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#commander kirschtein

corner-stories · 2 months

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I wanna Captain and Commander bath time fic! Pretty please…???

(ao3.) <- fic can also be read here!

There are days where her title feels more like a persona, a façade, a mere costume she dons every morning. Yet the mask cannot slip, as the Scouts will always need the venerable Captain Ackerman.

So her face remains as stoic when she debriefs her squad, discussing the finer points of their role in the next expedition. Even in the moments where Sasha does the speaking, Mikasa sits back and allows her Vice Captain to do so, knowing that getting the information across should be the highest priority.

When the meeting ends the mask still does not slip, the Captain simply salutes Squad Ackerman before moving onto the next beast.

Mikasa meets Armin at the main training grounds of the HQ, where they are to observe some of the newer members of the Legion practicing the time-tested maneuvers of the Scouts.

As of lately the recruitment numbers have stagnated, neither rising nor falling in the last year. Although such a factoid should not be a priority for a person in her position, Mikasa cannot help but dwell on it, especially as she watches the newbies soar across the sky. Even with Jean and Armin's new riding formations, she can't help but wonder how long each soldier will last — which she knows is such a horrible thing to think of regarding a human being who’s helping humanity’s cause, yet the thought always persists.

Even on the days where humanity gains a bit more territory outside of their walls, not every Scout makes it back unscathed. Even when hope can be seen on the horizon, Mikasa is still helping Jean fill out paperwork regarding those who have perished, writing letters to loved ones and promising that they fought honourably, even to the bitter end.

When Mikasa leaves the training grounds she does so with a heavy heart, all while reminding herself to not let her persona falter.

After a dinner where Sasha chats her ear off, Mikasa decides to turn in early for the night. She walks across the torch-lit courtyard and sees the typical sight of the Commander's office window. It's illuminated by candle flame, allowing her to see the outline of Jean at his desk. He is processing paperwork and letters like it's his god given duty, utilizing the fancy dip pen Armin had gifted him a few birthdays ago. It's safe to assume that he's been there all day, which is — unfortunately — quite typical for him.

Mikasa contemplates visiting his office, as the space has always been welcoming to her even after hours. But all day she had been yearning for something she can only find in her private quarters, so with that in mind she keeps moving towards her initial intentions.

She arrives at her room and shuts the door. No time is spared before she sheds her boots, scarf, and jacket. She heads to the bathroom and immediately begins running a hot bath, a perk of her position that she is admittedly very fond of.

As the faucet runs she undoes her ponytail, habitually avoiding her bathroom mirror in fear of what she'll see. The bags under her eyes from the sleepless nights? The melancholic air that the supposedly fearless Captain can never shake away? The burden and weight of humanity’s hope on her shoulders?

There are days where she reminds herself that if she doesn't fight she can't win — but there are also days where she needs to remind herself to just breathe.

Mikasa removes the rest of her uniform and folds it neatly to the side, then climbs into the bath and sinks into the warmth. Some of her joints crack and pop as she settles in the water, the heat of which alleviates her muscles and causes her to let out a sigh.

Today is not remotely as taxing as it could have been, yet the change in sensation soothes the tension she didn't know she had been carrying. She closes her eyes as she leans against the back of the tub, trying her best to focus on the heat she's been enveloped into.

In the next few moments she drifts in and out of sleep, never truly nodding off yet managing to spend seconds where all she can focus on is her breathing. She's not sure how much time passes when she hears the muffled sound of a door opening.

Even if all she can hear is his footsteps in the main bedroom, she can already envision it — Jean entering her space like he's always belonged there, him habitually looking around to find her, then him slowly approaching the bathroom.

She shifts in the tub and the water sloshes around, then in no time Mikasa's beloved Commander opens the door.

He looks a little less well-kept than he had been this morning. Strands of his once-slicked hair have fallen out of place, the top few buttons of his shirt are undone, and absence of his jacket and bolo tie is hard to ignore. At least he smiles once he sees the Captain in the bathtub, though perhaps not for the reasons one would immediately assume.

"Hey."

Mikasa lets out a quiet sigh before sitting up in the tub. Her facial expression remains unchanged and stony, yet she can't deny that she's relieved to see him.

"Hi," she greets back, and the way she speaks is akin to a whisper.

Jean steps into the steamy room and closes the door. To the surprise of no one he notices the gloominess clouding the Captain's disposition, which is not unusual for her but he can’t stop himself from worrying.

"You alright?" he asks, concerned.

Mikasa nods her head, yet has to stop herself from replying with her usual lie of "I'm fine" because Jean never lets her get away with saying it. Sometimes it's frustrating how he'll do so, how he won't accept the phrase she uses to hide whatever she's truly feeling, how he may even prod at her to find out what’s truly wrong. But on the other hand his intentions are always good, preferring to find the root of the problem instead of beating around the bush. He's always been fond of honesty, even more so in regards to a person being honest to themselves.

So instead, Mikasa tells him —

"There's a lot on my mind."

And technically speaking, it’s far from a lie.

Jean raises an eyebrow as he lowers himself to the floor, getting himself into a familiar position. He sits on the spot next to the tub so that his handsome face is in perfect proximity to hers. He leans his arm against the vessel’s edge and the only thing between them is a short copper wall.

"Like what?" Jean asks, managing a smile.

The way he looks at her is so tender. She often wonders how he manages it, as she's sure that she resembles an absolute mess when soaked in her own bathwater.

Her eyes drift to his forearm, the one resting on the edge of the tub. His shirt sleeve is rolled up, revealing just a fraction of the marks he's collected over the years. Absent-mindedly she reaches to him, gently running her wet thumb over a bit of scar tissue, a spot where his skin is slightly uneven, and he lets her.

"Like..." she starts, trying to think of the right thing to say. She takes in a breath and pulls her knees up to her chest. "...how I should probably wash my hair."

Jean lets out a chuckle and reaches for her. His thumb and index finger find a loose wet strand near her ear and very carefully pinches it. For hands that she knows can maim and attack, hands that she’s seen covered in blood and much worse, he's exceedingly gentle with her.

"You've got your priorities straight, Captain."

And for the first time of the day she feels the urge to smile, even if it's small and weighed down by the burden of their lives.

The water is still warm and the bath is heavenly, yet Mikasa can only focus on her Commander and his pretty eyes. She reaches for the hand that's touching her hair, her thumb feeling another scar that's been on his palm for the last few years. She's gentle when she brings it to her lips, carefully kissing the mark as if the wound is fresh.

Jean returns the gesture, delicately pulling her hand close enough to him to kiss the back of it. She can't help but smile as his short beard tickles her skin.

"It's late," her Commander soon says, squeezing her hand with affection and care. He places another kiss onto her knuckles. "I'm gonna head to bed."

He stands up, yet as he gets onto his feet Mikasa doesn't let go of his hand.

Confused, Jean looks down. She avoids his gaze, but she continues to hold him. She's still leaning against the edge of the tub, her free hand grasping it tight.

There is a beat until she asks —

"...think you can stick around?"

Another beat follows, then a slightly mischievous smile comes onto Jean's face. Without hesitation he steps into the bathtub, boots and clothes and all.

It takes Mikasa a few seconds to realize what's going on. Soon the water is rising, where it arrives at the edge and falls to the floor. She can't fight the amusement on her face as she backs up, pulling her knees a bit closer to her chest to give him room.

When she looks at Jean he is still smiling down at her. Soon he is on his knees, ignoring the way the water keeps spilling or soaking into his trousers. He plants both hands on the edges of the tub to brace himself before moving towards her.

Their lips meet and Mikasa's hand goes up, lovingly pressing her palm against her Commander's cheek. She's unashamed, unbound by their status and safe in his atmosphere, deepening their kiss as her forehead brushes against his.

When Jean pulls away from her he straightens up slightly. He’s kneeling in the limited space of the tub, water continuing to seep into his clothes and especially into his shirt, a detail which Mikasa observes very disrespectfully. He works at the buttons of the garment before pulling it off and dropping it to the floor.

And Mikasa watches in anticipation, unabashedly admiring the way droplets dribble down his chest and abdomen. He reaches down to work at his trousers — when it takes a second too long he suddenly realizes that some elements of his gesture had not been thought through. His eyebrows knit in frustration as he also realizes that removing his boots in such a position will prove difficult as well.

"Ah, fuck..."

"Kiss me," Mikasa says, tugging at Jean's hand to bring him back down to her. “Just kiss me.”

Jean obliges, moving towards her despite how ridiculous he must appear when sharing a tub with her. Their foreheads brush again, but this time Jean holds himself there, only for a second. He keeps his eyes open and affixed to hers, hazel meeting dark gray. Soon he smiles again before pressing his lips against hers.

And Mikasa embraces him, letting him get close to her while moving her hands upwards. She deepens their kiss, letting her mouth open just enough to taste him. Her fingernails fervently press into his back, all while even more water spills onto the floor.

#jeankasa #jeanmika #jean kirschtein #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #commander jean kirschtein #captain mikasa ackerman #commander kirschtein #captain ackerman #snk #au

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truerhearts · 11 months

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Love language Headcanons

Eren | Armin | Levi | Erwin | Jean

5 hc’s about what I think their main love language would be! :)

fem!reader (but i can’t remember if I actually specified so …) enjoy!

Eren - physical touch

Eren is always touching you. Whether that be holding hands in public, sliding his hand a bit too far up your thigh whenever you’re out to dinner, or dragging his hands all over your body relentlessly when it was only the two of you. He craves the feeling of you and will always find some way to touch you whenever you’re around.

His arm snaked around your waist as he leaned in to whisper in your ear: “you look fucking amazing tonight.” Envious eyes at the party fell on the sight of you two, seeing you both so enamoured with each other.

You giggle as he pulls you close to him. “Eren, you already told me that.”

“And I’ll keep saying it again and again.” He gave you a loving squeeze, making sure to keep you close all night.

Armin - acts of service

Armin loves doing things for you to make your life easier. You’re hungry? He’s already in the kitchen preparing one of your favourite dishes. Need a ride anywhere? He’s always available to pick you up. He was always there for you, no matter where you were or what you needed, and he was more than happy to do anything for you.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, walking into the kitchen while rubbing your eyes. You were still half asleep wearing one of Armin’s t-shirts, hair all dishevelled from the night before.

“Good morning,” he replied, happy to see you awake. He was standing at stove cooking pancakes for the two of you. You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back.

He smiled to himself at your touch, so grateful to have you in his life.

“Here,” he said, moving towards the counter. He handed you coffee in your favourite mug, just the way you like it. He placed a kiss on your forehead as the warmth of the coffee warmed your hands.

“Thank you so much,” you smiled at him.

“I love you,”

“I love you, too.” You reply as his arms wrap around you, holding you close to him.

Levi - quality time

Levi would get irritable if the two of you didn’t spend enough time together, which admittedly was quite a lot. Levi was surprisingly needy when it came to that. His love language being what it was meant that he was very good at planning things for the two of you to do together. It usually wasn’t anything too flashy or extravagant. He’d mostly take you out on dates to nice restaurants, or walks in the park. Every so often he’d spoil you with a trip for the two of you to take. But one of his go-to’s had always been cooking a nice dinner together. He’d find a recipe online, you two would go together to buy the ingredients, then cook together while sharing a bottle of wine.

Then the two of you would end up on the couch, or on the bed. The lights dimmed, a bit tipsy from the wine. Your head resting on his chest as you listened to his heartbeat. His hands would be in your hair, stroking it or entangled in it. Whichever it was at the time made you feel so good. The tv would be on but you both wouldn’t be paying attention. You’d just lie there in each others arms enjoying each others company.

Erwin - words of affirmation

Erwin is secure in himself, but he’d be lying if he didn’t appreciate you telling him how much you loved him from time to time. Simple things like:

“I appreciate you so much.” And “I couldn’t do it without you.” And then you’d see him grin widely as the words fell from your lips.

And while he liked hearing it from you, he also liked telling it to you as well.

Good morning texts, little notes from time to time, and showering you with compliments when you needed it most. Knowing that he loved you was something that you were reminded of quite often.

On particularly bad days, when you weren’t feeling your best, he’d hold you close to him and comfort you with the kindest of words. All of which were true.

You’d grip tightly onto his shirt as he held you and spoke gently to you.

“I want you to remember that I will always love you no matter what… I know things get hard sometimes but we both have each other and I will always be at your side for you whenever you need me.”

You’d look up at him, smiling through the few tears that managed to escape.

“You’re so precious to me.” He’d continue. “And I don’t know what I would ever do without you.”

Jean - gift giving

Jean loved surprising you with little presents. The look on your face whenever he’d gift you anything, big or small, was something he couldn’t get enough of. He paid a lot of attention to the things you’d speak about. Many of the things you’d mention in passing were noted and gifted at some point, most of the time you’d forget that you had mentioned it to him. But he’d always remember.

You were always so grateful whenever he gave you something and seeing you so happy and excited would warm his heart.

“I bought groceries, and I bought you some snacks that you like.” He’d say as he placed the grocery bags on the table.

Or, your personal favourite was: “I saw this and I thought of you.” Cute little stuffed toys, your favourite foods, clothes, and even jewelry (and he’d NEVER cheap out!)

For Jean, spoiling you was something innate, and he always made sure you had the best because that’s what you deserved.

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bita-bita · 1 year

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AoT men respond to "Where's your favorite spot to kiss me?"

Inspired by this post.

I started these with saying "love, I have a question" so they know we're already on a kissing level so they wouldn't get unnecessarily angry and stuff.

Eren:

Armin:

Jean:

Omg stop Jeannnnnn. This one got me blushing

Connie:

Reiner:

Bertholdt:

Porco:

Levi:

Erwin:

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thiccc110q · 6 months

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Who lives, who dies, who tells your story(Erwin Smith x reader)

Summary: I got inspired by the musical ‘Hamilton’! Especially “The World Was Wide Enough” and “Who lives, Who dies, who tells your story”. Great musical and many connections with the show. Hopefully y’all like this. SPOILERS S3 and S4.

The expedition to take back wall Maria.

But it also a dangerous expedition…

Knowing many will have to sacrifice their lives…

Especially your loved ones…

(844)

Two days before the expedition.

Erwin looks up from the paper work from his desk as he heard three knocks. “come in,”

You entered the room, wearing your night gown and robe. He looked up, his eyes soften.

“Erwin, my dear, its late… come back to sleep.” You tiredly rubbed your eyes, trying to focus what your husband was doing.

He sighs and turned his attention away from you. “Darling… you know I can’t. I need to finish before the… expedition” He rubbed his forehead tiredly.

You sighed and started walking behind him. You rubbed his shoulders, you can feel how tensed he is but also relaxed. “Erwin, please… I don’t want to keep seeing you overwork. It’s a bad habit of yours.. you know?” You kept massaging his shoulders.

He smiled a bit, knowing that your correct. He’s so blessed to have partner that respects his work and who also cared about him. He gabbed your left hand and gently starting rubbing it. Then he stood up from his chair and tuned to look at you. Your arms fall beside your hips.

His big figure looming over you, but yet, you felt protected by him.

Erwin suddenly pulls you in for a kiss. You were surprise with the sudden move, but quickly relaxed, melting into the kiss. It lasted for a good while until he pulled away. He pushes a strand of a hair behind your ear, you looked up and saw he was tearing up.

You quickly got worried, “Erwin, are you ok?” Your eyebrows furrowed.

He quickly blinks as tear fell. And smiled at the same time, “Yeah, I’m more than ok…. I’m just grateful that I’m fulfilling my dreams with you…”

You starting tearing up as well, you wiped your tears as they were coming down. Looked down with a sad smile, knowing that this might last night for the both of you. You took hand only hand and placed it to your right cheek. He carefully cherished.

“Please come back to sleep with me…” You desperately asked.

He sighs in defeat, then smiles. “How can I say no to you my love. Let me just… finish this letter really quick, give me like five minutes”.

“Fine, only five minutes. And if you’re not in bed with me, I’ll drag you by the ear” You jokingly said.

he chuckles softly, “I promise ill be there”, he watches you walk towards to door and opened it.

“You better”

You finally closed it.

Within those five minutes, Erwin wrote his last letter to his partner…

When Erwin finally comes back to your room, he saw you fully knocked out. He can hear you softly snoring. He smiles and changes into his pjs.

He gets in the bed pulls the cover the both of you and pulls you close from behind.

He sleeps in peace for once.

-The expedition-

Erwin explains to Levi what the plans were. Before that, both of you got into an argument. He forcibly put you to fight with Jean, Connie, Sasha, Mikasa, Armin, and Eren.

He just wanted to keep you safe.

He looks at the beat titan and back to Levi. He sighs, “Levi… please make one more promise for me”

“… What is it?” Levi glared at him.

