#It's technically part of our exam but we get to use our notes for it??

[chains-of-destiny]

Hey, author! Your demo made my eyes sweat ty! 🤗 I was just curious, since we can enable cheat mode does that mean our mc becomes overpowered in some sense or…? Also, will mc have some sort of mysterious rare power of does the foundation of their “greater destiny” lie in something else? Thank you!!! I pray for big A+ in all your exams 🫶☺️

Hey, thanks for checking out the demo! <3

According to my current plans, the cheat mode will include much more than an immediate stat boost to 99 (which is, btw, a lot more than you will ever need in the game). For example, you will be able to: edit relationship values, adjust romance values (if you decide to romance another RO later down the line and don't want to replay the game for that), and change important checks in the game along with many other little things (such as changing the MC's appearance, name, etc.).

I've been toying with the idea of making some of the scenes for people who use cheat mode somewhat more "unique" and not just a free pass on the stat checks. I've played with games that have cheat modes, but I always found it a little funny that even with overpowered stats, you'd get the same result as if you barely met the requirements. I plan to write scenes where you can distinguish between passing the check with cheat mode and passing it with regular stats, allowing you to truly feel the impact of cheat mode. For example, other characters might comment on it, or the scene might unfold in a much "cooler" (I don't know how to say it better😄) way for the protagonist and other little things like that.

I didn't mention it before, but in the next update, it will be mentioned (and I plan to mention it in the rewrite of chapter 1 as well) that the powers the nine heroes had during the rebellion are passed down to their offsprings. So, the protagonist technically has the potential to use that power (just like Nemio is able to use the power of his House), but the artifact needed to wield it was confiscated in the wake of the grandfather's treason (for obvious reasons). This is just a very basic explanation of it, and many more things are intentionally kept somewhat hidden since the grandfather's treason, and the power of the MC's bloodline are both significant parts of the overarching plot.

On a side note, I appreciate the prayers! I definitely need all I can get. So far, I've managed A-s and B-s, and I'm starting to suspect I have a luck cheat, as I keep getting topics I enjoy in the exams.😄 Let's see if my luck holds out for the remaining two exams! Thanks again!

[doberbutts]

How did you get those tests done? I have very bad period pain, hair growth, and pain with sex and am thinking it would be good to get tested. Do you need a referral for a specialist?

You have to go to an endocrinologist! I had to get a referral for a specialist, but depending on your insurance situation or how your country handles these types of medical handshakes between different specialties, it may really depend on your exact scenario. For me, I was referred because I have very clear symptoms say something is screwy with my naturally produced hormones, and because I want to start T. It's very important to understand that I am going through a gender clinic and in fact one of the best within the state- so going through a PCP may net different results.

My sister was referred due to those symptoms alone as she is very cishet, but it's important to note that she's also nearly 5 years older than me and that means she's had to wait 5 additional years and have struggled with fertility and at least one high-risk pregnancy as well as a miscarriage before a doctor decided a specialist needed to be involved. My sister does not have the same level of virilization I do, and that's part of it, but also one must understand that part of it for both of us is that we are medically classified as black women. And doctors notoriously do not give a fuck about black women and anyone they consider black woman-adjacent (including black trans men like myself) and believe we do not feel pain or that our complaints of pain are exaggerated, leading to astronomical rates of medical abuse and neglect ending in long-term injury from otherwise fixable conditions and even death. It is also, sadly, very hard to prove.

If I were not transgender, I think the first steps would be to see an obgyn because that doctor may find something with a standard physical exam. If that doctor does not, or even if they do, it's then a good idea to see if a visit to an endocrinologist is worth it. I technically did things in that order myself but not on purpose, the obgyn I went to just because I am nearly 30 and still have not had a pap smear and have a bunch of problems like pain during vaginal sex and horrific and heavy periods. The endo I went to because I want T and wanted a definitive answer regarding the possibility of being intersex. However because it's very possible that the problem I presented to one doctor (horrific heavy periods) was the same as the problem I presented to the other doctor (am I intersex?)- and in fact that was actually the case- it ended up being that the obgyn gave me meds to get me through til my endo appointment, and the endo will give me meds to get me through til T stops my periods.

[leam1983]

On Alternative Lifestyles and Found Families

So, I spent part of this night getting probed by Walt's GP as to my sexual history. Officially, this wasn't quite it, of course - it's his GP wanting to make absolutely sure that Sarah and I are being safe - but all three of us feel scrutinized, honestly. It's borderline patronizing, if not the exact kind of homophobia I have the hardest time digesting.

See, I can handle bigots. You either provoke a non-response out of them or you let them be. Then there's people who aren't technically bigots, but who can't yet reason outside of the stigma they've grown up learning about. In Walt's GP's case, that stigma would be the perceived notion that gay and poly couples and throuples are, well, promiscuous.

So, I opened up. Walt clasped my hand, and I opened my bag about my hooking back up with a former lecturer and professor of mine from years ago, after graduation, and spending a little over a year in absolute fucking bliss. Prof was freshly out, I was out by a few years but didn't quite want to admit it to myself, and we were so gaga for one another that, well, other partners just wasn't something that came to mind. We knew one another's schedules and knew that with my age at the time and his own - and with Prof's later cancer diagnosis - shopping around just wasn't in our cards.

Walt, Sarah and I had already done this dance with Sarah's GP, who was notably more chill about us three. Her verdict amounted to Be honest, make this work and you won't have any reasons to worry. Just - don't stop wearing protection.

So far, so good. My GP, being on the private sector, wanted to log everything. She didn't suspect one of us to pull a string of flings and to carry a bug or two around, but she wanted us to avoid the very possibility. Again, this was out of the notion that either Walt or myself would act like what you saw in porn vids from the seventies and eighties, and mostly collect raunchy encounters with the ravenous energy of rabbits on PCP. I was quick to figure this out as being another shot at billing me for something.

Walt's? Well, I'm guessing graybeards get graybeard GPs. A little leaner than Walt, with thicker glasses and a shirt that was probably in style back when Walt had hair on top, and a palpable sense of, well, let's call it kindly disapproval.

Walt opens his own bag, and so does Sarah. We reassure the GP that we have been undergoing regular tests and will continue to do so out of respect for one another and for the sake of honesty. The old coot takes the other two docs' details and acts like we're the first sane polyamorous group he's met.

"I've seen things, you know," he notes. "Back in the Disco years, when saunas were popular in Montreal..."

I add a fake laugh. "I'm sure you did, sir. The thing is, this is 2022, and I love this man and this woman far too much to consider weighing them down with an STD. We love one another, and we've already been taking steps to ensure nothing goes awry."

He acts like I told him I'm from Mars. "I'm sorry for saying this, but gays weren't quite so responsible, in my time."

Walter saves face, picks up his overcoat and waves us out, knowing I would love nothing more than to coldcock his physician.

In the car, Sarah is outraged. "We're adults! We chose each other, I don't see the straights getting blackbagged by the Bedroom Gestapo! These cheating fucks pass on shit to their wives and girlfriends all the time!"

It's Walter's time to be reassuring, like I was after my eye exam. "The only thing that matters is our being accountable for each other. This little circus wasn't set up to appease a bunch of white coats, it was set up so we'd all get records to consult if anything happens. The tests give us a window of time, and if anything happens, we'll have an easier time figuring out Patient Zero among us three. It'll make it easier for all three of us to be honest, and it'll hopefully eliminate any and all fears we might have over what goes on in mine and Grem's bedroom, no matter if it's the three of us or just Sport and myself."

He briefly looks at Sarah as he drives. "Everyone else can take a hike, Sar. This is our mutual health insurance policy. Take it from me, the straights wish they had the balls to set something like this up. It might dissolve a bunch of marriages, but it could also save a few."

Silence settles in for a few streetlights, until she finally looks back at Walt. "I'm okay," she says, nodding. "It was hard, is all."

The big guy nods, slowly. "It's hard, but it'll buy us peace of mind. Like I said, everyone else can take a long hike off a short cliff."

I nod pensively. "I like this. Being here for you two, I mean. It makes this whole thing feel mature. Thought-out. Like it's not just my hormones losing it over Walt's necktie knot or Sarah melting when he hugs her."

He glances back at me and looks back at Sarah. For a second you could think we're a family of sorts, an older gentleman discussing with his two adult children. In a way, we are family, now. Have been for several months.

"I still have the keys to the old place for a few days," Walter notes, and I'll remind you that I left a mattress and old bedsheets there. The old place is a house, not an apartment, and we won't be heard from the basement. No shared walls."

His eyes twinkle. "We can't rightly celebrate next to Grem's parents, they'd throw us out and end his lease if we got too noisy. The duplex is out, and you've long been out of alternatives, Sarah."

We slowly share a grin, all three of us. Walter keeps his tone intentionally breezy. "Two pit-stops, one at IGA and the SAQ for some food and some booze, and another one at the SDQC for something that'll get us nice and cozy. We head for my old place, set up in the basement - and see where that takes us..."

I can't repress a chuckle. "Wile E. Coyote's got nothing on you, you genius."

A long, love-filled moment passes. Sarah breaks it simply enough, and in a way that rips laughter out of all three of us. She looks at us like she's cornered some sort of enigma, her reddish-auburn hair playing under the passing streetlights. Her glasses make her look impish, and she owns it.

"Fuck, I love you guys!" she swears. I clasp her shoulder from the back, Walter reaches back while driving, to use his free hand to touch both of ours.

"Tonight," he says, "we're consecrating our family. It might not last forever, sure, but for now, we've got each other."

The weight of the moment won't hit me until hours later - now, at least, when I've retreated from two splayed bodies I deeply love, for the sake of a few moments of clarity, to go plink this out on a laptop. All three of us are naked, and I'm covered in so many scents and sweat-related accents I didn't remember existing. The soles of my feet sting with little concrete pebbles and forgotten sawdust.It's been a long while since I made love to a woman, and Sarah was as patient as she could've been. Walter and I more or less sandwiched her, which left me to take a more proactive role while he stroked her neck or kissed her cheek from the back.

Sarah and Walt just finished on their own, and I can hear him thanking her. Having known himself to be gay for decades, now, Walt's prior experience with women is sparse, and lifetimes removed. From the sound of things, he's not half-bad.

