#at ease soldier zine

[achromant]

AND HERE WE ARE! My project for the gw2 'zine!

Featuring Baruhn, reflecting on his life so far, the challenges, the small sparks of joy, the horrors, loss and gain.

For clarification's sake; I did in fact plan to depict every stage of Baruhn's life, but uuh. File was already too big.

Might do a series of short comics (graphic novels?) though, because i fking love storytelling.

Let's look at my idiotic level of detail a bit, eh?

[Long Text Ahead]

Baruhn's story begins in the Plains of Ashford. An unsuccessful attempt to stem the tide of Ascalonian Ghosts leads to the demise of many year-long allies. Dozens of brave soldiers gave their life for a mere week of peace until the ghosts reformed. They always do. Soldiers don't.

Shaken in his faith in the Legions, the first seeds of doubt arise.

Until finally he found someone to trust with his pain. In a tavern at the edge of the Black Citadel, he gets to know this odd fellow, who is continuosly follow by the faint smell of sulfur. Although Baruhn knew where that path led, the warmth radiating from the old veteran in front of him was not only a physical, but an emotional one.

With the Three Legions busy with their internal quarrels, fighting over an empty promise, Baruhn took the first steps down a previously thought to be dark path.

Surprisingly, die Flame Legion was welcoming, their fires offered light and guidance, the embers igniting the skies like stars. Surely this was better than the cold metal over the Black Citadel.

Baruhn took to learning first, handling the small flames with ease after years of throwing fireballs at ghostly shapes. Then, he figured out how to teach, and that is where the real magic comes from. Nurturing a flame, protecting it from harsh winds, adding a bit of kindling and coal here and there. He even taught the more elusive ways of magic that wield smoke and ash.

Baruhn knew about the war, the countless lifes lost on the other side of the fence. But those were humans, and here he was among family.

That is, until he met Molly.

After a small recon mission that was assured not to be much of a hurdle, Baruhn found himself alone in a forest. The small fires he conjured for light and warmth only drew in the nearby villagers. Those with pitchforks and torches, with crude swords and a thirst for blood. He couldn't really bring himself to hate them, this was war after all. But at what cost are these battles to be won?

Trying to escape the villagers was a futile attempt. He sank to the ground, his own hot blood dousing the little flames beneath his weary head.

For some reason - maybe hope, maybe resignation - he forced open his heavy eyes, only to discover his wounds cleaned and bandaged with fragile white cloth. A small human girl, of all things in this damned forest, tried to help. Even in his weakened state, even with just one hand, Baruhn could have easily grabbed her and cracked her skull. But the only thing he did was listen. He listened to the ramblings of the small human, going on and on about faries made of leaves and gnomes of stone. She called him "bear".

When the villagers came, they saw the girl at his side. That was all it took for them to turn on her. She was to be executed like that beast that now slowly stepped in front of her. For the first time, Baruhn spoke to the girl. "close your eyes."

Fire roared, not red, not orange. not a warm, welcoming fire. Not one that belongs in a hearth, that thrives in the arms of a family. This was so much worse. This was years of inner conflict, of doubt, of closing his eyes on the other side of the fence. For the first time in his life, this was the only thing that he wanted to do, protect the little insignificant human behind him. Fire roared, and it burned wood and it burned flesh.

Baruhn picked up the little girl, she held tight to his horns, nestled in his mane. He ran for hours, years of military training finally useful. The little girl, Molly, lost her mother years ago. She burned in the fires of a war she tried to escape. "And your father? What about your family?", he asked between deep breaths. Molly was quiet for a while, then whispered, her voice barely audible, "My father burned today."

They stayed together, for quite a while. He protected her, and she, with her head full of stories, and a book full of dreams, protected him.

Things came, things went. Baruhn rejoined the High Legions, acting as a spy for Ash, keeping an eye on Iron and Blood.

Baruhn ultimately took on his role as Novice, then Archivist, then Commander. He helped during the struggles against Scarlet. A small flame here and there, some shrouding smoke, a well timed lightning strike. It was other people that finally defeated Scarlet, but he was always in the background, with all the small things at just the right time.

Mordremoth came, but with him new allies.

It was but a small tangent in the grand scheme of things. Watching the fragile sapling while waging war on the jungle itself.

Their relation was something more than friendship, something else than love. They were there for each other when they needed to be. Be it only to keep a flame burning or to banish the voices to the back of the head again, they walked the same path for a long time.

Tarir, the Egg. Aurene. A new flame entrusted to him, his to nurture, his to raise. A gamble, again. What if that little flame would some day devour the world? But Baruhn did, what he could do best. Teach.

Darker times came. Caudecus and the White Mantle. The raid on the Mursaat's prison. Then facing the last Mursaat himself.

Balthazar came, and in his wake a new kind of fire. A war, similar to the ones Baruhn had seen before, but still different. A war without a cause, war for war's sake. War against nature, against the world, like a child lashing out when there were none to help them up. Maybe Balthazar's flames were not too different from his.

After the festering swamp that Joko was, came the mountain, Kralkatorrik. Death was not a hindrance anymore, not for the Commander and his dragon. The story went as the story goes.

When it came to face the frost, the whispers, Jormag. Everything fell apart. Jormag pried into the deepest, darkest corners of Baruhn's life, dragged every doubt, small as it may have been, into the light. In the ice, every truth was warped, encased in whispers, in lies. It suffocated any hope and planted even darker seeds than anyone thought possible.

It was the spirit of the Raven that aided Baruhn. Even the black feathers of its wings were shimmering like rainbows in the moonlight.

A small piece stayed with him, just a fragment. Nevermore.

After that, the stars themselves. Astralaria.

So many stories that make a life, so many pieces. Every encounter, every step along the way is another fragment of the whole. People are made of other people, that is what it means to be alive.

[lets-try-some-writing]

The Qualities of a Leader

Heatwave struggles with knowing when to be firm as the leader of the Rescue Bots. Optimus gives him a few pointers.

Enjoy my contribution to the Rescue Bots zine! @turbofox-zines

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Heatwave, is something troubling you?” Optimus came to stand beside him, startling Heatwave slightly as the far larger mech came to a stop.

“No Sir.” Heatwave answered simply as he watched his team and their human wards play a few feet away. From what Heatwave could see, they were fighting over what movie they wanted to watch that evening. A ridiculous waste of time in his opinion.

“There is no need to lie. What is concerning you?” Optimus looked down at him, the elder mech’s optics glowing in what could have been concern. Heatwave did not dare assume anything about the Prime, but he answered nonetheless.

