#so I think he doesn’t mean to be this rude or brusque

[clunelover]

Ooh, screw off, man who just sent me a message on a merge request that begins with “I hope you realize you have a failed test”

Yeah, I realize. I posted a question about it on teams because it stems from a really strange new problem. And nobody has replied. Which, by the way, ever since getting the ability to do my own merge requests, I’d say 80% of them have had some weird new problem, none of which have been my fault (at least according to the person training me), just weird glitches! So thanks for the new permissions and responsibility, but can I give it back now?

Kidding, mostly. As annoying as it is, it’s been exciting to learn. Soon we’ll get trained on using gitlab via pycharm and that will supposedly make things easier. And I’d rather be messing with failed pipelines than trying to add another new filter to a dashboard and incrementally shrinking all the other filter boxes to try to find room for it.

[yuurei20]

I've noticed Epel keeps adding 'kana' to the end of his sentences. What does it mean?

Hello hello! Thank you so, so much for this question, I have always wanted to mention this.

“Kana” can be a multitude of things in English, such as “probably,” “I guess,” “I think,” “I wonder,” etc. A basic explanation would be, “a word used to express uncertainty,” but like most things when it comes to language, that is not the only thing it does.

A quick review of Epel: from his first day at NRC he has been under order from Vil to “speak more politely,” as he tends to use informal speech with his senpai.

As you point out, Epel often adds “kana” to what he is saying, and that is because one of the things that it can do is ‘soften’ something that you’re saying in order to make it sound less direct, and thus more polite.

Examples: Epel telling Kalim that his assumption is wrong, telling Vil that he disagrees with him, saying that his Phantom Bride look is weird, etc., these are all sentences that he is awkwardly gentling via “kana,” often after several ellipses or a comma, as though it is not a part of his normal speech pattern.

This gets into cultural differences: When Ace assumes that Epel is dedicated to a certain brand of apple juice, for example, an English-speaking Epel could probably respond, “That’s not actually the case!,” without sounding rude. But that could be interpreted as a little brusque in Japanese.

In order to soften the expression Epel adds “kana” at the end, which sounds more like, “That might not be the case,” “I’m not sure that is exactly what is going on,” etc., in English.

Even though he knows for 100% certainty that he is not actually dedicated to a certain brand of juice, he is still using “kana” in order to not sound too straightforward.

(screenshot from maggiesensei.com)

(This can and does cause issues when moving in between languages: a Japanese learner who only knows that “kana” means “I think” might not add it onto sentences where they are certain about something, and thus risk annoying their Japanese-speaking colleagues, for example. In contrast, an English learner may say “I think” too often, leading their English-speaking colleagues to wonder why they don’t seem to actually know anything. It’s all part of the joy of language and culture!)

While there are several words in Japanese that can be used to soften your phrasing, Epel seems to have latched onto “kana” in particular, possibly because it is an easy word to add on to the last part of what might otherwise be a rude sentence in an attempt to avoid a reprimand from Vil. 

Other times Epel will belatedly add “desu” onto his sentences, also in a bid to sound more polite than he is used to speaking. 

If you are a language learner I would not recommend using Epel as an example of when to use “kana,” as he will sometimes shoehorn it into places in an unnatural way (as a part of his character).

EN is doing its best to recreate Epel’s “kana” by including things like “kind of,” “not sure” and “maybe” in his dialogue, but as sounding uncertain doesn’t necessarily mean you sound polite in English, this may not be having the same effect. And I have no idea how they would go about recreating this habit of Epel’s in a way that can properly portray what is happening in English—it might just be one of those things that gets lost in translation :<

Bonus: The Japanese language has four different alphabets (kanji, katakana, hiragana, romaji), and katakana is the alphabet used for foreign loanwords. 

Whereas other characters who use honorifics have “-kun” and “-san” written in hiragana in their dialogue, Epel’s dialogue uses katakana. This is possibly meant to symbolize how using honorifics in these situations is foreign to him, and he is not used to it.

(When he does shift into using honorifics in hiragana, it is only when he is talking to people from his own village: people he is used to!)

[thomasisaslut]

May I please request an Azris fic where Azriel and Eris get into a massive fight and they both separate just to find each other in the place where they used to go to all the time for little dates. Then they realise they can't live without each other.

Of course! I may have added a bit of some other things like Tamlin & Eris friendship! Requests are open if you have anymore! 🤍

—

On Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1406078782-𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑-𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬-𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞-𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐞-𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐬-𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚-𝐱

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52313497

—

Brusque Brute

It was all too much, the way Azriel continues to indulge Elain when he promised he strictly loved Eris, it made the High Lord of the Autumn Court more sad that angry. Not only this, but, he knew Lucien wanted to get closer to his mate, even if he did respect her boundaries the bond he shared with the youngest Archeon sister was strong, teasing, indulging.

“You said you would stop.” Eris says plainly, as if he was use to having this conversation.

“She flirts with me, I don’t want to be rude to her, Eris.” The Shadowsinger replies carelessly. “It’s not hurting anyone.” He adds with a small shrug.

Eris takes a deep breath. “You don’t think that you flirting with someone else other than me doesn’t affect me, Azriel?”

“Why should it? I’m only doing it to keep her happy.” The spymaster of the Night Court explains.

“It makes me sad!” Eris finally snaps. “You think it’s pleasant for me to watch my mate indulge someone?” A small glare begins to form on the freckled, pale skin of the Autumn Fae.

“That’s ridiculous, there is no reason it should make you sad.” Azriel stands from the red couch of which he was seated on, making his way over to his mate. “She is just… lonely, Elain finds comfort in me.”

“Well she needs to find it with someone else.” Eris says, crossing his arms and squeezing his biceps.

“Why?”

Eris wants to laugh, scream, say something to make the brute understand why he is so uncomfortable with this, yes, he knew Azriel didn’t have many experiences with relationships, but, he was the most intelligent man in the Night Court. Why was discomfort such a foreign concept?

“Because I don’t like how close she is with you, Azriel.” Eris explains again.

“Whatever.” He scoffs, his shadows move around his wings, tightening around the Illyrian like an act of discipline before releasing. Azriel glares at them and shoos them away.

The dark clouds make a movement as if to glare back before they move over to the High Lord, swarming his ankles, wrists, waist, neck, anything.

“Don’t just say ‘whatever’, Azriel. I am trying to have a serious conversation with you!” The Autumn Fae sighs.

Azriel directs his hardened face towards his lover. “No, this talk is stupid! She is just a friend to me!”

“I know! But, that doesn’t mean I want you to disregard my insecurities!” Eris argues back. “I am uncomfortable with you being so touchy, I get comforting her but you are flirting!” The ginger frowns.

Azriel doesn’t seem to understand.

“Playfully, it means nothing.” Azriel rolls his eyes, crossing his own arms.

“How would you feel if I flirted with Nesta? Maybe even your brother, Cassian?” Eris retorts.

“Oh please, you hate Cass.” The Shadowsinger states, his scarred hand connects with Eris jaw, cupping it and forcing him to look up at him. “You wouldn’t dare flirt with Nesta.”

Eris glares. “Watch me.”

The spymaster of the Night Court returns the same look, harder. “You won’t.” He snaps.

“You flirt with Elain, why can’t I indulge Nesta?”

“You will not ‘indulge’ anyone other than me!” Azriel snaps, he tugs on the bond. Eris looks a bit startled from the outburst. “Do you understand?” He snaps, siphons burning a vibrant blue, illuminating the room of the Autumn place they were currently in.

“Now you’re being controlling?” The High Lord snaps, smacking away the spymasters hand cupping his face.

“I am not!” Azriel shouts, Eris flinches from the loud sound, he remembers how his father use to scream at him, his brothers. “You’re so sensitive over this topic! I am not going to leave you, Eris.”

He can’t help to feel tears brim in his eyes, but no, these were not happy tears. “Sensitive?” Eris’ voice betrays him, cracking. “Why are you being so defensive, Az?” He asks slowly, not wanting his mate to shout again.

But, of course, he does. “Because I don’t fucking love her!” He snaps, his siphons emit an electric flow, zapping the area.

Eris can’t help but feel a bit afraid, he steps back. Azriel seemed to be so overtaken by anger he was completely ignoring his lovers fear.

“You sure seem like it.” The High Lord finally manages to retort.

“I,” The scarred hand grasps the collar of the Autumn Fae’s collar. “Do not,” Azriel’s eyes meet Eris’ own tear filled one, a burning rage behind the brown-hazel orbs. “Love her.”

“Don’t touch me.” Eris whispers, a tear slipping down his cheek, dropping onto the spymasters hand before dripping to the wooden floor.

Azriel halts, he instantly lets go of his mate. “Eris-“

“No.” He replies quickly, taking a deep breath in attempt to calm himself, but it wasn’t useful. The intake of air began to speed up, waves of memories flood back, the way his father shouted, hit, abused… everything.

“Princess, please, I didn’t mean too…” Azriel begins but Eris was already slowly backing away, clutching his chest.

“Shut up!” Eris snaps before fire swarms around him, crackling before he vanishes, winnowing.

“Eris.” Azriel speaks again but it was too late, his mate has left.

—

When Eris finally reaches his destination he falls to his knees, he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They streamed down his face like a waterfall, no matter how many times he attempted to wipe them away they wouldn’t stop.

His breath hitched again, his crying shifting to sobs. Eris didn’t remember the last time he cried, he never was allowed considering the strictness of the old Autumn Court, of his father.

No, he didn’t wish that something as simple as a person raising their voice reminded him of Beron, but, then again, he didn’t wish anything reminded him of his father.

However, he couldn’t escape it. When he looked at himself in the mirror he saw only him, the way his features resembled his father much more than Serafina—his mother. How he wished it was the other way, then, his mother would be comfortable seeing him.

The High Lord of the Autumn Court hated most things in his life, his mate reminding him of his past was one, over looking his insecurities was another.

“Eris?” A voice calls out, but, this was different than the harsh, Illyrian one he heard before.

The Autumn Fae raises his head, looking at the starlight pool before him then turning to see who called his name.

Tamlin.

“What’s wrong?” The blond High Lord approaches slowly before sitting down beside Eris. “You’re crying.”

“No shit.” Eris clears his throat, but, his voice still sounded broken, wet, sad.

“Not the time.” Tamlin sighs. “What’s wrong?” He repeats.

“I am… thinking.”

“Of?” The High Lord of the Spring Court cocks his head to the side, raising one of his eyebrows.

“Azriel and I had a fight… over Elain.” Eris admits quietly, the shadows still around the Autumn Fae comfortingly.

“And he’s not listening to you?” He motions to the shadows.

“They have minds of their own, all of them are here…” The ginger says slowly before Tamlin scoots closer, opening his arms.

Eris instantly sinks into the embrace from his friend, he didn’t care how Azriel would feel about seeing him hug his High Lord and Ladies enemy, Tamlin has been his friend before Feyre even existed.

“So, again, what is wrong, Eris?” Tamlin repeats for the third time, gently stroking the High Lord of the Autumn Court’s hair, massaging his scalp.

“I already said-“

“Specifically.” He adds.

Eris nods, clearing his throat once more. “I expressed my discomfort with him flirting back with Elain when my brother is trying to win over her… he disregarded my emotions for the situation and said I was being sensitive.” The Autumn Fae notices Tamlin’s face grow annoyed at the mention of Elain.

“I dislike her.” He begins. “Azriel is being a sick.”

Eris chuckles at that, releasing Tamlin from the hug before he wipes his tears again. “Yes, he is.” He pauses before continuing. “You… you love him,” Tamlin raises his eyebrow. “My brother.” Eris clarifies.

The High Lord of the Spring Court pauses before he sighs and nods. “Yes. During Calanmai… it was t Feyre who I truly searched for, no, I was looking for Lucien… when I saw her, the urge made me bite her.” Tamlin begins to explain, a hint of water glistening in his own eyes. “I have loved him since before Amarantha, the only reason the whole curse ever happened was because I wanted to see him… happy.”

Eris nods, gently grabbing his friend’s hand.

The other High Lord continues. “And now… he is mated, and enamored with her.” He bites out.

“My mate seems to love her too, if it makes you feel better.” Eris jokes dryly, frowning.

“I do not.” A dark voice states, Azriel soon appearing across the pool of starlight.

Tamlin sends a small glance Eris’ way before disappearing, thanking him for listening before vanishing in a puff of flowers.

“Azriel.” Eris greets, the tears fighting to come back.

“Eris.” Azriel walks over, sitting in the spot Tamlin was in before.

“What do you want?” The High Lord brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms before resting his cheek on his forearms, looking at the spymaster of the Night Court.

“I want to apologize.” Azriel begins, guilt covering his features. Eris nods, motioning for him to go on. “I… I love you, Eris. More than anything, I could not live without you, princess.” His hand gently caresses Eris’ bicep. “I am so sorry I overlooked what you meant.”

