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Topics - Marco Bott

Pages: [1] 2
1
Training Corps Barracks & Grounds / To Write is Human
« on: October 21, 2019, 08:32:15 PM »
There was a certain rhythm to the days, and pattern to the weeks, that was becoming increasingly familiar to Marco. He was glad of that, finding it had taken some time to adjust and settle into the strict structure of military life. How fortunate he was that Mina had enlisted at the same time as him, the kind-hearted girl a little piece of home and a friend in a sea of strangers. Slowly though, he was putting names to faces, getting acquainted with his comrades. They were his roots, giving him a sense of belonging.

In the short time he had been with the Training Corps, Marco had penned a letter to his mother every other day, unabashedly pouring his heart onto parchment, recalling and sharing little details of his days. Ever optimistic, he told her of his fellow cadets and their instructors (naturally, not wishing to worry her, he omitted the beration he had received from Commandant Keith Shadis). Responses came regularly, though not quite so often as to match Marco's frequency. After all, life in Jinae ticked on as it always had, and Ms. Bott had less to say than her son.

How he missed his mother. How he missed home.

With a free hour between classes, some cadets trained - riding horses in the arena, or running laps of the training grounds - whilst others chose to lounge in the dormitories, the barracks pleasantly warm with the afternoon sun. Marco, however, seized on the opportunity to write, his boots carrying him to the mess hall. Between mealtimes, it was likely to be empty.

Only, it wasn't.

Stepping inside the room, Marco's earthy eyes landed almost immediately on the figure of another cadet, sitting at one of the benches. "Hey Jean," he greeted brightly, though he did not know the boy well. His first thought was that Jean was studying - making the top ten took some graft, after all - but as he moved closer a half-glance told him it was letter paper on the tabletop, rather than books or notes. Marco smiled wide and warm at that, readjusting his grip on the parchment he carried, several pencils clutched in his freckled fingers. "Oh, so you're writing home too!"

2
Trost District / Break New Ground
« on: March 20, 2018, 11:18:22 PM »
Even if he had desired it, Armin would have been hard pressed to disguise his sleeplessness from Marco.  They were both relegated to bottom bunks, their beds running parallel, mere feet apart.  For one as attentive as the boy from Jinae, Armin’s tossing and turning was as obvious as the dark rings that circled his intelligent, azure eyes during the hours of daylight.

Sleep evaded those who wore familiar paths through their minds, thinking racing thoughts all the time, it escaped the traumatised and the anxious.  Marco couldn’t guess with confidence what was at the root of Armin’s insomnia, but he was determined to help.  At first he tried the herb bundles of his youth; dried apple blossom, lavender and camomile flowers, bunched up in small squares of linen and placed beneath the pillow.  But still the restless nights continued.  A letter to his mother availed of a mysterious tincture, delivered wrapped in brown paper that was decorated with sketched studies of leaves and petals, and tied with fraying string.  The handwriting on the note attached was written in a neat and sweeping script: For Armin. x

It didn’t work either.

In the interregnum, while Ms. Bott worked on another remedy, Marco looked for other apothecaries close to the barracks.  Browsing the stalls of a bustling market one warm autumn afternoon, the freckled cadet was pointed in the direction of the Garrison Headquarters by a helpful vendor.  Feeling oddly nervous at the thought of entering a military building - even though he had the crossed swords stitched onto his cadet jacket - Marco might have balked and turned heel.  But this was for Armin.  Above all else, it was the needs of others that motivated Marco and gave him courage.

Supplying his name to the guards at the front gate, he wandered the corridors of the interior, more lost than he would like to admit; the directions he had been given were imparted hurriedly, with one of the guards regarding him with something akin to suspicion, the other arching her brow in what could only be surprise.

The click of boots against worn stone told him he was no longer alone in this maze - another soldier was coming his way!  Marco immediately seized on the chance of help.  “Excuse me,” he began, his gentle voice tinged with apology.  Military personnel were busy people and he was loath to distract them from their duties.  “Do you know where I could find, ah, Arkin Holt?”

3
IC / Ready, Aim, Fire!
« on: March 19, 2018, 10:37:59 PM »
Early Summer, Year 845

Don’t pull, just squeeze, Marco reminded himself.  Exhaling tremulously, he did just that - and promptly flinched in anticipation of the loud sound that was to follow.  Fragments of thatch exploded from the straw target, indicating his shot had landed outside of the desired circle.  Frustrated by his failure, Marco huffed dark hair out of his eyes, the musket dropping to point harmlessly at the ground.  Normally cheerful, his expression had crumpled into one of disappointment.  It didn’t matter that he was normally keen-sighted, not when he couldn’t quite translate that talent into the ability to shoot with accuracy.