“I don’t understand how they do it.” He replied as he gestured toward where Blades and Cody were laughing, the younger of the duo throwing a pillow at the helicopter’s helm. Boulder laughed and Chase chastised them both as Kade and Dani chuckled. Graham was out doing some sort of work, and so there was no one to serve as the mediator between the human young present. It was absolute chaos.

“What do you mean?” The Prime questioned gently, very nearly causing Heatwave to do a double take with how soft Optimus’s voice was. He still half expected Optimus to scream orders like every other soldier or commander Heatwave had the displeasure of meeting. Kindness was surprising.

“How can they sit and play around with the organics under our supervision? We are Rescue Bots, not newspark sitters.” Heatwave answered honestly, agitation lacing his tone as his plating flared in response to the group before him growing more rowdy. Did they forget they were at war? They had duties to fulfill.

“Is their mingling truly a detriment?” Optimus asked with the tone of a patient mentor questioning their ward. 

“It wastes time. We could be doing other things, preparing to move out, or even training. But instead, they are… playing games and watching films.” Heatwave attempted to explain while doing his best to not be ruffled by the Prime’s choice of words. He was not a newspark, he did not need to be coddled.

“Heatwave, a soldier cannot always be on watch, nor can a Rescue Bot forever be at the ready. Rest is as essential as skill.” Optimus laid a servo on Heatwave’s shoulder, prompting the firetruck to pause in his brooding to look up in confusion. The Prime offered a kind smile before he continued.

“I have a feeling this is not entirely about the recreational activities of your companions.” The Prime met his gaze kindly, and Heatwave grumbled.

“I just don’t get it. Why do they even bother with these activities? The humans will never understand us, they will never be able to. It's always us who have to make the effort to understand them.” He gestured over to the humans again, his face set into a scowl even as his spark spun in longing. Why did he care about what they were doing? He was their leader. If they weren’t going to be serious, then he had to in their stead.

“We live in dark times, Heatwave. Our world is dead and war rages on all sides. This island is a small safe haven, a place of peace.” Optimus’s voice broke Heatwave from his brooding. He shuffled from pede to pede as the Prime gained a distant look in his optics, one Heatwave saw in Bumblebee too. 

“The Rescue Bots may not be on the front lines, but you all feel the pressure of what looms in the future. There is no shame in seeking comfort where it is offered.” Wisdom seemed to emanate from Optimus as he smiled comfortingly, although it did little to ease Heatwave’s discomfort. Despite the way his plating felt too tight for his frame, he sighed and conceded.

“I can’t just go playing games, Sir. I have to lead and keep them in line.” Heatwave admitted softly, trying hard not to let his spark ache as he watched Boulder laugh at Chase tripping over something or other. He hated to admit it, but he wanted to be with them too.

“Yes, you are their leader. However, you are also a fellow Autobot. A leader must know when to be firm and when to mingle with those under his command.” The words registered, but Heatwave paused in uncertainty. 

“What are you suggesting?” He questioned his superior officer somewhat hesitantly. Optimus again gained that faraway look before he patted Heatwave on the back in a friendly manner.

“Go and enjoy these moments while they are available. Come the dawn, you will need to bear the burden of leadership again, but for now, you can rest Heatwave. You are a fine leader, and there is no shame in allowing the mantle to fall for a while.” There was something so extremely tired in the way Optimus spoke. It left Heatwave reeling a bit as the Prime continued.

“View it as a team building exercise if you must, but allow yourself a moment to vent. Even the strongest leaders require rest and companionship.” There was wisdom in his words, wisdom that Heatwave had next to no time to process before the Prime wandered off, waving to him as he did so. Heatwave stood there dumbly for a while, his processor thrown into overdrive as he contemplated. 

Perhaps… Optimus was right.

“Team building exercise…” Heatwave mumbled as he took a deep vent and stepped closer to his rambunctious team and human wards. They were bickering over a film of some sort. Chase was holding up what looked to admittedly be an incredibly dull documentary, Boulder had a cartoon on DVD that he was advocating for, and Blades was quick to hold up another case with cheap looking monsters on the cover.

“Heatwave! We are going to watch a horror film! Could you sit with me please?” Blades asked timidly as Cody took the film and threw it into the DVD player before anyone else could get a word in. Chase grumbled, Dani pouted, and Kade laughed. Heatwave for his part sighed as Blades looked up at him pleadingly. 

“You are a real crybaby sometimes, you know that, Blades?” Dani, ever the jester, prodded playfully from where she had chosen to drape herself on a nearby platform, blankets and pillows galore. 

“Horror movies are scary!” The helicopter insisted as the film began to play the opening sequences. Blades jumped as a cheap looking zombie wandered on screen alongside the title of the film, prompting Kade to laugh. 

“The blood is all fake, and you can clearly see the editing software effects-” Chase attempted to point out the lack of any real scare factor in the film as Heatwave edged closer subconsciously. The desire to be involved along with the all encompassing urge to stop any fights before they could start had him drawing nearer to the mess of blankets and other soft cushioning strewn about before he knew it.

“Way to ruin the mood.” Cody pouted as he settled down on Chase’s lap. The police car for his part did not react beyond pulling up a blanket for the youngest of their human wards as the movie began to roll.

“Half the fun of horror movies is laughing at the bad effects.” Kade remarked as he too settled in around Boulder’s pedes. The usually brash fireman seemed completely at ease as he snacked on some popcorn.

“Blades has a point, though. The jump scares can be a bit much.” Boulder added before Cody shushed him.

“Enough. I will sit with you Blades.” Heatwave, realizing he was practically wrapped up in the blankets, sat down beside his skittish teammate. There was no point trying to wander off with dignity now. Besides, what could be the harm in staying? Patrols were done and work for the next cycle was already completed. By staying, he could keep an optic on his team and settle his spark’s anxious spin. 

“Really?! I didn’t think-” Blades looked up at him with starry optics, to which Heatwave rolled his own in a fond manner.

“Yeah, yeah now be quiet so we can watch this film.” Heatwave grumbled without any true agitation lacing his tone. To the humans he must have sounded as gruff as always, but to his fellows it was quite clear that his glyphs had no true bite.

He was content, and so was his team.

“Thank you, Heatwave.” Blades whispered as the movie began and horribly cheap special effects assaulted their vision. It was such a ridiculous activity, but Heatwave found himself enjoying it all the same. On a planet not their own and in a structure not made by their kind, they were watching a stupid movie and all was right with the world. 

