dorms-fic-archive

[dorms-fic-archive]

Between Heaven and Earth: Chapter Three

a/n: Trying out shorter chapters, for the sake of editing and pacing.

Before the breach, Eren’s biggest opponents were childhood bullies who picked on him or Armin, and the occasional doubter of the Scouting Legion’s potential. Whereas his mother was against the idea of his enlistment from the beginning, his father suggested he could become a field medic. After all, there were more ways to help humanity than killing Titans. A lesser evil, no doubt posed for his mother’s sake. To Eren, it was better than disapproval.

Once Mikasa came to live with their family, she took the spot next to Eren’s bed in the loft. She was so quiet, if Eren hadn’t gotten to know her so well he’d have assumed she was only shy. But she looked out for him in the same way he did Armin, like the sister he’d never had. Sure, she could be a little stubborn and overprotective, chiding him for picking fights he couldn’t win, but Eren never loathed her for it. She was just keeping him on the straight and narrow, same as he’d do for her or Armin or anyone important.

That afternoon they spent chopping wood. Mikasa was pretty good at it, having grown up in the countryside. Armin couldn’t keep the same pace with the axe, too nervous of the potential for harm. He’d struggle to carry home the amount of wood as Eren, though he never complained about it. When Eren offered to help him, though, Armin would snap that he was fine, that he didn’t need to be worried after.

Eren didn’t get it. He wasn’t worrying after Armin, anyone could see that he was struggling, but that just made it worse. So he gave Armin his space, for the sake of their friendship. Eren didn’t mind bringing Mikasa along. If Armin felt differently, he didn’t say.

On the way back, they passed by a couple Garrison soldiers playing cards. Mister Hannes wasn’t at his post to-day. Probably blotto.

“She’s part of the family,” Eren said.

“Yeah,” the Garrison soldier said, “we heard about what happened. You’ve got the luck of the Devil.”

Eren shrugged. “I’d do it again.”

The men shared a laugh, more to themselves.

Mikasa said nothing for a while. Moving on, the usual silence between them felt different. When she asked, “Why the Scouting Legion?” Eren hesitated. Armin had made him swear not to tell anyone about his grandfather’s theories. Not even his mother and father would speak of it.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Mikasa nodded.

Eren turned down a side-street, away from prying eyes. “ Because there must be a world beyond these Walls,” he said. “Just like the Titans. We don’t know where they come from or how they’re created, so it stands to reason we must not know about what’s on the other side of the Walls. Once the Titans are eradicated, we can take back what was stolen from humanity.”

“How can you be sure it’s true?”

Eren shrugged her off. “What does that matter if I’m sure or not? It’s our right to see what’s out there.”

Mikasa frowned slightly. “What’s out there?”

“Armin told me,” he said quietly. “His grandfather knows a lot of things about the outside world. He has books from the world outside the Walls. But his family could get in a lot of trouble if anyone finds out. They’ll say he’s spreading misinformation.”

Mikasa nodded. She readjusted the scarf. She never went a day without it. His mother would’ve chastised her by now.

“You should wash it,” he said, “before you wear it out.”

“I know,” she muttered. “It just reminds me of you.”

Eren said, “Why does that matter?”

Mikasa wouldn’t talk to him. She wouldn’t explain what he’d done to upset her, either.

When they got back to the house and his mother asked how they’d been, Mikasa parroted his statement about the Scouting Regiment.

“Yes,” his mother said dryly, “I’ve yet to change his mind.”

Eren shot Mikasa a look. Was she still upset? Or just playing mother hen? What did she know about the Scouting Legion, anyway?

“The Garrison is already overcrowded,” Eren said. “And the Military Police is corrupt, they'd sooner sit on their asses then fix anything.”

“The military just want to boost their numbers,” his mother said. “They've been working on their slogans to make up for it.”

Eren scowled at the pile of lumber he'd brought in. Mikasa's eyes rested on the side of his neck.

“They’re doing the job that no one else can,” he said. “It’s more than the Garrison have done.”

The plate slipped from his mother’s hands and shattered against the floor. Mikasa flinched. Eren did not.

“The Scouting Legion,” his mother said, in a tight voice, “has taken more lives campaigning for a suicide mission than the plague did. If that’s what your heart is set on, you might as well just throw your life away.”

“We’re no better than livestock then. Why have a military at all?”

“Better to be livestock then carrion,” his mother said.

Even then, Eren couldn't muster any real animosity beyond childish frustration. She was saying it to protect him, the only way she knew. She'd lived her whole life inside the Walls and never questioned what she was told. She’d grown too comfortable, hunkered down in this house, wasting away.

While Eren took out his feelings on the washboard and laundry, Mikasa stayed behind to help his mother with dinner. Usually Eren would be the one pitching in, but with two equally stubborn people living under the same roof, they’d get into another argument if they didn’t cool off first. Besides, his mother had taken kindly to Mikasa. She probably appreciated the extra help.

After dinner, his mother took him aside. Eren was bracing himself for another lecture about humanity’s sake not being his burden, and how he should at least try to think about his future rather than an ideal. But all she asked about was Mikasa’s change in mood.

“Oh, well, I said she ought to wash the scarf before she wore it out. And she said it reminded her of me, which doesn’t change what I said. It’s her scarf now. She can wear it if she wants to, it’s just going to get dirty is all.”

His mother sighed. “Eren, I don’t think she’s unaware.”

Eren averted his eyes. “I reckon that I hurt her feelings.”

“She told me about the day you found her. It’s a nice memory,” his mother said. “Perhaps one of the few memories she has of that day. Sometimes, when people are grieving, they’ll act in ways that might seem a little strange. Just give her some time to adjust. I’m sure she’ll wash the scarf.”

“Right,” he said. He was about to apologise for their fight, but his mother had a habit of shrugging the topic off when it came to the military. So he wouldn’t bring it up anymore, at least not while she was present. Five years was a long time away from conscription.

As he got ready for bed, Mikasa was sitting by the window with the dying flame of a candlewick. The view wasn’t much. From the belltower, you’d be able to see all the way to the river that ran through Shiganshina. But here, you couldn’t even see over the Wall, though that wasn’t much to write home about either.

“It’s a nice view,” Mikasa said. “Even with all these buildings in the way. It’s a lot of roofs.”

Eren huffed. “I guess I never really thought about it that way.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “About those Garrison men. I shouldn’t have talked so much about what happened.”

Mikasa looked at him oddly. “Why not?”

“Because—it’s none of their business.”

“All they need to know is that I live with your family now, after my parents died. Otherwise it would be a little odd.”

“Why would that be odd?”

She shrugged. “Because I had to come from somewhere. Unless Doctor Jaeger kidnaps children in his spare time, which isn’t likely. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible either. Maybe that’s why he’s gone for such a long period of time.”

Eren snorted. “You’re being silly.”

The corner of her mouth turned. “But he could be harbouring secrets we don’t know about. How do you really know he’s going where he says?”

Eren shook his head. “He’s just working in the next town over. Mister Hannes and the other Garrison soldiers know him. Captain Shadis, as well, so they’d know if he wasn’t where he said.”

“Shadis?”

“That’s right, I never told you. Captain Shadis is in the Scouting Legion.”

“Did your father ever join?”

“No, he’s just a regular doctor. I used to think he’d be a field medic at least.”

The candle snuffed out with the breeze. Eren hiked his shoulders up to disguise a shiver. Mikasa went to close the shutters and he said, “I’m sorry for what I said, about the scarf.”

Mikasa paused. “It’s all right.”

⁂

Between the evening of Wall Maria’s breach, and waking up next to Armin and Mikasa in the workhouse, there was a gap in Eren’s memory. Whenever roused, unsure of himself, he would reach for his breast and find the shape of the key. Physical evidence of the home he’d once occupied.

Armin and Mikasa, and Mister Hannes, they hadn’t watched. Eren could’ve closed his eyes against what was happening, but he was powerless. Clinging to rage, it wasn’t for the sake of bravery. It was the only just response in a world so unfathomably cruel.

On the boat, the Garrison soldiers gave them all rations and a canteen to pass around. When Armin passed it to him, Mikasa grabbed Eren’s wrist with a start.

He’d torn his nails attempting to lift the cross-section of a beam too heavy for him. When Mister Hannes pulled him away from the wreckage, Eren’s bloody fingerprints were all over his Garrison jacket. The dull red crust coagulated around his nailbed.

“It’s not that bad,” Eren said. He didn’t react to her grip.

Mikasa’s eyes turned stony. She tore a small scrap of cloth from the hem of her dress, before he could protest, and wrapped it gently around his fingers.

“You’ll see a proper doctor,” she said. “Once we get to Trost.”

Eren nodded. He was staring ahead. Without any Titans present to project his rage onto, he was void of sentiment. Armin laid his head on Eren’s shoulder, and Mikasa’s arm came around them both.

⁂

Despite his record for injuries—concussion in 848, multiple sprains, a broken leg, abdominal puncture in 850—he’d managed to pull through each time. The nurses said he was in peak physical condition.

There was the tattoo inscribed into Mikasa's wrist she always kept covered. Tiny nicks in Armin's fingers from repeated ODM gear maintenance, a shallow cut down his palm—the slip of a knife during kitchen duty. Bruises in the shape of their ODM harnesses.

His body remained uncalloused, difficult to bruise. He’d catch his gaze in the mirror and swear they weren’t always so grey. When he looked at his hands, his body, his mind supplied an impression of pain without proof.

Private Jaeger had the luck of the Devil, they’d said. Eren grinned and went along with it. But it wasn’t some miracle, nor an aspect of his personality he'd choose to define himself—if you’d asked him, he’d say he was no thrill-seeker, just doing whatever was required to become adept with the ODM gear. The sooner he mastered it, the faster he could get onto the front lines and start eradicating Titans.

Mikasa's explanations were too technical, but she was friends with Bertholdt and Reiner and top of the class. She could keep up with them, but she chose to handicap herself by sticking to his side. Even when he made it very clear she didn’t have to, and that he didn’t want to be responsible for her in such a way. If she wanted to join the Legion or the Garrison, she could decide for herself. Just because his mother said to keep an eye on him, he’d think, it doesn’t mean you’re indebted to me.

He’d been reliving the same nightmare ever since leaving Shiganshina. Contrary to what other cadets assumed, it was never about the day itself. His mother’s body, thrashing. She screamed for a while, until the Titan squeezed its grip and her body twisted in on itself. She couldn’t scream anymore, just twitched feebly. His imagination filled in the blanks his emotions refused to accept. There wasn’t much to see at a distance, Mister Hannes’s pace, the cobblestones.

He could go over it, in his mind, but these associations never bled into his dreams. Mikasa and Armin, and the others, they’d just assume as long as he kept his mouth shut. It was easier to explain, under the guise of Titan-loathing mania. Why wouldn’t he dream about his mother’s last moments?

The dissonance used to eat away at him, whenever he wasn’t occupied. Throwing himself into farmwork, training exercises, unarmed combat with anyone willing to scrap, getting thrown around by Leonhardt, a couple snarling matches with Kirschtein. Drinking with the other cadets didn’t stop it so much as heighten his own awareness of his lack—the weight of the key on his breast was an anchor.

⁂

The day Eren's father took him to the basement, Mikasa was running an errand with his mother. It wasn't often Eren got to spend time with his father outside of a work-related context. The basement was where he worked, and he didn’t like to be disturbed.

His father bade him to sit. "This is a perfectly safe procedure. You will enter into a state of increased relaxation and focus, but you will be in control the entire time."

Eren shrugged.

His father pulled out a syringe and rolled up his sleeve. It pricked a bit, but his father was calm throughout the whole process. Eren followed the sound of his voice. That wasn’t so bad.

“Do you feel any different?”

“No, sir.” Eren figured they should probably go back upstairs. Mikasa and his mother would be home soon. His father stared at the desk for a long time. “What was the shot for?”

His father seemed to startle. A slight shift of his shoulders. “For your health. You’re the right age for it.”

His father had no reason to lie.

That evening, Eren turned up feverish. A foul taste lingered in his mouth, like iron and salt. His mother prepared dinner, and the smell of the meat made him want to throw up. He hadn’t meant to. He tried to apologise but all he could taste was iron and salt. It was affecting his sense of smell, or wasn’t it the other way around? He was trembling and blanching, but when he tried to explain he’d just retch again.

His father kept him bedridden and insisted he have no visitors. He said it was stomach flu, but that didn’t make sense to Eren. This blood taste didn’t make sense either. His teeth were fine, no open wounds inside his mouth. He could drink water without vomiting. “Dad,” he rasped, “I think—”

“You’re exhausted,” his father said, in a polite tone he only used with patients that were being unreasonable. “You need sleep.”

That week, his father stayed home and worked in the basement. Eren would listen to the sound of passing horse carts and pedestrians. Mikasa would talk to him about her day, or lay another wet cloth on his brow.

“You’re really feverish,” she said. “I should tell Mr. Jaeger.”

Eren reached for her wrist. “It’s all right,” he said. “I'm feeling better than I was.” He smiled, even though all the muscles in his body were on fire. It didn’t seem to reassure her.