“….. please give this letter to y/n, and please protect her.” He looks at Levi.

Levis eyes widened a bit. He grabs the letter and puts it in his pocket. “…. I promise…”

In the next few minutes, it was the last moments for Erwin, he knew it was time.

“BECAUSE MY SOLDIERS DO NOT BUCKLE OR YIELD WHEN FACED WITH THE CRUELITY OF THIS WORLD”

“MY SOLDIERS PUSH FORWARD”

“MY SOLDIERS SCREAM OUT”

“MY SOLDIERS RAGEEEE!!!!”

‘Teach me how to say goodbye

Rise up

Y/n…

My love

Take your time

I’ll see you on the other side”

You felt cold breeze behind your back, your turned worried. ‘Please Erwin… stay alive’

-Moments later-

When seeing Armin burned, it was truly a horrifying thing to see. You felt bad for Eren and Mikasa. The only thing you can do is look down and pay your respects. Suddenly Levi comes in, you look up to see. You looked into his eyes, trying to figure out if Erwin is alive or not. He ignored you…

You guys were diseccione about the titan serum and Armin. It was pretty clear that-

You hear someone grunting in pain, you look into your left and your eyes widened. You see flock but carrying…

“Captain…. Levi… I finally found you. Commander Erwin is badly wounded. His stomach is gouged… and his organs are demolished…”

Your ear started to ring

It can’t be…

It can’t….

You fell onto to your knees.

it felt like time froze.

You were shaken when Hanje grabbed your shoulders and told you to come with them.

Armin s emerges from his titans form.

You sat there…

In pain

“He’s already dead…”

You turned to look at them and started walking towards Erwins corpse.

You sat beside Erwin. Both Levi and Hanje looked at each other, knowing to give both of you space.

When they both left, you finally broke it. Tears started to fall. Your body shook. And then the cries.

Hange and Levi cringed at your cries. Both of them knew you were hurt.

“WHY ERWIN!!! WE MADE PROMISED!!!! WHYY??!!”

A days later

You were sitting at Erwins office, packing his stuff was hard as you kept crying, remembering the memories with him. You looked up and Levi opening the door.

His eyes softly landed on you

He walks towards you and hands you the letter.

He leaves with out saying a word to you and you quickly open it…

“My Dearest [Reader],

As the quill dances across this parchment, I find myself immersed in the bittersweet task of bidding you farewell. The time has come for me to face the uncertainties that lie ahead, but before I embark on this journey, I must pour my heart out to you.

From the moment our paths intertwined, a radiant light entered my life, and that light was you. Your unwavering support and the joy you brought into my world became the anchor in the stormy seas of our reality. Amidst the chaos of Titans and the thunderous echoes of battle, your presence has been my sanctuary.

Do you remember the stolen moments we shared, away from the battlefield's relentless demands? The quiet evenings filled with laughter, the tender moments of solace – those are the memories I carry with me. Your laughter, a melodic refrain that lingers in my soul, has been the sweetest serenade amidst the harsh symphony of war.

In facing the Titans together, your courage surpassed that of the mightiest soldiers. In those stolen glances between clashes and chaos, I found solace in the profound connection we shared. It's a connection that transcends the battleground, a bond forged in the crucible of adversity.

You are the guardian of our shared history, the author who will immortalize the love and sacrifices that defined our time together.

Facing the unknown, I ask for your strength to endure and your heart to remember. Our journey, though marked by the brutality of war, was illuminated by the moments we created together. As I step into the uncharted, know that your love has been my greatest solace and inspiration.

With a love that defies time and space,

Erwin Smith

4 years later-

After Erwins passing, it took a toll on you.

You’ve became distance, cold, and angered. By time, you started a new reason why to live. To keep pushing.

The another conflict came up

To kill Eren…

Both of you and Levi were injured when Zeke pulled the thunder spear.

It was a bit challenged to move and kill the past titans.

As it came by the end, you saw Levi sitting agaisnt a rock, saluting…

“Levi?”

Levi kept his stare in front of him as a tear fell down.

You turned to see all of your fallen friends…

And Erwin….

Your eyebrows furrowed as you started tearing up. Erwin moves his gaze to you and softly smiles.

“Oh Erwin…” Tears started falling down, as you saluted back.

Another 3 years later

After the rumbling, you moved to Marley to pursue what you always wanted to do…

It was tell the story of everyone’s…

And to even tell his story…

“The Scouts returned, weary but victorious, their mission a testament to the courage and leadership exemplified by Commander Erwin Smith. The echoes of that expedition lingered in the hearts of the Scouts, a chapter in the ongoing saga of humanity's struggle for freedom.”

You finished telling the story, your audience were amazed. It was obviously children who were listening. They then proceeded to ask many questions of Erwin. But one stood out,

“If Erwin were to still be alive, what do you think he could’ve done”One kid asked

It caught you by surprise. “He could’ve a lot of things actually… I’m not sure of what, but I just know he would’ve done so much more” You answered thoughtfully.

“Ok kids! Thats it for today! Now time to go get lunch” You smiled at them.

You hear Levi approaching with his wheelchair.

“I’m surprised you actually did it…”

“Did what? Opened up an orphanage?’ You looked down at him.

“No, telling his story” He looks at you.

You smiled, “I had to stop wasting time on tears and actually get things done. The things he would’ve want to be accomplished”.

Levi took his gaze away from to pay attention to the nice view of the sky.

“I agree on what you said, all of those fallen soldiers, they could’ve done so much… same goes for Erwin.” Levi spoked

“What if my story doesn’t get told Levi. And when time is up, have I done enough? Well they tell my story?” You asked

He sighs and tuned to look up at you. “Dont worry, you have plenty of years to accomplish things and to tell YOUR story. Both of yours guys story”.

You smiled and looked up.

‘Oh i can’t wait to see you again, it’s only matter of time’

40 years later

“Don’t mama, we’ll keeping telling your story” Your daugther reassures you.

You smiled and took you final breath.

You open your eyes, its your younger self.

In front in a nice beautiful scenery of a nice spring day. The birds chirping, the flowers blooming, the wind blowing. You take a deep breath in and let it all out.

You had your eyes closed for a good 6 secs until-

“Hey”

You fluttered your eyes open to see Erwin besides you.

You turned your head to look at him.

He still looks the same

“Hey handsome” You replied

He finally turned his gaze to you. He smiles.

“I’m glad you took your time my dear” He walked towards you and put his forehead against yours.

“I had to, it was the only way to tell stories. Especially OUR story”. You smiled

“im glad you’re here. My love” Erwin whispers the last part and kisses you.

‘who lives, who dies, who tells your story’

I DID NOT PROOF READ THIS. but let me know how y’all like it. And any tips and advice would be great

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underthetree845 · 1 year

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Attack on Titan Characters’ Halloween Costumes (Headcannons)

What I think each of the Attack on Titan characters would dress up as for Halloween.

(Yes I know it’s June but I just had to get this out of my system)

Cws: modern au, college au, Halloween, I don't know what to put here really

Includes: Eren Jeager, Armin Arlert, Mikasa Ackerman, Jean Kirschtein, Sasha Braus, Niccolo, Connie Springer, Historia Reiss, Ymir, Marco Bott

Summary: What would some of the Attack on Titan characters wear if they all attended a Halloween party together in a modern au?

Eren- Solider

I’m seeing camouflage pants, a black compression shirt, combat boots, and maybe even those metal tags that soldiers wear around their neck. Mikasa is absolutely in love with the look, and jots it down in hopes of accidentally matching with him next year. Eren idolized the whole solider thing as a kid.

Armin- Milo Thatch from the animated Atlantis movie

If you don’t know who he is, Milo Thatch is a young explorer on a team that discovers The Lost City of Atlantis. He wears a long muted green trench coat, baggy army-colored explorer pants, a beige sweater, round glasses, white knee breeches, low-heeled dress shoes, and he carries around a brown cross body satchel with an old book. I feel like impersonating Milo would be so in-character for Armin, he could pull it off well. And he would look adorable.

Mikasa- This is partially influenced by Isayama’s modern au, but I’m just seeing her completely decked out in goth attire.

She would wear rose-patterned lace black leggings and matching gloves, high black boots, a black leather skirt and sleeveless top set, V neck with an abundance of chokers. Rings, probably. We all know her makeup game would be absolutely bomb (and perfect for the dim lighting of the party). If anything, her outfit is comparable to a Misa Amane (from Death Note) cosplay.

Jean- A Prince

He wants to have people falling over him so bad, and what better way than to show up as a literal prince for the Halloween party? Goes all out with a navy suit and gold buttons, matching pants, sleek dress shoes, does his hair nice, even carries a pocket watch on a gold chain tucked into his pocket. His mom probably helped him with the outfit. Eren absolutely dies when Jean tries to hit on a girl dressed as a princess at the party and she asks if he’s dressed up as George Washington (the first U.S. President).

Sasha/Niccolo- they go for a Ratatouille Remi and Linguini couple costume (Sasha wanted to and Niccolo loved her too much to say no).

You'd think that Niccolo, the actual cook, would the the chef, but no. Sasha wanted to be the chef because then she’d “get to taste test all the food.” Sasha goes out and buys Niccolo a fake rat nose and ears. He wears white loafers, grey sweatpants, a grey long-sleeved shirt, and Sasha paints three little black whiskers on each cheek. Niccolo lets Sasha borrow a chef’s uniform and hat from his restaurant and has to take a few deep breaths because the uniform matches the one he wears while he works and he loves that. Lots of selfies.

Connie- Wearing a goblin mask of some sort

This man has two primary goals on Halloween. One: to consume as much candy as humanly possible. Two: to scare the absolute living crap out of as many people as possible. Connie grew up with a few siblings, so his parents probably couldn’t spend a lot of money on each of their Halloween costumes growing up. They were probably given twenty bucks, take to spirit Halloween, and told to have at it. He’s also a relatively simple, straightforward person in general, so I feel like he drops by the convenience store like the day before Halloween and picks out the best goblin mask he can find. Wears dark jeans and a black hoodie so he can wait in the bushes outside the party to catch people by surprise. Armin’s soul almost leaves his body when he falls victim to one of Connie's jump scares.

Historia- An angel

I know this isn’t the most creative costume for her, but there was really no other option. Plus Ymir insisted and takes a million pictures once Historia is all done getting ready. She wears fluffy Angel wings, a well-crafted gold headpiece from Etsy to be the halo, and a sleeveless, pure white, almost floor-length dress with gold rings on the shoulders. Her makeup is soft and she seems to glow, even in the darkened lighting. She looks like she was sent from heaven. (Reiner stares so hard and Ymir keeps shoving him away).

Ymir- A basketball uniform

Now keep in mind, Ymir doesn’t actually play basketball (although I do feel like she’d be involved in a sports team of some kind). Her top is sleeveless and has a big 00 on the front and back. Ymir probably got it at the Walmart or some convenience store like Connie. Not the type to put too much effort into a Halloween costume unless she gets to do really gory makeup and scare people (which Historia does not allow her to).

Marco- A Hogwarts student

He and Armin are such nerds I love it. It’s probably a Hufflepuff robe, he wears the tie and everything. He carries around a wand he got off of some authentic seller. It’s real wood, he and Armin fanboy at the attention to detail since both of them have read the books.

The professors aren’t supposed to attend student-organized parties or gatherings, but everyone is fairly certain they saw a displeased-looking Levi chasing Hange wearing an inflatable dinosaur costume in the distance.

Thank you for reading!

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houseoftulips · 1 year

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●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

Headcannons:

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

Eren Yeager:

─➭ my barber husband

─➭ san paradis port

Levi Ackermen:

─➭ wedding plans

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

#attack on titan fluff #attack on titan angst #aot fluff #jean kirschtein headcanons #eren headcanons #attack on titan eren #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman #conny springer #commander erwin

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fromriches-tosin · 1 year

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Okay, buckle up, we're gonna talk Jean and Floch (and Eren) ((and Reijean again because getting emotional about them is like my second job now – seriously, I’m putting as much Reijean into this as possible, it’s not a joke)).

But mostly Jean and Floch, yeah.

As I’ve said before, Jean Kirschtein is a masterpiece of a character and I’ll most probably never shut up about him, the way he is written, developed and, just in general, Jean is the man, okay? As one of Isayama’s favorites, he is allowed to evolve in many delicious ways. He is also allowed to have some nice, eye-opening moments.

One of them is connected to Floch. Because Floch is very similar to Jean and yet exists to be his polar opposite in the areas that matter the most. He is, in a way, an extreme and radicalized version of Jean, if you will. And I think Jean knows that. Not only knows, but perhaps even wonders, whether Floch is what Jean himself could have become (to some extent) if Marco hadn’t died, if he had gone along with his initial plan and joined the MPs, and if he had been a tad more obsessive.

At the beginning of the story Jean does his best to come off as a self-obsessed coward and a jerk who never intends to step a foot outside of the Walls or use his honed skills to help humanity. He is lazy and focused on one goal only – staying safe in the Interior. However, the moment the Titans appear in Trost, is the moment we learn Jean is in fact not a simple coward – and far from it. Dropping the façade, he reveals himself to be one of the most dependable people around and, just like Marco prophesized, a natural born leader at heart. His friend’s death is of course the final straw, leading to his eventual involvement with the Scout Regiment instead of the Military Police. And it’s not just a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing for him. He’s not inspired by some higher force (or Eren). He makes a conscious decision to sacrifice whatever comfortable, easy life he could have, to stay true to himself and to do what he believes to be right. Sure, guilt and self-loathing are involved, but once Jean makes up his mind, everything is settled. He won’t back down from the challenge.

Needless to say, Jean’s not as OP as Levi or a genius strategist like Armin – even though he’s a Shadis-approved master of the ODM gear and smart in his own right. He’s definitely not as driven and intense as Eren. He's pragmatic and doesn’t intend to just throw his life away. Basically, compared to the main characters, he is just some guy who knows what fear and despair taste like, who allows himself to consider choosing the easy way out, acknowledges it and then – pushes forward to do what needs to be done. That’s why he is a good leader – he’s not a superhero, but a fellow human being who’s scared and yet fights on. And don’t get me wrong, he can still be a dramatic asshole, eager to antagonize others (Eren) and definitely not someone flawless. But that’s what makes him so relatable.

Jean facing his own humanity is probably one of the most reoccurring motifs in the series. He is aware of his shortcomings. He knows when to rely on others rather than let his ambition rule him and endanger those he’s supposed to lead (like when he takes command of the operation in Shiganshina at Armin’s request, but counts on him to come up with the final plan). He is also very well aware of the sacrifices that need to be made in their line of work. That’s why he’s able to face the harsh truth and take a step forward. But he’s far from okay.

One of my favorite moments to illustrate that is during the battle with the Armored Titan in Shiganshina, when the gang thinks they actually managed to kill Reiner. Jean is trying to be in charge and keep everyone in line while, well, crying himself. We’re the ones who killed him.

Enter Floch.

A self-proclaimed and pretty much self-obsessed coward who doesn’t want to fight the Titans, but does face them when the time comes. At the beginning he’s pretty carefree and very ignorant about what fighting the Titans actually entails. Whether we can consider him brave for his engagement in the Battle of Shiganshina, or whether we should see him as simply pressured into following the herd into the arms of death is up for discussion, but the fact is he does listen to Erwin and fulfill his duty when ordered to.

His strong and very twisted sense of devotion starts to shine through the moment he has a near-death experience and when Erwin’s life is on the line as well. He mostly loses his mind right there and then. As a result, where Jean’s devoted and still open to discussion, Floch’s obsessed (also traumatized beyond belief, I’ll give him that, but Jean sure isn’t any less traumatized at that stage). He doesn’t want to listen to anyone’s arguments. He’s fixated on one goal and he’s not letting go – therefore, inspiring another devil to raise (more on that later).

Just like Jean, he’s very blunt – not afraid to tell Armin he should have been the one to die in Erwin’s place or tell Hitch that Marlo regretted going to the battlefield right before his death. Whereas Jean’s bluntness can be seen (not always, but usually) as coming from a good place, Floch is a herald of very brutal and controversial truth – of what he obsessively believes to be the truth – that won’t change anything, but will hurt those around him. Jean, especially post-Trost, is not one to hurt others just for the sake of hurting them. Floch doesn’t really have that kind of filter.

Floch eventually becomes a leader too, as he starts gathering the Yeagerists, but at the same time remains a blind follower of whatever he believes in. His behavior is more akin to that of a cult leader — in stark contrast to Jean’s leadership and his constant questioning of whether what he does is right.

Then there is some very obvious physical resemblance, especially in the anime.

So, a similar story, similar character traits, similar looks even, but a completely different outcome?