Panic fluttered in his chest as he suffered a crisis of confidence.  What if his score in this class dragged him down, and cost him a place in the top ten?  If his dream of having the iconic green unicorn emblazoned over his heart was to be realised, he had to master firearms.  Trouble was, until he joined the Training Corps, Marco had never held a gun in his hands, and already he hoped he would never have cause to fire with the intention of causing harm - at least not at another human being.  But that was no excuse for mediocrity.

Disheartened, he cast his honey-brown eyes along the row of cadets diligently making their own shots, with varying degrees of success.  One stood out head and shoulders from the rest.  Young but tall for his age, his expression was one of absolute calm and concentration.  Bertholdt Hoover.  Marco knew his name, if only from roll call.  The boy was blazing through the practical as though it was childsplay.

After what felt like an eternity of struggle, the instructor signalled the end of the lesson.  The muskets were discharged of their ammunition, and the youths sloped off to the armory, returning the weapons to their rightful place.  Marco used this moment to close the distance between him and Bertholdt, weaving between the chattering cadets who seemed to have already put the matters of range and accuracy out of their minds.

“You’re really good,” Marco offered the compliment with unshakeable sincerity and warmth; his own failure didn’t mean he would begrudge another their success.  With deft, careful movements, he placed the firearm back onto the rack.  The room smelt of wood polish and gunpowder, an oddly pleasant combination.  Turning to Bertholdt - though they had yet to be formally introduced - Marco smiled.  “Beginner’s luck?  Or have you done this before?”

4
Training Corps Barracks & Grounds / Old Ends, New Beginnings
« on: January 28, 2018, 01:35:00 AM »
(OOC:  I hope this works, Senia!  If anything needs tweaked, please let me know. <3)

There was a nervous energy coiling in the air, an almost palpable anticipation of the trials to come.  As of now, the faces in the crowd belonged to strangers - or to those who barely passed as acquaintances - and it left Marco feeling isolated.  It was odd, though not necessarily unpleasant, to be surrounded by people and yet feel so alone.  But rather than despair, the freckled cadet delighted in the sense of possibility.  They were collectively on the cusp of their greatest adventure thus far, and there was no way of knowing how things were going to fall.  Gathered here were future best friends, rivals, teammates and lovers, brushing shoulders as they passed, with no way of knowing they were in the presence of someone with the power to change the very course of their lives.

There was beauty in that.

Marco drifted cheerfully amongst the stalls, taking in the sights, though his gaze had yet to snag on anything he felt compelled to purchase.  The closest he had come to parting with his coin had been at a stand selling various stationery; pencils, letter paper, sketchbooks and inks.  It was certainly one to be revisited and inspected a little more closely.  For now, however, he paused in his exploration, and that was when he noticed a girl.  She stood alone, as he did, her brown eyes blown wide, her face framed by black-brown hair.  There was something in her expression that suggested she was uncertain, or perhaps fretful, and that was what drew Marco to her.  He emerged from the milling crowd with an easy smile, a greeting falling from his lips.  “I hadn’t realised just how many of us there were until tonight…” his gaze wandered for a moment, skimming the busy square, before settling on the girl’s face once more.  “How are you enjoying the festivities so far?”

5
Trost District / Where Wild Things Grow
« on: January 23, 2018, 09:39:47 PM »
This was the very best sort of day - bright and warm, with birdsong carrying on the breeze - and it was made all the sweeter by the fact there were no classes scheduled.  Of course Marco had gone looking for Jean, to no avail.  More likely than not, the cadet from Trost was out in the summer sunshine, running laps and pushing his already athletic body to its limit.  By contrast, Marco had plans for something much more leisurely.

Bundled in his arms was a book he had brought from home - a botanical volume, detailing various wildflowers, herbs and trees - and a dog-eared sketchbook that hadn’t seen sunlight in a very long time.  Balanced on top of these were a box of pencils in a spectrum of colours.  These items alone likely made his plans obvious to any who saw him.