“I’ll just let him know.”

“Mikasa, just wait until he comes upstairs.”

Mikasa held his gaze. “Why?”

Eren frowned. “He doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s working.”

Mikasa was still looking at him.

His parents’ hushed voices, as though he could sleep with midday sunlight pouring through the window.

After a few days, Eren was up and walking again. The metallic aftertaste was still there, just dulled.

The door, usually locked, was open. The food Mikasa left the night before was congealed to the plate. When his father was busy, he could go hours without eating.

He was looking over at the desk, a strange and uncomfortable silence lingered.

“You should be in bed,” he began. It was a strange tone, as if he’d been caught unawares. 

“Sorry, sir. Mikasa wanted to know if you were all right.”

“I’m fine. Just lost track of time.” He readjusted his glasses. “You’re feeling better, I take it?”

“Yes, sir.” Eren couldn’t help it. “Honestly, I feel well enough to go into town with Mikasa.”

“That's precisely why you need to rest,” his father said coolly. “Give it a few more days.”

Surely, his father would’ve locked the door if it were so important. If Eren was contagious, he’d have said as much from the beginning. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that Mikasa didn’t get sick. Nor did you, or mother—so I guessed it wasn’t as serious as it seemed.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” his father snapped. “Armin’s family has enough problems without worrying about his health. You were just throwing up, for God’s sake.”

Eren glanced at the food. He went to take it.

“Leave it,” his father said. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

“You lied to mum about the food. It wasn’t spoiled.”

His father’s laugh was an ugly thing. A rictus grin, as he said, very quietly, “What exactly are you implying? That I’m trying to poison you and your mother?”

Mikasa was upstairs, asleep. There wasn’t anything Eren could say that would assuage this situation. Stupidly, he said, “You’re not making any sense.”

His father grabbed the plate and threw it. It would’ve hit Eren upside the head if his father’s aim hadn’t wavered. Eren flinched as it hit the wall.

“What the hell are you looking at?” he snapped. “I said I’d take care of it, didn’t I?”

The silence was suffocating as Eren rounded up the stairs. Stalking outside, he’d gone for a lap, his skin tingling and feverish, but he didn’t feel anything close to fatigue. He could’ve done several rounds around the neighborhood, but he didn't want to alarm his mother or Mikasa by staying out too long. 

He sat on the riverbank and hurled rocks across the water's surface until he felt a little less like punching something. He took off his shoes and let his feet slip into the water. Up to his ankles, he watched the water steam around his ankles. If he stayed here long enough, he could evaporate all the water in Shiganshina, but his mother would worry and it was a stupid thing to dream anyway.

“Your mother and I wanted to be sure you were all right.”

Eren bristled. "Fine. Feeling better."

His mother excused herself.

“Did you tell that to Mikasa?” Eren spat. “You scared the hell out of her.”

His father blinked. “No, son. I wasn’t angry at her, or you. I’ve been under a tremendous pressure, with work. But that’s no excuse for how I acted this morning.”

Eren set his jaw.

“I just want you to know,” his father said, “that I’m sorry.”

"OK," Eren said. "I believe you."

His father's smile didn't reach his eyes.

⁂

Staring at the underside of the bunk, Eren tasted iron and salt. His eyes were wet, but he could not place a reason.

At the far end of the barracks, Bertholdt was reciting something under his breath. Eren couldn't make out the words, but he laid still, grounding himself in the cadence until his breathing relaxed.

⁂

His first deployment was over before he had the chance to offer more than a few words of courage to his fellow trainees. Defending the Wall from an inevitable breach. Fifteen and bleeding out on the hot rooftop. The damned Titan that ripped his leg was crawling around.

He’d been shouting at Private Kirschtein, stuffing down his own emotions. Kirschtein, if he survived, would just go to Sina anyway. They’d never speak to each other, or get along out of anything other than necessity.

Anyone would be terrified. Eren shoved down his fear and let it expel as authority. He wasn’t any less afraid, just never gave himself into the luxury of that realization. His allies, half-eaten and screaming for help. The best he could do was lie there, leg serrated and pulsing hot blood onto the roof.

Tiles grinding against bare flesh of his knee as he pushed himself up on what was left. The chinos torn and saturated with blood. Bare muscle met tile but he couldn’t feel much beyond the blood pumping from the open wound.

The leg the Titan chewed off felt heavier than it should. His equilibrium was askew. A dull phantom pain shot up the leg he’d lost. He bent double, unable to accept what his sight was telling him. Bones sprouting out of torn flesh, sheathed in sinew and hemic tissue. The flesh wrapped around the newly formed appendage, raw and pink.

He stared at his naked leg, covered in blood and viscera, as if he’d shoved it inside a cow’s stomach. The skin was raw and flaky around the shape of the bite, chinos torn to match.

High pitched scream cut through the confusion. Eren forced himself to crouch unevenly. He was fortunate the Titan had only eaten away the calf. If he could line up with the building he could shoot across and vault over it.

Racing against time. His own body sluggish. He'd lost a lot of blood, running purely on adrenaline.

"You can't die," Eren shouted. "You and I still have to see what's on the other side of Wall Maria."

Armin looked down at where the leg shouldn’t’ve been. He opened his mouth to say something but the Titan’s jaws closed around Eren leaving only the impression of an anguished scream and his own pounding heart.

Falling into darkness.

Impact with liquid, submerged.

Iron and acid in the back of his throat.

Breaking the surface. Hot, rank air sucked into his burning lungs.

Thick smell of pine and cigarettes overtaken by sweeter stink of rot.

Through the haze of pain the small metal shape dug into his breast, burning an imprint into skin. He could keep himself afloat. He’d been swimming in the river by his house since he was little.

Up to his ankles, his skin steamed against the river's current.

Armin was up there.

His left arm from the elbow down had already reformed itself, the skin raw. Bone and muscle where he'd torn the new-grown flesh of his fingers.

"Do you wish to save them, Armin and Mikasa?"

Naked shin bumped against the carrion beside him. The bottom of the Titan’s stomach, or simply the mass of bodies that came before him, indistinguishable. Titans couldn’t digest what they ate, so they’d just excrete the excess and continue. He'd have to cut his way out. Without his blades, that was close to impossible.

Clawing for purchase on the nearest body in-uniform. The ODM canister snagged on one of the bodies, weighing him down. He fumbled with the belt, already corroded by acid, crumbling apart. Drawing the blade from its scabbard, he plunged it into the slick impenetrable surface above him. Up to the hilt, dragging down with all of his strength. The hilt came back, blade snapped off partway within the holster. Blades were built to slash and discard.

He drove it forwards, blind, stabbing into the same slick meat as if the situation would change. An unrecognizable scream tore from his throat. The hairs on his arms and legs stood up. A flash of light from inside himself, the skin on his regrown fingers torn where he’d clawed over so many fallen comrades.

Syringe piercing flesh. 

A trembulous embrace. Tears stained the boy's cheek.

The body he called up from will alone tore apart its confines. Tall as the clocktower itself, a miasma of blood inhaled and exhumed.

The ones who stumbled around like drunken men, unable to recall themselves. Shambling around the narrow streets in search of prey. Dispatching them was simple when they didn’t have the will to fight back. More clustered in the square, encumbered by their own hunger.

Tiny figures vaulted across rooftops, shouting to each other. Significance of their words fell away from his original imperative.

"You must master this power."

⁂

He’d surely wake up to his final moments on a stretcher, all of his hopes dashed to pieces along with his comrades and missing limbs. Awash in a morphine haze.

Instead, his eyes fell to the darkened ceiling. Three stone walls, a hard mattress beneath him and fresh sheets. Manacles at either wrist. On the opposide side of the iron bars, two guards silhouetted in the torchlight. Now that Eren was looking, they weren’t much older than him.

“Hey,” he said. “Where am I? Where’s Armin?”

“Be quiet,” the first MP said, a fair-haired boy of average height. “Commander Irvin’s requested an audience with you.”

Eren froze. “Commander Irvin?” His brain finally kicked back into gear.

I was in the Titan's stomach, and then—Armin. I heard his voice.

A twinge in his shoulder.

Armin was there. Mikasa, too. They must be alive, still. "Where's Mikasa?" 

“I said quiet,” the boy snapped. “You’re lucky enough to be in a cell and not in front of a firing squad, Titan.”

“Feulner,” said the MP on his right, lanky and dark-haired, “leave him alone.”

Was the mission a success? Are Armin and the others still alive? What's the last thing I remember?

Why are they so afraid of me?

"Did—did they survive? Armin and Mikasa?"

"Yeah," the soldier on the right said. "They're safe. A few others didn't make it. You'll be briefed once the tribunal is over."

Tribunal? What the hell did I do? Where's—

He couldn't move his arms. But the lack of the weight against his breast was tangible. A rising panic clenched his insides.

"The key," he blurted. "Where is it?"

Feulner looked at Freudenberg as if to say, what the hell is he talking about?

"Your personal belongings were collected after you were retrieved from the Titan's body," said Freudenberg carefully. "If you cooperate, you'll receive it and anything else that was on your person."

Eren slumped back against the bed. Bare feet planted on the stone. "You're telling me the truth?"

"Yes."

Feulner scoffed. "He's out of his mind."

"Shut up, Feulner," Freudenberg snapped. "The tribunal will decide what his fate will be." He glanced at Eren. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Eren glanced at his manacled hands. "I was in the Titan's stomach. Then—I did what had to be done, for the sake of my comrades."

Freudenberg averted his eyes first. "All right, Jaeger. I believe you."

#snk #aot #eren jaeger #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #fanfic #fanfiction #multichapter #slow burn #boris feulner #marlowe freudenberg #armin arlert #mikasa ackermann #grisha jaeger #karla jaeger #canon divergent

[dorms-fic-archive]

Between Heaven and Earth -- Masterlist

Summary: Two years into the Paradis Operation, Marley's Warriors have no trace of the Coordinate. Joining the Training Corps should offer an easy path into Paradis's military branches. Complications arise when Leonhardt agrees to mentor Eren Jaeger; the scrappy, angry cadet with inexplicable night terrors and a talent for shrugging off deadly training injuries. [AU, eventual ereannie]

Prologue: Part One [Ao3] | [FFNet] | [Tumblr]

Prologue: Part Two [Ao3] | [FFNet] | [Tumblr]

Chapter One: [Ao3] | [FFNet] | [Tumblr]

Chapter Two: [Ao3] | [FFNet] | [Tumblr]

Chapter Three: [Ao3] | [FFNet] | [Tumblr]

#snk #aot #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #reblog #fanfic #fanfiction #canon rewrite #moodboard #masterlist

[dorms-fic-archive]

Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

a/n: Illustrations commissioned from the one-and-only @addictivities. You can read the first chapter of the fic here with better formatting (it was written in 2013, so beware the jump in quality) but it's not required to understand this chapter.

Chapter Two: Hidden

Crimson light filtering in through miniscule cracks in the wooden walls could signify dusk or daybreak. Condensation tricked down in random droplets from a ceiling high above. He walked the perimeter of the room, then doubled back the way he'd come. Glancing down at the single poké ball on his belt. Red-and-white paint chipped away around the button, revealing the plastic beneath.

The straps of his bag did not bite into his shoulders. He took it off and rummaged through it. Empty pockets. Nothing in his wallet either, save his old trainer ID. Blocky, illegible text adjacent a familiar photo taking up half of the card's face. The kid in the picture smirked at him, wearing the same ochre sports jacket, the gym-shorts and sneakers with that cap to match.

He flipped the card over. The lower half detailed a series of portraits numbered one through eight, two rows of four. He could barely make out their faces.

An inexplicable sensation of deja-vu gripped his stomach.

His POKéGEAR, discarded a few steps away, gave off its own illumination. He picked it up. Its screen—cracked, warped, flickering—frozen on the MAP setting. A pixelated avatar marched in-place over a black void.

He reattached it to his wrist. There are only five places in the Johto region that I could be. The lighthouse in Olivine. The Battle Tower. The Burned and Tin Towers in Ecruteak. And in Violet City, there's one more. I haven't been here since I got my first badge from Faulkner. Where are all the sages?

Floorboards creaked beneath his shoes as he approached the central pillar. Upon closer inspection, he found a small aperture on the other side, just large enough for one person. There was no visible sign of a bottom, and the only way down was a wooden ladder.

With a sense of resolve, Gold brought out his lone poké ball. Flash of red light limned the room and faded. The cyndaquil began snuffling at the floorboards. Gold looked down at the poké ball in his hand. Above the button was an inscription: no. 155, HURRY.

His cyndaquil had long since evolved into a typhlosion. He'd neglected to give her a nickname—at the time, he wasn't thinking about it very deeply. Wasn't there a guy from Johto who specialized in rating nicknames? He must've visited that place. He'd have plenty of time to ask around, once he was somewhere familiar.

"Hurry?" The pokémon turned at the sound of his voice. Gold crouched down and it stumbled over to him, nosing at his palm.

