Cooking dinner as a child, small hands carefully wielding a knife while his ailing father reclines nearby, calling him a sweet boy. A golden-eyed boy with a square face and blond hair, smile like the dawn. A short blond girl with icy blue eyes, strong and fierce, drawing his gaze again and again. Missing posters for the blond girl plastered up after a Kaiju attack, the golden-eyed boy squeezing his shoulder. Blood staining that golden-eyed boy's hair, a head wound leaving him hospitalized, unresponsive. Eren's green eyes looking up at him, blazing with unshakable purpose.
Bertolt guides his mind away from the more painful memories, accustomed by now to their treacherous pull. Centering himself in the sensation of being two minds, not one. Ready to help pull Eren back to center as well, if needed.
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Two kids running through laundry drying. A woman with brown hair and wide eyes — Eren's eyes — chasing behind them with exasperation.
The smell of bread baking. That same brunette woman wiping floury hands on her apron and smiling.
The way her face looked on the last day, blood foaming on her lips while rubble fell around them. "Run. Run. Run, Eren."
Armin's book, blood smeared in a handprint across the cover. Mikasa's scarf, still hanging in Eren's closet to this day.
Eren's own face in the mirror. Fight. Fight.
There's more, just out of reach. He hears names of those children he didn't meet, Annie and Marcel. Reiner, a familiar face but not one he got to know. Bertolt, his lifeline out of here, their separate minds working in tandem, trying to lace together through the madness they both pretend Eren doesn't have.
But what's a little insanity when he gets the job done? There are monsters out there. So what if there are monsters in here too?
He hears someone say his name, though whether that's aloud or just the thought connection, he can't immediately tell. He grabs onto it anyway and it brings him back up. The display in front of him flashes. Here they are, finally ready to deploy.
He glances at Bertolt, not that it's strictly necessary to do so. Despite his rage and determination, he needs reassurance sometimes too.
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Because Bertolt doesn't sink, no matter how hard Eren's memories pull. Bertolt weathers the madness that lashes him without complaint. He acts as a lighthouse in a storm, or an anchor keeping Eren from drifting out to sea. Bertolt can do that for Eren—steadying and stabilizing him—just as Eren can drive them forward, erasing Bertolt's doubts.
They're a team. Eren and Bertolt. Bertolt and Eren. Shingeki's Rangers, defending humanity against monsters.
They're in this together.
Bertolt meets Eren's eyes, giving a firm nod. "We've got this," he says aloud, his naturally soft voice stronger with resolve. Stronger because Eren is with him, just as he's stronger when Reiner is—when Reiner was with him.
The cockpit shudders as Shingeki is propelled forward, preparing for deployment. Bertolt speaks again, his words a promise:
"Let's end it."
End the suffering, pain, and death. End the threat to humanity. End the Kaiju.
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What matters is getting revenge on the fucking monsters that trashed their homelands, killed their families. They'll keep coming, keep destroying things and people. The jaeger pilots can't let that happen. Eren can't let that happen.
Eren raises his arm, or they do together, and machinery whirs. The part where they drop into the water is always a lurch from the G-force, but he finds it exhilarating too. They are alive here. Sure, they're fighting and in danger, but they are alive.
And soon this Kaiju won't be. That's how this has to go.
Fight.
Somewhere in their shared memory, Eren thinks of when they met, years ago now, as kids. More of them were alive then. Jean and Connie are still alive. Annie is, though she bailed on this program earlier on and he barely knows her.
After Mikasa was gone, Eren was almost impossible to pair with anyone. It wasn't just that he was unstable. He was combative, as like to pick a fight with any partner as anything else. Drift compatible? Yeah right.
But Bertolt's calm was enough to weather Eren's storm somehow, and here they are. One of the secrets to getting along with Eren is just not giving up on being able to get through to him.
The taste of blood in his mouth. Bertolt's hand, reaching out, pulling him back to standing. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, all fury, barely feeling whatever injury there is. They still fight. He'll live through it because he has to.