Why?

Because of compassion. And because Isayama likes Jean a lot, so he gives him juicy (and very meaningful) storylines even if at first they seem to be of secondary importance.

Whereas Floch appears to lack compassion in general, Jean has it in abundance. We see it well when he interacts with Gabi or when he tries to find justification for Eren’s terrifying behavior, but both these moments are pretty fresh in our memory, so let’s go back in time and use another Reiner/Jean moment as an example (because I’m a f*cking sap, alright).

After the battle with Reiner in Shiganshina, and while being treated for the injuries Reiner himself has dealt to him, Jean overhears him talk about Ymir’s letter to Krista.

Well, I never interpreted Jean’s desperate suggestion to steal Reiner’s Titan power just as his sudden need to propel Hange’s research or to gain them an upper hand over their enemies. Sure, this is the argument he uses to persuade Hange of all people, because it’s Hange who has just lost their entire squad (beloved Moblit included) to the Colossal Titan. It’s obvious that at this specific moment Hange will not respond well to Jean’s begging for Reiner’s life. But they do respond to a logical argument that corresponds with their mission.

If you disagree with that interpretation, think about it this way: one of the most important things about Jean’s character is that he’s very good at reading the situation and understanding other people’s struggles. That’s exactly what Marco saw in him from the very beginning.

(because you care, baby, because you care just oh-so much)

Jean can no longer keep up the façade – he could devise the attack plan and attempt to kill Reiner in cold blood when there was no other choice. But, once Reiner is left broken on the ground, still loyal enough to protect Ymir’s letter, and even has balls to ask them to deliver it to Krista… Well, that’s what breaks Jean’s resolve. Because Reiner is no longer just an enemy. He is, once again, an old comrade and a friend.

So, Jean tries to delay the inevitable. Does he hope Reiner will start talking? Does he think it might be possible to take away one’s full Titan power without taking away their life? Or maybe he’s simply not ready to see Reiner beheaded again? Anyway, he cares more than he thought he would.

(Well, me and Jean have that in common, apparently – we’re both f*cking saps for Reiner)

Enter Eren.

(please forgive me for using that pretty much unrelated panel, it’s just… so evil and cool)

Okay, Jean and Eren’s dynamic is one of my favorites in the series. Jean has zero tolerance to Eren’s idealistic bullshit and keeps calling him out on it both fairly and unfairly throughout the story. He is not phased in the least when he meets the freshly shifted Eren after the Battle of Trost. He doesn’t pull any punches as he explains what exactly is expected of him. In a way, he helps Eren see the situation through the eyes of a mere mortal.

Eren seems relieved when Jean doesn’t treat him any differently and still intends to be a real pain in the ass. He’s not like Armin who’ll offer him wise words and gentle encouragement. Not like Mikasa, who will protect him with brute force. Jean is, again, just some guy who doesn’t like beating around the bush and treating Eren like something fragile. Sure, he’ll risk his life for him and, sure, he can be protective of him in other ways (even going as far as to try to stop Connie from telling the others about Eren’s reaction to the news of Sasha’s death). But first and foremost, Eren can count on his honesty – Jean helps him stay grounded.

Eren, unfortunately, witnesses Floch’s devil rant in Shiganshina from up close. That’s why he turns to him for help later on. He knows Floch will get behind his radical reasoning and even the most brutal of ideas. Floch wants the devil to be reborn, after all. And that’s exactly what he gets.

But hey, before Eren and Floch join forces, they are pretty much at odds, aren’t they? They even get into a fight, and who has to break it up then? Ah, yes, Jean. The one who tries to beat the shit out of Eren more times than we can count (and vice versa), and who has to be forcefully separated from him even by Levi himself.

It is pretty symbolic, Jean suddenly not being the one in a fight with Eren, but instead the one trying to break it up. A telling shift in the narrative.

And isn’t it ironic that once Eren consciously descends into madness, he chooses Floch as his trusted ally? Floch, who resembles Jean in many ways, but who will also follow him blindly into hell itself? Eren knows Jean won’t agree with his plan. And he surely cannot have Mikasa or Armin at his side. So, perhaps, he finds comfort in turning to the person who reminds him of one of his old friends. His bastardized version, for sure. But still, somewhat familiar.

Maybe it’s just my interpretation, but the way Isayama draws Jean, and the way Jean looks at Floch in many of the panels make it look like he recognizes how similar they are. There’s terror in his eyes, but there is also some kind of familiarity. Because if there is an ocean between them, they are standing on two opposite, yet very similar shores.

Once the inevitable happens, Floch’s absolutely certain he’s dying for the right cause, doing the right thing. And it’s scary. I mean, you can dislike (or like) the guy all you want, I sure can appreciate a good villain (but wouldn't want to meet him in real life).

Jean fantasizes briefly about letting Eren do his thing. Because that would be the easiest way out. The least painful. Because he’s tired and hurting. When Floch offers him the option to just stop fighting, Jean wants to accept it. But he can't. Because in contrast to Floch, Jean listens to others (Hange, Marco), is aware of the consequences of his actions and, in a conversation with Reiner, is able to acknowledge his not so heroic role in the war. They are the same, after all — killers who took lives of innocent people to protect those close to them. To do the so called “right thing”. Thus, Jean has no right to judge Reiner, but rather an obligation to honor those who died, trying to win back their freedom. And he has to honor them by not allowing the world to be destroyed.

Floch isn't graced with a moment of self-reflection and dies a fanatic, an extreme example of what a man can achieve when he gives in to his darkest desires. Jean is on the other side of the spectrum, remaining the symbol of flawed, yet prevailing humanity — of what it means to have a heart. After all, what for Jean started with Marco's death, ended with him forgiving and saving Reiner.

#jean kirstein #jean kirschtein #floch forster #reiner braun #reijean #attack on titan spoilers #shingeki no kyojin spoilers #eren yaeger #eren jaeger #Reiner x Jean #veecanons

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agusrkive · 5 months

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under the New Year’s Eve mistletoe

Coldest Winter (Levi Ackerman)

summary: a soldier’s heart and a man’s will is tested when war breaks out leaving him stranded and finds himself far away from the life he only once dreamed of the moment he met you.

There is no glory in battle worth the blood it costs, for war does not determine who is right— only who is left.

ELD. 848 PL.

December 24, 1942

under command/ FADM Erwin Smith

Sgt. Annie Leonhart wounded

Sgt. Pieck Finger wounded

Sgt. Marco Bott wounded

T/Sgt. Connie Springer wounded

1st Sgt. Armin Arlert wounded

1st Sgt. Jean Kirschtein wounded

1st Sgt. Bertolt Hoover wounded

M/Sgt. Miche Zacharius wounded

T/Sgt. Colt Grice killed in action

1st Sgt. Porco Galliard killed in action

1st Sgt. Marcel Galliard killed in action

1st Sgt. Reiner Braun missing in action

1st Sgt. Logan Magath missing in action

M/Sgt. Zeke Jaëger missing in action

M/Sgt. Levi Ackerman missing in action

December 31, 1942

to my dearest,

I wrote this letter to you on the 14th of July, Year 1942. It is with a heavy heart I bring this news to you. Today, the platoon had decided to send our unit to the north of Kolberg, Germany for the next operation. It seems like the war won’t be stopping anytime soon and by the time you have received this, it will be around late December. I miss you and not a single day goes by that my thoughts weren’t plagued by you.

I missed you and think of you even at times I shouldn’t. I have you in mind all the time and I haven’t forgotten about the promise I made to you.

I might not be able to come home soon, but I will come home to you and run with my feet if I have to. Right now, it must be the eve of the 31st of December when you’re reading this.

Please, don’t worry about me and I’ll do the same. There’s a lot of things for me to say that the tip of my pen won’t be able to suffice and before I forget to tell you, there’s an odd spot at your place where I seem to have grown fond of, especially with my last visit a year ago. At the backdoor where the scenery of nature can be witnessed, there’s something that I would like to do. I won’t go into details, but I hope when the next winter comes, I’ll be there by your side. Then we’ll settle the rest of things under the mistletoe.

The world is cruel and full of danger, but it’s merciful enough to have led me to you.

- L.A

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corner-stories · 3 months

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oblivion is all you crave

Captain Mikasa Ackerman. Commander Jean Kirschtein. Offices. Couches. Late Nights. Eventual Smut. 3473 words. (ao3.) <- full tags in the link

In between expeditions, the Scouts make use of what time they have. They often spend the daylight hours maintaining equipment, tending to horses, or training, but come the night they are left to their own devices. Their options are often scant, but soldiers can be found exploring the nearby village for a taste of normalcy or resting in the barracks, enjoying any sense of comfort while they still can.

But certain Scouts are not given the same luxury, some are given tasks that keep them up into the final throes of the night. It’s a burden of their status, a duty delegated to those who’ve made it this far and a responsibility that must be embraced.

So when the sun sets Captain Ackerman walks across the courtyard and looks up, noticing a light in the Commander’s office. From where she is she can recognize Jean and Armin’s silhouettes as they stand over his desk. Armin appears to be rambling while Jean stands tall, keenly listening to his Section Commander’s every word. Mikasa can already envision what map of the outside world they’re toiling over, what new riding formations they’re concocting as they plan the next expedition.

The two have been doing this for the last few years, putting in the tedious grunt work if it means that humanity will take another step forward — powered by nothing but sheer tenacity and the numerous cups of tea. She’s always admired their diligence, even when their ambitions cause them to hole up in Jean’s office for an entire day.

Mikasa heads to the mess hall, where she takes her dinner in a room reserved for the Veteran Scouts. The only person joining her tonight ends up being Sasha. Mikasa is never bothered by the presence of her Squad Vice Captain, even on the nights where she doesn’t say much and her old friend seems determined to chat her ear off. The topics of their conversations are rarely serious — ranging from harmless gossip to the quality of their bread. Apparently, an invention by the name of ‘brioche’ is sweeping the nation and the Scouts are fortunate enough to enjoy a roll at every meal.

Once the dinner is over Mikasa makes the short walk from the mess to the east wing of the HQ, where the private quarters of the Veterans are. She ascends a familiar flight of stairs, then on instinct decides to enter a hallway several floors underneath her own, an area that she only ever traverses during the day. She has a hunch, and when she comes across the closed entrance of the Commander’s office said hunch is proved right.

The light in the gap between the door and the floor tells her enough. She wastes no time and enters the room without even knocking.

Jean’s office is quiet at this time of night, a fairly cozy room lit by the warm glow of lanterns and candles. The furniture inside is certainly nothing to write home about — a couch, a few chairs, some bookshelves, a table, and of course, the place where most of the work gets done.

The Commander himself sits at his desk, his elbow propped on the surface with his hand on his cheek. He looks thoroughly unamused with his current task, a perfect meeting point between exhausted and bored.

“Good evening, Commander,” Mikasa greets. She retains a sense of poise as she walks into the room, the distinct equanimity expected of her position.

Jean straightens his back in an attempt to look productive. “As to you, Captain.”

He goes back to dipping his pen into an inkwell, raking his fingers through his hair as writes on a piece of paper. Mikasa walks over quietly, the leather of her boots quietly tapping the wooden floor. When she arrives at his desk she stands over her Commander, her eyes immediately going to the unruly state of his hair, then to what he’s currently drafting.

“What are you working on?”

“I’m finally replying to Brzenska’s letter,” Jean answers. His handwriting has always been on the neater side, gentle strokes creating clean, smooth lines on the stationary. In moments he finishes his current paragraph and inks his signature at the bottom. He takes the letter off the desk and holds it up to her.

“Be honest, how does this make me sound? I was going for ‘worldly.’”

Mikasa takes the paper gently, reading the neatly printed paragraph as she steps towards Jean. A Captain’s elegance slips away from her once she sits on her Commander’s lap, a position they’ve been in countless times before. She goes over his writing as Jean relaxes against her touch. She feels one of his hands touching her thigh while his arm snakes around her waist, holding her close to him. The chair underneath them both is wooden and sturdy, though it creaks slightly under their combined weight.

Paperwork tends to be the most boring part of being a Veteran Scout, but at least Jean’s letter is succinct and honest. It is a simple reply to the Garrison’s Commander regarding their next meeting with Zackly. Jean’s always been straightforward and it shows in his prose, though Mikasa’s unsure if “worldly” is the best way to describe such an uncomplicated message.

“It’s just a letter, Jean,” Mikasa tells him. She puts the paper down, then moves an arm around his shoulder to better steady herself. “I’m sure Brzenska will be happy that you replied.”

Jean lets out an anxious huff. “But what if she’s not?”

Mikasa gives him a quizzical look. It seems that the last few years of commanding the Scouts has done nothing to quell the jitters he feels in the presence of Commander Brzenska. He’s faced numerous Titans, hordes of abnormals, and much worse, yet it’s the sight of Rico’s icy stare that sends shivers down his spine.

“What is it about her, Jean?” Mikasa asks. “She’s an entire head shorter than you.”

“It’s her eyes,” he explains, his agitation persisting. For a moment he appears to be reminiscing, the image of Rico’s inhumanely pale baby blues never leaving his head. “They’re just… eerie.”

Mikasa hums, amused — even after all these years Jean still finds ways to surprise her.

Her hand moves up to find his hair, her gentle fingers grazing at his nape. In the morning she had witnessed him using a jar of pomade to craft the perfect side part, meticulously greasing and combing each strand until it remained in place — because apparently Sasha needs more reason to keep calling him “Commander Peacock.”

But now his hair is a tousled mess, the hours of paperwork having taken its toll. Though Mikasa would be lying if she said that she didn’t enjoy him looking scruffy and unkempt.

Minutes ago they were Captain and Commander — two Veteran Scouts tasked with humanity’s expeditions outside of the walls. But now the mask is allowed to fade, leaving Mikasa and Jean in the wake, letting them exist as mere lovers enjoying the other’s atmosphere.

As Mikasa plays with his hair Jean leans into her touch, letting out a soft sigh as her hand continues to roam over his scalp. He closes his eyes and allows himself to delight in the sensation.

Soon Mikasa reaches over with her free hand and touches his chin with the tip of her finger, moving his face upwards as she closes the space between him and her.

There’s always a sense of tenderness when he kisses her — a softness, a sweetness, a reminder that not every part of their world is cruel.

“You weren’t at dinner,” Mikasa whispers, now using both her hands to cup his face as her lips trail over his cheeks.

“I know.” Jean’s arms are around her waist now, anchoring her as the pressure between them builds. “I’m sorry.”

Mikasa smiles against his skin, slowly moving her mouth towards his neck. “Don’t worry about it.”

They shift slightly in what little space the chair gives them, her jacket coming off then followed by his. Mikasa’s hands find the buttons of his shirt and begin tugging, an action that makes Jean smirk.

“Eager are we, Captain?”

Mikasa hums and shuts him up with a kiss. She lets herself savor him, everything from the oily scent of his pomade to the taste of his lips.

It’s far from the most indecent thing they’ve ever done in his office, but the action feels hindered by the lack of space. With neither of them being small by any means, Jean feels an excess of weight pushing against his torso as he leans back in the chair.

Mikasa finishes unbuttoning his shirt when she hears him mumble between their kisses.

“Uh… careful.”

Mikasa pulls away and looks him in the eye. For a beat their gazes meet, then Jean lets out a chuckle.

“It’d be embarrassing as shit if we fell, would it?”

Her face is flushed as she nods. It’d be even more embarrassing if the sound of the two tumbling startled everyone else in the east wing. Their relationship may be an open secret, but neither of them are keen on giving Sasha even more ammunition to tease them with during meetings.

“It would,” Mikasa agrees, nodding, then moves off her Commander’s lap.

She doesn’t stand up straight, her hands remaining on Jean’s shoulders to keep him in the chair. She catches the look in his eyes, an expression of satisfaction and amusement that arises when she takes control. The forcefulness to her movements tell him all he needs to know. He smirks as he watches her go, and to that Mikasa can feel the blush on her face getting just a bit redder.

Her eyes go down, staring at his unbuttoned shirt, how the material lazily drapes over his muscled torso, and the way he seems to be sprawled on the chair now that he’s got more room. When her gaze meets the bulge on his trousers her heart begins to beat a little bit faster.

A few seconds of silence follow, in which Jean notices the slight hesitation in her eyes. He ends up breaking the tension with his words.

“Uh… we can just-”

But before he can finish his sentence she’s on her knees, pressing her lips to his stomach and causing a sudden gasp to escape his throat. Immediately she begins teasing him, slowly dragging her kisses lower. It doesn’t take long before she hears Jean’s breathing get louder. As she continues her descent she can feel his legs fidget and shift, the temptation for him to start moving his hips already surging through his veins.