It's come to my attention that we're all damaged goods. Me with my disability, my struggles, the death of my first genuine lover, and my knowing that I'll probably never be fully autonomous, for reasons outside of my control. All of my loved ones and lovers have always assisted me to some degree or another, and both Walter and Sarah accepted it with disarming ease.

Sarah's started to open up, and I've learned that her interests stem out of an unhappy childhood. Where else do you escape from a broken household than in your deadbeat father's old D&D 2.5 Ed. books? She's always felt inadequate, always felt less than. Like I always have.

As for Walter, it'd be safe to say he ate his abuse, his trauma. His many rejections, unfulfilling careers, abortive relationships... You don't come close to two hundred and eighty pounds of self-gratification if the weight doesn't feel like some sort of comfort, in a way. He couldn't get jacked, couldn't fight back - so he got fat. Got hard to move, learned to conjoin that with outwardly airs of extroversion when any instance that saw him act as such triggered a week or two's worth of binge eating and comfort-seeking.

All of this, and Sarah and I are the first persons to tell him that, sometimes, some people do look good in situations like his. He could've been a slob, or the type to hide it, to stoop or to dress in baggy clothes - but he never did. He cinched it, instead. Framed it, recalled old standards like Fat Men's clubs - and worked his ass off to make it work. The Sales guys pick off-the-rack stuff; Walter gets his measurements taken by a guy he knows and has already-expensive fare tailored and adjusted. He turned his need for comfort into culinary classes, and told himself that if he was going to equate anything depressing or bold or funny with food, then he'd eat well.

Damaged goods, all of us.

Sarah eventually stirrs awake. "Come back to bed; there's half a joint left, and Walt left you a slice of chocolate cake."

I can't quite repress a laugh. There's probably weirder reasons to crawl back into bed with your second family, but I can't think of anything in the moment.

[certspots]

Certified Pega System Architect PEGACPSA23V1 Dumps Questions

Are you currently in search of effective strategies and tips to adequately prepare for the PEGACPSA23V1 Certified Pega System Architect '23 Exam? We recommend that you get the most recent Certified Pega System Architect PEGACPSA23V1 Dumps Questions from Certspots. These materials are designed to equip you with comprehensive knowledge and an in-depth understanding of what to expect in the exam. By thoroughly studying and reviewing all of our Certified Pega System Architect PEGACPSA23V1 Dumps Questions, you will not only gain the confidence and mastery needed to excel, but you will also be able to clear the Pegasystems PEGACPSA23V1 exam on your first attempt. Embark on this rewarding journey towards becoming a Certified Pega System Architect today.

Certified Pega System Architect '23 Exam Overview

The Certified Pega System Architect '23 is a prestigious certification designed specifically for developers and technical staff members who are keen on expanding their knowledge and skills in developing Pega applications. This certification is a testament to one's proficiency in understanding and building applications on the Pega platform.

The examination for this certification covers a wide range of topics, including but not limited to both the Constellation architecture and the Traditional UI architecture. These areas of study provide a comprehensive overview of the key architectural aspects required for efficient application development in Pega.

It's important to note that this certification is the first level in the System Architect certification path. As such, it provides a baseline measurement on your knowledge of Pega applications. Achieving this certification not only validates your understanding and skills in Pega application development but also sets the stage for advanced certifications and career advancement in this field.

Understand Pegasystems PEGACPSA23V1 Exam Topics

Before you start with your preparation for the PEGACPSA23V1 exam, it's essential to get familiar with the exam topics. The topics for this exam are divided into various sections with different weightage. They are as follows:

Case Management (33%): This topic deals with the effective management and organization of cases.

Data and Integration (23%): This topic focuses on the management, manipulation, and integration of data into different systems.

Security (5%): This section covers the necessary measures to protect data and ensure privacy.

DevOps (5%): This topic highlights the practices that combine software development (Dev) and IT operations (Ops).

User Experience (12%): This section is dedicated to improving the user's interaction with the software.

Application Development (12%): This part teaches how to effectively develop and implement applications.

Reporting (5%): This segment of the exam focuses on generating and interpreting data-based reports.

Mobility (5%): This part discusses the importance of mobile-friendly applications and how to develop them.

Tips To Prepare for Pega CSA Certification PEGACPSA23V1 Exam

Understand the Exam Structure and Content: One of the first steps in your preparation should be to familiarize yourself with the structure and content of the exam. Understand the topics that will be covered in the exam and their relative weightage. Knowing what to expect in the exam will allow you to prepare more effectively.

Hands-on Practice: Theoretical knowledge is important, but practical experience is invaluable when preparing for the exam. Therefore, use the Pega platform to practice the topics covered in the exam. This will not only help you understand the concepts better but also give you a feel for the type of questions you may face in the exam.

Study Resources: Pegasystems provides a wealth of study resources for exam takers. Utilize these resources to the fullest. They offer a variety of resources such as study guides, tutorials, and practice exams, all designed to help you prepare for the exam.

Join a Study Group: Preparation can often be more effective when done in collaboration with others. Therefore, consider joining a study group. This will allow you to share knowledge and experiences with others preparing for the same exam, making the process more interactive and less daunting.

Mock Tests: Taking mock tests is an essential part of exam preparation. These tests simulate the exam experience and can help you manage your time more effectively during the actual exam. It also gives you an opportunity to identify areas where you may need additional study.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the Certified Pega System Architect '23 exam is a significant milestone for any technical staff or developer looking to validate and expand their skills in Pega application development. This article provides a comprehensive guide on exam topics, study tips, and resources. By using the Certified Pega System Architect PEGACPSA23V1 Dumps Questions from Certspots, coupled with effective study strategies and hands-on practice, candidates can approach the exam with confidence and aim for success on their first attempt.

[mit]

On the hunt for sustainable materials

PhD student Avni Singhal uses computational tools to help design new materials that address environmental challenges.

Laura Rosado | MIT News correspondent

By the time she started high school, Avni Singhal had attended six different schools in a variety of settings, from a traditional public school to a self-paced program. The transitions opened her eyes to how widely educational environments can vary, and made her think about that impact on students.

“Experiencing so many different types of educational systems exposed me to different ways of looking at things and how that shapes people’s worldviews,” says Singhal.

Now a fourth-year PhD student in the Department of Materials Science and Engineering, Singhal is still thinking about increasing opportunities for her fellow students, while also pursuing her research. She devotes herself to both developing sustainable materials and improving the graduate experience in her department.

She recently completed her two-year term as a student representative on the department’s graduate studies committee. In this role, she helped revamp the communication around the qualifying exams and introducing student input to the faculty search process.

“It’s given me a lot of insight into how our department works,” says Singhal. “It’s a chance to get to know faculty, bring up issues that students experience, and work on changing things that we think could be improved.”

At the same time, Singhal uses atomistic simulations to model material properties, with an eye toward sustainability. She is a part of the Learning Matter Lab, a group that merges data science tools with engineering and physics-based simulation to better design and understand materials. As part of a computational group, Singhal has worked on a range of projects in collaboration with other labs that are looking to combine computing with other disciplines. Some of this work is sponsored by the MIT Climate and Sustainability Consortium, which facilitates connections across MIT labs and industry.

Joining the Learning Matter Lab was a step out of Singhal’s comfort zone. She arrived at MIT from the University of California at Berkeley with a joint degree in materials science and bioengineering, as well as a degree in electrical engineering and computer science.

“I was generally interested in doing work on environment-related applications,” says Singhal. “I was pretty hesitant at first to switch entirely to computation because it’s a very different type of lifestyle of research than what I was doing before.”

Singhal has taken the challenge in stride, contributing to projects including improving carbon capture molecules and developing new deconstructable, degradable plastics. Not only does Singhal have to understand the technical details of her own work, she also needs to understand the big picture and how to best wield the expertise of her collaborators.

“When I came in, I was very wide-eyed, thinking computation can do everything because I had never done it before,” says Singhal. “It’s that curve where you know a little bit about something, and you think it can do everything. And then as you learn more, you learn where it can and can’t help us, where it can be valuable, and how to figure out in what part of a project it’s useful.”

Singhal applies a similarly critical lens when thinking about graduate school as a whole. She notes that access to information and resources is often the main factor determining who enters selective educational programs, and that such access becomes increasingly limited at the graduate level.

“I realized just how much applying is a function of knowing how to do it,” says Singhal, who co-organized and volunteers with the DMSE Application Assistance Program. The program matches prospective applicants with current students to give feedback on their application materials and provide insight into what it’s like attending MIT. Some of the first students Singhal mentored through the program are now also participants as well.

“The further you get in your educational career, the more you realize how much assistance you got along the way to get where you are,” says Singhal. “That happens at every stage.”

Looking toward the future, Singhal wants to continue to pursue research with a sustainability impact. She also wants to continue mentoring in some capacity but isn’t in a rush to figure out exactly what that will look like.

“Grad school doesn’t mean I have to do one thing. I can stay open to all the possibilities of what comes next.”

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr!

[mhassociates]

What is the Difference Between a Conveyancer and a Property Solicitor?

The difference between a conveyancer and a property solicitor is largely one of specialization. A conveyancer is an individual who specializes in the technical aspects of property transfer, such as legal paperwork and document preparation. Property solicitors tend to specialize in more complex aspects of property law, like leasehold disputes or boundary disputes.

A conveyancer's role generally does not involve any court appearances, negotiations with third parties or specialist advice on specific parts of the transaction. A property solicitor, however, may need to appear before court if there are legal disputes related to the sale or purchase of a property. Similarly, they may also be involved in negotiating terms with third parties (like lenders) and providing technical advice related to regulations (such as Stamp Duty Land Tax).

A conveyancer has the knowledge and expertise needed to help with the technical aspects of property transfers and is an effective point of contact for straightforward sales or purchases. If you require more specialist advice on matters related to property law, then a property solicitor may be better suited to your needs.

It doesn’t matter if you’re buying or selling a property, Conveyancing and Property Solicitors are the experts you need to make sure everything goes smoothly. With their help, you can have peace of mind knowing that all the legal paperwork is taken care of correctly. They understand the complexities of conveyancing law and will work with you to ensure your transaction runs as quickly and efficiently as possible.

