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bluebird722 · 4 months

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Attack on Titan: Beyond the Tree on That Hill

Summary: All it takes is love to rebuild and grow in the aftermath of devastation.

Rating: T

Main Pairings: Jeankasa, AruAni

Author’s note: I know the finale aired a few months ago, but this idea has been stewing in the back of my head since then. However, I experienced a personal loss before the new year, so I figured that now was the best time to share this with readers who either loved or hated the finale, but may have wanted more on what happened to the characters.

Also, I don’t primarily ship the main pairing of this series of drabbles, but reading fanfiction and studying fanart has made it grow on me. I’ve even linked certain paragraphs to inspiring fanart. Either way, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed thinking of it.

Special acknowledgement to: @azulmarina3, @poroverso, @itslieutenanthawkeye, @smallblip, and @k-lionheart-art and @marshmallow-rainbow139!

***Attack on Titan: Beyond the Tree on That Hill***

It was bittersweet, how everyone had come to the final burial site. No matter how they felt about Eren before the rumbling, while they were still new to the cadets, the atmosphere felt peaceful the way that he would have wanted it. The day that the ambassadors had returned, they woke up and made the pilgrimage to the giant tree where he liked to rest as a child.

Each one had brought flowers to lay down, and they stood in silence for about two hours. So much had changed since the Rumbling, for better and worse. International relations, so far, seemed to be growing, but the Yeagerists were still trying to gain more power and influence within the island. The economy was regrowing stronger than before, but so many people were still struggling to make ends meet.

When the group agreed to return to their hotel, Mikasa joined them but spent the afternoon on the balcony to enjoy the sunshine while the others napped. She didn’t want to think at that time about the past or the future; she really wanted to enjoy the present and how many lives were still rebuilding. Below her, many children were still laughing and talking as they ran errands for their parents, and couples, old and young, walked together, holding hands. It was a sight she cherished and envied.

Then she sensed a physical presence behind her, who walked onto the balcony. Though his clothes under his suit were unorderly, Jean looked more refreshed than when he stepped off the steamboat. He offered her a glass bottle of water and asked if he could sit beside her. She more or less allowed him to.

The calm moment between them ended in two hours, after he put his hand on her bare wrist under her sleeve. She pretended not to feel surprise and confusion at this touch but looked down anyway. Jean lifted the corner of his mouth. “You know that you don’t have to share your feelings,” he said, “but you don’t have to hide them anymore.”

“I know,” she said so quietly that he barely heard her. When the sun began to set and the wind picked up, he took off his jacket, which he put around her shoulders so she didn’t have to retreat back inside. The interior was so warm that she almost began to sweat. Then he brought her downstairs for dinner and helped her order food for the others when they woke.

***

Although Mikasa considered it “courtship”, it certainly was unlike how she imagined a test for lifelong companionship. In that time, he formally introduced her to his mother, who embraced her despite her soft features hiding nearly a lifetime of stoicism and trauma. She listened to every story–funny and embarrassing–that his mother remembered from his youth. He never pushed her to laugh, but he did like to say things to make her smile. They compared their own methods of chores, such as laundry, and elected to follow whichever seemed the best, even if it was more time consuming. Over time, he rediscovered his interest in sketching and spent free time charcoaling the wilderness or the neighborhood. She liked to watch over his shoulder and happily posed for him one sunny afternoon.

They had stayed outside longer so he could capture in charcoal as much of the sunset as he could. Mikasa shared with him the embroidery from her childhood that she thought about picking back up, whether or not she had children. He knew that talking about her youth before her parents’ murder was still painful for her, and she shared the full story of how Eren saved her.

His thumbs wiping her cheeks were so tender that she slowly stopped weeping. She hated the sad look in his eyes. “Remember,” he said, “you should miss him. Don’t ever feel like you have to pretend that you do not.” He took a deep breath. “I know that I’m not him,” he added, “but I would give you anything in the world so you know that you are loved and deserve–”

“Loved?” she repeated back.

Jean went still. “Yes,” he said after a long pause. “I…I love you. I’ve felt that since we were in training…”

Slowly, Mikasa leaned closer and kissed him. Jean’s chest had an exploding sensation. He could not believe that he was actually kissing her, nor that it was much superior to how he fantasized. She delicately put her hand on his shoulder, and he cupped her cheek in one hand so they wouldn’t break apart as the sun disappeared for the time being.

Six months into their romantic relationship, they rented an apartment together but did not progress to anything more than kisses and strong hugs. Regardless of fatigue or cold, Jean was always glad to heat up tea for her late at night or sit outside on the balcony with her when she missed Eren too much. It was strange, for him, to see her allow herself to become more vulnerable, like the warrior that she was slowly showing the “human” side of her. He did not speak unless prompted; he memorized every dream that she recollected to him and every memory of Eren that she almost forgot. Somehow, Jean knew that this was part of her healing and over time trusted her with his own memories, what he missed from his boyhood and even incidents in the cadets that he did not want to remember but could not forget.

It wasn’t him, she knew, but they became closer than she had been with the boy who liked to pick fights with the one who saved her life, and the man who sided with her as she took down her idea of a life partner.

When they eventually married, only Jean wore his military uniform; Mikasa decided, after all, that she did want to wear a white gown. White, after all, was the color of purity and renewal, people said. She wanted to be a symbol of positive change and remind everyone that good was growing like a flower. Historia and Pieck styled her hair to resemble the former’s and clipped her bangs to her crown. Annie handmade her bouquet with wildflowers, and Historia’s daughter carried the back of her gown on her way to the small chapel.

Yes, I wish it would have been Eren, she thought to herself. I would have wanted nothing more than to meet him inside and pledge the rest of my life to him. She looked down at the flowers she clutched and felt pressure grow in her ears. But it’s not him.

Then the doors opened, and she reluctantly looked up. No, the man waiting for her inside did not have dark hair or wide eyes, nor was he the one who saved her from slavery and gave her the scarf that she secretly wore around her waist under the gown. She took a deep breath and made her way forward.

Suddenly, she felt an invisible presence at her left, like Eren had appeared out of nowhere and was guiding her to the woman-obsessed soldier ahead. Then Mikasa smiled and let her eyes water. She clutched her bouquet and timidly smiled at Jean, who looked so different from the brash boy she met at the cadets. When she reached his side, she saw how hard he had been weeping.

They held hands as the minister pronounced their lives together, to love and support each other in the best and worst of times, regardless of life’s challenges. Jean kissed the back of her hand and wiped a tear from her cheek when they were done, and the guests followed them outside to present themselves as newlyweds to their fellow Eldians. Mikasa tried not to think of Eren but instead that someone else loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her.

After a private lunch with lots of soft music at Nicolo’s restaurant, Jean carried her to a wagon and did not mind that she held his hand with her head on his shoulder without saying anything. Even though she smiled every time he kissed her temple, Mikasa struggled to embrace how her entire life was changing.

Then the wagon stopped, and Jean hopped out first. As Mikasa started to step out, he picked her up in his arms and carried her around. In front of the wagon was a log cabin with a firepit up front, a dusty pathway, and a river just down the hill. Jean smiled at the dumbfounded look on his bride’s face. “You never specifically said how you wanted your ideal house to look,” he explained, “but I know that you prefer nature and peace, so…this is the ideal retreat.”

He carried her inside and did not set her on her feet. Everything reminded her of her childhood homes, from the kitchen to the water pump, and even the two bedrooms that resembled her home with her parents and then with Eren and his parents. She pushed her fingers to her mouth and shook her head. “Thank you, Jean. I…I will enjoy it here.”

They cooked, ate dinner, and washed the dishes together smiling, but when it was time to go to bed, Mikasa paused at the doorway into their bedroom. It occurred to her then why they had a second bedroom in the house, which Armin and their surviving comrades had built in secret, with Jean’s supervision.

Jean put his hands on her waist. “What is the matter?” he asked.

Mikasa bit her tongue, unsure. “I…” She put her hands over his. “I don’t want to do that…tonight.” She held her breath. “Someday, but…not now.”

Jean himself was tired but had secretly hoped to make the marriage, according to ancient tradition, “official” that night. He was slightly disappointed, but he knew that trying to convince her would offend even a strong woman like Mikasa. Instead, he kissed the back of her head and walked around her into the room. “We will not then,” he said. “I promise that I will wait until you are comfortable.”

Smiling, Mikasa kissed him good night and let him wrap her in the blanket and his arms.

***

The two months succeeding the wedding were some of the happiest and most relaxed of their lives. Their comrades frequently visited and brought up good and bad memories of their training days, as stupid and clueless young soldiers, until dark. If Jean was enjoying a glass of scotch with a book he was reading, Mikasa liked to sit beside him, rest her head on his shoulder, and read along. On days where she observed over his shoulder his artistic talent, he lay on his back so her face hovered over his; he liked to look into her eyes and feel her fondle his facial hair. When his mother came to see their new apartment, she took Mikasa’s hands and said, with tears in her eyes, “Thank you so much for making my child happy. I have never seen him this…content before, even when he was a little boy.”

Still, unlike his wife, Jean began having traumatizing recollections and crying in his sleep. It started one night a week until it grew to three, sometimes four. Mikasa woke to his muffled cries and had to shake him out of his slumber, or Jean battled alone while his wife slept and soaked through his sleepwear. Embraces and walks outside did not always help, but sometimes she had to make him remember and let it go. Jean told her everything except one dream where Eren haunted him for “stealing” her from a lifetime of longing and yearning. Otherwise, it was recollections of discovering Marco’s body, of watching Armin being abused while posing as Historia, and even of Hange’s death in flames. Sometimes weeping in the arms of his wife consoled the hotheaded young soldier within him, particularly because the young woman whom he admired was the one to comfort him.

Within their first two months of marriage, their union was soft and harsh. She smiled when he embraced her in bed but often wept for unknown reasons in the bathroom. Each time, her husband closed his eyes and tried to imagine how his and Eren’s lives would have been different if Jean had been less antagonistic. Jean wouldn’t regret marrying her, but did he unknowingly rush her into marriage before she fully recovered? Even before he asked her to marry him, he vowed that he would love and care for her more than he ever did for anyone else in his life.

Jean was silent at dinner that night and went to bed early. She joined him later and knew that he was feigning sleep. He’s a good man, she remembered telling herself when she finally agreed to marry him. It is obvious that he thinks that he is failing as a husband, but he’s not.

“Jean,” she said softly.

Immediately, he held himself up on his elbow. “Yes?”

Mikasa hesitated, and then took a deep breath. “I…I’m ready.”

For a while, Jean was still. Then he brushed part of Mikasa’s hair from her face and leaned down to kiss her. She kissed him back but then put her hands on his shoulders. “Wait… Could you please sit up?”

Jean pushed himself back and bent his knees, unsure if she would change her mind. Her silhouette hesitated, but then she crawled over and, after shuffling, he sat on the bed cross-legged, and she sat on his lap, her legs around his waist. After gentle kissing and a deep breath, she pulled him back with her onto the bed. His facial hair scratched her chin, and he whispered sweet things to her between kisses.

***

At last, Jean was done chopping wood. He was in the best shape of his life, but his arms and upper back were burning from overwork, and he was thirsty for cold water. Even though winter was months away, he wanted to have as much wood ready for when the cold did arrive and the family retreated to the cabin. Jean wiped his forehead and entered the log cabin.

Mikasa was at the table, peeling potatoes and slicing vegetables much slower than normal. She seemed lost in thought, so Jean decided not to disturb her. As he took off his shoes and rolled his head, she did look up and smile at him. After he splashed cold water from the pump onto his face and swallowed a mouthful of water, he kissed her cheek and sat beside her. “We are good with wood for now,” he said. “And plenty for when it is too cold to go outside.”

Mikasa nodded along and continued prepping the night’s meal. Jean grabbed a knife and chopped the potatoes that she had peeled to mix with the brown skins. Cutting food relaxed him and took his mind off the bad dreams that were not as reoccurring anymore but still made him reluctant to fall asleep. Now, more than ever, he truly worried about them going away.

Just then, Mikasa stopped and stared at the table. Jean assumed that she was thinking about Eren again, but then she made a face of discomfort. He set down the knife and gently put his hand on her arm. “Mikasa? Are you…all right?”

Mikasa left her mouth open for a moment. “Y–Yes,” she hesitated. “It’s nothing.”

Jean didn’t believe her, but he continued to cut potatoes anyway. Then, about ten minutes later, she made the same face and hissed. Just as Jean lifted his head, Mikasa smacked her hand onto the table and grit her teeth. Her husband set down the knife and stood up. “Mikasa? What is giving you pain?”

Mikasa hissed through her teeth and then slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were wide with anticipation and dread. “Jean…I may be in labor.”

At that moment, Jean knelt down and moved his wife’s legs in his direction, and put his hands under her arms. They counted to three together, and she shakily stood up on swollen feet and ankles. Her lap and chair were wet with fluids that she somehow did not feel. Jean swung her arm over his shoulders and helped her into their bedroom, where she heaved on her slow way into the bed. “Bring the doctor,” she gulped. “The–The baby is moving fast…”

“No,” said Jean. “I am afraid to leave you all by yourself.”

Mikasa gripped the edge of the mattress. “Jean…you don’t know anything about babies or how they’re born…”

“No,” he agreed, “but what if I leave and you fall off the bed? You could hurt yourself and the baby…”

Then another contraction hit, and she hung her head. Jean helped her to her feet again and helped her walk around the room throughout her labor. After about two hours, her breathing became more hitched, and she could no longer hold up herself.

Jean lowered her back onto the bed and pushed their pillows under her back. Then he swung her feet onto the bed and pushed up her skirt. “Get the doctor,” his wife whined.

“No, I’m not leaving you alone,” said Jean. “What if the doctor is not there? I couldn’t leave you alone in all that time–”

“Jean…” She threw back her head and clenched her eyes closed. It hurt Jean to see this strong woman fall vulnerable to the pains of childbirth, but he knew that she would recover. She wasn’t going to let this pain bother her for the rest of her life. He took a deep breath and ignored the sweat all over his back.

Although Mikasa complained that he should have left for professional services, Jean refused and coached her throughout the afternoon. She gripped her thighs so tightly that she left bruises everywhere, and her eyes stung from the sweat on her forehead. Then she gave one final push and opened her eyes when Jean began laughing and crying at the same time. In his hands he clutched a naked newborn, coated in fluids and wailing. Mikasa burst into tears because for some reason, she felt happy–tremendously happy, like she never thought she could feel. Jean skipped out of the room on shaky legs and came back clutching a knife to cut the umbilical cord and a blanket with which he swaddled his firstborn.

“It’s a boy,” he sobbed with a wide smile. He curled up to Mikasa and kissed her cheek, and then studied his son’s messy face. “Thank you so much.”

“No,” said Mikasa. “Thank you…for reminding me that hearts can heal, and life goes on…and can be better than you believed.”

Jean stared at her in silence, and then smiled as they leaned forward for another kiss.

***

Jean sipped from his glass of scotch and looked out of the corner of his eye to the corner of the balcony. Mikasa sat in the corner against the wall post and beamed at the chunky baby who was one week away from his first birthday. They had just laid down flowers at Eren’s grave and showed their son to where they planned to make yearly visits. The baby’s nostrils flared every time he breathed, and he alternated between opening and closing his mouth in his sleep.

