inkedinfusions

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this is bullshit!!!!!!!!!

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year(s+) old debate but the ending of attack on titan was Good. it was the only way it could’ve ended. anyone who thinks it was bad doesn’t understand the story of attack on titan or eren jaeger. peace and love.

eren’s character was not assassinated. he was like that the whole time. that selfish. he was acting as he would’ve acted the whole series had everyone else not agreed with/enabled his selfish decisions the whole time. it was his first time facing that disagreement and that’s why it’s our first time seeing him like that.

it felt like a personal injustice against him whenever someone’s freedom was taken from them. that was always his motivation. it’s why he killed the men who kidnapped mikasa. yes, he saved mikasa, but that was purely coincidental. it didn’t have anything to do with saving her, and it had everything to do with killing people who would take someone’s freedom away from them.

[inkedinfusions]

Hello, how are you? I really enjoyed the new chapter, I always love the little interactions between Reader and Eren >💕 So much so, that I went back to reread a few chapters!! 😂😂 Sorry if this is random, but I did have a few questions!!

Are you planning to write all the way to the end? Right now we’re in those 3 years before season 4, so I’m just wondering if you plan/are planning to fully dive into season 4 (and maybe even change the events and the end)? I was actually inspired by your story to rewatch Attack on Titan (and I think you mentioned in another ask how it’s so cool to see the little hints for Reiner and the other warriors - which I AGREE!!), and I just got to season 4 so I was just wondering about it!! Because I assume (pray 🙏) that if you are, then you’re maybe going to change the outcomes so that Eren doesn’t die 🥲🥲

I think your story is probably one of the coolest that I ever read! Attack on Titan relies so much on the idea that Titan Shifters can see into the future/memories of others and so it’s so cool that the main character is a reader/watcher of the anime and it’s from another universe!! And also, you’re so so smart in terms of that! Which memories she shares with what people, it’s so cool to see all of that!! And the writing is soooo incredible 🔥🔥

I was rereading one of the first chapters where we meet Eren and the others and we see this interaction: “I trust her,” Eren says, breaking the silence. “We know,” Jean says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve made that very clear.” - Which I thought was SO FUNNYYY!!! I was wondering if you’re planning or if you would ever include a little flashback to Eren “remembering” her or talking her up before she arrived at the island? I live for their little moments >>> 🩷🩷

Also, I adored the fact that you had Reader be conflicted with her feelings for Eren and pushing away a little!! It was such a cool detail 🤍 Although, I can’t wait to see more of their moments, and possibly her realizing that he also has feelings for her? 🙏🙏🩷

Anyway I’m so sorry for this long ramble, Attack on Titan and this story in specific is my new hyper fixation so I just wanted to chat a little with you!! I loved the new chapter, and can’t wait to see more!! You’re doing an amazing job 🤍🤍🤍

Hello! First of all, thank you for your ask! Don't get me wrong, I love all the ways my readers interact with me, but I won't lie and say I don't get exited every time I get an ask

I'm as okay as can be, thanks for asking! Uni started for me a few weeks ago, so it's been a fun game of balancing fic writing with uni writing and homework and projects and the like

Glad to see you rereading, and love that you love Eren and reader's interactions-they're a bit difficult to write I'm ngl, so hearing this brings me relief 🙂‍↕️

To answer your first question, I Am planning to write to the very end of season four, but also not really, because there will be a point where I'll diverge from canon to, like the tags say, fix the mess. Canon only gives us a few snapshots of the three year time skip between season 3 and 4, and I'm kinda glad for that, because it makes it easier for me to add things without straying too much from canon (yet!) A fun thing that has happened me while writing this fic is that it has forced me to rewatch the last season with a critical eye, something I did not do the first time I did. I had already been spoiled of everything that happened, cause that's what happens when you can't resist browsing the tag before finishing a series, so I don't think I gave it enough room to breathe. Sometimes I go back a few seasons and wow, was the tone different. But yeah, don't worry, the whole reason I started this was because while the ending satisfied me from a narrative perspective, it also left me sad :( so finding a happy ending that will also make sense within the already existing narrative of aot is a fun challenge! I can't wait for y'all to read the ending :DDD AND THE WARRIORS!! one of my big regrets was rushing the story in the Marley arc, so I think I'll pepper more marley chapters in the future,, I'm kinda loving writing Reiner which is so ooc for me lol

I also really like aot's memory premise! I remember thinking it was so cool the first time they introduced it, and i love how it acts as a time loop without really being one. Everything was doomed from the start, but it is only because they (Eren) believe everything is doomed from the start that everything is doomed from the start. Does that make sense? idk but yeah, one of the very first points I fleshed out was the plot twist that Eren knew who she was, which acts as a parallel to reader knowing who he was, without them ever meeting. Reading didn't like tasting her own medicine lol,,,, control makes her feel safe, and that kinda came out of nowhere whoops,,,, but yeah, its been Fun seeing what she tells who and what and where and etc, because rn I have to write down everything she tells everyone because miss girl is keeping different secrets from everyone. so. that will certainly not blow up in her face later. neither will thinking she knows everything.

EREN AND JEAN BANTERING I LOVE YOUUUU man i miss the earlier seasons so much 😭😭 but yeah! all of the chapters planned for the future are (up until now) planned to be exclusively from reader's perspective, except for a very specific one, which will be from Eren's and will feature his pov on many events of the fic. it more towards the end so it'll probs take a while to get there but trust it is coming 🙏🙏

Like I said before, reader is very attached to the way things /should/ be (except for the things she wants to change, that hypocrite/said with love) so she's shying away rn, even though most of the time she's the one to seek him out. which is crazy work from her. girl get a grip/said with love. who know what will happen when she realizes the extent of her (and his!) feelings! that will surely not blow up in her face

Don't be sorry!!! If anything, asks and comments like this give me more motivation to upload chapters, so you're doing me a favor here!! And send in any other questions you might have and I’ll do by best to answer them! Thank you so much for taking the time to write out these kind words, and I hope you have a great week!!

[inkedinfusions]

omgggg whoever sent that long anon I love you fr I’ll answer after I get back from the gym

[inkedinfusions]

polycoria

[inkedinfusions]

── 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger ⟡ chapter 21

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist ⊰– prev   next–⊱

── 𝟐𝟏 | 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐫

⟡ chapter word count: 3.6k

⟡ content warnings: blanket warnings

⟡ a/n: Hiiiiiii im late again whoops. In my defense—well I've got nothing. Next chapter should be faster because its the scene when Niccolo meets everyone so I already have a blueprint for it and then another existencial talk with Eren yay!! This is not edited because I wanted to get it out as soon as possible, so if you see a typo or a plot hole or something just close your eyes. dream a dream, even. Anyway, love peace and whatever. People who comment I love you never stop

Thank you for reading!

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 rising sun, the cool ocean breeze the only thing that keeps your skin from burning up like your lungs and upper thighs. Before you ends a cliff that oversees the new harbor, where soldiers and engineers alike walk by.

The air is much saltier at the coast than in the center of the island, the air thicker with water. With all the new buildings and construction going on, it reminds you a little of Libero, although your opportunities to see the ocean there were more lacking than not.

You had arrived with the dusk yesterday, late in the day but early for tomorrow’s estimated arrival of the first outside ship that—hopefully—means the island no harm. There are not that many of you in the welcoming party, as you’ve been briefed that it's just a small crew of Hizuru representatives, surely sent before Lady Azumabito to ensure the island is safe.

Or as safe as it can be, with devils living in its guts.

“Tired already?” a cheerful voice chirps behind you.

You put your pointer finger up, indicating that you need time. You return your hand to your upper thigh, where the other already rests in the opposite one. “Just…give me a minute,” you manage to spit out in between labored breaths.

Sasha chuckles as she marches up to you, somehow not winded up after running up and down hills with you following after their trail.

There’s a boulder to your left, just big and flat enough for you to use as a chair. But for as much as you want to rest, you know that you won’t stand again if you sit down. So you wipe away the sweat that covers your forehead before answering.

“Wasn’t this—” you exhale shakily, “—a light trot?” you complain as lightheartedly as you can. Of course, you should’ve assumed a Scout’s version of a light trot was entirely different to yours.

“It is a light trot!” Sasha says, smile never slipping off her face. “One can’t do heavy exercise after eating, of course.”