Eris slowly moves his legs down, his hands connecting with Azriel’s own, holding both firmly. “I just wanted you to understand-“

“No, I was wrong. I know what… I know what I reminded you of.” Azriel tugs him closer, holding Eris firmly, hugging his mate. “I’m sorry, I never wished to remind you of that… thing.” He mentions Beron with disgust. “I won’t ever flirt with Elain again, I will keep it strictly friendly.” He presses a kiss to his lovers temple. “I’m sorry.” The Shadowsinger repeats.

“Az…” Eris hug Azriel tightly, the dark haired male falls to his back, wings splayed out on the dirt as Eris is on his chest. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not, I will prove anything to make it up.” Azriel states firmly, Eris only chuckles and cups his lovers cheeks, pressing a gently yet firm kiss to the spymaster.

“It is, I promise.” The High Lord of the Autumn Court smiles, his tears finally drying.

“I meant what I said… earlier.” Azriel buries his head into the crook of the Autumn Fae’s neck. “I will never leave you, princess.”

“And I, you.” The shadows swarm around the two, holding them together. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Well, the starlight pool here is our date spot, Eris.” Azriel teases, Eris’ cheeks flush a light red. “Plus, that male is still your friend.” He groans.

“Tamlin has a name, Az!”

“A dumb one.” His wings move around Eris, shielding him away from anything and everyone but him.

Eris laughs. “Thank you… Az, for apologizing.”

“I always will, I was wrong.” Azriel brings his scarred hand back to his mates cheek again. “Always.”

“Always.” Eris says back.

The pair stays there in silence, staring at each other and the starlight pool before them before Eris strips off his clothes, making his way into the water. Azriel follows in, kissing his lover again as they bathe in the stars.

[deliciouskeys]

6 and 7 for Homewell

25 for Butchlander

26 for Maevlander

:)

Meme Link. These were challenging lol! “You really had me going there” - HL to SB

6 homewell, undercover in a bar

As part of media/social training for a NYC based celebrity, Vought wants to make sure HL knows how to politely demur when men come on to him. He goes to a gay bar in plainclothes (plainclothes being a crop top and itty bitty shorts). Madelyn comes along to observe. 18 year old HL gets an overwhelming number of solicitations, eventually ending up dragged to the dance floor unwillingly and has to escape and cling to his “best friend” Madelyn to get out of there.

7 homewell, pretending to be married

This one is also training but done in private as they assess whether HL is better off being married to Maeve (PR would prefer he stay vaguely single but the psychology department thinks some stability would do him good). Madelyn tells him to just roleplay it, but HL starts assuming this is a trial run for the real thing, that she’s just been too shy to tell him she wants him to propose. Culminates in him getting down on one knee and saying something like “Madelyn, you should have said something, I thought it was off the table, I had no idea you actually wanted me!” and she has to work really hard to maneuver out of that nightmare interpersonal tangle and keep his ego intact.

25 butchlander, circus au

I have no idea what this trope even is haha, but!

Billy gets dragged to attend a traveling circus show by a friend who’s really into this Vought Circus. It rarely visits the UK (based in the US and features these weird supe freaks that only ever get born in the US for some reason). But Billy is kind of taken with one of the performers, although he won’t own up to it and when his friend gushes about the show, Billy is dismissive that it’s grotesque to watch these people with congenital malfunctions prance around in skintight glittery leotards. Billy’s friend has a backstage pass, so they get to see the performers after the show and Billy’s kind of shocked that they’re confined in cages for people to gawk and stare at. He talks to the supe that caught his attention and finds HL is not the shiny smiley fake looking ken doll he is on stage. He’s brusque and rude and clearly a diva but is also clearly living a life of a show horse, and… feelings are caught, slowburn yada yada, Billy tries to get him out of that life.

26 maevlander, language barrier

When they just start dating, Maeve gets the fun task of teaching HL all the millennial slang that Vought never bothered to (he still doesn’t really go online on his own, even after being let out of lab, and certainly hasn’t hung out on urbandictionary). So when she says “I’m shook” he just stares at her blankly. And his sexual vocabulary is a complete black hole, so “eat me out” also garners a wide eyed scared expression from him before she realizes he might try to guess what it means and quickly specifies what it means before something horrific takes place.

[supermacaquecool]

Odd pair commentary now

Okay, I'm not sure when I started writing this, I have the vague inkling of wanting to finish it for the first Survive week? Or is it just because I wrote a lot of Ryo fic for it? Beats me.

...

So yeah, I went to check my twt and I posted the first excerpt (the one above) I wrote for it on Jan 26th of last year lol It was around those times.

I remember a mutual had brought the topic of ships and how Ryo is likely the second most shippable Survive chara lol At any rate, it got me thinking I wanted to explore their dynamic. This funny interaction was the seed from which the whole thing sprouted lol Before I started the game myself (I knew plenty of spoilers already, though) , I knew from a certain drawing on twt that they cook together in Truthful, so I had been looking forward to seeing that a lot. I think the fact they're the same age and Ryo helps her out brings a sense of equality to their relationship that Aoi doesn't really have with her juniors, much less Shuuji. So I thought it could be fun. Incidentally, the way the affinity dialogue plays out where Ryo shows up to help her crackled me up really hard lol The way she ends up bossing him around much to his chagrin and the way he swallows his pride are pretty priceless lol

Another scene I really like with them (the other one I know of???) is that one that takes place when they're about to head to the northern shrine, and Takuma and Aoi show up late bc they got sidetracked with repairs LOL I loved the way Ryo chewed her out for not prioritizing lol So this is kinda inspired by that, tho he gets frustrated at her here for not asking for help (or expressing herself, period LOL). Now that I've written more, I have noticed that I like writing other characters finding my fav annoying, which is just unbelievably funny.

So, it was fun writing those points of friction between them, Aoi disliking Ryo's rude attitude and Ryo finding grating that she clams up lol It was not the cause for huge conflict, but it gave way to some fun smaller instances of awkwardness. I'm very fond of Ryo getting admonished for speaking rudely to her only to nearly call her a dumbass five seconds later lol

Aoi's reticence to rely on others takes the bulk of the scenario:

Ryo cranes his neck over her shoulder to take a peek at whatever she was doing on the counter.

This was a fun, physical way to get accross the way he's basically having to force brute his way through understanding her, since she isn't really communicating. She's clamming up so much to the point it makes Ryo nearly lose his patience near the end. Aoi doesn't really budge much in this fic, it's all Ryo and Labramon having to do the heavy lifting to bridge the interaction which is also funny. All the things she goes out of her way to cover their bases and not trouble others causing her to be cumbersome to be dealt with lol I'd like to write them scolding each other more, plus the mutual annoyance they learn to tolerate as they grow to trust each other more lol The way they're nearly opposites in the way they choose to deal with social interaction makes them very funny in my head lol Rude boy and proper girl, get on each others' nerves, now! Despite that, I think they're likely to feel real kinship with each other as the only competent caretakers and cooks of the group lol It's just a matter of growing comfortable with each other, so that's what I'm aiming for portraying.

As per usual, Ryo's pov is very fun to write. His brusqueness marred to his keeness are a blast, so I mostly think of this one as a fun little snapshot at how their dynamic could play out.

Ryo sighs, catching her drift. Despite all their talk about how charging to the factory will mean facing the Last Boss, some part of her doesn’t believe it’ll be over yet. Not like he can blame her. He doesn’t buy it either, that they will be done with all of this that easily. Really, given how things turned out in the waterways, preparing for the worst isn’t wrong but…

Highlighting this paragraph bc I didn't explore this aspect much, but that's another common ground for them: their catastrophizing LOL They could either make each other's anxiety worse or really bond over it. If I were to write them together again, I'd probably want to explore that territory.

[hopeshoodie]

How come you don't like lottie and graham

It’s probably mostly the whole ‘the worst sin a fictional character can commit is being annoying’ thing. I personally don’t vibe with the ‘petty with very little introspection woman’ and ‘brusque standoffish arrogant man’ personality types. 

But more than that-

Lottie

Lottie in the first couple weeks of the game is absolutely intolerable. She's catty, rude, childish, and just generally mean to people around her. The girl code fixation is just an excuse to demand all the girls treat her like the main character without being critical of her own actions

She's incredibly selfish. She uses other people's things, makes messes, but then gets mad if people try to borrow her things.

She gets upset when people don't come to her with gossip, but is incredibly condescending to other people (rolling her eyes, making comments to Gary in group settings). I hate how she makes Operation Nope about 'poor me no one likes me'.

Even in late game?? She's still rolling her eyes and making sarcastic comments about Hope and Marisol, girls who at this point might be her friends.

Multiple characters TELL us in late game how much Lottie has changed, but like can someone give me a demonstrable example of her being changed? Like yes she saved Noah, but she had no other options that personally benefitted her. Yes she’s in less screaming matches, but tell me that isn’t just because she has the guy she wants.  Graham Is rude/uninterested in MC during the speed dating and only asks after Marisol, then through the rest of CA he makes it clear that he has no interest in making friends/acquaintances with women he’s not sexually attracted to. 

Him being testy about boat puns makes sense, but he's overly aggressive about stating in and enforcing other people not make them (and then later makes them himself??). Like he assumes people should already know that and snaps at them when telling them for the first time. I'm all for setting boundaries, but he just doesn't go about it in a considerate way.

Is the most aggressive about bullying Felix. Kassam has more of a reason to dislike Felix, but Graham’s always the one making comments, rolling his eyes, and yelling at Felix. 

Hates the sound of morning doves (sin)

His rivalry with Gary is dumb. I dislike Gary for it too, but the 'thing I like is better than thing you like!' and being condescending towards Gary sucks. He also is the first one to try to instigate physical violence, telling Gary to hit him.

The sex dungeon in the pillow fort thing /really/ bothers me. I totally get that it’s funny to flirt/make jokes by alluding to BDSM and I’m fine with that. But the way Graham talks about it makes me SO uncomfortable. First, him consistently saying it to people he doesn't know well makes me think he uses it as a personality trait, which RED FLAG. Where it's more about being 'the guy who's a dom' instead of just... Enjoying BDSM for its own sake. Second, I’m sorry but if you’re conventionally attractive you’re not good at BDSM. Only people who look like absolute nerds/dweebs are good at BDSM. Third, and most importantly, he disregards consent. He doesn’t just joke about making a sex dungeon in the communal blanket fort, he grabs rope and is genuinely disappointed/annoyed that people tell him to knock it off. People react with discomfort, and that in and of itself isn't enough to get him to stop. This man was what? Going to rig up Marisol? In front of god and everybody? 

When MC is on a Marisol route, Graham is shitty. Not just shitty in a 'this girl I like is being stolen away from me' way, but in a misogynistic homophobic way. He says that Marisol needs a "man like him" and then seems to undermine the legitimacy of MC and Marisol's relationship. He gets really nasty towards MC once Marisol chooses to switch, and it's just... Yuck.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

When We Were Young Part Three

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Not beta-read I just wanted to thank everyone for the likes/comments/reblogs!! I really appreciate it! Warnings: Uuuuuh none Summary: “Have you seen this?” You turned around to see Sherlock holding up the Pall Mall Gazette. You strode forward, holding your hand out for it.

Your next day was spent looking in on your aunt (your father’s sister, Mary - a kind woman, but always troubled with some illness; she would spend nearly an hour describing it to you and then say, “But I don’t want to bore you with that, dearie, it’s a trouble for an old woman”), as well as meeting with one of the investors that your father had asked you to speak with. You’d taken over the use of Cornelius’ study while you were in town, and had hoped that the atmosphere would soften the man’s attitude toward you. Unfortunately, it hadn’t had the desired effect. The man had been rude and condescending. It had taken everything in your power to keep your head and not snap at the man in the way you wanted to. As irritated as you were, this was your father’s livelihood, and the way he kept a roof over all your heads. That being said, you were in an awful mood when your Uncle informed you of a visitor. “Who is it?” You asked. Cornelius chuckled at your dark tone. “No need to look so dour. It’s your friend, Mr. Holmes,” He said. You hesitated before turning to answer him. “Which Mr. Holmes?” You asked. “The detective, not the politician,” He reassured you. You nodded. “Send him in, then,” You agreed. As soon as Cornelius was out of the room, you found yourself turning to check your reflection in the glass of the cabinet, reaching up to tuck away a stray hair. You immediately felt ridiculous. Sherlock wasn’t there to see you, he was there to tell you about what he knew about Enola. You huffed, resting your hands on your hips and turning away from the cabinet. Surely it was the meeting with your father’s investor earlier that had you so riled. Your hands absently smoothed over the skirt of your dress before you raised a hand to fiddle with the cameo on your choker. You heard the door open and you lowered your hand, resting it on the back of a chair. You opened your mouth to greet him, but he spoke up before you could. “Who did it?” 

He’d hardly been there a moment and he was already throwing around questions.