Eren, Jean thought to himself what he would have liked to directly tell his son, whose hair was black like his mother’s, it had been busy months preparing for your arrival. Your mother and I knew that you would change our lives, but we didn’t know how much. Now…I cannot imagine how my life could have been better. It’s like you are my reason for living. All of this that I went through up to now…was to have you born.

Jean smiled. And I had no idea how much I could love until now.

Jean studied the way she observed baby Eren’s ear and the way Eren outstretched his arms over his head. Did I ever imagine that I would name my son after someone to whom I was quite antagonistic? Jean thought to himself. Absolutely not.

Then he observed deeper how happy the once solemn and bitter woman was. Of course, she would mourn for her best friend every day, but she was also reclaiming her life before her parents were murdered. She was starting to let go of her traumas to give love to the little boy she helped create, and whom she loved. Jean felt a little satisfied that he had a role to play in her joy, and that over time he stopped having nightmares. Was he the most content that he had ever felt and that he wouldn’t trade anything now for what he had hoped for? Absolutely.

***

Eren did not grow up spoiled; his parents taught him chores as soon as he became a better walker, and he had to obey other adults as well, whether it was to stop raising his voice, help his grandmother clear the table, or not say certain words around Connie and Armin. He was not allowed to wear his shoes indoors nor have too much warm water in the bath.

Nevertheless, Eren always received the best tomato in the market, was allowed to pick out the clothes and shoes that he liked when he wore out what he had, never went cold in his bedroom, and had enough time between chores and bedtime to play and read his favorite stories. By the time he was three, he craved adventure and enjoyed trips to the log cabin, and was more excited about learning to ride a horse than other changes in the house…

***

“Jean.” “Jean.”

Jean groggily woke up because of the poking on his back. Was it little Eren again? Did he sneak out of his room and slide between his parents to wake them up because he could? Maybe it would be best to sleep through it.

“Jean.” Another poke. “It’s baby time.”

Immediately, Jean woke up and turned around. Mikasa was still lying down, but her eyes were wide with anticipation. Even in the dark, he saw a growing puddle on her side of the bed. Panic seized him, and he pulled himself out of bed. “Oh my gosh, Mikasa,” he panted, “are you in pain, does it hurt, is it different than–”

“No, I am good,” she whispered. “Just grab the doctor for me, and then tell your mother to take Eren outside to play when he wakes up.”

Jean hastily nodded and kissed her forehead. “But what about you?”

“I can pull myself up,” she whispered right before she made a face of pain. “Just…hurry…”

Jean kissed her again and ran out of the room to grab his coat and pull on his shoes. It was happening again, and he wanted it to be better but just as precious as with Eren. This time, his mother slept on the couch to better assist with housekeeping and to keep her grandson distracted from the confusing yet undoubtedly frightening reality of childbirth.

He ran out of the building, mentally asking Eren, if he could hear his fallen comrade, to please be there again for the laboring woman and to keep mother and child safe.

***

The two horses galloped as fast as they could, as if running from a great wildfire. They darted along the pathway, creating clouds of dust on either side, and rushed to the tall building. Paradis was still slow to catch up with modern technology, but it would have been nice to operate an automobile. A life–two lives–could be in danger, and the horses knew of the urgency.

By the time they reached the apartment building, Connie and Armin had dismounted from their horses and tied them to the post. They ran up the stairs, and Connie pounded on the door. Within two seconds, Jean–his eyes bloodshot and his face tear-streaked–opened the door. “It’s a girl,” he cheered.

“A girl,” Armin and Connie whispered at the same time. They quickly removed their boots, hung their jackets, and followed him into the cabin. Jean knocked on his bedroom door and waited for the soft “come in”. Inside, Mikasa was propped against bundles of blankets with Eren at her side, his head against her arm and staring at the wrapping of blankets that she cradled. Little Eren lifted his head and smiled when he saw the visitors. Armin immediately knelt down and embraced Mikasa, who looked exhausted but was overjoyed at another healthy birth.

“I have a little sister,” Eren said in disbelief. “She hasn’t opened her eyes yet, but she has Dada’s hair.”

“She sure does,” Jean said with a smile. He reached forward, and Mikasa handed him their daughter. “Would you like to hold her?” he asked the guests.

“Absolutely,” said Armin.

“Of course,” said Connie.

Jean smiled at the baby’s pouting lips and then approached Connie. “We named her Sasha.”

The excitement on Connie’s face automatically faded into sorrow as soon as he took the newborn into his arms and looked into Sasha’s face. She clearly resembled her parents, but in that moment, he missed his old friend–someone he considered his twin–so fiercely that it wasn’t fair that Sasha didn’t live to get married if she wanted to. She didn’t get the chance to decide if she was going to have children or to see their home at peace. Of course they wouldn’t have named their baby after her if she had survived, but it was wrong that Sasha had to die for her legacy to live on.

Connie started crying and couldn’t stop himself. Tears fell from his eyes as quickly as Armin’s and Mikasa’s over Sasha’s dead body, and fell onto baby Sasha’s forehead.

“Connie,” said Jean, Armin, and Mikasa at once, but Connie couldn’t hear them. He seemed to lose his hearing as he mourned his friend again. He kept crying onto Sasha’s cheeks until the whining newborn finally opened her eyes, and then Connie’s eyes cleared. Her eyes were the same shape and color as her mother’s. Sasha squinted at the strange man studying her, and then she lifted the corners of her mouth and trapped her tongue between her gums.

Connie sniffed and blinked back more tears. “Hi, Sasha,” he whispered. “I am very glad to meet you.”

Armin walked behind Connie and peered at her over Connie’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, little one,” he whispered. He reached forward and tickled her covered stomach. “You’re going to grow up into an amazing woman–just like your namesake.”

“Let’s just hope that she doesn’t eat everything in sight like a wild animal,” Jean, whose eyes started watering again, chuckled.

“Or steal food from other people,” Mikasa added with a smile. A confused Eren cocked his head with a “huh?”. The men, however, chuckled and marveled over Sasha until she started to whine. While her mother fed her, Jean led his son and their guests into the other room to help prepare a vegetable omelet–based on how his mother cooked for him–to bring to his wife, who would still be sore for a few days. Jean’s mother returned from the market with more fresh meat, and Armin and Connie stayed until twilight.

***

Mikasa held Eren’s hand up to the headstone and let him put down the handful of flowers. She smiled at where her greatest friend rested in peace. “Hello, Eren,” she said softly. “I thought I would visit on your birthday. We’re going to eat how you liked your deer, and then Armin will come visit and talk about how you stood up for him from bullies.”

Little Eren nodded as he waited for his mother to finish and stared at the etching in stone. He wondered what to say. Then he introduced himself and told the headstone the games he liked to play, his favorite stories before bed, his favorite stores to visit, and how good he was at riding horses. Even though he didn’t see himself becoming a soldier, he wanted to grow up to be strong and smart like his parents and Eren. (Jean, on the other hand, stayed behind to clean up Sasha, who had just vomited over his arm, was sweating through her tiny dress, and needed changing. When he was done, he carried her up the hill and, once again, expressed remorse that they did not get along when they first met.)

“Dada,” said Eren as the family held hands on the walk home, “why did you and Mama’s friend fight all the time? You always tell me that it’s not nice to make people sad.”

Jean and Mikasa, who carried Sasha in her free hand, stopped walking then and pondered how to respond. Then Jean said, “Mikasa, why don’t you go ahead and take the baby home? We’ll catch up soon.”

“All right,” said his wife. She readjusted the baby on her hip and entertained her with the scarf that Sasha liked to play with. Then Jean picked up his son and sighed.

“Well, Eren,” he started as Eren put his hands around Jean’s neck, “you might not understand until you’re big like I am now, but sometimes you will wish that you didn’t do or say some things earlier in your life.”

Eren looked confused.

“So when I first met Eren, your mama’s friend, he…he had gone through some bad things when he was young, like things that I hope you never have to go through. And I didn’t know that. I just thought that the things he wanted to do and the way he acted were silly. We had different reasons for why we wanted to join the army.

“Also…” Jean chuckled. “He and your mama were very close, and I thought that she was so beautiful like she is now. I was jealous that they were very close and that she cared about him so much. I wanted her to like me.”

Eren nodded, though Jean knew that he didn’t entirely understand. He kissed Eren’s head and hugged him tightly. The boy was silent on the way home, where Mikasa was washing vegetables in the kitchen after she sat down Sasha for her afternoon nap. “Go help your mother with dinner,” Jean instructed. “I’ll grab more meat from the market.”

Eren spent the afternoon kneading dough into one large piece and then smaller strips. While the bread baked, he peeled the carrots and turnips with a dull knife for his mother to cut them into small pieces. She had him wipe the flour from the counter so she could begin cooking. Eren alternated between observing her to learn and checking on his sleeping sister.

“Mama,” he said on the counter, “Dada said that he really liked you when you first met, but you really liked Eren, and it upset Dada.”

“Yes, that is true,” said Mikasa without looking up.

Eren tilted his head to his left. “Did you love Eren? Like, did you want to marry him? Is that why we see him every year?”

Mikasa paused and wondered how to reply. Eren worried that he asked mean questions, so he took her wooden spoon and moved around the sizzling produce. When Mikasa kissed his head, he stopped and let her take back the spoon.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I…I did love him, very much. I loved him in many ways. He was like a brother to me, even though he was my best friend and we lived together. And…I also loved him, like I wanted to be alone with him and…and not talk to anyone else.” Mikasa deeply inhaled so she wouldn’t cry. “I didn’t think then that I could get married, but if–if I did, and I could marry anyone…I would have wanted it to be him.” She rubbed her nose and wiped her clean hand on her skirt.

“I will always love Eren,” Mikasa admitted, “but I also love your father. He showed me that you can still love after a loss, but that’s not why I love him–it’s much different than that, that you may understand when you grow up. And I love you and your sister more than anything else in the world.”

“Do you wish Sasha and I–do you wish your Eren was our dada?” asked Eren.

Suddenly, Mikasa looked sad. “No,” she said after a long pause. “If I was with Eren, you and Sasha would not be you. You would have been different if your father was not Dada.” She stroked Eren’s cheek. “You and Sasha are amazing as you are now, and I–”

“What’s amazing about Sasha?” interrupted Eren. “She’s a baby. She can’t do anything.”

“Don’t interrupt, Eren,” said Mikasa. “She will not be a baby forever. She will grow up and do amazing things, as will you.” They took turns mixing the vegetables and checking on the bread until Sasha began whimpering. Mikasa trusted Eren not to let the carrots and turnips burn and quickly changed and fed the baby, who fell back asleep.

Jean returned with a hunk of wild boar, which he cooked to the point where Eren’s stomach growled. Sasha woke from her nap and eagerly flapped her arms in delight. Before she could cry at the table that she wasn’t tasting from where the delicious smell came, Eren laughed and distracted her by feeding her mashed carrots. Watching Eren spoon feed the baby was always a highlight of Mikasa’s and Jean’s day, followed by his trying to change her alone without getting kicked and entertaining her with wooden toys from their grandmother.

***

After years, Annie finally “got it” and married Armin. She kept her hair down but wore a “flower crown” that Historia’s daughter suggested, rather than a veil. She wore a white jacket over a long dress with a short train that Sasha held up on Annie and her father’s stroll to Armin. Mikasa thought that he had not looked as happy in such a long time. He never looked away from his bride’s face. Their kiss was slow and then deeper, and soon Annie began crying as hard as Armin.

Armin and Annie did not want a public ceremony, so they insisted on a private dinner party, which Nicolo happily catered at his restaurant. Reiner told only the best stories of Annie in her girlhood that made the entire party laugh, and Pieck and Connie recalled adventures as ambassadors of peace. Jean even let Eren sip from his glass of wine, which he disliked.

After Armin and Annie cut the cake and fed each other bites, they cut slices for everyone else. Then Annie took apart her bouquet and showered the party with pedals before Armin carried her to the nearby hotel for their first night together.

On his and his family’s way to spend the night in Jean’s childhood home, Jean thought, for the space of a second, that he saw Hitch, still devoted to the idea of war, somewhere, and she made eye contact with him as well. It was probably someone else with the same hair color and similar wardrobe. Nevertheless, he held Eren’s and Sasha’s hands a little tighter.

Some of the tension went away when they reached where he grew up, and his mother already opened the door before the family reached the front door. The couple let their children run over to their grandmother, who loved them and whom they loved. Like every visit, she had cooked up a juicy omelet like her son had devoured as a little boy for everyone to taste, bought for Sasha a pretty dress, and sewed together a unique cardigan for Eren.

She had kissed all over Mikasa’s cheeks, having adored her like a daughter, and called her son “Jean Boy” to make the grandchildren giggle. At dinner, she listened to Eren and Sasha talk over each other about the wedding until they started yawning. Then their parents put them to bed in Jean’s old room, where she had framed a professional drawing of her son as a chubby toddler, and caught up with the grandmother until late in the night. Jean went to bed reflecting on the suspicious face that he caught eyeing his family but confident that he and his wife would educate the children on self-defense and how to keep themselves safe.

The next morning, the children woke up to the smell of delicious omelets that kept them full until dinnertime. They spent the remainder of the day playing on the floor, reading child-friendly books from around the world that Armin collected for them, and watching people under the balcony.

Mikasa watched in silence until Jean wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned back against his chest, ready to delight in the overwhelming joy that he gave her that filled their lives and would continue to grow…

“Could I…talk to you in private?” he whispered.

Mikasa knew it was bad because Jean rarely hesitated. With one hand over his, she said, “Eren, Sasha, why don’t you see if your grandmother needs help? She’ll appreciate two little helpers.”

Eren and Sasha immediately took to cleaning up after themselves and walked over to their grandmother. Jean led Mikasa into his old room and quietly told her about what he saw when they were leaving the wedding reception. Mikasa’s eyebrows rose, and then her eyes narrowed. How were they to talk about this to the children, especially since Eren was about to start school and perhaps with children whose parents believed in the Yeagerists? Jean’s greater concern, however, was the children’s well-being. Of course, almost everybody knew that Eren and Sasha existed, but what if a Yeagerist tried to use them against their parents?

Mikasa put her hand over his. “We will talk about it tomorrow night, when they are asleep,” she promised him. Then they stood up and helped their children set the table for dinner.

“Hey Dada, did Gramma ever make cow for you when you were little?” asked Eren, who was biting on a strip of steak thicker than he could chew. “You should have seen how she does it! She says that you flip it over and keep it at a low heat but a longer time, and it helps if you don’t want it red in the middle.”

Jean was half-listening, his mind still worried for his children’s safety, but he nodded with what his son just learned. “Some people like their meat red,” he agreed, “but some people will get sick if they eat it.”

“How?” asked Eren.

“We will tell you after we eat,” Mikasa took over. “What else did you learn with Gramma?”

Eren and Sasha babbled that the same lesson–low heat, long time–applied to vegetables as well, as Gramma showed the difference using green cabbage that were steaming on the table. Jean met his mother’s eye, but she focused more on her daughter-in-law’s plate, full of portions slightly larger than usual and even odd combinations…

“Sasha, will you eat your potatoes?” Mikasa complained. “You don’t know where we will find food for your next meal! And trust me. Going hungry does not feel good!”

Groaning, Sasha slowly shoved a spoonful of potato chunks into her mouth, glaring at her mother the entire time. Jean had to hold his breath so he wouldn’t laugh at the irony—of all the foods that little Sasha ever ate in her life, potatoes were the one food she hated.