If you're looking for a Paddington-based property solicitor, look no further. Our team of highly experienced solicitors are based in the heart of London's housing market and have years of experience helping people with their conveyancing needs. We will work closely with you to ensure your transaction is completed quickly, efficiently and with minimal stress.

Whether it's a sale or purchase, our friendly and professional staff can help make the process as smooth as possible. We understand how important it is to get things right so that you can move into your new property hassle free - that's why we'll go the extra mile to make sure everything runs as smoothly as possible. Contact us today to find out more about our Paddington conveyancing services.

From issuing contracts to dealing with any disputes that may arise, they'll be there for you every step of the way. If you're looking for experienced professionals who are dedicated to providing superior service at an affordable price, look no further than Conveyancing and Property Solicitors. Put your trust in them – they won’t let you down.

Property Solicitor is a profession that requires years of study and experience. People in this role must have excellent knowledge of property law and the ability to carry out complex transactions without making mistakes. They also need strong negotiation skills, as they often advise clients on how to buy or sell real estate.

With all the complexities involved, it’s no surprise that being a Property Solicitor is one of the most demanding yet rewarding professions around. If you want to pursue this career path, prepare yourself for rigorous training and long hours – but it will be worth it when you’re helping people make their dreams come true by safeguarding their financial future with successful property deals!  It's important to note that becoming a Property Solicitor requires a lot of hard work and dedication.

You'll need to complete a degree in Law, as well as pass relevant professional exams before you can start working. To stay on top of your game, you'll also need to keep up to date with the ever-changing property laws and regulations.

[therubyreader]

My Review of Anatomy: A Love Story by Dana Schwartz

See a full list of my book reviews here

*Disclaimer: there will be spoilers later on in the review*

Review Word Count, non-spoiler: 759 Review Word Count Total: 1,755

Trigger warning for the contents of this book: mentions of death, dismemberment, graphic depictions of surgery

If you've been on my blog before you'll notice a bit of a theme with the books I've been reading a lot of recently: historical fiction. Extra points if you've ever read any of my other reviews and noticed I'm a nerd who loves history, so this book was immediately right up my alley.

I will preface this with saying I'm not an expert on Scottish history, I knew very little about the time period going into this read, but I am always a sucker for learning about new time periods in countries that aren't studied (for the most part) in the good ol' USA.

This book is about a rich girl from the Scottish nobility, Hazel, who wants to be a surgeon which is not allowed because she's a woman but also at the time (1817 Scotland) surgery wasn't seen as a respectable career for anyone ever. When Hazel is kicked out of an anatomy (roll credits) class at the local university despite giving them her money, she needs to essentially teach herself surgery in order to be able to pass the doctor's exam at the end of the semester. Conveniently for her she meets our resident impoverished corpse boy, who, as the name I gave him alludes to, digs up corpses and sells them usually to medical schools (technically he's called a "resurrection man" but that's not as fun as corpse boy) named Jack. Hazel uses her rich people money (if you think about it she's kind of stealing from her parents) to pay Jack to get her bodies for her to practice on. Romantic.

And, like any good fiction novel, they of course fall in love despite them being in different social classes and also Hazel is betrothed to her cousin. Also, side note, is no one going to talk about how Hazel is betrothed to her literal blood cousin who she grew up with. I get that cousin marriages were more tolerated back then but like no one is even a little weirded out by this. I had a moment where I had to think about putting myself in Hazel's shoes and honestly I would literally vomit and die.

Graphic depictions of medical procedures aside, this story was cute. I'll give it a female empowerment out of ten. Hazel decides she's going to take her life into her own hands and become a doctor, and does everything in her power to achieve her dreams despite quite literally the entire world being against her. Contrary to popular belief the "love story" mentioned in the title is more about Hazel falling in love with medicine and learning to love herself as she is despite society wanting to put her in a box. Of course there is romantic love, what novel would not give the protagonist a love interest, but it comes second to Hazel's own personal love.

Overall the book is pretty good, there's a sequel coming out a little less than a month from now which I'm considering reading because in my opinion Hazel's story could've wrapped up after one book but I guess the author has bigger plans for her. My main complaint, which I've noticed is also the complaint of most other people who read the book, is how the ending was kind of bad. Now it wasn't bad writing-wise, but (trying to avoid spoilers as much as possible) there are elements of magical realism thrown in out of no where, and up until that point the book had stayed pretty grounded in reality. Sure, all of the events, even the disease that's impacting the city, are fictional but they're realistic, based in science and history. Then right at the end when we see the resolution to the climax we find out that this whole time there was an almost magical element to the conflict. Sure the magic thing is more or less grounded in science to fit the theme of the story but it is also way beyond the capabilities of medicine at the time, and also medicine in our time. I would've enjoyed those fantastical elements having been better established so it wasn't like a slap in the face when they happened but I'm a fan of magical realism so honestly I wasn't mad at it.

If you don't mind the trigger warnings listed at the top then I recommend this book to you, I will warn you though there is a good chance you will be disappointed with the ending so don't come back here crying when you are.

Spoilers Below!!!

Hello. Welcome.

As is common place here in my book reviews your resident "grossed out by romance" and "thinks romance is cringe" book reviewer (hint: its me) is once again giggling like a teen girl despite being a manly man (adult cis woman) over the relationship between Jack and Hazel. I love the "rich person falls in love with poor person" trope in media because I fancy myself a poor person capable of bagging a rich man. So I say to Jack, get that bag my guy.

In all honesty their love story is cute. Hazel is essentially being told no by the whole universe and here comes a boy who is the first person to tell her yes, and also be an extra pair of hands when she needs help being a doctor despite having no medical knowledge. And on top of that he's the only person who cares for her, outside of Hazel's staff who get paid to do that but I'm sure they care about her as a person too. I mean Jack is the first person to call her beautiful, he takes her seriously, and gives her the affection she isn't receiving from her family. Of course this is a two way street but we honestly don't get a look at the root of Jack's emotions about Hazel's emotions for him, if that makes sense. Either way, having their first kiss in a grave next to a corpse is among the most unique first kiss spots and gives "Mary Shelly losing her virginity on her mother's grave" vibes.

Another complaint I had aside from the weird ending is how Hazel is able to open up a hospital for the poor in her castle and word about it doesn't get out to upper society. Sure she asks the poor people she treats to just not tell anyone about it but like she has so many patients at one point that someone should've gotten suspicious. I mean her mom not knowing about it because she's (conveniently) in England is passable, but her uncle? It doesn't occur to him to go visit her or at least send Bernard to check up on her while she's alone to, at the very least, put on the guise of a concerned uncle/future father in law. Another point, in high society, which to my understanding, is fueled by rumor shouldn't rumor have spread to the upper class that a female doctor is working out of Hazel's castle? Even if Hazel isn't the main suspect at first, the fact that her castle is being used as a hospital means, to a certain extent, that she's allowing it, and someone would've gone to investigate.

There are too many happy accidents that occur in Hazel's life that conveniently allow her to slide on by undetected. The only realistic part of the whole ordeal is Jack being charged for murdering all of those people and then getting hanged for it, despite the magical immortality potion that I've already discussed my annoyance about. But honestly, if the book was even slightly realistic, Hazel would've probably been found out almost immediately and arrested. She wouldn't have been put to death because she's the niece of a viscount but she for sure would've done prison time for being a woman practicing medicine without a license.

Adding onto that, why are all of her patients super chill with the fact that they're being treated by a woman? Sure her castle is better than a poor hospital but they are all very much products of their time, in the early 19th century people still very much believed women were stupid and incapable of complex thought. If I were a grown adult man and I was told that I could either go to the hospital or get treated by a woman who I believe has the intellectual capacity of a shrimp I don't think I would be super keen on going to see her. But I get the desperation of the situation, some people really said "well how bad could a woman be compared to the hospital?", and I get it, but I don't think we realistically see enough backlash or sexism from Hazel's own patients about her capability to be a doctor.

Now I will say that none of these things take you out of the story itself, they're easy to overlook in the moment but once you stop reading and take a second to really think about it there are too many elements in the story that can be attributed to sheer luck that make it seem incredibly unrealistic.

I am not even going to touch on the immortality potion because I stated what I had to above. Genuinely I didn't like the inclusion of it in a story that was, up until the very end, pretty scientifically accurate to the time. I am mildly annoyed by the whole ordeal of it, but in all honestly the self-frankensteining of Dr. Beecham was pretty cool. I will accept that piece of it since it's not super far fetched in the sphere of the story if we're gonna add some aspect of magical realism. I am still very very annoyed by the immortality potion but I am going to shut up about it because everyone and their mom has already stated my opinion of it in much nicer language than I am able to muster at the moment.

I will say I am interested to read the sequel because I genuinely enjoyed Hazel's character and her storyline of becoming a woman doctor but I am also intrigued about how the author is going to address the element of including actual historical figures in an extremely fictional universe. I will let you know if I do read the sequel, because as stated above I am pretty content with how Hazel's story ended with just this book but trust if I do read the book you will get a review.

[alissandrablanza]

Life of a Paulinian College Student

When I first arrived in St. Paul back in August to enroll, I never really had big expectations of what my college experience would be like in this new school. There I was, transferring at 3rd year in college, where in fact I should have been graduating already. And so the several days that I was trying to finish enrolling myself and providing all the needed documents for transfer, I thought to myself “Just lay low, do my thing and let’s graduate without any hiccups this time”. 

I thought classes started way too soon after that since it was the week right after the enrollment period but then again, who was I to complain. I got nothing else to do but study anyway, that’s why I relocated here in Cagayan in the first place. 

And so the first few weeks went by, I had trouble with some classes since some major subjects coincided with others and even schedules were being changed by the professors too. The first month went by and I was starting to settle down and get comfortable with the schedule, the night classes, the commute, the traffic, and the unhealthy amount of SPUP corndogs that I’ve consumed for that one month only. I was getting adjusted well in my opinion.

My classmates are a different thing though. The thing is, though I’m in my 3rd year, I have a lot of backlog subjects for the 2nd year. It’s because my previous school and SPUP had totally different curriculums so some of my units didn’t get credited for my new curriculum resulting in me having to take a lot of minor subjects. Also, other than me transferring over, I actually technically shifted my course too because in my previous school I was taking Bachelor of Arts in Psychology and it turned out that St. Paul was only offering the Bachelor of Science strand. I, for one, am not even looking to shift to a whole different course and so I just decided to take this option and shift to BS Psychology. If I were to be frank, I really don’t see myself taking a different path as I’ve already enveloped my learnings to my way of thinking and my perspective in life. 