“Of course,” you answer weakly. A wave of dizziness forces you to put your head down, although it is slightly aided by the ocean breeze. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Sasha cocks their head. “That's the thing you said to Mikasa, right? Or are you actually going to be sick? Anyway, just make sure to throw up—that is if you do throw up—to the side of the path, not in the middle of it. Oh! And—”

You shake your head, then stop abruptly when it triggers another wave of nausea. “Nope, I’m all good,” you say, forcing your breakfast down your throat and straightening up. “Can we go back now?”

“But we are not even halfway through!” Sasha says excitedly, her gaze drifting across the horizon. She smiles when it reaches you, as if only with her grin would energy run through you. You can swear it does, even if just a little. “And we still have time until lunch. Apparently,” she sing-songs, spinning half a turn to walk down the hill, “there is a Marleyan chef that’ll make the food for today.” You can tell she’s got stars in her eyes, even if her back is turned to you. “I wonder what dishes he’ll prepare!”

The last thing on my mind right now is food, you think, following after her, still a little queazy. “I think I heard something about that earlier,” you say instead, ignoring the way your head begins to pound. “I just hope it's not too fishy,” you say, scrunching your nose.

“It's sea food,” Mikasa says, suddenly appearing right beside you. You would like to say that her surprise appearance didn't startle you in the slightest, but the hairs in the back of your neck shoot up the slightest bit. “From what I’ve gathered, it's nothing but fishy.”

You groan—maybe because of the food, the exhaustion, the sun that burns your back—could be any of the three, really. It's not like you to be so forward with your complaints, not since there were much more serious things to worry about. But you’re tired and you can feel a headache creeping through the back of your skull, so you allow yourself a few childish moments. It seems like they’ve multiplied in size ever since you came to the island, in comparison with how things were when you lived with Zeke.

“Don’t worry!” Sasha says, bending her fingers into an enthusiastic thumbs up. “I can eat your portion for you!”

“No thank you,” you shoot down immediately, palm facing her.

“Bummer,” she mumbles, sullen. It is not long before she perks up again though, and when a delicious smell hits your nostrils, you can't help but feel a bit rejuvenated too. Even Mikasa notices it, from where she’s taken to jogging at your, quite frankly, pathetic pace.

Sasha veers closer to the edge when you jog along the edge of a hill that gives you a mostly clear view of the port. “Look!” she says, pointing to a red tent positioned on the far left. “That’s where the smoke is coming from! Oh, it smells delicious.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Smells kinda fishy to me.”

You grin, turning to look at Mikasa, who's closest to you, infinitely proud of your embarrassingly bad joke. She sighs, likely used to it by now—you aren’t the only one who appreciates the art of terrible comedy in the Scouts.

“Oh, come on!” you say, following after her when she picks up the pace again, Sasha close behind you. “It was funny!”

“I laughed,” Sasha vouches for you, raising her hand. You give her a high five when she lowers it, twin grins of both of your faces. You hear Mikasa sigh, but from the half of her face you can see, you see her lips aren't pursed, her eyes haven't hardened. It's as close as you’ll come to a laugh, and hey—you’ll take it.

Now that you are going at a slightly slower pace, you have more time to draw in air, even if the pain that shoots up at the side of your abdomen and at the back of your head does little to disappear.

“I think I’ll go and see if I can catch a whiff of lunch,” Sasha says, like you didn't eat breakfast a little more than an hour ago. “I’ll head back after another lap maybe,” she continues when you get to a fork in which the paths multiply at the edge of camp, choosing the one of the far left. “You coming?”

You shake your head. “I’ll catch up later, I think. I have to talk to the Commander and I'd rather be done with it sooner than later.”

“Right,” Sasha nods. “See you, then!”

Mikasa nods when you part ways, and you resolve to make your way to the not-so-temporary meeting room at the heart of it all. It lies after a rudimentary foyer, past a few hallways in one of the first buildings that were completed on the island’s shore.

You debate on whether you should go after them or not—a change of clothes sounds nice after sweating your ass off in the morning sun. Your trio had even gone through sand patches, which were noticeably harder to run in than ordinary earth and gravel.

At the very least you should wipe your face, you decide, marching up to the building you had been assigned to. The girls aren’t in your shared room when you arrive, so they must already be off to the port; Sasha arriving early to see if she could get a preview of lunch, Mikasa close behind her to ensure she doesn’t get in trouble like back in their cadet days.

The mental image of Sasha marching up to a wary Niccolo makes you chuckle, and you hope the awkward gift you have prepared will take away even the smallest bit possible of animosity against the people of Paradis.

After a wet rag and a hasty change of clothes—at the end you had decided that it was worth it—you feel significantly more freshened up. Of course, it can’t compare to a shower or a bath, but it’ll have to do for now. You’re happy to discover that, while you don’t smell like roses, the after smell that snitches on exercise is mostly gone, and that, paired with the fact that you’re no longer sticky all over, makes for a pretty good morning, even if your lungs and legs are still protesting with every breath you take.

Whatever. It’ll probably be worse tomorrow, so you’ll take what you can.

Your knees creak with the door as you step outside once again, eyes blinded by the natural sunlight you were deprived of inside. You blink a few times, standing in place as you get used to the brightness. With the number of new faces walking around, you’d hate to stumble onto a stranger that hasn’t had the time to get used to your antics.

The man-made paths are not that bad now, at the coast. It was worse the first few weeks, when rocks and gravel easily came off, and the further away you went from the people, the less the roads were etched onto the dirt, which meant a greater chance of losing your footing in the uneven terrain.

But today, even after all the time you spent familiarizing yourself with the mounds of dirt around you, you are betrayed.

Perhaps its karma brought upon you by your legs, who after a while of not exercising seriously were suddenly asked to perform strenuous activity with minimal warm-up (seriously, what is up with the Scouts? There is no way Mikasa is the only one with enhanced genes. Freaks, the lot of them.)

Maybe your heart is the culprit instead, tired and angry of pumping out oxygen after oxygen, which you deplete just as they reach your lungs. You weren’t happy about it either—an accelerated heart rate reminds you of situations you’d rather not be in when in the company of people. Panic attacks are for you and you alone.

Or it could be Isayama, for daring to ruin his perfect story. Well, so sorry, but you aren’t about to let people dear to you die for ‘the plot’, or whatever name the force of destiny took in this universe.

Point is, as soon as you take a turn, your left ankle fails you, likely egged on by the loose stone you stepped on, and you come tumbling down, with nothing but a gasp as your reaction.

You’ve learned from other falls, however, so you brace for impact. Hands open, palms facing forward, extended forearms. Your heart skips a beat out of habit, but all you feel is annoyance at having to wash and—worst case scenario—dress your hands with bandages.

But, much like before, the impact never comes. Or rather, not the one you prepared for.

It is frankly embarrassing how the universe always seems to shove you right onto Eren for every stumble you take. If you didn’t know any better—and at this point, who knows if you do—you’d think the boy just spawns there when you’re about to face plant on whatever surface you have committed the great sin of walking on.

“Shit—sorry,” you say, detangling yourself from his arms. He lets you go without much fanfare, and you thank there is no one around to notice the tips of your ears go red with embarrassment.

“It's okay,” he answers, as he always does. “Heading somewhere?”

“Just with the Commander,” you say before you can overthink it. “Then lunch, maybe? Last I heard, Niccolo is in charge of it, so yeah,” you shrug. “Tomorrow's the main event anyway, so I’m not doing much today, except for the whole report thing.”

Eren hums. “Makes sense,” he says, back to his tired, perhaps flat, cadence. “I’m not doing much either,” he says. “Can’t, with all the Volunteers around.”

You nod. “And who’s your shadow?”

Eren turns his head to the soldier a few paces away you noticed just a few moments ago, everything but surprise in his eyes, nothing but a black void in that green sea. “Just some guy,” he says after an instant.

“Babysitter?” you tease.

He huffs. “Real funny.”

“...Well, is he?”

“No. He's there to dissuade the Volunteers from approaching me. Or something.”

“Right, right,” you nod, jokingly serious. “So a babysitter, then.”

Eren’s eyes sharpen with the pride of a teenage boy, rising to meet yours. “I am not a—” he stops abruptly. You tilt your head questioningly, inviting him to continue, but his gaze just falls from yours, sun-scorched red appearing down his ears. “Whatever,” he mumbles.