***

It was strange that the Rumbling had ended years ago. So much had happened since then, but few things pleased Historia more than to see how everyone had seemed to grow closer. They had all gathered at her orphanage as both a reunion and a private place to talk about international relations without the fear of eavesdropping.

Everyone had scattered between the picnic table, helping Historia bring out the food and treats, and within the fence, watching Eren and Sasha play with the orphans and observing how Armin never seemed to take his hand off his wife of five month’s back. They only stopped to eat, and the other ambassadors complimented how polite Eren and Sasha were to offer to collect the plates and utensils to take inside. Nothing made Jean feel prouder that he and Mikasa were parenting very well.

Once Eren and Sasha had resumed playing with the orphans, Historia resumed their important topic of discussion: the rising threat of the Yeagerists. The army wasn’t just growing stronger; it had also garnered new weapons that could kill thousands of people at once.

“But does this mean that they’re ready to initiate war at this point, even against the same countries that provided these weapons?”

“No, Historia said, very specifically, that the Yeagerists are not planning an attack yet,” Annie reminded Pieck. “But…it’s getting to the point where she’s thinking about sending someone in to infiltrate the Yeagerists and see what they have access to.” She cast her eyes wistfully to the bench on which she sat. “And if they gain too much power…how will the rest of the world’s population look at us if part of us are trying to…you know, execute permanent annihilation of civilizations, and another part are trying to promote peace?”

Pieck turned her head to ask Mikasa something, but then forgot when she saw a look of discomfort on Mikasa’s face. “Mikasa?” she said. “What is it?”

Mikasa grit her teeth and took a deep breath. “I–I’m fine,” she heaved. “Just…could you find my husband for me, please?”

“Wha–” Then realization dawned on Pieck’s face. “Oh my, that’s–you’re in labor.”

Mikasa shushed her. “No, please don’t. I don’t want my children to hear and get worried. I just…” She closed her eyes. She didn’t want her children to see or hear her prepare to give birth. Otherwise, Eren would be reluctant to marry and condemn his wife to the pain of childbirth, and Sasha would be terrified to risk her life and go through labor.

Pieck quickly left the picnic table and ran over to Jean, who was standing with Reiner and Historia, mindlessly talking. She whispered into Jean’s ear, and he faced her with shock. He hurried to his wife and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?” he hissed. “I didn’t think the baby would come so early–”

“N-Neither did I,” she grunted.

Jean caught Pieck whispering to the other adults. Historia ran over and helped Mikasa to her swollen feet. Her water had already broken, and her cheeks were flushed. “Annie and the men will keep an eye on the children,” Historia reassured the couple. “I talked to Pieck–she’s going to bring the midwives over to your house.”

Mikasa braved a look over her shoulder and fortunately, her children were still playing. “Historia…” she exhaled.

As Jean helped her into the wagon, Historia glanced back and forth between the remaining party and the couple. “How long did it take you to have your babies in the past?” she asked.

“Four hours with Sasha, Eren was about five,” said Mikasa. Historia nodded and said that, if they were all right with it, the siblings could spend the night at Historia’s and go home after breakfast the next day. The couple reluctantly agreed.

The wagon arrived at the apartment just before the midwives arrived. By then the couple were in the bedroom, and Jean was trying to hold Mikasa steady as she drank from a glass of water. The midwives confirmed that she was ready to give birth.

Holding her breath, Mikasa took off her scarf but clutched it in one hand so that Eren would still be with her once more in one of the most important moments of her life.

***

The rooster woke up everyone in Historia’s daughter’s room. Even though the adults had woken up earlier during their time in the cadets, it was still an unwelcome disturbance in their states of peace. Armin yawned as he sat up and scratched the side of his head. Eren stirred in the sleeping bag beside him and then opened his eyes. Across from them, Connie was slow to wake; Sasha, curled up in his lap, rubbed her face and stretched her arms over her head.

Eren immediately sat up. “Mama,” he whispered. He kicked himself out of the sleeping bag and stomped his way to his sister. “Sasha–” He grabbed her wrists and pulled her off Connie’s lap, ignoring her whines. “Sasha, is Mama–”

“Eren,” hissed Armin. “Don’t do that.” He pushed himself up and walked out of the room, coming back with Historia. She made the children eat with the orphans first and then allowed Connie and Armin to take them back home. The children hesitated out of fear for their mother’s well-being until Armin took Eren’s hand and Connie put Sasha on his hip.

Jean’s mother opened the door. She must have arrived right after the midwives left. “Good morning, children,” she said with the love that she had for her darling grandchildren. “Your parents are awake. Come meet your new baby brother.”

Eren sighed in relief. Even Sasha was excited and grateful. They followed the older woman to the parents’ room. She softly knocked on the door and said in a softer voice, “Jean? Mikasa? The children are awake.”

“Come in,” said Jean.

Jean’s mother opened the door, where Eren and Sasha saw their parents curled in bed. Both were smiling down at the tiny hand reaching from the bundle that Mikasa and Jean shared, and they smiled even more when they looked up at their older children. Eren let go of Armin’s hand and made a beeline for his father, who picked him up and sat him on his lap. Connie set Sasha on the foot of the bed, and she crawled between her mother and father. Mikasa kissed her children’s heads and showed them the baby’s face. He had Jean’s eye shape but Mikasa’s eye color. Eren saw their father in the baby’s nose and lips.

Cautiously, Sasha put her hand on her baby brother’s chest. Eren gently kissed the baby’s ear. Jean beamed at his children displaying affection to the newest addition to their family; Mikasa looked relieved that they were embracing their new roles as big brother and big sister.

***

Most of the orphans had grown up at this point but still stayed close to the orphanage to assist with childcare and maintenance in between deciding how to spend their adulthoods. With Historia’s permission, they let some of the children ride horses around the lawn. The younger ones gathered around Eren, who enthusiastically taught them a game that seemed to be a combination of tag and hide and seek.

“He’s everything like his namesake, just without the temper and the hothead,” Annie said at Jean’s side, startling him. On his hip he balanced young Sasha, who had just recovered from an ear infection but still complained that her head hurt and that her nose was runny. Annie smiled at the little girl who looked up curiously, as though she had never seen the former Warrior before.

“Does this make you want little ones of your own?” Jean innocently asked. “Or…do you prefer observing them rather than making them a full-time job?”

Annie looked up at his eyes and then back down to Sasha sticking her finger in her red ear. “Maybe one day,” she said, “but only if Armin wants to–and I know how not to raise them, like my father did.” Her eyes flickered in sadness, but she chuckled when she focused on the running children.

Jean felt a tug on his pant leg. Little Marco stared up at him. His eyes were wide with a question that he could not ask. Jean touched his head, which sprouted black cowlicks that reminded him so much of his late friend. “Yes, little guy?”

“Dada, can I go…” Marco mumbled, still learning his words.

“Of course,” said Jean. “Eren! Will you come here and let your brother play?”

Eren whined but told the orphans to hold up, and he ran over to the hill. “All right, I got him,” said Eren. He picked up his brother, who wrapped his arms around Eren’s neck and dangled his tiny legs. “Come on, Marco. You’re getting heavy!”

Jean chuckled and watched Eren carry Marco halfway through the field before eventually giving up and setting him on his feet. Marco toddled in Eren’s shadow on his way to the older children. Some of them made faces that they had to slow down for a toddler, but the others cheered on Marco and his unsteady steps.

Jean sat down beside Annie, with Armin joining in and pulling his wife to sit between his legs. She leaned her head against his shoulder and laced her fingers between his. Jean discreetly watched the couple and patted Sasha’s back as she made noises in the back of her throat. Mikasa joined him later and watched Eren pretend to run slower than he really was so Marco could have a winning chance.

She remembered Carla insisting that her own son was not going to join the army and become a soldier. It was the first time, perhaps, that she had seen the kind woman so angry that she yelled at her child for something other than misbehavior. Even though Mikasa tried to parent her children from what she remembered of her own mother and Carla, she wondered how she would react if one of them expressed a desire for a career in the military. Now more than ever, with the Yeagerists growing more influential, it was both more and less dangerous compared to when the Titans were their main enemy.

Mikasa snapped out of her musings when Jean called over Marco and saw that he needed changing. As Jean carried Marco to a more private place, Mikasa cradled Sasha in her arms and thought more about surrendering Sasha or one or both of her brothers into the army. Remembering that her children were named in honor of fallen comrades made Mikasa reluctant to imagine them in uniform. Sasha traced with her finger the brand on the back of her mother’s hand, and Mikasa knew that, even though the children would not carry on her maiden name, they could still choose if they wanted to brand themselves as a reminder of the family legacy.

***

Eren was eight when the nightmares began.

That day, Mikasa and Jean took their children to the graveyard to have little Sasha put flowers on her namesake’s grave on her birthday and stayed longer than intended when her namesake’s parents arrived. They marveled over how big the children were and told them that Kaya was engaged but still active with the other orphans at the farm.

That night, Marco helped his mother bake bread and Jean read to his older children until dinnertime. Then Mikasa ran Sasha a bath and told her funny stories about her namesake and all the trouble she got herself into but all the fun that they had together, even though they had different personalities. Jean lured Marco to sleep as Mikasa had Eren and Sasha read out loud until the children’s eyes drooped. Then their parents tucked them into bed.

Eren dreamt that he and his brother and sister were running on a sunny day, but they didn’t know where. He just wanted to challenge them over who was the fastest, knowing that he would win because Sasha’s skirts slowed her down, and Marco’s legs were still short. The three of them laughed and ran up a hill until they saw a giant tree in its entirety.

Immediately, Eren stopped running, and so did Sasha and Marco. It looked exactly like the tree that their mother and father took them to visit every year, where his mother had buried his namesake, but it could not have been that tree; he would have realized that they were on the hill that they had to climb up to see the burial tree. Even though part of him wanted to turn around and go home, the other half was curious as to why this tree was unlike the one that he visited yearly.

Eren held Sasha’s and Marco’s hands on their way further up the hill to investigate the difference between this tree and the special one. Neither of them spoke. They craned their necks for any suspicious branches or tree roots. The hairs on the back of Marco’s neck stood up; Sasha had an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

Then, on the other side of the tree, was a hollow much bigger than even their own house. It was completely black. Nothing seemed to move inside. Still, Eren was interested.

“I don’t want to go in,” said Marco, who seemed to suspect his brother’s curiosity.

“Me neither,” added Sasha.

Eren tugged on their hands. “Come on, don’t be scared,” he said. “Nothing will hurt you. I don’t think anything even lives there.”

“You don’t know that,” said Sasha, “because you can’t see it to be sure–”

“Well, then, how will we know if it is something’s habitat if we don’t see for ourselves?” Eren impatiently interrupted. “Come on!”

He pulled them to the tree and into the hollow. It was so dark that he could not see his own hand. The ground at his feet was soft. Curiosity grew, and he wanted to see what was inside, if anything.

Eren didn’t realize that he had let go of his siblings’ hands until he slipped and fell down a long downward tunnel. As he felt bruises form on his face and legs, the screams of Sasha and Marco grew fainter and fainter until he splashed into a cold pond.

Eren held his breath on time, but his body was in such pain that he couldn’t move his arms. The stinging would not go away. Carefully, he opened his eyes, which didn’t hurt under the cold water, but he couldn’t see anything. Eren willed himself to move his body despite the pain and slowly moved his arms over his head.

Suddenly, he felt a gentle trickling alongside his spine that offered a mild comfort. Eren tried to push himself up, but the grip down his backbone only strengthened and quickly sent uncomfortable sensations throughout his body. His eyes throbbed, and everything turned white, and his limbs tugged, and his jaw ached, and he didn’t know if he was dying or becoming some strange creature, but he knew that he did not like like and wanted to get out–

Eren’s eyes flapped open. It was dark! Panicking, he sat up ready to scream, but then he saw a window and soft moonlight peering into the room. Terror seized him. Was it a dream or did it really happen? Eren shivered and looked down, but it was just his sleepwear wet with sweat. If he had fallen into water, he most certainly would be wearing dry clothes, whether he dressed himself or his parents did.

Eren steadied his breathing and worried that he woke his brother and sister. Luckily, both were still deeply asleep: Marco had his thumb in his mouth, and Sasha was unaware that her doll had fallen to the floor.

Quietly, Eren left his bed, put the doll back into Sasha’s hand, walked to the kitchen, poured himself water, and shakily retreated to his room. Closing the door made him feel both safe and scared at the same time.

The following night, he was still walking through the tree, but this time he had dragged his brother and sister with him. Marco whimpered to himself, and Sasha clung to Eren’s arm as he walked them into oblivion, into the path of a pale blue glow, one that attracted him and gave him the sense of power, strength, a lineage of immortality…

“Eren! Eren!”

Then Eren’s eyes opened. It was his father, who looked terrified. He was still in his room. To his left, his mother consoled a hysterical Marco. Sasha clutched Mikasa’s skirt and also looked at Eren with fear.

Eren sat up when Jean let go of his wrists and looked around. “What happened?”

“You were having a bad dream,” said Jean. “Your brother woke us up, and you were crying and moving around in your bed like you were running for your life.” He pushed Eren’s wet hair from his forehead. “You’re safe, son. I know that you probably don’t want to talk about it–”

“No, no!” sobbed Eren. He shook his head so fiercely that his bangs slapped against his wet face. “I don’t want to remember it! Dada, I’m scared!” He wiped his wet eyes. “It wasn’t a human, but I’m scared that–” He wept again.

Jean picked up Eren and carried him into his parents’ room, gently shushing him and rubbing his back. Mikasa then tucked in the other children, reassured them that Eren would be all right, and kissed them good night again. She came back to her room and helped Eren change into clean clothes and mop his sweaty face and back. When Eren had calmed down, he tightly hugged under his mother’s ribs. “Mama, I was scared. I had a dream that I put Sasha and Marco in danger, that I saw this scary tree like the one we go to every year, and–and I got big and mean and killed so many people–”

Eren silently wept again. His concerned mother and father sensed the full details of his nightmare but gently reassured him that he was smarter than to have done something like that, and of course that he knew that killing was wrong.

Still, Eren didn’t look convinced. He had told them how scared he was of the Yeagerists in town and that they were trying to recruit some of the older schoolchildren into dropping out of school to join their cause. Even though Eren knew that what they wanted and believed in was wrong, it caused fights in school and pitted children against each other; he lost some good friends and worried that the Yeagerists would try to convince him to be like his namesake and undo everything that his father worked hard to promote. Many times, Mikasa and Jean contemplated taking their children out of school and sending them abroad for their education, but in the end did not want Sasha and her brothers to be too far away from home.

“I don’t want to be a bad person,” said Eren, “but I don’t want to be a bad person who doesn’t know it. I want to be like you, Mama, Dada, but I don’t want to make things worse than they already are!”

“I know, son,” said Jean, “and we are both so proud of you and your sister and brother for how good you are. You three are good children, and we know that you’re scared.”

Eren silently nodded.

“Dada and I will talk about it,” said Mikasa. “We want to discuss some good ways that you can deal with it if you feel pressure to join and not have to get hurt.” She kissed his cheek. “Try and get some sleep, Eren. We can talk about this with Sasha and Marco tomorrow before we go on the trip.”

Eren tried to feel better but was still uneasy. He didn’t want there to be an attack at school that the Yeagerists pretended was not their doing just so they could get little boys and girls to join them. Even though that never happened, he heard Dada talk about some countries where that did happen– “inner terrorism”, Dada said it was. He didn’t believe in their cause but knew that he couldn’t fight them alone, and that hurting other people to stop it would make it worse.