I'm probably just on one of the upper floors of Sprout Tower. Whatever the case, I'll go check in at the pokécenter in Violet City. Once I have my team back, I can try to figure out how I got here.

Gold walked over to the ladder, took the poké ball and recalled cyndaquil. The ladder creaked once he put his foot in the first rung. The air got colder as he descended, his bare legs prickling. His POKéGEAR buzzed unexpectedly to life, causing Gold to momentarily lose his footing on the next rung and gripped on tightly, catching his breath. The frequency resolved into discordant humming.

He'd tested the effects of the radio with wild unown before. The Ruins of Alph were pretty close to Violet City, as was the sprawling Union Cave. It was unlikely, but not impossible. But it didn't explain the cyndaquil.

Once his feet touched solid ground, he could relax a little. When he looked up there wasn't any sign of the room he'd come from. The air tasted damp and stale.

He released Hurry again. In the brief flash of illumination, he could see he was at the start of a long tunnel but couldn't discern any details.

Gold said, "I don't suppose you know Flash?"

Its back sputtered, then flared up, settling into a gentler glow. Gold had to squint to make out his surroundings. Hurry just squeaked happily. It started walking down the corridor, turning back and chirping at him.

Gold chuckled. "Are you gonna lead the way, too?"

Despite its energetic temperament, the pokémon seemed reluctant to stray too far from Gold's side. As his eyes adjusted he could see that the walls of the tunnel were carved out of hard-packed earth.

They must be somewhere under Violet City. If they kept walking, eventually they would get to Union Cave. Evidently, there was some secret passageway from Sprout Tower to the Ruins of Alph he didn't know about. If they weren't so far underground, he could check his map.

Hurry made better company. The echoing frequencies of the POKéGEAR hadn't stopped. He switched over to the radio screen. The dial was stuck directly on 13.5. When he tried to change the station, then switch to a different application, it didn't register.

He hadn't explored Union Cave or the ruins too excessively, focusing all of his attention on the Indigo League and building up his team. The POKéDEX only required a single unown to register as caught.

The light seemed to grow dimmer as the cyndaquil kept moving. Gold quickened his pace.

He was hyperaware of his own breath, his thumping heart. His head throbbed along with the radio. If it wasn't strapped to his wrist, he'd throw it against the wall just to hear himself think.

He needed it in working condition. Maybe someone would pick up the signal and rescue him. No use working himself up over a stupid radio signal, but that was a hell of a lot easier to say when he had six high-level pokémon on his side. A cold sweat formed under the heavy jacket.

He couldn't see his hand in front of his face.

"Where'd you go?" he called. The cyndaquil was lagging behind. Its light was so dim now that Gold could just make out its silhouette against the encroaching dark. Gold broke into a run, crouching down next to Hurry. It didn't seem to notice. The embers on its back had all-but extinguished. He recalled it immediately, using his POKéGEAR's as a primitive source of light. As long as it stayed in the poké ball, it wouldn't be in immediate danger.

The only benchmark was a wooden sign planted in the middle of the tunnel. Above it, five unown floated serenely, giving off their own light. They had arranged themselves to form a single word:

LEAVE.

Gold looked at the sign. A crudely-carved message took up its entire face: TURN BACK NOW

He scoffed. "Yeah, sure, I'll turn back."

The unown seemed to sway in time with the blips from the radio. Their eyes, glassy and unmoving, could have been hewn from stone.

"What do you want? Do you want me to say no?"

His response swelled, echoing around the chamber. The unown quivered.

His surroundings plunged into darkness. He cried out, ducking down instinctively to shield himself from a strike that never came.

When the light came back, six unown hovered gleefully above him.

TOO BAD.

Overcome by shock, Gold couldn't formulate a response. A strong gust of wind blew from within the depths of the tunnel, pushing him back the way he had come. The unown radio signal meshed with the frantic pounding of his pulse.

He groped along the wall, blind. Part of the tunnel had a give to it like rotting flesh. It caught on his fingers, porous and thin, and tore like wet paper. Gold was falling forward into an unfamiliar chamber.

Six unown hovered before him, giving off their own light. Frequency on the radio degenerated into white noise. As they came closer, he could make out the letters clearly.

HE DIED.

A phantom force bound his arms to his sides.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he cried out, "I need to heal my cyndaquil, please juh—just let me go. I'll take him to a pokecenter, he's going to be fine."

His feet left the ground.

"Please!" he wailed. "Please, he's going to die!"

The unown flickered.

A sharp twist behind his navel. Violent, rippling pain coursed up the length of each arm. The wet severing of muscle and bone. His vision blacked out briefly and he couldn't scream.

Just as quickly, the pain abated. Vision blooming into an unfamiliar room. The sight of his hands elicited a ragged whimper. He clasped his arms, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

Inhale, exhale. Too fast. Lightheaded.

Inhale, hold.

Exhale. Fighting for composure. Just a nightmare. A trick of the unown.

Inhale, hold.

Exhale, hold.

Opened his eyes again. Four bone-white walls, a ceiling hidden in shadows. If he stretched his arms out, he'd be able to touch the walls around him no matter where he stood.

One of the walls didn't look right. A facade of stone, disintegrating at the edges. He'd barely touched it when it crumbled into powder. Gold, coughing, covered his face with the crook of his elbow. His skin and clothes were coated in ash. In the vast and formless expanse there was no other sound except his pulse, uneven breathing. He was walking down a corridor he'd never seen before. At the end, he could only turn left and continue down another hallway. Each time, it took a little longer to get to the next corner.

His wrist was still lit. He craned his head in desperation, staring into the harsh light of the LCD screen for an answer. The map hadn't changed.

Is it possible I'm so far underground there isn't any signal?

His thoughts interrupted by a dead-end, and a hole. There wasn't any ladder. If he doubled back, he'd just be wasting time. He screwed his eyes shut and focused on breathing. He couldn't risk bringing out the cyndaquil.

He took a cautious step towards the hole and peered down. The dark was more like a void, out of time or space. As soon as he lifted a leg over the apeture, the world shifted on its axis. The hole in the ground moved to meet him, as if he'd simply walked through another threshold. Gold swallowed down his nausea and continued walking. He could see a faint pinpoint of light in the distance. As soon as he got out, he'd take a nice long evening at Violet City's poké center. He'd check in with his mom.

The pinpoint of light was growing faster than his feet could carry him. An invisible pull behind his navel, as if transported by an ally's Teleport. Loss of footing followed by an abrupt solidity. Fresh, nighttime air pulled into his lungs. Initial shock gave way to a wave of nausea and he doubled over, dry-heaving. Thin layer of perspiration clung to his skin. His arms tingled.

"Are you all right?"

He looked up. The girl was around his age. Her hair was dyed an intense shade of blue and pulled into twin ponytails. A pair of bright yellow athletic shorts and sleeveless red shirt, white jacket that was fraying at the cuffs. She had her own POKéGEAR, clipped neatly on her bag. The bayleef standing next to her approached him, nudging him with its head. The smell of the leaves around its neck was spicy, but tasted bitter in the back of his throat if he inhaled deeper. His upset stomach settled gradually into queasiness. He patted the side of its neck.

"Had my pokémon use teleport," he said hoarsely. "For some reason, I wound up here."

The last time he'd teleported anywhere was at the behest of the old guy and his abra, at Indigo Plateau. He'd only said yes to be nice, and thrown up in front of the Pokécenter in Mahogany Town. Given the option, he'd rather take the hike across Johto on foot, or on his own pokémon.

"Wow," the girl said, "you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Teleporting makes me sick." Gold straightened up and tried not to look as shaken as he felt. He noticed her belt—two standard poké balls, plus a moon ball and a lure ball respectively.

The girl extended a hand. "I'm Kris." Gold shook, even though his hands were still clammy. She didn't seem to mind. "C'mon, let's go report back to the lab. You can catch your bearings."

Back when he was working on the POKéDEX, the scientists at the lab would always warn him not to stick around the ruins any longer than he had to. It was important to pace himself. The unown were quick to flee, and poké balls didn't always do the trick.

He glanced at the single poké ball on his belt. The sooner he could get cyndaquil to a pokécenter, the better.

Inside the lab, the girl introduced Gold to Ken, the tech who fixed his POKéGEAR. Kris took a seat on the edge of the desk. "Where are you from, Gold?"

"New Bark."

The girl frowned. "I grew up in New Bark. I've never seen you before."

"I live right next to Prof. Elm's lab. Maybe you just moved in before I left."

"What are you, my extra-dimensional twin?" She glanced at Ken, who didn't laugh. "It's just, I've never seen you before. Are you sure you're from New Bark?"

Gold stood a little straighter despite the nausea. "I'm surprised you've never heard of me."

"Why?"

He smirked and said, "I'm the youngest champion of the Indigo League, to date. Among other achievements."

Kris shot a side-glance at him. "Cool. What's a champ like you doing in the Ruins of Alph?"

"Oh, you know. Sometimes you just want to get out of the public eye." He hesitated. "It gets boring when you're stronger than most of the trainers you meet."

Kris nodded. "I basically live here during the summers and go to the Trainer's School in Violet City for the rest of the year. Ken's doing an internship right now."

"So, you've been all over Johto and Kanto?" Ken remarked. "How many pokémon have you seen?"

Before Gold could answer, Kris motioned towards the 'DEX at his hip, suddenly very businesslike. Gold stood up. She smirked. "What? If you are what you say, this shouldn't be a big deal."

"I didn't say—"

Kris hopped off the desk, offering her hand without waiting for him to finish. With a sigh, Gold handed over the POKéDEX. Kris walked over to the nearby desk. She clicked on a lamp and studied the screen for a few seconds. She whistled. "Wow! Two-hundred and fifty one."

Gold groaned under his breath. "Look, I really need that back."

Kris huffed. "Just wanted to check if you're the real deal." She handed it back, but kept her hand over the 'dex. "Ken and I are working on the Unown Mode feature of the POKéDEX. You've only ever seen three. Lucky for you, I just so happen to have seen twenty six kinds of unown. Maybe I'd even be persuaded to trade data if you help me fill some of my missing entries."

"It doesn't work like that," Gold said. "Does it, Ken?"

"Sorry, Kris. Looks like you'll have to earn that heracross after all." Ken got up. "This could take a while. Kris, make sure he doesn't break anything."

A small, wooden box that would take up the entirety of his bag. The lid was sealed shut. A line of runes engraved onto the sides and top of the box were too small to decipher. "What's this?"

"Professor Shuri thinks these ruins are connected to the Pokémon Communication Center in Goldenrod City," Kris added. "The runes on the walls appeared not long after the Pokécom Center was built."

Gold stared at the box.

"If you want it," Kris said, "you can hold onto it. Nobody here knows how to open it anyway."

Gold froze. "I can't take this."

"Ken is only here because of the internship," Kris muttered, "and I'm not half as interested in the Ruins as Prof. Shuri is. Was." She side-eyed Gold. "You must be a pretty tough trainer to have beaten the League, even if I've never heard of you. Maybe you can figure it out."

Kris feigned a scowl. "Battling's not something I could do forever. I'm more interested in the research." She shot Gold a semi-apologetic grin. Gold smiled back. He was about to suggest that they trade. Once he got to Violet City, maybe.

"There's still a lot we don't understand about these ruins, or unown for that matter. Professor Shuri thinks the unown communicate with each other using electromagnetic waves. They might also have the power to perceive the feelings of other creatures."

"Where is he now?"

Kris frowned. "He's been away. The assistant keeps telling us he's sick."

"I've never heard of him before. He sounds a lot like Professor Hale." Kris and Ken looked at him in confusion. "The guy from Greenfield? He had a wife and kid, and they went missing shortly after he came back from an expedition. It was all over the news."

"Never heard of him, sorry."

Gold shrugged, playing off his feelings. "Maybe I got the name wrong."

Once Ken fixed his POKéGEAR, Gold was free to go back into the ruins with Kris. He told them he was going to make a quick stop by Violet City first—to heal his pokémon and check the PC. His old team was surely in there. He stepped into the crisp air. Nighttime breeze incurring gooseflesh. He was lucky to have his jacket.

The poké ball at his waist began trembling. He'd barely even touched it when it burst open, as though its occupant had been physically restrained.

Houndoom burst free. It caught sight of him and barked.

Gold tore his eyes to the poké ball. The red paint was peeling, and he had to squint to make out the inscription.

FOREVER, no. 215

The houndoom's jet-black eyes caught the sunset. It turned around, disappearing into the main entrance of the ruins. His chest tightened.

"Come back!"

It turned and yipped at him.

He could just make out the shape of houndoom's horns. He tried counting his steps. When he looked back he had no idea where they were. The houndoom yipped at him if he stopped for more than a minute. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I hope you know where you're going!" he called.

They walked down the long hall of idols. Where there should have been a dead-end, the wall was missing. The hall continued, narrowing until there was just enough space for the houndoom to pass through. Gold had to turn himself sideways just to fit through. He couldn't take his pack with him. He could just come back out and retrieve it.