“Uh huh,” you trail off, a bit confused. “I was just joking,” you clarify a beat later, when the expression on his face doesn’t soften.

His lips tighten for a second, before the muscles of his face relax again and detachment colors his factions. “It's fine,” he says after.

The tips of his ears have not lost their crimson color, you notice. If anything, it has spread to his cheeks, his nape, the edges of his forehead. If anything, the tint has all but grown more pronounced, bringing to him the same rosiness you have after hours in the sun. If anything, you think the emotion in his eyes is not indifference, but embarrassment. The question is, what exactly is he embarrassed of?

“If you say so,” you say, eyes unwillingly flitting to the guard a few meters behind him. “I better go anyway,” you say when the silence tethers on awkwardness. “See you?”

He hums a yes—or at least you assume he does—and so you resume your way across the buildings, with a small itch on your nape that only diminishes when you turn a corner, now hidden from Eren’s view. The headache you’re nursing still nestles deep within your skull, but with everything going on, it has blended with your own thoughts’ white noise.

You want to scold yourself a little for the stiltedness with which you had been given and in turn returned. It's weird and it's awkward and you want nothing with it, not with someone you think you’ve grown closer to. Still, not too close, lest you burn. Not that he would burn—well, maybe his titan form could have significantly a higher temperature—

What am I even thinking about? you admonish yourself, steps halting to a stop. The central building where you are headed too is just a few paces away and you’re debating on metaphors and feelings and body temperature? You know exercise is supposed to stimulate blood flow to the brain but wow, this is too much for the morning.

Before you know it, your feet take you into the small vestibule, where a small wooden table with a nice mantel marks the place as something more than just another warehouse. Beyond the door you end up in front of you hear the chattering of a one sided conversation as Hange drones about who-knows-what to the Captain, who's most likely sipping on tea while they wait.

You raise a hesitant hand to knock, doing your best to shove the prickling in the back of your head deep within, so that you may ignore it for the report to come. You don’t expect to be here a long time, so you can probably deal with it for a few minutes.

“Come in!” says an energetic voice from inside, the stream of titan-related statements momentarily paused to welcome you inside.

True to your prediction, there is tea and Levi and Hange, but they are not placed on the intimidating wooden desk that speaks well of both their stations. Instead they are by a window, where the ocean breeze makes their hair flutter in it, and the sunshine rains down like molten light.

The table they sit on is still wooden but unlike the rigid and heavy desk, it is round, made of wood of a lighter color and with three chairs surrounding it. Two chairs are of course occupied by Levi and Hange—the former with a cup of tea precariously held up by his hand, the latter with an encouraging smile on their face—and a third one sits in front of it, although it's less pronounced by the table’s shape.

“I thought we’d sit by the window instead,” Hange says when you sit down, “so it’d be less threatening and all. Tea?”

You clear your throat, take aback by the confession. “Yes, thank you.”

The telling sound of poured boiling water joins the slight creak of your chair when you fidget on it, before you notice it and make the conscious decision to stop.

“So do you?” Levi asks after a beat, gruff voice pulling you out of your mind.

“Sorry?”

“Do you think this is less threatening?”

“Yes—no?” you trip over your words. “Is there a right answer?”

Levi answers with a noncommittal hum and a sip of his cup, which do nothing to reassure you in the slightest.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hange chirps, handing you your cup. It's nicer than some of the things you’ve seen here, and the smell that emanates from it radiates a little bit of comfort that you swallow up when it is offered. It's a little flowery, a little bitter—but it has a tinge of sweetness to it, like the after taste of candy.

But you aren’t here to enjoy tea, so you put it down, keeping your hands around it to ward off the cool salty wind.

“I know I’m like, a glorified hostage to make sure the Volunteers don’t step out of line—” you start.

“Well, no one said that,” Hange says.

If they were your peer, you'd give them a sardonic look, a really? said with just your eyes. But they are your superior, so you swallow your teenage impulse to retort and continue.

“Sure,” you concede, “no one did. But it's what it was phrased like when you first told Yelena of your condition, even if it was something of a misdirection. My point is, rather, that I am a little… worried for tomorrow.”

“For the envoy?” Hange guesses correctly. Levi’s eyebrows tense a little, but it could also be the general atmosphere that’s got him a little apprehensive.

You nod. “Its not the Lady that’s coming yet, right? It's too soon for that.”

“It is,” Hange agrees. “We were told there’d be a small party arriving tomorrow, and to not expect Hizuru’s representative soon. Is that changing?”

You are kind of surprised at how they—or Hange at least—seems to heed your warnings, however indefinite or vague they are. You’d thought that becoming an advisor of sorts would be more difficult, but this give and take relationship you have going on is doing nothing but good things for you. Of course, you still expect them to take precautions with whatever you’re saying; in this political climate it would be foolish not to do so. But still. This pleases you.

“I don’t think so,” you say. “As far as I'm concerned, everything is still in place for tomorrow, although there's a few pointers I want to leave to your discretion.”

Hange invites you to continue with a nod, and Levi’s silence doesn’t go unnoticed by you, more encouraging than curt in its nature.

“I don’t know the extent of what you’ve been told,” you say, praying Yelena doesn’t lynch you for the slight changes you are making to the script you had been given, “but Hizuru and Paradis do have historic antecedents of being allies, so at least there’s that. But for as much as they want to be buddies, they won’t take a deal that won’t benefit them.”

“And what does this mean for tomorrow?” Levi questions.

“Not a lot,” you say, rummaging through your memories for something of value. “But for when the Lady arrives in the future, there needs to be some sort of agreement already drawn up, so the island doesn’t get the short end of the stick. She is curious; if you make a comment here or there about trade deals or something to do with the natural resources or Paradis, she’ll surely take the bait.”

You take a breath before continuing. “For now, I’d say giving them a gift or a token to bring back to Hizuru would be enough. Something to show them that the island will be a player but not a pawn.”

“You want to gain their favor,” he states, impassively.

“Yes sir,” you answer. “They are your link with the outside world. It's a bridge you do not want to burn.”

They both seem to contemplate your words, and you let them deliberate on their meaning when you turn your head to the window, observing as sea birds whirl by. The constant thumping that is pressed against your head is only there when you remember it exists, and so it thumps again and again, until Hange speaks.

“That’d be all for now,” they say, a little less cheerful but no less kind. “Thank you for the caution.”

“Its no problem,” you say, downing the last of your tea. It tasted nice—maybe you’d ask one of the Scouts to get the recipe for the blend from Levi sometime. “I’ll take my leave then.”

You have a foot out the door and then the other, crossing the small foyer after leaving Levi and Hange to steep in your warnings like the infusion in the teapot that rested on the honey-colored table. The beverage has quenched a little of the thirst you had developed after the morning with Sasha and Mikasa, but the hunger is still there.

And so you make your way down hills and around paths to the harbor, where a fishy smell welcomes you to the first vestige of Niccolo’s kitchen.

[inkedinfusions]

taglist:

@dressycobra7 @xngelsau @bloodchapell @i-think-im-adorable13 @luna4mnoon

@yuuuumii @kermittears @binluvsu @luvsymai @faerie-soirxx

@bambam1sa @strwbskitkat

ask or comment to be added!

── 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger ⟡ chapter 21

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist ⊰– prev   next–⊱

── 𝟐𝟏 | 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐫

⟡ chapter word count: 3.6k

⟡ content warnings: blanket warnings

⟡ a/n: Hiiiiiii im late again whoops. In my defense—well I've got nothing. Next chapter should be faster because its the scene when Niccolo meets everyone so I already have a blueprint for it and then another existencial talk with Eren yay!! This is not edited because I wanted to get it out as soon as possible, so if you see a typo or a plot hole or something just close your eyes. dream a dream, even. Anyway, love peace and whatever. People who comment I love you never stop

Thank you for reading!

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 rising sun, the cool ocean breeze the only thing that keeps your skin from burning up like your lungs and upper thighs. Before you ends a cliff that oversees the new harbor, where soldiers and engineers alike walk by.

The air is much saltier at the coast than in the center of the island, the air thicker with water. With all the new buildings and construction going on, it reminds you a little of Libero, although your opportunities to see the ocean there were more lacking than not.