“Excuse me?” You asked. “Who upset you?” He pressed. You had expected Cornelius to come in behind him, but the door closed, leaving the two of you alone. You knew that your mother would have a fit if she found out you were alone with a man, especially when her brother was meant to be looking after you. It was one thing for Sherlock to come and speak with you alone when you were in your own home. Your parents were always wary of what may happen to you and your reputation when you traveled - “People talk in London,” Your mother would always sniff (as if the country was entirely free of gossip). “What makes you think I’m upset?” You asked. Sherlock strode further into the study, looking you over openly. You didn’t have a book to hide behind this time, though, and despite the fact that you were wearing several layers of clothing, you felt very exposed. “You mean beyond your inability to keep still?” He asked. “I haven’t moved since you came in,” You argued. “Your fingers haven’t stopped tapping on that chair,” Sherlock nodded toward your hand. You hadn’t even noticed you started, and you immediately pressed the pads of your fingers into the leather of the chair to still them. “Your shoulders are pulled incredibly tight,” Sherlock added, continuing to come closer. “I value good posture,” You excused. “You're flushed...And your jaw is clenched,” Sherlock added, stopping right in front of you. You immediately relaxed your jaw, but the redness in your face, well. There was nothing you could do about that. “...Have you heard anything about Enola?” You asked, choosing not to address his initial question of who had upset you. Sherlock watched you for a few seconds as if waiting for you to crack. Then he hummed thoughtfully, brushing past you to go the desk. You felt your shoulders relax as he did; you hadn’t even realized how tense you were. You hated how easily he could read those things on you - but you reminded yourself that he could read those things on anyone.

“Have you seen this?” You turned around to see Sherlock holding up the Pall Mall Gazette. You strode forward, holding your hand out for it. He passed it to you before he unbuttoned his jacket, leaning back against the desk. You skimmed the article he’d opened to: Disturbance on London Express. Two Boys Leap From Train. Your brow furrowed as you turned away from him, paper in hand as you began to read it to yourself in a mutter: “There was a report of a disturbance on a London bound train yesterday morning. The London express train had left Basilweather station at 9:15, and was bound for the city when passengers witnessed two boys and a man with a bowler hat moving around the carriages excitedly and with much haste--” “You still read aloud to yourself?” You ear caught on the teasing in Sherlock’s tone and you grumbled, “Shush,” Before you went on reading in silence. You’d skimmed the article that morning, but it hadn’t caught your eye the way it had Sherlock’s. You unfolded the paper when you finished, eyes darting to the article on the Marquess that was reported missing before you rejoined Sherlock at the desk, pressing the paper into his chest wordlessly. You had intended to move your hand away, assuming he’d catch the paper quickly enough, but his hand quickly covered yours, keeping it there. It wasn’t for more than a moment or two, but it felt like ages. You never went into public without your gloves, rarely met with men or had occasion to touch a gentleman’s hand besides. Now Sherlock’s thumb brushed over your bare knuckles, the pads of his fingers fanning out over the back of your hand. It was a simple touch, innocent and soft, but it set your blood singing. You slipped your hand out from under his, picking up a stack of mail that had been deposited on the side of the desk and beginning to leaf through it. In truth, you’d already done this once, half an hour ago, but you needed something to keep your eyes off of Sherlock’s and your hands away from his. “...Thoughts?” He asked. You could hear him refolding the paper. “You know these matters better than I. I’ve never been in a situation where I’ve had to go looking for someone that didn’t want to be found,” You answered. “Perhaps not, but you’ve spent more time with Enola than I have in these last few years.” “Yes, and whose fault is that?” You volleyed back dryly, turning a letter over and inspecting the wax seal. When Sherlock didn’t answer, you glanced up to find him frowning and staring ahead. “Your jaw is clenched,” You informed him, reaching up and tapping at the tight muscle with the letter. Sherlock cut you a sharp look, and you smiled sweetly before you lowered your eyes back to the mail, tossing the letter onto the desk. “If that was her, she’ll have changed her disguise by now,” You added, “Your sister isn’t stupid. She knows that that incident will have caught some people’s attention.” “I know that she’s not stupid,” Sherlock snapped. You regarded him carefully out of the corner of your eye. There was only one person that could get a rise out of Sherlock when you were children - you had been his favorite target then, and Sherlock let him at it, as long as it meant Sherlock got some peace. You weighed your options before deciding to play your hunch. “What did Mycroft say?” You asked knowingly. Sherlock directed his gaze elsewhere in the room, clearly displeased at being caught out. “He doesn’t want me looking for Enola...And he’ll send her to boarding school once she’s found.” You shook your head, muttering, “Smarmy bastard,” Unable to help yourself. You had looked away, and didn’t see Sherlock’s slight smile at your curse. “She’d hate it there,” You added more loudly, “There’s no freedom, no way for you to be yourself. Mycroft may think that what he’s doing is for Enola’s own good, but... Being sent to one feels like a punishment.” “How would you know? You had a governess,” Sherlock grunted. You pursed your lips, nodding. “I did... Until my mother deemed me un-governable.” You felt the weight of Sherlock’s frown as it was turned on you in full force. “I didn’t know you were sent away,” He said. “Well, how would you? You never came back,” The bitterness and hurt seeped into your tone, unbidden. “You stopped writing,” Sherlock’s rebuttal spoken more harshly than you’d expected, and you turned to him with fire in your eyes. “You never answered,” You snapped. There was a knock at the door, and it only gave you two a second’s warning before Cornelius’ cheerful self popped inside.

“All well in here?” “Quite,” Sherlock answered brusquely. Both men went silent, waiting for your confirmation, but you never gave it, instead pretending to re-immerse yourself in the letters in your hands. Cornelius cleared his throat. “I hate to intrude, but we'll be having guests over for dinner this evening and I’m sure it’ll take my niece some time to get ready. Frills and frippery and all that.” You rolled your eyes, unable to help it. You’d had quite enough with men’s assumptions for one day. “I do hope you enjoy yourselves.” Sherlock’s tone was very flat, matter-of-fact, and you were almost certain he didn’t mean it. “Oh, you know how these things are. Business for the men, pleasure for the women,” Cornelius tutted, “Though Lord Dawson will be there and he and a certain someone seem to be quite keen on one another.” You scoffed quietly, tossing another letter onto the desk for the sake of throwing something. Lord Dawson was an egotistical bore, but a well-moneyed one, and someone that your mother was pressuring you to marry.

“I believe my brother has been meaning to become acquainted with Lord Dawson for some time,” Sherlock commented.

“Well, then you and Mycroft ought to join us for dinner this evening!” Cornelius offered. “No!” You said sharply. You froze, feeling both Sherlock and Cornelius turn their attention to you.

You turned your head to look at your uncle, lips pursed. “Mr. Holmes is in the middle of a case, he’ll be far too occupied to join us for dinner,” You glanced over at Sherlock, adding, “Won’t you.” Sherlock nodded. “Your niece is right, I am currently in the thick of a case,” He said, looking at Cornelius. You relaxed, turning back to the letters, satisfied...Until Sherlock continued, “But I will have to eat sometime, as will Mycroft. We’d be glad to join you.” Your hands tightened on the letters, fighting the urge to reach up and smack Sherlock over the head with the lot of them. “Splendid!” Cornelius grinned, “We will send a formal invitation around to your brother, of course.” “I will excuse myself, then, and give you all time to prepare,” Sherlock straightened from the desk. He turned back to you, leaning in and tapping a finger against your cheek with a murmur of, “Your jaw is clenched, dove.” You gave him your most murderous look, but he was already striding toward the door to bid your Uncle Cornelius a good day. Tag list: @run-through-wa11s ; @thefallenbibliophilequote ; @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem

[cosmicjoke]

Well, there’s a book and a half to say about chapter 55 and 56 of Attack on Titan!  I’ll focus on 56, because the whole interaction between Levi and Historia, and that entire scene, is just packed full of so many important details.

 The first thing I picked up on, again, is how Levi takes the time to thank Nifa for riding all night to deliver them Erwin’s instructions.  It seems like a small moment, but Levi ALWAYS does this, and I feel like it’s really important to point out.  He’s the one character who consistently makes the effort to show his appreciation and gratitude towards others for doing a good job, or giving their best effort.  Just telling someone thank you like that can make a world of difference to them, especially when you’re dealing with a world of such desperation and extremity as the world of AoT.  So I just thought that was an important moment to note.

Another big deal in this chapter, I think, was Levi’s further interaction with Dimo Reeves, and the continued respect he shows the man.  Dimo says that him and his men will leave the room so that Levi can discuss the plan with his squad, but Levi insists that Dimo and his men stay, restating that that’s how their agreement works, that they don’t keep secrets from each other, and telling Dimo that he trusts him.  He reiterates this again when Dimo tries a second time to leave.  It speaks volumes about what kind of person Levi is, about his honesty and integrity as a person, that he’s treating Dimo and his men as equals, and including them in on the plan, and not just that, but the entirety of the situation, willing to reveal to them everything the SC knows.  He isn’t treating them as tools in Erwin’s plan, he’s treating them as partners, as people, and showing them respect by making them privy to everything that they’re getting into.  He’s showing Dimo complete trust here, when just a few days earlier they’d been on opposite sides.  Levi even takes the time to welcome Flegel, and once again reaffirm his trust in the Reeves Company.  I find this remarkable, this kind of respect and regard, and, really, this kind of deep humanity we see from Levi.  He treats Dimo and his son and his men with dignity, which is something nobody else has done for any of them in a long time, it seems.

Of course, this leads into the big scene between Levi and Historia.  I read a brilliant meta on this recently, where the writer pointed out that it’s significant that this scene takes place directly on the heels of Hange and Levi torturing Sannes for information on the Reiss family, because that experience directly influences Levi’s violent reaction and anger towards Historia here, and also explains why it is Levi forgot to tell his squad about who Historia really is, and the almost embarrassed look on his face when he realizes this.  Levi is still obviously bothered by what both he and Hange did to Sannes, enough so that he becomes distracted and forgot to reveal an obviously vital piece of information.  

What’s really interesting about this scene though is Levi’s reaction when Historia, initially, refuses to become Queen, insisting that there’s no way she can, insisting that she isn’t “fit”.  Levi gets about as pissed as we’ve seen him up to this point at this, and actually, physically attacks Historia by lifting her off the ground.  What’s interesting is Levi’s reasoning behind his anger.  Historia is being horribly timid and indecisive here, claiming she can’t be queen because she isn’t fit, essentially saying because she isn’t good enough.  This kind of timid shirking of responsibility, in the face of what Levi’s just had to do to get the information needed to perform a successful coup, would be pretty maddening.  He’s just had to dirty his hands by torturing a man, and here Historia is, flatly refusing to step up and make that experience mean anything.  We know how Levi can’t bear to let people sacrifice their lives for no reason.  I think the same applies here.  Levi can’t bear to have engaged in something as ugly and awful as torturing a man for information, with nothing to show for it in the end, with nothing gained for the effort.  Historia’s behavior here must seem to Levi very self-indulgent.  He goes into a long speech after he drops her, asking his squad members, after they yell at him for going too far, what all of them will be doing tomorrow.  Asking them if they think they’ll have food on their table, or if they’ll get a good nights sleep, or if the people around them will still be there.  He then tells them he never thinks so.  

Levi is essentially telling his squad that because of the world they live in, nothing is guaranteed, and nothing can be taken for granted, and the kind of fear they all live with of never knowing is something he wants desperately to rid the world of.  This life of being trapped and stuck and always living in fear and uncertainty.  There’s nothing worse than that.  He talks about being willing to be the one to do the dirty work, to get his hands dirty, in order to prevent anyone else from having to do the same, to have to carry the burden of that, and in order for the nightmare of their desperate existence to finally come to an end, to save everyone from having to sit there and worry if they’ll be able to eat the next day, or if their friends will still be alive.  Levi calls himself abnormal here, and says it’s probably because he’s seen so many abnormal things, but he’s willing to be that, willing to be the freak or the “bad guy” if it means no one else has to deal with it, has to go through such horrible experiences of loss and pain and guilt.   This, again, is an awesome example of Levi’s selflessness.  He knows everyone in that room is looking at him with revulsion and anger, that they think he’s being a terrible person and cruel.  But he doesn’t care.  He doesn’t care what they think of him in that moment, because the lives of so many other people are at stake, and he knows if Historia refuses to take on her role as Queen, so many more are going to die.  This coup is happening, regardless, because the standing Monarchy has proven itself unwilling to put the lives of the people ahead of its own interests, and without a peaceful transition of power to overthrow a corrupt government, more lives will be lost.  In the face of that, Historia’s meekness and uncertainty is glaringly petty and unimportant.  