Maybe Optimus was right. A little downtime couldn’t hurt. Team building exercises were essential, after all. 

“You’re welcome.” Heatwave murmured as he felt himself calm for the first time in weeks. He was safe, and he was home, at least for now.

[sparrowsworkshop]

"Optimus Prime & His Feisty Little Two-Wheeler" by OneWingedSparrow

🏍️ First Draft: 2021 ⤵️

🚛🏍️ Main Tags: TFP, Arcee & Optimus Prime, Pre-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Hurt / Comfort, Found Family Summary: A tribute to Peter Cullen for striving to always keep Optimus Prime "strong enough to be gentle," told from the perspective of TFP Arcee towards her newfound leader, when she first comes to Earth and joins Team Prime. Made for the "To Be Gentle Zine," hosted by @allsparkzines ! Please check out everyone else's stories and artwork; they're all lovely! :D Read on AO3; paired artwork here Reblogs are appreciated! ~ Arcee refused to affiliate her name with anything. The Autobot faction was her lone exception. Her former leaders left her...and, after she lost Tailgate, the only teammate who respected her for who she was...she didn’t wish to be associated with any singular bot.

Her spark was broken, and no medic fixed sparks.

But over the years...Arcee realized there was one person she could stand to fight beside. One person she could fight for. One person she could depend on, and willingly link her name to.

His name was Optimus Prime.

~

The first time his name is affixed to hers, she is jolted with shock.

“It’s the Prime’s scouts! All units, fire!” The Prime’s—the Prime’s…? Arcee trips over her own feet.

Magnus had been the one she followed. Before that, Prowl. She is a stranger to this Prime.

Sure, the moment she forsook the wastelands of Cybertron, racing Cliffjumper through Shockwave’s space bridge, she rolled straight into the ranks of Optimus Prime, who sought refuge on this rugged rock called Earth.

...but is she already counted as one of his?

Their cover exposed, Bumblebee bounds towards a farther bunker, retreating from the Decepticons’ barrage, as Optimus directed.

As Optimus directed, as Optimus ordered, as Optimus would….

Hand flipping into a gun, Arcee shakes her head and follows.

Everything she does now will be in his name.

~

The first time he delivers a speech in her earshot, she cramps her neck looking up.

Arcee knew Optimus Prime was tall, but she never stood on level ground with him. Only now does she realize how truly massive he is; the tip of the pink tiara spike atop her helmet doesn’t even reach his hip.

This mission is futile. They’ll never see optic to optic.

No one ever does, with a two-wheeler like her.

So, she gives up, dropping her gaze to the Autobot insignia emblazoned on their new base’s floor.

The same symbol embossed onto her wings. The same symbol that gleams on the grill of the Earth truck form Optimus has chosen. A Western Star, she heard the human soldiers call it. Lumbering engine, muted paint job, lackluster tires...it’s surely a far cry from his regal Cybertronian form, but he steps into the disguise humbly.

Her thoughts are wandering. She’s lost track of the speech. She forces herself to focus on her surroundings. Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Bulkhead and Ratchet stand beside her, listening intently as Optimus continues. I’m part of the circle, she thinks, suddenly. This is new.

Will it last? She doesn’t know.

Only time will tell.

As always.

~

The first time he rolls with her, she feels her systems stall.

“Arcee,” he says. Her name lolls in the air.

She straightens her frame, flashing an urgent salute. “Sir!” “At ease, soldier.” He gets down on one knee.

This only stiffens her further; Ultra Magnus never adopted such a lax posture.

What’s more, Arcee decides, looking directly into Optimus Prime’s face is mildly frightening. Here is a Warrior who has plowed through fire and acid, shrapnel and rust, energon and terror—and captured the weight of all to carry forever. In those piercing, blazing optics, she can see the glory and the pain, the fervor and the fury, of a leader blessed by Primus….

And she knows, while she beholds, that he will brake for nothing in bringing this war to its end.

Arcee trembles under his gaze.

“I am coming with you,” he says.

Statement. Declaration. Fact.

In shame, her spark plummets to her feet. The Prime must have higher priorities than her safety. No one ever makes the effort to care. Why would he waste his time on a two-wheeler most bots look down upon?

Are you sure I’m worth it? Arcee blurts out, unheard.

Aloud, she stammers the scrap substitute:

“Sir?”

“You are in need of backup, and there is no one else to accompany you at this time. Therefore, be mindful of my presence.” Arcee wants to protest.

However, one glance at his decisive expression deactivates all argument.

You just can’t argue with Optimus Prime.

~

The first time he saves her spark, she flinches, and not from her wounds.

Bulkhead fell back. Bumblebee paused to reload.

A quick scan of the battlefield revealed only a “few” Decepticons. Her arm blades clicked from their casings. The enemy seemed distracted.

She thought she could take them all on.

Arcee speeds into the open. An ever dutiful partner, Cliffjumper attempts to provide cover fire. Dust billows in her path.

She flies, wings spread wide with the thrill of the hunt. Leap and dodge, flip and kick. Swipe and cut, scratch and slice. The Decepticons falter, unprepared for the frontal assault.

Until they get smart to her timing, and they stab her through the gut.

Her frame screams with pain. Something else roars louder.

Optimus. Her enemies freeze.

He charges, blasters smoking. Optics blazing.

They’re dead in seconds. Arcee’s lifted up, leaking energon.

Wordlessly, Optimus carries her home.

~

The first time he rebukes her, she wishes she could hide in vehicle mode.

Not hide as in “cower.” More like hide as in “transform, to then zoom away.” The best kind of hiding: speeding so no one can catch you. She’s already transformed. Engine’s running. Kickstand’s up. She’s already halfway gone.

But her wheels don’t roll.

Deep down, she knows barricading in vehicle mode while he has words to deliver would be incredibly rude, and she’s not sure she wants to disrespect him so, after he saved her tailpipe. With that, she mentally punches herself in the T-Cog, and stands up to face him.

“Arcee,” he says, so far above her, voice stern and edged. “Your judgment today was far from exemplary.”

She swallows.

“Make no further attempts to engage the enemy alone.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers.

Those optics meet hers, once again.

“We will fight on,” Optimus says quietly. “That is a promise…

“Stay with me.”

Arcee blinks something from her vision.

If he notices, he says nothing.

~

Now, whenever he summons her, she’s alert and prepared.

“Arcee, with me.”

She nods, and falls into step beside him.