In that aspect, I was enrolled in multiple major subjects for BS Psychology students that I wouldn’t have taken if I stayed with AB Psychology. And the most exciting part is that the head of the Psychology department, Ma’am Anna Hernandez herself was the one teaching some of those major subjects. I thought to myself how amazing that is, to have an accomplished and distinguished professor for those heavy subjects. In addition, our Abnormal Psychology class was handled by someone that is both a registered nurse, psychometrician, psychologists, and a clinician in practice! I definitely made sure to listen attentively in our sessions because Sir Fabroa would sometimes drop some very informative and applicable bits of knowledge to us either from his practice or from his experience as a board exam student of many different courses. I would always jot down notes and keep it in mind especially some tricks Sir had told us on taking the board exams. I feel happy that I was able to meet and have such kinds of professors in this school!

Despite saying all that though, I cannot lie and say that I did not struggle academically. In all honesty, I was not used to taking the periodical exams like in Prelims, Midterm, Prefinal, and Finals. I got used to my previous school’s project-based type of exam where we either construct a paper or anything deliverable but rarely a printed exam. In SPUP I find that the usual type of exam here was standard multiple choice, identification, fill-in-the-blanks, and even enumeration. I’m not saying every subject applied this to their exam style, but most of my subjects followed this way of measuring student’s performance and comprehension of the academic topics discussed by the professors. To be quite frank, I found it difficult to adjust to. In essays and projects, I had all the freedom to showcase my knowledge of the subject topic. On second thought, am I only saying all this to rationalize the fact that I score average in my tests? Are my observations and reasoning because of unconsciously sour graping? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But one thing is for sure, I don’t think the school would change the way they handle the academic policies and implementation just because some student posted about it on Tumblr. So, I guess I just gotta suck it up and get going huh? Anyways, I only have 3 semesters left before graduation. Hopefully I graduated without problems. 

How is it like being a Paulinian student? Though I’ve been one for 5 months now, I don’t think I’ve got the answer yet. Honestly, I’ve yet to fully open up to my classmates. I go to school when I have classes and when it ends, I go straight home. I’ve never really explored what Tuguegarao has to offer me, nor Cagayan in general. I think to grasp the meaning of being a Paulinian is to also take into perspective the vicinity of where St. Paul exists in the first place. The culture and tradition of Tuguegarao, Cagayan is what highlights the St. Paul value. This is because St. Paul consists of students, teachers, staff, administrators, and even visitors that embody the life of the place. 

This is why I have made a decision for the upcoming semester instead. I wouldn’t say that I’ve wasted my first semester by being reclusive, unsocial, and overall unwilling to open up and fully adjust to my new life here. This coming semester I plan to allot more time in school, staying in the library, eating in the cafeteria, hanging out in the Psychology Lab where all my fellow classmates hang out a lot in between classes, socialize more with my adings, take more pictures of the campus and actually, actually, nurture the thought inside my head that this is already my second home. My classmates and teachers are already my second family. 

[lassiterhoumann20]

Finest Sap Basis Coaching & Certification Course India Atos Sap Training

It takes a skilled SAP Basis cloud computing administrator to plot the cloud-enabled backup and restore environment—and then oversee its common testing and use. In some circumstances, it’s clever to outsource to a cloud disaster restoration These suppliers could possibly improve reliability and cut back prices. We say this as a result of we have seen what can happen when an organization loses a highly capable SAP Basis cloud computing administrator. You may need safety or compliance (e.g. Segregation of Duties) issues. If you’re partially in the cloud, then your SAP admin will crumble extra rapidly. And, a few of the problems will be difficult to see as a outcome of they’re originating in the cloud.

Those who are new to SAP and need to learn more about SAP administration and T codes will benefit from this course.

Excellent coaching with many actual time examples for each exercise.

After completing all of the required exams and projects for the SAP BASIS certification course in Pune, the coed will obtain a useful SAP BASIS certificate of their palms.

As all Trainers are SAP BASIS domain working professionals so they are having many stay tasks, trainers will use these projects throughout training sessions.

Design, implement and develop necessary purposes in a Sap Basis setting.

Work on projects that add weightage to your resume and get job ready. ACTE porur is the One of one of the best institute for SAP BASIS course... Encouraged me a lot and helped me to understand all the concepts and project... Even though we wouldn't have any knowledge, they may train us like consultants...

Prince2 Training

SAP BASIS Training in Hyderabad carried out on day time classes, sap basis weekend coaching lessons, SAP BASIS evening batch courses and sap foundation quick observe training lessons. There are several programs and instruments that act as interfaces between databases, working methods, communication protocols, and different SAP modules that you'll study in this course. Learn about the structure of utility servers and clients; consumer authorizations; transport administration system; background job scheduling and monitoring; and RFC; in addition to database administration.

A. Students get to study on all the most recent infrastructure and variations of MM to keep them updated with what's being used within the industry. This training is appropriate for fresher, graduates as well as publish graduates. If sap p2p online training london are a skilled who want to polish your talent, then also you possibly can be part of this coaching.

Citrix Netscaler Training

And if i be a part of with out sap approved institute in Delhi , so then please inform me this institute is useful form mr to get a job in indian market. A. Our Basis course is taught by a really experienced college with a quantity of years of business experience. Great steerage and real-time training which is industry-oriented make us different from others by means of high quality. Our materials, notes and real-time specs are the most effective you can get. Now a day’s roadmap includes mainly in Cloud, Where is recommending prospects to utilize Cloud Products. Considering this, this course was designed to incorporate all cloud ideas.

SAP BASIS is the technical foundation that helps SAP applications to perform. It is a set of packages and tools that actlike an interface or an operating system for the SAP functions and ABAP programming language. The ABAP developers are among the most wanted positions in a business primarily based development setup. Through this fashion you won’t mess anything in your real-life schedule. We will reschedule the classes as per your convenience inside the stipulated course duration with all such prospects. If required you probably can even attend that topic with some other batches. This Project is referred as the main configuration strategy of any of the SAP Solutions. We have designed an in-depth course so meet job requirements and standards. You won't only achieve information of SAP BASIS and superior ideas, but in addition achieve publicity to Industry finest practices.

[cgichandigarh]

Punjab Police Coaching in Chandigarh

Why to join Competition Guru Online coaching class for Punjab Police constable and Sub Inspector exam ?

Competition Guru is one of the top institutes that offers online training program to students of Punjab, Haryana & Himachal Pradesh. Our excellent team of expert teachers is second to none when it comes to delivering on what they offer. They provide their students with sound theoretical knowledge, which makes them stand out from other institutes offering similar course material. This can be seen in their excellent track record as well as student success rate. We understand how important it is for you to do well in your competitive exams and thus our role is not just limited to providing you with course material or teaching you about a subject; we're all about ensuring that you pass your exam with flying colors! So, if you are looking for Punjab Police constable and Sub Inspector coaching in Chandigarh then don't look further than us because we are here to help you achieve your goal by providing you with best possible study material so that you can perform better in your upcoming exams.

Our faculty members have years of experience working with various government departments  therefore they have an edge over others when it comes to understanding various technicalities involved in these exams. So if you want to crack Punjab Police constable and Sub Inspector exam then why wait?Join trusted Brand Competition Guru for best Punjab Police Constable and Sub Inspector Coaching in Chandigarh.

 Why to Chose Competition Guru Coaching in Chandigarh for PUNJAB  Police exam?

Punjab police is known for its unique way of selection procedure. The candidates who want to do their constable or sub inspector exam need to pass through a series of tests. All these tests are conducted according to Punjab Police Recruitment Procedure . It consist of written and Physical test.All these exams are organized by Chandigarh Region at several centers across Punjab state. Students who want to join punjab police as a constable or sub inspector have different reasons such as job security, monthly salary, pensions and financial stability etc.. This is one reason that so many students are eager to write these competitive exams. So if you are also one of them then you should take Punjab Police Exam Coaching in Chandigarh which will help you to get success. So if you want to make your career bright then you should start preparing from now itself. Because Punjab Police Online Coaching Institute provides all kinds of support which will help students to achieve high scores in their exams. Here we teach our students according to latest pattern, syllabus and guidelines issued by recruitment board because we believe that only knowledge can make us successful not any other thing. We provide our best services like Punjab Police Exam Preparation Classes , Punjab Police Online Coaching , Punjab Police Mock Test Series , Free Study Material , Best Quality Notes & much more things which will surely help our students.

 Join Competition Guru PUNJAB Police Coaching centre in Chandigarh Today

We offer PUNJAB Police Coaching Classes for all competitive Exams. The courses that we provide cover each and every exam syllabus, be it Constable or SI exams. To make sure your success, our classes are being provided by expert teachers who have been teaching for many years. Join Punjab Police Coaching Centre in Chandigarh today ! We also conduct Personal Guidance sessions with students to help them prepare better. Punjab Police Coaching centre has a team of experienced faculty members who teach different types of subjects and explain each topic clearly so that students can understand easily. In Punjab police coaching centre you will get opportunity to do mock tests on various topics along with theory part so you can get more practice before appearing for real test . Students need to join our centre at their earliest possible because there is limited seats available in our coaching centres , which fill up quickly as there is a huge demand of admission in Punjab police coaching centre.

[sublimegardeninternet]

How to Study Modern Indian History for UPSC?

History is an umbrella term that encompasses beyond events, journeys, discoveries, and many others. History is a charming difficulty. You locate History as a tedious and lengthy topic, but after you expand an interest in reading history books, you may find History as a hard and fast of real existence beyond stories. However, History is seen because of the maximum scoring and massive problem from the united states' point of view. Talking of History, Indian History is the oldest and most diverse issue, and it is able to be classified into (i) Ancient history (ii) Medieval History, and (iii) Modern-day India.

In this phase of the object, we will deal with modern Indian History and consciousness on a few hints and hints to look at contemporary Indian History successfully for our examination. But, first, let’s recognize a few important data related to the questions from the USA examination’s current records section.