The walls were widening. The stone was pale white, enscribed with runes he couldn't decipher. None of this was familiar.

Gold pursued deeper. The houndoom was sitting on its haunches. A plinth and pedastal, on which rested a single poké ball. It wasn't one Gold had ever seen before. His best approximation was a Safari Ball but the make was wood, rather than plastic. Faultless, like something Kurt would obsess over.

A pack of unown peeled themselves from the dark to hover in front of him, flashing scarlet: RELIVE.

"What do you want?" he shouted up at them. The unown merely blinked and disappeared.

The houndoom yelped, twisting its body towards something Gold could not see. Houndoom began to sink through the floor itself, wailing. Gold quickly recalled it to him, but he was sinking too. The shadows coalesced around him, like an ariados's web. Clutching the poké ball tightly, he held his breath as the ground closed up above him

subsumed, thrashing, gasping, all he could taste was the bitter cloying ash and burning wood

on solid ground.

Looking out over a mountain peak. A small flight of steps led to a narrow path, blanketed by a thick layer of snow. The sky was bright blue, unbroken by clouds. When he took in air, there wasn't any burning sting in his lungs from the elements.

The boy standing next to him gave no indication Gold was there. His skin was almost translucent. Gold didn't turn to look at his face. Nurses from the pokécenter never made it this far up the mountain.

"It's over," he said hoarsely. The wind howled low around them. "Isn't it?"

The other boy raised his hand and adjusted his worn cap. His attention shifted to Gold, and he gesticulated towards his belt. Gold glanced down at his own waist, experiencing a fleeting moment of déjà vu. Houndoom already stood patiently at his side.

He clicked it open. Nothing happened.

Something heavy caught hold of his shirt, pulling him down.

A typhlosion, fur flecked in snow. The bottom half of its body was torn away. A trail of blood and entrails led from the gap in the rock's face. The pokémon shuddered, maw agape, fire sputtering weakly across the span of its neck and shoulders.

Gold didn't have any medicine. It wouldn't make a difference now, any more than returning typhlosion to her ball. As she clung to these last moments in stasis, he'd only be delaying the inevitable. What kind of trainer would allow their pokémon to suffer like this?

Hooking an arm under the typhlosion's, they began to move haphazardly towards the mouth of the cave. They had only taken a few steps when typhlosion fell, and Gold was dragged with it, falling to one knee. Anticpating the sharp shock of falling through snow, instead ash. As he struggled to free his arm from its grasp, the pokémon's grip on him was too strong.

The ash beneath them clung to her fur and his skin.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It's not going to hurt anymore." His throat tightened. The pokémon wheezed, and the arm that held its prize pushed against his chest. He looked down at the egg, tan, flecked with earthen spots and sticky with crimson, then back to the typhlosion.

Gold placed his hands upon the egg's shell as if to retrieve it. The typhlosion slumped forward. Its grip on him slackened.

He couldn't bury his friend in the mountain face. He looked back towards the trail of blood.

A pack of unown burst from the shadowy mouth, stopping above him to spell the word: DENY.

Gold moved past them. Clutching the blood-slick egg in his arms, into the cave.

The egg began to shudder in his arms. A jagged crack marred the egg's thick shell.

Gold crouched down upon the cold stone, cross-legged and hastened to remove his jacket. Houndoom came closer, shielding the egg from the elements. The cyndaquil poked out, chirped at him. There was no trace of injury.

Gold's eyes welled up.

"It's you," he whispered, losing composure. "I knew you'd be okay."

He didn't have enough poké balls. He'd buy a new one and register it properly. Just another reason to keep going through this.

The cyndaquil did not protest when he put his jacket back on and scooped up into his arms. When it had made itself comfortable, Gold resumed his trek through the eerily silent cave. The water around them was still, the air stale.

A gap in the cave's face. Light shone through. The cyndaquil began to squirm. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Cyndaquil exhumed a thick puff of smoke. Setting the pokémon down at his feet, it chirped. 

Gold shook his head.

"There could be something dangerous up ahead. What kind of trainer would I be if I put you in harm's way?"

Last time they'd battled, the same place at Indigo Plateau, Silver had mentioned the Battle Tower. The trainers who fought there told him about breeding and a pokémon's genetics. As they stood by the gate, a light fog curling over the grass, typhlosion and feraligatr were wrestling each other for a bit of Gold's RageCandyBar.

Silver rifled through the pockets of his old sports coat for a cigarette and lighter.

"A male pokémon can pass its moves down to its offspring. The pokémon that hatches will always be the same species as the female. So, if you were to breed your typhlosion with my houndoom, you'd get a cyndaquil that knows the move Reversal from the start."

Gold shrugged. "I'd trade you an egg for the houndoom."

Silver took a drag, exhaling. "Houndoom?" he reiterated, like he hadn't heard correctly.

"You don't want to?"

Silver scowled. "It's getting too old to battle."

"You've had that feraligatr a lot longer."

Silver's jaw twitched. "He's not for sale." He pushed himself off the wall, one hand going to his poké ball. He stifled a cough, and barked, "That's enough, Feraligatr!"

The feraligatr released its faux death-grip on typhlosion's throat and raised its head. With a huff, Silver recalled his pokémon. "I want to be sure Houndoom will be looked after. Not just sitting in the day-care or in a box."

"It's just for my 'dex," Gold muttered. "You can have her back."

Silver scowled. "I'm not interested in raising a pokémon that can't fight." He discarded the butt. Crushed it under his boot.

Gold bred a couple cyndaquil, offering each to Silver for appraisal. Silver only ever called if he wanted a match. Next time they talked, the same spot at the Indigo Plateau, Silver brusquely mentioned that he and cyndaquil were getting stronger, and that he was going to take a break to focus on training. Next time they crossed paths, it would be for a rematch.

Life as Champion didn't lend itself to small-talk, just a constant barrage of calls from his POKéGEAR. Televised interviews replaced by speculation on his whereabouts. There was no mountaintop on which to seek seclusion. The wild pokémon on Route 28 offered more of a challenge. Silver was the only trainer whose power was tantamount to his own.

The poké center was more like a hotel. Besides a state-of-the-art healing machine, the nurse stocked max repels and full heals. As he walked into the pokécenter, the nurse looked up with a small nod. "Going up the mountain?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He didn't ask if there were any rooms. There were always vacancies. "You know, you and Lance are the only trainers I see on a regular basis," the nurse said. "Apart from that boy." She forced a chuckle. "He used to come here and train, like you do. He'd tell me about how he lost the title of champion to his friend, so he was working for his grandfather. Of course, I'd tell him, there are other paths in life. This one just didn't work out for you." She shrugged. "Last I heard, he's a Gym Leader in Viridian now. His friend is still up on Mount Silver."

"Did you ever talk to him?" Gold asked, without thinking about it. The nurse didn't answer, turning instead to dust off the stock of full restores behind the counter. "I didn't mean to pry," Gold said. "I was just wondering what Red was like."

The nurse moved on to the hyper potions. "He didn't talk much. I just remember that he was young. Couldn't have been much older than you are now." She sighed, shook her head. "If he's still alive, the least he could do is leave a note for his mother."

Gold added, "I'll talk to him. If I see him up there."

In the tiny room, he checked his bag. Heavy winter clothes, a bivouac, lots of spare batteries and dry food. Once he stepped foot into the mountain, there wasn't any outside help. The wild pokémon were particularly vicious, having to adapt to the freezing climate. Lance told him once, in confidence, that sooner or later you'd trip over a trainer's forgotten poké ball or items. The pokémon inside couldn't live or die, trapped in a state of hibernation. Some of them had been there longer than Red.

Gold repacked for the next morning. He couldn't relax. Might as well practice his moves with typhlosion.

His POKéGEAR rang. The caller ID read Silver. Gold picked up.

"What's up?"

"Quilava and I are getting stronger."

"That's great. How's the training with Lance?"

"He's busy. Clair has her responsibilities in Blackthorn. Anyway, you shouldn't get complacent just because you're working for Oak."

Gold scoffed. "Are you my rival or my coach?" Silver wasn't saying anything. Gold tried a different angle, "The pokécenter on Route 28 has got spare rooms."

"They won't let me through the gate without sixteen badges."

"So tell them you're with me. The guys on duty don't really care. Nothing interesting ever happens out here."

A beat. Maybe Silver would lose patience and hang up, and he could toss around instead of sleeping.

"Tomorrow morning. I want to battle for old time's sake."

Gold said, "Can't do that. I'm about to go up the mountain."

A short scoff. "You need a chaperone?"

"I'll make time for you," Gold insisted. "Unless you want to come."

"I'm coming over now."

Gold scoffed. "What? This is serious, man, you can't just go up the mountain. You need to have the right gear."

"Not up the mountain. Just to battle." Another pause. "For old time's sake."

Gold exhaled. "Yeah, uh. That's fine."

He didn't bother clicking any buttons. Silver always hung up first. Gold put his shoes back on. Before he left, he made a quick stop by the PC to swap out houndoom for typhlosion.

The sunlight was somehow fainter than it should have been. The grass came up to his waist. Colors seemed washed out, subfusc. No wild pokémon rushed to greet him.

The poké center was close. He'd explain his situation to the nurse and figure something out.

Silver turned to the feraligatr at his side, nodded. The pokémon struck an imposing figure in the dead light.

Feraligatr were massive, fast moving and deadly even on land. It could do serious harm to him or any of his pokémon without much effort. Gold had a Houndoom that ignored orders. This could only end in failure. And then what? Did pokémon centers exist in this timeless void? Would he die alone and afraid?

"This won't fix anything," Gold said.

Silver's mouth thinned, shoulders set. Gold clicked open his only poké ball.

Houndoom eyed the feraligatr. Its head inclined forward, like it was sizing up its opponent. It snarled, fangs dripping with saliva. The feraligatr cowered, arms raised.

Feraligatr was a fast, vicious breed. Silver didn't give the order to attack but watched Gold intently.

Houndoom dug its fangs into the tough scales. Feraligatr groaned, barely moving at all. A plume of bluish fire erupted from Houndoom's muzzle. The feraligatr began to convulse.

Silver flinched.

"Stop!" Gold shouted. "That's enough!" He thrust his arm out, activating the poké ball. "Return!"

The light engulfed Houndoom. It wailed and the recoil shot up Gold's arm, freezing him in place. His skin tingled.

A shot pierced the heavy air. Houndoom yelped.

Two more shots. The feraligatr's jaws slackened. It slumped to the ground and didn't get up.

Silver lowered his arm, breathing shallowly. Acrid smell of gunpowder permeated the air. Colorless grass stained a deep red.

"It hates to take orders from me. Maybe it would be better off with you."

Silver lowered the gun. He didn't say another word, but his lower lip quivered. He swallowed, and turned to walk down the riverbank before disappearing into the space a poké center should've been.

Houndoom barked at the empty mouth of the cave.

"There's nothing there!" Gold exploded. He took a shaky breath that did not help his temper. "You've always been a fucking pain in the ass, it's no wonder Silver would give you away. You know why I boxed you? Because you wouldn't listen to me. You still don't listen to me! Every day, I wake up and try to convince myself that nothing would change. But now I think I was right. Typhlosion would be alive right now if you'd taken her place." His voice strained, faltering under the weight of something he couldn't take back. "Damn it, I didn't mean it. I just want to go home," he whispered. "I want to see my friends again."

The houndoom didn't respond. It was staring at him over its shoulder, awaiting further instructions.

Gold put his hands to his face. "I don't know what to do anymore." He took a shaky, gradual breath. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you want me to do."

Movement in his peripherals. Perched above the mouth of the cave. It opened its beak and crowed once, mournfully. Houndoom wailed. Gold's legs wouldn't move. It spread its ashen wings and swooped down, extending its talons. Gold couldn't even make a sound. He raised his arms in front of his face.

The bird swooped over them, circling back over the empty horizon to alight on the grass. It lowered one wing, and Gold recalled his pokémon. He clambered onto its back, holding onto his cap as they took off. Soaring above Johto. Its plumage, slippery, reeked of ash and smoke.

Touching down in Goldenrod City, he felt an emptiness in his chest.

The streets were unnaturally silent, aside from the gentle de-tuned whine coming from his POKéGEAR. The longer he walked he felt the prickle of eyes on him, but no sign of activity. Only the windows in the poké center were lit. Breaking into a choppy sprint, he crossed through the doors, walked up to the nurse.

"Good evening," she said, giving him a second glance. "Would you like to heal your pokémon?" Gold nodded, wordlessly unclipping the poké ball from his belt. "Wait here."

She walked over the machine. Gold made an effort to get his bearings. The same posters on the walls. Trainers he'd never seen before. None of them were from New Bark.

"Here's your pokémon back."

Gold tore his eyes away. "Thank you very much." He clipped the ball onto his belt, and hesitated. "On the radio, have you heard of any trainers who came from New Bark Town?"

The nurse paused. "I don't think so. Are you looking for someone?"

Gold pulled out his trainer card from his pocket. "You checked me in, at the center on Route 28. Your sister works in Olivine. We talked about the previous champion of the Indigo League. I promised that I'd talk to him. He's off the mountain. If you see his mother," he took a breath, "tell him her son is alive."

