otp: comrades in arms

Anon Meme Replies

Since there were a lot and I don’t want to spam you all!

  • Sharrtos?
    ew / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    I actually had never heard of it before? But I don’t really see anything there, sorry :(

  • Alimor?
    ew / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    Introducing the “meh” option, because I have wanted to use it in the other asks and this one definitely needs it xDD

  • HakuMor
    ew / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    I liked them ;–;. Alimor was obviously going to be canon but I preferred their chemistry.

  • Muu x Kougyoku xD
    ew / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    Same as sharrtos, I can’t really see anything here other than fabulous hair.

  • Solomon x Sheba
    ew / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    I like their ship, though not the way their relationship came to be. I think showing more development could have worked wonders here.

  • Mystras x Pipirika
    ew / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    Quietly weeps.

  • Hakuren x Hakuyuu
    ew
    / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    … they are brothers… .

  • sinju!
    ew
    / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    I think I have said this before, but I don’t get this ship. Their interactions in SnB were funny, though.

  • sinbadxhis own ego
    ew / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    100/100 point in the self evaluation.

  • Arba x Ithnan xD
    ew / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    Nothing here, tbh. They were comrades in arms, and then comrades in spite. Their interactions were minimal. Ithnan/Falan is brotp, though.

  • MystRen
    I’m sorry but I don’t know this one ;–;. Mystras/….?

  • Kouen x Jafar
    ew / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    They haven’t interacted all that much, so… .

  • Falan/Wahid :D
    ew / nonono / meh / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / MY HEART
    LOUDLY weeps.
Comrades-in-Arms | solfkimbleed

Ten days out, three in. She hates coming back to camp at the end of a long haul: the leering privates, the smirking postmaster, the festering stench of the medical tents. Riza keeps to herself and sleeps with bayonet beneath her pillow.

     She always looks for Roy, but his squad must be on a different rotation.

Six months into her tour–still just a cadet, but she has more time served than most of the enlisted–and the postmaster shoves a telegram at her.

“Can’t be mine,” she says dully. “No family.”

“Ain’t a letter. It’s orders.”

Transfer–effective immediately, to the support squad of Major Solf J. Kimblee, along with ten other names. To report to Brigadier General Fessler at 0600 tomorrow for specialized briefing.

0615: Fessler stares them each in the eyes for a solid minute.

“The Crimson Alchemist is top priority,” he says. “You must protect him at any cost. Even your lives or the lives of your comrades.”

Kimblee is waiting for them two kilometers south, with what’s left of his old squad. The sergeant leading them is jumpy and whispers over his shoulder.

Ninety percent mortality rate,” he hisses. “Ain’t nobody makes it past a month with this nutcase.”

Riza is thankful to see her tower approaching and peels off from the group with half a kilometer to go, focused only on her solitary goal. Setup takes only a few minutes, as usual: unloading her rifle and checking for the ever-present dust, connecting the radio and slipping the headset over her ears, arranging the rubble for concealment. She isn’t in much danger of being flanked from this far back, but she sets a trap or two, just in case.

“Check, check,” she says into the receiver. “Peregrine set, waiting on prey.”

Her signal is acknowledged and confirmed, and then it’s the comfort of familiarity: hours of absolute stillness, eye pressed to her scope, sweeping up and down and back and forth over the field.

Kimblee stands out among the rubble–shunning the white camouflage coat, he walks boldly in front of cover, in trousers and singlet and polished boots, arms spread wide. She can’t hear him, but she can see his lips moving and shudders at the memory of his taunts.

By day’s end, the old squad is gone. The new squad trails behind Kimblee in a staggered line, and Riza breaks the nest.

She approaches the squad’s camp cautiously, quietly, standing at the edge of the firelight and glancing around at the gathered men.