You had arrived with the dusk yesterday, late in the day but early for tomorrow’s estimated arrival of the first outside ship that—hopefully—means the island no harm. There are not that many of you in the welcoming party, as you’ve been briefed that it's just a small crew of Hizuru representatives, surely sent before Lady Azumabito to ensure the island is safe.

Or as safe as it can be, with devils living in its guts.

“Tired already?” a cheerful voice chirps behind you.

You put your pointer finger up, indicating that you need time. You return your hand to your upper thigh, where the other already rests in the opposite one. “Just…give me a minute,” you manage to spit out in between labored breaths.

Sasha chuckles as she marches up to you, somehow not winded up after running up and down hills with you following after their trail.

There’s a boulder to your left, just big and flat enough for you to use as a chair. But for as much as you want to rest, you know that you won’t stand again if you sit down. So you wipe away the sweat that covers your forehead before answering.

“Wasn’t this—” you exhale shakily, “—a light trot?” you complain as lightheartedly as you can. Of course, you should’ve assumed a Scout’s version of a light trot was entirely different to yours.

“It is a light trot!” Sasha says, smile never slipping off her face. “One can’t do heavy exercise after eating, of course.”

“Of course,” you answer weakly. A wave of dizziness forces you to put your head down, although it is slightly aided by the ocean breeze. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Sasha cocks their head. “That's the thing you said to Mikasa, right? Or are you actually going to be sick? Anyway, just make sure to throw up—that is if you do throw up—to the side of the path, not in the middle of it. Oh! And—”

You shake your head, then stop abruptly when it triggers another wave of nausea. “Nope, I’m all good,” you say, forcing your breakfast down your throat and straightening up. “Can we go back now?”

“But we are not even halfway through!” Sasha says excitedly, her gaze drifting across the horizon. She smiles when it reaches you, as if only with her grin would energy run through you. You can swear it does, even if just a little. “And we still have time until lunch. Apparently,” she sing-songs, spinning half a turn to walk down the hill, “there is a Marleyan chef that’ll make the food for today.” You can tell she’s got stars in her eyes, even if her back is turned to you. “I wonder what dishes he’ll prepare!”

The last thing on my mind right now is food, you think, following after her, still a little queazy. “I think I heard something about that earlier,” you say instead, ignoring the way your head begins to pound. “I just hope it's not too fishy,” you say, scrunching your nose.

“It's sea food,” Mikasa says, suddenly appearing right beside you. You would like to say that her surprise appearance didn't startle you in the slightest, but the hairs in the back of your neck shoot up the slightest bit. “From what I’ve gathered, it's nothing but fishy.”

You groan—maybe because of the food, the exhaustion, the sun that burns your back—could be any of the three, really. It's not like you to be so forward with your complaints, not since there were much more serious things to worry about. But you’re tired and you can feel a headache creeping through the back of your skull, so you allow yourself a few childish moments. It seems like they’ve multiplied in size ever since you came to the island, in comparison with how things were when you lived with Zeke.

“Don’t worry!” Sasha says, bending her fingers into an enthusiastic thumbs up. “I can eat your portion for you!”

“No thank you,” you shoot down immediately, palm facing her.

“Bummer,” she mumbles, sullen. It is not long before she perks up again though, and when a delicious smell hits your nostrils, you can't help but feel a bit rejuvenated too. Even Mikasa notices it, from where she’s taken to jogging at your, quite frankly, pathetic pace.

Sasha veers closer to the edge when you jog along the edge of a hill that gives you a mostly clear view of the port. “Look!” she says, pointing to a red tent positioned on the far left. “That’s where the smoke is coming from! Oh, it smells delicious.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Smells kinda fishy to me.”

You grin, turning to look at Mikasa, who's closest to you, infinitely proud of your embarrassingly bad joke. She sighs, likely used to it by now—you aren’t the only one who appreciates the art of terrible comedy in the Scouts.

“Oh, come on!” you say, following after her when she picks up the pace again, Sasha close behind you. “It was funny!”

“I laughed,” Sasha vouches for you, raising her hand. You give her a high five when she lowers it, twin grins of both of your faces. You hear Mikasa sigh, but from the half of her face you can see, you see her lips aren't pursed, her eyes haven't hardened. It's as close as you’ll come to a laugh, and hey—you’ll take it.

Now that you are going at a slightly slower pace, you have more time to draw in air, even if the pain that shoots up at the side of your abdomen and at the back of your head does little to disappear.

“I think I’ll go and see if I can catch a whiff of lunch,” Sasha says, like you didn't eat breakfast a little more than an hour ago. “I’ll head back after another lap maybe,” she continues when you get to a fork in which the paths multiply at the edge of camp, choosing the one of the far left. “You coming?”

You shake your head. “I’ll catch up later, I think. I have to talk to the Commander and I'd rather be done with it sooner than later.”

“Right,” Sasha nods. “See you, then!”

Mikasa nods when you part ways, and you resolve to make your way to the not-so-temporary meeting room at the heart of it all. It lies after a rudimentary foyer, past a few hallways in one of the first buildings that were completed on the island’s shore.

You debate on whether you should go after them or not—a change of clothes sounds nice after sweating your ass off in the morning sun. Your trio had even gone through sand patches, which were noticeably harder to run in than ordinary earth and gravel.

At the very least you should wipe your face, you decide, marching up to the building you had been assigned to. The girls aren’t in your shared room when you arrive, so they must already be off to the port; Sasha arriving early to see if she could get a preview of lunch, Mikasa close behind her to ensure she doesn’t get in trouble like back in their cadet days.

The mental image of Sasha marching up to a wary Niccolo makes you chuckle, and you hope the awkward gift you have prepared will take away even the smallest bit possible of animosity against the people of Paradis.

After a wet rag and a hasty change of clothes—at the end you had decided that it was worth it—you feel significantly more freshened up. Of course, it can’t compare to a shower or a bath, but it’ll have to do for now. You’re happy to discover that, while you don’t smell like roses, the after smell that snitches on exercise is mostly gone, and that, paired with the fact that you’re no longer sticky all over, makes for a pretty good morning, even if your lungs and legs are still protesting with every breath you take.

Whatever. It’ll probably be worse tomorrow, so you’ll take what you can.

Your knees creak with the door as you step outside once again, eyes blinded by the natural sunlight you were deprived of inside. You blink a few times, standing in place as you get used to the brightness. With the number of new faces walking around, you’d hate to stumble onto a stranger that hasn’t had the time to get used to your antics.

The man-made paths are not that bad now, at the coast. It was worse the first few weeks, when rocks and gravel easily came off, and the further away you went from the people, the less the roads were etched onto the dirt, which meant a greater chance of losing your footing in the uneven terrain.

But today, even after all the time you spent familiarizing yourself with the mounds of dirt around you, you are betrayed.

Perhaps its karma brought upon you by your legs, who after a while of not exercising seriously were suddenly asked to perform strenuous activity with minimal warm-up (seriously, what is up with the Scouts? There is no way Mikasa is the only one with enhanced genes. Freaks, the lot of them.)

Maybe your heart is the culprit instead, tired and angry of pumping out oxygen after oxygen, which you deplete just as they reach your lungs. You weren’t happy about it either—an accelerated heart rate reminds you of situations you’d rather not be in when in the company of people. Panic attacks are for you and you alone.

Or it could be Isayama, for daring to ruin his perfect story. Well, so sorry, but you aren’t about to let people dear to you die for ‘the plot’, or whatever name the force of destiny took in this universe.

Point is, as soon as you take a turn, your left ankle fails you, likely egged on by the loose stone you stepped on, and you come tumbling down, with nothing but a gasp as your reaction.

You’ve learned from other falls, however, so you brace for impact. Hands open, palms facing forward, extended forearms. Your heart skips a beat out of habit, but all you feel is annoyance at having to wash and—worst case scenario—dress your hands with bandages.

But, much like before, the impact never comes. Or rather, not the one you prepared for.

It is frankly embarrassing how the universe always seems to shove you right onto Eren for every stumble you take. If you didn’t know any better—and at this point, who knows if you do—you’d think the boy just spawns there when you’re about to face plant on whatever surface you have committed the great sin of walking on.

“Shit—sorry,” you say, detangling yourself from his arms. He lets you go without much fanfare, and you thank there is no one around to notice the tips of your ears go red with embarrassment.

“It's okay,” he answers, as he always does. “Heading somewhere?”