Smiling faintly to himself, Marco left the dormitory behind.  As he skirted around the exterior of the cadet quarters, turning one last corner, he unexpectedly collided with someone heading in the opposite direction.  “Oh!” Marco exclaimed, honey-brown eyes widening in surprise.  His reflexes were sharp enough that he instinctively reached out to steady the figure by grasping their wrist, the delicate limb all but swallowed by his freckled hand.  With that movement, his books tumbled unceremoniously to the ground.

For a brief moment, Marco thought it might be Armin - the flash of golden hair combined with the individual’s small stature immediately put him in mind of the bright boy from Shiganshina - but when wide, azure eyes turned up to regard him, he realised he was instead peering down at Krista.  Already the petite blonde had a reputation which preceded her; half the boys wanted to marry her, the other half had intentions far less noble.  How strange it was, then, to peer so closely at a woman who was undeniably fair, and realise he harboured not one sliver of desire to possess her in any way, shape or form.  Marco’s expression of surprise faded away, replaced instead by a smile of apology.

“I’m so sorry,” he began, releasing his grip on the girl’s sleeve.  “I should’ve been paying attention.”

6
Season 2 / ODM Aptitude Test
« on: January 06, 2018, 10:32:11 PM »
ODM Aptitude Test


‹ WHEN ›

June, Year 846

‹ WHERE ›

Near Krolva District, Wall Rose

‹ MEMBERGROUPS INVOLVED›

Cadet - Training Corps

‹ INFORMATION ›

This premise was put together by our very own Draco!  In the summer of Year 846, the cadets will be tested on their ability with ODM equipment.  A day's ride from Krolva District, within the boundaries of Wall Rose, there lies a substantial forest.  While its trees are not quite as gargantuan in the Titan Forest, they still stand tall and imposing.  Here, the young hopefuls will take part in a scavenger hunt.  Divided into teams, they will don coloured armbands and seek to collect four sashes of the same shade.  It is a race, but one that must be navigated carefully as the woodland is peppered with Titan dummies.  The instructors will also be on hand, assessing the cadets on their performance both as individuals and in a group.

‹ RELEVANT/SUPPORTING THREADS ›

Bristling Trees Open

7
IC / Cold Hands, Warm Hearts
« on: December 28, 2017, 03:23:39 PM »
Darkness came early.  The winter sun sank swiftly, dipping beneath the horizon in a glorious blaze of opal hues; lilac blending with peach and pale blue.  But the night was even more beautiful, as the lights of the little fishing villages and townships lit their lamps.  Candles glittered in the dark, enclosed by coloured glass, painting the snow with all the shades of a springtime rainbow.  They were strung from wires, perched on tree branches and even adorned the piers and boardwalks.  There was life about the place, and loud laughter to be heard in the spacious wooden lodge rented out on behalf of the cadets.  Snow boots lined up by the door, and spilled messily from the rack, the rooms more homely than any barracks.  It truly was a holiday - and a far cry from the winter aptitude test they had endured the previous year.

It didn’t take long for the cadets to disperse, to explore their surroundings and join with the festivities.  The scent of cinnamon and spice hung in the frigid air, intermingling with the perfume of winter blossoms and pine.  Marco’s head swivelled as they walked through the busy streets, his eyes wide, brown irises catching the light of lanterns.  When his gaze alighted on the frozen lake, of the skates hung up for hire - all leather straps and keen silver edges, designed to be fastened over the would-be skater’s own footwear - he excitedly nudged Jean with his elbow.

“Fancy it?”

8
IC / Good Deeds Brighten a Dark World
« on: December 14, 2017, 08:33:59 PM »
The cadets had been uprooted, for a time, to serve in Utopia District.  To drive home the lesson that soldiers should toil for the good of the people – indeed, that they should serve the people – the instructors had organised for the cadets to travel to Utopia District.  In the busy urban centre, the youths were to fill their days assisting those in need of aid.  For the most part, their jobs involved using their ODM gear to suspend themselves high over cobbled streets, washing dust from shop fronts and cleaning grime from windows.  Some cadets acted as sentries, helping the local forces keep the peace after dark, though the inexperienced trainees were often assigned to the safer streets and alleys.  Others chose to serve their time in apothecaries and medical houses, tending to the ill and putting their lessons in battlefield medicine to good use.  All in all, the days were long and stifling, the crowded district swaddled in summer heat.