Soon she undoes his belt and tugs at his trousers, the mere gesture causing him to let out a sharper breath. He holds the armrests of the chair, his fingers pressing hard against the wood.

“Fuck…”

She shifts the material down slightly, revealing his cock still bound by his undergarments. But instead of removing those as well, Mikasa’s instincts tell her to keep toying with him.

So she presses her lips against him, gently kissing his length through the fabric before looking up to gauge his reaction.

The sound Jean lets out is labored and strained. She can see his chest rising and falling as he looks back down at her, their eyes meeting for a brief second.

She’s never been able to explain why, but the sight of Jean Kirschtein on edge has never ceased to please her. A sense of confidence always fills her when she brings him to such a state, when she reduces him to putty with the right stroke of her hand or kiss of her lips.

So Mikasa pecks him again, gently peppering his erection with little touches, the thin layer of fabric being the only thing that keeps them apart. There’s even a point where she attempts to take him into her mouth, as much as she can given the limitations, trailing her lips against the length of his cock. Every kiss and hum either makes Jean grunt or slowly move his hips. He goes in between muttering her name and cursing to a god she knows he doesn’t believe in.

For the last few moments he’s been hesitant to touch her, letting her work and tease him while his hands grip the armrests even harder. But soon Jean reaches down and Mikasa feels his hands touching her face, gently tipping her chin upwards to look at him.

“Are you trying to drive me crazy?” he asks. He’s panting stupidly, yet there’s an unmistakable smile on his handsome face.

Mikasa is beaming, pleased with the state she’s brought him to. “Why don’t you find out?”

…

They move from his desk to the couch and make good use of the extra room. Their clothes are strewn carelessly on the floor, having been thrown off in the heat of passion, and the curtains of the office have been pulled over the windows.

Mikasa braces herself. She grasps the armrest of the couch, her face contorting with pleasure and a groan escaping her throat with every thrust. Jean is behind her, one hand is holding her waist while the other is at her hair, pulling her head back slightly as he works. Their momentum is a constant force, his hips meeting her body and briefly becoming flush with her rear end. Every once in a while he’ll let out a curse, or her name, or a grunt as his grasp tightens.

Moments pass, then soon Mikasa feels compelled to look over her shoulder the best she can, briefly meeting her lover’s glassy gaze.

“Faster,” she whispers fervently, and he spares no time in executing her command.

Droplets of sweat move down Jean’s forehead as their rhythm intensifies, their pleasure crescendoing with every jut of his hips. He shifts downwards slightly, his torso becoming more parallel to hers as his hands move forward — they go to the armrest, his fingers interlocking with hers as their momentum continues. His breath is hot against her ear as he exhales.

And together they reach their peak. The curse he nearly shouts is louder than the last and she’s too preoccupied to remind him to be quiet. Mikasa’s grip on the couch intensifies as an unbridled groan escapes her lips. Her taut muscles slacken slightly, then she lets herself fall forward on the cushions and rests her face on a pillow. She sinks her teeth into the fabric to help silence her wails and moans. Jean tries to keep up his pace, using whatever’s left in him to keep thrusting his hips forward. Moments pass and he eventually rides out the final throes of his climax until he’s finally spent.

Once he’s finished Jean collapses onto her, exhaling loudly as his cheek presses against the skin between her shoulder blades.

“Oh my god…” is all Mikasa can say between her ragged breaths, and to that Jean lets out a chuckle.

“Yeah, I know.”

They stay like this for a while, Mikasa settling onto the couch as she feels Jean’s weight on top of her, a familiar sensation that always soothes her. Her breathing is as heavy as his, but he manages to collect himself just enough to press his lips to her back, practically savoring the taste of her skin before moving up to push his face to the crook of her neck.

A content smile tugs at her lips as his short beard nuzzles her. Her hair is a mess and slicked with sweat, but she can’t find it in herself to care.

A minute passes before Mikasa untangles himself from him, slipping out from underneath Jean and standing from the couch. She takes a second to stretch before walking barefoot across his office, grabbing his shirt off the floor and pulling it over her torso. As she fastens the buttons she turns back to see Jean still on the cushions — he is resting face down, bare and spent in the afterglow.

After looking respectfully for long enough, Mikasa goes to one of the shelves behind his desk. She retrieves a bottle of amber liquid as well as a glass, a luxury he keeps hidden behind the books. She pours herself a modest serving before walking back to Jean.

She ends up sitting in front of the couch, her knees tucked to her chest as she faces him. She allows him to rest for a bit longer as she enjoys her first sips of the drink — she’s not usually one to partake in brandy, but in moments like this she swears that it tastes as sweet as honey.

Mikasa takes in her Commander, observing the angular edges of his face or how a bout of lovemaking always dishevels his hair to tantalizing perfection. His face is buried in the pillow she sank her teeth into. She wonders if he’s already fallen asleep, but soon he lifts his head up and looks at her in amusement.

Mikasa takes another sip of brandy before offering the glass to him. With a smile he accepts, propping himself on his elbow with one arm before taking the drink.

“Thank you, l’amour.”

When he finishes a pull he lets out a hum, allowing the flavor of distilled wine to settle on his tongue for a moment before swallowing.

“This is good shit,” he says, handing the glass back. “Why don’t we drink it more often?”

Mikasa smirks. “Because you’re the one insisting we save it for the right occasion.”

“So what does that make this?” Jean teases, nudging her with his elbow. “A Tuesday night?”

Instead of gratifying that with a response, she leans over and pecks him on the cheek, then on the lips. He reciprocates, kissing her back open mouthed, as if to enjoy her taste for a little longer.

When they break apart Mikasa feels him pressing his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes and revels in his warmth. Now that they’re no longer using the couch for an unintended purpose, the air in his office begins to feel a lot colder.

“Do you think we could negotiate a few days off?” she finds herself whispering — prompted by the way her mind tends to wander in moments like this, when both of them are unbound by their titles and allowed to be free. “Maybe in a month or two?”

Jean grins as his fingers begin to play with her hair. “So we can do this all the time?”

Despite the events of the last few minutes, a distinct blush creeps onto Mikasa’s face. She avoids his eyes for a second, a new variety of possibilities now dancing in her head. The mere idea of carrying out their usual endeavors for more than a single night is rather enticing. For once she could fall asleep in his arms and not worry about the reality they’ll wake up to, only if for a moment.

Scouts like them rarely get any time to themselves, meaning that a majority of her encounters with him are left to befall in the off-hours. To have a whole weekend to themselves is something she craves. She can’t even remember the last time she felt comfortable enough to hold his hand in public, or the last time she danced in his arms at a tavern, her limbs feeling light from her fourth flagon of ale.

As her mind toys with more and more prospects, Mikasa regains herself and retains a playful tone when she replies —

“Only if you’re up for it.”

Jean lets out a chuckle just before she pecks his lips again.

A few minutes pass and Mikasa goes back to nursing her drink, taking it in with slow sips. Once the glass is empty she stands up again, affectionately ruffling Jean’s hair before putting the glass and bottle back in its hiding spot.

When she looks over to Jean he’s finally prying himself off the couch, getting himself into a sitting position before standing. He goes to his discarded trousers and grabs them off the floor. On habit, Mikasa admires the shape of his hindquarters as he pulls the garment onto his long, shapely legs. Even with the scars littering his chest and back — souvenirs from their decade of service — she still has moments where she can’t take her eyes off of him.

“We should get cleaned up,” Mikasa soon says, reaching for her clothing as well.

“Your place or mine?” Jean asks, smirking. He can always tell when she’s looking disrespectfully.

“Yours,” Mikasa answers, grabbing her boots off the floor. “The bathtub’s bigger.”

She doesn’t even need to clarify that they’ll be bathing together — at this point in their entanglement neither can imagine things being a different way, no matter who’s quarters they retire to.

Jean walks over to press one more kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you say, l’amour.”

#jeankasa #jeanmika #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein #mikasa ackerman #snk #commander jean #captain mikasa #commander kirschtein #captain ackerman #there's plot to this series i swear

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dorminchu · 5 months

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Between Heaven and Earth: Chapter One

a/n: Merry Christmas! The next couple chapters will tie in with Nur für die Schwachen (as in, certain plot points/elements from that fic are referenced). You don’t have to read one story to understand the other.

Despite a greater disparity in technology, trading electric torches for gas lamps and subjection to bean-potato stew for the majority of their meals succeeding the government's seemingly overconfident investment in pit latrines last year, the overall mood was not so different than Marley. Trost's streets were narrow, so the new influx of pedestrians coming from Wall Maria often had to compromise among the horses and soldiers moving through. No motorised vehicles to be seen, even in Wall Sina.

Grice, posing as a refugee from Wall Maria, had quietly worked his way into Wall Rose’s Northern Division as a recruit—because he’d signed up before the new decree to lower the age of conscription, he managed to join up with the Garrison the same year they became trainees. Right now, he was stationed over in southern Wall Sina. He’d send letters every visitation day, updating the three of them on life as a Paradisian soldier.

Last summer, Annie’s reconnaissance mission into the interior turned up fruitless. All she would tell Reiner and Bertholdt was that a man from the MP Brigade saw her face. Rather than apprehend her, he’d let her get away, which had dissuaded her from going undercover again. Though the MP Brigade were the only ones allowed in the interior, they did work with the MPs in Wall Sina. None of the training academies in Wall Rose would allow enlistment directly into Mitras—you had to undergo additional training from selective military schools. If you didn’t have family in the military, or the interior, there was a specialized academy in Wall Maria. Neither position was viable, so what was the point of bringing it up at all?

Grice insisted it was better to seek a position in the MPs regardless. Before Paradis was breached, the offices were flooded with applications to the Garrison, since it was easier to get into than the Military Police and had the second-lowest mortality rate. It sounded nice, coming from the mouths of recruiters, but any position was better than the Scouting Legion. An overabundance of spending on resources with little to show for it but a seventy-five percent mortality rate. Without better funding, or a significant change in leadership, no one in his right mind would enlist voluntarily.

Unfortunately, many of the MP divisions were already plagued with decades of corruption and incompetence. Losing a third of their country’s territory didn’t whip them into shape. The Garrison was spreading itself thin, trying to do its job and the job of the MPs. It had gotten so extreme that the 104th Training Corps were routinely put to work, with Garrison supervision, at the top of Wall Rose. Better to acclimatize them with defense now, than assume that a catastrophe could never happen again.

The Scouting Legion would, on occasion, assist the Garrison, whenever they were not performing routine expeditions. But their expenses and mortality rate had gone down significantly since Wall Maria's breach. Commander Irvin was interested in reforming the Legion’s reputation. Public opinion became less hostile than it had been under their previous leader, Commander Shadis. In fact, there was a lot of speculation among the military higher-ups that Shadis favoured Irvin as a recruit, and he’d stepped down for the sake of the Legion’s reputation as well as his own tenure.

…

Tragedy bound the cadets together into fickle hierarchies. Privates Kirschtein and Jaeger butting heads just for the excuse to fight about something. Private Fritz smuggling in beer in exchange for swapping chore duties with anyone gullible enough to take her up on a simple favour, with the exception of Private Lenz. Most of them had no real opinion on their King, the government within the interior or their iron grip of censorship besides a passive, unquestioning resignation to dedicate their hearts to humanity. They weren’t interested in questioning the nature of the mission to retake Wall Maria.

But in their second year, Private Arlert got into a prolonged debate with the instructor about the ethical implications of the operation. Rattling off statistics in a rapid-fire, accusatory pitch while the instructor became increasingly dismissive. It came to a head, when Arlert accused the Garrison of corroborating a lot of falsified search warrants for the sake of cutting down the amount of civilians to rehouse, and was assigned latrine duty for two weeks and told to sit down before his impudence further affected his training score. Red-faced and fuming, Arlert took his seat.

According to Bertholdt, he’d lost both his parents during the operation to retake Wall Maria. His grandfather, over the course of his own life, had fostered a collection of pre-Paradisian literature and encyclopedias, and was charged by the Garrison with spreading misinformation. Their house in Wall Rose was raided. Arlert had no choice but to work in the fields, enlisting alongside his childhood friend Eren Jaeger.

Jaeger took Arlert’s side. They sat together in the boy's barracks during free-time, going over their notes on ODM maintenance from the textbook. Other, keener kids, the likes of Bodt and Kirschtein, were willing to play devil’s advocate before lights-out, but never to Arlert’s face. Most of them would agree, amongst themselves, that Arlert had been wronged, but what was the point of sticking up for someone whose argument was so one-sided? He’d be lucky to wind up as a technical instructor if he didn't crack his head open during free-climbing, or the most rudimentary ODM gear exercises.

Braun and Hoover followed them back on the same pretense of study, and now Hoover played the diplomat. “You’ll be able to change a lot more about the military’s policies from the inside. Everyone starts as a foot soldier.”

Arlert just stared at his notes and said, in a tight voice, “Every history book is dictated by another man’s biases. There’s no choice, for most, but to roll over and let the victors decide what truth prevails.” His voice shook slightly. A white-knuckled grip on his pencil couldn’t salvage his composure. “I’m not the only one who feels this way.”

"It's not that simple," Bodt chimed in. "The instructor is upholding whatever he's told to by the government. It doesn't matter what he thinks."

Arlert snapped, "What has blindly adhering to theocracy done for humanity? For any civilization, for that matter?"

"The Wallists don't bother anyone," Kirschtein said. "They just give people something to focus on besides arguing with each other. The rest of us get on, like usual."

Arlert glowered at his notebook.

Reiner looked at Bertholdt, a silent exchange that went unnoticed by the other boys. That kind of talk would get you sent to Heaven. Reiner never got to play mentor to anyone back home. He was too busy looking after himself, and scrapping with Galliard while Bertholdt kept him from straying. During their mandatory hikes, Reiner would always lag behind to make sure Arlert didn’t faint, burdened with a pack that weighed about as much as himself. These Paradisians were eager to learn from him and Hoover as much as possible. They’d sit with them during meals and before lights-out, and talk about their insignificant lives the same way Galliard and Finger used to. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to start reaching back, for the sake of keeping the enemy close.

“The only way you or I can make a difference, for humanity,” Reiner said, “is to become an exemplary soldier. No single one of us can change an unfair decree, but that’s always been the nature of the world. What you and I can do, is work to become someone your friends would be willing to put their lives on the line for.”

Arlert shrugged. “The instructor couldn’t disprove what I said, so he made an example of me. Once I graduate I’ll probably never see his face again.” He averted his eyes to his notes. “I can’t argue with you. I just—shouldn’t get so worked up about it. That won't undo what's been done.”

“You shouldn't be hard on yourself, Armin,” Jaeger said. “You stuck to what you believed. That’s more important.”

Arlert’s mouth lifted into a wan smile.

…

Most of the 104th wouldn't make it past graduation. The ones smart enough to secure a position in the Military Police or Garrison would go underutilized, but Paradis wouldn’t really be any worse or better for it. Titans and Eldians would coexist, and the world's only mercy was its indifference.

In Marley each soldier was out for himself. Overt sympathies were discouraged. In Paradis, Bertholdt and Reiner became model soldiers who climbed all the way to third and second best of the class in three years, succeeded only by Private Ackermann. Training scores were determined by ODM exercises—so she could rely on her “kill” count and technique to get ahead. She wasn’t very talkative, but gracious, interested in learning from others regardless of their skill level.

She’d make a great captain someday, Hoover said. She’d go further if she wasn’t held back by her loyalties to Jaeger and Arlert. It was Jaeger that took to Reiner with an avid need for a mentor figure who wouldn’t treat him with kid gloves. For how often he talked of indifferent humans and cattle, he’d never once considered that the Walls and Titans beyond were meant for keeping things in. Typical, straightforward thinking with no regard for the long-term or bigger picture; the perfect candidate for the Scouting Legion, or a half-decent farmer, if only he put his mind to it. Domesticity was never in the cards, nor the peacetime that the 104th Training Corps might not live to see, only strive towards.

Private Leonhardt was skilled on paper, but when they had to lead an expedition without the instructors, Private Springer elected to follow Kirschtein instead. Private Blaus was happy to work with her during chores, but when it came to ODM gear exercises, they had a tendency to get in each other’s way. Private Kirschtein insinuated she thought herself too good for everyone else—so Leonhardt reminded him that the only difference between them was his desperation to prove himself the better candidate. If he wanted any pointers, he was free to ask Ackermann about it, because he’d clearly confused the two of them.

While her loner mentality made her unpopular, it was easier for Braun and Hoover to get to know the others, and for Leonhardt to stick to the mission.