Though one step for him is many for her, they march in the same time.

His massive, towering form no longer feels as looming or daunting as it did. She’s learned to rest in his shadow, to trust he will shield her. She’s not sure why she grew so comfortable with his presence so fast, but perhaps his mannerisms influenced this transformation.

He stands tall to intimidate, but not to belittle. He bends down to her level more than anyone else. In battle, he never abandons her. He even looks back for her, when his extensive strides travel farther than her shorter limbs can reach. And when he sends her ahead to scout, hidden well in lofty places, she always finds him watching for her when she returns with a report.

Quiet things. Subtle things.

Little things a great, big Prime needn’t trouble himself with.

But he wants to.

He cares.

So, when he says “With me,” she follows...

Because the little things have shown her that he is someone worth following.

~

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Seasons of Change zine! My long fic was based in the fall and I wanted to write a flustered Dimitri. A very flustered Dimitri and Byleth knows what she’s doing to him. Though, my summary sounds a lot kinker than what I wrote XD

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Dimitri prided himself for his discipline. Unlike his strength, which was unwieldy at times and entirely innate, this was something he had worked on. Something he had earned. Years had been spent, diligently sticking to his tasks, depriving himself of most modicums of pleasure that could distract him. Temptation always existed, the key was learning how to ignore it.

When he’d first met Byleth, he’d thought they were two of a kind. She had been raised as a mercenary, after all, forced to pack lightly as she moved from place to place. There was little room for indulgence, not when every action could have life or death consequences. It was something he had admired since they’d first met. Her eyes were always clear as she looked forward, allowing her to see the full picture of whatever scenario they found themselves in.

At least, that was what he thought.

It was hard to believe that right now. Not when Byleth was sitting between his legs, her back pressed to her chest, her arm grazing his knee as she flipped pages. This close, he could feel her warmth, hear her breath, see the shades of green in her hair. The library was empty save for them, no one around to witness this embarrassingly indulgent scene. As it was, Dimitri hoped no one passing by looked up through the window and caught them in the alcove.

How had they ended up like this? Dimitri swallowed as he stared down at messy moss green hair. His own papers hung limply between his fingertips; he’d long since given up on concentrating on them. Not for the first time, he was glad that he had grown in the past five years. Byleth nestled perfectly between his legs. All he had to do was hunch forward and he could fold her entirely within his frame.

His ears burned.

This wasn’t the time or place for these thoughts. The flags around Garreg Mach were at half-mast still. While it had been five years since the start of the war, it was only now they could truly see the school’s wreckage. Former students shifted through the rubble, clearing space for supplies and soldiers. Allies died on a daily basis and civilians had long since learned to hide when there was smoke on the horizon. A war raged across the continent; this wasn’t the time to wonder what shampoo Byleth was using.

Not that Byleth had any issues with their current positioning. While he panicked internally, she continued to flip through their scout reports with ease. Her fingers didn’t tremble as she turned the page, her breathing was even, and she didn’t even flinch when he discretely readjusted his position. His heart beat so loud he was certain she could hear it. Yet, if she noticed his tension, she didn’t mention it.

He wished she would.

Glancing at the door, Dimitri exhaled softly. Maybe the gods were listening to his pleas; for once there were no soldiers barging in with news. He couldn’t get caught like this. He was the leader of the army, in the middle of a continental war. He was a king reclaiming his kingdom and people. He was a commander still dressed in mourning black.

He was utterly frozen in place.

They hadn’t been this close since their school days, when they’d meet in cloisters and shadows. Byleth tilted her head and her hair shifted slightly, just enough to reveal a pale nape. It would be too easy to lean down and kiss it. To roughly grab her wrists and turn her jaw and—

Dimitri bit his cheek hard. He shouldn’t be thinking of this. He shouldn’t be remembering other, similar times they’d been like this. And he definitely shouldn’t be remembering what happened after his teeth grazed her skin.

The numbers on his reports told him just why he shouldn’t have such frivolous thoughts. There was no such thing as an easy victory, and Edelgard had always been a brilliant tactician. They’d be lucky if they eked out a win.

“You’re staring,” Byleth stated nonchalantly as she flipped the page. Despite her words, she didn’t move, didn’t try to escape.

So she had noticed. That made him feel marginally better. His neck heated up slightly and he didn’t need a mirror to know that his embarrassed flush had grown. Dimitri cleared his throat. “I am surprised you want to sit like this.”

“Why?” she asked, her thumb flicking the edges of the report thoughtfully. Gracefully, she pushed back a stray strand of hair behind her ear and glanced back at him coquettishly. “You want me to move?”

“No.” The words shot out of him like a cannon, escaping his lips before he could even think. Dimitri closed his eyes and winced. Maybe it was the library, maybe it was their closeness, but he felt like an awkward teenager again, filled with Sylvain’s terrible advice as he tried to court the one he had long admired. The years just melted away, leaving behind the naïve boy he had forced himself to forget. “That…that is not why I asked.”

“Good.” Byleth chuckled softly, relaxing further into his embrace. Her hair tickled his nape, her shoulders lowering as she reclined against his chest. She patted his knee. “I like my spot.”

She had to know what he was doing, how he was reacting. Dimitri couldn’t even pick her up and move her away. With the way he felt right now, he was too afraid he’d accidentally toss her.

Too afraid she’d see his trembling hands for what they were.

He forced his gaze outside the window. The warm sunlight had forced him to abandon his fur-lined cape long ago. It should be easier to form his thoughts when he focused on a make-shift camps outside, the soldiers continuing their work despite the turmoil and changes of the past few weeks.

Somehow, not seeing her made it worse. He could feel every place they connected, as though she were burning him. The clean, simple scent of soap filled the air, erasing every other musty smell in the library. Byleth had always used the plainest, cheapest cleaning products. Her soft, even breathing was barely audible over the thrumming of his heart.

“Are you certain? Is it not uncomfortable?” Dimitri asked quietly.

Byleth snorted, incredulous. “Do I ever second guess myself?”

“No,” he reluctantly admitted. Every move of hers was decisive, regardless of the outcome. Whether it was war or selecting their cooking schedule, Byleth never backed down nor looked back. Her gaze was always firmly set forward.

“Then there’s your answer.” Byleth licked her lips as she turned a page. In the semi-transparent reflection in the mirror, Dimitri caught a flash of pink tongue.