After a long, hot day, Marco had returned to their temporary quarters at the garrison.  It was a relief to wash, wiping the sweat and dirt from his freckled skin.  Dressed in his civilian clothes, his hair hanging damp around his ears, he padded bare foot out into the square upon which the barracks was built.  At the centre stood a weary fountain, almost run dry, witnessed by the structures that surrounded the plaza; their tired stone faces adorned with faded geometric patterns, now chipped and weathered to near non-existence.  In their shining youth, they may have made for an impressive sight, but those glory days were long gone.  Yet, despite the run-down and drab surroundings, there was a beauty in the summer evening, in the way the sunlight painted life into everything it touched.

Perching on the fountain’s surround, Marco breathed a contented, tired sigh and – after a pause – allowed his fingertips to gently skim the water’s surface.  After a long day in the heat, it was warm and pleasant to the touch.  Vague ideas of fetching a pail, and working to refill the fountain and see its glory restored, lived and died in Marco’s mind.  Not this evening, not now, but perhaps tomorrow.

9
IC / These Winter Winds
« on: December 08, 2017, 09:09:18 PM »
It was glacial in the northern expanse; colder than it had ever been back home in Jinae.  The sky darkened early in the day, the winter sun hanging pale and low.  Bitter winds whipped across the land, bending trees and biting into any and every inch of exposed skin.  It seemed impossible that they could be expected to survive outside, to make the monumental trek, to keep their extremities safe from the nip of frost.  With this thought in mind, Marco dipped his face further beneath the much-loved grey scarf wrapped around his neck.  Snow clung to his long lashes and peppered his dark hair, the cold painting rosy colour on his cheeks and nose.  Their horses were saddled, their bags packed, the road stretching long and foreboding ahead of them.  Together they would make it, he was quite sure, and he was glad to have been assigned to a team with Armin, Eren and Axel. 

The small groups had departed at staggered times, their current path marred by the hoofprints of those who had left before.  Those indentations were disappearing fast, buried beneath the fresh flurry of snow.  Soon they would be alone, without any indication of what routes their comrades had chosen.  Armed with only a map, it was left to the boys to decide exactly how they would reach the designated checkpoints and, at last, return to the warmth and security of basecamp.  A minimum of five lonely days lay ahead of them – more if they suffered injury, or became disorientated, or halted to hunt for food.  They carried only a basic ration, scarcely enough to keep them fed.

Nervousness bloomed faintly as he cast his gaze towards his companions, brown eyes regarding his them from beneath the shadow of his hood.  “The first checkpoint is almost directly north from here,” Marco remarked, having spent the evening before poring over the maps the cadets had each been supplied with.  “There’s a river between here and there.  I guess we’ll need to look for a place shallow enough to cross, then follow one of the tributaries north?”

10
Trost District / Where There's a Whisk, There's a Way
« on: December 08, 2017, 10:37:09 AM »
Of the duties that could be assigned to a cadet - sweeping the dormitories, organising the equipment room, cleaning the mess hall, stock-checking the storerooms - Marco’s favourite was most definitely food preparation.  There was something immensely satisfying in preparing the meals that kept the recruits fuelled, helping give them the energy to tackle their classes and studies.  As his mother always told him, food should be made with love, and that was exactly what he aspired to do.

Upon arriving in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning, Marco wasted no time in reaching for an apron and taking himself over to examine the rota, where a handful of names were scribbled haphazardly on the sheet.  Perhaps it was due to the dregs of sleep that still clung to him, but putting faces to some of the names proved impossible for the freckled boy, and he drummed his fingertips thoughtfully against his chin as he made his way to one of the long countertops.

With several hefty, wooden chopping boards and keen-edged knives laid out, Marco hoisted an empty basket into his arms and padded over to the pantry.  The military cuisine was simple, nourishing fare, and it followed the same general pattern from day to day.  Breakfast consisted of bread, bacon and occasionally egg or blood sausage.  Lunch and dinner often mirrored one another, including more bread, stew (the contents of which varied, depending on what ingredients were available), boiled potatoes and sometimes a piece of fruit.  Apples were the most common to feature, much to the chagrin of Jean.

In the cool, dimly lit space that was the pantry, Marco smiled faintly as he began to fill the basket with carrots, potatoes and onions, pausing once to smother a yawn with the back of his hand.  As far as he was concerned, the only drawback to kitchen duty was rising before the sun!