Now, Private Jaeger had more of a death wish than any other cadet in the division. Everyone had heard about the scrappy, angry from Shiganshina. Ackermann and Arlert were always close behind, probably to make sure he didn’t wind up scraped off of a tree. He was too stubborn to live a long and happy life inside the Walls. An unexceptional student, save for his uncrushable tenacity and loyalty to the Scouting Legion.

In another life, he’d have made a decent Warrior. Leonhardt didn’t speak more than a sentence to him until their second year.

The majority of their budget went towards ODM equipment, food and space for the cadets as well as horses. When it came to self-defense, the instructors went over the fundamentals out of principle. These techniques might buy you a few seconds. Your average criminal could just as well drive the sharp end of a whisky bottle into the newly-made private’s stomach, and that would be that.

Most cadets did not go out of their way to train with her. Hoover was too leery of drawing blood and finding an excuse to hide the steam. Braun was always needling, had to be superior, and would rather spend his time with other cadets looking for a mentor. Arlert, her recent partner, kept freezing up in the middle of a feint. He'd flinch a little, when she snapped at him not to stand there and await her instructions—he’d been in fights before, but only ever internalized the desperation to stop the beating. It felt wrong to hit someone who wouldn’t fight back, even though Marleyans weren’t supposed to be merciful to the enemy. Her father wouldn’t hesitate to rap her on the shins for going soft. There was no discrimination on the battlefield, but she tripped him and let him fall flat on his ass and said, “You’re not going to accomplish anything if you won’t defend yourself.”

Arlert got to his feet. He took a shaky breath and said, “These exercises don’t really count for points. And it’s more likely we’ll be using guns or blades for self-defense against a Titan.” His eyes followed her boots, probably calculating her stance. “That doesn’t make it a useless skill, of course. But you and I are on different levels of proficiency.” Even as he said it, he tensed up again.

Leonhardt dropped her guard. “Find someone else to practice with.”

Arlert didn't think twice. She figured she may as well cut out and review her notes on ODM gear, for the hell of it. Anything was better than baking in the sun.

As she moved for the barracks, she noted Braun was partnered up with Jaeger. Better for Braun's ego and Jaeger's temperment.

“Hey, Leonhardt!” Braun called out. She stopped pace. “You can’t keep slacking off like this. Shadis'll”

Braun the soldier was a paradigm, quick to tease Leonhardt for her lack of discipline. He wouldn't let up, even when she flipped him on his ass to drive the point home. Titan or not, she could never harm him in a way that mattered. There wasn't any point expending time on him as a Warrior cadet. Why start now?

Because sucking up to the first cadet who asks for help is not going to make you into a better Warrior than I am. This exercise isn’t for points. You shouldn’t be drawing attention to me in the first place, you hypocrite.

She caught Jaeger’s eye.

Are you watching? Here’s a lesson on what not to do.

Braun, back on his feet, threw Jaeger the wooden knife and said, "Looks like you have a new teacher!" He caught her eye and winked. Just her luck.

Scowling, she made eye-contact with Jaeger and threw him the knife. “Your turn.”

Jaeger caught the knife. In the time it took for him to open his mouth and say, “What?” she’d already closed the distance. Disarmed and grounded. Easier than a dummy. His mouth split into a toothy grin. "That was amazing!" Clambering to his feet, dusting himself off, he said, "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"My father." She did not add it was a pretty basic technique. “Does it matter? It’s not what you’re supposed to be learning.”

He stared at her, eyes shining with fervor. “Let me try again. Disarm me.”

The only time she got to scrap without holding back was with Braun or Porco Galliard. In Marley the instructors were pushing a bayonet into her hands. In Paradis, a wooden knife, or a faux-rifle. Turned onto the front-lines, the Warrior cadets fought to kill, not disarm. She shouldn’t be going easy on the enemy.

The third time Jaeger wound up on his ass, she offered a hand. “You almost had it.”

“Really?” Jaeger reached out to take it; she withdrew and caught him in the stomach with her boot. He got back to his feet, staggering, a tic in his jaw. “What the hell—was that for?”

“You left yourself open.” Resuming stance, unfazed. “I bet you’ve never won a fight in your life.”

A few cadets stopped to watch. Each time she flipped Jaeger over there were cheers. Nothing like back home, always perfunctory and cold. It ended once Shadis barked at them to disperse and get back to what they were supposed to be doing. Leonhardt ended up doing laps.

Jaeger spat into the dirt and said, “I can’t keep up with you.”

“You’re right.” She walked in the direction of the mess hall. Jaeger followed at her heels.

“You could teach me,” he said, “how to fight.”

“Why should I?”

“’Cos I want to learn.” He made a face like she was being obtuse on purpose. “I’ve been in a lot of fights, and I’ve never seen anyone move like that.”

“Hm,” said Annie. “You’re not going to cry when you lose?”

“I won’t if you won’t,” he said, the light coming back into his eyes. He bumped her shoulder with his. “Next time, we’re partners. Don’t forget!”

…

Sparring became more of an excuse to give Jaeger a taste of the dirt, her boot, in no particular order. Most cadets would be too nervous or call out her refusal to parrot the techniques the instructor demonstrated—she didn’t need fundamentals to disarm an opponent—but not Jaeger. The light in his eyes was the same as the first time she agreed to teach him.

He still couldn’t disarm her, but he was blocking hits that would have knocked him down before. He couldn’t replicate her kicks, so he fought with his fists. He’d lost everything in that breach, and all that was left was his rage, tempering into discipline.

Jaeger ended up sitting with her during meals whenever Hoover and Braun were too busy blending in with the native Paradisians. She was never that close with them anyway. And unlike them, he would never expect her active participation unless he spoke to her first. Maybe growing up with Ackermann, he was used to sharing comfortable silences. He wasn’t even bad company. Just exuberant to the point of bordering on insufferable, especially during stretches on horseback or hiking.

While the Legion's reputation still left much to be desired, Jaeger clung to his idealism anyway. Leonhardt wasn't going to argue with a brick wall, but she could tune him out and he’d take the hint, unlike Kirschtein—who wasn’t a hypocrite, just arrogant and didn’t know how to pick his battles. Well, he’d learn the harm way, come deployment, that all the ideas in the world meant little once you’d lost most of your men to a mindless Titan.

“Mina says you want to be an MP,” he said. “What for?”

“Why do you want to join the Scouting Legion?”

Jaeger paused. “’Cos we let those goddam animals exist on the other side of the Walls. Just like any wild animal, they found a way to get in. The Garrison and MPs have been too busy sitting on their asses, while the Scouts do all the thankless work they get to take credit for.” His scowl deepened. “All the top recruits go to Wall Sina. The death rate in the Legion scares them off, but it’s a lie. That rate was from the last Commander. The recruitment officers are just using it to bring more people into the Garrison. Now there’s an overflow of soldiers that’d be better off elsewhere.”

Leonhardt smiled. “Imagine what humanity would do to itself, if those highly-skilled soldiers weren’t around to keep everyone in line.”

Jaeger shook his head. “The MPs haven’t made a difference in crime. It was like that in Shiganshina, too.” He frowned. “You never answered my question.”

“It sounds like you’ve made up your mind about people who choose to be MPs.”

Jaeger blinked. “I didn’t—mean it like that.” He turned away. “It’s not just about playing soldier.”

“You’re such an obedient patriot.” Jaeger barked out a laugh. “Why do you partner up with me?” she asked, to change the subject. “If you keep following me around, people might get the wrong idea.”

Jaeger scoffed. “What idea? I just have to keep going over the moves until they stick. That’s all this is.” Despite his reckless nature, he didn’t have a lot of bruises. No scars, at least, which was a surprise. She was proficient enough not to draw blood unless it was necessary. Jaeger’s ears flushed. She’d been staring at him longer than she meant to. He looked away first. “The other guys don't get why I like training with you.” He stabbed at the congealed mass of bean-and-potato mush that should’ve resembled stew, but more closely resembled a lump of brain matter soaked in gravy. “You take this seriously when you try. And I don’t think you’re a bad soldier, even if you hate all the bullshit.”

Leonhardt’s mouth thinned. She wasn’t hungry anymore. “Thanks.”

He was looking at her knuckles. “Your hands look pretty good.”

What the hell?

He took her hand in his, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I mean, you don’t have a scratch on you. I usually cut my palm on the wire when I reach for my blades.”

His hands were faultless. She pulled away, a little tense. “That’s because you’re impatient.”

“Yeah, well—I’m getting better, now that Reiner’s giving me some tips. Mikasa doesn’t worry as much.”

Suppressing one’s regenerative abilities took discipline far beyond his capabilities. The only other way was to regrow the limb itself, which took a lot of excess energy. Newer Warriors tended to have a lot of trouble shifting while they were injured. He’d never so much as staunched a wound in her presence.

“Where’d your father serve?” she asked, as if Eren cracked-my-skull-on-the-first-day-of-learning-the-ODM-harness Jaeger could be anything but human.

Jaeger rolled his shoulders. “He didn’t. He was a doctor.” He continued to eat in stolid silence, then paused. “Haven’t heard from him since the breach. He hardly sent letters while we lived in Shiganshina, so he’s probably busy.” His jaw tensed. “Your dad must’ve cared a lot, to teach you what he has.”

Annie regarded her own stale loaf of bread. “In his own way.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #snk #aot #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #annie leonhardt #reiner braun #bertholdt hoover #mina carolina #canon divergent #slow burn #ao3 #ffnet #eren jaeger

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marcobodtlives · 4 months

Text

How often do you have to study and combat train with the same partner for you to rank the exact same grade (A) and place right next to each other (7th & 6th)?

I’m thinking a lot of study sessions, hand-to-hand combat practice, and ODM gear trips together would cause that. Or insanely good luck, which they don’t have considering one of them is dead.

Jean Kirschtein (Grade A): “He has a tendency to think that he should be the center of attention. Though at first he had a tendency to cause trouble with the other trainees, he has now overcome those flaws. He also tries to understand his comrades’ feelings and continues to develop as a potential commander.” (p.45).

Marco Bodt (Grade A): “Marco’s marks in the Training Corps never stood out because he acted in strategic ways that one would utilize in real combat. As a result, his kill count never rose. Some things can’t be measured with grades. I wish I could have seen his strengths bloom as a commanding officer.” (p.61).

#I mean you can’t argue that right #jeanmarco #overthinking don’t mind me #it was so hard to find shadis’ evaluation of Marco I hope you appreciate it #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #jean kirschtein #marco bodt #or if you wanna be funky:#jean kirstein #marco bott

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nixie-writes-aot · 10 months

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Eren's Letter

Warnings: Post-timeskip, set during the Marley arc

Characters: Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoe, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirschtein, Connie Springer, Sasha Braus, Eren Yeager (mentioned)

Prompt: Dad/Family // Animal Lover

Author's Note: Halfway! Except yesterday's, they've all been on time too! This has been such fun thus far! This got a little away from me honestly hdnjdnd

Levi stared at the letter in Hange's hands as they finished reading it aloud, the first any of them had heard from Eren whatsoever. Levi knitted his brows together, his displeasure more than evident as he considered Eren. He wasn't certain what exactly that brat was even thinking. The black haired soldier tsked, turning away.

"What... What the hell?" Connie spoke up from across Hange, looking up at Jean and Sasha, "Tell me I'm dreaming."

"You aren't." Jean growled, "That Suicidal Bastard... This time its too far. Right, Captain?"

Levi didn't respond right away, his mind drifting. This plan Eren had forced them into a corner to follow, it was beyond aggravating. Levi closed his eyes for a few seconds, gaze focused on Hange before shifting to Mikasa and Armin. He scanned their features, the looks of pure horror. Levi didn't blame them.

"Its too far." Hange finally responded, "But-"

"But nothing! I'm sure he has a good reason, right!" Sasha jumped to her feet, desperation in her eyes as she glanced to Mikasa and Armin. "Right? I... He wouldn't just- he wouldn't dare drag us into this!" Sasha crumbled under Levi's gaze. "... Man, I really don't understand him at all..." Connie piped up, rubbing the back of his neck.

Levi narrowed his eyes, "But we'll be following this, won't we?" He looked to Hange, seeing them nod solemnly. Levi could already see the confusion forming on Connie and Sasha's faces. He took a seat proper, "Because, at the very least we won't leave his scrawny ass hanging out with that rat bastard." Despite Levi's words, he was more than frustrated. Erwin died for humanity and the truth, was this the same truth Erwin died for? That war was the only way to avoid a slaughter? Levi looked back to Mikasa and Armin. "Oi, brats. The plan hinges on you. Will you be able to?"

Mikasa looked up, "... Of course." She responded slowly, pulling her scarf over her mouth. Levi sighed at the confliction, he didn't blame her. Even if it had been Erwin instead, Levi would probably find the same struggle with knowing they'd be going to Marley and inflicting a level of pain that they all went through on the next generation. Let alone that starting a war like this would be putting Paradis under threat of attack too.

"Armin, can you do this?" Hange spoke up.

"Not can. Will you do this?" Levi asked, silver grey eyes on the blonde.

Armin was quiet for a few moments more, "... How many times did we ask Eren that in the beginning?" Armin sighed, "I will. This is wrong but... I'm sure Eren has his reasons. I'm sure this is... I'll do it." Levi watched Jean press a hand against his shoulder.

He stayed by Hange's side on the couch in their office as his squad cleared out. His expression dark and pained, "... That brat." He finally spoke. Hange leaned forward, hands folded in front of their mouth. "What do you think, shitty glasses?"

"Its been awhile since you called me that." Hange stated, "... We have no choice. Eren knows what he's doing and he knows we have no choice if we go through with this." They groaned, "Damn. This kid is really putting us through the wringer."

"Us?" Levi scoffed, "I'm not the Commander. I have the easy part."

"... Is that what you think? Is that why you followed him? Because it was easy, Levi?"

Levi went quiet for a few moments, memories swirling. The same memories he had since the Battle of Shiganshina. Memories of Isabel, Farlan, and Erwin. Levi scoffed, "Of course not."

"The Scouts, whether we knew it when we joined or not, always becomes a family hardened by the events we lived through that our comrades did not." Hange stated, "People will die, Levi, but maybe this gamble is one he would've made too."

"... No." Levi scoffed, "This is just stupid. That's why he isn't giving us a choice."

Taglist: @leviweek2023 @yourthoughtsjim

#attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #hange zoe #connie springer #jean kirschtein #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #sasha braus #leviweek2023

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kriz-fics · 2 years

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The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Eight: Fire and Rain

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)

Length: 10.3K

CW: None for this chapter

“Here, I can help you with that.”

Eren stiffens then looks away, feeling his earlier good spirits curdle like sour milk, the lumps of it settling heavily in his stomach. “I don’t need help from the likes of you.”

He does not like the sentiment behind this offer of aid. It tastes too much like condescension for his liking. He has been a squire for six years now and has been rolling cleaning barrels without support ever since he had traded his thin little boy’s arms for ones that have grown strong enough to bear the weight of sand and steel. He does not need any help, least of all from one such as Jean Horseface.

He hears the Kirschtein boy tut irritably, and moments later, the barrel Eren has been rolling on the ward’s rough stone flooring surges forward a foot.

“I said I don’t need help,” Eren snaps, leaning down hard on the keg to stop it moving any further. “Why are you even here? Bedding down for the day? The stables are over there, pick a stall and leave me alone.”

“Gods, you can be such a stubborn jackass! The work will go faster with us two, don’t you want it done as soon as possible?” Jean snarls back, face reddening with rage as he attempts to push the barrel into motion once more.

“What, have you come to gloat, is that the way of it, Kirschtein? Lord it over the reckless, stupid boy who-” Eren breaks off sharply, horrified to feel the hot sting of tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He blinks them back, furious. I thought I was recovered from that. Apparently, the past day or so he had spent crying in the presence of his friends and master has not truly relieved him of the crippling guilt he still feels about the Lord Commander. Why did I expect anything different? But it is one thing shedding tears in front of those he had and another showing such vulnerability to Jean Kirschtein.

“I’m not here to gloat.” Eren quickly glances at the other boy, not expecting the solemn look on his long, horsey face. Jean stares down at the wooden slats of the barrel underneath his hands. “I think you needed something of that magnitude to give you some perspective. I’ve always thought you brave, envied you for it even- yes, I actually do,” he affirms at Eren’s disbelieving snort, “but I’ve just come to realize how thin the line between bravery and recklessness really is. All those times you did something I thought brave… looking back, I think you really skirted the line most every time. It’s just that there were no consequences to them then.”

Jean shifts a little, as though to straighten up, but seems to think better of it and remains hunched over the barrel. “So, I suppose it’s a lesson for you. A hard one at that. And the cost…”

You paid the price, make it worth the blood you paid.

Blood that isn't even mine. “Why didn’t you tell her?” Eren finds himself asking, as he starts to roll the barrel once more.