“Just with the Commander,” you say before you can overthink it. “Then lunch, maybe? Last I heard, Niccolo is in charge of it, so yeah,” you shrug. “Tomorrow's the main event anyway, so I’m not doing much today, except for the whole report thing.”

Eren hums. “Makes sense,” he says, back to his tired, perhaps flat, cadence. “I’m not doing much either,” he says. “Can’t, with all the Volunteers around.”

You nod. “And who’s your shadow?”

Eren turns his head to the soldier a few paces away you noticed just a few moments ago, everything but surprise in his eyes, nothing but a black void in that green sea. “Just some guy,” he says after an instant.

“Babysitter?” you tease.

He huffs. “Real funny.”

“...Well, is he?”

“No. He's there to dissuade the Volunteers from approaching me. Or something.”

“Right, right,” you nod, jokingly serious. “So a babysitter, then.”

Eren’s eyes sharpen with the pride of a teenage boy, rising to meet yours. “I am not a—” he stops abruptly. You tilt your head questioningly, inviting him to continue, but his gaze just falls from yours, sun-scorched red appearing down his ears. “Whatever,” he mumbles.

“Uh huh,” you trail off, a bit confused. “I was just joking,” you clarify a beat later, when the expression on his face doesn’t soften.

His lips tighten for a second, before the muscles of his face relax again and detachment colors his factions. “It's fine,” he says after.

The tips of his ears have not lost their crimson color, you notice. If anything, it has spread to his cheeks, his nape, the edges of his forehead. If anything, the tint has all but grown more pronounced, bringing to him the same rosiness you have after hours in the sun. If anything, you think the emotion in his eyes is not indifference, but embarrassment. The question is, what exactly is he embarrassed of?

“If you say so,” you say, eyes unwillingly flitting to the guard a few meters behind him. “I better go anyway,” you say when the silence tethers on awkwardness. “See you?”

He hums a yes—or at least you assume he does—and so you resume your way across the buildings, with a small itch on your nape that only diminishes when you turn a corner, now hidden from Eren’s view. The headache you’re nursing still nestles deep within your skull, but with everything going on, it has blended with your own thoughts’ white noise.

You want to scold yourself a little for the stiltedness with which you had been given and in turn returned. It's weird and it's awkward and you want nothing with it, not with someone you think you’ve grown closer to. Still, not too close, lest you burn. Not that he would burn—well, maybe his titan form could have significantly a higher temperature—

What am I even thinking about? you admonish yourself, steps halting to a stop. The central building where you are headed too is just a few paces away and you’re debating on metaphors and feelings and body temperature? You know exercise is supposed to stimulate blood flow to the brain but wow, this is too much for the morning.

Before you know it, your feet take you into the small vestibule, where a small wooden table with a nice mantel marks the place as something more than just another warehouse. Beyond the door you end up in front of you hear the chattering of a one sided conversation as Hange drones about who-knows-what to the Captain, who's most likely sipping on tea while they wait.

You raise a hesitant hand to knock, doing your best to shove the prickling in the back of your head deep within, so that you may ignore it for the report to come. You don’t expect to be here a long time, so you can probably deal with it for a few minutes.

“Come in!” says an energetic voice from inside, the stream of titan-related statements momentarily paused to welcome you inside.

True to your prediction, there is tea and Levi and Hange, but they are not placed on the intimidating wooden desk that speaks well of both their stations. Instead they are by a window, where the ocean breeze makes their hair flutter in it, and the sunshine rains down like molten light.

The table they sit on is still wooden but unlike the rigid and heavy desk, it is round, made of wood of a lighter color and with three chairs surrounding it. Two chairs are of course occupied by Levi and Hange—the former with a cup of tea precariously held up by his hand, the latter with an encouraging smile on their face—and a third one sits in front of it, although it's less pronounced by the table’s shape.

“I thought we’d sit by the window instead,” Hange says when you sit down, “so it’d be less threatening and all. Tea?”

You clear your throat, take aback by the confession. “Yes, thank you.”

The telling sound of poured boiling water joins the slight creak of your chair when you fidget on it, before you notice it and make the conscious decision to stop.

“So do you?” Levi asks after a beat, gruff voice pulling you out of your mind.

“Sorry?”

“Do you think this is less threatening?”

“Yes—no?” you trip over your words. “Is there a right answer?”

Levi answers with a noncommittal hum and a sip of his cup, which do nothing to reassure you in the slightest.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hange chirps, handing you your cup. It's nicer than some of the things you’ve seen here, and the smell that emanates from it radiates a little bit of comfort that you swallow up when it is offered. It's a little flowery, a little bitter—but it has a tinge of sweetness to it, like the after taste of candy.

But you aren’t here to enjoy tea, so you put it down, keeping your hands around it to ward off the cool salty wind.

“I know I’m like, a glorified hostage to make sure the Volunteers don’t step out of line—” you start.

“Well, no one said that,” Hange says.

If they were your peer, you'd give them a sardonic look, a really? said with just your eyes. But they are your superior, so you swallow your teenage impulse to retort and continue.

“Sure,” you concede, “no one did. But it's what it was phrased like when you first told Yelena of your condition, even if it was something of a misdirection. My point is, rather, that I am a little… worried for tomorrow.”

“For the envoy?” Hange guesses correctly. Levi’s eyebrows tense a little, but it could also be the general atmosphere that’s got him a little apprehensive.

You nod. “Its not the Lady that’s coming yet, right? It's too soon for that.”

“It is,” Hange agrees. “We were told there’d be a small party arriving tomorrow, and to not expect Hizuru’s representative soon. Is that changing?”

You are kind of surprised at how they—or Hange at least—seems to heed your warnings, however indefinite or vague they are. You’d thought that becoming an advisor of sorts would be more difficult, but this give and take relationship you have going on is doing nothing but good things for you. Of course, you still expect them to take precautions with whatever you’re saying; in this political climate it would be foolish not to do so. But still. This pleases you.

“I don’t think so,” you say. “As far as I'm concerned, everything is still in place for tomorrow, although there's a few pointers I want to leave to your discretion.”

Hange invites you to continue with a nod, and Levi’s silence doesn’t go unnoticed by you, more encouraging than curt in its nature.

“I don’t know the extent of what you’ve been told,” you say, praying Yelena doesn’t lynch you for the slight changes you are making to the script you had been given, “but Hizuru and Paradis do have historic antecedents of being allies, so at least there’s that. But for as much as they want to be buddies, they won’t take a deal that won’t benefit them.”

“And what does this mean for tomorrow?” Levi questions.

“Not a lot,” you say, rummaging through your memories for something of value. “But for when the Lady arrives in the future, there needs to be some sort of agreement already drawn up, so the island doesn’t get the short end of the stick. She is curious; if you make a comment here or there about trade deals or something to do with the natural resources or Paradis, she’ll surely take the bait.”

You take a breath before continuing. “For now, I’d say giving them a gift or a token to bring back to Hizuru would be enough. Something to show them that the island will be a player but not a pawn.”

“You want to gain their favor,” he states, impassively.

“Yes sir,” you answer. “They are your link with the outside world. It's a bridge you do not want to burn.”

They both seem to contemplate your words, and you let them deliberate on their meaning when you turn your head to the window, observing as sea birds whirl by. The constant thumping that is pressed against your head is only there when you remember it exists, and so it thumps again and again, until Hange speaks.

“That’d be all for now,” they say, a little less cheerful but no less kind. “Thank you for the caution.”

“Its no problem,” you say, downing the last of your tea. It tasted nice—maybe you’d ask one of the Scouts to get the recipe for the blend from Levi sometime. “I’ll take my leave then.”

You have a foot out the door and then the other, crossing the small foyer after leaving Levi and Hange to steep in your warnings like the infusion in the teapot that rested on the honey-colored table. The beverage has quenched a little of the thirst you had developed after the morning with Sasha and Mikasa, but the hunger is still there.

And so you make your way down hills and around paths to the harbor, where a fishy smell welcomes you to the first vestige of Niccolo’s kitchen.