Nightmares that pull one or both of them out of their sleep, both of them sitting awake on the cold floor of their bunk room, hands clasped between them, unspeaking. Eren staring at nothing in the darkness, hating the monsters that left them here. He used to sit like this with Armin too, but Armin's hand was always smaller than his.
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Still alive, unlike Armin's hands. Unlike Mikasa's. Unlike Marcel's.
A bloody smear on the ground, Marcel's life snuffed out in an instant, saving them at the cost of himself—
Cold, clear anger crystalizes in Bertolt's chest, his deceptively tranquil gaze hardening, any lingering uncertainty evaporating. His wrath is harder to provoke, quieter when it finally takes hold. It is no tempest, no roaring fire, no spiraling madness. It is cold and precise: a sniper's bullet; a single, devastating explosion; the eye at the center of a storm, permitting one last glimpse of clear blue sky before hell closes in.
Hell. Otherwise known as Eren's rage.
They move, Shingeki cutting through the sea, following a route to intercept the Kaiju. Their minds work as one: Eren's a whirlwind of blades ready to tear apart anything in their path; Bertolt's a scope on a rifle, zeroing in on their target. Alone or with different partners, Eren is too unstable, Bertolt too uncertain, both potential liabilities. But together?
Together, they slam into the Kaiju full-force, the first blow a precise strike to its most likely weak point.
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But he knows the feeling, knows Bertolt's feelings for him, same as Bertolt knows his for Armin, Mikasa, his mother.
He feels the shift, finally, his anger bled into Bertolt's. It drives him harder, their shared fury, their hurt, their revenge. Like so much about him, Eren's revenge is messy, uncoordinated, dangerous not just to his opponents but to any allies. It's probably better that they're fighting this one alone.
This is what they're here to do. The Kaiju (this time) didn't stand a chance. There will be others that will be more fearsome, that will cause more pain, but not today. Today is the bittersweet taste of victory. It's hard won, like they all are, but Eren never even slows down.
This is why they're allowed to continue the way they do. Most of their superiors just put up with Eren's erratic moods, his tendency for violence even towards other people, the distance he slips into because of untreated trauma. The memory bleed makes him an unreliable narrator in his own life, not quite trustworthy. Bertolt is an anchor he can't find anywhere else with Mikasa gone.
But his determination, his resolution to exterminate Kaiju, is unshakeable.
Eren screaming, like he always does.
A trickle of blood that pours into his vision, sticky and dark, the world blotted out on one side.
One of the many fights he picked as a kid, losing battles against people bigger than him. Mikasa, coming to save him. Armin, scolding.
Reiner's warm smile from somewhere he can't place.
Eventually, the Kaiju is dead, but Eren slides a little in and out of reality. Is he really breathing that loud, or is it in his head? It doesn't matter. What matters to him is still victory, at any cost.
He doesn't quite want to let this go, detach, pull himself free from the mesh of their minds together. He never does, really. He had the same problem with Mikasa. He's had it with the other partners they've thrown at him, some handling him better than others.
There's a sunny day somewhere, back in Shiganshina (Liberio) before the monsters crashed in. The three of them (Armin/Mikasa/Eren, Reiner/Annie/Bertolt) running. The cool water of the lake (the ocean) in the hot, humid summer. The smell of bread when they come home, energetic children, one of them (Eren. Reiner.) too loud, quick to smile, quick to anger. One of them (Armin. Bertolt.) shy at first, but quick-witted and sharp. The last one (Mikasa. Annie.) quiet, sometimes unreadable.
Eren is distantly aware it's a memory, not real, but fuck he wants to stay there.
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So many of Bertolt and Eren's shared memories are stained red, their losses and traumas mirroring each other, points of familiarity smeared with heartbreak. Rarely is the Drift like this: something that feels like it could heal instead of hurt. Something that they don't weaponize and wield against the Kaiju who took so much.
Eren isn't the only one who wishes he could stay.