The nurse glanced slowly from the card to him. She had gone pale. "I'm sorry. I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

Gold glanced at the posters. He put the card back in his wallet. No matter how desperately he insisted, there was no convincing her without causing a scene. "You looked like someone I know." He swallowed dryly. "Sorry to bother you at this hour."

He stepped outside, calling on houndoom. "I shouldn't have treated you the way I did," he said. He looked at the darkened windows for a sign of movement. "All I've done is blame you for my own shortcomings. You deserve a better trainer." A light chill caused him to shudder. "I'll let you lead the way."

Through the checkpoint towards Route 35, there wasn't anyone stationed behind the counter. Gold went ahead and stopped, mid-stride. "This isn't right." The forest path wasn't Route 35. A thick blanket of leaves decaying at his feet. The smell of decomposing flora hung in the air. The sun's rays limned through the gaps in the leaves in hues of crimson.

Houndoom came to a stop, attention drawn towards something Gold couldn't see.

"What's wrong?"

Crunching of leaves underfoot. A boy's white and gold cap through the grey foliage and disappeared.

Gold called out, "Hey!" He gave chase. He didn't see the boy anywhere.

The old entryway to Tin Tower. Gold stepped through. A shadow passed over the room. He spun around. Where a door should have been, there was old, damp redwood. Grain kissed his palms. He threw himself against it to no avail. 

"Welcome back."

Gold whirled around with a cry. Silver leant against the pillar. One hand in his pocket. "Why are you here? Did the unown take you?"

Silver averted his eyes. The houndoom growled, teeth dripping with saliva. Silver didn't flinch.

"There's a way out of this," he said at length. "You just haven't found it yet."

His eyes returned to Gold's face. His usual stoicism seemed to falter. That wasn't like Silver at all. "I don't have time for this," Gold snapped. "Just give me a straight answer, or get out of my way."

Silver tensed. In the low light, the shadows seemed to coalesce around the ceiling. Giving way to an impossible volume of unown, their eyes blinking, glancing around. The darkness itself seemed to swell of its own volition.

Silver's expression faltered into naked guilt.

"I'm sorry," he croaked.

Gold had never heard him talk like that before.

"Silver?"

The unown covered the walls, coursing down the pillar. Silver opened his mouth to speak but was subsumed. Gold's cry was swallowed up by the darkness. The unown had no true solidity to them, but he couldn't move his limbs no matter how desperately he struggled.

Wait.

A resonant voice, clear as a bell, broke through the cacophony. The unown scattered, melting into the walls and pillar. Houndoom was gone.

A shape fluttered down towards him from the empty void above. Gold's breath caught in his throat. The celebi hovered a foot above him, its pink skin translucent like the petals of a flower. One green eye luminous and sorrowful. Half of its tiny body was burnt beyond recognition. The muscle and bones blackened. He could almost taste the rot.

It made a revolution around the pillar, then chirped at him. Gold swallowed. He walked over and reached out with trembling fingers.

The moment he made contact, the tower's wooden interior melted away. Blades of grass sprouting under his feet. The quiet burble of the river, the whisper of the breeze through leaves. The sky obscured through thick foliage.

His stomach twisted, on reflex. He swallowed down the urge to retch. His legs wouldn't hold him, and he collapsed. Grass scratched at his bare skin. Eye-to-eye with a small wooden shrine. Under its eaves, the twin doors were ajar. A single poké ball, white and gold, offered up to the forest's protector. There was no ID, just an etching above the button. Two letters.

"Wh-what is that? I've never seen one before. It looks a lot like a poké ball, but it appears to be something else. Let me check it for you."

He felt for the poké ball on his belt. Clicked it open, and in a flash of red light stood his old friend. A plume of smoke emitted from her shoulders.

Gold couldn't stop trembling. Suddenly, he choked out a sob. Each breath, he took in real air, the stench of grass and mud and fur, not some paradox of his memories. 

"I'm home," he whispered, "I'm finally home. We're alive."

As he gathered his composure, scratching the side of Typhlosion's head, the first thing he was going to do was call his mother. A dead-end. He circled back towards the maze. There was no other path. As he returned to the shrine, Celebi was sitting on the roof. Its eyes—whole and blue—were impassive.

"This is over," he said. "I did whatever I was supposed to do. I'm back now, and I'm going to—"

Inexorable stabbing sensation behind his temples. Series of images flickering behind his eyelids in smooth succession. The tarnished celebi and the red pillar. Ilex Forest, ablaze. Sensation of fire licking at his skin, the curling flesh blackened. The pain abated as quickly as it had come. Gold, on hands and knees in the grass, retched a little but couldn't make himself throw up.

Typhlosion snarled. The embers on its back flared.

"It's all right," Gold panted. "Celebi isn't an enemy." He forced himself to his feet, tense. He wiped his sweaty face with the butt of his palm. "So, you know future sight," he said. "What else can you do?"

It chirped again, brusquely.

His mood soured. "I know," he grumbled. "I know where I'm supposed to go." He shouldered his bag, still heavy with an unhatched egg. "We should get moving. We're already late. I want to drop this off at the poké center in Goldenrod before we go."

END ACT II

a/n: It has been ten years since I updated this bad boy. (Technically a little longer since I posted the first rough chapter/prologue on Deviantart back in 2012.) Given the abstract nature of the original creepypasta, this fic's plot has deviated for the sake of maintaining a narrative. It also takes a few cues from the Lost Silver: Hidden hack by Reidd Maxwell. In the Japanese version of Pokémon Crystal, a researcher in the Ruins of Alph states "According to my research... Those mysterious patterns appeared when the Pokécom Center was built. It must mean that radio waves have some sort of a link...", indicating that the Unown's appearance in said ruins are influenced by Goldenrod City's Pokémon Communication Center.

#lost silver #reblog #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3

[dorms-fic-archive]

SnK Fic Poll 2: Electric Boogaloo

I've been working on Chapter One/Two of Between Heaven & Earth, takes place in what's essentially a long, dramatically ironic montage of RBA interacting with other cadets, Ymir and Eren during/right up to the Trainee/Trost Arc(s), with a bit of canon divergence along the way.

I have also been meaning to finish Nur für die Schwachen, which focuses on similar themes (Trainee Arc + Annie's conflict towards Eren and her mission for Marley vs the other Warriors), and NfdS is slated to conclude at a point that shouldn't compromise the other fic's timeline.

So, why not link the two fics together? A Literary Universe(?)™ if you will. You can still read each fic individually but it would be like an extended side-story if you're reading BH&E.

#reblog #aot #snk #fanfiction #fanfic

[dorms-fic-archive]

Between Heaven and Earth -- Masterlist

Summary: Two years into the Paradis Operation, Marley's Warriors have no trace of the Coordinate. Joining the Training Corps should offer an easy path into Paradis's military branches. Complications arise when Leonhardt agrees to mentor Eren Jaeger; the scrappy, angry cadet with inexplicable night terrors and a talent for shrugging off deadly training injuries. [AU, eventual ereannie]

Prologue: Part One [Ao3] | [FFNet] | [Tumblr]

Prologue: Part Two [Ao3] | [FFNet] | [Tumblr]

#reblog #fanfiction #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #annie leonhardt #bertholdt hoover #reiner braun #pieck finger #marcel galliard #mina carolina #ffnet #ao3

[dorms-fic-archive]

for want of a sagittarius

In the Forest of Hope, Captain Olimar attempts to retrieve the remaining ship parts without any Blue Pikmin.

a/n: Based (loosely) on a couple of advanced gameplay strategies; some of them I'm more proficient at than others.

Yesterday, he'd curated a swarm of twenty five reds into seventy and one yellow into fifteen. A single well-thrown pikmin could crush a dwarf bulborb. Ignoring the smaller grub-dogs in favor of their larger counterparts presented a new risk; the dwarf might call for help. The pikmin, newly sprouted or budding or bearing torn petals, did not pass judgement, did not rebel, despite his patterns of failure and vigilant correction. He'd brought down the stone barrier directly south of camp.

Today, the captain spent gathering ship parts. A volley of bomb-rocks took care of the remaining barriers in reach. Yet, the radar showed three parts left; one past a light barrier to the north surrounded by water, one on a plateau accessible past the stone wall near the original site of the yellow Onion, and one across the lake.

With two yellows armed, he took to the clearing where he'd found the Nova Rocket. Given the distance from the tip of the shore to the top of the gate, it should be possible to break down the gate with only two bombs. The first dropped its bomb and scampered across the lip of the chasm and the barrier crumbled halfway. The second yellow bounced off the side of the wall and dropped its bomb-rock, extinguished. It thrashed about in the water, towards the sound of the whistle. It clambered to shore and raised itself on spindly arms before collapsing again. Its leaf weighed down, beady eyes glazed and fixed on him, skin damp to the touch. It did not rise.

He got another bomb-rock and threw the first yellow over again. It shuffled over towards the gate from the side and dropped its bomb too far to make a difference.

The captain whistled sharply. Another bomb-rock. Then another.

By the time the gate crumbled he'd run out of bomb-rocks and the posies were blooming. He threw the yellow at one of the aptly-colored targets. He dismissed it and followed course back to the ship. He took out a posse of reds and yellows and tossed them over the precipice to cross himself, at the other end. Confronted with another gate, stronger than the last but at the very least, not made of stone. Bringing it down would've been easier with bomb-rocks, but he threw his squadron against the barrier and double checked the radar. There should be a part on the other side of this gate.

Then, just a matter of luring the beast inside with a small squadron and directing the larger share toward the Radiation Canopy. He'd escorted it through the gate. He rushed the small squadron towards it. The beetle lost interest. Thankfully, the radar detected no further ship oarts.

Next morning, he took the southern path. Two bulborbs and a dwarf. After dispatching them with a swarm of reds, ten yellows thrown over the edifice, one by one, cleared a path forward. The ground burst open. A bird-like monster with a serpentine body. It moved too quickly for the yellows to reach in time and quickly dove below the ground with half-a-dozen reds in its beak. Reds were more efficient, heavier than the yellows and hit harder.

Mid-afternoon, he had a dozen pellets to make up for his losses, the Geiger Counter, a few droplets of nectar. The radar detected one last part. Across the lake. At the shore there was only a bundle of sticks and sheargrubs beneath the dirt. 

The pikmin, swarming, overtook the sheargrubs with ease. The rest began to beat on the wood with fists and heads and stems. The captain explored the length of the pond and found nothing but wogpoles. The bridge was finished and the posse stood idle. Nothing but a couple posies and a dead end. On the cliff adjacent, another bundle of sticks, too far to be reached by conventional means. Just a small patch of shore on the island, but no means of climbing further. 

The ache in his muscles had been there since morning. The captain sagged slightly where he stood. The Dolphin's capabilities should allow him to explore new territory. If only there was a suitable way to deal with large bodies of water...

He was walking back across the bridge, looking for a different angle. A gleam caught the sun's dying rays.

The captain doubled back and took a red and threw it across the watery expanse, wading in, whistling it to follow. It thrashed along, wailing, until it couldn't stay above the surface any longer.

The captain waded back to shore, back across the bridge to the Onions. He bumped a single yellow from the throng and ran towards the bridge and to the water's edge, throwing it with all his strength. A few more reds rushed to follow and submerged before they were even halfway across.

Careless and exhausted. Making stupid mistakes. Should call it a night.

No. Every day was critical. He had to be sure this plan was even feasible, accounting for the difference between red and yellow's airtime. He picked another yellow and threw it as far as possible. Waded across the river, to the small embankment, whistling the pikmin to shore. It shook itself dry and looked around, pale, at ease. He whistled and tossed it to higher ground, where it naturally pathed towards the unrolled bridge. He repeated this process with painstaking care until he had ten pikmin safely across.

The captain took a yellow and threw it at the partially-constructed bridge. The yellow bounced off the side of the bundle and crashed into the water below, thrashing above the surface. He whistled it quickly to safety. He ought to have been more conservative with culling bulborbs and fauna alike. He had nothing left over to replace the pikmin he'd lost.

As the sun kissed the horizon, the captain crossed the newly-made bridge and came back with the Sagittarius. His son, safe back home, would be eager to hear of his adventures.

#pikmin #captain olimar #red pikmin #yellow pikmin #reblog #forest of hope #pikmin 1 #fanfic #fanfiction #rating: general

[dorms-fic-archive]

Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 06

a\n: Commissioned art by @marianaillust​ and @addictivities​ respectively.

Also: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

VI: WHY CAN’T I FORGET YOU, AND START MY LIFE ANEW?

At twenty eight Safin had no family or friends to call upon, nor piety. Nothing left to cling to but indomitable rage, sluiced away to expose the rot beneath artifice. The matter of his survival depended entirely on his abilities. For twenty eight years, he sought the wrong answer to his existence. A fleeting moment of vengeance could never compare to a legacy. Gostan endeavored to leave himself behind in a more permeable way than obituary.