Jean frowns a little at him as he pushes along. “Tell who what?”

Eren mutters your name and adds, “Why didn’t you tell her that… it was my fault, the whole mess with the Lord Commander…?” He keeps his eyes fixed on the rolling keg underneath him and listens to the sounds of Sir Levi’s mail tumbling around within the shifting sands in the cask.

Jean hums thoughtfully at that. “It’s not my place to say. She needed to hear it from you and you alone. And something that scandalous coming from me seems too self-serving, what with our… notorious relations.”

Eren huffs out a laugh, despite himself, and there is nothing more said between them as they roll the barrel to the opposite wall and back again. Standing the cask upright proves an easy feat with their joint strength, and Eren pries open its lid, taking out his master’s chainmail hauberk and shaking out the sand that clings to it. He is pleased to see it come out nice and bright, with not a spot of rust in evidence.

Jean moves off then to see to his own mail. Eren glances after the taller boy, silently struggling with himself, before following Jean and proceeding to help him with the barrel. Jean does not remark upon this sudden act of consideration, which suits Eren just fine; the silence is better than any unnecessary and clumsy attempts at conversation.

He takes his leave of the other boy soon after and heads toward the Hall of the Sentinel carrying Sir Levi’s well-cleaned mail, which he has carefully wrapped in oilcloth to preserve it from further rust.

Eren cannot quite believe the encounter he has just had with the Kirschtein boy. It seems to him that five years spent consistently antagonizing each other should not have given room for a conversation such as theirs but there it is. He does not know what to make of the other boy now, nor how he is to deal with him when next they saw each other. But some part of him is starting to entertain the idea that maybe, maybe the horseboy isn’t so bad after all.

The Hall comes into view moments later, and Eren feels a light finger of embarrassment brush over him at the prospect of seeing his master once more, especially considering the circumstances with which they had parted earlier.

The picnic yesterday had helped ease the heavy weight of guilt he had been forced to carry for the better part of a month and had, as Jean said earlier, given him some perspective on the matter. It was as though the dark sentiments festering inside him had all flowed away with his tears, and he had gone to bed a great deal more hopeful than he had ever been the past few weeks.

He immediately sought out his master earlier this day, intending to make amends - long past due - as best he could. He had not counted on bursting into tears and groveling at Sir Levi’s feet. The memory still shames him and puts lead weights around his ankles, yet the way his master dealt with him then - quietly, (dare he say gently) with not a trace of heat or chill in his voice - gives Eren much cause to be reassured. As it is, he will bear any amount of indignity to atone for what he had done. What little pride he has left should be coin enough to pay for this transgression. I can get it back, I will learn from this and come out the better, they’ll see.

Dropping off the hauberk proves less mortifying than he had anticipated. Sir Levi had given him one of those cool, enigmatic looks he does so well and simply said, “Make sure you don’t disarrange anything in that chest,” before returning to his book. Eren leaves his rooms feeling more as if he can be confident in his standing with his master, tempered though the feeling may be.

Finishing all of his day’s duties early leaves him with plenty of time to spare before dinner. He wonders if you have finished with your own tasks, ministerial and royal both. The yen to see you guides his passage to the Rhyzkov apartments.

He feels no trace of the embarrassment he had carried to Sir Levi’s quarters as he makes his way to your rooms. By all rights, he should have; but crying before you was more of a relief than anything else, and you had certainly not shamed him for it, for which he is glad. He still can’t quite believe he had received an embrace, along with another kerchief, for his trouble.

Eren feels himself flush a little at the memory of your warmth and your scent, that sweet and heady fragrance of your essence, apples, and winter roses. For that is what that flowery scent is, he has come to realize. He has always thought the floral notes to your perfume seem familiar somehow and cannot quite place where he had smelled it before. The past season gave him the epiphany and more reason to look upon the flower with renewed fondness.

Yet your warmth and your scent were nothing to your gentleness and the way with which you had handled him then. He had been shocked to his soul when you took him into your arms, and suddenly, there was nothing else but you, only you, only you. He had wanted to melt into your embrace and stay there forevermore, where everything was right in the world and nothing could hurt him. But you had let go, and the moment was gone.

He truly has a deal to be grateful to you for.

Her and Armin.

Guilt once again gnaws at his insides, and he can almost groan at the very much unwanted feeling. It was hard, living through the past few weeks with it and regret hounding his very being; in that time, he had never felt so trapped inside his own head, wishing for things to have gone differently, wishing he was somebody else, somebody else cooler, calmer, more collected. Speaking to his friends both about everything that had plagued him during the campaign was like drawing poison from a wound and yet… He can still recall the hot, scorching feeling of jealousy that had arisen inside him like a monster from the deep at the sight of his betrothed and his closest friend standing together outside his door, a heavily unpleasant indication that the both of you had been spending plenty if not most of your time with each other the past month, without him in attendance.

The sentiment was only made worse by the sheer devastation he felt about the Lord Commander, and it awoke once more the dormant feeling of personal inadequacy inside him that had been born from that one game of qaxan, that feeling of being behind and beneath his own friends… And worse, some part of him wanted to latch onto that monster instead just to forget his massive bungle. For anger is always, always better than guilt and regret and tears.

Eren sighs to himself glumly, remembering the way the blond boy had flinched back from his glare. Armin doesn’t deserve his rage just because of the doubts he carries about his own person, especially where it concerns his standing with you.

Movement ahead catches his eye, and Eren looks up to see Armin walking down the corridor as though summoned into existence by his thoughts. The other boy, cradling one of his customary massive tomes, seems to not have noticed Eren as he turns to enter an archway that leads to what Eren knows to be one of the palace terraces. He hesitates for half a heartbeat and calls out, “Oi, Armin!”

You can wait; the night is yours both, after all. The desire to make up for yesterday’s unpleasantness overrides all else at the moment, and he is sick unto death of guilt; it is all he seems to be immersed in these days, and he wants to be free of it at last. Begging Armin’s pardon should help, surely.

The boy himself pauses by the archway and turns to look at Eren. “Oh, hey, Eren.” His tone, while friendly, seems wary somehow to Eren’s ears. Or perhaps it is the guilt coloring his senses then. Yesterday had ended with them parting ways on good terms, yet Eren knows he has to address the matter of his… nastiness in some capacity.

Armin lifts (or attempts to, at least) the stone slab that passes for a book up in his arms a little. “I was just looking for a quiet, airy place to read that wasn’t the gardens for a change. Would you like to join me?”

Eren agrees, immensely relieved at this turn of events, and follows the other boy through the archway and down a short staircase to the terrace proper. This particular terrace is one of Eren’s special favorites, for it opens up to its own series of steps that lead down to one of the deepest vaults of the castle, where one can find a massive giant’s skull half-melted onto the ground.

As it stands, this terrace is also one of the more favored spots of his own circle of squires who often frequent it for drink and leisure, mostly in the dead of night. Connie had been seized one night by a sudden curiosity to see where those steps led, and the whole lot of them were treated to a sight that was horrifying yet wondrous to behold.

The giant face was melted and blackened and withered, its preserved, dead flesh redolent of turtle hide, and had covered most of the broken stone floor of the cavernous crypt. Its mouth and jaw had vanished, stretched out onto the ground in long, leathery swathes, leaving only two gaping nostrils that led up to a long bridge of a nose which in turn led to two deep black pits that were once its eyes.

Armin claimed that this is most like to be the giant Klesvar the Keeper, who was the guardian of the ruins of Silvercross Castle, seat of the extinct House Schroder whose line had been ended long before the Reisses first set foot on Lovaya.

Berthold Reiss, the one they call the Great, first Reiss king and architect of the Lovayan Annexation, had fought the giant for the right to claim the old - and famously wealthy - Schroder lands. It had been a battle between giants, the histories say, yet in the end, the stalwart Klesvar proved no match for the other human-like behemoth that was the Titan. Berthold, possessed of the blood of Ancient Eldia, had been his generation’s wielder of the Titan they called the Founder, the first and most powerful of three in the keeping of the three Eldian Houses that had left their motherland seeking sanctuary from the Sundering that they claimed foreknowledge of. Berthold had built his own castle on top of what remained of the Keeper’s skull, that he might be laid to rest in the lands he had protected for so long, a tribute of sorts to an enemy well-fought and respected.

Eren has always thought that a good piece of history and wonders if you have already seen the skull. Perhaps he can show you tonight if you haven’t… something this monumentally historic is something you will surely appreciate.

He and Armin soon reach the bottom of the archway’s steps and emerge into a wide circular terrace. Five wooden benches line the balustrade; at the crest of the terrace’s arc, the balustrade opens up to the steep stone steps that lead to the vault below. Armin chooses the bench next to the one situated on the leftmost side of the terrace and sits down, Eren following suit.

“I’ve chosen a history book today,” Armin starts, opening Chronicles of the Warrior to his marked page. “It details the lives and feats of the most famous knights and military commanders Lovaya has ever seen. Karl Arlert the Kraken, lost his leg to a stray curse when he was younger, became the terror of the seas in his time. Arend Jaeger, the One-Eyed Falcon, who was the best commander of the Swans in the War of the Rivers. They say the Swans’ loss was due in large part to his death, and I’m inclined to agree. Sir Eren Grice, Ironhand, lost his sword hand in the Battle of Rybikhna and continued to serve as Lord Commander of the Royal Guard for another thirty years.”

“All right, I think you’ve made your point,” Eren Jaeger laughs. Warmth seeps inside him, made all the more potent by the darker feelings it replaces. He can see the place where Armin’s perusal comes from and greatly appreciates the effort. It is this more than anything else that further encourages him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Armin blinks at him, yet there is something almost knowing about the blond boy’s gaze.

Eren hesitates, pondering. “For… any unpleasantness I might have shown you yesterday. I didn’t mean any of it, truly.”

Armin smiles. Any wariness that may have colored his expression vanishes. “I thought it was the guilt about the Lord Commander that fed that sentiment, so I understand.”

For a moment, Eren thinks he will continue but whatever else the other boy has to say did not come. The knowing look on his face seems to take on a new cast. Eren puzzles at it but does not pursue the matter. He turns his attention to Armin’s Chronicles. “Which warrior are you reading about now?”

“Sir Gerald Kirschtein.”

Eren almost laughs at that. His earlier dealing with another Kirschtein comes back to him then. The horseboy has a ways to go but with some work, perhaps that one will make a scion fit for such noble stock. Perhaps.

“Of course, no account of Sir Gerald’s life would be complete without the usual allegations,” Armin says matter-of-factly, as he turns his book’s page.

Eren frowns, irked. “The bastard rumors? I’ve always hated those. He’s one of the most honorable knights there ever was, he’d never stoop so low as to bed another man’s wife, least of all his king’s.”

“I suppose people would rather believe King Arthur was his bastard and not an abomination born of the incest between Berthold VIII and his sister. Arthur III is a much-beloved figure,” Armin answers fairly, glancing at him over the massive tome covering the entirety of his lap.

“But those rumors came from his true father who wanted to disinherit him, and I don’t put much stock in the words of the sisterfucking madman that Berthold VIII was. He wasn’t called the Grotesque for nothing.”

“Gerald and Cressida did love each other, though.”

“Courtly love, and unconsummated.”

And all at once, they are boys again, lounging in the large, airy sanctum of Seamont Castle in Lenberg and poring over one of Armin’s many books. One day, it would be a history; the next, an account of the exploits of some adventurer from some faraway kingdom. It was the best way Eren had come to learn about these matters, and it remained with him longer than the deadly dull dronings of some boring old Prior. It has been too long since last they’ve done this, and the reminder of what once was is pleasant. For now, at least, guilt and shame are distant things, and far away.

“The old lawyer’s been summoned to court?”

“He’s expected to arrive in the capital within the month for his audience with the king. At any rate, he should be able to catch the court before we leave for the summer progress.”

Hunts have always been something of a dicey subject in the Jaeger household, and the irony is not lost on Zeke Jaeger.

He had been much too young to have accompanied his parents to that fateful hunt and had not been close to hand to witness the accident that took his lady mother’s life. Even now, he sometimes still tries to put an image to his father’s account of that day and cannot quite grasp the enormity of it. It is hard to reconcile the mother he last saw alive and well to the bloodied, ruined mess of a woman his father had spoken of. His memories of her remain unmarred and intact, though; Death’s Hands spared them all the sight of her broken body as she lay in state for the funeral, covering her with a banner that featured the black chimera of House Fritz on its golden field quartered with the silver falconer on green of House Jaeger.

Hawking is another matter entirely, however.

Whatever else they might say about us, no one can claim we aren’t living up to our sigil. As it stands, this is the only sort of hunt that suits both Zeke’s and his father’s palates; broken saddle girths are less of a threat when you spend the entirety of the hunt afoot and looking after your own fowl. Eren, being Eren, is not as partial to the family custom, preferring the activity and adventure of a traditional hunt. Yet even he cannot deny his own excitement whenever his peregrine, aptly named Lance, fells its chosen quarry.

“Do my ears deceive me or is our youngest finally taking an interest in matters outside the sparring yard?” Lord Grisha walks over to his sons, having just deposited the hare his favorite kestrel had caught to a waiting attendant. The unnamed bird perches on one gloved arm, one sharp eye trained on the men before it and its bespectacled handler.

Eren frowns slightly, jerking his head back a little as Lance stretches and flaps his wings, buffeting his master’s face in the process. “Why shouldn’t I be interested in the Northern Matter? Like as not, I’ll be there to help finish it. I should know something about it, at least.”

“Well said, son,” Grisha laughs. “It’s just strange to hear you speak of such things. And about time, too, I say! But I suppose some of the fault lies with us… If you lack the acumen and interest in political matters, it is only because we coddled you too much, now that I think on it.”

That we did. But then, most second sons are subject to such treatment, it seems to Zeke. They are insurance, a failsafe to guarantee the continuation of their respective lines if the firstborn dies too soon. But more often than not, they are never brought up to shoulder the burden of the responsibility they may still yet receive one day. It is no wonder that some of their sort make for terrible heirs; some, not all, but some is more than enough.

Zeke hopes they hadn’t blinkered Eren too badly to the wider workings of the court. However, the older brother in him, the part that had always wanted a sibling to coddle, reigned supreme; he supposes their father had similar sentiments once his youngest had been born. They nurtured the boy’s dreams of knighthood, gave him the skills and knowledge necessary for the trade, and it became all he lived and breathed for until nothing else mattered. And the court is such a vicious place, perhaps part of them wants to keep at least one of the family from that mire. Whether that is for good or for ill is yet to be apparent.

“Ah, he’s a sharp lad, when he cares to be. He’ll catch up quick,” Zeke says, reaching out to ruffle Eren’s hair and ignoring the boy’s usual irritated swatting at him as he always does. He notes, with some melancholy, the inch in height his younger brother seems to have gained during his time away at campaign. He had as well savor the last few years, months perhaps, of being able to express his brotherly affection in such a manner. The Jaegers tend to height, and Zeke is more than passing certain that Eren will not prove to be an exception; he will not be the shortest of their immediate family for very long, that is for sure.

“If we are to speak of the Northern Matter, tell me, what do you think of this Father Robert?” Lord Grisha directs his query at his youngest, feeding a small morsel of hare to his waiting kestrel and watching it snap the meat up eagerly with a beak sharp as any dirk.

The frown on Eren’s face takes on a more thoughtful cast, and he looks around at the wide verdant expanse of Alyrya’s Arbor, where the Reisses have run game for hunting four hundred years and counting. The park is located a little ways north of Midford Castle and is part of many a noble’s leisurely haunts. It is just now teeming with fresh spring life; waterfowl and smaller prey are much in abundance, and the wind is cool and bracing, which makes for excellent conditions for an expedition. To the west, Alyrya’s Vase comes roaring down the surrounding cliffs to join its waters to the Woodisle, adding a wild cadence to the air. Further north lies the Crown Woods, where larger prey is to be had; deer, elk, boar, and other beasts run wild thereabouts, free for the taking for any intrepid hunter.

It cannot have been a better day, and it is like to be the last of its kind for the rest of the season. The Month of Showers has come upon them at last and the threat of the season’s promised downpours has driven several of the nobility, some of whom are their own lords vassal, out to the woods to take advantage of the perfect weather. Eren’s eyes alight on Lord Forster’s thirdborn, Floch, and stays there, unseeing. “I didn’t really get to meet the man in truth, but I saw enough of him to think that that one has steel in him. Old steel, to be sure, but steel nonetheless. I guess you can expect nothing less from a lawyer - they wouldn’t have chosen him to be the mouth of the northern faction if he wasn’t.”