To start with, modern Indian History is the maximum scored situation inside the UPSC exam. You can anticipate a minimum of 7-eight questions in the preliminary paper and about 3-4 out of 20 questions in the GS paper 1 of the principle tests. People generally find History disturbing because of memorizing numerous dates, movements, businesses, revolts, career in India and so forth. Now to match all this stuff for your mind, greater than difficult paintings is wanted as you may waste a variety of your valuable time. It could help if you were shrewd and brief so permit’s move directly to hints and hacks to study cutting-edge History for UPSC.

But earlier than jumping directly into the recommendations and tricks, right here is something that may manual you at some stage in your preparations.

Modern History has seven sections.

1. India in the early 1750s.

2. British Expansion and rule.

3. Changes were introduced by the British.

4. Uprising Revolts towards the British.

5. Socio-Religious Movements in India.

6. Emerging Nationalism in India

7. Struggle for independence.

These are seven fundamental sections or subjects you should cover at the same time as preparing for the cutting-edge records segment of the examination. Only study these topics; but, study stuff relating to or main to these sections. Now let’s see how to put together current History in 3 primary steps.

Tips to put together for Modern History

Understand the Causes

Try to apprehend the causes of movement and discover why revolutions are precipitated. It will improve your perception and analysing strength which is the most required ability set at some point in the interviews. Study History as something apart from a topic; instead, try taking in the challenge as a tale. You can quickly draw close to a tale in preference to reading technical phrases, so strive know-how every cause in the back of every motion.

Keep Solving Questions

Practice as many questions, MCQs, and mock take a look at papers as viable. These will help improve your speed and, at some point, assist you revise topics as you may cowl extra syllabi by using solving questions. For example, while fixing MCQs, make sure you've got a cause for your solutions. This trick will help you revise a few parts of the topics after every query you resolve.

Try to Relate

Try to locate links and note down the position of essential personalities like Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, Bhagat Singh, and many others., in forming various actions and revolts that drove the u. S . A .’s independence. UPSC expects their aspirants to understand approximately sports and more than one mission, for example, the formation of the Indian national congress birthday celebration in Bengal and the salt satyagraha, which had been a few early tiers where u. S . career counselling in india Changed into striving for independence from British rule. So make sure to observe these things and relate these super vital matters. Sometimes you even get to look at the involvement of the same person in various movements. It will help you get a better picture of us of a’s independence.

Steps on the way to Prepare any Movement

1. Look for what brought on the movement

2. Personalities participating in the movement

3. Whether the motion is Nonviolent or Violent

4. Important Leaders leading the motion

5. Congress classes earlier than and after any motion

6. Did the motion bring out desired modifications

7. Drawbacks of the motion

8. Reasons in the back for the failure or withdrawal of the movement

9. Aftermath movement

Conclusion

You must focus on those steps even as making ready the modern-day records phase for UPSC. Leaving even an unmarried step ought to motivate an inability to solve questions.

You are always unfastened to study past those points, but again take it most effective a touch, as you can become losing time and perplexing yourself.

History is a diverse problem, and it becomes extra difficult as you cross deeper into knowledge concepts. Use restrained and relied on resources to look at Modern History.

You can join The Thought Tree for UPSC education. This article helped make clear your doubts concerning how one should look at Modern History.

The Thought Tree

The Thought Tree is the quality IAS education in Jaipur that has skilled several college students during the process. In addition, it has faculty participants and mentors who can guide your UPSC training journey.

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.  

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.  

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”  

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

[marauders-venting]

I Love You

pairing: wolfstar (remus x sirius)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

words: 2304

note: based on a textpost by @moonyspadfoot45

a/n: yes i know disposable cameras didn’t exist until the mid 80s but i wrote that part before i googled it and i don’t want to change it so we’re gonna go with it

Remus sighed in the direction of the stack of boxes that looked like it was about to topple over.

“Sirius?” he called, walking into the living room.

“Yeah?” Sirius replied, peering at Remus around the stack of boxes from the couch where he was sitting.

“I swear to god if you and James used any of the boxes marked ‘fragile’ for your fortress…” He left the sentence hanging as he reached up to lower the box on the top. “How did you even manage to stack the boxes that high? Did you have to stand on a chair or something to reach up here?”

“Rude,” Sirius said, coming around to Remus’ side of the fort. “I’m not that short.”

“James had to do it, didn’t he?” Remus teased, turning around.

“Moony, stop making fun of me,” Sirius pouted. “Come on, we’re going into the fort.” The ‘fort’ was made of boxes that contained all of Sirius and Remus’ possessions stacked to form walls with a sheet stretched over the top. And it was right in the middle of the living room of Remus and Sirius’ new apartment.

Sirius grabbed Remus by the hand and pulled him into the fort. The sheet, which was their makeshift ceiling, was hanging so low that even Sirius had to sit on the floor. They sat down and Remus looked around. Then he spotted a box labelled ‘kitchen ware’ and turned to Sirius.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he said. “I was looking for that box for like an hour! I nearly called the movers to ask them to double-check that they hadn’t missed any boxes!”

“I didn’t know you were looking for it!” Sirius said defensively.

“I literally asked you if you’d seen the box!” Remus said, laughing and shaking his head.

“Uhhh,” Sirius started, scrambling for an excuse, “I’m sorry, Remus, but you should know by now that I answer most questions wrong.”

“That is the worst excuse I’ve ever heard,” Remus said.

“Then you obviously haven’t heard any of the excuses I gave McGonagall for breaking the rules,” Sirius said.

“What are you talking about, I was there 90 percent of the time,” Remus said.

“Yeah but when you were there you were giving the excuses.”

“Yeah, my excuses were good, they got us out of detention,” Remus said.

“Feels weird knowing I’ll never have another detention,” Sirius said, lying down on the carpet he and James had brought into the fort earlier. “I keep thinking we’re gonna go back at the end of the summer.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Remus said, lying down next to him. “It feels like just yesterday you were asking me to move it with you and now we’re here. In our living room. In a fucking fort.” Sirius laughed and kissed Remus lightly.

Remus remembered the day Sirius had asked him to move in. He’d never forget it. It was their first anniversary and they were up on the astronomy tower, the same place they’d gotten together the year before. Remus remembered how hard he was trying to put aside his anxiety about the upcoming exams just for that day. Sirius made it easier. Sirius made everything easier.

“Can I give you my present now?” Sirius asked. Remus had felt his cheeks heating, despite the fact that he was quite cold up on the tower, in the cool breeze stinging his face.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he muttered.

“I know,” Sirius said. “But I wanted to. Besides, you were the one who planned out this whole day. And you're the one who’s taking me out on the Hogsmeade weekend after exams.” Remus supposed it was true. He had planned out the day down to the last detail. He felt very cliche doing it but it was worth it to see the look on Sirius’ face. And to feel Sirius’ lips on his.

“Oh alright,” Remus gave in. He was curious now. Sirius handed him a small grey box. Remus cocked his head at him but Sirius’ expression was unreadable. He opened the box and inside it was a silver key and a disposable Muggle camera. Remus picked up the key and turned it over, examining it.

“Pads, what is this?” he asked finally. He was afraid he had ruined something. That this was something sentimental that he was supposed to understand.

“It’s a key,” Sirius said. Remus rolled his eyes.

“I’d figured that much out myself, funnily enough,” he said. “What is the key to?”

“Look at the camera.” Remus did. He picked it up and, glancing at Sirius to make sure this is what he was meant to do, looked through the photos in the camera.

“An apartment?” Remus said, still confused.

“Our apartment,” Sirius said. He was looking at Remus, his grey eyes alight.

“What?” Remus said, gaping at him.

“Only if you want it to be,” he added hurriedly. “I just thought… Everybody's been talking about living arrangements after school and I–I thought maybe you might like to live together. I mean, I haven’t finalised anything yet so we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Or we could still pick a different place. The owner’s of this one won’t vacate it until August so we’d have to figure something out for the first month and a bit after we graduate but I’m sure the Potters won’t mind if we stay there for a little while. And Lily and James might want to be alone in the beginning but I doubt they’d kick us out if we showed up but… do you hate it?” He had barely breathed in between words until now. He looked up at Remus nervously, biting his nail.

“Are you kidding me? I love it,” Remus said. “Sirius, this is… this is incredible. You’re incredible. I—” Remus hesitated. He knew what he wanted to say. But he couldn’t form the words. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“So you’re saying you’ll do it?” Sirius asked. “You’ll move in with me?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Yes, of course I will.” Sirius beamed at him. But then something occurred to Remus. “Sirius, you haven’t paid anything yet, have you? If you have I’ll pay you back, I—”

“Shh, don’t worry about that now,” Sirius said. “We’ll figure out all the technical details later.” Remus bit his lip.

“Okay,” he said. He could put it out of his mind for that night.

“Happy anniversary, Moony,” he said. And then he kissed Remus, there on top of the astronomy tower and Remus felt just as much excitement then as he had when Sirius had kissed him there for the first time, exactly one year previously.

And here they were now. In their apartment. They ended up deciding on the one Sirius had originally chosen, the one that he’d shown Remus photos of that evening. The owners had ended up vacating a bit earlier than they had said because there was still a week until August. Sirius had stayed at the Potter’s for the first few weeks and Remus had gone back home. But as they were spending every waking moment at Lily and James’ house anyway, they suggested that Remus and Sirius just stay with them. They had invited Peter to stay with them too, just while Sirius and Remus were there but he’d turned down the offer (“After seven years of sleeping in the same room with three other blokes, I think I’ll be good on my own for a while,” he had said). He still came over every day and stayed until around midnight but he always preferred to sleep at home. He said he’d never get used to it if he stayed at Lily and James’.

James, Peter and Lily helped them move in too. They’d been with them to Ikea a few days previously to buy furniture. And they had come over today to help start unpacking things. Well, Lily and Peter helped unpack. James was more interested in building a fort out of the boxes with Sirius.

Remus remembered worrying that he might spend less time with his friends after school since they’d no longer be living in the same big castle but so far the amount of time he spent with Lily, James and Peter had not decreased even a little.

But Lily and James had gone home now and Peter had gone back to his studio flat; Remus and Sirius were alone, together in their new apartment.

“Are you hungry?” Sirius asked, snapping Remus back into reality. “I could make you dinner.”