Gostan’s facility in the Kuril Islands, The Poison Garden. Before it was repossessed by the FSB, his father and a man called The Cipher worked together. Gostan had the knowledge of myriad poisons while The Cipher provided funding. Assassinations became suicides. Alternatives to euthanasia. Guntram Shatterhand, a colleague of The Cipher’s, took command after Gostan died. An affluent horticulturalist, he could never appreciate its beauty.

Keep reading

#nttd #lyutsifer safin #le chiffre #fanfic #fanfiction #madeleine swann #reblog

[dorms-fic-archive]

Sky Burial

a/n: Despite my psuedonym, I've never written anything for SotC before. Title comes from my favorite track of the game. :)

Dawn's light dappled through the leaves. In the grove, his head on her lap. His face, she said, was still a youth's. She found this very amusing, and his discontent more so. He could never be angry with her for long.

Long ago, a great deity was split into pieces and sealed away with a ceremonial sword. The temple erected on the precipice of their world, where night never fell.

Her mother was a priestess, the same as her grandmother. One day, she would undergo the same ceremony. 

When the ritual is complete, said Mono, a body is just flesh without a home. We give it back to the elements, to be eaten.

You could leave, he said, only to hear the words aloud. You could travel the world and be free.

She laughed, soft and lilting. Would you become a priest?

Wander bit his tongue. His mouth glanced the edge of her palm.

The old story, connected by grief. If he spoke the words clawing at his throat, she would bid him no more.

A day in the Forbidden Lands passed in the span of an era. The sun remained in the sky, motionless. The need for sleep evaded him, and Agro. There were still plenty of salamanders and sour fruit in the weald. He needn't stay long enough to exhaust the land of its resources.

Dreams came to him, in the space between consciousness and the invasion of Dormin's soul into his own, forcing him into darkness. No broken bones. The devil's luck.

Blood in his body subsuming into tarry ichor. Perhaps, by the end, there would be nothing of the man Mono once loved.

Another idol crumbled. Shadows in the shape of men flocking to him, scattering at the first sign of waking. The old pull of the earth, ancient and intangible, demanded reverence.

He approached the altar, scattering the doves. His clothes and skin inundated with grime. He could have stroked back her hair and pressed his lips to her cool brow. She would wake soon enough.

#sotc #shadow of the colossus #fanfic #fanfiction

[dorms-fic-archive]

Between Heaven and Earth -- Masterlist

Summary: Two years into the Paradis Operation, Marley's Warriors have no trace of the Coordinate. Joining the Training Corps should offer an easy path into Paradis's military branches. Complications arise when Leonhardt agrees to mentor Eren Jaeger; the scrappy, angry cadet with inexplicable night terrors and a talent for shrugging off deadly training injuries. [AU, eventual ereannie]

Prologue: Part One [Ao3] | [FFNet] | [Tumblr]

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #fanfic #fanfiction #aot #snk #canon rewrite

[dorms-fic-archive]

i have never felt such frustration; or lack of self-control

Summary: Thrashing upward with his stump, Eren pushes off with his good leg. The crutch clatters to the floor as he hooks his arm around Reiner's nape and drags him to the ground. Annie must have taught him. They're struggling on the floor. Blistered, pink skin against Reiner's calluses. Eren's jaw tightens. Reiner tightens his grip. "You did this, when?" "This morning." Eren's throat bobs. He smells like sour breath and sweat. His eyes glint when he adds, "What are you, my carer?"

NSFW below the cut.

a/n: I was trying to write for a different AoT-related project, but the brainworms took hold. Back to the problematic favs with a "pilot episode"; Zeke using Reiner's confliction as a proxy to manipulate Eren (and vice-versa). All's fair in love and war, amirite?

Falco's new friend from the hospice keeps cropping up in friendly conversation. Now Gabi wants to meet him. "He's probably a spy," she says, though Falco won't hear of it.

"He's just forgotten who he is. It's the shellshock."

"You're way too trusting of what others say," Gabi mutters. "No wonder your aptitude is so low."

"So? You're too pushy," Falco insists. "He's a private man, he wants to be left alone."

Back and forth. Most days, Reiner has to grin and bear it. Now, out of their meetings with William Tybur and Magrath, Galliard's been prodding as well: "Why are you spending so much time out on patrol? Shouldn't you be socializing with all the politicians? Tybur's sister keeps asking about you, I can't keep telling her you're at work."

"I'm keeping the internment zone clear. These anti-Marleyan bastards might try to do something massive, especially during such a event as the festival. Best to be safe than sorry."

"You don't have Bertholdt kissing your ass anymore," Galliard says, "it doesn't mean I have to do the same."

Reiner shrugs. "Right. You have Pieck for that."

"You want to say something," Galliard hisses, flushing, "say it to my face, you prick. Don't drag her into this."

As a kid, Galliard was always the one picking on him. Now, with four years' experience in Paradis, it's difficult to feel the same level of shame for a guy who's never left the uncomplicated chaos of war on the front lines.

"I'm not the one sucking up to my compatriots," Reiner says coolly. "I'm protecting my country. The same as Bertholdt did, and your brother."

Galliard's jaw twitches. "You're so sanctimonious, it makes me want to vomit."

Civic duty brings Reiner back to the tenements in the middle of the afternoon. He should be attending those parties with the rest. Instead, he's rapping on the door. "Krueger," he barks.

No response. Might be out for the afternoon. Reiner's asked around the tenement, once or twice. The consensus is that Eren Krueger keeps to himself. He buys whiskey from the general store and occasionally medical supplies to dress his wounded eye and leg. He has a job sorting mail behind the desk at the local post office.

In the last year, there's been a societal push for Eldian servicemen to have jobs, even if it's menial labor and out of sight from the general public. It gives the Marlyeans a reason to console themselves that they aren't complete scum, and the Eldians an incentive not to revolt against their betters.

Reiner's gotten enough shit from Galliard and Magrath wasting his time down here. If he asks around too much, Eren will start changing his strategy.

The uneven beat of the crutch. “People are going to get the wrong idea if you keep following me around.” He's gaunt, and hasn't shaved. There are circles under his eyes. He isn't wearing any bandages and his left eye bears a perforated scar down the cornea. "Vice-Captain."

"I've got a warrant," Reiner says. "Let me in."

Eren, pushing the door wider with his shoulder, does nothing to contest this. If he had a warrant, he would present the papers. There's enough corruption within the Public Security Authorities that most veterans just keep their traps shut.

The door shuts behind him. The smell of disinfectant offset by stale air. The kitchen is cleaner than expected, considering Eren's bedraggled appearance. "It gets boring talking to the wall all day," he says, hobbling towards the old bedroom. "Do you drink?"

"Not while I'm working."

Eren nods. "If you could open the drawer, please."

Reiner does so. Stacks of letters, newspapers. If Eren's spending on alcohol, he doesn't have the money for much else. "Any news from Paradis?"

Eren doesn't answer straight away. He shuts the door with his good leg. "What are you here for?"

"Collateral." Eren stares at him, waiting for elaboration. "Can't hardly call myself a Vice-Captain if you blow up half the tenement."

"I've managed so far."

Reiner scoffs. "You're fucking mental."

"What does that make you?"

Reiner grabs him by the shirt. Past the blood in his ears, he can barely hear the traffic outside. Thrashing upward with his stump, Eren pushes off with his good leg. The crutch clatters to the floor as he hooks his arm around Reiner's nape and drags him to the ground. Annie must have taught him.

They're struggling on the floor. Blistered, pink skin against Reiner's calluses. Eren's jaw tightens.

Reiner tightens his grip. "You did this, when?"

"This morning." Eren's throat bobs. He smells like sour breath and sweat. His eyes glint when he adds, "What are you, my carer?"

Reiner's face twists. He pushes Eren off to fall harmlessly on the floorboards. Eren's mouth splits into a tremulous grin, on the verge of beatific. He isn't smiling when Reiner grabs him by the scruff of the collar and smacks his head into the wall opposite the bed. "Let's get this straight," Reiner says, dangerously quiet. "You ain't in the position to be asking me for favors. Your friends ain't coming to your rescue. You really don't have jack shit." Nose-to-nose, Eren doesn't flinch. "Give me a reason not to turn you in to Marley."

"Go ahead," Eren grunts, "it'll be the best thing we ever did for mankind."

He can lift Eren off the ground without much effort. He knocks his head into the wall and Eren starts snickering. "You think I'm fucking scared of you? Turn me in, it won't change anything," Eren pants. "The war will go on and you and I will be nothing but a footnote in Paradis and Marley's history. What's your family going to say? That you took your time with a war-criminal. Marley'll punish them in your stead. The least you can do is spare them that pain."

Reiner could call him names, remind him what a stupid, pedantic little brat he used to be. In the reflection of his sclera, all he'll ever be is the boy who traded his life for Berwick's.

Eren's grown up, tempered his despair into a weapon. And there is Reiner, always on the precipice between the barrel of a Mauser and enough self-awareness. Without Bertholdt to set him straight, or Annie to compete with, he'll turn to his enemy for a scrap of approval.

Eren's expression shifts. He's staring at Reiner intently.

"Is that all you wanted?" he asks. He’s looking at his mouth.

Bertholdt and Annie. Pieck and Porco. Everyone pairs off, leaving him with a dead man's inheritance. Berwick never got the chance.

What remains of Reiner's self-control is forgotten for the moment as he crushes their mouths together. Shoving him on the bed. Eren grunts, pulling him closer.

He tugs Eren's chinos past his thighs and sinks to his knees. The hot weight on his palate. Eren swears audibly, grabbing the back of his head. Despite his enthusiasm, it takes half a minute for him to stutter to a finish. Reiner swallows, half-amused.

“Shit,” Eren mutters, wets his lips. The tips of his ears pink. He takes a breath and his voice is even again. "It's... been a while."

Reiner strips off his jacket. Untucking his shirt from his belt. "Figures you'd be a quick shot."

"Go fuck yourself," Eren bites.

The first sign of emotion that's not indifference or nihilistic despair. Reiner huffs. He flips Eren over. Open-mouthed bites from his nape to the notches of his spine, retracing the same path with his tongue. His ribs stand out. All he does is drink, most likely.

"Reiner," Eren hisses.

"Shut up."

Thumbs dragging down the cleft of his ass. Eren tenses. Pushing himself up on his hands to compensate for his lack of a calf.

"The end-table," Eren mutters.

Reiner stands up too quickly to be composed. He walks over to the drawer, opens it. Bottle of antiseptic. A standard first-aid kit that looks new. A tin of petroleum. It's safer bet than machine oil.

Eren rolls his shoulders. "Come on."

Reiner grabs the tin, slams the drawer shut.

His fingers tacky. Eren shoves back onto Reiner as well as he can. Three fingers as far as his body will permit, prodding around until Eren groans through his teeth, twitching. Reiner keeps pumping, reaching over to free his cock, greasing himself in turn.

When he lines up, on his knees, he's panting harder than he should. Eren sucks in a breath, then curses as Reiner starts to split him open. His grip on the sheets flexes, white-knuckled. Apart from this, he's silent.

The force behind Reiner's hips pushes him forward until he has to brace himself against the wall. Reiner pulls out only to shove back in, each time a little deeper. Eren's head wilts, like a horse with too heavy a load.

Reiner almost stops to check if he’s all right. For his hesitation, Eren snorts, “Ah? Who’s a quick shot?”

Pulling out and shoving back in, deep enough that Eren shouts, planting his weight between the wall and the mattress. The stump of a leg judders. His cock weeping against his stomach. Reiner pushes his head down so he doesn't have to look at him.

Eren finishes between his chest and the sheets, moaning. Reiner presses the side of his fist to Eren’s mouth. Eren bites down as if they’ve been shacking up in the barracks for months instead of errant fantasy. His breath hot and stuttering, the kiss of saliva against the bite.

Reiner’s pace turns sloppy. He catches himself on his hands so he doesn't collapse on top of Eren. If they weren’t enemies from the other side of the ocean, they’d still be Eldian throwaways. He tucks himself back into his pants. They're both breathing hard.

Eren, supine, could be a dead man until his chest inflates, deflates. He rolls over, pushes himself upright.

"Don't talk to Grice anymore," says Reiner shortly. "If I so much as hear a Mister Kruger out of his mouth, they're going to have to scrape what's left of you off of the street."

Eren levels his gaze. He nods. "I won't be seeing you again."

Reiner stops. It's not a question, but the inflection of his voice leaves more room for open-ended answers. "No," he says, at length. "You'll be going back home."

"I never told you I was going home," says Eren slowly.

Reiner shrugs. "Grice mentioned it."

It was Zeke, but Eren doesn’t need to know. He'll be interested to hear about this.

#fanfiction #fanfic #snk #aot #ererei

[dorms-fic-archive]

AoT - Marley & Eldia Alt. History Outline

Exactly what it says on the tin. Most of this is "pre-canon" headcanon. Breakdown below the cut:

Paradis is discovered in the early 1800s by a group of Eldian and Marley explorers. The group spends a year or two there and find giant trees and plenty of wild animals, but no humans. They assume this is untapped land and Marley decides to bring more people (predominantly Eldian) to settle there over the next several decades.