He should work. Dimitri glanced at the papers dangling from his grasp. It was a logistics issue, a fault in the supply chain. He needed to fix it before the next battle. Yet, the words swam and clashed against one another, none of them feeling important right now. None of them mattered when Byleth was this close.

Maybe Byleth sensed his growing unease for she sighed and set down her papers. In a single, swift move, she turned in his arms to face him. Her eyes glowed in the sunlight. Her hands gripped his shoulders lightly. This was worse. There was nowhere to hide from her gaze. She remained silent, simply observing him.

“Byleth?” he choked out.

“Is something wrong?” It didn’t sound like a question. Not when she stared at him so pensively. Even now, she was ever the teacher, pulling answers out of him to questions he didn’t even know he had.

“This…” Dimitri couldn’t get up, trapped as he was under her. He weakly gestured between them. “We should not be like this.”

“Shouldn’t be like what?” Byleth pressed impatiently. Her breath ghosted his neck.

He caught his reflection in her eyes, his flat lips, his wide eye, his clenched jaw. Regardless of how he felt, at least he didn’t appear overly flustered. Maybe that was what experience did. It calmed him and he slowed his breathing.

“We shouldn’t be this close,” he gently chided.

As usual, his warning rolled right off her. Shame and embarrassment didn’t exist for her. Byleth raised a brow. “There is no one to see. Even then, you are a king. Who would complain?”

“Still…” Dimitri trailed off. The civilities of the court meant little to Byleth, though they had been drilled in him since day one.

Byleth pursed her lips. “What’s wrong?”

There was a simple answer to the simple question. Dimitri couldn’t bring himself to say it. To utter it aloud would shatter this moment and as guilty as he felt, he was still only a man. A greedy man.

“Dimitri.” She reached up, her hand cupping his cheek. It was impossible not to lean into her touch, to close his eye and simply accept her kindness. Her thumb gently stroked his skin. “Please.”

“Is this allowed?” he asked quietly, his voice barely audible.

“What is?” Her other hand rested on his shoulder, her clothes rustling as she sat up.

He didn’t open his eye. It was easier to talk like this, to pretend he was only saying this to himself. “This.” His right hand gripped her waist lightly. “Any of this.”

“Why?” Byleth asked. The hand on his shoulder slid down his arm and squeezed his hand. He could feel her calluses and scars, the reminders of all she had ever fought for.

Like him. Even when she hadn’t even known his name, she had fought and protected him. He turned his wrist, interlacing their fingers as he wished for some of her strength. Even with his bloodline and crest, Byleth had always been far more powerful than he would ever be.

“We’re in a war.” The excuses were easy enough to say. Even without his ghosts reminding him, Dimitri doubted he could forget. “People have died—Rodrigo is dead. The country’s torn apart. I…What I’ve done…”

The blood on his hands couldn’t be explained away as merely self-defence. There was a difference between killing and slaughtering, and he had crossed the line far too many times.

“War doesn’t stop us from living,” she answered easily. “We’ve all done things. My hands are no cleaner than yours. You’ve regretted and repented, that doesn’t mean you need to stand still.”

Straight to the point and blunt as ever, Byleth cut through his fears with a single stroke. Everything sounded simple when she laid it out. Her words left no room to argue.

Yet, he had to try. “But—”

Byleth tightened her grip on his hand. “Dimitri, look at me.”

He couldn’t reject her command. His eye flew open. Her expression was soft, far softer than he’d thought possible for her.

“What is wrong?” she asked a third time.

This time, he couldn’t lie. “I’m not allowed this. After all I’ve done, I…I can’t…I shouldn’t…”

Her thumb moved from his cheek to the edge of his lips and Byleth pressed lightly, effectively shutting him up. “Dimitri,” she said carefully. “You are allowed happiness. Always.”

His stomach roiled. “After everything—”

She cut him off. “Especially after everything. There are none who know you who would wish otherwise.”

Edelgard was the easy rebuke, but he couldn’t say his childhood friend knew him. Not anymore. That summer felt impossibly far away, a mirage, a dream, a fleeting spark that had died before it could burn. The possibilities that had existed when they had danced had popped like a bubble by the time they reunited.

As though she sensed his thoughts, Byleth added, “Those that truly know you wish for your joy.” She squeezed their interlaced fingers. “Me especially.”

“And I yours,” he replied automatically, his free hand rising up to cover hers on his cheek. “Always.”

She smiled faintly. Her smiles were always like that, quicksilver, almost impossible to catch. It wasn’t long before her expression grew somber once more. “Then please, stop denying yourself.”

“Is it denial?” he asked half-heartedly, a last-ditch protest.

“I lost five years,” Byleth replied. She looked away, out the window. Not for the first time, he wondered what she saw. The crumbling buildings outside or the school of yesteryear? When she saw him, did she see the diligent youth or the mad king? Sometimes, her gaze seemed far away, as though she were living in the past and not the present, as though she were there and not here.

And then she turned back to him, her stare steady and solid.

“I lost five years,” she repeated, louder now. “Not just my time. Your time. Our house’s time. The things I missed…” She swallowed hard. “Even before that, the people I missed…”

He didn’t have to ask to know she was thinking of Jeralt. Of her father’s last conversation, of the questions left unasked and unanswered, the things she didn’t say or do. His death had come far too quickly.

Her intertwined fingers squeezed his one last time before she extracted them from his grip. Both her hands clasped his face, forcing him to still. “I have lost many things and I have more regrets than I want to bear. I am tired of losing things to rue and ghosts.”

When she laid it out so clearly, he felt foolish. Maybe he’d been the one stuck in a stasis for five years, barely growing, barely changing. The ghosts lingered still, in the corner of his eyes, reminders of a guilt that he doubted would ever leave him.

But just like her regrets, they didn’t have to come any further than that. They could live in the shadows, buzz the back of his head, but no longer control his actions.

He gave up. “Me too.”

“Good.” She leaned forward, kissing him softly. He stiffened, surprised. After a moment, she pulled back and rested her forehead against his. “Let’s not lose anything else.”

“Oh,” was the only intelligible sound he could make. He had forgotten how daring she could be.

“Glad you get it.” She smirked as she pushed away. Her hand reached down for the long-forgotten reports. “Then I don’t want to hear about this again.”

Something gnawed within him. He had forgotten just how much he had craved her touch.

Maybe it was time he took a step forward himself. Before Byleth could retreat any further, Dimitri grasped her neck, his other hand clamping down on her arm as he pulled her closer. Giving into temptation, he folded her into his frame as he kissed her. Her hands immediately wrapped around him, her nails digging into his back, and maybe he hadn’t been the only one denying himself recently.