But Bertolt is the anchor, the lighthouse, the one who pulls them back from the brink. He gently tugs Eren along with him, the mental pull no stronger than one child's hand grasping another. He guides Shingeki back to its hangar, letting those memories hang around them, lingering as long as possible
Reiner/Eren chattering, a peal of laughter ringing out. Annie/Mikasa smiling, small and secretive. Bertolt/Armin watching his friends, contentment shining in his eyes.
Then Bertolt tugs more firmly on the connection between them, like a man trying to wake another from a dream.
"Eren," he says, starting to lay out facts for Eren to find, stepping stones to the present. "We did it, Eren. We defeated the Kaiju. We're back at the base."
The base. Not home. Home is long gone for both of them.
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eyes open!
Bertolt will instead find himself inside a house. being a fairly tall guy, he will probably notice immediately that the ceiling is bizarrely low—maybe not child-sized, but low enough that even an adult of average height could conceivably bonk their head standing up, almost like it wasn't even built with humans in mind.
so it makes sense that there's an adult of less than average height sitting on the couch.
or maybe it doesn't? it sure as shit doesn't make sense that there's suddenly a stranger in the room with him, like the guy just straight up appeared out of thin air, what the fuck. and then after another second he realizes it's not a stranger but the former colossal titan himself—double what the fuck—but by then he's already started reaching for the knife he always has on him, even in his own home (how sad), so it probably looks bad.
after all, the last time they saw each other was... well. it wasn't a good time for anyone involved.
but, oddly enough, when the realization dawns on him, he just stops. there's nothing particularly vengeful or murderous on his face; he doesn't look happy, but he rarely does. instead he just scoffs, scowling like he's incredulous at being so thoroughly inconvenienced, his hand returning knife-less to his lap. ]
What the hell are you doing here?
[ also, watch your head. ]
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Bertolt can't recall ever exchanging words with Levi, the Survey Corps Captain hailed as humanity's strongest soldier. If anything, Bertolt might have been a quiet shadow at Reiner's back—but he can't remember Reiner conversing with Levi, either. Levi isn't the type to initiate casual conversations, or so Bertolt gleaned. Maybe recruits aren't worth Levi's time. Maybe if Bertolt and Reiner maintained their cover for longer, they might've chatted the night away. (Somehow, Bertolt doubts that.)
However, the fact remains that the short, scowling man is Levi. The one soldier about whom Reiner and Bertolt warned Zeke. The one soldier who could conceivably throw a wrench (or, more accurately, ultrahard steel) into Zeke's strategy.
And Bertolt is … what? In Levi's living room? What is he supposed to do with this…?
He takes a breath, ignoring how uncomfortable it is to hunch like this. Ignoring the fact that he may have to blow up this building and everyone in it; ignoring the faint hope that Levi's lack of a weapon might mean he can avoid doing so. Ignoring the sweat already threatening to form on his brow. ]
… This wasn't intentional.
[ Not the strongest start, but at least Bertolt isn't stammering. His voice is soft and even, as it usually is when he isn't forced to raise it. ]
i'm so behind jfc forgive me
well, he's not gonna ask. not immediately, anyway. that would be rude, and he's certainly never been called rude before. instead he just nonchalantly glances back down at his relic, which he totally knows how to use by now. for real. ]
Well, that's a relief. I'm not big on home invaders. Thanks for not coming in through the wall this time, though.
[ he's awfully calm, all things considered. it's almost like they aren't mortal enemies after all. ]
you're fine!
Bertolt didn't break down (again) and beg for Armin's understanding or forgiveness in Shiganshina. He accepted the world as it was, cruel and unchanging. Then he stepped out of it, following a fox to somewhere different. Somewhere new.
There's no point in pleading his case to Levi. ]
Mm. [ A quiet hum of acknowledgment. Bertolt isn't sure how he got here in the first place, but: ] I'll find a door.
[ He takes a step to the side, turns—and promptly realizes he just stepped into a table. Not "bumped against a table." Oh, no. He stepped into a table.
Immediately, Bertolt jerks back, his incorporeal form phasing out as though his thigh wasn't just sticking straight through a solid piece of furniture. ]