By now there's a thriving community of people throughout Paradis.

In the 1860s, one Eldian man (let's call him Fritz) comes into contact with a strange, worm-like creature (the Hallucigenia) while exploring the glittering caves beneath Paradis. He transforms into a giant humanoid monster, then unintentionally triggers the rest of the Eldians on his team to transform; while the Marley do not transform and are subsequently devoured. Fritz eventually turns back into a human and initially tries to convince himself it was some bizarre nightmare. Then he finds the bodies around the settlement, destroyed buildings—ALL the Eldians on the island transformed. Horrified, he attempts to kill himself but keeps reviving/stitching together (Hallucigenia won't let him die).

Soon after, Fritz discovers a small number of citizens have escaped by boat, effectively abandoning him on the island (they go back to Marley and say that there's a horrible curse on Paradis that turns Eldians into devils; Marley covers it up as a plague).

While Fritz is human again, his colleagues are stuck as Titans, and start attacking each other or wandering off. They don’t bother with Fritz at all. Soon after, Fritz enters a trance and is "contacted" by an unseen force (whether or not it's Ymir, PATHS or he's just losing his mind remains to be seen), who teaches him to create "new life" from the sand on the beach. He "resurrects" his family and colleagues, similar to how the Founding Titan could replicate past Titans. They're not really alive per se, but he's starting to lose his mind and has no intention of returning home.

Over the next several years he becomes more proficient, creating a civilization of gestalt-type Eldians (they look human, but can't reproduce and will go on to become Wall Titans). During this time, Marley sailors keep catching sight of giant humanoid creatures and claim they're building a castle on the horizon. Marley hears enough complaints that they send their military to investigate this threat. But what they find is something strange. Fritz is initially welcoming, even pleased to see that Marley is interested in doing business with his country. The gestalt Eldians don’t say much, and when the Marley inquire, Fritz calls them Subjects of Ymir. He is not interested in assimilating back into "civilized society", but he's also starting to deteriorate physically and resembles a man several decades older than he should be.

Enter two characters: Albrecht Tybur (military diplomat, Willy’s grandfather) and Heinrich Xaver (a neurologist and Eldian made honorary Marleyan).

Xaver proposes they bring Fritz to Marley in order to study his powers, and that there is a difference between mindless Titans and Titan Shifters. Even if they'll never be normal again, they still have some use for manual labor or warfare.

No, says Tybur, Fritz is clearly out of his mind. It's humane to end his misery, not prolong it by putting him in a human zoo. Besides, there's no telling if these Titans won't one day turn on their sickly creator. Worse, if they reveal this information to the public, there will be a mad rush to claim Paradis. Marley can’t fight off the entire world.

They elect to kill Fritz, who just laughs and says he's already tried. As long as Ymir inhabits him, he cannot die. He'll just "live on" in the next Eldian and the next—whatever that means. Fritz asserts that Ymir told him the Pure Titans would be compelled to eat humans in order to ingest their spinal fluid, as it’s the one way to become human again. The Eldian facsimiles he created can't eat/sleep/reproduce. Fritz requires a real Eldian to carry on his lineage.

Xaver asks what he is proposing here. Fritz laughs and says he's talking about starting a family, not cannibalism.

Back in Marley, Xaver proposes that Fritz’s spinal fluid can be injected into a viable candidate. Because Fritz technically cannot die of natural causes (a fate worse than death), he's got a theoretically limitless supply of it and would be willing to cooperate with the world if they leave the island alone. The Marley military ignores this request and sends their navy.

Instead of a two thousand-year Great Titan War, the Mid-Eastern Conflict involves Fritz ravaging the Marleyan coast and navy with a band of Colossus Titans. This attracts the attention of the Mid-Eastern Alliance, an enemy of Marley.

Fritz calls an armistice, and states he will seal off Paradis behind three massive walls, on the condition that all Eldians be relocated to Paradis (whether they want to or not). Fritz offers to wipe the memories of the inhabitants of Paradis with the cooperation of the Fritz family, who will inherit his powers, & Titan Society. Marley accepts, and over the next decade and a half, Marley rounds up the Eldians and sends them to heaven—er, penal colony.

The rest of the world now suspects Marley has been harboring these Eldians as some kind of secret weapon. The surviving Eldians must be dealt with, as will be any Eldian sympathizers who thought Fritz did nothing wrong or deserved to be treated humanely.

Xaver is targeted by Marley’s Pubic Security Authorities for his “pro-Titan study agenda”, but the Mid-Eastern Alliance is interested in his ideas and offers all the money and Eldian POWs he wants to start up a secret military program on Paradis. He’ll be working alongside the world’s finest minds (particularly Marley and Hizuru) as they attempt to create Titan Shifters from military aged-men.

Most of these candidates can't withstand multiple transformations and die in various ways (succumb to severe burns, nerve damage, etc.) or get absorbed in their Titans, whereupon they have to be killed. The money isn't endless. Marley is growing frustrated, but Xaver has a theory. Perhaps without Fritz to lead, these Titan candidates are operating off their subconscious. He and Marley’s scientists come up with a revolutionary new technique involving hypnosis.

After a year, the Shifter candidates are able to reliably control their powers, follow instructions, and transform back without dying, but still burn through their human bodies quickly. The Mid-East is working with Hizuru on anti-Titan weaponry—just in case. The Titan Society suggests using child soldiers, as they can be hypnotized from an early age and operate in their prime years of life rather than burn out during middle-age.

Xaver protests, saying that this is way too far. He’s accused of feeling sympathy towards subhuman monsters. Either he can experiment on kids, or be exiled to Paradis with the rest of them. He eventually concedes, but secretly feels that this program was a mistake and the Shifters should never have been discovered.

During Kruger’s, Grisha’s and Eren's lifetimes (1870s-1910s), Paradis mostly operates as a penal colony. Eldian dissenters/political prisoners of Marley are sent to "heaven". The designated royal family within Paradis, Wall cultists, and most of the interior population are aware of the truth but sworn to secrecy.

The Azumabito clan is made responsible for Paradis's military weapons. They operate in the northern region of Rose & Sina (blades & ODM gear). Officially, they’re supposed to have have diplomatic immunity b/c of their military ties to Mid-Eastern Alliance, but inside the Walls, things tend to get more lawless and not everyone is lucky (such as Mikasa’s family).

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Another writing poll

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Hi! This is a rickroll. Please visit youtube dot com, type "never gonna give you up" in the search bar, then click on the first video that comes up. Thank you for your consideration.

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this aot post-canon marley arc au project is coming along nicely! an outline of concepts below the cut:

Paths do not function as time travel/interdimensional meddling, but rather the candidate attempting to process what's essentially an onslaught of memories/information. The Founder can technically control all the Wall Titans & regular Titans, Shifters, at the cost of severe psychological strain. Without royal blood, the inheritor would just lose his or her mind completely. Shifter memories can also be inherited from past lives, when consuming a Shifter’s spinal fluid (as with Marcel > Ymir > Porco, Bertholdt > Armin).

The 2000 year war/Ymir Fritz debacle is fabricated history to keep the denizens of Paradis ignorant. The year 845 in Paradis is mid-1900s to the rest of the world; War for Paradis/Marley arc takes place during 1910s. Paradis is viewed as a penal colony, a haven for political dissidents, and their people no better than cattle (Marley calls them children of the devil). There is a Mid-Eastern conflict while Grisha is growing up, and it becomes a “cold war” during the infiltration of Paradis (from when Eren is nine to sixteen).

Grisha Jaeger goes through about the same events as in canon, losing his sister, becoming radicalized by that loss & the Owl, marrying Dina and unsuccessfully radicalizing his son, who turns them both over to the police. Instead of being sentenced to death by Titan like his wife and son (he’s told they were), Grisha becomes instrumental in a secret government program on Paradis, headed by the Mid-Eastern Alliance, to create Eldian “super soldiers” who won’t disobey orders. The project started a few decades before, and most of the world is unanimously for it (less soldiers have to die for the greater good, and if they’re Eldian they’re throwaways anyway). Grisha works with candidates for Attack, Armored (Female is a prototype of Warhammer), and Jaw. Colossus is just a repurposed Wall Titan. Grisha is taught both the injection and training processes, overseeing the candidates’ reaction to the serum, walking them through the process, curse of Ymir, etc.

In secret, an aged Kruger (working for the Mid-Eastern Alliance like Grisha, but secretly a double agent) gives Grisha a vial of the Attack Titan’s serum, telling him the only way to stop this endless war is to infiltrate Paradis and find someone of royal blood. Note: The Mid-Eastern Alliance wants the Founder’s power to take over Paradis and use its population as Titans for war/manpower + access to its resources. The Eldian sympathizers (Kruger, then Grisha) wish to stage a coup and eradicate Marley.

In 845, the top Warrior candidates are sent to retrieve the founder’s power (Annie, Bertholdt, Reiner and Marcel). Their assignment is to break into Paradis and assimilate as soldiers, infiltrating the military. When the “coordinate” is are found, to bring it back to Marley alive. Curse of Ymir is in effect, corresponding to titan activation and regeneration. Certain candidates are more/less susceptible to hypnotic suggestion than others (Reiner and Eren the most, Annie and Marcel/Ymir the least). But they have cues; Annie's ring, Eren's key, Reiner, Marcel and Bertholdt as "warriors" that want to get to their "hometown".

But wait, Eren is not a Warrior, so why is he included? Before the fall of Wall Maria (and a little while after rescuing Mikasa), Grisha injects Eren with the Attack Titan serum bestowed by Kruger, and hypnotizes Eren in the same manner as the Marley warriors. This is why Eren’s able to transform and act as a Shifter without thinking twice early-on. Additional contact w/Rod Reiss, Dina & Historia also brings the "warrior" side to the forefront.

Titan transformations/actions are not just determined by brainwashing (that’s mainly a special case with the Warriors), but by the shifter's subconscious. It’s why certain Titans are deemed aberrant (the Ragako villagers, Sonny, Bean, and Dina). They are more aware but lack the agency of a true Shifter, and cannot follow orders or revert back to human form without eating a Shifter. “Regular” Titans are less aware, but still seek out a Shifter to consume.

Ymir eating Marcel complicates the whole mission. She inherits Marcel's memories, but she hasn’t been programmed like the other Warriors. Hence why she comes to care for Historia on her own, and why she picks up on Reiner’s fugue state and the “warrior/hometown” cue before Eren does. I’d ideally love to give her a bigger role in the plot, but I need to flesh this out.

Bertholdt’s background doesn’t matter too much. Reiner is much the same as in canon. Annie is not adopted, but her mother does die a few years after giving birth to her and her father, himself a veteran of the Mid-Eastern conflict in Grisha’s time, never quite forgives this. Instead of telling Annie he loves her, he makes sure she’ll be the best damn Warrior candidate she can be, because to be born as Eldian is basically a death sentence. (Bertholdt and Reiner want to complete the mission for patriotic reasons, while Annie’s heart is not quite in it.)

During Stohess, Annie is captured by the Scouts. She admits, under pressure, that she was supposed to bring Eren to “hometown” because he’s like her. Irvin and Hanji appeal to the military tribunal to let her work with the Scouts, same as Eren, under the determination she was coerced into working for the enemy’s orders. This does not go over well initially. Levi is able to put his feelings aside for the good of the mission, but that’s as nice as he gets—she’s on thin ice after slaughtering his squad. Most of the Scouts are scared of Annie, but Armin, Eren, and Ymir show various degrees of sympathy.

Thanks to Marcel’s memories, Ymir suspects the coordinate is Eren (but doesn’t know the relation of Zeke to Eren, or why he’s so important) and that Reiner and Bertholdt will need to bring him to “hometown”. So Ymir and Annie initially work together to bring Eren in; but Ymir splits to protect Historia, while Annie sides with Bertholdt and Reiner.

Eren still punches the Smiling Titan. Historia becomes Queen of Paradis, etc. Flash forward to the Marley/War for Paradis Arc. Annie and Reiner survive, while Bertholdt does not (I’m quite fond of Ymir, but I also think her arc concluded pretty neatly, which is more than I can say for other characters).

With the help of Yelena and Floch, Eren goes AWOL for ten months, posing as an injured veteran and learning Marley’s situation. He develops a tendency for self-harm beyond the need to heal, and his regeneration begins to lessen with age.

Annie and Reiner return to Marley empty-handed, but with plenty of intel. Annie gets promoted to Vice-Commander. Reiner was the lynchpin of the operation (but he's really starting to lose it). Now she has to be the leader, and she didn't care about much else but getting home before this. Reiner is the only one who seems happy for Annie’s promotion (her heart wasn’t in it, point of contention with Marley’s Warriors and their zealotry) because he’s riddled with guilt for failing to save Bertholdt, thinks she’s better-suited for VC.