I also think Levi is, again, pulling from his own experiences growing up, the poverty of living in the Underground and having nothing.  Being on the fringes of society and abandoned and uncared for by a ruling government, left to starve and rot beneath a thriving, wealthy capital.  Dimo later defends Levi when his son starts talking smack about him, and remarks that a man like Levi, who is awkward but kind, must have come from absolutely nothing.  He defends Levi to Historia too, telling her he might be scary, but he’s not a bad guy.  He calls Levi kind, even after what happened with Historia.  Because he understood Levi’s violence here, when no one else really seemed to.  He understood that it was coming from a man who had to fight all his life just to survive from one day to the next, never having any certainty in what tomorrow would bring.  He understood that Levi’s compassion towards the downtrodden, like the people of Trost now are, is coming from a place of personal experience, and so he knew Levi would keep his word to help them, even though he didn’t have to and it gained him nothing.  Because Dimo perceives that Levi knows what it is to have “absolutely nothing”, he then sees the genuineness of Levi’s compassion and the inherent kindness in him, and his sincere generosity and thoughtfulness, underneath his brusque and rude manner.  When Levi asks his squad if they think they’ll have food to eat the next day, or if they’ll sleep well, I think he must be remembering his life in the Underground, when even simple, basic staples of living like that were never a sure thing.  

Levi’s frustration and anger with Historia here is because he knows there isn’t any time for that kind of self-involved mindset.  Levi’s made sacrifices to get them to this point, as has Hange, as has the entirety of the SC, and Historia is threatening to render all of those sacrifices moot and meaningless because she’s... insecure.  Again, Levi can’t bear meaningless sacrifice.  So he gets incredibly pissed, and because, as always, Levi has so much trouble expressing himself through words, this is how he goes about trying to make Historia understand the importance of her part in this, how vital it is to so many other people’s lives that she step up and become Queen.  

It’s interesting too that this outburst on Levi’s part comes right after he expresses and shows so much trust and respect towards Dimo and his men, because it gives us such a clear picture into how Levi treats people with so much thoughtfulness and understanding for their position, but how he often struggles to express those things in words.  That, too, speaks the the kind of life Levi had growing up.  A world where social niceties and politeness were nonexistent.  Levi has such a pure, good heart, but he has no refinement or charm, and he’s no good at talking to people.  That inability to make himself clear or understood also leads to frustrated and angry outbursts like this, I think.  He wants Historia to understand, to realize how she herself is being foolishly selfish by letting her insecurity keep her from doing the right thing, but he doesn’t know how to make her see it, so he picks her up and yells at her.  

Anyway, that’s what I’ve got for these two chapters!  

Oh, and also on a side note, Armin was creepy as hell in chapter 55, lol.  Armin is an interesting character, because he seems so timid and nice, but he’s actually one of the most manipulative characters in the series.  Of course he’s one of the few that understood early on that in order to gain something, you have to be willing to make sacrifices too.  But his manipulativeness is a trait of his that sticks out pretty prominently at times, and so I always find it strange when people talk about what a sweet or caring person he is.  I do think Armin cares about his friends and comrades a lot, for sure, but he’s also a little scary in his deviousness, in how good he is at knowing how to get people to do what he wants.  

[ferret-not-microwave]

Les Amis Modern AU: What They Wish Others Believed About Them (Part 3).

[I kind of wrote this in response to some general trends in characterising the Amis. There are some stereotypes which I'm not quite comfortable with.

[Also, OMG I didn't think people would like these posts so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thaaaank you to all who gave the cutest hashtags, y'all are so encouraging!]

[Also, I'm sorry I just posted on R and Eponine today. :'(

Just have a lot on my mind. I'll write on JBM tomorrow, promise.]

Grantaire:

• He. Is. Not. Weak. Seriously, he could really do without those people who think he's a broken mess who loses absolutely every bit of self respect when he sees Enjolras. Just because Enj had shut him up with harsh words on like one occasion does not mean that he lets Enj or anyone walk all over him on a regular basis. He is NOT a doormat, not by a long shot.

• He could also REALLY do without those people with massive saviour complexes who swoop in to save him from the big, bad world. He accepts tons of help and love from the Amis, but will not accept any kind of pity service, damnit (and they know it). And it takes a lot of strength to plow through alcohol addiction to sobriety.

• He is pretty much a guardian angel in bars because of his history with addiction. He knows how much drink can a person take, and which drink they should avoid. With Bahorel, he hovers around the rest of them, snatching away glasses when the lightweights get too drunk, and replacing them with glasses of water. That he can box also comes handy. Sometimes. Heh.

• Not every point he says to oppose Enj is a cynical barb. And they don't always have screaming matches in the Musain. There have been many days of trading constructive criticism, because R has a lot of first-hand experience about the city. R usually knows the fine line between Enj getting combative and Enj getting hurt/frustrated, and has learnt not to say something so cynical that he crosses the line.

• Like everyone else, R is also learning. He is working on his prejudices, realises that some his past jokes were insensitive, sometimes even sexist or ableist, and actively corrects himself and others around him.

• Further, their relationship did not start with a dramatic makeout session mid-argument. Because both of them are on the way to being mature adults who know that aggressively displaying sexual tension is not the best way to start a relationship.

• It is not just Enj he's generally cynical to. He's cynical, that's it. And he does enjoy arguments with the others, where there's mutual exchange of knowledge, because he does not ever believe that the rest just parrot what Enj has to say. He has captured everyone's argument face in his sketchbook: Ferre waving his hands about, Courf's eyes widened mid-rant, Feuilly's eyes narrowed with a brief, brusque comment, Jehan's smiling like a cat who got the cream when their argument hits home, Bahorel thumping the desk in jovial agreement, Marius processing what he's hearing. He kinda likes Les Amis L'ABC too, not just the people there.

• While there are rough days when his self esteem runs sub-zero, there are days when he is super happy with himself. These are not exactly blink-and -miss either. The Amis cherishes his beaming smile when he defeats Ferre on Trivia Night, sings beautifully on Karaoke Night, paints an AMAZING picture of all the Amis in a protest and shows it off to all of them, cooks a meal which JBM raves about, and, on one memorable occasion, makes a V important point in a meeting that leaves Enj starry-eyed. There are things he hides from them because he's too shy and doubtful, but they are decreasing.

• There are days when he goes into a house-cleaning spree. Like the scrubbing tables-dusting-throwing out piles of trash-cleaning corners with q tips-kind of spree. Which leaves him so exhausted that he can't get out of bed the day after. So yeah, his place isn't always shabby.

Eponine:

• She is tough. She is blunt, and to the point. But she is not rude without reason, just to be edgy or something. And definitely doesn't throw around idle threats. Most of the Amis find her very pleasant, actually. She gives a small smile to everyone, cracks dry jokes, lobs scrunched-up balls of paper from across the room and fights with Courf for the caramel popcorn bucket. She doesn't yell to make a point, but speaks it aloud with a lazy drawl while fiddling with a rubber band ("Bull", she says, eloquently enough). To new people, she is just that shy and suspicious, so she doesn't really talk.

• The thing she wants the most is to feel safe. Hence she is often quiet, suspicious and moody. She feels really upset if people think she's horrible (or a "bitch", like she sometimes hears random people say about her) just because she cannot trust people enough to be all smiles and rainbows, even though she wants to be. She also feels really vulnerable, and is always scared that people wil leave her or hurt her once they know that she panics and cries a lot. She feels safe with the Amis, and many a times you'll find her as a sniffling burrito on someone's couch. THIS DOESN'T MEAN SHE'S WEAK, THIS MEANS SHE HAS A LOT OF SHIT GOING AND NEEDS RELEASE. -_-

• Her preference for dark clothes started because dark clothes seemed easier to maintain. She needed lesser amounts of detergent, and could stretch it out for longer before the inevitable laundry walk. She had actually asked Jehan for goth fashion tips to liven things up, and they had provided her optimal options (like dark lipstick). Still, she doesn't wear fishnets everyday, and just saves them for "special occasions".

• She is one of R's best friends. But no, she is not his personal babysitter. She doesn't go chasing everyone who she thinks has hurt him immediately, neither does she always haul him around when he's down in the dumps. She usually gives him sound advice, checks on him whenever she gets breaks between shifts, and if she cannot help, sends an Ami or two along.

• Her go-to way of showing disappointment in anyone is to send them a voice message stating exactly how they have fucked up (in an ice cold voice) and giving them the silent treatment until they fix things or apologize. Only once did she go nuclear on someone, no one wants to talk about it.

• Ep is a big sap. She does not really conceal her love of heart-shaped Valentine cards, pink roses and candles. Don't forget that she grew up in fair comfort tilll her preteen years, and she had exposure to much sappy media. While the Amis were surprised initially, she makes them take it in stride. She gets a strawberry cake every birthday, complete with pink balloons et al. (organised by Courf). She dreams of going to Disneyland.

• In the face of danger (men following her on the streets or something), her first response is flight, not fight. She knows that fighting can often make things worse, and cannot afford frequent trips to the ER. She can fight, though. She just doesn't want to until absolutely necessary, for self-preservation. She's brilliant at amateur first aid.

[bluejayblueskies]

agony quiets to pain

Words: 2.1k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay Tags: AU - Pre-Canon, AU - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Tenderness, Burns Warnings: burns, aftermath of hospitalization, implied abuse/neglect, self-depreciation

Ao3 link in source!

.

Gerry aches. Which is a step up from total agony at least, but still, not pleasant. And then of course there’s the bandages, still covering nearly every inch of his body and hiding the mess that lies beneath.

 (Permanent scarring, the doctor had said with a plastered-on expression of sympathy. We’re very sorry. There’s nothing we can do.)

 It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He always is, isn’t he?

 And to top it all off, he’s lost the book—the Leitner he’d been sent to fetch. He fully expects to step out of the hospital doors to see cool blue eyes staring back at him, hard with disappointment despite the benign expression on her face and accompanied by a casual, “Let’s go home now, Gerard,” that he would recognize for the threat it is. 

 Instead, he sees a man, thin and tired-looking, sat atop the short wall outside the hospital doors with a lit cigarette held between two fingers and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck to chase away the late December chill. And Gerry realizes that the nurse never said exactly who he was being released to. The relief that overcomes him is dizzying, and he barely registers the nurse handing him his discharge papers before disappearing back into the hospital.

 “Jon?” Gerry says, his voice cracking a bit around the words (though he tells himself it’s just from the lingering effects of the book, filling his lungs with smoke).

Jon looks up. When his eyes land on Gerry, he quickly snubs his cigarette out on the wall next to him, stands, and takes quick steps toward Gerry. He looks, for a moment, like he’s going to wrap Gerry in a hug before thinking better of it and simply fluttering his hands aimlessly in the air for a moment before dropping them back to his sides. Gerry’s disappointed and grateful in equal measure; given that his skin is still raw and sensitive, he doesn’t think a hug would feel pleasant. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t ache for one anyway.

 “Are you okay?” Jon says, then shakes his head before the words have even finished leaving his mouth. “Right, no, of- of course you’re not. What I mean is.” Jon pauses, as if considering, before saying softly, “Are you all right?”

 It’s the same question, technically. But Gerry knows it’s not. And so he decides to answer honestly. 

 “Not really.” Gerry rubs his left thumb over one of the tattoos on his right knuckles, the motion a habit born of nerves and anxieties. The skin there is smooth and unblemished. Funny, that. “All this, and I didn’t even get the book.”

 “Oh,” Jon says quietly. There’s a sadness there that Gerry doesn’t want to look too closely at. Mostly because it’ll look too much like pity, and he doesn’t think he can handle that right now.

 A sharp wind cuts through Gerry’s clothes, making him shiver and then wince as the sensation sends pain skittering across his skin. The unhappy expression on Jon’s face is erased in an instant, replaced by concern and determination. “Here, let’s- let’s go home, and we can figure everything else out after that. Okay?”

 Figure it out. As if Mary Keay could be placated so easily. Still, Gerry nods, and he follows Jon to his car, twinges of agony pulsing up his legs with each step that he tries to hide. Given Jon’s grim expression as he helps Gerry into the car the best he can without touching Gerry’s skin too much, he doesn’t quite succeed.

 The car used to be Jon’s grandmother’s, out of style by a decade or so with roll-up windows and a lingering cigarette smell that no amount of air fresheners seem to eliminate. Gerry leans his head back against the seat and breathes it in. It’s not something you’d bottle up and sell as perfume, but compared to the sterile antiseptic smell of A&E, it’s heavenly. Jon starts the car, looks over at Gerry once like he’s making sure he’s still there, and begins to drive. His hands shake ever so slightly on the steering wheel. Gerry pretends not to notice.

 Gerry isn’t surprised when Jon takes them to his flat. Of course he isn’t, Jon’s the one who picked him up, so logically they’d go back to his place. Still, Gerry can’t help the rush of dizzying relief that sweeps through him when they arrive, like he’d still expected to be faced with rusty red brick and a weathered wooden sign that seemed to laugh at him with every creak of its hinges. 

 “Thank you,” Gerry says. He doesn’t bother to hide the way the tightness in his throat chokes off the words.

 Jon’s quiet for a moment. Gerry can almost hear it—echoes of a conversation oft-repeated, useless and fantastical and irritating only because Gerry knows that Jon is right. I wish you wouldn’t go back, Jon would say. And Gerry would say, I know. And sometimes it would continue, if Jon were feeling particularly incensed at the moment. Sometimes it wouldn’t. Gerry almost hates that more, if only because of the expression that would come across Jon’s face, something profoundly sad and weary and, underneath it all, hurt.