“An interesting observation. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind,” says Grisha, smiling slightly. “They’re a tricky sort, these lawyers. Almost as tricky as us politicians. Still, I have yet to meet a lawyer who could outfox a statesman worth his salt. But I’ll be sure to tread carefully around this man all the same.”

“If the gods are good, we can settle this matter once and for all. But disputes surrounding land are some of the hardest to mediate… Lovaya is prodigious, more than large enough for all, I believe, yet you’d think it was sinking into the sea day by day with the way we try and amass more of it for ourselves.” Zeke nods at the kennel master, who releases his big white bitch to flush more of the waterfowl out from where they have settled amongst the reeds on the riverbank. Kesara, named for the Messenger herself, brings down her third duck of the day, much to Zeke’s approval. Good haul today.

“It’s all a matter of greed in the end,” Lord Grisha mutters darkly, a shadow falling over his face at the thought of his foremost adversary.

Eren’s eyes flicker over to their father and back to the vista before them. “It’s no more than what any noble has done before. It’s for the northmen to defend what is theirs by rights. If they lose ground, it’s only because they aren’t strong enough to keep it.”

Zeke moves off then to see to his merlin. The boy speaks sense, he supposes; Shiganshina, and any of the other States for that matter, will be half of what it is now if their forerunners had not the strength to push on to conquer and keep what they have conquered. That does not mean he finds the notion any less… disquieting coming from his brother like that. Perhaps it is the way he said it. Perhaps it is the fact that this more than anything else makes Zeke realize how little he truly knows of the inner workings of Eren’s mind.

He trudges back up toward his father and brother with Kesara perched on his right arm; the duck she caught dangles from his left hand, limp and listless. Lord Grice nods to him in passing, attended by his nephews, Colt, his heir, and little Falco, who is nominated to be Eren’s squire once he earns his knighthood as a favor to the Grice boy's staunch and stalwart uncle.

Zeke is pleased to note that the family discussion has moved on to the upcoming Mother’s Day celebration. Until he remembers what it entails.

“Have you sent fairings to Ymir yet? I don’t know what to get for her this year,” Eren says forlornly, to Zeke’s fond amusement.

“Just get her a doll, she’s still at that age, after all,” he waves away his brother’s fretting as he hands over his catch to the attendant.

Eren huffs at that. “She has enough of those to fill Highridge thrice over,” he mutters, turning away and smoothing back Lance’s wayward feathers as he does so.

“Speaking of the upcoming holy day, I expect Elva to be in attendance at the rite,” Grisha states, looking pointedly at Zeke, who feels his mouth tighten into a thin line.

And there it is. It is the one thing he is dreading about Elena’s Day. If he could have sent the bitch away to Highridge, far from sight and mind, he would have done so long ago. Yet he cannot risk the woman poisoning his own daughter and only heir against him, and there are her duties as one of Queen Linda’s chief ladies-in-waiting to consider… Putting her aside for another, more pleasant woman is out of the question as well, as far as his father is concerned. The Riehls are an old, rich House, vassals to the Fritzes, and they cannot afford to lose this connection under any circumstances. The only good use the bint is for is for fucking, and even that is suspect. He will be forever grateful to Richard Reiss I for thinking to add secret passages within Midford. Indulging in his more covert… passions has never been so easy.

“Of course, Father, it is the day for family, after all,” Zeke replies coolly. From the corner of his eye, he can see Eren furtively sidle away to the kennel master once the air between his older kin turns a touch heavier. Something inside Zeke finds that rather comically endearing.

Grisha looks at him a few moments longer from behind his lenses. “Good,” he says, turning to watch the big white bitch make her run once more toward the riverbank. “There is nothing more important than family when all is said and done.”

“Yes,” Zeke murmurs, watching Eren’s Lance dart up toward the sky and start harrying a heron twice its size. “There is nothing more important than family.” The peregrine makes a swift, steep dive, quick as lightning, and finally brings down its larger quarry, pinning it hard against the ground amidst the tall, swaying grasses.

The smell of incense is strong in the air. Some find it pleasant; you find it thick, and heavy, and dizzying.

The Lady Theresia Dietrich is hardly the first of Paradisian stock to be wed to the Old Blood of Vascalin, and like those before her, she found her influence much diminished. The Old Blood runs strong in the State, and they have ever been resistant to outside forces who would attempt to meddle with their long-held customs.

That did not mean the new ways did not find room to sow their seeds in old soil. Over the centuries, Vascalin had learned to tolerate the new blood, perhaps not as liberally as the rest of the realm but certainly much better than their northern peers in Kostrokan. Small temples sprouted all over the State like mushrooms after rain, and the nobility had taken to employing Paradisian priests and advisors into their households. Soon after came the marriages, yet the Vascalene highborn took great care never to let their new spouses hold sway over them.

Over a thousand years on and not much has changed in that regard. As it stands, most of the Vascalene nobility will not have gone to the lengths Lord Alexander had for his outsider wife, yet love has a way of working through these things. It was at her insistence that the family observe the Paradisian holy day of families every year and Alexander, ever genial and accommodating and smitten with his lady wife, indulged her wish.

You cough delicately into the sheer silk cloth of your kerchief, carefully avoiding looking over at the boy who has just occupied your mind for the umpteenth time. The Jaegers have taken up a place at the forefront of the transept near the Mother’s monument, just a little ways away from where you and your family have stationed yourselves, and so you have an unimpeded view of the many faces Eren has been making at you the very moment you had caught each other’s eyes.

He spent the past half hour of the ceremony doing his utmost best to get you to break the mask that he claims to hate so much, and twice he nearly succeeded, much to your infuriated and reluctant amusement. You resolved several times to look away, only to find yourself taking a peek (just a quick one, just this once, it’ll be the last) and falling prey to one ridiculous face after another. Before long, the both of you had made a game of it, with the rest of your families none the wiser. You still cannot believe how absurd he can get sometimes; you would think he is a child and not a boy less than a year from manhood. And yet, that is what you like about him the most. He makes you feel half a girl again, and it is most freeing.

You sweep your gaze around the ornate transept in a bid to distract yourself from your betrothed, who you know is willing you to look at him once more. You take in the massive marble likeness of the Mother, Lady Elena, in front of you all; the beautiful window of stained glass showing another image of her set above the wall behind the monument; the crystal chandeliers and the smaller statues of a cow-headed woman (another depiction of the Lady Elena) nestling in alcoves around the walls, and feel yourself duly awed.

You are glad your mother chose to attend the day’s rites in the Great Temple instead of in the smaller, more private one within the palace grounds. You can never tire of the absolute opulence of this place. It is great in form as well as in name, that nobody can deny.

While the Creed traditionally keeps individual temples for each of the twelve gods, the Great Temple presumes to house all of them all at once, to magnificent results. It is the second-most largest building in Belris and rivals Midford Castle in luxury and splendor, with its towering marble dome and twelve soaring belltowers, one for each of the new gods.

It is no less striking within. Its vast, circular antechamber, likewise made of the finest marble, leads to twelve transepts where each god holds court. Amos, the Father, resides beside Elena, the Mother, as is right and proper. Next comes the Old Man of the Sea, Nyrdos; the Oracle, Niheia, goddess of wisdom and knowledge and the arts, patron of the Priors; the Sun and the Moon, Lusin and Dedsin; Tardon, the Warrior, beloved of knights; the Lover, Lyias, the Whole of Two Halves; the Smith, Ilvisar, favored by craftsmen and those who strive to create; Kesara, the Messenger, who brought the first dove into the world; the Gardener, Alyrya, mistress of farmers and the fields; and lastly, nameless Death, the Rider, whose transept is almost always empty of custom.

Today, the Mother’s transept is filled to the brim with worshipers consisting mostly of women, children, and families, the ones under her special protection. You look around at your own family congregated around you and feel a pang of wistfulness, knowing you are missing two of your number. Little Oliver is much too young to go to court and Tibor, being a novice of the Parliament, is encouraged to see as little as possible of his own House. He will be sent to serve some other House once he masters his trade and must therefore put aside his old loyalties; most like you will never see him again unless circumstances permit it.

You glance at Lydia, knowing well how much she misses her twin brother. Yet she seems to be holding up well without his much yearned for presence, for which you are glad.

Your eyes flicker over to the foot of the Mother’s monument where the Matriarch stands, deep in prayer over the as-of-yet unburnt sacrifice of cow’s meat, pomegranates, chameleon lilies, and golden lotuses piled in the massive iron brazier before her. Or tried to, at least. You somehow manage to catch the eye of your betrothed once more, who quickly sticks out his tongue at you, making you purse your lips to hide your smile. The ceremony cannot end fast enough.

But end it does at last, and you find yourself trailing behind your parents after the Matriarch’s blessing as they stride forward to hail the Jaegers and exchange pleasantries. It amused you to no end to see Matron Gudrun struggle to keep her motherly composure as she gave Eren her blessing, nostrils flared and eyes burning a hole through his chest where his own mother’s beloved key lay.

“Gods, that mask of yours sure is hard to break,” Eren murmurs, sidling up to stand beside you with his hands behind his back, looking exceptionally handsome today in red and gold. “I don’t know if I like that at all,” he adds, looking slightly crestfallen at the thought.

“I’m glad to know I can keep it up under any circumstance,” you whisper back, trying to tamp down the rush of thrill you can feel coursing through you at the sight of him wearing your House colors. It is astonishing just how much red favors his looks.

“But not with me,” Eren chirps, grabbing your hand and tugging you a step forward. “May I steal you away, my lady?”

You look at him in surprise, before glancing at your elders, who seem to have finally taken notice of your little exchange. Your father gives the both of you an encouraging nod and Eren inclines his head respectfully, gently leading you away to join the throng of worshipers making their way out of the transept into the Temple’s antechamber.

“Are you sure you’d rather not spend your time with your family today? It is the day for family, after all,” you venture, glancing at the back of his dark head as you pass through the transept’s entrance.

Eren lets out a noncommittal sound and answers, “I’d rather not be around a certain Lord and Lady Jaeger, if you catch my meaning. And besides, we’ll be family soon enough.”

A burst of heat crawls up your face at that, and you quickly glance at him, wishing you could have seen his face as he said that; but the flushed tips of his ears and the back of his neck tell the tale of his feelings well enough. You look down at the elaborate mosaic of the twelve sacred beasts you have just walked over, biting your lip, and hasten your steps so you can walk beside him; you squeeze his hand gently and feel him do so likewise. This is looking to be a most exhilarating day indeed.

Even the leaden sky above cannot dampen your spirits. “Oh, we’d best hurry. There’s a smell of rain in the air.” And it is rousing and invigorating and makes you feel more alive than anything else ever could have at the moment. A gust of wind blows across the Temple’s courtyard, lifting the sheer pale blue silk of your veil into the air.

Eren takes one look at you and draws you aside beneath the great stone colonnade that parts the courtyard from the gardens. You give him a curious look and are just about to ask him what is wrong when he moves to stand behind you. You stiffen in surprise as you feel him reach up toward the back of your head. There is a gentlest of tugs followed by the sensation of him smoothing back the stray hairs he has dislodged from your silver filigree hairpiece in his endeavor, and he reemerges, walking back to his preceding place in front of you with your veil in his arms.

“Pretty but cumbersome, don’t you think?” he says, folding the cloth neatly into a small parcel.

“Now you’ll be the one encumbered,” you point out, distractedly smoothing down the pale blue and silver skirts of your gown.

Eren snorts a little and flourishes the small square of silk in front of you. “By this flimsy thing? It’s hardly more than a wisp, easily kept in my belt.”

“Well, then, thank you, kind sir. At least let me keep it in my own person,” you smile, taking your veil from him and stowing it away in the pocket of your gown where you keep your kerchief. “But I must confess, I did not expect to be doing much vigorous exploring today, aside from exploring the special booths, and that’s hardly vigorous at all. Hence the cumbersome veil.”

“We’ll keep it short, and it seems the weather is eager to do that for us anyway. I’d like to look around as much as I can before the clouds break.” Eren takes your hand in his once more, and you proceed to leave the Temple grounds, passing the massive fountain of the Twelve at the center of the yard. “And I want to see if I can find a good Elena’s Day present for Ymir,” Eren raises his voice above the loud crashing of the fountain’s waters as it pours endlessly down into a great stone basin from the twelve mouths of the twelve sacred beasts arrayed at the heart of the structure.

“Oh, I’d like to get her something, too,” you put in interestedly, mind instantly going through a list of fairings you can send the girl. Dolls? No, she probably has enough of those to last her a lifetime. A bag of marchpane treats? Perhaps… Or a nice pin for her hair, something that’ll look pretty with all that gold…

“Fairings from the soon-to-be aunt by marriage, that’s nice,” Eren says lightly, half-bashful and half-teasing.

“Yes,” you cough, looking away briefly to gather your bearings before saying, “It’s been almost a week since Klesvar and I still haven’t grown warts on my feet, just so you know. You fretted for nothing.”

Eren laughs as you descend the steps leading to one of the many plazas in Belris, Silver Oak, where most of the city’s craftsmen congregate. “All right, fair enough. I, too, haven’t grown any warts on either foot. But who takes off her shoes when climbing atop the head of a long-dead giant, I ask you?”

“The soles wouldn’t grip properly, I told you. And I made sure to thoroughly scrub my feet afterward, so it was all well and good,” you wave away his remark and lead him further into the plaza, which is enjoying little custom on account of the approaching deluge.

A stall selling hairpins, brooches, and other such trinkets catches your eye, and you make your way over curiously, letting go of Eren’s hand as you do so. The stallkeep looks up and flashes you an inviting smile, eager to get at least some patronage today; it flickers slightly as he catches sight of Eren and his key pendant, yet he quickly recovers, turning his full attention upon you instead. “A blessed Mother’s Day to you, my lady.”

“And to you, goodman,” you return his smile and examine his wares closely as Eren hovers over your shoulder.

“Oh? When’s the happy nuptials?”

You glance up, only to find the stallkeep eyeing the black pearl dangling from the silver chain around your neck.

“Next year.”

You look around at Eren as he speaks and watch the softest of smiles grace his comely face.

“Ah, you have my most sincere congratulations!” the stallkeep beams (a little nervously, you think), then apologetically tacks on, “I would normally offer you a bargain on my wares but considering the state of business today… well, I hope my lady understands.”

That you do well enough and obligingly pay the man the full price of one silver crescent for an exquisitely made silver comb adorned with a bird in flight.

One stall catches Eren’s eye afterward, that of a woodcarver who is selling the most beautifully crafted figures you have seen in a long while. You come upon him at his work, and you note how closely Eren watches the man as he deftly whittles away at the small block of wood in his skilled hands.

You soon find your mind wandering as Eren engages the stallkeep in conversation. Your eyes land upon a dollmaker in the stall next to the woodcarver’s, and you are startled to see the look of absolute distaste on his face as he gazes over at the both of you. Slipping on a mask of cool indifference comes easy, and you furtively look over at your betrothed, who seems to be the object of the other stallkeep’s disapproval. For a moment, you think the man merely envious of the woodcarver’s custom, until you see where the dollmaker’s attention truly lies. Of course.

“Tch, did you see the way that dollmaker looked at me? You’d think I fucked his maiden daughter,” Eren grumbles under his breath, as you leave the woodcarver’s stall with his purchase safely tucked away in his leather money bag.

You giggle at that and take his hand in yours. “He must’ve thought you one of those blasphemous Death worshipers. Really, I’d have thought you’d get used to the nasty stares by now, but you have this remarkable way of shutting those out. Always the rebel, aren’t you?”

Eren glances down at his mother’s key resting upon his chest and rolls his eyes to the overcast skies above. “Superstitious cunts, the whole lot of them.”

“Oh, it takes balls to wear that pendant to a holy rite, in the Great Temple no less. I thought the Matriarch was going to strangle you with it, her holy vows be damned.”

Eren chokes on his laughter and incredulity. “Lady Crass shows her face again.”

“Thought about her a lot, have you?” you grin wickedly, enjoying the play of crimson embarrassment washing over his face and trying not to think too deeply on what that may entail.

A guttural sound escapes your betrothed’s throat, and he mutters something under his breath as he quickens his pace, following the familiar path back to the castle.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?” you press, stifling the laughter in your voice as you half-jog to keep up.

“I said we had best get home since we’re done here.”

You cannot have done so at a better time. The first few fat droplets start pelting down the very moment you slip through Midford’s front doors, and soon enough, the cloudburst is upon you in earnest.

Reluctant to part ways just yet, you invite Eren to your father’s solar for a game of qaxan, which he accepts with a determined look on his face.