[aifastic]

Party Havoc

Hello, everyone! Sorry for the sudden income of fics but I’ve been delayed by life ;-; I'm proud to announce that I've been part of the wonderful At Ease, Soldier Zine! Everyone did an amazing job, the mods were delightful to work with and I'm really glad that I've been able to contribute. This was my piece!

I hope you enjoy it ♥ Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Rating: T Characters: Soldier, Demoman, Engineer, Scout, Pyro, Sniper, Heavy, Medic, Spy, (RED team basically), Merasmus

Summary: The team organizes Soldier’s surprise birthday party. However, as it’s usually the case with the RED team, nothing goes according to plan.

Party Havoc

"So, is everyone here? No more, no less?" Demo asked, counting heads for the nth time.

"We're all here, pardner," Engineer reassured him, stopping him before anyone could protest—or set something on fire.

"And Soldier's busy outside! I took care of that," Scout said with a smirk. I don't want to know, Engineer thought, for his own sake.

"Perfect!" Demoman clapped his hands, grinning. "Let's get into business, lads: it's Soldier's birthday next week."

"Next week?" Scout counted with his fingers. "Isn't that near to the Fourth of July?"

"Exactly! Janey and I always celebrate his birthday on the fourth. Tradition, y'know."

Everyone nodded; after all, everything Soldier-related is even more of a mystery than Spy. No more than Pyro, though.

"So, what do we have to do?" asked Heavy, frowning.

"Aye! I have a list." Demoman retrieved a torn piece of one of Engineer's blue schematics paper, all scribbled in white chalk.

"Hey!" Engineer protested.

"It was the longest sheet of paper I could find." Demoman shrugged. "So: We have to choose from this list! Who wants to do what?"

Everyone leaned in to check the list.

"I'll get the food," Sniper said.

"If you think you will make us eat roasted lizard or whatever—ugh—roadkill you find—"

"Christ, I was just gonna drive to Teufort to get meat from the butcher!" Sniper cut Spy off, offended.

"Whatever," Scout said. "I'm gonna be in charge of the decorations!"

"Hmmmphmmph!" Pyro elbowed him.

"What? No way! I'm an artist—" Pyro stared at him. "On second thought, we both could do it."

"Hmmmph!" Pyro celebrated, hands up.

"Heavy will take care of gift. I have many Mann Co. coupons to use."

"Alright, that leaves us with… Hm… En gineer will be cooking," Medic declared, and everyone nodded in unison. "And um… I can get the drinks!"

"Uh, I was going to do that," Demoman said nervously.

"Nuh-huh!" Medic tut-tutted. "You," he pointed at him, then to the hastily scribbled last item on the list, "are going to do this."

"Nah," Demo said. Everyone stared at him. "Come on! The man hates me. I hate him. Can't we just not—"

"To be honest? I agree." Scout looked at him. "Why did you add it to the list?"

"I guess…" Demo sighed. "He seems important to Soldier. Somehow.” He threw his arms up in exasperation. “Oh, alright." He gave in. "I’ll do it.”

"Well, I guess that's it. Uh." Engineer hesitated, but they really needed to know sooner or later. "Where's Soldier, anyway?"

"Uh," Scout looked to the ceiling in avoidance. "Did you know that raccoons like sour cream? Like, a lot?"

"What the hell," Sniper said.

-----

Scout cleaned up the last remains of the mess that Soldier left when he was bathed in sour cream and the raccoons chased him all around the base. "I shouldn't have to do this," he complained. "They asked me to distract him!"

"Mmph mmphmmmphmmph."

"Well, yeah, not exactly but… Done!" He cleaned his hands on his clothes. "Man, we can finally start with the decorations. We should do a big poster! With 'Happy Birthday' on it." He looked at Pyro, a bit subdued. "Uh, by any chance, do you know how to spell it?"

Pyro shook his head.

"Damn it!"

-----

"What do you mean, 'there's no meat'?"

"Sorry!" squeaked the Teufort butcher. "There was a flu that killed all our provider's animals; we can't sell the meat in those conditions!"

"Bloody hell." Sniper put his hat back on and exited the shop. "What am I gonna tell everyone—? Hey!" A little kid eating a sandwich had just bumped into him. "Watch it!" The kid blew a raspberry at him.

Wait a minute. What if…?

-----

"What d'ya mean there's no meat?" Engineer asked Sniper, scratching his head. "What are we gonna do?"

"Well, I went to several places and bought these." He pointed at the back of his camper, filled with boxes of bread, tomatoes, cheese and lettuce, among other ingredients. "Think the big guy can make do with all these?"

-----

To the relief of Engineer and Sniper, Heavy nodded. "Some ingredients missing, but Heavy can do this."

"Thank you, big fella," Engineer said. "We all know who's the best here at sandwich making."

"Thank you." Heavy said. Then he asked, somewhat sheepishly: "Can you help me with gift? I think I made mistake. Ordered too many?"

"Too many?"

"I thought you added coupons together for big discount. It seems it is one coupon, one item."

"Oh. Oh." Engineer said.

"Too many of what?" Sniper asked again.

------

Spy was busy figuring out a way to distract Soldier, as per his task. Soldier was already antsy with all the unexplained movement. "He's paranoid," Spy reasoned. "I could give him another reason to be." He grinned, donning his BLU Spy disguise.

-----

"Ach, I forgot I have been banned out of town!!" Medic yelled, driving Engineer's truck out of Teufort like a maniac, bottles of beer clinking against one another on the back as a mob chased him away.

-----

"For the last time, you bloody bastard!" Demoman yelled. "You are important to Soldier, so you will come!"

"MERASMUS SHALL NOT!" The wizard levitated, making things fly all around them. "SOLDIER IS NOTHING BUT A NUISANCE TO ME! HE SHALL NOT HAVE A HAPPY BIRTHDAY! EVER!" He abruptly stopped, catching himself. "Look what you made Merasmus do! My room is ruined. NOW BEGONE!"

-----

Demoman appeared at the base, falling over the cake Engineer was decorating.

"Bloody hell!" Demo cursed, smashing one fist on the icing-covered floor.

"I hope you have good news because I swear to God, I'm counting down to ten right now," Engineer said.

"I…" Demoman started cautiously.

"It was the third cake."

"... What happened to the others?"

Engineer deflated. "Pyro burned the first one while chasing Scout due to 'artistic differences,' and the second one was 'borrowed' by Medic in order to use it for self-defense against a Teufort man who was chasing him with a fork."