[inkedinfusions]

── 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger ⟡ chapter 21

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist ⊰– prev   next–⊱

── 𝟐𝟏 | 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐫

⟡ chapter word count: 3.6k

⟡ content warnings: blanket warnings

⟡ a/n: Hiiiiiii im late again whoops. In my defense—well I've got nothing. Next chapter should be faster because its the scene when Niccolo meets everyone so I already have a blueprint for it and then another existencial talk with Eren yay!! This is not edited because I wanted to get it out as soon as possible, so if you see a typo or a plot hole or something just close your eyes. dream a dream, even. Anyway, love peace and whatever. People who comment I love you never stop

Thank you for reading!

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 rising sun, the cool ocean breeze the only thing that keeps your skin from burning up like your lungs and upper thighs. Before you ends a cliff that oversees the new harbor, where soldiers and engineers alike walk by.

The air is much saltier at the coast than in the center of the island, the air thicker with water. With all the new buildings and construction going on, it reminds you a little of Libero, although your opportunities to see the ocean there were more lacking than not.

You had arrived with the dusk yesterday, late in the day but early for tomorrow’s estimated arrival of the first outside ship that—hopefully—means the island no harm. There are not that many of you in the welcoming party, as you’ve been briefed that it's just a small crew of Hizuru representatives, surely sent before Lady Azumabito to ensure the island is safe.

Or as safe as it can be, with devils living in its guts.

“Tired already?” a cheerful voice chirps behind you.

You put your pointer finger up, indicating that you need time. You return your hand to your upper thigh, where the other already rests in the opposite one. “Just…give me a minute,” you manage to spit out in between labored breaths.

Sasha chuckles as she marches up to you, somehow not winded up after running up and down hills with you following after their trail.

There’s a boulder to your left, just big and flat enough for you to use as a chair. But for as much as you want to rest, you know that you won’t stand again if you sit down. So you wipe away the sweat that covers your forehead before answering.

“Wasn’t this—” you exhale shakily, “—a light trot?” you complain as lightheartedly as you can. Of course, you should’ve assumed a Scout’s version of a light trot was entirely different to yours.

“It is a light trot!” Sasha says, smile never slipping off her face. “One can’t do heavy exercise after eating, of course.”

“Of course,” you answer weakly. A wave of dizziness forces you to put your head down, although it is slightly aided by the ocean breeze. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Sasha cocks their head. “That's the thing you said to Mikasa, right? Or are you actually going to be sick? Anyway, just make sure to throw up—that is if you do throw up—to the side of the path, not in the middle of it. Oh! And—”

You shake your head, then stop abruptly when it triggers another wave of nausea. “Nope, I’m all good,” you say, forcing your breakfast down your throat and straightening up. “Can we go back now?”

“But we are not even halfway through!” Sasha says excitedly, her gaze drifting across the horizon. She smiles when it reaches you, as if only with her grin would energy run through you. You can swear it does, even if just a little. “And we still have time until lunch. Apparently,” she sing-songs, spinning half a turn to walk down the hill, “there is a Marleyan chef that’ll make the food for today.” You can tell she’s got stars in her eyes, even if her back is turned to you. “I wonder what dishes he’ll prepare!”

The last thing on my mind right now is food, you think, following after her, still a little queazy. “I think I heard something about that earlier,” you say instead, ignoring the way your head begins to pound. “I just hope it's not too fishy,” you say, scrunching your nose.

“It's sea food,” Mikasa says, suddenly appearing right beside you. You would like to say that her surprise appearance didn't startle you in the slightest, but the hairs in the back of your neck shoot up the slightest bit. “From what I’ve gathered, it's nothing but fishy.”

You groan—maybe because of the food, the exhaustion, the sun that burns your back—could be any of the three, really. It's not like you to be so forward with your complaints, not since there were much more serious things to worry about. But you’re tired and you can feel a headache creeping through the back of your skull, so you allow yourself a few childish moments. It seems like they’ve multiplied in size ever since you came to the island, in comparison with how things were when you lived with Zeke.

“Don’t worry!” Sasha says, bending her fingers into an enthusiastic thumbs up. “I can eat your portion for you!”

“No thank you,” you shoot down immediately, palm facing her.

“Bummer,” she mumbles, sullen. It is not long before she perks up again though, and when a delicious smell hits your nostrils, you can't help but feel a bit rejuvenated too. Even Mikasa notices it, from where she’s taken to jogging at your, quite frankly, pathetic pace.

Sasha veers closer to the edge when you jog along the edge of a hill that gives you a mostly clear view of the port. “Look!” she says, pointing to a red tent positioned on the far left. “That’s where the smoke is coming from! Oh, it smells delicious.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Smells kinda fishy to me.”

You grin, turning to look at Mikasa, who's closest to you, infinitely proud of your embarrassingly bad joke. She sighs, likely used to it by now—you aren’t the only one who appreciates the art of terrible comedy in the Scouts.

“Oh, come on!” you say, following after her when she picks up the pace again, Sasha close behind you. “It was funny!”

“I laughed,” Sasha vouches for you, raising her hand. You give her a high five when she lowers it, twin grins of both of your faces. You hear Mikasa sigh, but from the half of her face you can see, you see her lips aren't pursed, her eyes haven't hardened. It's as close as you’ll come to a laugh, and hey—you’ll take it.

Now that you are going at a slightly slower pace, you have more time to draw in air, even if the pain that shoots up at the side of your abdomen and at the back of your head does little to disappear.

“I think I’ll go and see if I can catch a whiff of lunch,” Sasha says, like you didn't eat breakfast a little more than an hour ago. “I’ll head back after another lap maybe,” she continues when you get to a fork in which the paths multiply at the edge of camp, choosing the one of the far left. “You coming?”

You shake your head. “I’ll catch up later, I think. I have to talk to the Commander and I'd rather be done with it sooner than later.”

“Right,” Sasha nods. “See you, then!”

Mikasa nods when you part ways, and you resolve to make your way to the not-so-temporary meeting room at the heart of it all. It lies after a rudimentary foyer, past a few hallways in one of the first buildings that were completed on the island’s shore.

You debate on whether you should go after them or not—a change of clothes sounds nice after sweating your ass off in the morning sun. Your trio had even gone through sand patches, which were noticeably harder to run in than ordinary earth and gravel.

At the very least you should wipe your face, you decide, marching up to the building you had been assigned to. The girls aren’t in your shared room when you arrive, so they must already be off to the port; Sasha arriving early to see if she could get a preview of lunch, Mikasa close behind her to ensure she doesn’t get in trouble like back in their cadet days.

The mental image of Sasha marching up to a wary Niccolo makes you chuckle, and you hope the awkward gift you have prepared will take away even the smallest bit possible of animosity against the people of Paradis.

After a wet rag and a hasty change of clothes—at the end you had decided that it was worth it—you feel significantly more freshened up. Of course, it can’t compare to a shower or a bath, but it’ll have to do for now. You’re happy to discover that, while you don’t smell like roses, the after smell that snitches on exercise is mostly gone, and that, paired with the fact that you’re no longer sticky all over, makes for a pretty good morning, even if your lungs and legs are still protesting with every breath you take.

Whatever. It’ll probably be worse tomorrow, so you’ll take what you can.

Your knees creak with the door as you step outside once again, eyes blinded by the natural sunlight you were deprived of inside. You blink a few times, standing in place as you get used to the brightness. With the number of new faces walking around, you’d hate to stumble onto a stranger that hasn’t had the time to get used to your antics.

The man-made paths are not that bad now, at the coast. It was worse the first few weeks, when rocks and gravel easily came off, and the further away you went from the people, the less the roads were etched onto the dirt, which meant a greater chance of losing your footing in the uneven terrain.

But today, even after all the time you spent familiarizing yourself with the mounds of dirt around you, you are betrayed.

Perhaps its karma brought upon you by your legs, who after a while of not exercising seriously were suddenly asked to perform strenuous activity with minimal warm-up (seriously, what is up with the Scouts? There is no way Mikasa is the only one with enhanced genes. Freaks, the lot of them.)

Maybe your heart is the culprit instead, tired and angry of pumping out oxygen after oxygen, which you deplete just as they reach your lungs. You weren’t happy about it either—an accelerated heart rate reminds you of situations you’d rather not be in when in the company of people. Panic attacks are for you and you alone.

Or it could be Isayama, for daring to ruin his perfect story. Well, so sorry, but you aren’t about to let people dear to you die for ‘the plot’, or whatever name the force of destiny took in this universe.

Point is, as soon as you take a turn, your left ankle fails you, likely egged on by the loose stone you stepped on, and you come tumbling down, with nothing but a gasp as your reaction.