 It’s almost enough to convince him.

 Almost.

 “Yeah,” Jon says, his hands tightening on the wheel for a moment before going slack. He removes the key and fiddles with it absently. “You know I…” Jon trails off, worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then says abruptly, “Well. No use just sitting here, I suppose.”

 It’s clipped, a bit brusque. Rude, if Gerry didn’t know better. But he does, and so his mouth settles into a small smile as he follows Jon into his flat, despite the burning, chafing sensation on his skin as his bandages shift as he walks.

 God, he feels like shit.

 As soon as they’re inside, Jon insists that Gerry sits on the couch, and Gerry goes without complaint, his aching body screaming in relief as he sinks down onto the cushions and finally takes weight off the soles of his feet, which did not come out of the experience unscathed. There’s clattering from the kitchen, a few muttered curses, and before too long Jon’s in front of him with a glass of water with a straw in it and a bowl of what looks like hastily reheated curry. He hesitates a moment before saying, “Can you… hold things?”

 Gerry flexes his fingers experimentally. His hands got the best of it, given the myriad of tattoos across the joints of his fingers. Still, the entirety of his palm and the pads of his fingers are red and inflamed, and though they’re no longer bandaged, the needles of pain that shoot through him at the motion draw a small gasp from his lips despite his best efforts to keep it contained. Jon’s forehead sets into a firm line at that, like he’s considering something, before nodding once. “Right.”

 He sets the dishes on the floor, disappears back into the kitchen for a moment, and reemerges carrying one of the wooden chairs from his kitchen table. He looks a bit winded when he sets it down in front of Gerry, which might be amusing in any other circumstance, but Gerry’s too busy wondering what the hell he’s doing.

 Then, Jon retrieves the dishes, sits in the chair, and holds the glass of water in front of him stiffly. And Gerry realizes, all at once, what’s happening.

 “Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘ah’?” Gerry says, because joking about it is preferable to protesting or staring at Jon in shock or—god forbid—getting flustered. 

 Jon seems to appreciate it because the tension in his arms dissipates ever so slightly, and he says primly, “If you’d prefer. Though I really don’t see how that will aid in the process.”

 “Prick,” Gerry says, not without fondness. And it’s only a little awkward when he leans forward and, while Jon holds the glass, drinks. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until that moment, and he should probably be a bit embarrassed by how quickly he empties the glass, but he can’t quite bring himself to care when he sees the little pleased expression on Jon’s face. The affection that accompanies it, however slight, is enough to squeeze at Gerry’s chest until he finds it hard to breathe, and he clears his throat slightly to relieve the pressure.

 The curry comes next, and it’s significantly more awkward to have Jon spoon-feeding him chicken and red bell peppers with careful precision so as to avoid any spillage. But Jon talks during it, which helps. It’s mundane things, like the case Jon’s currently working on at the Institute and what he had for lunch that day and the grocery list he’s compiling for the weekend. He transitions after a bit into a discussion of a documentary he watched recently about the origins of humanity, and Gerry gets to sit back and listen to Jon grow increasingly more passionate about bonobos and homo erectus and the unique structure of Neanderthal bones. 

 It’s nice, to learn about things like this. To learn from Jon. He spent his childhood chasing after cursed books, his mother giving him half-hearted studies in between that she deemed sufficient enough to be considered homeschooling. He’s just lucky he knows basic maths, honestly. But he knows a lot about books. Even if they’re mostly just the spooky kind.

 So Jon talks, and Gerry listens. And he tries so very hard not to label the warm feeling in his chest as love, but, well. It’s hard not to fall in love with Jonathan Sims. And he doesn’t particularly want to try to stop it.

 Soon the bowl is empty, and Jon holds it awkwardly against his chest for a moment before setting it aside on the floor. He’d stopped in the middle of a discussion about Stone Age tools, and Gerry wants so badly to ask him to continue. But there’s a weariness in him now, the food and water having chased away the gnawing hunger in his stomach and the dryness of his throat and leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion. 

 So he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, Jon breaks the silence between them, his words stuttering and jagged, like he hasn’t quite figured out how to smooth them into shape. “I. I don’t really know. Uh. What else can I- can I do? To help. To make things easier.” He pauses, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh, before looking at Gerry with a fragile expression and saying, “I’m sorry, Gerry. I- I should have been there. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

 “No,” Gerry says firmly. The thought of Jon being like him—wrapped up like a mummy, all agony and raw skin and cracked lines across his body that promise to leave him blotchy and scarred forever—makes him nauseous. Better that it’s him. He can handle it. He always has before. “It’s not your fault. And I don’t want you to blame yourself, okay? I know how you get, so don’t. There’s nothing you could have done.”

 Gerry can see the protest written all over Jon’s face, in the way he purses his lips and fixes his eyes firmly at a spot over Gerry’s shoulder. But all Jon says is, “That doesn’t make it better. So please—tell me what I can do.”

 There’s a kind of desperation in Jon’s eyes at that, a need to categorize a problem and find the best course of action in order to resolve it. His hands are curled into fists on his lap; Gerry wants so badly to take them in his own, to uncurl Jon’s fingers and thread them with his and squeeze until all the tension’s bled out of Jon’s body. Instead, he says, voice heavy with exhaustion, “I think I’d just like to go to bed. It’s been a long few days.”

 Jon lets out a small, humorless laugh at that. “I suppose it has.”

 Gerry doesn’t protest when Jon offers him his bed, just offers quiet thanks before making his way relatively painlessly to the bedroom. He considers trying to remove his clothes, then thinks better of it and gingerly climbs onto the bed with them still on. 

It’s uncomfortable in every way possible. Gerry falls asleep all the same, the soft sleep well Jon had given him before disappearing back into the living room lingering in his mind until he drifts off into a restless slumber, his dreams filled with burning flesh and a fear he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite shake.

[dwellordream]

For the ask game! “I apologize,” he finally says, through his teeth. “That was inappropriate. Your sister has nothing to do with this.”His apologies always gall her almost as much as his rudeness.“Don’t pretend like you actually mean that,” she says brusquely. “There’s no audience. It’s fine. Just be yourself.”“I am trying to be polite-,”“It doesn’t mean anything if you still think what you said-,”“I don’t think anything, I was just being cruel on purpose,” he snaps.

I think what I wanted to get across in this part, where Regulus has yet again said something insulting and then immediately apologized, is kind of the crux of his character. He’s not cold or calculating like Tom Riddle and he’s not really this jeering bully like Draco Malfoy.

That is, he can be cold and he’s very smart, but when he says something hurtful it is usually because he lost his temper and spoke impulsively, not because he’s being manipulative or playing mind games.

One thing I wanted Regulus and Sirius to have in common is that they both have nasty tempers and they both are good at identifying someone’s weak spots and firing all lasers at that.

On the other hand they both often regret later what they said or did, and are then in the awkward position of trying to apologize for it. Regulus maybe moreso than Sirius because he prides himself on being composed and well mannered and doesn’t like to just pretend things didn’t happen.

So here we have Charity saying something that aggravates Regulus, so in response he brings up her sister in an insulting manner and basically implies Joey is a slut, knowing this will really upset Charity. A few moments later he feels some regret and realizes he overreacted, so he tries to apologize.

As Charity rightly points out, she doesn’t know if he’s apologizing because he actually feels bad or just to smooth things over between them. But she is surprised when Regulus pretty bluntly admits that he doesn’t actually think any of that about her sister, he just said it to hurt her because he knew her sister was a sore subject for her.

Which I think is very interesting, because other people would have just lied and been like ‘I was just kidding, you took it too seriously’ or been like ‘now you’re overreacting, it’s not a big deal’.

Anyways none of that excuses him being quite rude to Charity, though she is capable of giving as good as she gets once she’s really pissed off.

[juliandev0rak]

Main 6 with an MC who is extremely sensitive and cries easily? If someone so much as raises their voice at them or overly scolds them, they will 100% cry and try to get out of the situation as soon as possible.

ok so the MC is meee... 

I kind of made this more about the MC being sensitive about raised voices in particular, so hopefully that’s ok! 

Asra

he remembers the way you were before the plague, how even raised voices in the marketplace made you upset

he remembers the fight you got into as the plague began to seep into the city, the way his voice raised in hurt and anger made you cry

and of course he remembers your face, tear streaked and broken as he walked out of the shop, the last time he saw you alive

he isn’t sure how you’ll react now that you’re back, but he makes every effort to never raise his voice at you ever again, he can’t stand to see you cry

if he accidentally raises his voice, or if someone else does, his first instinct is to apologize, comfort you, and make sure you’re ok

if a customer at the shop raises their voice at you, you best believe Asra will throw them out either physically or with the use of some careful magic that makes rude customers very suddenly want to leave

Julian

he would never intentionally raise his voice at you or scold you, even if he didn’t know how much it affected you

he’s been called sensitive many times before and he knows how hard it is to control your emotional reactions to distress

but sometimes Julian gets drunk and loud without meaning to, sometimes he just doesn’t know how loud he’s being when he’s talking to you

however, even in a drunken state he’s good at reading your emotions and can tell when something’s wrong, instantly switching to Sober Concerned Julian to make sure you’re ok

if he, or the situation, is getting too rowdy he’ll be quick to apologize and get you somewhere quiet

he’ll be there to comfort you and help you calm down- whether it's through a hug, breathing exercises, or simply going on a walk, he knows how to calm emotions after so long dealing with his own

Nadia

she would never raise her voice at anyone, even if she’s angry her tone of voice stays calm and cool

she tries to keep her scolding to a minimum, as much as she might snip at other people from time to time, she won’t do it to you

the courtiers however? they can be extremely rude and loud at times

she tries to keep them far away from you when she can, but if you attend any of Nadia’s meetings with her you’re bound to hear some yelling

while the yelling isn’t usually directed at you (although Vulgora does get a bit too riled up at times), it can still be overwhelming and Nadia is well aware of how the atmosphere can make you feel

she’s quick to demand silence from her fighting courtiers or make up an excuse to help you leave if you need it

she never questions why you’re sensitive, she just wants you to feel safe and comfortable at all times 

Muriel

when you first met him he was very brusque and just wanted you to leave which definitely made for a rough beginning full of hidden tears 

as he begins to like you and trust you he realizes that speaking with an angry tone or raising his voice really upsets you, and that’s the last thing he’d want to do

he knows what it’s like to get overwhelmed in situations where others don't, and he knows that just as he gets nervous and upset about going into town you get upset when people start raising their voices 

travelling with Morga during his route probably isn't easy for you with her tough personality and tendency to yell, it brings out your sensitive side and Muriel is quick to notice

he’s there for you on the road to offer a comforting shoulder to cry on or even just a non judgemental listening ear (even if he does think you're “weird”) and back in Vesuvia he’s just as supportive and comforting when you need it

he does everything he can to make sure you feel safe, just as you do for him

Portia

she doesn’t know you’re sensitive about it until she accidentally scolds you one day

you’re walking through the garden towards her cottage and accidentally stomp over some flowers she’d been growing at Nadia’s request, they’re extremely rare and delicate and she can’t help but yell out “Be careful MC! Those are fragile!” 

she doesn’t say it out of anger or to make you upset, but it still manages to make you tear up and have to fight the urge to run away

she immediately rushes over when she sees your facial expression grow dark and she pulls you into her arms, apologizing for raising her voice

”You’re more important than those silly flowers!” she assures you as she wipes away an errant tear rolling down the side of your face

she vows to be more careful with how she talks to you in the future 

Lucio

oh wow good luck, Lucio’s default setting is “raised voice”

he doesn’t ever yell at you in a mean way, he just can’t help but yell as his normal tone of voice- even if it's to compliment you or to say hello to someone in the palace halls

he generally doesn’t notice how his tone of voice (or even what he’s saying) affects people, but when he accidentally makes you cry he begins to think about it more

he won’t make fun of you for being sensitive, but he will have to work a bit to understand why you’re sensitive to certain things

he’s quick to offer comfort or help you leave a situation where you feel overwhelmed, but it takes a while before he learns that yelling at someone to stop them from yelling at you is counterproductive in making you feel better

mellowing a bit can only be a good thing for Lucio, and learning to think more before he speaks is another important lesson you’ve taught him 

[skampi835]

Peevish Herbs and Sassy Medicine (Ieyasu x OC)

This is a chapter from one of my bigger fanfictions, I’m writing. But I’m too shy to post the whole thing anywhere... (because I’m doubting myself and my english too much)

But I’m quite pleased with this oneshot (so I corrected and re-readed it multible times)! Have fun while reading! I hope you’ll enjoy.

The scene takes place one day after arriving in Azuchi so it’s not the first encounter with Ieyasu, but their first... well... kind of conversation?