***

The horses galloped across the grass, at a distance that seemed unfathomable to the cadets years ago. They ran past sights that they had never before seen. For the human inhabitants of the island, such a sight would have seemed imaginative but impossible. It was so large compared to the nature once confined within the walls.

Eventually, the humans on the horses halted them. In front was the sand and the ocean that stretched on for miles. It was even more beautiful than they had remembered the first time that they laid eyes on the blue saltwater.

Armin was the first to dismount and waited for Eren to let go of his father’s waist, then helped him down. Connie jumped onto the ground and pulled Sasha off his horse’s back, and Mikasa told Marco that he could open his eyes, having clung to his mother’s front the entire ride. When Marco saw the ocean, his jaw dropped. “Mama…” He pointed to the ocean as if she had never seen it before. “Look!”

Mikasa smiled and carefully took him off the horse so that he didn’t have to look away. “Yes, Marco,” she whispered. “This is what the ocean looks like, not just when your father boarded that ship.”

By this point, Eren and Sasha had stripped down to their underwear and ran to the ocean until they were up to their waists. They splashed at the surface and flicked water at each other. Meanwhile, as Connie and Armin kept watch over the children, Mikasa and Jean took off Marco’s shoes, held his hands, and walked him along the wet sand. Marco squealed when the cold wave washed over his feet, but then he giggled and waved his arms. “Again, again!”

Sasha cartwheeled in the smaller waves, and Eren scooped up handfuls of sand, which he threw at his sister. Sasha protested and flung a fistful of wet sand at his chest.

“Sasha! Eren!” cried their parents. “If you continue to do that, you won’t be allowed to pay in the ocean anymore!”

“Sorry!” they apologized simultaneously.

Armin waved them over and showed them how to find seashells and small conches in the wet sand. The siblings spent the afternoon trying to carry as many in their arms and looking for bigger sizes. Armin only pulled them away from large jellyfish, and Connie chased the children into the ocean, and then let them chase him back to the beach, laughing the entire time.

When lunch was ready, Mikasa carried Marko to the blanket, and Eren and Sasha rushed to the dry sand. Armin gave them towels to dry off, which they wrapped around their bodies like capes, and Connie helped them fill their plates with warm meat and vegetables to put on top of their bread. Sasha and her brothers ate quickly, eager to go back to the water. Marco admired the conches that his brother and sister found.

Only after lunch was over did Jean let Eren and Sasha grab his hands and pull him back to the ocean, where he fell to his knees and let his children climb up his back. Eren and Sasha giggled and held on while he spun in circles. Marco held out his arms and whined, but Mikasa set him on her lap and watched her other children try to climb higher onto Jean’s shoulders. Jean pretended to drop Eren, and then mimicked throwing Sasha farther away.

Armin joined her after cleaning up and wanted to cry. Even though the ocean had always brought him joy, it always occurred to him the series of events that led to massive loss of life and then the death of his best friend. Of course he adored the little Kirsteins, but did his best friend, who loved him like a brother, really need to initiate a war with worldwide civilizations for little Sasha and her brothers to exist? Even if Eren knew that Mikasa and even Jean were the happiest that they had ever been, would he still have gathered followers to promote his beliefs even after his death just so their children could grow up safe? The Yeagerists were still gathering power in the island, and Armin worried that the world was more dangerous to little Marco and his older siblings than the threat of Titans.

Marco crawled out of his mother’s lap and tried to run his hands over Connie’s growing buzzcut, but he didn’t want to pull himself off his knees. Connie, chuckling, lowered his head for Marco’s curiosity. Armin watched Marco move his fingers and babble incoherently, wondering if his work as a peace ambassador was enough for him to ensure that the next generation of Arlets would understand the sacrifices that his fallen comrades had made and still not worry for their lives.

***

Mikasa knelt down to the tree roots and smiled at the headstone. “Hello, Eren,” she said softly.

Behind her, Eren and Sasha impatiently held the flowers to put on the headstone and tried to leave their mother in peace with the first person she truly loved. To Eren’s left, Armin held his son’s—named after his paternal grandfather—hand, and Annie put her hand over where she felt her second child, hopefully a little girl, kick without mercy. (Jean, on the other hand, was at the cabin, helping Marco fight a fever.)

Mikasa shared that her children were fast runners and wanted to go back to see the beach. They shared all the chores and were very good readers. All three of them took singing lessons at school, and Eren and Marco took to heart Jean’s advice that women like men who could cook. (Of course, that was not the reason why Mikasa married Jean.) Eren stood up for classmates from bullies without getting into physical fights, Sasha was an excellent archer who could hit a target even while riding a horse but still hated potatoes (and was sometimes caught sneaking hers to an unsuspecting brother), and Marco had beautiful handwriting and started losing his first teeth.

Then little Eren put down the flowers and excitedly said that the year before, he and Sasha asked Dada to take them with him on his journey to other countries. After careful discussions with Historia and the other ambassadors, they agreed on the condition that Jean would be responsible for where to put the children during confidential meetings. Mama stayed behind with Marco and little Arlet, and Eren and Sasha ran around the steamboat to explore the inner workings, ate fresh seafood every day, and giggled when Pieck pointed out the mirror where Jean studied his appearance to look more attractive. Even their cabins and the water for bathing were warm.

Upon arrival to Marley, the ambassadors bought an ice cream for the little Kirsteins to share, caught up with Yelena, and left Eren and Sasha with Levi, who had since opened a tea shop but treated the children to lollipops. Even though the Warrior Unit heard the story before, they laughed when Connie, Armin, and Jean recounted to Jean’s children their first trip to Marley and their unfortunate first interaction with alcohol. Eren and Sasha howled until their stomachs hurt.

It had rained that night, so Reiner wanted to cancel his plans to show everyone all of the trees that Gabi and Falco had planted but gave in when everyone insisted, nonetheless. Jean made sure that Eren and Sasha wore their “chore’s clothes” as they inevitably played in the mud.

The best part, according to Eren, was that as soon as Reiner introduced the children who were coated in wet dirt to Gabi and Falco, Sasha greeted them by throwing a fistful of mud at Gabi’s face. Jean was too horrified to confront her. Reiner, however, laughed hysterically, to Connie’s and Armin’s confusion. “At last, Sasha has her revenge.” (And no, Gabi was not mad but laughed at the little girl. She even lent Sasha a clean nightgown while her and Eren’s clothes were in the wash.)

They went to so many countries and explored so many things that Eren and Sasha were exhausted on the trip home and slept for two whole days in the cabin. When they did wake up, they went back to chasing each other around the steamboat and learning how it worked, and tired themselves sharing with their mother what they had learned.

By this point, Eren’s throat was dry, so Mikasa patted his back to make him feel less guilty that he ran out of stories already. He listened to Sasha talk about her friends, and Armin encouraged his son to say hi to a headstone.

When they arrived at the cabin for lunch, Jean had just pulled Marco from a hot bath and quickly put him to nap so he could help his wife. Eren and Sasha grabbed apples from the kitchen bowl and took little Arlet outside to feed the horses; Annie watched from the kitchen as Eren held up her son in his arms and instructed him to give the apple to the horse. At first, the little boy looked terrified as the horse sniffed his fingers but then giggled as the horse bit into the apple from his hand and munched.

The children came back inside for a lovely lunch and to watch Annie, with insane cravings, consume almost every pie on display. The adults pretended not to notice, let alone watch, but Annie was fully aware and did her best to chew slowly and savor the taste before swallowing.

***

And just like that, everything changed.

Jean and Mikasa were napping after a post-lunch round of sex when they heard the explosion. Jean quickly dressed and stepped onto the balcony to scan the city. The look he gave his wife terrorized her.

“It’s the school,” he whispered.

The couple fought their way through the panicked crowds, but the crowd only seemed bigger as worried parents tried to get closer, but the “police” held them back while the headmistress refused to let any children go home until every child was out of the rubble.

Mikasa craned her neck to watch the smoke reach for the sky, and visions of dead children’s bodies came back. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists. This could not be happening again, it could not, and she knew that the Yeagerists had to have been responsible just to create horror. Jean was right–inner terrorism was the worst kind.

Teachers led schoolchildren out of the front door and had them stand in a line for a proper headcount. Parents shouted for their children, who cried and pleaded to go home, but it all made Mikasa feel worse.

“Eren!” cried Jean. “Marco! Sasha!”

Mikasa joined him in crying out for Sasha and her brothers, but it was twenty minutes before they saw Eren’s face in the line pouring out of the front door. He was crying but grabbing his friend Bryce’s shoulders while another boy clutched his.

“Thank goodness,” Jean muttered. “Sasha! Marco!”

Thankfully, Sasha’s class stepped out after five minutes, and they identified their daughter in the crowd. Sasha tried to run over, but her friend Ashly pulled on her arm, so she spent the time holding hands with Ashly and their friend Megan. She was visibly crying but clearly trying to console her friends. Mikasa sighed in relief to erase a terrifying vision of Sasha’s body, prone and still like her late namesake’s.

Jean put his hands on her arms and tried to comfort her for what seemed like hours.

“Kirstein!” roared a teacher. It caught Jean’s and Mikasa’s attention just in time for Marco, his little face covered in soot, to hurry out of the building with his best friend’s arm around his shoulders. They cried out for him, but he likely could not hear them. Austin was bleeding so profusely that Marco had taken off his own jacket to push against the head wound.

Fortunately, a teacher swooped in. “Here, Marco,” he said. “I got him, thank you.” Marco cried as he watched Austin being carried away from him until their teacher called for Marco to join the line.

In that moment, Jean’s panic faded and turned into utmost pride for his youngest child.

***

Jean washed his face of his tears and stared at his reflection. Not even the relief that his children were safe was enough to calm him down or make him stop crying. He tried not to think of how hard the children were crying or how terrified they were so that their parents had to carry them home. It took hours for them to calm down, take baths, and cuddle with their parents until they fell asleep on the couch.

Mikasa was sitting on the chair beside the couch and silently weeping as she clutched a mug of tea. She shook her head. “They will never forget this,” she whispered. She set down her mug and pulled her husband into a fierce hug. He let her cry on his shoulder and studied how the children twitched in their sleep, Marco silently crying, Sasha gripping the skirt of her nightgown, and Eren pushing his face into the seat of the couch. As soon as Jean’s mother returned to keep an eye on the children, the couple snuck out and rode to meet with the Queen, who was just as devastated.

“I know it was the Yeagerists,” she said and went into detail about a mole who infiltrated the Yeagerists and confirmed the weaponry used to explode the school, kill twenty-four children, and hospitalize over fifty. Mikasa’s heart pounded in hatred, and Jean hung his head against his wife’s shoulder. The mole, however, did not know that the school would be a target; from what the Queen gathered, the attacks were to be random.

Within two hours, they sketched out a plan: Because the anniversary of the Battle of Heaven and Earth was approaching, she would assign Mikasa, Connie, Jean, Armin, Reiner, and Pieck to parade through the streets in celebration and commemoration of the lives lost; their job was to keep an eye out for anyone who may not be celebrating and make a report to Historia. Annie, on hiatus after the birth of baby Arlet number three, would sneak the little Kirsteins and Arlets to the Blouse farm for hiding until it was safe to go home. If the Blouse family approved, they would take in the children two days before the parade was announced.

Naturally, the late Sasha’s family was happy to take in Annie and the children, but Reiner and Pieck, having moved back to Marley, were hesitant and worried that it would just lead to more casualties. With convincing from Armin, whose own firstborn was due to start school the following year, they agreed to come as soon as possible.

Mikasa, Jean, and Armin had to console their frightened children about the distance and the undisclosed amount of time that they wouldn’t see their parents. With wigs and new clothes, Annie and the children departed by wagon to Dauper. Mikasa and the men watched with pained hearts as the wagon faded into a small dot, and reluctantly turned away from their dearest loves.

***

The couple pretended not to feel awkward that they were parading around town to commemorate their victory at an inappropriate anniversary. It would have been better to have erected a memorial of all the late soldiers who died during and before the Battle.

Instead, they scanned the crowds to find hostile looks and suspicious people, yet they also saw grateful townspeople eager to stare at the heroes of so many years ago. Their uniforms were recently cleaned, and they received new versions of their since-retired gear, from the blades to the Thunder Spears. In the far distance, Armin saw three children–two little boys and a little girl–climb onto the roof of a house to watch. He secretly smiled to himself in nostalgia and confidence.

It’s nice to know that some people still believe in us and are grateful for all that we had done years ago, he decided to tell his friends after the parade. However, he thought back to that one fateful day, when he and Eren and Mikasa snuck a peek at the parade of the Survey Corps, only to find a defeated team that suffered more than it gained. He hoped that somehow, this act sent a positive message to the next generation whom he had to protect from the threat of destruction and massive death.

Jean made himself smile as he admired strangers and was showered in rose petals. Years ago, he would have done anything to do this and get girls’ attention, even if it wasn’t to find a lifelong mate. Now he had a real job to ensure the continued safety of his pride and joy, all three of whom, according to Annie’s recent letter, were recovering as long as they helped with the farm and practiced riding horses. Jean scanned the crowd for anyone who perhaps indicated signs of affiliation to the Military Police. It seemed like such a long time ago that he had wanted to be one of them and live a life of luxury.

Ka-BOOM!

The explosion was louder than at the school, and not just because of the close distance. Jean knew from the smoke that it was of greater ammunition. Then he heard another explosion, and more people screamed and huddled to the ground or pushed past each other.

“Everybody get inside!” Mikasa roared, and she and her surviving soldiers galloped to the scene of devastation. She did not want it to be another school–no more children deserved to struggle with the trauma that her children were fighting–and she certainly did not want it to be a crowded building like a hospital. Luckily, the road ahead of her was cleared with not even a wheel to slow down her horse. “Seek shelter! Do not hover around!”

Then they erupted out of nowhere.

The capes were long gone, but the tails of their coats fluttered behind them like the former uniform. Mikasa’s heart pounded in anger. They did not deserve to wear the wings of freedom anymore. They took that symbol as their own and dishonored it so that it lost its true, original meaning.

The Yeagerists swooped down to assault the former soldiers who still rode like a windstorm and pulled out their gear. Jean clutched his handlebars and glared at the monsters who dared to threaten the lives and well-being of the three people he loved above anything else. Adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream, and the hatred that he once felt for the Titans was now reserved for those who sought destruction, not peace.

“Jean…!”

Jean barely turned his head to his wife’s direction as everything went black and the screams of Reiner, Armin, Pieck, and Connie faded…

The surprising, blinding light snapped Jean from unconsciousness, and he trembled as his vision cleared. When he finally came to his senses, he realized that he was in a basement with lanterns. About ten people in the now dishonorable uniform were glaring at him. He tried to move but realized that he was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling.

“Nice to meet you, Kirstein,” said a young man who reminded him of Samuel. “We’ve heard a lot about you and are so delighted to put a name to the face.”

Jean scoffed. “Nice to meet the people who threatened my children’s lives by blowing up their school and harming innocent children.”

The man’s laugh was like cold water. “Ah, seems like your personality hasn’t changed since your hotheaded days with the cape.” He pushed back his hair. “I guess there are some things that don’t go away when you become a father.”

“Not everything has to change when your life isn’t about you anymore,” Jean spat. “But yeah, if you’re going to torture me to demand where my children are, I wouldn’t even bother to tell you their first words.”