You’ve learned from other falls, however, so you brace for impact. Hands open, palms facing forward, extended forearms. Your heart skips a beat out of habit, but all you feel is annoyance at having to wash and—worst case scenario—dress your hands with bandages.

But, much like before, the impact never comes. Or rather, not the one you prepared for.

It is frankly embarrassing how the universe always seems to shove you right onto Eren for every stumble you take. If you didn’t know any better—and at this point, who knows if you do—you’d think the boy just spawns there when you’re about to face plant on whatever surface you have committed the great sin of walking on.

“Shit—sorry,” you say, detangling yourself from his arms. He lets you go without much fanfare, and you thank there is no one around to notice the tips of your ears go red with embarrassment.

“It's okay,” he answers, as he always does. “Heading somewhere?”

“Just with the Commander,” you say before you can overthink it. “Then lunch, maybe? Last I heard, Niccolo is in charge of it, so yeah,” you shrug. “Tomorrow's the main event anyway, so I’m not doing much today, except for the whole report thing.”

Eren hums. “Makes sense,” he says, back to his tired, perhaps flat, cadence. “I’m not doing much either,” he says. “Can’t, with all the Volunteers around.”

You nod. “And who’s your shadow?”

Eren turns his head to the soldier a few paces away you noticed just a few moments ago, everything but surprise in his eyes, nothing but a black void in that green sea. “Just some guy,” he says after an instant.

“Babysitter?” you tease.

He huffs. “Real funny.”

“...Well, is he?”

“No. He's there to dissuade the Volunteers from approaching me. Or something.”

“Right, right,” you nod, jokingly serious. “So a babysitter, then.”

Eren’s eyes sharpen with the pride of a teenage boy, rising to meet yours. “I am not a—” he stops abruptly. You tilt your head questioningly, inviting him to continue, but his gaze just falls from yours, sun-scorched red appearing down his ears. “Whatever,” he mumbles.

“Uh huh,” you trail off, a bit confused. “I was just joking,” you clarify a beat later, when the expression on his face doesn’t soften.

His lips tighten for a second, before the muscles of his face relax again and detachment colors his factions. “It's fine,” he says after.

The tips of his ears have not lost their crimson color, you notice. If anything, it has spread to his cheeks, his nape, the edges of his forehead. If anything, the tint has all but grown more pronounced, bringing to him the same rosiness you have after hours in the sun. If anything, you think the emotion in his eyes is not indifference, but embarrassment. The question is, what exactly is he embarrassed of?

“If you say so,” you say, eyes unwillingly flitting to the guard a few meters behind him. “I better go anyway,” you say when the silence tethers on awkwardness. “See you?”

He hums a yes—or at least you assume he does—and so you resume your way across the buildings, with a small itch on your nape that only diminishes when you turn a corner, now hidden from Eren’s view. The headache you’re nursing still nestles deep within your skull, but with everything going on, it has blended with your own thoughts’ white noise.

You want to scold yourself a little for the stiltedness with which you had been given and in turn returned. It's weird and it's awkward and you want nothing with it, not with someone you think you’ve grown closer to. Still, not too close, lest you burn. Not that he would burn—well, maybe his titan form could have significantly a higher temperature—

What am I even thinking about? you admonish yourself, steps halting to a stop. The central building where you are headed too is just a few paces away and you’re debating on metaphors and feelings and body temperature? You know exercise is supposed to stimulate blood flow to the brain but wow, this is too much for the morning.

Before you know it, your feet take you into the small vestibule, where a small wooden table with a nice mantel marks the place as something more than just another warehouse. Beyond the door you end up in front of you hear the chattering of a one sided conversation as Hange drones about who-knows-what to the Captain, who's most likely sipping on tea while they wait.

You raise a hesitant hand to knock, doing your best to shove the prickling in the back of your head deep within, so that you may ignore it for the report to come. You don’t expect to be here a long time, so you can probably deal with it for a few minutes.

“Come in!” says an energetic voice from inside, the stream of titan-related statements momentarily paused to welcome you inside.

True to your prediction, there is tea and Levi and Hange, but they are not placed on the intimidating wooden desk that speaks well of both their stations. Instead they are by a window, where the ocean breeze makes their hair flutter in it, and the sunshine rains down like molten light.

The table they sit on is still wooden but unlike the rigid and heavy desk, it is round, made of wood of a lighter color and with three chairs surrounding it. Two chairs are of course occupied by Levi and Hange—the former with a cup of tea precariously held up by his hand, the latter with an encouraging smile on their face—and a third one sits in front of it, although it's less pronounced by the table’s shape.

“I thought we’d sit by the window instead,” Hange says when you sit down, “so it’d be less threatening and all. Tea?”

You clear your throat, take aback by the confession. “Yes, thank you.”

The telling sound of poured boiling water joins the slight creak of your chair when you fidget on it, before you notice it and make the conscious decision to stop.

“So do you?” Levi asks after a beat, gruff voice pulling you out of your mind.

“Sorry?”

“Do you think this is less threatening?”

“Yes—no?” you trip over your words. “Is there a right answer?”

Levi answers with a noncommittal hum and a sip of his cup, which do nothing to reassure you in the slightest.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hange chirps, handing you your cup. It's nicer than some of the things you’ve seen here, and the smell that emanates from it radiates a little bit of comfort that you swallow up when it is offered. It's a little flowery, a little bitter—but it has a tinge of sweetness to it, like the after taste of candy.

But you aren’t here to enjoy tea, so you put it down, keeping your hands around it to ward off the cool salty wind.

“I know I’m like, a glorified hostage to make sure the Volunteers don’t step out of line—” you start.

“Well, no one said that,” Hange says.

If they were your peer, you'd give them a sardonic look, a really? said with just your eyes. But they are your superior, so you swallow your teenage impulse to retort and continue.

“Sure,” you concede, “no one did. But it's what it was phrased like when you first told Yelena of your condition, even if it was something of a misdirection. My point is, rather, that I am a little… worried for tomorrow.”

“For the envoy?” Hange guesses correctly. Levi’s eyebrows tense a little, but it could also be the general atmosphere that’s got him a little apprehensive.

You nod. “Its not the Lady that’s coming yet, right? It's too soon for that.”

“It is,” Hange agrees. “We were told there’d be a small party arriving tomorrow, and to not expect Hizuru’s representative soon. Is that changing?”

You are kind of surprised at how they—or Hange at least—seems to heed your warnings, however indefinite or vague they are. You’d thought that becoming an advisor of sorts would be more difficult, but this give and take relationship you have going on is doing nothing but good things for you. Of course, you still expect them to take precautions with whatever you’re saying; in this political climate it would be foolish not to do so. But still. This pleases you.

“I don’t think so,” you say. “As far as I'm concerned, everything is still in place for tomorrow, although there's a few pointers I want to leave to your discretion.”

Hange invites you to continue with a nod, and Levi’s silence doesn’t go unnoticed by you, more encouraging than curt in its nature.

“I don’t know the extent of what you’ve been told,” you say, praying Yelena doesn’t lynch you for the slight changes you are making to the script you had been given, “but Hizuru and Paradis do have historic antecedents of being allies, so at least there’s that. But for as much as they want to be buddies, they won’t take a deal that won’t benefit them.”

“And what does this mean for tomorrow?” Levi questions.

“Not a lot,” you say, rummaging through your memories for something of value. “But for when the Lady arrives in the future, there needs to be some sort of agreement already drawn up, so the island doesn’t get the short end of the stick. She is curious; if you make a comment here or there about trade deals or something to do with the natural resources or Paradis, she’ll surely take the bait.”

You take a breath before continuing. “For now, I’d say giving them a gift or a token to bring back to Hizuru would be enough. Something to show them that the island will be a player but not a pawn.”

“You want to gain their favor,” he states, impassively.

“Yes sir,” you answer. “They are your link with the outside world. It's a bridge you do not want to burn.”

They both seem to contemplate your words, and you let them deliberate on their meaning when you turn your head to the window, observing as sea birds whirl by. The constant thumping that is pressed against your head is only there when you remember it exists, and so it thumps again and again, until Hange speaks.

“That’d be all for now,” they say, a little less cheerful but no less kind. “Thank you for the caution.”

“Its no problem,” you say, downing the last of your tea. It tasted nice—maybe you’d ask one of the Scouts to get the recipe for the blend from Levi sometime. “I’ll take my leave then.”