“You’re going to make dinner?” Remus snorted. “I’m sorry but have you ever made food in your entire life?”

“I have actually,” Sirius said. “Mrs Potter taught me how to make food when I lived there. I’m not as good at it as James is but I can make something edible without burning down the kitchen. Although I nearly did that the first time I tried to make food.”

“Well, that’s very convincing,” Remus said sarcastically. Sirius elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m kidding!” he said. “I’ll be on standby with the fire extinguisher.”

“What’s that?” Sirius asked.

“Kind of in the name, babe,” Remus said and then he crawled quickly out of the fort before Sirius figured it out and elbowed him again.

But Remus was pleasantly surprised because not only did Sirius manage to not light the whole house on fire, but he even produced some pretty good food.

“You know, this is quite nice,” Remus said, taking another bite. “Mrs Potter must be a really good teacher if she managed to get you to this level of cooking.”

“Why can’t you just have a little bit more faith in my talents, Moony?” Sirius said. “But yeah, she’s a great teacher. James, on the other hand, is a terrible teacher. It’s not that he can’t cook because he can. He just can’t teach other people to cook. But don’t tell him I said that.” Remus snorts.

“As if you haven’t already told him that to his face.”

“You know me too well,” Sirius sighs.

After dinner, Sirius goes to shower and Remus continues unpacking boxes. The more boxes he unpacks, the more he realises how much crap they’re missing. But he’s not too worried about it. They’ll go to the store tomorrow and find whatever it is that they’re missing. It’s nothing essential. The only essential thing to Remus in this house is Sirius. As long as Sirius is here, Remus would be fine.

Remus opens another box with a utility knife. He looks inside and his jaw drops.

“Rem?” Sirius asks, coming into the room, his hair still wet from the shower. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Remus says. “Look at this.” He takes out the contents of the box and sets them on the table. It’s photos. Loads of photos of them from school.

“Wow,” Sirius says, looking through the photos. “Oh my god.” He holds one of the photos out to Remus laughing. Remus looks at the photo and starts laughing too. It’s him sitting next to a dog, a stag and a rat. His friends in their animagus forms and him in the middle, smiling awkwardly as Lily takes a photo.

They spent a little longer looking through the photos, laughing at how much they had changed since the first day they’d met each other in first year. They all looked so little. And now… well, now they’re grown up. Remus didn’t feel like it though.

He returned the photos to the box, deciding he’d find a place for them tomorrow. He was reaching another box when Sirius took his hand.

“Come to bed, darling,” he said. “It’s nearly midnight and you’re still unpacking boxes.”

“Yeah, okay,” Remus said. He smiled and laced his fingers with Sirius’.

He showered and put on a massive sweater (despite it being midsummer) and clambered into their new bed, where Sirius was already waiting for him. Sirius pulled him in and kissed his forehead before resting his head against Remus’ chest.

As they cuddle in their brand new bed, in their brand new apartment, Remus is overcome by the urge to tell Sirius, to just say it. To say what he wanted to say months ago on their anniversary but had been too afraid. He doesn’t even care if Sirius says it back. He just wants to say the words. He wants Sirius to know. Sirius deserves to know.

He lifts Sirius’ chin with his hand so their eyes meet as he brushes his thumb against Sirius’ cheek.

“I love you,” he says.

“I– I–” Sirius stutters.

“And you don’t have to say it back or anything,” Remus assures him. “I just wanted you to know.” Tears spill from Sirius’ eyes.

“You’re crying?” Remus said, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

“No, nothing wrong, I just—” Sirius hesitates, sniffing. “That’s the first time anyone’s told me that,” he admits.

“That’s a shame,” Remus says, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’ll always remind you how much I love you. I love you so much, Sirius.” He pulls Sirius into a tight hug. “You deserve so much love.” Sirius kisses him softly. It’s a quiet, gentle kiss, tears still flowing freely down Sirius’ face.

“I love you too,” Sirius whispers.

“You don’t have to say it just because I did,” Remus says.

“I’m not,” Sirius said. “I really do love you.” Remus smiles as he feels the blush blooming on his cheeks. And suddenly he can’t remember what was holding him back in the first place. He feels like an idiot for waiting so long to say this. He loves Sirius. He loves Sirius with all of his heart and he’s going to make sure Sirius knows it.

[frenchly-anxious]

Here’s why you (and I) have been studying the wrong way all this time - part 1

Have you ever studied hard for a test, spending all your evenings on it, feeling prepared, just to fail it spectacularly?

Have you ever been told to re-read your lessons to learn it better?

Have you ever been told after a failed test that you obviously didn’t learn despite you knowing you definitely did?

If so, I’m very sorry, it means school has failed you on something it was supposed to teach you: how to learn. And really, the fault isn’t yours.

Fasten your seatbelts my friends, we’re going on an adventure to explain why school sucks at its own fucking job!

First of all, a little experiment by Tulving. We have 2 groups and we ask them to simply read 6 times a list of 22 words. Then, we give Group 1 the same list and ask them this time to remember as many words as possible. With Group 2, same task but it’s not the same list as before.

Question time: which group will do better? Group 1 with the list they have already read 6 times, or Group 2 with a totally new list?

I can guess you’re probably telling me Group 1, right?

Well. Actually, there is no difference at all between the groups. Nothing, nada. Reading the words 6 times before didn’t give any advantage to Group 1.

What is this witchcraft, I hear you say?

Let me introduce you to the biggest misconception of our school life: reading your lesson over and over won’t help you at all.

How is that possible? Well, there’s a concept we all heard countless time, but that was never explained correctly: effort. To learn something, you need to make efforts. I’m not saying you’re not being serious when reading your lesson, not at all.

The thing is, reading is by now is a reflex for you, it doesn’t require a lot of efforts. Do you remember how hard it was to read when you were a child, or have you seen a young child trying to read? Every word is a battle, to the point that sometimes, they have finished reading but can’t remember what they read: all of their attention was on how to pronounce this group of letters, not on what they were saying.

For us, adults, reading is not something very complicated. It became a reflex, so now our attention isn’t on how to read, but on what we read. It sounds like a good thing, right? It is, but not when it comes to learning.

The action of reading isn’t complicated, and so you don’t have to be involved that much. You’re reading it, you’re understanding it; but when are you making the effort to memorize it? That’s where the problem is: reading is mostly passive, whereas learning is active.

You probably already encountered this paradox, though: the more you read your lesson, the more familiar it feels. You’re reading it and you’re like “Yeah, I remember that, and that too, and this after too”. But once in front of your exam: nothing. Or at least, not enough. This familiar feeling is just that: a feeling. Your brain is only telling you “Yeah, I already read that”, but we mistake it for “I already learned that”.

The difference is quite important, but we aren’t necessarily aware of it. So when teachers are telling us “You didn’t study”, we’re offended because we’re certain we did. Yes, we did work; but we didn’t in the right way.

Another study to prove my point (Roedinger & Karpicke, 2006):

Once again, 2 groups. My question would be: when asked to remember as much info as possible in a text, who would win?

Group 1, with 4 sessions of 5 minutes to read the text?

Or Group 2, with 5 minutes to read it and then without the text, 3 separate sessions of 5 minutes to write down as many things they can remember (without any correction from the examiners of course)?

This time, you already know where I’m going. But our instinct tells us “Obviously Group 1, they had more time!”. Which is technically true. 5 minutes after the end of that experiment, when we ask each group what they remember, Group 1 takes the lead. They get around 85% of the notions from the text, while Group 2 gets 70%. It isn’t much but it’s indeed better.

Which is great. But that’s 5 minutes after learning.

If we meet with them again 1 week later, and ask again what they do remember, Group 1 falls at barely 40% of the notions, not even half of what they learned. What about Group 2, you ask? They’re at 60%, which is very good!

The funny thing is, if asked, Group 1 will tell you how confident they feel about what they remember and that they will nail the test, while Group 2 will be saying they don’t remember a lot. Because once again, Group 1 has this feeling of familiarity about the text.

But then why is Group 2 so much better after a week?

It’s about effort.

The 5 minutes they spent reading didn’t require a lot of efforts. They understood what was written, maybe had enough time to read it a few times. Then they didn’t have the text anymore, but we asked them to write down what they remember. Once. Twice. Thrice.

During those 3 sessions, they had to make efforts. Efforts to search in their memory for what they had read. And this, contrary to reading, isn’t really easy and definitely isn’t passive.

“What did I read?” they asked themselves in front of this blank page, the text long gone. “Wait, I almost forgot this! And didn’t they talk about something else? Wait, what was it?... Oh!”

By doing so, they re-activated neurons, creating paths, reinforcing them. They did that 3 times. So their brain was like “Wait, we searched for that info multiple times, it must be important!”

Then what about Group 1, you wonder? They had 4 sessions to read it! Didn’t their brain also realize it was important?

Your brain’s goal is to automate things you need. Because if those things are automated, you don’t have to focus on them anymore, you don’t have to spend all your energy on it.

Do you remember when you learned how to ride a bike? It was hard, you fell often, but now you don’t have to think about; that’s because your brain was like “Shit, this is giving us a hard time. This is a problem, because if it takes all of our attention to just stay on the bike, we won’t be able to avoid obstacle or anything.” The solution to that is making ‘staying on the bike’ a reflex, something you know so much you don’t have to reinforce it anymore.

With Group 1, reading that text wasn’t hard. Their brain was like “meh, no problem, it doesn’t require more of my help”. If it isn’t problematic, no need for trying to automate it or make it easier.

But for Group 2, it was harder. Making the effort to try to remember what they read was very consuming in time, attention and energy. Their brain HAD to do something so it would become easier: it learned, and it learned for a longer time. Because of the repetition of that effort, because this difficulty kept appearing and being annoying in a way, their brain realized they needed to know that. Just like how you learned your phone number, your address,... You searched for it multiple times, you used it multiple times; now you don’t need to re-learn it, it’s there to stay.

So Group 1 spent 20 minutes reading a text, just to remember it for a day or two.

Group 2 also spent 20 minutes, but 5 for reading, and 15 to test themselves, and it lasted way more than a week.

Both groups did work. But one of them is obviously more efficient.