Some of the other occupants snickered at the jab. “We’ll get to that later. Honestly, we’re more curious about something else.”

“Listen to me, you dirty devils,” Jean growled. “I know what you’re trying to do, but trust me. You’re only going to make things worse. The cause is dead, and you’re following a destructive path that will kill everything and everyone you care about.” He tried not to think about Mikasa in the past, only the Mikasa who was now his wife.

One young man grabbed his ankle and pulled off his boot, and Jean’s heart pounded in his ears. “You really believe you can take down the Yeagerists, after all we’re doing in the name of your late friend?” he sneered. "If that's so, then why even bother naming your first son after your old friend? Didn't you try to talk your wife out of it?"

“You’re only causing more pain, more hardship to children who will not understand that you cannot always solve a problem by becoming part of the problem,” Jean hissed. “You’re only spreading the disease when you think you are curing it.” He tugged on his constraints. "And we named our son Eren...because for all the harm that the first Eren I knew caused, my Eren...my little ray of light...will bring back together what my friend had torn apart."

The young man gave him a twisted look. “A disease, you think Eren’s cause was, to free us from discrimination?” He pulled out of his pocket a hammer and slammed it so hard against Jean’s instep that he heard the cracks before he felt the bones break.

***

Mikasa glared at the young woman whom she had followed and cornered in an alley. “Hitch,” she spat. “I should have known that you were a leader in this.”

Annie’s former roommate snickered. “A leader?” she stupidly repeated. “Just because I’m fighting for a cause that I believe in doesn’t mean that I always take the reins. Whose idea was it to have this stupid parade, anyway–yours?”

“Like hell,” Mikasa huffed. “I did not want to celebrate history this way unless we erected a monument for all of those who lost their lives to preserve Paradis Island without harm to others.”

Hitch’s mouth twitched. “That sounds so unlike you, Mikasa,” she chuckled, and Mikasa couldn’t tell if she was being serious or sarcastic. “It looks like you’ve had a complete change of heart ever since you became a mother. Didn’t you ever tell your children how Mommy was a tag-a-long for almost her entire life?”

Mikasa arched her feet and gripped her handlebars so that her knuckles were white. “Well, if I can recall, I got to where I was from natural talent, not through perhaps dishonorable means.”

Suddenly, Hitch’s eyes flickered, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out a gun.

Mikasa was quicker in deflecting the bullets with her blades until Hitch ran out. Growling, she tossed it aside and raised her fists, in a position that she clearly learned from Annie. “Fine, then,” said Mikasa, who took off her own gear. “Let’s do it evenly. Give me everything you got.”

Hitch huffed, and the women ran forward.

***

Jean clenched his fists over the chains holding his arms over his head and tried not to show any sign of pain on his face. Both of his feet were broken, and he had a sensation like blood was pouring from his legs. Nevertheless, he glared at the damn Yeagerists who gave him looks of death that he delightfully returned. It’s not just that you wanted to kill innocent children, innocent lives, he wanted to scream at them. I know that you wanted to create an attack just so you can drive more people to your case, even if they left years ago!

“Are you ready to speak now?” sneered a soldier. “We have so many questions to ask, and we have all the time we need to beat them out of you.”

Jean nastily grinned. “I’d like to see you try.”

The soldier grabbed Jean’s leg by the knee. “All right, then–”

Within seconds, the pain of a dislocated knee soared up Jean’s thigh.

***

Just then, Hitch raised her leg and kicked Mikasa in the chin, sending her tumbling back.

The nasty chuckle that Hitch gave only angered Mikasa even more. “Motherhood clearly made you lose ground,” she taunted as she wiped her bloody nose. “It looks like you forgot what made you graduate at the top of your class.”

Not quite, Mikasa thought to herself. She pushed herself to her feet and ran forward, but Hitch was faster–a kick toward the face, but Mikasa defected it, grabbed Hitch’s knee, and spun her around so that Hitch instantly fell to the ground facedown.

Same person, the black-haired woman thought to herself, different enemy closer to home. Then she grabbed Hitch by her elbows, forced her up onto her knees, and stepped on her ankles. “Where is my husband?” she spat. “If you thought your defeat was embarrassing, imagine what I can do to ten more people–it helped me take down more Titans than you would believe.”

Hitch snorted, so Mikasa pushed up her arm until Hitch cried out from the pain of a dislocated shoulder. “I’ll keep asking you until you give me a truthful answer,” she warned. “Trust me–I could do this as long as I need to.” She then shoved her knee into Hitch’s lower back. “But if you lure me into a trap, I have no problem finding you after I escape, and making you wish that I had killed you.”

Hitch groaned and hung her head. For extra security, Mikasa dislocated the other woman’s knees and paraded her throughout the empty streets. Seeing curious and relieved faces made the mother of three satisfied that not everybody agreed with the Yeagerists, yet also displeased that they refused to fight back and relied on semi-retired soldiers to take down the threat of terrorism.

You disappoint me, she bitterly thought.

***

I will not give in, Jean mentally shouted. He grit his teeth and ignored the pain in his knee.

He thought of Mikasa, how she slowly became more than an infatuation and then his life partner. She was hesitant to return his feelings, not out of guilt for Eren but to ensure that Jean’s feelings were genuine and not out of lust. He asked every time he wanted to do something new, from holding her hand to kissing her cheek. One time, before they moved in together, she was crying so hard that he cradled her in his arms until they fell asleep together. When she woke up, she thanked him for not leaving her then, nor for taking advantage of her. He reassured her that any man who would harm a woman like that was a monster, and that she herself deserved comfort.

“Answer me!” yelled a young woman who swiftly dislocated his right elbow. Jean groaned, but at least his arm was not broken or being dismembered.

He concentrated on the first time they made love, how sweet and passionate they made it, how they were slow to undress each other. He listened to her every need and for discomfort because she deserved to enjoy it and feel safe at the same time. He had tears in his eyes because he could not believe that this was happening. He intertwined his fingers with hers, and pulled over her head and squeezed her hand, and barely winced when she sank her fingernails into his back. It was sweat and happy tears and desperate kisses on both ends. She had finished before he did, but he knew that a one-night stand or with someone for whom he did not feel as he did Mikasa would not have brought him to that intensity. Afterwards, he kissed her forehead and wrapped their blanket–and his arms–tightly around her as they whispered to each other to sleep.

His other elbow throbbed, but he pretended not to feel pain, for he recalled that one special memory, when he and his wife studied each other and made love in the cold river outside their log cabin. It wasn’t their first time in the river, but it was the most special because two days later, her birthday present to him was a tiny box with white baby shoes inside. Jean had never cried harder from joy at that point in his life until she had the baby.

He thought of the births of his children and the delight and fear each time that he became a father. Being the first to hold his children in his arms gave him an elation that no poem or song could sum up. Even the mild moments of frustration were nothing compared to the joy of watching them grow up into better human beings than he had ever been, and he was determined to maintain their sense of safety throughout their lives.

He thought of his children’s namesakes, and why he and his wife agreed to name them after beloved friends. Whenever Eren made friends with boys and girls who didn’t fit in, Sasha poked her head through hanging laundry just to puff her cheeks when she knew that her father was unhappy, or Marco tried to fix his own problems on his own before asking for help, Jean wondered if his fallen friends were proud of the legacy that Jean was giving him in their honor. All he wanted was for them to grow up healthy and strong, and give him and his wife similar–if not greater–grandchildren.

Pound, POUND!

“Who the hell is that?” someone demanded.

Through blurry eyes, Jean turned his head to the knocking. Just then, the door opened, and a body flung onto the floor.

“Hitch!” cried the Yeagerists. Jean noticed that his former ally was hog-tied and gagged with a white cloth, and his eyes widened.

“Who did this to you?”

“Was it one of those so-called Warriors?”

They removed the gag from her mouth, and Hitch was crying from either pain or humiliation. “It…It was…”

The door flung open. “Come and get me,” said the voice that he loved to hear every day, the voice that thanked him for being a wonderful father and husband, the voice that whispered every time they made love…

Still, Jean struggled to focus, but he knew from the constant grunts and her angry yells that his warrior wife was winning. He heard the snap of broken bones and bodies slammed against the wall in a dizzying circle. It ended with deep pants.

“Thanks for the tip, Hitch,” he heard her say right before a crunch, a cry, and a body slump. Then the footsteps drew closer. “Jean! Oh, thank goodness, you’re still alive.”

Jean grinned, but his body ached for him to willingly talk. She grabbed his face and kissed him. “Stay with me, all right?”

She searched the unconscious bodies for the key and freed him from his chains. He partially collapsed onto her and groaned. “Th–They dislocated…” He tried to lift his aching head. “All the joints…they hurt…”

“I know,” she said, “but I’ll help you out of here.”

With one arm over her shoulder, she escorted him up the stairs and into the sunlight. She set him onto the ground and knelt down to stroke his face until Armin and the others arrived. Reiner picked up Jean and carried him all the way to the hospital, where Jean passed out in the cool building.

***

Jean was slow to wake up but knew that he could not stay asleep anymore. He dimly opened his eyes and failed to suppress a yawn. His wife was curled up in the sheets, her bare back against his bare chest and her long hair tumbling over the pillow. He had his arm around her waist and his bare leg draped over hers. A hot flash erupted in his chest. How did he get so lucky that his dreams became manifestations that turned out to be better than he imagined?

He didn’t know if she was feigning sleep, so he decided not to surprise her with an omelet or treat himself to scotch. He just wanted to live in this moment for as long as he could. They were talking seriously about expanding their family, and he knew that once a child entered their lives, they would have limited time alone, even to conceive again. The one thing he knew, though, was that, regardless of how many children she bore and how her body would change, he would still find her attractive and want to squeeze her against his naked body in his sleep, just like in the present.

“Jean?” It was her sweet voice. “Are you awake?”

“No,” he responded. “Why? Are you hungry?”

“I’m not.” She adjusted her arm over the blanket. “I’ve been awake since the sun rose. I just didn’t want to get out of bed.”

Jean pulled her closer to his chest and moved his arm to align under hers. “Me neither.” He shoved his face between her shoulder and neck, and breathed in her natural scent. “I never thought how much I could appreciate mornings like this, where we have nothing to wake up to.”

Mikasa huffed. “Agreed.” She hesitated. “We had too many sacrifices and unnecessary deaths to bring us here, but…our–our roles that we had in bringing us this peace…I wouldn’t give up anything.”

No matter how much Jean would miss Marco and Sasha, and mourn that even Levi’s past squad never had this chance to wake up with an intimate partner, he felt that neither would have wanted him to be deprived of that privilege. If even one cadet could find lifelong happiness and live a desired life outside the army, then that was for what his fallen comrades had fought.

Secretly, Jean wondered if Eren, his family, and even Jean’s late in-laws would have thanked him for making Mikasa happy, the way that Jean’s mother had thanked her. Even if his mother had hated her and did not think that her son could feel safe and comfortable enough to be vulnerable, Jean would still want to marry, have a family with, and grow old with the orphan girl. How Jean yearned to tell his younger self that he and the young woman whose long black hair he adored would make each other happier than he ever imagined.

***

There were dim sounds, like speech–different people talking, with old and younger pitches. Nothing was clear yet, but they were familiar sounds. Some sounded worried, others uncertain. His body felt like it was levitating like in a street magic show. Blood rushed down his face, and his skin started to hurt. What was this? Was this a new Path that he somehow joined?

Wait–there was light, light ahead…and some dark shape at the end of it…

Jean slowly opened his eyes. Mikasa smiled in relief. “Thank goodness,” she whispered. She held up a white cloth and dabbed at his warm face. Jean signed as the memories came back of the torture and pain, but she was safe. She was alive. It wasn’t a dream, he knew.

Suddenly, their three children’s faces popped into his sight. “Dada!” they cheered.

“Children, shush,” said Mikasa. “You promised that you would keep your voice down when he woke up.”

Sasha climbed as much as she could onto the bed and kissed Jean’s cheek. “We were worried, Dada,” she said. “Then Uncle Armin and Uncle Connie came to the farm after two days–we were very good–and they didn’t say what happened.”

Eren pulled Sasha off the bed by her waist and ignored her complaints. “They just said that you were hurt,” he said, “so Aunt Annie made sure we all got to come here.”

Mikasa picked up Marco, whom she bounced on her lap. “The doctor readjusted your joints, but you will still be sore for up to a week, he thinks,” she said.

Jean sighed. The soreness he could deal with, but the broken bones were his main problem. Did the doctor offer to lend them a wheelchair so that he didn’t have to hurt his feet anymore with crutches or have to stay in bed while he healed? He looked around and saw that they were in his bedroom, having taken him home right from the hospital. How long was he unconscious?

Then the door opened, and Connie led the Arlets into the room. Baby Arlet sucked her thumb in Annie’s arms, but her older brothers flung their arms over the foot of the bed. “Uncle Jean, guess what he did?” whispered Leonhart, who waved a piece of paper.

“We made you a card,” hissed his older brother, who bounced on his feet. “We hope you get well soon and can go outside with us for picnics in the park.”

“Thank you, boys,” said Jean.

Eventually, Mikasa sent her children into the kitchen to surprise Dada with a special dinner, and then asked Connie and the Arlets to please supervise so no fights would break out over something silly. Her friends ushered the Arlet boys out of the room, leaving her alone with her husband. She helped him sit up, removed the loose tunic as gently as she could, and pulled from behind him a bowl full of water and a blue cloth.

Jean smirked. “Is this really why you asked the children to surprise us with dinner–to get a good look?”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “I can see it every night, when the children go to bed, and I would never tire of it.” She wiped down his arms and collarbone, cleaned the cloth, and focused on his midsection. He watched his wife’s delicate arm move over his skin in small circles. She shifted behind him only to wipe his bare back and the back of his neck. He heard her set aside the bowl and felt her soft lips on his shoulder blade. Her kiss on the back of his neck was harder, as were the pecks going down his backbone.

“You know that you can cry if you need to,” he reminded her. He knew her long enough that he knew when she had the urge.

“Not until the children go to bed,” she whispered. After she kissed both halves of his wide, muscular chest, she moved on to each tied joint and then his lips. She carefully separated her legs over his lap, careful not to touch his aching hips, and held his face in both hands so that he wouldn’t stop kissing her.

Jean wished that his elbows and shoulders were not dislocated because he desperately wanted to pull his wife closer to him in his arms and tug on her long hair. The kissing did not last as long as he would have wanted; she broke away after hearing two knocks on the door, followed by, “Dada! Can we come on? We have dinner ready!”

Eren, Sasha, and Marco together cooked for Dada an omelet with potato chunks rather than rice, diced zucchini with sauce that Dada liked, and a chicken thigh. It smelled quite appetizing. The three took turns feeding Dada, who was grateful that the Yeagerists didn’t dislocate his jaw, and made sure that he ate every bite, “including the gross potatoes,” Sasha added with her nose wrinkled. Mikasa did not send them back to wash the dishes until forty minutes after Dada finished eating, but Marco said that Connie and the Arlets were already at the sink so he, Sasha, and Eren could spend more time with their father. The next four hours flew by, and everyone wished Jean a good night and easy sleep.

Eren, Sasha, and Marco fell asleep around their father, but Mikasa was too tired and lazy to pick them up and move them into a different bed. She curled up to her husband’s chest and lured herself asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

It seemed so long ago that she dreamt of Eren and herself isolating themselves in a cabin to live out the remainder of his life. Looking back, she realized that she wasn’t that selfish; she just wanted to spend as much time with the one family member she had left and let him know how much she cared.