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Language: english

Starring: Ieyasu x OC

Genre: Comedy

Warning: none

Word Count: 2.900

“Hey there, Ina! Masamune invited me to a stroll into town. I’m sure you’re not in the mood since your face is still puffy and all. So I understand when you don’t want to. I just leave you a note, so you know he’s looking out for me. cya!”

  Oh well... it’s all right... I guess. Have a nice time, Rei -- WithOUT me!

Exasperated Ina’s sitting by the table in their room. Narrowing her grey blue eyes, she’s analyzing over the letter again, and yes, she's actually analyzing every single word. The female also would have loved to go strolling into town. Because she felt asleep during the ride back to the castle, she hasn't yet seen anything from it. Adventuring with her dear friend - and crony from the future - Rei, would have been so much fun, besides the puffy face Ina had because of mister spooky guy!

Stealing my friend on the first day, huh? Sneaky Masamune...

Absently Ina’s reaching for the sweets Masamune had brought over before he'd so casually took up her friend. Munching over them the sweet taste of the incrediences spreads over her tounge and she couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty for her thoughts, while she's dreamily enjoying the treats. They are sooo delicious! Ina has never expected that! Didn't Masamune mentioned, he has made them himself? How amazing!

“I’m not in the mood anyway.” Ina says somewhat confident to herself, while eating the sweets happily. But what is she supposed to do after? Hideyoshi had sent her away before, to handle Ranmaru and like he said she wasn’t given free access to the castle or it’s staff. Heavily Ina sighs after finishing the last mochi.

Her vision’s crossing Rei’s letter again.

You know what? What Hideyoshi doesn’t know won’t hurt him!

  _____

Armed with a wipe and a bucket filled with water, Ina’s entering the archives. Her eyes are scanning her surroundings in which the massive shelves flank the room. Particles of dust are lightly dancing in the rays of shining sunlight from the small window above her, like illuminating sparks. Lanterns are shimmering luminously the walls, uncovering heavy, valuable looking tapestries. Great shelves are arching under the sheer weight of the books, scrolls and other stuff that they store. The smell of parchment and ink fills the the dusty air.

Ina’s truly impressed about the enourmus mass the archive is holding. She hasn’t expected seeing something like this in this time, when books and great knowledge should be merely rare.

“Hello?” Ina waits and listens after raising her voice. She wants to be sure, that there’s nobody else here, particulaly Hideyoshi, who would’ve bickered with her, why she’s even in there. The perfect silence remains at first, when she catches on a brief clink and a brushing tone.

Looking around, Ina quickly finds the source of the sound, when she’s seeing a little bird over the window. It disappears under the ceiling, before returning and it finally flies away.

Phew, just a birdnest in the ceiling, I guess.

Closing the door behind, Ina’s passing the shelves. Her eyes are flying over the spines of the books and scroll, astonished and visibly impressed. Originally planned she would have use the wipe to dust the inside, but Ina is way too stunned about the fullness of the archives. Though she has trouble in reading them, the female is concentrating on the written characters.

Honestly Ina curses herself, for not being more intent, when she learned kanji for her trip to Japan. And now she can’t barely read anything at all, because the letters are looking not just foreign, but alien.

The bookshelves are rowing the walls and even outlining in the middle, separating the room into three small sections. It’s not nearly enough to call it a library, like Ina’s uses to know from her own time, but it definitely amazes her.

She’s stopping at a table, which she brushes the dust off with the wipe. Placing the bucket at the corner, Ina turns to dust the nearest shelf as well, though the oddly sensation of the knowledge the archives are holding, is attracting her like magic and get the better of her.

Abandoning her good intentions of cleaning, Ina’s facing the nearest shelf. Some of the scrolls look pretty old, though most of the books don’t. Curiously Ina leans nearer so she could read the headlines on the spines, though she has huge problems deciphering them.

... You know what? When I’m about to spent my upcoming three months here, I could at least do something useful and learn something new. Didn’t Nobunaga say I could just spend my time in Azuchi, doing girly stuff??

Not sure if reading is that kind of girly stuff, Nobunaga was talking about, Ina's concentrating on reading the characters. She truly holds a big interest in the use of medicine in these time period. Even in her present day, the european medicine often implies alternative Chinese medicine as a support. What’s the difference between Japanese and Chinese medicine and their herbs, she wonders?

She just has to find the right section where she can find those books and then... well, maybe Rei will help her read them! So Ina hopes... Nonetheless Ina's determining sure in becoming better with reading, when she’ll try.

Looking over her shoulder to make sure she’s still alone, Ina’s taking a deep breath. With narrow eyes Ina reads slowly and aloud: “’Mental Honor’... ‘Fall of Hogan-Ji’,... ‘The Art of War’... - oh wait, I think I actually know this book!”

“Would you mind, being quiet?”

The sullen hiss that suddenly sounds from not that afar startles Ina nearly to death. An anxious meep slips through her lips while giving a jerk. Rapidly blinking Ina’s listening to the remaining silence bewildered. “Eh... Hello?” Unsure she asks. Ina was certain, that she had been alone! Yet someone noticed her poor reading!

Silence...

And a quiet grunt.

Slowly Ina reaches about two books before her and shoves them gently to the side. A peevish Ieyasu’s frowning annoyingly at her from the other side of the bookshelf.

Embarrassed, Ina is sheepishly gazing back at him. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like? Reading in silence.” was his curt answer.

“And why didn’t you just answer when I've entered? You have really startled me.” Shame’s  uncomfortably heating her head and Ina truly feels like an idiot. Though Ieyasu doesn’t seem to notice, while he's gazing tiredly back at her through the hole in the shelf. “I didn’t thought you’re actually going to stay.”

What kind of reason is that?

When Ina met Ieyasu the first time, she felt more like encountering a spikey raid boss with venom abilities:

Yesterday

Curiously Ina’s watching the other man, with bright, tousled hair. He’s smaller than Mitsunari and Mitsuhide. Though to be honest, being taller than Mitsuhide would be quite the challenge! Yet Ieyasu nearly seem to be petite, just looking at her with sharp green eyes.

Since Ina's the foreign here, she’s feeling the urge in doing the first step. It couldn’t hurt to be on good terms with the guys here, even if at least one of them is a shady tease. “Hello, my Name’s Ina. Nice to meet you.”

Ieyasu's inclining his head, slightly narrowing his eyes skeptically. “You don’t look as I imagined.” He says and leaves Ina quite puzzled. “Pardon, but what do you mean?”

“You look terribly pitiful.” Ieyasu bluntly retorts. Wow... that one quickly turns out to be a salty one... They've hardly talked, yet Ina got the feeling he doesn’t like her.

“How intent of you, Lord Ieyasu.” Mitsunari beams with a stunningly gentle smile and nods towards Ieyasu. “Lady Ina sure needs some rest after that long horse ride and the harsh night she’d just had. I guess a bath will also help her to ease.”

Ina always felt at calm, when she looks at Mitsunari’s calm and angelic smile since arriving in this era. Mitsunari’s by far the nicest person she’s ever met, even in her own time! But in this moment Mitsunari’s tender words and soft smile doesn’t seem to convince Ina. Glancing haltingly back at Ieyasu, as he grumpily rolls his eyes with a snort, confirms Ina in her assumption. Ieyasu wasn’t intent at all... He just was rude!

“Whatever.” Ieyasu says with an annoyingly heavy sigh and is glancing back at Ina. “You don’t need medical treatment, do you?” he asks.

After blinking confused about his sudden offer, Ina shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine, just a little bit tired.”

“Good.” Ieyasu nods and is walking away without another word. Ina carefully follows his steps with her grey blue eyes.

“Lord Ieyasu is also a vessal of Lord Nobunaga. And I can quite tell that he likes you.” Mitsunari’s smiling warmly at Ina, while she peers at him doubtfully. “Uhm sure... If you say so.” Ina surely wasn’t sure though.

Still looking at Ieyasu, Ina’s wondering if he has another of his bad moods. By the looks of him, he’s not in a good mood by any means. “Will you stop staring at me?” Ieyasu brusque retorts and pulls Ina out of her thoughts. “It’s hard to concentrate.”

“Ahm I-... Sorry Ieyasu.” Ina quickly says and is bashfully tousling her hair. “I... was looking for a book earlier to read.”

“That stammering didn’t sound like you could read at all.”

Ina’s opening her mouth in attempt to defend herself. But she couldn't tell him, that she’s used to read in another language with different alphabetic characters! Nonetheless she is able to read at all!

Okay Ina, be nice to him. Maybe he’ll understand.

“I-- err... am not used to it. Reading I mean. But I like to study.”

“Are you an idiot?” Ieyasu scoffs monotonously. “How can you study if you’re not able to read?”

Ina’s face darkens a tiny bit, gritting her teeth. Because of Sasuke she can’t tell him the truth and it might be better that way. So she’s avoiding strange questions or worse the dungeons, because when she's not declaired crazy she might would be claimed a spy. With a silent sigh Ina’s rounding the shelf to face Ieyasu. He’s sitting by an table with a pile of books. Next to him a brush, ink stone and blank papers. “Even if I’m not a good reader, I’m willing to lean it. I just like to learn.”

Not having the barrier of a shelf between them any longer, Ieyasu’s dropping his gaze to his books. “Then do it muted and elsewhere. You’re interrupting my studies.”

Puzzled Ina’s blinking a few times, while Ieyasu does his best to intent she’s not even here anymore. “Excuse me. I guess I’m confused. I thought you warlords don’t study anything else then strategy or warfare.”

Ieyasu’s peering coldly at her. The unspoken question ‘Are you an idiot?’ clear written in his annoyed face. A sudden rush of embarrassment is rushing Ina's face again, because of her own flawing logic. The sudden time travel thing might was really too much for her. Apologetically Ina raises her hands. “I am sorry. I spoke out of mind.”

“Stop chitchatting. It’s one-sided.” Ieyasu snarls, still piercing Ina with his sharp green eyes, and is sending an enormous wave of aversion towards her, before continuing writing with a brush.

... be nice to him, Ina. He doesn’t understand. But how could he possibly understand?

Ina can’t blame him. Her attitude must be awkward for him. She should be a normal girl from a village that’s not pointed on any map. Without Rei she feels so lonely and lost in this role though. For Rei it's easier pretending to be someone else. She's fitting for acting. Meanwhile Ina’s feeling like stumbling from one puddle to another.

With the attempt of apologizing, Ina’s bowing her head, when she caught sight of an open book on the table. She knows the drawing from her earlier times, when she was in nursing school. It was short theme back then. It shows with dots the spots of particular nerves which could be stimulate to relieve pain. “Oh, is this... about medical practices?”

Ieyasu almost leans back overly hurried, when Ina’s leaning eagerly forth to get a closer look of the page. Knitting his brows, he snorts “And if it is?”

“I--...” Ina’s quick thinking of a way to explain it to him that wouldn’t sound too awkward. For she can’t tell him, that she’s a nurse either. Propably he wouldn’t even know what a nurse is. Sheepishly she smiles: “Sometimes I helped the medics in my hometown.”

Pointing on the drawing with the nerve between thumb and index finger, Ina continues: “When you stimulate this nerve with pressure or a needle, you effectuate some linking to heal headache. But mostly headache comes off when you drink too less. Also you might try to bind fresh peppermint in a wet towel and place it your nape, because of the--”

Before Ina finishes her word, she’s stopping, facing the blankly looking Ieyasu. He even looks a little surprised in the flicker of the lanterns. “You know... western techniques?” He’s asking perplexing sincere.

Ina knows, that she’d spoken too much, that is why, she’s awkwardly tousling her hair again: “Ah I- no. Not really I just know a little about bit. You know my village lays really behind of the mountains.”

Ieyasu’s staring at Ina with puckered brows. Though after a while, he scoffs and draws his book from her. “I thought so.”

Slightly frustrated Ina’s clenching her hands under the table. Ieyasu had called her pitiful before. And a waif at the council. But it would be way too suspicious, if she would offer him to explain some medicine practices she knows from her time. Medicine no one in this time would ever believe will exist someday! For a short moment Ina has thought, that might be a thing they could share. That Ieyasu might be a little nicer to her, if she’ll show her interest. Still Ina’s determined to learn something about the traditional eastern medicine. “Hey? Maybe you could teach me a little, Ieyasu?” Ina’s asking with a consolidative smile.

Raising his head, Ieyasu’s staring at Ina intensly: “No.” and declines quickly.

Shot down in an instand. Encounter Boss is reaching the enrage timer!

“I understand.” Ina slowly nods. “You have important things to do and I’m robbing your spare time you have, huh?”

Ieyasu doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t even have to. According to Rei, he’s the one who will unify Japan. Technically speaking he’ll finish, where Nobunaga and Hideyoshi failed. But in this time as well? Even when Nobunaga's still alive? Again Ina fears for the trouble she and Rei have already caused in messing with the time. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’ll leave you to your studies then. Though do you mind helping me to find a book about local herbs? I guess that’ll be a good start for me.”