"Woah, that's… Do I want to know?"

Engineer sighed. "Hell no."

"Alright, so Merasmus isn't coming."

"Well, I guess it's better for us, anyway," Engineer said honestly. "It means less trouble."

"I guess so."

They sat on the kitchen floor, taking a breather.

"At least we still have five days left."

Engineer looked oddly at him. "Demo, it's July 4."

"Wait, what? How?!" He thought back of Merasmus. "That bloody wizard made me time travel, bloody hell!"

"Well, the thing is, you're gonna have to help me make another cake in record time."

Demo wiped a hand down his face.

-----

"What does it say there?"

"Don't mess with me! It clearly says 'Happy Birthday'!"

"I wish," Sniper said, squinting at the letters. "This is a 'b' instead of a 'd,' the 'p's look like 'f's…"

"Oh, shut up," Scout muttered, turning beet red. "I bet he doesn't even notice."

"Hmmph hmmph," Pyro told him in consolation.

"Sandviches ready," Heavy announced.

"Awesome. How's the cake going?"

"We're running out of icing!"

"Try to economize it—apply it only on key areas, not on the whole surface."

"Thanks a lot, Doc. What'd ya think we've been doing?!"

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't crushed the fourth cake—"

"It was an accident, I swear!"

"Guns are arriving."

"Guns?!"

Engineer sighed. "Heavy wanted to gift Soldier something practical. He bought one too many killstreak guns."

"Black Box. Practical. Effective."

"Loaded. Those weapons come loaded."

"Bah. We have ammunition all around the base. Nothing's gonna happen," Scout reasoned

"I hope so," Demo said. He went back to applying icing to the cake but he abruptly stopped. "Wait, where’s Spy?"

"Distracting—"

The wall of the main hall suddenly exploded, debris flying everywhere. When the smoke cleared they all saw a bunch of Black Boxes scattered on the floor, next to Soldier who was choking… was that BLU Spy?

"I finally got you, maggot! Your days of playing hide-and-seek are over!" Spy's disguise disappeared and revealed his true features. "Wait, what?"

A chunk of the ceiling fell onto the (fifth) cake.

"Surprise!" Scout yelled, waving at the poster that proudly announced… 'naffy dirdbay.'

"Yaayy," said everyone with different degrees of enthusiasm. Engineer was too broken to say anything, staring in despair at the place where the cake used to be.

Soldier threw Spy to the side. "You remembered my birthday!"

"How could we forget, Janey," Demo said, putting him in a headlock.

Spy coughed loudly a few meters away from the floor.

"You put a lot of effort in this and I couldn't be prouder of you! Every single one of you is an honor to America!"

"We're glad you liked it, mate."

"Hmmph hmmmph!"

"Uh, we had cake but—"

"Please don't say anything else about it," Engineer muttered.

They were all going to grab their sandwiches when a puff of green smoke filled the room.

"Oh god, now what?"

"MORTALS!"

"Merasmus!" Soldier grinned. "You came to celebrate!"

"Not at all! I came to RIGHT YOUR WRONGS!" Merasmus's voice echoed in everyone's ears. He took from between his robes a birth certificate. "This impostor's birthday is in MAY!"

"What?!"

"I WILL MAKE YOU SWALLOW YOUR WORDS, MERASMUS!"

"MAKE ME IF YOU CAN, SOLDIER! MAY DESPAIR RAIN UPON ALL OF YOU!"

"... Alright, fellas, what about we kick this son of a gun's behind?"

"Hell yeah." Everyone nodded and ran to get their supplies.

-----

"BEST! BIRTHDAY! EVER!" yelled Soldier as he spun around in a hurricane that Merasmus commanded, shooting rockets at him with one of his many new killstreak Black Boxes.

"Happy birthday, Soldier," everyone yelled back, grinning despite themselves.

[sodafrog13]

Today, on the second anniversary of Rick May's passing, the At Ease, Soldier Zine is FINALLY available for download!! Featuring 38 different artists/SFM creators/writers, the zine is NAME YOUR PRICE with ANY AND ALL proceeds made by April 30, 2022 at 11:59 PM PST going to the charity Child's Play, an organization which donates toys and games to children's hospitals worldwide!

The zine is available for download on itch.io HERE!!

HUGE shoutout to all our contributors, all of whom you can find HERE, on the carrd!

Even BIGGER shoutout to the other mods ( @tangentburd @lizhouette @r2mich2 @l-i-n-u-s-k-a ) and our guest/cover artist @waterwindow (who's work you can see under the cut)!! This zine wouldn't have been possible without them <3

And last but not least, the absolute biggest thank you to Rick May. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him at all and I hope that our silly little zine helps show how much we still care, even two years later. Rest easy, soldier. You absolutely deserve it. ♥️

[thegremlindraws]

Here is my piece for the At Ease, Soldier Zine! This was my first time participating in a zine project and I had so much fun!!!

[redwiddershins]

My piece for the "At Ease, Soldier" zine! Please check out the download link (here), any proceeds will be going to charity!

[rajakuja]

American food is great, eat well!

The contribution I made for @sodafrog13's At Ease, Soldier Zine in honor of late Rick May, the voice of Soldier TF2.

Check out the full zine in digital form here! (seriously go check the zine, so many amazing people were there making it ❤️)

[adummysblog]

Some art I made for the At Ease, Soldier Zine! I'm kinda late but working on the zine with so many freaking amazing people in it was a freakin' blast, and I highly encourage y'all to check out their stuff too!

[hankwritten]

Dayterror )( Nightdream

My contribution for the At Ease, Soldier charity fanzine! Go look at it!! With your eyes!!

Jane rode with the dead body for nearly thirty miles before realizing he should loot it.

Its clothes were much better than Jane’s flimsy dress, barely holding together and still covered in somebody-he-couldn’t-remember’s blood. They were sturdy and, more importantly, capable of fending off the icy drafts that slipped through the seams of the train car. As he swung the jacket over his shoulders an even greater prize dropped out: the dead man’s wallet. There was money and a driver’s license, and between those two Jane wondered why he’d even needed to hitchhike. After searching even further in the pockets, he found his answer: recruitment paperwork—but only partially completed.

“Deserter,” he spat.

The corpse offered no defense.