You have a foot out the door and then the other, crossing the small foyer after leaving Levi and Hange to steep in your warnings like the infusion in the teapot that rested on the honey-colored table. The beverage has quenched a little of the thirst you had developed after the morning with Sasha and Mikasa, but the hunger is still there.

And so you make your way down hills and around paths to the harbor, where a fishy smell welcomes you to the first vestige of Niccolo’s kitchen.

[inkedinfusions]

curveball!!! normal chapter today and normal chapter nextish week lol

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i fucking love reactions in texting apps like discord. theyve revolutionized how i communicate. i can put a bug on your message

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spies are forever au with satosugu

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crumbs

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i feel like high school/middle school sitcoms set the unrealistic expectation of being able to have lunch time outside

[inkedinfusions]

ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘɢ (ꜰᴏʀ ᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴜᴛ-ᴡʀᴇɴᴄʜɪɴɢ)

Your boyfriend cries at kids’ movies, and you fall in love a little more each time.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

The first time it happens, you think he’s messing with you.

You’re sitting in a mostly empty theater, paper bucket of popcorn between you and massively oversized soda cups balanced in the armrests. It’s Sunday afternoon, and the movie is meant to be background noise. Something soft and harmless to fill the space between brunch and bedtime.

But somewhere around the part where Miguel sings “Remember Me” to his great-grandma, you glance over and catch Satoru swiping at his eyes.

“Are you..” you whisper, leaning in.

He turns just enough for you to see his lashes, wet and catching the light. “Shut up.”

Your lips twitch. “You’re crying?”

“I said shut up.”

Except his voice cracks on the last word, and now you’re laughing quietly, clutching the armrest like it’s keeping you grounded.

“Babe,” you murmur, fiddling through your purse to get him one of those compact tissues you keep on hand. “It’s rated PG.”

He sniffs. “I’m a kid at heart.”

And maybe that’s the moment. The one that melts itself beneath your ribs and attaches to your heart. Because Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, absolute menace of a man, is crying over a boy playing guitar for his great-grandmother.

And you’re not even surprised. Not really.

Not when you know the way he talks to old women like they’re royalty. The way he puts your phone on the charger when you forget, or leaves painkillers beside a glass of water when he hears you muttering about a headache. Not when he insists on holding your hand through every flight, even though he doesn’t mind turbulence, just because he knows you do.

He does plenty of grand gestures, too. Stands on the street outside your apartment window, waiting for you to look outside and see the absolutely gigantic bouquet held in both of his arms. 

But it’s more than what he does. It’s who he is.

You lean over and kiss his cheek.

He lets out a shuddering exhale. “If I die, promise me you’ll remember me. And you’ll write me a song with a guitar that people will listen and cry to so I’ll remain super popular forever and ever.”

You snort.

On the ride home, he asks you to play the song again.

You make a habit of it after that.

Once or twice a month, when the world gets too loud or his shoulders start to carry too much, you buy tickets. Always animated. Always sweet. No gritty realism, no grey areas. Just magical families and memories and robot hugs.

He plays it cool in line. Wears shades like he’s not going to stack 3d glasses on top of them in five minutes. Acts like the arm around your waist is for your protection, and not to guide you to the concession stand.

Acts like he's not going to cry. He will. He does.

Sometimes, it’s a single tear, rolling down his cheekbone like it has somewhere to be. Sometimes it’s a slow unraveling, a shaky breath, a hand that searches for yours in the dark. One time it’s full-on sobs, shoulders trembling while Bing Bong fades into the nothingness of the Memory Dump. 

You squeeze his hand. He squeezes back without a word.

But on the drive home, he’ll talk about it.

“He let himself disappear so Joy could get back,” he mutters, eyes on the road.

You glance at him. “Did you like it when he said ‘Take her to the moon for me’?”

He shakes his head, brow furrowed as if he’s processing a detrimental, life-changing development. “No. Because what kind of animated fever dream has the audacity to hit you with a cosmic metaphor for life, death, and self-sacrifice disguised as a pink elephant in a cotton candy wagon? What were the writers smoking and where can I get some so I can finally understand my feelings?”

You laugh and take his free hand, intertwining your fingers, arms resting on the center console. “You’re soft.”

“You love me.”

You do.

He hesitates, then speaks again, quieter. “You’re the Joy to my Bing Bong.”

You turn to him, eyes trailing over his expression. “..you’re Sadness, Toru.”

“Hey!”

You start to notice it after the third or fourth movie.

The way he sighs a little too long at the happy endings. The way his hand lingers on yours just a second more than usual when the lights come up. The way he stares straight ahead without a word when the credits roll. No laughing. Not even a tear. Like he’s trying to memorize the moment, the feeling, before it fades.

“Hey,” you say once, nudging him gently. “You okay?”

He blinks, smiles, and holds your hand a little tighter. “Yeah. Just.. thinking.”

“About?”

He shrugs. “Time. People. Stuff.”

You raise a brow. “Ominous.”

“You’d hate if I got specific.”

You don’t push. You figure it’s just a bad day. One of those lingering shadows from missions he never talks about.

But later, when you’re back home and he’s watching the city lights through the window instead of sleeping, you hear him whisper, like it’s not meant for you at all. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

You don’t understand what he means. Not yet. But you feel the same way.

Sometimes, when you have free time and don’t want to go to the movies, you sit on the couch with him and put on his favorite. Big Hero 6.

He tries to hold out. Really, he does.

But the moment Baymax says, in that soft, robotic voice, “Are you satisfied with your care?”, and is left in the portal, Satoru lets out a broken little hiccup that turns into a full-body sob.

You blink. “Babe–?”

He lifts a hand to cover his eyes, the other still wrapped tightly around you. “He just wanted to help.”

You bite back a smile. “I know.”

“That’s all he wanted,” he says, voice thick, and now he’s sitting up and wiping his face with the hem of his hoodie. “That’s literally the only thing he was made for, and he still– he still–”

“Died,” you finish gently.

He wails. “And he didn’t even get to finish his sentence, are you kidding me?”

You press your hand to his forehead and lie his head down on your lap, fingers threading through his hair. “You’re gonna short-circuit if you keep crying, Toru.”

He settles into your lap before responding. “That line should be illegal.”

“It should, Toru.”

A beat passes. Then he whines. “Like, am I satisfied with my care? No! I’ll never be satisfied again! He was a robot, baby! His brother made Baymax for him to help, and he just– he kept helping, he went out helping–”

You smile and pinch his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous for making me watch this again.”

“You asked me to put it on.”

“Because I forgot how much it hurts.”

You laugh. “He’ll rebuild Baymax, babe.”

“..I know.”

And maybe he’s still blubbering a little, and maybe you’re still laughing. But the way he clings to you, like the ache of the world softens when you’re close, is the real ending. The quiet epilogue.

So when he mutters, all teary and trembling, “I just want to help, too,” you whisper, “I know.”

Because he does.

He always has.

And when he leaves for that Shibuya “work trip” – the one he swears won’t take too long, the one he jokes about, promising to bring back weird vending machine snacks – you still play the songs. Still buy the tickets. Still keep the tissues in your purse, even if the reason for the habit is gone.

The theater lights go dim. The screen glows to life. A boy strums a guitar, or a robot hugs a child, or a princess finds her way home. You watch and smile, just barely, like you're saving the moment for his hiccuped sobs. You like to imagine he's somewhere in the emptiness of the seat beside you, somewhere you can't reach or see.

Sometimes, you reach over anyway. Just in case. Hoping your hand will catch something, anything, to prove he's still right beside you.

And when the movie ends, you stay seated.

A part of you hopes that if you wait long enough, he'll turn to you again, eyes shining as he says something like "the pink elephant is a metaphor for self-sacrifice."

But he doesn't.

So you whisper it for him.

Because now, love is nothing more than a lingering echo of his voice in the dark, asking are you satisfied with your care?

And no, you don't grab a guitar. You don't write a song.

But you remember him. You always will.

And when the lights come up and no one's there to squeeze your hand, you cry. As if the grief can bring him back, somehow, somewhere in the breath between the last scene and the credits.

[inkedinfusions]

orv bookmark draws, pt. 7: the ending you deserve - chps 514 kdj + od, 515 sp + od

[parts 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6]