You want to learn efficiently? Leave your notes aside, and make the effort to try to remember it, even if it’s imperfect. No: especially if it’s imperfect.

Yes, I know, it seems counterintuitive. However it works incredibly well!

But that will be for a part 2...

[kaeyasaki]

— ❝ MISCOMMUNICATE! ❞

— LEORIO PARADINIGHT X GN!READER :; NSFW

❝ skirt off, fuck in the backseat, take that shirt off, baby, put it on me, got me like “yeehaw”, ride it like a horsey, kinda like see-saw up and down on the d ❞

warnings :; unprotected sex, dirty talk, sub!reader, slapping, fingering + degradation -> +4K words

an :; hello hi i don’t know why the fuck i’m actually writing for leorio because i don’t fw him at all, but we checked and the leorio nsfw tag is literally dry and i felt bad for leorio stans so consider this my one time gift for leorio because this will never happen again LOL — NOT PROOFREAD I’LL GAG IF I DO SO

Leorio is a man of tolerance and he’s rather neutral in the sense of liking and disliking things. Of course, he’s open about things that bother him, but he’d rather resolve issues than allow them to stew and worsen over time.

One thing he didn’t like and couldn’t solve however was you.

Leorio couldn't stand you. You were always outdoing him in every test or exam your class took and it was even worse when the professor had insisted upon seating the two of you together in order to ‘keep up’ with one another as the pair of you were far ahead of the rest of the class.

Attending med-school was already stressful enough on its own, but Leorio was certain that being seated next to you only caused that stress to multiply by ten each class he attended. Still, he refused to let you get the better of him after all, your finals were fast approaching and that’s exactly when he’d shut you up for good.

“Leorio!~” He cringed at the sickenly sarcastic tone of your voice from behind him as he walked through the classroom doors. “What?” His tone is sharp as he has no means to entertain you in the slightest, only replying out of common courtesy.

“Why so uptight? Can’t I just say hi to the second best in class?” You hummed, teasing grin tugging at your lips as he scoffs at your comment. “Second best?” He repeats, eyebrows raised and brows twitching. “Second best.” You nodded, a provocative glint in your eyes as you were left satisfied with irritating him before class.

One thing you had learnt about Leorio during the months you’d spent sharing your classes with him, was that once agitated, he had a hard time concentrating. He was easy. Too easy in fact. Every lesson you played the boy like an instrument, pulling all the right strings for all the right reactions out of him.

You weren’t certain as to what it was about him that drew you in to provoke him at every opportunity, but you were certain that every opportunity taken would leave you satisfied. Perhaps it was his desperation that kept you hooked onto him. His constant need to beat you and gloat anytime he could. It was cute almost. But despite his somewhat annoying nature in that sense, you’d be a liar if you were to say you found him unattractive.

You weren’t stupid. Whether he was aware of it or not, Leorio was more than pleasing to look at. His broad shoulders forcing the threats of his crisp white shirt to hang on by thread. His torso was slim but certainly defined as you’d caught yourself eyeing the clearly chiseled muscles which would sometimes be left exposed through the thin white material on particularly hot days. You already loved the summer months, and Leorio’s appearance only becoming more obvious to the eye due to the lack of clothing he’d wear in the warmer weather only added a reason to your list of things to love about summer.

Class was boring to say the least. Your professor's voice drowned out completely as the sun peaked in height and forced waves of heat through the glass windows. You sighed and laid your head down on the desk, eyes catching sight of Leorio scribbling down whatever the professor was droning on about. You’d never paid much attention to the boy other than when it came to annoying him and stealing glances at his handsome form. You knew he worked hard but not to the point where you knew how hard. A small smile had formed on your face as you spent the rest of the class peacefully watching your rival take down all the relevant notes, completely uncaring to the fact you had done nothing productive in class yourself.

“Good work today.” Your voice rang through his ears as the two of you packed up. “Me?” he questioned, puzzled expression wiped across his face as you giggled. “Who else?” He shot you a confused scowl before packing up the rest of his things. While you had attempted to compliment him, he had taken it as mockery. The fact you knew finals were approaching but you still gave no effort to revision in class seemed taunting to him. Were you mocking him for having to try hard? Did the whole course just come naturally to you? Leorio didn’t even want to bother finding out. As far as he was concerned he was in med-school for his own reasons and them alone. He hadn’t the time to fool around with pretty things like you, especially not now. You’d only slow him down whether that was your intent or not. He couldn’t afford to lose sight of what he’d been striving for since the start.

“Whatever.” He huffed refusing to take anymore of your constant bothering. He slung his briefcase off the desk and began to head towards the door where the rest of the students were filtering out before you called out.

“Wait!” He halted his steps, body slowly turning to face you as you stood still behind your seat he’d just left you at. “I… I didn’t get the rest of the notes from today, could I get them off of you later?”

Leorio was a little taken aback, but yet he couldn’t see or sense any signs of mockery from you as your earnest eyes held contact with his. “Fine. You know where I’ll be.” He gave in sighing before turning back around and waving you off before exiting. Previous annoyance distinguishing just slightly. He hadn’t a clue what your intentions were, but he could distinguish between the real and the fake, and nothing about the way you looked at him and almost pleaded seemed ingenuine to him.

Leorio was certain he hated you, yet he couldn’t bring himself to deny you either. Walking back to his apartment, he thought back to times where you’d interacted. Majority of them being times you’d gone out of your way to get a rise out of him, but there was something endearing about the way you did it. Leorio felt almost special that you’d pay him and only him attention. Thinking back to it, you’d never bother anyone else, your sole attention aimed directly towards him and him alone. Leorio wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be special, but as any young man would, he did feel a sense of pride over the fact he’d somehow caught the attention of someone like yourself; someone as pretty as yourself. It didn’t matter to him that it wasn’t the typical type of attention a man of his age would prefer to enjoy, but nonetheless he enjoyed the jealous stares of others as you openly teased him and arguably borderline flirted.

Refusing to give into you completely though, Leorio swore he’d keep these thoughts to himself. Admitting how desirable he found you would be stupid on his end. You’d only make matters worse for him, tease him louder in class and gain a dreadful type of attention from others towards the two of you. He found you attractive, but not to the degree where he’d be willing to make a fool out of himself in front of anyone including yourself. It was best to keep you just at arms length and put up with this childish rivalry until you’d graduate and part ways.

A few hours had passed until you had rung up his apartment to be allowed in. Permitting your entrance, Leorio tapped his foot nervously as you made your way up the complex, notes on the coffee table nearby ready for you to borrow and leave. Opening the door upon your knocking, his face warmed at the sight of you dressed down a little more.

The pretty skirt you were wearing short enough to leave little to the imagination as to what was underneath. The cute top you were wearing clung to your figure and hugged all the right places. The only thing covering your modesty was the oversized jacket you’d left hanging off your shoulders so it technically had no other purpose than a poor attempt at covering yourself.

You smirked as you felt your classmate practically eye-fucking you before even entering his apartment. “Your notes.” you spoke suddenly catching him off guard. He sputtered a few times before straightening his stance and inviting you in, a string of incoherent mumbling leaving his lips as he remained flustered due to you catching him in the act of staring. You could only laugh lightly before sashaying in, the clean apartment scanned by your curious eyes.

“Is this them?” you questioned, fingertips dancing over the paper as Leorio joined you by the coffee table. “Indeed they are. Feel free to copy them I-”

“Is that it?” You cut in, flipping the sheets over to see if he’d written more on the other side of the paper. You could've sworn he’d written more, but supposing from the position you’d been watching him in class in, you'dn't hadn’t been able to tell just how much he was writing.

“It’s more than what you’ve done.” He retorted, nerves already stricken. “True,” You mused as you invited yourself to sit on his couch. “But I would’ve expected more from you.”

“Weren’t you just praising me for my work in class?” He huffed, tips of his ears warming up from agitation. “Yeah, I thought you’d generally worked hard though, I didn’t know you’d done so little though.” Sighing, you read over his pristine notes and decided the information was somewhat useful though. “I’ve done so little? Sorry not all of us are naturally gifted and don’t have to work for our grades!” Leorio snapped, temper teetering nearer the edge with each passing second. “Naturally gifted? I do more than enough work thank you!” You hissed back, sharp edge to your voice as you took slight offence to his claim. “Maybe you’d notice if you weren’t so busy staring at my tits in class all the time!”

Leorio was shocked. You’d noticed that? He thought for sure he was less than obvious but sometimes he’d have to admit he’d lose self control and shamelessly stare. You’d never say anything or react though, so he just assumed you hadn’t noticed. That didn’t matter though, because while he’d hold his hands up in guilt for staring at you, he’d caught you on more than a few occasions staring at his arms and then let your eyes trail down below towards his belt. He never said anything though, certain it’d cause him more of a headache than anything.

“Rich coming from you.” He scoffed as you glared right back at him. “With the way you stare at my belt, you would’ve thought the mark schemes written on there.” Heat rushed to both your face and core as his temper triggered something inside of you.

Leorio’s annoyance was nothing new to you, but this bolder and snappier side to him certainly was. It was hot to be blunt and you’d be damned to give up this chance to get rid of the building tension between the two of you.

Months and months of unspoken desires had been piling up between the two of you despite the fact neither of you had openly voiced them. You unknowing acted upon them though, your hungry staring contest in play for as long as you could remember when it came to classes together. You wanted him and the feeling was certainly mutual, but neither of your prides were weak enough to give in; not yet anyway.

The silence was unbearable, your frustrations growing worse by the second until you giggled. His eyes widened at the sudden sounds of your ringing laugher as you smirked up at him. “Fine then, just admit it, you wanna fuck me as bad as I want you to.”

Leorio’s face twisted in disgust, a mask to wear while he thought of a reply. Of course he did. He couldn't count the amount of times he’d taken care of his own frustrations at night imagining it was your throat around his length rather than his hand. He wouldn’t tell you that though. Not just yet at least.

“You’re disgusting.” Yet he doesn’t move when you press your chest up against his, arms looping around his torso battering your eyelashes up at him. His eyes are heavy with a mix of lust and neediness and sharply fixated on you, awaiting your next move. You almost laugh at his pathetic attempt to deny you, afterall you could easily ridicule Leorio to nothing more than a horny young man which was exactly what he was. He might've been a respectful student and aspiring doctor to the eyes of your classmates, but you knew from the start he’d be down bad for anyone willing to offer just the slightest ounce of attention to. He was just too easy. That’s what you had concluded anyway.