Ieyasu, understandable deeply annoyed in the meantime, is frowning at Ina. “No. Go find it on your own.”

Knitting her brows Ina’s looking questioning at Ieyasu. Peevishly he's mirroring her.

... You are just rude again! You know what? I don’t need to play nice, when you’re not even trying!

“Fine.” Ina’s saying provocatively loud, while standing up. “I shall go and find my them on my own then.” Sassily she’s emphasising every syllable and faces the books in the shelf next to her. With ostentation she’s pointing a finger on the spines of the books and reads loudly with her utterly bad reading skills: “‘Forged in Iron’..., ‘Forming Armor’,... ‘Art of Forging’... Huh, I might be in the wrong section here.”

“... Stop.”

Ieyasu jumps onto his heels, grumpily snorting as he passes Ina. He walkes determined right to a shelf on the wall and is directly dragging three books out of it. He spins around and is pressing them into Ina’s arms. Dumbfounded she’s catching them. “Thank-...”

“Sod off!”

With his hand on her back Ieyasu’s pushing Ina through the archives and shoves her out. Ina nearly stumbles over her feet into the hallways, the books bedded against her chest. She turns to face Ieyasu, but he has already closed the doors.

I got kicked out...! Well... I guess I deserve this. At least now Ieyasu has a reason for hating me.

Ina sighs in frustration, glancing down to the books she’s still holding in her arms.

‘Plants and Herbs’, ‘Medical Plants’, ‘Poisons and Antidotes’.

Ina’s nibbling her lip, when she silently reads the headlines of the books Ieyasu has shoved towards her. Well at least he did help her. After she has practically annoyed him into exhaustion, that is.

I’ve never felt so guilty in my life before...

A part of Ina thinks that it was okay, because Ieyasu owes her one for his utterly grumpy attitude towards her. An eye for an eye. But another part of her hopes that she could make it up to him soon. She doesn’t want to be on bad terms with anyone here.

Bedding the books against her chest again, Ina’s walking back the hallways to her room. From the open veranda she’s glancing over the gardens, whereas the sun sinks, immersing the sky brightly in orange and red colors.

[mintjamsblog]

Hey, I miss your writing! I don't know if you're taking asks but hate-sex? Argument-sex? Make-up sex?

Okay, sorry for the delay, have a horny ficlet

Tommy/Alfie Hate-sex

It's not that Tommy means to be selfish, Alfie's pretty sure of that, it's just that selfishness comes to him naturally. It's no doubt a byproduct of the life he's led, a combination of ruthless self-sufficiency and entrenched self-preservation that manifests in occasionally infuriating ways. He spends so much time wandering around in his own labyrinth of a head that 'e don't always seem to realise where 'e is or how 'e got there. How 'is food got onto that plate in front of 'im for that matter. Which is kind of a case in point.

Alfie scrapes the remnants of an individual salmon encroute into the kitchen bin, dislodging the perfectly-cooked pastry that's now curling upwards, like the ribs of a rotting cadaver, protecting what's left of the messily pecked-out pinkness inside. He can't help being stung that Tommy couldn't even be bothered to finish it. It's as if the cocky little bastard thinks perfectly-prepared dinners-for-one just appear in the oven of their own accord. As if the cupboards are self-replenishing — automatically restocking his favourite whisky and tea (and semi-skimmed milk, 'cause skimmed tastes like dishwater and full-fat's too creamy) every time supplies run low.

But communication is key in any relationship, innit? So rather than run his mouth off half-cocked, Alfie decides to conduct an experiment. See how long it takes Tommy to communicate his appreciation for the things Alfie does.

The answer, it turns out, is a fucking long time — longer than Alfie's patience will last at any rate. When he walks in for the fifth night in a row to find the meal he prepared half-eaten, dirty dishes next to the sink, and Tommy so enthralled by his laptop he barely nods, "hello," well ... Alfie has had enough. He schools himself though. Clenches his fists and forces his voice to taken on a deceptively breezy tone.

"You eaten, treacle?" he enquires.

"Yeah," Tommy answers with a quick glance up. The living room's in near total-darkness, not a single lamp switched on, which means Tommy's lit only by the bluish glare of whatever's on 'is screen. It's not a flattering light. Makes 'im look tired — haggard actually — all sharp angles and purple shadows. Then again, it is one o'clock in the morning. (It'd have to be some quality porn to have Alfie absorbed at this hour, but the sad reality is that it's far more likely spreadsheets.)

"What did you 'ave?" Alfie asks.

"Eh?"

"To eat."

Tommy sighs. "Er ... that thing you left in the oven." He glances up again, irritably this time.

"Hmmm," Alfie says. "Bouillabaisse."

"What?"

"Bouillabaisse. French fish stew."

"Yeah, it was fish." Tommy's typing something now, bashing the keys impatiently — workaholic little prick.

Alfie looks round the room. There's a bottle of whisky on the coffee table and a glass (no sign of a coaster). A sea of stale bread crumbs flecks the sofa — the accompaniment to tonight's lovingly prepared meal. The man himself sits cross-legged, bare feet tucked up into the backs of his knees, socks discarded amongst the pale shreds of sourdough like twisted creatures in a gloomy velvet sea. He doesn't acknowledge Alfie's scrutiny; doesn't even seem to notice.

Alfie would like to start an argument right here, right now, to ask Tommy what his last slave died of and who the fuck he thinks he is. Instead he finds himself gritting his teeth and swiping at crumbs with brusque, rigid movements. He pairs Tommy's socks and collects up the discarded innards of this morning's Financial Times, seething quietly all the while. He's worked damn hard tonight, serving one hundred and forty covers in two sittings, (one hundred and forty three if you count Prince Tommy's dinner. That thought irks him more than it should). He needs a shower more than a row, but he can't help himself from needling.

"Nice was it?" he asks, crumpling the newspaper into the fire-bucket.

"What?"

"Your dinner."

Tommy huffs and finally looks up, dropping his hands from the keyboard to rest either side of his legs. "Is there a problem, Alfie?" he says.

"Problem?" Alfie says, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "No, nah. No problem. Just wondered if it was nice? Ya know, the bouillabaisse?"

"Yes. It was nice," Tommy says, digging thick fingers into his eye sockets as if the bloodshot orbs were the source of his irritation. "I have to send this to Pol in the next fifteen minutes or she'll fucking skin me tomorrow. Alright?"

"S'not Pol makes all your dinners," Alfie mutters under his breath.

"What?"

"I said Pernot. Makes all the difference."

"Right."

"To bouillabasisse."

"Fuck's sake..."

"I'm going up for a shower."

"Fine. I'll be up when this is done."

Alfie stands under the hot water and lets his anger simmer, stirs it just enough to intensify the flavours. He pours over the paltry slights, the daily irritations and provocations that come from sharing a home. And alright, each annoyance on its own might not sour the dish, but combined they begin to thicken. Alfie's careful not to let his anger boil, he don't want to turn it bitter, but by the time he walks into the bedroom he can taste it on his tongue.

Tommy is already in bed, one hand tucked behind his head as he reads a document of some kind, several creamy pages stapled together. He tuts and turns the page, without looking over to Alfie. And p'raps that's what does it, finally tears Alfie's patience; he strides to the bed and rips the papers clean out of Tommy's hand, hurling them across the floor.

"What the fuck?" Tommy says. He looks shocked, and slightly bewildered. There's anger there, but dulled by a visible weariness.

Alfie ain't in the mood for concessions; he climbs onto the bed, boxing Tommy in on all fours.

"That's fucking rude," Tommy says, his mouth a mean little line.

"Rude?" Alfie says. "Me?" He laughs so unexpectedly it comes out as more of a bark. "You're fuckin' unbelievable, mate."

Tommy's face hardens in that way that suggests he's about to say something deeply unwise. Alfie leans down to kiss him, hard, before he has the chance. There's a startled sound and a clashing of teeth as Tommy tries to shut him out, but one strategically-placed hand around his throat and he opens for Alfie's tongue with an audible exhale.

Alfie licks into him, probes the inside of his mouth, overwhelmed with a desire to retake what Tommy's withheld: his attention. His full, undivided attention ... by god, he's gonna give it now. Tommy's defences start to weaken — his tongue softens, his mouth falls wide — when he lets out a whorish little moan, Alfie pulls away. He's hard with lovingly-nurtured anger and ready to put it to use. "Over," he says, nudging Tommy's hip with a knee.

Tommy rolls reluctantly, looking rather bewildered. Alfie reaches into the bedside drawer and slicks himself one-handed, cursing as the lube falls noisily onto the floor. Don't matter, he's done enough.

"Got something to say to me, Tommy?" he asks, fumbling in his haste.

Tommy doesn't answer, though he can be in no doubt as to where this is leading. It's a source of unending wonder how he can look so fucking truculent when he's splayed face-down on the bed.

"No?" Alfie prompts. "You sure about that?"

Tommy stays defiantly mute, so Alfie wraps an arm beneath him and slams in with a single thrust. The sound of breath being knocked out of Tommy shocks the air in the room, and sends fire licking through Alfie. He hauls Tommy closer still, squeezing his slender waist as if emptying a soda-bottle of air. His hips and forearm are opposing forces, jaws clamping down on a pelvis — he lets Tommy feel the bite of his strength, of his want, until a cry of anguish fills the air.

Then he waits, breathing slowly through the seconds of charged stillness as Tommy fights to yield. Ten seconds turn into fifteen, twenty, followed by a convulsion — one rigid spasm that travels the length of Tommy's body and ends with a shuddering groan. The precious sound of acceptance. Only then does Alfie ease back, sliding out an inch or two purely for the pleasure of pressing back in and making him cry out again.

"Thank me," he says, voice low as he presses a kiss into Tommy's neck.

Tommy groans and tips his head but doesn't form the words.

"Thank me," Alfie repeats with a thrust. "I want to hear you say it."

Tommy buries his face in the sheets and doesn't make a sound.

"Alright, if that's how you want to play it." Alfie heaves himself upwards, and presses his weight into Tommy's shoulder-blades. "You will thank me," he promises, "if I 'ave to fuck you into next week."

Maybe that's what Tommy needs, Alfie ain't giving any more chances. He builds up the pace with increasingly vigorous thrusts, which Tommy just lies there and takes it. And takes it. And takes it. The sheets come untucked, the pillows bank up against the headboard and Alfie fills with dark delight when Tommy starts to falter, to let little growls and mewls escape. He sounds like a wounded animal. Perhaps he's expecting sympathy ... poor deluded boy. Alfie slows his hips and shifts position, wrapping his arms beneath Tommy's armpits and locking hands in front of his chest. The position puts his mouth against Tommy's ear.

"If you ain't gonna say it, darlin', you'd better shut the fuck up." He pulls out achingly slowly, feeling the grip around his cock before slamming back in with a groan. The angle clearly changes something because this time Tommy sounds desperate — a series of high-pitched sounds ripples out of him, ending with a whine.

"Say it," Alfie growls, repeating the exact same movement to even more delightful effect. He pulls out for a third time, about to fuck in again when  

Tommy whispers something that sounds awfully like compliance.

"What's that?" Alfie says, pausing to pull him out of the pillows by his hair.

"Thank you," Tommy says, his voice barely a whisper as he quietly obeys.

"Again," Alfie says as he drives back in, pulling hard on the black locks so that Tommy's neck is bared.

"Thank you," Tommy repeats. This time the response is a gasp, two gasps, but still Alfie isn't sated.

"Again," he says, with another thrust.

"Thank you," Tommy replies; the struggle in his voice drives Alfie on like a racehorse under the whip.

"Again," he says, "again ... again."

"Thank you," Tommy murmurs, "thank, ahh, thank y—"

Alfie lets go of the hair and fucks Tommy hard, cutting off each gasped response before it's fully formed. Soon it's like an echo that follows every thrust.  "Thank—, than—, tha— urgh!"  Tommy's fingers splay out like flags of surrender but Alfie ain't feeling merciful.

"Again," he growls. "Thank me again, thank me until you can't say it."

Tommy does, he says it over and over, until he's so battered by Alfie's desire that every pitiful, "thank you," is a breath forced into the mattress. Is a plea. Is a please ... "please Alfie, fuck, god, please ..."

***

Afterwards, Alfie curls onto his side and basks in the faintly horrifying afterglow of his own cruelty. It takes a good few moments until he feels his own pinkness subside. Tommy shuffles closer, ducks into the concave space formed by the curve of Alfie's body. His arms slide around Alfie's belly and he holds on tight, in the way he only ever does after a particular type of sex. Alfie bends to kiss the top of his head, a single peck that's suffused, somehow, with more tenderness than an hour of tongued kisses.

"Thank you," Tommy whispers into the hair on Alfie's chest. Alfie strokes the back of his neck and feels overwhelmingly and incongruously protective.

"For the dinners or the sex?"

"Both. You always know what I need."

"Good job one of us knows what's good for you."

"You are."

"Hmm."

Alfie wishes he were more certain of that.