At this point, she instead dreamt that she had a terminal illness and had even less than four years of life left. Unlike what she would have wanted for her friend, she would have preferred to stay in the apartment. She would have had multiple gatherings with her fellow cadet graduates, tasted everything on the menu at Nicolo’s restaurant and listened to what he knew about food from different countries and cultures, researched her heritage with her children, made love to her husband like she could not believe, and opted to see more of the world. Then she would peacefully pass away with no one but her husband and three children at her side to remind her that she fought for and lived a great life.

When she woke up the next morning and looked at the family that she helped build, she assumed that her mother and father would have been proud of where she ended up and the life she created after losing everything at that point.

The family spent the day flipping through Jean’s filled sketchbooks as far back as when he was newly married. The children were fascinated to see how much detail their father put into artwork that resembled photographs before more Eldians took to photography. Of course, their apartment had photographs of their growing family, but Sasha and her brothers already could not imagine a life without that technology, let alone to capture intimate moments of her parents admiring newborn Eren or Sasha herself kissing baby Marco’s cheek. Only after the three (reluctantly) went to sleep in a different room did the couple flip through some of the more private sketches, such as Mikasa nursing their babies and her various body parts two days before she gave birth to Eren, her hands over where the doctor said that the fetus’s feet and head were at that point.

Then she flipped back pages to a personal favorite, which turned out to be the morning after Sasha was conceived. Jean sketched his wife, under the blanket, holding up a camera to take a picture of her husband at the foot of their bed and sketching her as he saw her. She even clipped the photograph of Jean to the page as a reminder of the “simpler time” when they were experimenting with unfamiliar technologies that would definitely shape the following generations. Neither bothered to dress; they covered themselves with their shared blanket.

“An innocent time, it seemed like,” he thought out loud.

“No,” she said with a smile. “It was just one step further into our lives together, as we were rebuilding.” She leaned her head against his arm and admired how he drew her fingers clutching the camera. “It’s something that you and I can look back on with fondness.”

When Jean turned his head to meet her eyes, she propped herself up on her elbow. “Do you remember how you used to say, ‘I’m not him’, ‘It’s not who I am’?” She took a deep breath and continued: “I…I am glad you are not. I was always happy that you are a different person.”

Jean blinked, stunned. Mikasa reached forward and stroked his cheek. “The love I felt for him was different. And…I always will love and miss him, but I realized…” She took a deep breath and swallowed. “The love I have for you, I could never have with him.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” he said. “Mika, understand this–I never wanted to be him anyway, because I knew that he had flaws that were not healthy for any of us in the Corps. You know what he planned to do, and you allowed yourself to admit that you disagreed with it. That is a brave thing.” He motioned for her to move her head to his face, and he kissed her cheek. “I probably would have stopped feeling anything for you but anger if you did not bother to fight back. I know that you’ll carry this feeling for the rest of your life, but think of it like this: If you never did make that decision to kill him and stop the massacre of thousands of more people, you would have spent the rest of your life and even your dying moments regretting it.”

That stopped her crying, and Jean was tired but wanted to continue. “You saved thousands of other lives, my love, just by you admitting that you couldn’t allow your love to continue like that. And…” As he smiled, tears filled his eyes. “Our children–our three babies–they would not exist.”

Mikasa wiped her face and nodded in agreement. “True,” she said, “and I hope that Sasha and the boys will learn that story one day, and learn something from it.”

“They will,” Jean promised. “I know they will. That’s why we visit the grave every year–so they learn something every time, about doing what’s right, and how to grow up: Move on, but don’t forget.”

“I know,” his wife smiled. “I love you.”

Jean echoed her and deeply kissed her. Then she lied on her side, cuddled up to him as best as she could, and repeated that mantra in her mind so she could one day tell the three people for whom her life was centered: Move on, but don’t forget. Move on, but don’t forget.

***

So many things happened, wonderful and terrible. Life truly went on, and more than fifty years had passed since she made that fateful decision to end her best friend’s life. Had he lived, he would indeed have been amazed with how unrecognizable their home was.

The couple led the way to the tree, followed by Sasha, Marco, and, on behalf of her absent husband, Eren’s wife, all of whom brought their children with them while Sasha’s and Marco’s spouses waited by the cars.

Jean still supported her after she stepped off her wheelchair and towards her friend’s final resting place. True to his word, he loved her the older and grayer she became; true to her word, she felt just as attracted to him as when they pledged their lives together.

Mikasa still felt the same every time she saw the headstone. It was always nice to stand here and pay her respects to her childhood friend. At that point in her life, he had been her entire world; now, her entire world was right behind her but also preparing for her departure within the next few years or the next decade. This time, it was bittersweet to think that one day, she would join him, reunite with her own parents, and the fallen comrades. She just knew that everyone in her family would still come to the burial grounds, and she wouldn’t change that as long as they were still able to live long lives as she had.

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quillsandblades · 17 days

Text

It's out!!!

It wasn't supposed to get so long, But I don't know how my fics always end end up like this. It's two chapters, and I'm working on the second chap now!

A sneak peek:

‘Excuse you ,’ snapped the door. ‘My name is Rico, not “piece of shit”. And I advise you to call me that, lest you want to face dire consequences!’ ‘What will you even do? Creak those hinges at me?’

‘Didn’t I say so before,’ Oluo began irritably. ‘I can’t dangle from the roof.’ ‘But I need to get to the palace, that has nothing to do with dangling from a roof!’ Levi glared at his tiny head encased between the petals. ‘It has everything to do with dangling from the roof,’ Oluo jabbed a finger in his direction. ‘You wouldn’t know!’

‘One can say the sky is red, if red looked like blue and blue looked like red. Then if you said the sky is blue, you’d be mad,’ he drawled out lazily. ‘But the sky is blue.’

‘You’re an idiot,’ he breathed out softly after a while. ‘Hmm. I wonder what an idiot is made of,’ Glasses and starry brown eyes, he thought, and a brain bigger than a buttlewack.

I'd love to know your thoughts on this one!

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #snk fanfiction #levihan fanfiction #levi squad #dot pixis #reiner braun #bertholdt hoover #sasha blouse #jean kirstein #connie springer

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esli-art · 9 months

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Artwork I made for my wip rivasasha fanfiction: To You, 11 Years Ago

#esli art #snk #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #attack on titan fanart #shingeki no kyoujin fanart #sasha braus #sasha blouse #digital art #eren jaeger #eren yeager #levi ackerman #isabel magnolia #farlan church #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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ocean-eyed-lovers · 1 month

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir of the 104th, 104th Training Corps Ensemble & Eren Yeager Characters: Ymir of the 104th (Shingeki no Kyojin), Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss, Reiner Braun, Bertolt Hoover, Marco Bott, Annie Leonhart, Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert, Mikasa Ackerman, Jean Kirstein, Erwin Smith, Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman, Connie Springer, Sasha Blouse Additional Tags: Ymir of the 104th Lives (Shingeki no Kyojin), Bertolt Hoover Lives, Marco Bott Lives, Everyone lives, for now tho 😈, Marco Bott is Freckled Jesus, Everyone Needs A Hug, Betrayal, Nationalism, Discrimination Against Eldians (Shingeki no Kyojin) Summary:

"Annie, take off Marco's ODM gear." "No." "Annie, you-" "I SAID NO."

During the battle of Trost, Annie makes a distressing discovery that changes the tides of the warriors' lives. Their mission on Paradis starts to feel meaningless... Fed up with Marley's lies, the Warriors decide to fight side by side with the Island Devils, to try and find new meanings to their tortuous lives.

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starry-snippets · 1 month

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Captivate you. (band au! aot)

chapter 1 of the aot band au! also on ao3 if you want to listen to it there! I include song links here on tumblr but not on ao3. I think it's more immersive w this format... but that's just me!

chapter tws include floch being an asshole, implied/speculated toxic relationship, provocative music, suggestive/adult themes, one line about connie's junk

Chapter 1: Cruel Summer

The music in his car is always so loud. Typically you don’t mind but you’re already feeling a tension headache developing between your temples. As if stretching a rubber band in your brain isn’t painful enough, Floch decides to snap it against your head as he yells, “Babe, get out! We’re here.” At least the Britney Spears song, I’m a Slave 4 U, stops playing. Not that you don’t like Britney. You just don’t like Britney when she’s blasting at full volume in your boyfriend kia stinger.

As you step away from the red car, paint chips peeling off the car door, you have to race to catch up with Floch. His music is playing so loudly you can hear it even though his earbuds are snug in his ear. Now he’s listening to Ride by Sir Mix-A-Lot. Of course he is. He’s bobbing his head offbeat as you reach out to grab his sleeve. You don’t know why you’re so scared to get his attention. You’ve been dating for five months now and it’s felt pretty great until recently.

“Hey, slow down. I don’t know where we’re heading.” You manage to tell him, gently snagging his baggy sweatshirt sleeve and also successfully pissing him off based on the scowl he wears.

“What the hell? Why are you so damn slow? Just walk, babe.” Floch responds before yanking his arm away. He then walks faster as if to spite you. As if he wants to lose sight of you. You shake that thought from your head, physically due to the persistent panic now running through you, as you run to catch up with him. Glancing back with a simper, Floch grins further when he sees you run after him. Is he doing this to make himself feel better? Surely not…

Those anxiety riddled worries dissipate as you enter a retail store inside the mall. Thankfully, the lights are dim. Not all too luminous, more closely resembling a club with twinkling stars hanging from the ceiling adding enough light to see but not grow ill from the fluorescent lights like they have in universities and offices. It’s a creative lighting fixture and honestly you can get behind it. While you appreciate the gentle luminosity of the store you’re pulling by Floch, his hand wrapping around your wrist possessively. As we fully enter the establishment, music filling my ears and it not being Floch’s, I realize it doesn’t match the quaint, elegant atmosphere established.

Hi, I’m a Slut is playing on the intercoms. Grandmas looking at shawls with their husbands furrow their brows with disgust, mothers cover the ears of their young adult children as if they haven’t heard that word before while their husbands crack up at the licentious lyrics. Amidst the disappointment and disgust, one boy with tanned skin and an overgrown buzz cut is grinning. He’s even chuckling; his hand covering his mouth as he elbows a brunette besides him. The retail employee laughs so hard he leans forward against the counter, the girl beside him with her dark brown ponytail swaying back and forth as she wobbles with her guffaws too, and cackles like a hyena at the harmless prank he’s pulled. The girl besides him smacks his back, prompting him to begin coughing and sputtering and laughing in between his asphyxiation.

It seems like it’d be fun to work here. Of course Floch disagrees, somehow knowing exactly what you’re thinking to ruin your minute joy. “Fucking morons. Let’s go buy something hot and sexy for you to wear to this concert, babe.” His hand tightens around your wrist as he pulls you to the section with more provocative - not exactly lingerie - garments. Dresses with large slits at the hips, shirts with keyholes to expose cleavage, skirts so short it’s amazing they aren’t accused of being belts. Not exactly what you typically… not what you’ve ever worn. “Damn babe, this would look so good on you.”

Floch groans as he says the words, making you bite back bile, while holding up a hanger. Draped on the hanger is a sweater with a massive keyhole in the front to expose your chest down the length of your sternum. What the fuck?

“I don’t know about that.” You tell him with a small chuckle as if it’ll lessen whatever response he’ll have to you indirectly saying no. He hasn’t always been this way… at least, you don’t think he’s been this way your whole relationship.

“Well, I know.” Floch interjects, grinning. His expression is so coy and sly. So often he is smug and presenting himself with delusional confidence. “So let’s try it on, baby.” Before you can protest, or maybe even change your mind and agree to please this asshole, you’re led to the changing rooms. Suddenly it feels like all eyes are on you when Floch snides, “can’t wait to see some skin,” before pushing you inside the confines of the stall.

Twisting the knob to leave and talk to him like a civil person, you discover you can’t open the door. From the outside Floch is tapping his foot, one hand texting on his phone with a grin, while his other hand is holding the doorknob on the other side so you can’t open it. Superman by Eminem is now playing after the prolonged silence (besides those two people at the register dying of laughter) following the more provocative track that greeted you and your boyfriend. It’s ironic, you guess.

Taking a look at the sweater, you can’t help but sigh. The fabric is heavy and hot and haughty. Pretentious but poorly made. Strands jut out from the stitch and it’s clear some poor, underpaid individual likely made this and then this store added a crazy markup. With a cheek of the tag you confirm your intuition when you see it’s marked for $179. As the sale price. Hell no. “Floch, baby, c’mon let me out,” Chuckling awkwardly, you jostle the knob to indicate you’re serious. “This thing is itchy and expensive. Let’s get something better. It’s also crazy hot right now, so I don’t want to wear a sweater.” You explain, hoping that he’ll be compassionate and understand that.

Silence. It’s jarring whenever he’s silent. Not just lately but actually… the entire time you’ve dated him. He likes to talk. He loves to blabber and ramble and narrate. Whenever he’s radio silent on you it means you’ve pissed him off. It means you’re in the wrong… maybe it doesn’t. He’s locked you in a dressing room and now you want to apologize? He should say sorry this is psycho behavior! “Baby?” Repeating it once more, the pet name coming from your lips like first nature despite your frustration growing with him.

Silence. “Floch!” You can’t help but shout. It’s fucking stressful to be in a tiny stall that smells like feet holding an itchy sweater that costs way too much for its quality level. “This isn’t funny!” Despite your best efforts your voice grows shaky and it causes your volume to rise.

Thump! He fucking kicked the door of the dressing room. Instinctively you back away and your back hits the wall behind you. The music in the background is just white noise, insignificant and mildly irritating as you freak the fuck out, as you stare in shock at the door as if your hurt expression transfers through the wood.

You recognize the song playing. Or perhaps you’re just tuned back in on the stereo outside the door. Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift.

She’s damn right. Here you are, your last month of summer break from college, being fucking trapped in a dressing room by the man you introduce as your lover. Perhaps that’ll be the next song playing while this nightmare persists. “Let me out, Floch! You’re acting crazy!” At your words Floch bangs the door once more, making the frame jump with you and the wood splinter. “What’s making you do this?” You ask shakily as your anxieties, your fears, are heightened by the fact you can’t see him.

Before Floch can respond like a kind, polite, and lovely boyfriend would - or how a cruel, unkind, and crude boyfriend would - there’s another voice outside the door. The voice isn’t very deep but it isn’t high either. Perhaps it’s a tenor? The inflection of the speaker implies he has an accent from not around here. His voice sounds confrontational. Or maybe Floch’s bitterness is corrupting this stranger. “What the fuck are you doing?” The new voice asks presumably Floch, his voice deepening when he swears. “We have a rule against fucking locking people in closets. Formed right now cause no one has done this weird shit before.” Continuing, the voice then comes closer. You’re beginning to place it. The bravado matches those jovial but obnoxiously loud laughs heard from the retail worker with the fuzzy buzz cut. “Step away from the door.” He warns, pitching his voice lower as if to sound scarier.

“Make me, little bitch.” Floch's voice rings out and you can hear his smug expression.

Until you hear his nose fucking break. It sounds like a can of soda being popped open; maybe a firecracker blowing or those little pop-its that can burn you or - holy hell he punched Floch! You’re giddy. Giddy in the way you’d cheer when your favorite sports team wins against all odds. Odd how you’re celebrating an injury to the man you love.