You play on the small marble table in front of the chamber’s terrace doors, which are just now closed to keep out the rain, though the long, red velvet curtains framing the doorway are still tied back, affording you a view of one of the smaller castle gardens. The fires have been lit as well, bathing the room in a soothing wash of warmth. You set up your respective pieces behind the qaxan screen, fire and rain the only things breaking the comfortable silence that has descended upon the solar.

A glance out at the terrace prompts you to remark, “You know, I’ve always thought rain trees a fascinating plant.”

Eren pauses in his rumination of the board to glance out the doors at the rainswept vista. “I know what you mean. They only bloom in rain, but their flowers absolutely do not bring to mind rain in any way, shape, or form.”

They certainly are an oddity. Fire-bright blooms break through the gray drabness outside, striking and conspicuous, making it look as though a bolt of lightning had struck the tree and set it ablaze.

“Their blossoms should be blue, something like a winter rose or Cornelia’s Tears. Or they should’ve called it a fire tree instead, even though it only blooms in rain,” Eren continues, as he carefully sets up his array.

He has started to take his time with the game, you note, ever since his… debacle in the North. While he has yet to win a game still, what few sessions you had had over the past week or so had grown a touch bit longer than before. Part of you is grimly pleased with the progress; the change may have come about due to dire circumstances but you find it highly fascinating. It will seem that Eren, when stripped of haste and impatience, is a lot sharper and more astute than he initially seems.

You put your last mountain into place and glance up at him. “I suppose people love toying around with names. It’s just like moon cakes, which are truly moon pies, whatever else people insist on calling it.”

Eren chuckles at that and pronounces himself ready to begin the game. You remove the screen and take the measure of his arrayed army. An interesting formation. You advance a catapult one square to the left.

“I plan to go back to that woodcarver tomorrow, weather permitting. If you want, you can come with.” There is a note of hopefulness in his voice as he moves his spearmen.

You answer with your own spearmen. “Oh? Have you not bought what you needed to today?”

“Let’s just say Ymir’s going to have to wait a while for her present. I would’ve sent mine with yours but, well…” His archers come into play, to bolster his spearmen.

You give him a brief intrigued glance, before advancing your charioteers a square. “So, I take it that figure you bought was not her actual present.”

“No.” A most mysterious smile graces his face as he moves his archers once more. “It’ll take a while but I think it’ll be more special that way.”

“Will you tell me if I ask what it is you’re planning? No, I didn’t think so,” you sigh, as he merely shakes his head at you, enigmatic smile still in place.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Speaking of Ymir,” you look up at him a little cautiously, before plunging on, “you said something about Zeke and Lady Elva earlier in the Temple… how is your father taking all of that?”

A shadow falls over Eren’s face fleetingly. You hurry to apologize and change the subject yet he answers, “Most like he’s in his solar avoiding any… altercations between husband and wife, if they haven’t stormed off into their own respective chambers by now. It’s never much of a family day with those two around.” He brings out one of his giants to play to further defend his mountain passes. “I just realized we never really get a chance to lounge around in Father’s solar. He practically lives in the place.”

“He is the Magister, I wouldn’t expect anything less, honestly.” You roll out your trebuchet, ready to catch out his giant if he blunders.

Eren looks around at the fort of the Praetor’s political life, expression pensive. “One day, this’ll all be yours.”

“Not any time soon, gods willing.”

“It’s fast approaching, though. You’ve been spending more and more time behind that finely carved desk these days.” He moves his giant two squares, and you pounce, making his mouth thin in displeasure.

“I do have to learn my trade. And Father makes it look so easy…” You pick up your golden dragon, toying with it a moment before setting it down in favor of one of your own giants. “Speaking of trades,” you flash him a look, part considering, part teasing, “I was wondering how you’d fare as my castellan.”

Eren chokes on air at your statement, looking at you with wide eyes. “Castellan? Me?”

“How not? Plenty of great knights make fine castellans, it’s an honorable post.”

“Yes, but…” Eren looks down at the board, and melancholy bleeds into his expression. “I don’t know if I have the ability to run a household like yours. I’m not…” He hunches in on himself, and you feel your heart go out to him.

Once you fall in love, my child, his joy and grief and anger… all of that will be yours. From two now as one, as you will swear to the old gods someday.

“That day, when you first taught me the ways of this game,” you glance up at him, heart pounding inexplicably and fingers itching to tangle themselves together upon the marble tabletop, “when you played with Armin…”

His brow furrows, but he pushes on, “I realized just how much in common the both of you have. Both southron, both heirs to High Houses, both quick and smart and clever and so… far ahead of me.” He picks up his dragon, turning it over in his hands and watching the light gleam over its red lacquered body. “I’ve never felt so left behind, so inadequate until that moment. I’m glad you think me worthy of that kind of service to you,” he flashes you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “but I just can’t see myself reaching that goalpost.”

“It’s not a race, you know.” You tap the head of your dragon idly, watching surprise part his mouth as his gaze once again lights up. “Life. You don’t need to catch up to anyone, least of all me and Armin. And I don’t think it should matter how long you get to that goalpost of yours. Why not go at your own pace? I believe you’ll get there in the end. And besides,” you smile a little as he removes your spearmen from the board, “I think it is you who are moving too fast. Maybe you should be less concerned about haste and learn to see the value of slowing down.”

The memory of the northern campaign lies unspoken between you, the last time he had tried to move too fast and had ended up doing more harm than good. The truth of his part in the Lord Commander’s mishap is practically unknown to the rest of the court, even to the rest of the detachment that had been with them that day, and the fact is not lost on you. The chaos and confusion of battle had served to muddle the incident, and those few who are privy to the fact have hushed it all up; whether or not this is because they are mindful of who Eren’s father is, you are not certain.

“Yes... you’re right. I’m just upset that it took something so… disastrously momentous to make me see that,” Eren sighs, watching as you move your dragon to the center of the board.

“And I don’t think you’ll ever be inadequate, Eren,” you say quietly. “If running a household is not to your strengths, then it’s not. There will always be duties better suited to you.”

“Still, now that you’ve put it forward… the idea finally has some merit…”

Your dragon moves forward a square. “I suppose Zeke and Lord Grisha have taught you some things about running a household?”

“Well, yes, they have. But I will admit, I wasn't... the best of students.” At your look, he adds almost shamefacedly, “You know how I am... those matters aren't exactly the most interesting of subjects, are they? But I'm not an entirely lost cause, I don't think. I learn better with Sir Hannes.” Sir Hannes Ahrendt is the Jaegers' castellan. You had met the man the past autumn and thought him pleasant enough. “He was a right old sot before Father set him straight, but our household’s never run as smoothly as it does under his helm. I like to follow him around when I’m bored, ask questions… not really what you’d call proper tuition but-”

“I think it’s plenty good, more practical,” you tell him, and the smile he flashes you lights up his eyes so prettily. “And it’s not solely you who’ll be running the household. You’ll have a steward, a Prior… me.”

“Then, I suppose I’m in good hands.” He removes one of your charioteers, and his smile takes on a more triumphant cast. “This is one of those things I wish Mother was still here to teach me about… I’m sure she ran a great household.”

“I’m sure she did.” You eye the key pendant he is wearing underneath the golden chain of his betrothal necklace as he rolls up the sleeves of his crimson tunic to his elbows. “I truly admire the strength of your devotion to her memory, to weather others’ censure like that.”

He glances down at the key on his chest, looking equal parts wistful and annoyed. “The opinions of superstitious cunts don’t concern me. It’s just a bloody key when all is said and done.”

“Hmm, true enough.” A giggle bursts through your lips as you remove one of his catapults. “Ah, the Matriarch’s face when she was blessing you was worth its own painting. I don’t think she’s the kind of cunt you’d like to cross, though, by the look of her.”

“How in the bloody hell did you get so crass?” Eren shakes his head at you as he toys with a trebuchet. You realize, with a small thrill of horror, that your dragon is in very real peril of going down if that piece is played. “It’s the farthest thing people will think, to look at you.” Under his breath, he mutters, “Is what they say about southron girls true…?”

“Oh?” The slyest of smirks curves your lips. “Do tell, Eren. What do they say about southron girls?” You lean across the table, crossing your arms against the marble top and watching the apple of his throat bob a little as his eyes flicker down to the curve of your breasts, visible atop the bodice of your gown. Distracted, he abandons his trebuchet to move his dragon two squares to the left. “That we’re wild, wanton… hot-blooded?” Your voice lowers, eyes fixed resolutely on his as he leans back in his chair, face flushed. “That it’s the climate making us so, that famous southron heat?” You laugh at that and remove his dragon with a flourish. “We’re no more wanton than any other woman in the realm, gods be good.”

Eren looks down at the board, seeming to come out of his daze, and stares at you a good, long while. “That’s not fair.”

“War is never fair, Eren, we make use of whatever advantage we have to hand to better our chances at victory,” you riposte, straightening up a little in your own seat. But the way he gazes at you then gives you pause.

“I do think about her a lot, Lady Crass,” he says, and there is something in his voice that makes gooseflesh rise up your arms. He tilts his head a little at you.

He’s never looked at me that way. Never. Never.

“Ever since that night she first put in an appearance, I’ve been most curious about her.”

You wrench your eyes away from his, watching him move his giant towards one of your mountain passes. You move your dragon a square closer.

“And I confess… I wonder how much liberty she’ll allow me with her body… if she’s willing… willing to let me touch, kiss… more perhaps…”

He moves a trebuchet. Your dragon flies ever closer to the giant.

You have fallen thrall to his voice. You raise your eyes to meet his once more, and you are lost. He seems more a man to you then, and you wonder how it is that you have come to overlook this fact, come to overlook the broadness of his shoulders, the sharpness of his jaw, the lean muscle of his forearms as he crosses them against the table.

“Now I wonder…” His gaze seems to smolder as he looks at you. You have never seen fire burn green until now. “If you’d let me sate my lusts with you.”

You move your dragon a square, and he removes it from the board, quick as lightning.

For a moment, you can only stare at him. The room has gone unbearably, stiflingly hot. “That’s not fair.”

One corner of his mouth turns up into the most self-satisfied of smirks. “War is never fair,” he says, voice low, and the way your name pours off his lips makes the heat under your skin flare.

You narrow your eyes at him, digging deep for the cool, calm head of Lady Rhyzkova. “I don’t need a dragon to defeat you.”

“No, but I’ll think you’ll be more hard-pressed to.” The hint of smug superiority in his tone makes you bristle, and it is this more than anything else that gives you the drive to finally trounce him several moves later.

“See, I didn’t need a dragon to beat you,” you say, victorious and elated.

“Yes, I yield, I yield,” he smiles, looking a good deal less upset at this loss than he had his earlier ones. He glances at your father’s timepiece and stands up from his seat. “Will you go down to dinner tonight?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“I’ll be seeing you then?” The way he gazes down at you almost makes you squirm in your seat. Almost.

“Yes, of course.” The breath you have been holding on to during your small exchange leaves you as a small gasp the moment the door of your father’s solar closes behind your betrothed’s form. You look down at your hands, dimly noting the tremors that shake them, and tangle them together on your lap.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

***

...my plans of updating by Aug. 21 have been shot to hell, lmao.

That aside, things have slowed down again for a while, but it'll pick up once more soon enough, I'm definitely setting up more things for the main climax in this and the next few chapters. And this one's another long chapter at 10.3K, I hope I didn't overdo it with this one (I just love expounding on things ajshdkshdsksds).

I hope you all like this one, and as always, thank you for reading! :D

Tagging: @princess-jaeger @lukepattersin

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #eren jeager x reader #Eren Jaeger #eren yeager #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

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nyxwanderland · 10 months

Text

♡ in your arms

pairing → jean kirschtein x reader genre → fluff / angst warnings → contains swearing, blood word count → 1157

I may get very hungry after several hours of brutal training, but I'd trade my soul in exchange for skipping dinner at the mess hall. Don't get me wrong, the food was alright. The real reason was the loud and annoying trainees drenched in sweat and reeking of body odor, making it unbearable for me to eat in peace. I myself felt uncomfortable and self-conscious of my own unpleasant smell.

Commander Keith's orders were to wash up only after we had our meals. So bothersome.

After taking forever to find an empty place for myself to sit and eat, I propped my book in front of me in a way I could read it easily while eating my bread. Although despising them with every inch of my being, I had always found titans fascinating and really wanted to work with Squad Leader Hange Zoe to further research about the giant brutes.

It was getting louder in the mess hall. It was as if a fight broke out because people gathered around a spot and punches and kicks were heard. I could care less, however the crowd was right behind me so it was difficult to concentrate in peace.

I decided to get up and find a new area where it was quieter when I was hit with a splash of water out of the blue. Not only my hair and clothes were all wet, but my food and book were too. The entire room became quiet upon realization.

Abruptly getting up while slamming my hands on the table, I turned around to face the group of people behind me. They already thought I was scary for no reason and left me alone all this time, so they stared at me as if they'd shit their pants.

"Who did it?" I asked. Frustrated when no answer came, I said again, with a raised voice this time, "I said, who the fuck did it?"

"It was me," a brown-haired boy spoke up, raising his hand. "Didn't see you there, sorry."

I would've normally forgiven him, but something about his cocky expression and negligible concern made my eye twitch. "Is that your way of apologizing?"

His eyes glanced down from my eyes to my hand, which was holding the book, water droplets dripping from the pages. "I mean, you got a shower, you should be thanking me for that."

My urge give him a beating won over just as he said that. I went towards his figure. "Also, that book has like a hundreds of copies in the library, so it's not that a big de-" While his mouth was spewing shit, I grabbed a fistful of hair, shoving his face on my knee. A crack was heard as I did so.

"Jean?!" One of the trainees from the crowd yelled along with a couple of gasps from the others in the room.

The guy- Jean grunted as he staggered and lost his balance, falling on the floor with his head on the ground. "Fuck! This bitch broke my nose!"

"Didn't see you there. It's just a broken nose, it'll get fixed on its own anyway, no big deal."

✩

"Hey, you alright?" A voice so gentle asked.

I snapped out of the memory and realized I wasn't a trainee in the mess hall anymore, but in an airship with other soldiers, in a land outside of where it all began.

I quickly looked at the person who spoke. Just as our eyes met, my gaze softened and a smile subconsciously appeared on my face. "Yeah, I'm fine, Jean."

The me four years ago would have never expected to be my worst enemy's fiancée, sitting closely together with my head on his shoulder. From hating to loving each other, it was a whole journey; and we were going to continue it till the end.

"You looked pretty zoned out there," my beloved said, worried unlike our trainee days.

I shook my head. "I was thinking about how we first met."

Jean let out a laugh. "Man, that sure was the most horrible first meeting I've ever had in my life. Worse than Eren's."

"You were being a jerk after all," I shrugged. "You deserved it."

"Oh, shut up," he scoffed. "It was just a book, my love. You could have found more like it or even better in the lib-"

"You're lucky that I love you or there'd be a repeat of what happened last time," I threatened as sweetly as possible.

Jean rolled his eyes and sighed. He wrapped his arm around my body, pulling me even closer to his body. "I just can't wait for this to be over. Then as promised, we'll get married and have a safe life back home."

I smiled, my cheeks slightly turning red at the thought of us living together with no worry in the world. Without being alert all the time and without the fear of getting killed suddenly. "Me too," I said quietly, just enough for Jean to hear amongst the loud celebrating cheers in the ship.

thud

My ears perked up and I looked at Jean, who became alert too. Something just hit the exterior of the airship. We both got up and told the cheering soldiers to calm down.

"Is there someone inside?" I asked, but all of them denied.

I went to check from the door, but someone held my hand to stop me. I turned around to see it was Jean. "It's dangerous, y/n."

"I'll be fine," I said reassuringly.

At that moment, a little girl jumped inside the aircraft and pointed a large rifle at someone. Sasha.

It all happened in seconds, as I pushed Sasha out of the way to save her from getting killed. She looked at me with horror, and I did not realize why so until I felt a sharp pain in my body, near my chest.

It took me a moment to comprehend what was happening as my body dropped to the floor, Jean screaming in agony and the angry soldiers grabbing the culprit and snatching the weapon.

My eyes were glued to the ceiling and I tried to control my breath. Blood oozed out from my wound. My vision was getting blurry and the voices that were once loud were beginning to fade away.

I felt my body being held in someone's arms. I saw Jean, his face plastered with despair and dripping with tears. He was saying something, but it was getting harder for me to make out the words coming out of his mouth.

With the only energy left within, I managed to place my hand on my beloved's cheek, wiping the tears away. I let out a deep breath and muttered, "I guess... my wish of dying in your arms became true... earlier than I wanted to..."

"I'm sorry, J-Jean... for breaking our promise..."

I felt my hand drop as everything went black, breathing my last.

#jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein x reader #attack on titan #fluff then angst #my first fic #like and follow

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