Annie recognizes the injured veteran in Liberio but no one believes that he's a threat (just like in Paradis!). She's doesn't want another tragedy, but she's also nursing a grudge about her lack of success in Paradis and her current bad blood despite the promotion (unhappy, now that she’s got what she once wanted). So she tracks Krueger down to his apartment and tries to find evidence he's up to something. He's a little drunk and physically impaired (has to keep injuring himself), but certainly remembers her.

She can't find his letters (he’s “cleaning house” to return home), nor turn him in on a hunch. So she gets a little tipsy and they end up reconciling. Maybe a little more than that. If I'm going to be self-indulgent, Eren admits he'd marry her despite the Curse of Ymir, etc., as they're both Eldian (because he's inebriated). She doesn't shut him down (because she's inebriated) and suggests he ask after the war's over. Eren says he will remember.

But when the time comes, Eren still kills Tybur and the Warhammer Titan. He’s taken back to Paradis. (Tenatively might kill off Reiner and have another kid take his powers.)

The Jaegerists encourage Eren’s goal of “genocide” under the guise of blind jingoism without understanding precisely what they’re asking for (they’re mostly seen as “useful idiots” outside of Paradis). The Anti-Marley group is more aware of Eren's underlying condition, and have been promised (falsely) by the Mid-Eastern Alliance that eradicating Paradis will make them heroes/grant them immunity—they are still Eldians in Marley’s eyes. All they have to do is manipulate Eren into starting a war with Marley.

Eren breaks out of confinement on Paradis, storms the interior, activates the Founder using Historia instead of Zeke and unleashes the Colossi to decimate Marley and anyone else who dares fire a shot on Paradis. Well, that’s the plan. What actually happens is: the Mid-Eastern Alliance takes him out by cooperating with the military on Paradis (the colossi can’t reach the zeppelins). Eren's connection is severed from the Founding Titan, but he’s not killed. He and all the Warriors/normal Titans lose their powers and revert back to human form. It effectively kills the Colossi crossing the sea. It's not a total massacre like in the comic/show.

With Paradis losing its greatest asset, they have to declare an armistice or risk total destruction by modern planes, boats, etc. "cutting edge" tactical warfare against titans. The island is in shambles, but not eradicated as the other side hoped. The narrative becomes that Eren Jaeger, a rogue soldier, sought to bring a casualty so massive the world leaders had no choice but to band together against the horror of the rumbling. He and the other Warriors + Jaegerists are tried for war crimes. Historia decrees Eren an “honorary Marleyan” and sends him to live in exile in Marley, as he can’t really harm anyone without his powers or public sway.

Eren’s a pariah, or a tragic war hero who fought for emancipation of the Eldians, depending on who you ask. He ends up in the same Liberio tenement he occupied during his ten-month stint. He goes through a lot of emotional processing, gets in fights, drinks heavily, yet slowly finds commonality with the surviving warriors (Pieck, Porco, Falco, Reiner, Annie) that they should have been fighting the Mid-Eastern Allies, not each other.

Public feelings are mixed. They're heroes for stopping Eren, but also an unpleasant reminder of Marley’s embracing of science without ethics. They frighten children and invite the ire of normal vets who cannot regenerate, and were displaced by titan shifters.

Pieck and Porco move to a different city, Eren gets a job as instructor at military college while Annie becomes a clerk for Marley’s military police (again!). They get "set up" by a colleague. Circumstances change and she has to live with him after a block of Liberio gets torched (not everyone in Marley is happy about the Warriors). They reunite, reconvene, and eventually find a life together in the rubble, eking out their remaining years as civilians. Think Curious Case of Benjamin Button in terms of bittersweet tearjerker. The love was there, in spite of the horrors of war.

#upcoming projects #snk #aot #eren jaeger #grisha jaeger #annie leonhart #bertholdt hoover #reiner braun #ymir aot #meta? #canon divergent au

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wip wednesday: aot, marley arc ii

a/n: continuation of this scene. the optimistic brainrot might just win this time. thanks again to @lunarcrystal :D

A timeless moment without war where the sorrows of their future acknowledged but did not loom so close upon the horizon. The hard light of afternoon through the curtains. Eren, glancing at her, said, “You should go. You’ll come up missing.”

“It’s for publicity more than anything. The younger Warriors don’t give a damn about politics.”

He turned away, dragging himself over to the crutch. It was pitiful to watch but she couldn’t make herself look away. “What if one of your Marley compatriots walks in?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had that happen before.” He got to his feet. “I’ll say we’re dating or something.”

He chuckled, the hint of an edge to his voice. “Right.”

“They’ll buy it. Turns out I have a boyfriend. He’s fifteen metres tall.”

“Are you trying to get us both killed?” he said, finally glancing at her.

Annie shrugged. “I can’t change your mind, can I?”

He was looking at the chair next to her foot. He shook himself. “Want to elope?”

Annie froze. “With you?” Her response was a little too hasty to be callous. “That—isn’t possible.”

“Why not? We’re both Eldian.”

Annie shook her head. “We just—we can’t.”

He paused. “There’s someone else?”

Annie barked out a laugh. “What man in his right mind would ask to marry a Warrior?”

“I would.” Looking at her head-on. As if it were so simple.

Annie sneered. “Then you’re even more suicidal than I imagined.”

“I suppose so.” Eren didn’t look away. “If I asked you, right now, what would you say?”

It was never in the cards. She’d have to marry a Marleyan, if she bothered at all. The type to get drunk with and fuck once or twice and swap goodbyes. A loyal husband that would outlive the Curse of Ymir and visit her grave each year. “Ask me again when the war is over.”

He smiled. It didn’t touch his eyes. “I’ll remember.”

#ereani #ereannie #wip

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wip wednesday -- aot, marley arc

a/n: alas... the brainworms have returned. thanks to @lunarcrystal's vc!Annie AU. this scene in-progress takes place in medias res from the post-canon ereannie au I'm working on. it's technically a soft reboot of a chapter (or several) from the 30 days OTP challenge that was in need of trimming.

She rapped on the door of the flat and waited around a minute for an answer. "Oi, Krueger," she barked.

Could be asleep. Or simply out on an errand. It wouldn't kill her to ask around the tenement, or make her rounds. She got enough shit from her Warrior colleagues wasting her time down here in Liberio's slums. Asking too many neighbors would give him reason to lie low.

She detected movement on the other side. She stepped aside in turn as the door opened.

He wasn't wearing any bandages this time. His left eye bore a perforated scar down the cornea. He blinked, then his brow creased. "Vice-Commander." She could smell the alcohol on him. "Come back to say hello?"

"I just wanted to see if you had drunk yourself to death."

"Not today. I wouldn't mind the company though." Annie deliberated. On the one hand, it didn't exactly behoove her to humour the enemy outright. "Stay a while," said Eren coolly, pushing the door a little wider with his shoulder. "Gets boring talking to the wall all day."

His good eye dug into her. She stepped through the door.

The kitchen decently-kept. A few dishes on the table the remains of a meal. The Liberio tenements didn’t have running water or electricity, so the wood stove in the center of the room was the only source of heat in winter. The half-empty bottle of alcohol on the table, glittering in the sunlight.

“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” Eren muttered. “Wasn’t expecting anyone.”

She side-eyed him. “No friends?” He shook his head. “Women?”

He paused, squaring his shoulders. “No, ma’am.” If she could see his ears they’d be pink. He gestured toward the threshold. “You’ll want to see the other rooms?”

“Lead the way.”

He was so tall, even on crutches, that he had to bend down to clear the doorway into the next room.

There was a bed against the wall. Not much furniture to speak of beyond a beat-up wardrobe and a closet. If he were writing regularly to an outside party he’d keep the letters someplace clandestine. She walked the length of the room in a few paces. A light breeze shifted the curtains in front of the only window in the room, cracked open. Eren was leaning against the doorframe. On her feet, she came up to his breastbone.

“I need to look at the dresser and wardrobe.”

Eren shrugged. “All right.”

The wardrobe had only a few ratty suits and a pair of boots, bottle of shoeshine. In front of the dresser she got down on her knees to rifle through a few shirts, rolled-up pairs of pants, old socks. The linen smelled faintly of mold. She shut the drawer and said in a tight voice, “The mattress, then.”

“It’s pretty heavy. I can help you.”

She ignored him. Walked over to the other side of the room with the window behind her, and lifted. The light of day revealing the underside of a decrepit mattress. Her jaw grit. She let it fall. She’d need a warrant to tear his room apart, even in the slums of Liberio. 

“Terrible, isn’t it? I’d burn it now if I were able to afford a new one.”

Annie stormed into the kitchen, ignoring his protest. She grabbed the bottle on the table and took a deep pull. Lukewarm. Probably been out all morning. It burned her throat on the way down and she stifled a cough into her arm, eyes watering.

“Rough day?” called Eren from the threshold.

“You’re sick,” she hissed. “Grice is too naïve to understand what kind of monster you are.”

“I don’t mean him any harm. Nor you.” He glanced down at his leg. “I can’t transform.”

The alcohol went to her head. Dropping her guard, no better than handing him the knife. “How long will you be staying in Liberio?”

“Only ‘til the festival.”

His voice neutral. Enemies did not look at each other the way he always had. She always told herself the next time they spoke would be to the other’s grave. How simple it was, for him to rebel. He made it his prerogative. Each time, he found a way to reappear and make everything worse. He only saw her cool veneer, never the itch in her blood close to jealousy. The war would be over within the year. Paradis would be destroyed with impunity.

“You don’t look drunk,” said Annie.

“The clerk at the general store calls me a heavyweight drinker,” Eren answered, shifting his weight on his good leg. “I guess that’s true.”

Her image reflected in his working eye, drowning in his desolation. This hunger shared between them. Four years of cold, unsympathetic truths turned the outspoken idealist into a man half-dead. His conviction sucked the life from him. The same vacancy she saw in Braun’s eyes, when he thought he was alone. Annie licked her lips, in a silent battle with herself over what to say. The responsible thing to do. The silence between them so charged a knife couldn’t cut it.

She let her head fall forward, colliding harmlessly into his chest. Kicking out his leg, he crumpled to meet the floor. She was on top of him, fists in his shirt. Breathing hard, despite the lack of exertion. Eren stared at her, wide-eyed. Sober, there would be no excuse for this conduct. Tenderness would not win a war. Sympathies reserved for the civilians who read about the atrocities overseas in the comfort of their homes. In his place, she’d wrap his hands around the traitor’s throat and squeeze the life from her.

Instead, leaning down to press her mouth to his, biting his lip. He groaned, coming to life beneath her.

The world shifted on its axis. Her back met the floor. Eren, bracing on his elbows, took her face in his hands and crushed his mouth to hers with the rapacious fever of a man ready to die. Threading fingers through his unkempt hair, her tongue slashed against his teeth. He grabbed her jaw with fingers, sliding his tongue into her mouth. They could only get so close without inevitably devouring each other.

"Annie," he whispered, stealing another kiss, then another, until her head was spinning. "Annie." Her name was a confession. An apology. Every second spent inert was wasted. He pulled back, his hair a curtain around her face. “This your plan?” With his forehead to hers, his working eye and the perforated one, she cupped his face. “No.”

#wip #ereani #ereannie

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wip wednesday - Entwirren an den Nähten, Part II

a/n: This was penned a bit before the Marley arc, when Eren was still in his angry phase, so it's not 100% canon compliant.

I’ve had this draft sitting in Ao3 since 2017. Felt a little nostalgic for AoT & these characters, so I thought I'd flesh out the opening scene for practice. Thank you for reading all these years! <3

Their sweat cools and dries, and the room is colder than before. Historia sits up first. She sweeps her hair aside. It’s grown past her shoulder-blades and the standard regulation for cadets. Such rules do not apply to a queen. He’s never considered her beauty in such an intimate, civilian sense. All the girls he can name are soldiers.

Eren has seen her formally, or undressed, but never undone. Without the same priority of a lover or chambermaid, he is an outlier to the sanctity of her quarters. She turns away to speak, “This has to stop. We have lives on the line, an enemy across the ocean. I let my judgement become compromised. I'm not fit to assist you.”

She speaks dryly, as if giving one of her speeches to the public rather than a single interloper. How convenient, that she recalls her duties. Now she can be all high and mighty. Krista was just a façade, so at least now they can be honest.

“I didn’t think you were such a hypocrite.”

He speaks to the back of her head. In his mind's eye she might frown and turn to assess his contempt. Without blame, there is only impunity. Two child soldiers in the eyes of their superiors, in a world without Titans and a nameless enemy on the other side of the sea, assuming roles they cannot comprehend past prestige and duty itself.

“I can’t force you to refuse, or keep coming back. But it won't hurt either of us to take a break.” Historia's tone is cool, forced, “We'll resume your sessions at a more opportune time.”

She grants him use of her bathroom, a fleeting sign of goodwill. Not just a means of covering this up. Not a means of washing her hands of him. 

With his hand still on the plain brass knob, Eren turns back and lets his eyes find her figure again. She's sitting up, still naked, gazing at her knees. As he opens the door she looks up, and there's something vacant and disquieted he sees in his reflection.

#snk #erehisu #reblog #wip