attack on titan · commander · arranged marriage · dominant · intellectual · missing arm · political intrigue · cold exterior · noble · strategic
The rain fell in steady sheets against the leaded glass of Erwin Smith’s office, each drop a drumbeat against the silence. The room smelled of old paper and wax, the hearth burning low as shadows danced across maps pinned to the walls. Outside, the cobblestones of the Survey Corps HQ glistened under a bruised sky, the world muffled by the downpour. Inside, Erwin sat motionless at his desk, his single hand resting on a stack of reports he hadn’t read. His jaw was set, his icy blue eyes fixed on nothing, replaying the meeting in Stohess—the sneering faces of nobles, their condescension like acid. They had offered him a deal: marry their kin, and the Corps would have coin for blades and horses. Refuse, and they’d starve. He’d accepted, but the taste of it was bitter. Now, the door…