“Why haven’t you kicked me out yet then?” You questioned, index finger trailing up his chest as you cupped his cheek, taunting eyes gazing up at his panicking expression. “You could’ve easily given me your notes and hurried me away, but you didn’t, this is what you wanted isn’t it?”

“N-no.” Leorio choked out, flustered state worsening by the second. You were right, he did want this, but if he was going to do this, there was no way he was letting you take charge. Your presence was already dominating enough in the classroom, but you were in his territory now.

“So I’m wrong?” your finger trailed up to his face to cup his cheek as your taunting eyes flickered up towards him.

Tension and patience finally snapped, Leorio grabs your wrist and pulls it away from his face, his own hands reaching up to hold your neck and pull you in. “Just shut up already.”

He’s kissing you. Just like that. His lips are warm and the kiss is a little messy, but you expected this from the start. Both of you are too desperate to care at this point. You’re sure he’s bruising your lips at this point, he’s kissing you like he can’t take it much longer. All intentions of hiding desperation now forgotten, Leorio forces you to see just how badly he did in fact want this, despite his previous denial.

Your hands reach up towards the back of his neck, fingertips beginning to entangle with the short roots of his har, pulling him impossibly closer. He obliges, grunting in response and slotting his thigh between your legs as he groans again.

Your frustrations spike once more when you feel his free hand hikes up your skirt, long fingers dragging along your thigh. Tracing the outline of your practically useless panties, Leorio lets his finger wander along your wet slit, arousal already soaking the material through and through and you feel him smirk. “And the audacity to play coy with me, you wanted this that badly slut?”

You can hardly register what he’s saying to you as your only focus as of now is having his fingers somewhere a little better than on the surface of your heat. “Take them off.” He demands, voice stern but smile teasing with hints of pride. Not caring to bicker back, you whine but oblige to his wishes not wanting to wait any longer. “So you can follow orders then? Good to know.” He hums in approval, rewarding you with his middle finger dragging over your clit leaving you squirming in his grip. His thigh still firmly between your thighs, you’re denied of clenching them together. He’s staring at you intensely, eyes fixated on your twisted expressions as he teases your cunt a little more before adding his thumb.

With his middle finger tracing up and down your core and thumb drawing small but firm circles on the top of your clit, your mind goes blank. You’d fingered yourself plenty of times, but not as well as your classmate and biggest rival was doing right now. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about you at night.” He sighs, demeanour completely unreadable as he almost looks as if he’s pitying you as he gazes down at your struggling face. You shake your head vigorously, wriggling in his hold in attempts for at least a little more friction. “Most nights.” He confesses with no shame as you let out a gasp as he adds another finger. He’s cautious, but obsessed with the way your walls clench down in his fingers, your arousal coating his fingers each time he pulls out. “M-me too.” You blurt out as his wrist snaps a little faster. He hums satisfied, his suspicions confirmed. He picks up the pace a little more; a reward for your honesty.

You sigh out shakily and whisper small chants of his name. The way your squirming against him has him painfully hard as he grows a little desperate himself. He begins to scissor his fingers in hopes of speeding up the process just a little more, because while he’d love to spend all night holding you in his grip, edging you to the point where you’re begging and crying, his own personal will wouldn’t hold that long, and he absolutely needed to be inside you sooner rather than later.

Arching your back slightly, you whine as he slows down taking in your pretty face. “Please just fuck me already.” You complain, eyes clenched shut as Leorio’s fingers continue their slow work. Grunting in response, he tugs his trousers down, his length springing free against your torso. “Shit.” You breathe out looking down at it.

Leorio’s dick isn’t the prettiest you’ve seen, but he’s definitely the most desirable in both girth and length. He was big, but you would guess that from the start when taking his frame into consideration. He had a few veins running down his dick too, and while he wasn’t the thickest you’d seen, the proportions matched well and you were even lucky enough to notice the slight curve which confirmed the fact you know he’d make you feel good.

Leaving you no more time to admire, Leorio pulled away from you to which you whined at the sudden loss of contact. Sitting down on the couch, he looked up at you and patted his thigh as you quickly stumbled over to him, desperation at its limit. Stopping you before you could sit down, Leorio had you over his lap as he lined his dick up to your entrance. “Sit.” he demanded as your mouth dropped open. He expected you to just sit? So casually too? He must’ve been mad. “I was already nice enough to prep you so why am I waiting?” He scolded, lustful eyes piercing through yours. “-ts too big.” You mumbled, head hung low in shame as Leorio tutted.

“It’s not, you’re not even trying to make it fit anyway.” He scoffed, tensions beginning to build up between the two of you again once more. Nodding your head, you shakily sunk down, eyes flying open as tears begin to form in the corners of your eyes. Crying out, Leorio takes a grain of pity on you as he allows you to recollect yourself. “Last chance before I do it myself,” He warns. “I’ve been generous today, inviting you to my home, letting you borrow my notes and then entertaining your needs, give a little back won’t you?”

Your teeth grit as you prepare yourself to attempt once more, but not before getting in one last snarky response. “Wasn’t it you who was eyefucking me as soon as you opened the door? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you wanted this more than me.” A harsh slap is stricken on your ass as you yelp. “Stop being such a brat, especially after you begged me to fuck you.” He hisses, frustration turning his tone almost angry. “You aren’t fucking me!” You cried out, tears of pent up needs becoming too overwhelming. Your fists are clenching the hem of your skirt and tears are streaming down your face as Leorio looks up at you.

His hands move quickly to his hips as you gasp upon the feeling of your body being pulled down. “You want me to fuck you? Fine, have it your way.” His grip on your hips is firm and you know there will be marks left later, but none of that mattered as of now. The only thing you cared about was having Leorio finally claim you as his in ways you’d imagined while pleasuring yourself most nights. Tears continued to drip down your face as you screamed out Leorio’s name as he plunged his entire length inside of your dripping cunt. It was painful, but slowly, your hips began to move on their own grinding up with his assistance until the two of you built a steady pace turning the pain into pleasure sending your head spinning.

Your tits are fully out and exposed by now, your flimsy top hardly stopping them from spilling out as they bounced at the same pace of your thrusts. Leorio’s eyes stayed focused on them for a while. His pupils gazing up and down at the same rhythm of your chest. He’d experienced the wonders of a female body before, the hunter exam he’d taken over a year ago giving him his first taste of what it really felt like to touch a woman, but this was different. This was a more personal experience, and the fact that he was the one making your body react like this only fuelled his movements as well as his pride.

“Shit- you feel so much better than I thought you - fuck - would!” You moan, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten. The praise is sent straight down to his groin as his thrusts are a lot deeper now, hitting against your cervix multiple times over as you start to see stars.

You cry out when he finally hits the right spot, your vision going white as your head tilts back, tongue dropping out your mouth. “There!” You sob. “Right there again!”

Seeing no reason to deny you when you’ve done such a good job of taking him so well, Leorio tightens his grip on your sides as drool begins to pool in your mouth. He leans in close and licks a stripe up your neck before taking a nipple into his mouth resulting in a loud moan to leave your lips. He sucks the sensitive bud as his thrusts show no relent, adamant on hitting the same spot as before.

You’re closing in towards the edge, the knot in your stomach unbearably tight as Leorio continues towards his goal of throwing you over the edge. Pulling away from your chest leaving a prominent bite mark from where he’d had his mouth attached to your nipple, he leans back in to gently lick over the mark. The gentle gesture contrasting the hard thrusts of his hips as he continued to assist in the shifting of your weight up and down his length.

A few more thrusts and you’re crying out his name, a thin line of drool streaming from the corner of your mouth as you come hard all over his cock. You’re so caught up in your own high, you miss the way he smirks at you, but with a gentle twinkle in his eyes. You coming undone is easily the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. The way your lashes cast a faint shadow over your cheeks as your head tilts back and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

While Leorio would love to keep you like this, stay inside you with your expression in place and cum dripping down him, he loses his own self control as just the sight of your fucked out face alone is enough to send him off the edge as he follows suit, loud groan as he fills his load into your dripping hole.

The warmth of his seed spreads through your entire body as your hands drop down from off his shoulders and rest of his chest, the two of you left to catch your breath. The two of you stay like that for just a few more moments. The blissful silence proving all tension, pent up frustrations and emotions had been resolved, the air now perfectly clear.

You flutter your eyes open again, your breathing returning to its regulated pace as you return back to reality. Leorio’s still inside you, his sweaty forehead resting against your shoulders, his breathing returns from ragged to regular.

“Shit.” You breathe out, realisation finally sinking into your head.

“Yeah, shit.” He repeats, tone a lot gentler from before as he lifts his head up to look at you. “And to think you only came by to pick up my notes.”

You laugh a little, his comment stirring not irritation, but genuine happiness through your chest as he offered a gentle smile your way.

“Well,” he spoke, as you gazed back into his now endearing eyes. “I suppose it’s too late for you to walk home.” “If I can even walk at all,” You mused. “You were a lot rougher than anticipated”.

He laughs. thumbs drawings gentle circles on your sides over the harsh marks he’d left on your skin from his tight grip. “What sort of business man would I be if I wasn’t just the slightest bit deceiving?” He hummed. “I thought you wanted to be a doctor.” You humoured back, your hands now finding home  around the base of his neck.

“I do, that was a joke,” He said, forehead now resting against your own. “But alongside being a doctor, what I really want,” His voice quiet, barely above a whisper as you nod for him to continue. “Is for you to give us a chance rather than fighting it any longer.”

You smiled and pulled away from him. Head nodding firmly as he gently squeezed your sides. Leorio was right, while the two of you may have had your clases from time to time, there was no denying that there was mutual attraction from the start. Something drawing you into him and that same thing refusing to let him leave.

While the two of you had wasted so much time with petty competitions and arguments, you were certain that now you’d communicated properly, things would be smooth sailing for the two of you from here. Although, you thought to yourself, miscommunication had led you to this very situation. So while you nodded your head agreeing to give the two of you a shot, maybe you’d just have to be a little difficult every so often. Just for the sake of reminiscing and no other reason of course.