Jane shook his head.It was all so painfully un-American. To have the opportunity to die heroically for your country, to be brutally blasted to smithereens by the German U-boats and then have your war buddy scream your name at the sky…And to give that all up? It was difficult for Jane to fathom. Furthermore, the man had dodged death at the hands of the Nazis just to beef it from exposure in a rickety train car cruising through the Wisconsin winter. Wasn’t that just the Eagle’s droppings?

He flicked a thumb through the dog-ears of the paperwork. Such a waste…

His eyes stopped on a date. The day the dead man had been instructed to report for basic was tomorrow. Jane suddenly knew which station he wanted to get off at.

-

“MENTALLY UNFIT?” John roared at the recruiter.

He shouldn’t have used his angry roaring, but rather his inspiring and convincing roaring, so they might have let him retry the required tests. Unfortunately, as soon as he’d realized this, two army fatigue-clad bastards (no offense Dad) had grabbed him and dragged him screaming out of the station.

“YOU WILL NOT KEEP ME! I WILL FLY THERE MYSELF IF I HAVE TO! NOTHING WILL STOP ME FROM KILLING AGAIN, SO YOU HAD BETTER GODDAMN LET IT BE YOUR ENEMIES!”

His extremely reasonable request fell on deaf ears. As he tried to find purchase his boots slipped—each man gripping one of his arms a tough sonuvabitch, who wouldn’t let go even in the face of John’s usually pretty decisive strength. The faces of the other recruits in line flashed past John’s vision, those already approved, and he locked eyes ever so briefly with-

He was flung out onto the street. He lay there for a hot minute, staring up at a starless sky, raging against the indignity of it all. What did those maggots in there have that he didn’t?

Dammit. He’d have to try a different approach.

-

“You are a deserter,” Jane puzzled aloud. “Which is bad. But you deserted from the Nazis, who are also bad. Which makes your desertion…good?”

“I’m glad we agree…” the doctor said as he limped along, wincing with every word.

His leg looked bad, dragging a line of red through the white snow. It was easy for Jane to keep pace, watching him move, wondering again what to do. He hadn’t seen another human for a long time, ally or enemy, and the sheer novelty of finding a man half buried in snow - alive, of all things - was enough that he hadn’t shot on sight. He couldn’t exactly walk away now, could he?

The doctor grunted when Jane slipped his arm over his shoulder and helped him march along.

“…Danke,” he said.

“Do not call me a donkey. And I am only helping you so that you can turn yourself in.”

“Fah. Whatever. As long as I live through this.”

“Great! So you will do that. As soon as we find my squad. Which I have misplaced.” Jane looked straight ahead as the doctor glanced at him. “People around me keep dying under mysterious circumstances. Especially the people that annoy me.”

“Ha! I’ve used that one myself. Shall we promise not to annoy each other, then?”

“Sounds good.” They kept trudging. “That thing you said about that guy waking up without a skeleton, that really true?”

“Proudly!”

“So you like to do weird, experimental stuff, yeah?”

A wicked gleam came to the doctor’s eye. “You have something in mind?”

-

“FOOL! You dare enter the lair of MERASMUS!? The last mortal that tried such a thing was forever cursed by READING, and the one before that was consumed by the ever downward spiral of GEOLOGY, and before that- wait where did he go?”

John had gotten bored of the wizard’s ramblings, so he’d wandered further into the castle. Certainly there had to be something in here that could help him with those bomber planes…

“No! Do not touch the Wand of Water-Based Basket Construction!”

John set it down.

“Cease! Unhand my Mug of Endlessly Resupplying Soup!”

Nope.

“You fool! You interloper! What do you think you’re doing? You think that YOU, a mere MORTAL, could wield the Giant Laser of Flying Creature Elimination?”

There we go.

-

“What- what was that?” Ludwig asked.

Cautiously, Jane withdrew his arms from over his head. “I have no idea.”

“All the planes just disintegrated!”

“I was getting pretty annoyed at them,” Jane mused.

Ludwig just stared at him for a strangely long time. “Mein Gott. You weren’t joking.” He grabbed Jane’s forearm. “We are going to be gods.”

“…Neat,” was all Jane could reply.

-

“And that’s why you’ll be a perfect fit,” the little woman in purple—John had already forgotten her name—explained.

“WHAT WAR AM I GOING TO BE FIGHTING IN?” John asked, scratching under his ever-present helmet.

“What? No, no war, we don’t want you to be a soldier. Well we do, but a Soldier Soldier. Capital S. We have a deal?”

“SURE.”

They shook hands. She said, “Welcome aboard Jane. I look forward to-”

“JOHN.”

“What?”

“MY NAME IS JOHN DOE.”

“But I thought…” She frowned, then pulled a photo from her clipboard, holding it up next to his face. After a moment, she replied,“oh. Huh. You guys look exactly alike. Darn. Sorry about that John, that was my mistake.”

As she began to walk away, sliding the photo that did look suspiciously like John back under its clip, his mind kicked into overdrive.

“WAIT. SMALL WOMAN. NOTHING WILL STOP ME FROM KILLING AGAIN, SO IT IS IN YOUR BEST INTERESTS IF IT IS YOUR ENEMIES.”

"Hmmm..." Her eyes gazed down at the board. "Hard to argue with that logic."

She turned back to look at him, and that smile was the most honest one he would ever see on her face in all the years to come.

"Alright, Soldier. Welcome to RED."

[kheimerios]

my piece for the “At Ease, Soldier” zine, a tribute to Rick May. 

Check out everyone’s work here ! The zine is free to view and download. You may also opt to donate, with all proceeds made by April 30 going to charity.

[running-in-art]

Well! Here's my piece for @sodafrog13's "At Ease, Soldier." zine!

If you’d like to download it, you can go to sodafrog13.itch.io and click on “At Ease, Soldier Zine”. It’s free, but if you choose to toss some coin all proceeds go to Child’s Play until April 30th in honor of Rick May!

[alexpdcl]

My spot art for at ease, soldier zine, in commemoration of Rick May, the zine is available for free here:

https://sodafrog13.itch.io/at-ease-soldier-zine

all proceeds will be donated to charity :D

[noko444]

my piece for the at ease, soldier zine 😁!!!!!!!!! very proud of my part dfjhg and greatly appreciate mod team coming together 2 honour rick may like this 😁plz do go check the zine out bc it is . So amazing!!!!!!!!!

[maebees-stuff]

Heres my piece for the At ease, Soldier zine dedicated to rick may. Decided to do a j.c leyendecker study for it hope you like it!

All the mods and contributes made such lovely pieces id highly recommend you check them out!

"You were real good son, real good, maybe even the best"