[lilyshadowwriter]

RQOTD: What is your OC's greatest flaw? Are they aware of it? What would they describe as their greatest flaw, and would other characters say different? How does it affect their relationships with the characters closest to them? (Feel free to forward this to more people ♥)

Hiya! (＾▽＾*) / Thank you for asking, @thesimperiuscurse! Now let’s see, since I’ve switched to writing about the twins again, I’ll answer this for...Gemma!

Gemma’s greatest flaw is probably her bluntness. She tends to say exactly what’s on her mind without any softening or filter, which means some of what she says can feel brusque and even harsh at times. On the one hand, it means she’s usually quite honest, but on the other, this makes her rather unpopular with people, who tend to see her as cold or even “bitchy.” In truth, she perhaps can be a bit cold, but if you get to know her, if you become her friend, you’ll find that she’ll actually come to care a lot about you, and will always listen and try to help. Thing is, if she doesn’t really know you then she is more indifferent, but this softens a lot the more she comes to like you.

She’s sort of like an unfriendly cat, in that way. She may be unfriendly, on the surface, but there’s always at least that one person the cat trusts and will be super cuddly toward and friendly, and Gemma can absolutely be that way too if you gain her trust. Unfortunately, the initial coolness leads many to not bother, but...if you took the chance...gave her the benefit of the doubt...you wouldn’t regret it.

She is aware of this to some extent. If you look at her character development from when she was a kid until now, you’ll notice that she and Augustus used to clash a lot more than they do now and even got into fights because Augustus would get frustrated with her “robot ways.” Heh. Like, he’d try to open up to her and she’d respond in the most scientific matter ever or even minimize his feelings and he’d just storm off at that point like ugh fuck this, lmao. Whenever this happened though Gemma would end up feeling really bad because she WAS trying to be helpful, so...she’s learned to moderate at least a little and tries not to minimize so much. So, by the time you get to the point, for instance, when they’re 15 in “So, What Are We Now?” she is still brusque, but not nearly as dismissive, which is more or less the balance she retains now.

Gemma would say her greatest flaw is caring at all what people say. She hates how people’s words can get under her skin and how they affect her even when she knows the words aren’t true. For instance, Kelsey calling her cold and uncaring, or Takashi saying he liked her better when she didn’t say much. She knows they’re being ridiculous and rude, and yet she can’t help but feel crushed by their words all the same. She wishes she wasn’t this way.

Other characters might say different, yes. While I think a lot of characters would probably point to her bluntness or coldness as her flaw, Augustus would actually say that Gemma’s flaw is not believing that someone could truly like her for who she is. He firmly believes that if people took the time to get to know her, they would like her, but Gemma doesn’t feel like this is true, so she often won’t even bother trying to make friends or start a meaningful relationship. Of course, this comes back to bite her because then, with so few people in her life, she often finds herself feeling really lonely, and this can be as crushing as the cruel words people say.

So, she’s caught. She wants to forge more connections with people, but fears they will reject her, so she doesn’t bother trying.

This, Augustus would say, is her greatest flaw.

As for how this affects her relationships with the people closest to her, I think I already answered this within the rest, actually, lol. It’s just all mish-mashed together :P

Thank you again for asking! ♥

[kireii-writes]

hey! if your requests are still open, may I please request a Yandere Eren Jaeger where like when he escapes his cell after Marley he has the yeagerists kidnap his s/o?

Stay with me

-

warning(s): kidnapping, yandere tendencies, minor spoilers (for those who haven’t read the manga), a little ooc

-

the surroundings gave nothing away, except for the sound of horses trotting and the rumble and occasional bump of a carriage- the carriage you were in. confusion hit you like a truck at first, and you opened your eyes only to see nothing. you were blindfolded by your captors, and you could feel something like a gag being placed between your mouth, and the thick rope rubbed against your wrists with every move. 

you had no idea how you ended up in this predicament. you were with some of the newer survey corps members, and the next thing you knew you were knocked out cold and woke up on a moving carriage, gagged and blindfolded. with every passing second, your throat felt dryer and dryer, and the thumping of your heart became louder and louder. deciding not to alert your captors, you continued laying down on the hard wood as you desperately tried to come up with a plan. who were these people? what is their main agenda? and most importantly- why were you kidnapped, of all people? there was no knowing what these people might do, and when they might decide to kill you. if they do, you had to think fast to avoid that dreaded outcome. straining your ears, hoping to pick up any noise that could serve as a clue, but to no avail. 

if there’s two people, you could probably take them out before they brought you to the desired location. but to be sure, you had to assess the situation properly. right now, all you could think of was escape. but even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to go far before they caught up to you. deciding to wait before taking the next course of action, the loud thumping of your heart was doing nothing but reminding you that with every passing second that you’re not doing anything, you’re closer and closer to death’s door. 

when the survey corp members that were fighting down below on land boarded the airship, you’d waited eagerly until you saw eren being forcefully hurled into the airship by a rather angry Levi. before you could even ask what was going on, the older man already had aggressively placed eren under arrest as the survey corps members filled in hurriedly. seeing the grim look on Mikasa and Armin’s face, you knew that eren had done something without Levi’s permission. as your eyes met Mikasa’s your doubts had been confirmed. making your way towards her, you tried to ask her what had happened down below when Levi stepped in front of you, the look on his face warning you not to ask about what had happened. 

“you’re not allowed to see eren while he is imprisoned.” Levi ordered you curtly. 

“but why?” you asked, unable to accept Levi’s treatment towards eren. first he places him under arrest, and now he wouldn’t allow you to visit him? 

“because i say so, you damn brat.” Levi answered your question brusquely. “that stupid boy thinks he can do whatever he wants, and since he thinks he’s smart enough to take things into his hands and defy orders, he deserves to be locked up after all the commotion and damaged he created. you better not defy my orders too, y/n.” giving you one last look, Levi walked away along with the rest of the survey corps members, leaving you, Mikasa, and Armin together. 

“i’m going to talk to eren.” you informed the other two. without waiting for their replies, you hastily walked off into the direction eren was being dragged away while Levi and the rest were too busy to keep their eyes on you. just as you were making your way into the basement of the airship, two survey corps members caught you. thankfully, they didn’t hear of Levi’s orders and did not question you as to why you were in the basement when you informed them that Levi had ordered you to head down and grab some supplies. as you watched their retreating forms, you were too focused on not getting caught that you didn’t sense someone coming up from behind you. by the time you turned around, it was too late. the next thing you knew, you were stuck in this predicament. 

as the carriage came to a slow stop, you heard footsteps approaching you and you stayed as still as possible hoping that your captors wouldn’t be alerted of the fact that you were awake. you were then roughly grabbed by the arm before being slung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes before you felt your captor alight from the carriage. 

staying as still as possible, you struggled to pick up any signs of where you could possibly be. ever since you had woken up, you made sure to take note of every turn and twist of the road the carriage was travelling on. but all of a sudden, the carriage stopped in the middle of what feels like a straight path, and you had absolutely no idea where you were at now. as your mind raced to formulate some kind of plan that would allow you to escape, what sounded like a door was being kicked open and your captor continued walking into what is supposedly a room. upon entering the room, you were being roughly thrown onto a chair, forcing you to bite you tongue to stifle a groan.

“could you be gentler?!” a masculine voice spoke up for the first time ever since you were kidnapped. “if he finds out you’re being so rough, he’s going to kill us both.” at the words of the male, your ears perked up as your mind churned with thoughts. who was he talking about?

without warning, your blindfold was removed from your eyes, and the stream of light attacked your eyes, causing you to blink rapidly and squint against the light. 

“you were awake this whole time, weren’t you?” a gruff voice asked you, and although you couldn’t see who it was, it was clear that there were two captors. “what the hell, if i’d known i should’ve made you walk here instead of carrying you all the way.” 

“knock it out already! this isn’t the way to treat our saviour’s love, if he finds out you’re being rude, your head will roll.” the first man scolded. squinting your eyes as you adjusted to the light, you scanned your surroundings, hoping to find some form of exit. unfortunately, the only exit was behind one of the men who had brought you here. you could try the window to your right, but it would be near impossible to make an escape with the little time you have. as your guts churned with dread and a trickle of cold sweat ran down your spine, one of them had approached you and proceeded to undo the ropes that were binding your hands together. 

“please don’t be afraid of us, y/n.” the man sounded out as he undid the ropes on your wrists. “we don’t plan to hurt or harm you in any way, trust me.” the man continued as you thought of another way to escape. “we’re part of the yeagerists, ad we’ve brought you here as part of our orders from our savior, the one who would save us all from this doomed world. the man offered you a small smile as he stepped in front of you and removed the gag from your mouth.

by now, you weren’t able to think straight. your hands instantly started becoming cold and clammy as you felt the energy drained from you. who are these people, and what are they talking about? ‘our saviour’? who the hell was that? were they planning to use use as a sacrificial or something? you were so caught up in your own thoughts, the pounding of your head getting louder and louder, so much so that you didn’t notice the door opening until you heard a familiar voice. 

“y/n.” at the sound of the third person, you looked up in the direction of the voice that brought you a sense of comfort and warmth all the time. there was no doubt about it- there in the doorway stood eren, your beloved, a smile on his face. 

your first instinct was to run towards and into the arms of the man that would hold you to sleep every night, but the confusion of seeing him here rendered you unable to move from your seat.

“how did you- why are you-” you fumbled over your words as eren made his way towards you and squatted in front of you, a smile on his face as he brought a hand up to caress your cheek. 

“how i escaped isn’t important, y/n. what’s important is that you’re here now, and that it all that matters to me.” eren answered the burning question in your mind, his head buried in your lap. “i’m so glad you managed to make it here safely, y/n.” eren sighed as he nuzzled your thigh. 

“eren, what’s going on? why am i here? why are you here? who are these people?” at your questions, eren couldn’t help but chuckle. “relax my love.” he soothed as he traced circles absentmindedly on your thigh. “these people are part of the yeagerists- people that follow me and like me, believe that this wretched world needs to be changed. and they’ve entrusted me with their hopes and lives to create a new world where everything would be fine. i told them to bring you here, so i could talk to you, my love.”

‘what did you want to talk about?” you questioned as you narrowed your eyes at your lover. you had this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that it was something that could change your entire life. 

“i want you to stay with me.” eren looked up, his eyes never looking away from yours. 

“what do you mean? we could stay together, we already are, aren’t we? we’re still together in the survey cor-”

“no.” eren’s cold and harsh tone cut you off. a look of shock took over your confused one as you looked into the eyes of eren. he had never once raised his voice at you or talked to you in this tone before, why was he so worked up?

“i meant, away from the survey corps, away from anyone who thinks that this world doesn’t need to change.” eren continued in a gentler tone. “the survey corps clearly don’t see the need for me to change this world we live in, but i know you do, don’t you?” 

“eren, are you crazy?!” the words flew out from your mouth before you could even know it. whatever, there was no taking it back, you might as well just say whatever’s on your mind and hope that eren doesn’t kill you. “eren, you can’t defy the survey corps and go about doing as you please, you have a responsibility to uphold! think this through!” you pleaded with eren, but the man clearly had no intention on changing his goals. you knew that once eren was set on something, he wouldn’t waver and change his mind that easily no matter what others told him.

in one last attempt to dissuade him, you brought up the last two people that he wanted to hear about. “what about Mikasa and Armin? have you thought about how they would feel?” you asked gently as you cupped eren’s face in your hands. the slight widening of his eyes at the mention of the two people he was closest to brought a tiny silver of hope into you heart. maybe, maybe he would rethink this after all.

“as long as i have you by my side, nobody else matters.” eren turned and face you, his big hands overlapping your smaller ones. “so will you stay with me, my beloved y/n?”

you were torn. torn between your loyalty towards the survey corps and eren. should you decide to follow the survey corps, you knew that eren would not hesitate to kill you in order to stop you from leaking any information. but if you agreed to follow eren to the ends of the earth and his plans do not succeed and is captured by the survey corps, you knew that Levi and the rest would not spare your life too. 

letting your hands fall to your sides, you tore your eyes away from your lover as you looked down at your feet. swallowing hard, you gave him your final answer. 

“no. i cannot support you this time.” 

at your answer, eren removed his hands from yours, and a deathly silence hung over the both of you like stale air. embracing your fate, you were prepared to die at the hands of eren. slowly, eren got up, and gently tilted your head to look up at him. 

“then i’m sorry, my love.” eren replied, his thumb rubbing your cheek gently. “i’ll have no choice but to take you away from this lie that they have fabricated. i’ll take you away and together, we’ll create a world that you deserve to live in. i didn’t want to take you away without giving you a choice, but i realized that no matter what, i want- and i need you to be by my side. and if it means having to take away your freedom, i’ll gladly do it.” 

“why?” your voice barely above a whisper. 

“because i love you, and i want you to stay with me, no matter what.” eren smiled softly at you. “i promise you, i’ll make this world a place where you’ll never worry about your life anymore, just for you. all you have to do, is to stay with me.”