It’s also odd he locked you in a fucking dressing room. So you’re allowed to push your fists in the air in victory, like you’re the one who punched him, when you hear his loud footsteps while stumbling.

The door is easily opened from a small twist of the wrist while holding the doorknob. Kitty Kat by Megan Thee Stallion is beginning to play after a lot of radio classics.

Perhaps it’s fitting? The energy certainly is as you step out. Once you’re free, holding that ugly, inadequate sweater, you’re greeted with the retail worker standing over Floch while blood gushes down his face like a waterfall. It’s a beautiful sight.

Know what’s also beautiful? Stepping over him. As you do so, Floch grabs your ankle. He mumbles something unkind that you can’t fully hear but you ignore him. Nothing beginning with ‘you treacherous-’ will be worth hearing from him.

Now standing beside the retail worker, his friend watching from the register with an enthused grin, you can see the name on his tag. ‘Connie S.’ Connie? There’s a Connie in the band you love. He typically wears a hood so you’ve never seen his haircut - not even online. With angular black eyeliner and ash smeared across his scrawny but sculpted chest as he plays the drums with his entire being. He’s feral; fucking insane. The way he breaks his drumsticks every performance and they sell online for more money than splintered wood could ever be worth. His energy is absolutely contagious but you wouldn’t mind catching it. At least a little.

“You’re staring, hon.” Connie says with a boyish grin. It’s sweet and genuine unlike Floch’s. “You okay? The guy you’re with seems to have issues.” You nod as he speaks, dazed a little at the thought of him being Connie; the drummer for Paradis. “Did you need help finding something… or?” Sheepishly - yet slyly still - smirking, Connie sweetness and playfully and you see now, flirtatiousness, is not lost on you. “Did you need someone?” He teases, removing his uniform dress shirt that he had on outside of a tank top. Holy shit.

When he pulls back his outer layer you can confirm it’s Connie Springer. The Connie Springer who tears up stages across the United States, eliciting enthusiasm across all metalheads, embodying earnest appreciation for the poetic, powerful expression it is to bangs wood against… wood. You digress. His tattoo is a complete sleeve on his right arm, the hand he always wears a glove on when he’s playing at a concert from the clips you’ve seen. Full of black ink with pops of indigo and scarlet, the shades popping brilliantly against his sienna skin, his tattoo is the embodiment of his characteristic chaotic energy he carries with him during every performance. From afar it does look like random shapes and cool patterns paired together, but you’re sure there’s more to it. Tattoos are so permanent! He must of thought hard and long and deeply-

“Oh you’re studying his tat.” The brunette at the cashier says from behind you resulting in a small flinch. “Didn’t mean to scare you!” She apologies with a genial chuckle. So genuine. “He only got that because his bandmates did and he wanted to prove Jean was weak for crying when he got his back tatted.” Jean? Like Jean Kirstein from Paradis? Holy heck. Giggling again, you realize how beautiful Sasha’s laugh is. It’s saccharine and mellifluous; it’s honey to a sore throat. “Oh, I’m Sasha by the way.” She finally says with an honest smile and a friendly pat to your shoulder.

“I’m Connie!” The boy exclaims proudly as if he didn’t hear a word. Sasha chuckles. “Dude, where were you?” Her words prompt Connie to shrug, playful and at ease. It’s so metal he just punched a man unconscious and now he’s here jiving. Chatting as if this was any old day for him.

Like a deer in headlights you stare at their interaction. Sasha, the one with a bit more sense - or perhaps just intuition - of the two, chiding Connie for being ditzy in only the way your closest friends can. She’s stylish. The effortless type of stylish. She’s in a large baggy maroon t-shirt with a camo print hoodie underneath with the black hoodie peaking up. Her brown hair is tied back with a black ribbon, a necklace loose around her neck on a thick leather strap but the gem is hidden under her shirt, and green cargo shorts that end at the knees. If anyone else was wearing something like that they’d look crazy. Sasha… makes it work. Her sunglasses have little sparkly stars on the rim; they’re rhinestones that catch the light beautifully. She’s serving cunt in camo… how does she do it? Crew socks with little pigs on them and black, hunter-green, and white sneakers complete her oddly pleasing attire.

Connie on the other hand is a hot mess. Literally and figuratively. His hand runs over his buzz cut, sighing when he can’t yet run his hands through his hair seductively like everyone else in the band. No thirst edits of him including that clip… yet. His armpits aren’t shaved and whenever he lifts his toned arms you can see tufts of ashy brown hair. He has more body hair than hair on his head, maybe, if you combine his hairy legs too. Connie’s in sweatpants you realize, not exactly what you’d expect from a rock star or a retail worker on shift, and you can’t help but notice that imprint. Your eyes are torn from it, thankfully because your cheeks started to develop a cherry tint, due to Connie flexing his arm muscles when he snaps as a thought comes to him. The sound snagged your attention too… you guess. “Your shirt man, it’s our first album!” Connie finally realizes, staring straight at your chest. You give him a pass since that’s where the bulk of the design is.

“The merch from our first ep,” Connie repeats once more as he realizes the weight of that. The merch they sold because they were given a discount from a buddy and dive bars were desperate for some live entertainment and haggled for 40% of their merch profits. Back when Mikasa was banging holes in the drums themselves with her own sort of stoic intensity instead of Connie splitting the branches he thumped against the percussion with his kinetic passion. You’ve been a fan since Paradis performed their first ever setlist composed of Dio covers, makeshift comedy routines from Connie when the dingy sound of the equally dank bars would give them trouble, and Jean competing with Eren because back they were fixated on only one of them writing the lyrics. The significance of the shirt you’re wearing makes him dramatically clutch his heart through his tank.

“Don’t make it weird.” Sasha jokes, elbowing Connie as he remains in his theatrics.

“No! This means everything!” The boy argues with a bashful grin on his face. He really does seem flattered. It’s cute… it’s making your lips curl into a delicate smile.

“I just… really liked the design.” You begin, fiddling with the hem of the black shirt. A lion stretches proudly, extending itself as it arches its back, in a field of gladiolus flowers awaking from a nap. They only printed these t-shirts in black. There’s a line from their song from that ep, Waking Lions, that’s written below the lion and in the gorgeous bed of sun kissed, passionately purple flowers. The line, in a gradient white and purple that’s beginning to fade off, says: I wanna stand up, a hundred feet tall ‘cause fear will never lead the way. I’m waking the lions in me.

Those two see right through you. Especially Sasha. She urges me to continue, to even ramble, with a shift in those chocolate irises. “Okay… I also really loved the songs. Especially Waking Lions! I’m so glad that’s the song you decided to model the ep’s art off of and also that you made merch!” You find yourself ramble, rattling on about what you really thought of the lyrics. How the art is so cute compared to what a metal-core band would be expected to produce. The way their first album, even if only housing three songs, was revolutionary in your eyes.

“Yeah, Jean wrote Waking Lions and he’s the one with the art degree. So Eren lost the battle on having When the Lights Come On be the star of our first ever original recording.” Connie rubs his hand over his fuzzy head, his pointy canines revealed as he smiles. “He won the war and got to be the lead vocalist though!” He adds with a chuckle like he recalled a memory. Probably how the two bickered endlessly about who that title goes to.

“Connie’s playing tonight at the Garrison if you want to come. Bet they didn’t sell out!” Sasha teases with an upbeat tone in contrast to Connie’s pretend pout. They’re a fun duo. Seeming to have energy that feeds off each other in a positive feedback loop. “You seem like a huge fan too. So,” Sasha stands besides Connie and the two glance between each other like they’re plotting, scheming. “Would you want to go with us? I’ve been looking for a new concert buddy, since Connie can’t head bang with me when he’s on stage!”

Laughing at Sasha’s comment, you nod your head almost immediately. You were going to attend with Floch, since giving you two tickets for the balcony - which is the worst spot since you’re into moshing and they’re typically more expensive - was his attempt of being nice, but he’s entirely shown his true colors. Or perhaps you finally removed your rose tinted glasses and took those pivotal steps out of your ivory tower.

“I’d love to go with you guys. My date is knocked the hell out, thanks Connie,” Sasha snorts a laugh and Connie throws up a peace sign, “so I doubt he’ll want to take me. Or even go himself.” Smiling with appreciation, you add quickly, “thank you guys so much for the invite.”

Connie slinks his arm around your shoulders while Sasha gives him and you a high-five at the same time. Nice, it’s crisp. “Yo! I can’t wait!” Connie exclaims with enthusiasm – the same enthusiasm that infects the crowd from insipid to invigorated in no time. “First, let’s get you a cool outfit for free. Cause once my boss sees I knocked his ass out I’m fired.”

“I’m getting a cool outfit too!” Sasha excitedly agrees, reassuring you naturally. “I’m always asking Constance to slip me a free dress but he never does.” Pouting when Connie yells for her to never call him that again, Sasha begins to peruse the racks of clothing surrounding you three. And I guess Floch but he’s literally down for the count.

Connie, with the cutest opportunistic grin, adds, “I’m already gonna get fired. May as well make this a concert worth remembering down to what you wore!”

Sasha begins shopping with Connie’s last paycheck as her credit card, and Connie has his arm around your shoulders in a friendly way. It’s as if you’ve known him for years. Like the three of you are best friends reunited, you find yourself agreeing with a nod of your head.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Hopefully some fun.

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chaotic-on-main · 1 year

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The Bakery | ModernAU One-Shot

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!OC

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ fluff

☾ Author's note ➼ This was meant to be a drabble but then I couldn't stop writing I'm so sorry. But anyways! I'm still working on March for Unspoken Words but sometimes you get little ideas and I just can't move on until I do them. So here! TAKE MY DELUSIONS. (this was only proofread once so take it as it is)

☾ Word Count ➼ ~1.8k

The exhaustion of opening the shop at five in the morning is just now starting to hit you as you roll out blue fondant for the tier cake in front of you. You can’t stop the heavy yawn from escaping your mouth, tears pricking the corner of your eyes from doing so. There were only a handful of hours left in the workday but you were determined to finish this order before then so it would be ready for tomorrow’s pick up.

“Aunt Lyra, you have flour smeared all over your face again.” A voice rings out to the right of you, jarring you from your sleepy state for a moment. You see your red-haired niece munching on a cookie with a contented smile warming up her light brown eyes.

“Sasha, how are we supposed to make a profit if you keep eating all of our products?” You give her a stern look and she just shrugs her shoulders and shoves the rest of the cookie in her mouth. You sigh at her.

“I’ll make more before I leave today.” She mumbles through a full mouth, crumbs falling everywhere.

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“Why are you back here? You should be manning the counter.” You look back down to the designs you were currently working on with the freshly flattened out fondant, reminding yourself to wipe your face when you were done.

“Your favorite customer is here, he says he needs to pick up an order he placed last week.” She stares at you with large, sparkling eyes. “When are you going to finally ask him out? I see the way you look at him.” Your face flushes with heat as you drop everything to wipe your hands on your apron before making your way to the large fridge behind you.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear. Go get his payment, I’ll be right out.” You admit that you couldn’t keep your gaze off him whenever he came in, ordering his usual drink and sitting in his usual spot. For the past year, he always brought a book and would sit in the back for around an hour or two reading and sipping on a few teas before heading off to who knows where for the day. And it was only just that, just a few professional words back and forth and then silence before he left. But you always looked forward to his next visit. You take a deep breath and shake your hands out to get rid of the jitters. Sasha had joked about it but you were actually planning to ask him out the next time you saw him. Today is the day, you tell yourself.

You make sure to have a tight grip on the tall cake box before backing out through the swinging doors separating the dining area from the kitchen. You’re met with the bustling noises of your bakery, signifying yet another busy day. When you turn around to make sure you don’t bump into anything, you also see that the building was indeed teeming with chattering and laughing patrons. The afternoon sun beams through your wide front window and bounces off the shining wooden floors.

“Ah! Ms. Brause, let me help!” Your tall sandy-haired employee comes running up from a table, dirty cutlery and cups discarded, with his arms out in assistance.

“No, Jean, it’s okay. I’ve got it.” You grunt as you heave the heavy confection on the pick-up counter then wipe your hands off on your apron. Jean is a good friend and classmate of Sasha’s. According to your niece, he needed a job as soon as possible so he could start saving up for college. He mentioned that his mom owned a restaurant, and that he could work there but would rather chew his leg off than do that. You couldn’t understand that sentiment, but it never hurt to have extra help at one the busiest bakeries in town, so you said sure.

“Alright, but I’m here if you need help!” He chirps as he stares at you for a moment before turning back around to finish the table he was working on. Sasha had made an offhand comment how Jean had a crush on you since he started. You laughed at the time because it was adorable. Of course, nothing would come out of it since you were practically double his age and he knew that. He never made a pass at you thankfully.

When you make your way to the till, you see Sasha running a card as she talks animatedly about the cake. His hooded eyes flicker over to yours and he nods a hello to you, a small smile playing off his lips. Your heart is racing already.

“Levi, nice to see you again. Would you like your usual, to-go?” You press your hands together underneath the counter to keep them from trembling.

“No, thank you. I unfortunately have somewhere to be as soon as possible.” His deep voice responds back, making your heart flutter more.

“Oh? Where are you headed with such an intricate cake?”

“Just a friend’s party.” He shoves his wallet back into his back pocket and checks his watch. “Speaking of. Is it ready?”

“Yeah, just over on this counter. I’ll help you out.” You walk around the counter to get to the customer’s side before picking up the box carefully. He steps over to you quickly with his mouth open a little in surprise.

“I can get it, just set it down.”

“No, I insist. Besides, I’m already holding it. Get the door for me?” You give him a big smile and he just huffs before turning around and doing what you ask. As you step through the door, you’re met with a warm late summer breeze. The sun is shining down, and you take a deep breath in. You’ve been cooped up in the kitchen for so long that you instantly relax at the freedom.

You see him leading the way over to a small black car about 10 feet away and you begin to follow him, holding the cake box close to your chest. He opens the door behind the driver's side for you to slide it in gently. For extra measure, you even buckle the seatbelt around it. When you stand back up to face him, he’s staring at you incredulously.

“What?” You ask him, stepping back to the sidewalk so he can close the door.

“Why did you do that?” His gruff voice sounds almost amused.

“You need to make sure all passengers are safe.” You shrug your shoulders and chuckle at your own joke. He rolls his eyes at you but he’s definitely smirking. You eye his face as he studies yours. You can’t do this, you think. Asking him on a date seems so ridiculous, maybe next time. Yeah, you’ll ask him out next time.

“Well, I’ll see you the next time you stop by. I hope your friend enjoys their cake.” You manage to get out as you give him a nod then turn to leave as you feel your face warm up again. After taking a couple steps back to the bakery door, you feel something tug at your sleeve. You stop and look over to see Levi holding on to you with two fingers. His eyes are averted and a pink flush runs across his cheeks. He lets go quickly and clears his throat.

“Hey, uh. Before you go…” he trails off. You blink hard at him and twist your body back to face him. He’s about a foot or so away from you and he has his hands shoved into his jean pockets now.

“Yes, Levi?” You notice the tips of his ears are the same flushed pink. His raven hair is blowing gently in the breeze. He is so beautiful, you think. He clears his throat again and shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“I know I don’t know you very well, but I would like to. If given the chance.” He takes one of his hands from his pocket to run it through his hair, his eyes refusing to meet your now shocked expression. He wants to get to know you. Wait, is he asking you on-

“A date? You want to go on a date with me?” You squeak out.