11
IC / Beneath Canvas and Stars
« on: July 10, 2017, 12:51:10 PM »
As though to make the challenges of setting up camp all the greater, their instructor had brought them out as the sun began to set.  After a short lecture - the words of which hung heavy in the growing gloom - they were to be tasked with working in groups of two to pitch tents and start campfires, of a standard that would ensure a night of relative comfort.  Not that they would actually be spending the night beneath stars - or at least Marco presumed they wouldn’t, not when the dormitories were only a short hike away.

Instinctively, Marco cast his eyes about, trying to discern someone he knew - Jean or Armin perhaps, if Eren hadn’t already claimed him - to pair with.  Except as he moved through the huddled figures draped in the deepening shadows of evening, he noticed a dark-haired boy who seemed to be at a loose end, standing alone near a bundle of camping gear.  Marco hesitated, then changed his course, pushing his freckled fingers through his own locks.  “Are you looking for a partner?”  He asked warmly, his voice even softer than usual.  Somehow the dusk seemed to demand quiet and stillness.

12
IC / Where There's a Whisk, There's a Way
« on: July 10, 2017, 12:17:36 AM »
Of the duties that could be assigned to a cadet - sweeping the dormitories, organising the equipment room, cleaning the mess hall, stock-checking the storerooms - Marco’s favourite was most definitely food prep.  There was something immensely satisfying in preparing the meals that kept the recruits fueled, helping give them the energy to tackle their classes and studies.  As his mother always told him, food should be made with love, and that was exactly what he aspired to do.

Upon arriving in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning, Marco wasted no time in reaching for an apron and taking himself over to examine the rota.  There were a handful of names scribbled on the sheet, but one in particular stood out to him:  Bertoldt Hoover.  Perhaps it was due to the dregs of sleep that still clung to him, but putting a face to the name proved impossible for the freckled boy, and he drummed his fingertips thoughtfully against his chin as he made his way to one of the long countertops.

With several hefty, wooden chopping boards and keen-edged knives laid out, Marco hoisted an empty basket into his arms and padded his way towards the pantry.  The military cuisine was simple, nourishing fare, and it followed the same general pattern from day to day.  Breakfast consisted of bread, bacon and occasionally egg or blood sausage.  Lunch and dinner often mirrored one another, including more bread, stew (the contents of which varied, depending on what ingredients were available), boiled potatoes and sometimes a piece of fruit.  Apples were the most common to feature, much to the chagrin of Jean.

In the cool, dimly lit space that was the pantry, Marco smiled faintly as he began to fill the basket with carrots, potatoes and onions, pausing once to smother a yawn with the back of his hand.  As far as he was concerned, the only drawback to kitchen duty was rising before the sun!

13
IC / Baptism by Fire
« on: July 06, 2017, 11:34:12 PM »
Sweat shone on Marco’s brow, put there by the day’s heat and the tension that coiled heavy and tight in the air.  The sunlight darkened his freckles, the innumerable flecks even seeming to multiply in these arid conditions.  Already he dreamed of rain, inwardly rejoicing every time the breeze summoned enough strength to languidly ruffle his dark locks. 

Commandant Shadis sent ripples of trepidation through the gathered cadets with every step he took.  Some of those who were younger, or more delicate and sensitive in their constitution, trembled when his imposing shadow passed over them.  As for Marco, he stood calm and steady, doing his utmost to ignore the bloom of nervousness that fluttered low in his gut.  If he didn’t make eye contact with the Commandant, he would surely go unnoticed.  Gazing unseeingly into the middle distance, he did his utmost to disappear, to be so unremarkable as to become invisible.  Never mind that he stood taller than many of the other the fearful strangers that surrounded him and never mind that the faint, seemingly eternal smile on his lips could be interpreted as either defiance or simple-mindedness.

Their leader ploughed along the line, halting here and there to hurl insults.  He was close now, speaking with the boy to Marco’s left.  They had yet to be introduced – and Marco was so preoccupied with his own nervousness that he missed his neighbour’s name – but what did catch his attention was that this cadet also wished to join the Military Police.  Marco was inwardly debating whether to chance a glance over when he heard skulls colliding, followed by the boy crumpling to the ground.

Did the Commandant just headbutt that guy?

“What the hell is wrong with your face, you smiling idiot?!” 

It turned out he wasn’t invisible after all.  Immediately, Marco curled his hands into fists and snapped into a salute, his left arm folded neatly at the small of his back, the right angled across his chest, hand resting over his fast-beating heart.  “Marco Bott – at your service, sir – from Jinae, south side of Wall Rose!  I aim to join the Military Police and give life and limb in service to the King!”  His words tumbled out of him hastily, as though a hurried response would sooner send the Commandant on his way.

“Well then, that makes you an idealistic fool.  And a rube.  You want the truth?”

The honest answer to that was no.  Judging by the way Commandant Shadis’ voice had dropped to a low and dangerous level, nothing good was about to pass his lips.  Marco’s smile flickered, his steady gaze faltering as he cast a nervous glance sideways.

“The only use the King has for your life and limbs are as Titan fodder.”

The notion was hideous, unspeakable, the images conjured enough to leave him slack-jawed and horrified.  Fortunately for Marco, the Commandant then moved on, turning his attentions to the next unlucky cadet.

It seemed to take an eternity before they were dismissed.  When that order came, relief rounded Marco’s shoulders and he breathed a deep sigh.  Judging by the expressions colouring the faces of the cadets disbanding around him, many others felt the same.

14
Season 1 / Initiation Celebration
« on: June 21, 2017, 08:51:25 PM »
IT’S TRADITION, APPARENTLY


WHEN

Early May, Year 845

WHERE

Cadet Barracks; North of Trost, Wall Rose

MEMBERGROUPS INVOLVED

Cadet - Civilian - Garrison - Military Police - Noble - Royal - Survey Corps - Training Corps

INFORMATION

Just as the recruits are settling into their new surroundings, a festival of sorts is held at the barracks.  It’s a modest affair, given that budgets are better spent on the military.  Some lucky civilians will land contracts, allowing them to set up stalls in the barracks’ yard.  There they can hawk their wares, selling little trinkets, paper lanterns and good luck charms.  For a couple of copper coins, merrymakers can purchase some basic street food or request a song from one of the buskers.

The festival begins in the afternoon and continues well into the night, with a handful of fireworks being set off shortly after darkness falls.  Those more sensible individuals may choose to peel away then and head back to the dormitories, before the vendors finally fold away their tables and trudge into the dusk.

It’s not all fun and games, however.  There is an ulterior purpose to the festivities.  While cadets use this as an opportunity to form budding friendships – to put names to faces – soldiers from each of the military factions move through the crowd, assessing the latest intake of cadets, perhaps even trying to charm and win the loyalty of those they suspect may have potential. 

RELEVANT/SUPPORTING THREADS

Birds of a Feather Private
Assessing the Goods Open
A Taste of Freedom Open


15
IC / Bedfellows
« on: May 18, 2017, 12:27:44 PM »
The thought of sharing a single, large room with dozens of other cadets was as exciting as it was disconcerting.  It was a method of forcing them together, Marco supposed, a way of encouraging them to forge bonds, friendships and alliances.  Disputes would prove inevitable, of course, tempers fast fraying in the absence of privacy.  If anything, the lack of personal space would exacerbate teenage rivalries and erode patience.  By its very design, the barracks would also ensure there were few secrets amongst the cadets.

Thus, that first night when the boys were shown to their living quarters – and having been told that the bunks were unassigned – there came a rush.  Swept along in the press of eager bodies, Marco cast his eyes about.  The chatter and laughter of the other boys scarcely registered with him as he peeled away from the crush, seeking out an available bunk towards the back of the room.

Seizing the opportunity, Marco slung his backpack up onto the narrow mattress, claiming it for his own.  Half a moment later, he peeled off his military-issue boots and climbed gracefully up onto the top bunk.  As the other nearby mattresses were gradually occupied, snippets of passing conversations drifting up to meet his ears.  Even now, it was hard to believe this was going to be home.  At least until the regiment moved on to the next settlement, to new barracks, the military of tomorrow galvanised and ready to meet the challenges a new location brought.

It was a low, weary creak from a nearby wooden bedframe that told Marco the top bunk across from his had been taken.  Curiosity got the better of him and he pushed his backpack to the side and glanced over, dark hair falling into his warm, brown eyes.  “Hey,” he greeted cheerfully, trying to catch sight of his neighbour.

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Site banner, advert image and affiliate button created by Moon Child

Reluctant Heroes is in no way affiliated with Shingeki no Kyojin, Attack on Titan or Funimation and we give full credit to Hajime Isayama. Copyrights and trademarks for the manga and anime are held by their respective owners while all original content remains the property of the individual writers and artists.

We are grateful to former staff member Artsy for her creative input.