“Yeah. I guess if that’s what you want to call it.” Your heart is about to explode out of your chest and because of that, you can’t keep the shit-eating grin off your face. His gray eyes finally lock onto yours, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“I- yes! I would love to. I was actually going to ask you out just now, but I got too nervous.” The amount of relief that floods your system is almost euphoric. He breaks out into an actual smile, one that just takes your breath away because of how much it lights up his entire face.

“W-well great. I don’t have any plans tonight. 8 o’clock okay?” He fiddles with his car keys as he watches you expectantly.

“What about your friend’s party?”

“It should be over by then. Besides, they’ll be thrilled that I’m finally getting out of my apartment to socialize with someone other than them.” He rolls his eyes at the thought, but then looks back at you with apprehension.

“Oh, well…” You look back in the window to your bakery and see Jean and Sasha both staring at you with wide eyes and big smiles. They give you a thumbs up and a vigorous nod. You shift your gaze back to Levi. “Tonight sounds great. Absolutely.”

You both spend the next couple of minutes exchanging numbers so you can both discuss where to meet later. He gives you a small wave as he backs out of his spot and drives off to his friend’s party. You can’t help but jump up and down as you squeal with excitement. This was actually happening! After months of crushing on him, you have his number and you’re going out with him later. You pinch yourself. Yep, it’s real.

As if in a daydream you slip back into your store, the sounds of chatter and clinking dishes muffled by the thoughts racing through your head. The smile from earlier has not left. Your niece comes bounding up with another cookie in her hands and she starts asking excitedly about what you're going to wear and where are you two going. It’s all just buzzing to you. You’re still in disbelief of what just happened.

“Ms. Braus?” Jean’s voice breaks you out for a moment and you look over to him.

“Yes, Mr. Kirchstein?”

“You have flour on your face still.” Your face falls and you start rubbing at your face with your hands. When you pull them away, you see streaks of white powder covering your fingers. You groan loudly. Levi just asked you on a date while you had flour all over your face.

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noel-ey · 2 months

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i just posted chapter two of my first fic called Fated to Pretend! if you love aot/snk and also jeanmarco i hope you enjoy it! Jean and Marco go on their high schools senior trip and begin understand each others feelings. suggestions/feedback is welcomed! chapter two is linked below but read chapter one if you haven’t already:

i also made a playlist for this fic, if anyone is interested in that to listen to while reading then let me know and i’ll send it!

#marco bodt #jean kirstein #aot #jeanmarco #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #marco bott #connie springer #sasha braus #sasha blouse #erwin smith #levi ackerman #hange zoe #fanfiction #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #ao3

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opelemmescootpastya · 1 year

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NEW CHAPTER OF ALL THINGS GO: CHICAGO NO KYOJIN!!!!

Chapter 36: Getting Ultraromantic With It

Featuring art by the incredible @poppunkpie <3

#attack on titan fanfiction #atg:cnk #springles #consasha #connie x sasha #sasha braus #Sasha Blouse #connie springer #jeanpiku #Jean Kirschtein #pieck finger #jean x pieck #ao3 #snk fanfiction

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levi-x-sasha · 2 months

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For the Levi x Sasha ideas, how about something cutesy with Sasha training Levi in archery? You can choose whether you'll make them adults or teenagers 💖💖

First of all I love you 💖💖 thanks a lot for your suggestion! 🥺

This idea reminded IMMEDIATELY of You Make My Heart Quiver by @mimirexx !! This was such a sweet gift that I won't ever forget. It is so, so good, I 100% recommand you to read it!!! 💛✨️

But now I'm thinking maybe I could write a scene in canonverse, where Levi observes Sasha practicing archery and he asks her to teach him?

#levi x sasha #sasha x levi #levisasha #rivasasha #sasha braus #sasha blouse #snk levi #shingeki no kyoujin #ask #fanfiction

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luvrrgirl444 · 10 months

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chapter 19: mama y papa

comments

sashluvsfood: you’re perfect

⤷ planetyn: i love you my baby

conman69: ewww 🤢

⤷ planetyn: can i LIVE

ymirrimy: usually hate str8 couples but u guys are an exception

⤷ planetyn: im cherishing this forever

⤷ jaegerbomb: ymir being.. nice?

⤷ ymirrimy: bitch kys

hotgirlsluvyn: mother has finally left her delulu era

⤷ user45: FINALLY ITS BEEN YEARS

⤷ planetyn: NTM TO ME OMG ???

jaegerbomb: you’re welcome my love

⤷ planetyn: 💋💋

mikasackerman: you’re too pretty to be dating this absolute loser

⤷ planetyn: i’ll date you instead mika

⤷ jaegerbomb: ????

historiareiss: gorgeous girl!! i can’t wait to meet u!! 🥰

⤷ planetyn: i can’t wait to meet u ml!! 🥰

user80: MY CRUSH IS IN A RELATIONSHIP NOW NOOOOO

⤷ conman69: it was never gonna be you bro

lifearlert: it girl

⤷ planetyn: i love u bff

comments

conman69: i’ve never seen king henry smile this hard

⤷ jaegerbomb: your name is literally cornelius 😬

planetyn: we’re so cute

⤷ jaegerbomb: you’re so cute

⤷ horseface: 🤢

sashluvsfood: so you took my wife??

⤷ planetyn: no i’ll always be your wife 🙄

⤷ jaegerbomb: ????

ymirrimy: you’re a twat

⤷ ymirrimy: but unfortunately you’re my best friend and i’m happy for you

⤷ jaegerbomb: unfortunately??

⤷ jaegerbomb: but thank you asshole

lifearlert: mama y papa

⤷ sashluvsfood: mama y papa

⤷ conman69: mama y papa

⤷ horseface: mama y papa

⤷ planetyn: bitch im a motha!

⤷ jaegerbomb: no drama 🤷🏻‍♂️

⤷ user102: i love them omg 😭

mikasackerman: no way you got a gf before me

⤷ jaegerbomb: the ladies (y/n) love me

⤷ sashluvsfood: heyy 😅

horseface: parents

⤷ jaegerbomb: my son

user29: THEYRE SO CUTE IM SHITTING MYSELF

⤷ jaegerbomb: wow??

lifearlert: eren move ur blocking y/n

⤷ jaegerbomb: this is my account??

historiareiss: she’s everything and he’s just ken

⤷ planetyn: LMFAO I LOVE YOU TORI

⤷ jaegerbomb: hello????

zekejaeger: little bro’s all grown up

⤷ jaegerbomb: z i’m literally 20??

⤷ mikasackerman: you’re a manchild

🫧

- DOUBLE UPDATE!!

- tried a diff layout for insta chapters!

- also eren using question marks in the comments is lowk funny 😭

taglist <3 : @greeniegreengreen @bakuhoes-bxtch @itzgabz22 @princess-jaeger @marsandsaturn @violenthots @roses-arerosies @conniesbbymama @llovergirlll @iheartamajiki @clipperlighter @liliorsstuff-blog @hoohoohope @akvrae @rinslutz @miniaturelunar @sheluvzeren @shigamiryuk @chamomilespetal @booistoleyou @asp7n @heartz444anna @thatartistshar0n @vintagexparker @tsukkisukkii @venusinx @seeingivy @cyberkitty1 @anitatvd

#aot fanfiction #aot smau #aot x black reader #attack on titan #connie springer #eren jaeger #eren x black reader #fake tweets #shingeki no kyojin #x black reader #anime smau #instagram #sasha blouse #jean kirstein #black reader #luvrrgirl444

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bluebird722 · 3 months

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A Second Surprise

Summary: Jean and Mikasa eagerly anticipate the newest addition to their family with fears and hopes on each side.

Pairings: Jeankasa, AruAni

Rating: T (brief smut, childbirth, indirect PTSD)

Author's Note: Happy Valentine's Day, @marshmallow-rainbow139! Thank you for writing some of the best Jeankasa fics I have seen so far! This is for you (and to all my other lovely Jeankasa fic writers)! I know it may not match exactly what you wrote on your blog, but I hope it's close enough.

*** Attack on Titan: A Second Surprise ***

Almost every day in the year since he returned home, Jean reflected on his idea of a perfect future, the life he wanted when everything that he went through was finally over. He still remembered his dream to indulge in the best liquor, regardless of the cost, and to wake up and go to bed in “prime real estate”. All the luxuries that he wanted, even though the comfortable life in the Military Police was not what he wanted anymore, was all because he and his family–the woman he would marry and the children they would produce and raise–deserved the best.

Of course, reality tended to be different. Jean had never imagined living anywhere aside from an apartment, but a log cabin was what his wife secretly wanted, so he made sure to find and upgrade a lonely cabin into a gorgeous house with a decent number of neighbors and plenty of access to fresh air. He decided not to move into his dream apartment until his mother was much older so the offspring could spend more time with her. Every now and then, he relaxed on the porch with great liquor, but sometimes drinking by himself could be boring and lonely.

At one point, it occurred to Jean that the liquor and the housing were just secondary; the greater priority, always, was to have Mikasa in his life, have children with her, and make love to her whenever, just as they were at the moment.

He pinned her wrist over her head, beamed at her relaxed smile, and kissed down her neck, the familiar ways to make her feel loved and know that she was loved and deserved love. She hooked her ankles above his lower back and with her free hand clutched his bare back. They kissed hard, molding their kiss until they parted as Jean increased the movement of his hips.

He knew every way to bring her endless pleasure, but to him, it wasn’t so much seeing her reactions to him anymore; it was showing that he knew what made her happy and wanted to surround her in it. His kisses down her collarbone made her pant every time, as did the kisses under her jaw. He savored the moment as much as he could to remind himself of the good life that he had and was building for himself. She pushed him up so that they made love sitting upright, but as their breathing hitched, he laid her back down.

Mikasa pulled him into another kiss just as they finished together. Jean groaned into the fabric of their blanket, she clamped her mouth over his shoulder, and they squeezed each other as tightly as they could while riding the waves of pleasure. Then Jean collapsed backwards, his head at the foot of the bed. Mikasa joined him later, cuddled to his side.

Jean savored their five minutes together until Mikasa, sighing, pushed herself up. “We should get up. Marco will wake up from his nap soon.” She grabbed and put on her white bathrobe.

Much to her amusement, Jean groaned. “Just five more minutes?” he whined.

“No,” said Mikasa firmly, though she grinned. “I don’t want to know what he would do if he thought we were asleep.” She watched her husband crawl back under the covers, dragging the blanket with him, and walked out of the bedroom to wake their son from his post-lunch nap.

Jean curled his wife’s pillow to his face and breathed in her familiar scent. Every day that he spent with her was a blessing, and he could not have imagined a better life partner than her to wake up to in the morning and go to bed with in the evening. He listened to Mikasa walk down the stairs, likely carrying Marco with her, and listened to her talk to and kiss their son. Jean knew that, for the heartache that Mikasa still felt for her murdered parents, giving love to Marco that she would inevitably give to any more children that would follow certainly eased the sadness she felt that her parents had to die for her to experience so much joy.

Reluctantly, Jean left the bed, dressed, and walked downstairs to join his family for the remainder of the day. The urge he had to stay in bed faded the moment he saw Marco’s happy face and the way his son held out his hands for him.

***

Today had been a great day–finishing a stressless work day early, then a successful lunch with ambassadors, and finding a perfect hunk of boar at the market–but seeing his son run in his direction with his arms reaching for his father made any day, even horrible days, better. With one arm, Jean scooped up and hugged his son. “I’m glad to be home, little man,” he said. He kissed the middle of Marco’s forehead on his way into the house. “Did you have a nice day, even without me?”

Marco wrapped his arms around Jean’s neck and nuzzled his face in his arms. “I love you, Papa.”

Those words never failed to lift Jean’s spirits.

Once inside the house he took off his and Marco’s shoes, and carried him upstairs to play in his room. Jean was opening the door to Marco’s room when he noticed that the door to his and Mikasa’s room was ajar, and Mikasa was lying in bed with the covers over her head. That was odd, given how Mikasa rarely napped during the daytime and most certainly not covered up like that. He excused himself from his son, entered his room, and sat behind his wife. “Mikasa? My love?” He gently shook her shoulder. “Mikasa? Are you all right?”

Slowly, Mikasa shifted her body and looked over her shoulder at Jean. “I’m glad you’re home,” she said so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her.

Jean stroked her forehead. She was quite warm. “How long have you felt like this?”

“Like what?” she asked. Upon Jean looking exasperated, she shrugged. “I’m just tired–lots of chores today, lots of cleaning.”

Jean hated when she said things like that. He shook his head so that she knew that he didn’t believe her. Sighing, she glanced away. “I don’t know. I was…just tired, you know…” Then her expression changed. “It’s been…happening, for about three days, in the morning.”

Jean hesitated. “Maybe you should go to a doctor?” he suggested in a questioning tone. “It’s rare that you feel unwell, you know, as they say, ‘under the weather’.”

Mikasa looked surprised but shook her head. “No, I will be good,” she insisted. She kissed his chin and walked downstairs to start cooking, only for her husband to eventually catch her back upstairs in the bathroom, on her knees and heaving over the toilet. She had her eyes closed when she heard Jean walk into the bathroom, and said, “False alarm.”

“No,” said Jean. “Mikasa, if you’re not feeling well–you know, you’re rarely ill–something is going on. I want to take you tomorrow, even if you’re feeling better.” He ignored her groans and helped her to her feet and back into their shared bed.

Mikasa reluctantly complied with his request and the next morning, especially because she was feeling warm and looked nauseated over breakfast, went to the doctor’s office. Luckily, Marco thought that they were running errands and fell asleep in the waiting room, his head on Jean’s shoulder. Then the doctor’s assistant called Mikasa’s name, but Marco still slept even through his mother’s thyroid exam, heartbeat test, and ear and eye exams. They waited ten minutes for the doctor to come in, and Jean spoke for his embarrassed wife.

Any alcohol use, no.

Any tobacco or smoking products, no.

Any change in diet, no.

Any recent illness, no.

Any international travel to a country with high rates of disease, no.

Mikasa slept throughout the night, she stopped breastfeeding the year before, she made sure that she consumed only thoroughly cooked meats and animal products, she bathed regularly, and she did not fall ill with the flu when Jean did, even though she cared for him while Marco stayed with his grandmother.

Then the doctor looked up from her notes and asked, “What date did you start your last menstrual cycle?”

Mikasa's mind went blank.

She stuttered and looked at Jean. At that moment, he realized what the doctor was implying.

The doctor, however, was pleased with healthcare services and methods from the mainland and subjected Mikasa to a blood test that would have results ready later that day. Mikasa complied with the test and was silent as they left the doctor’s office, planning to come back before it closed. She refused to look at Jean and see how he was feeling, but when Marco woke up, she beamed at her sweet little boy and pretended that his entire life may or may not be changing very soon.

At Mikasa’s request, she went to follow up with the doctor on her own, so Jean took Marco to the market to pick out ingredients for dinner that night. She fiddled with the hem of her blouse until the doctor came in and confirmed what she had suspected: According to the blood tests, Mikasa was pregnant again.

Mikasa waited until after Marco went to bed to tell Jean. Jean instinctively rushed to his wife, fell to his knees at her feet, and put his forehead against her abdomen. He didn’t cry until she stroked his hair.

The day when she told him that she was pregnant with Marco made him the happiest man on Earth…and his feelings at the time, the best that he had ever felt in his life, came rushing back.

The day after, Jean immediately cleaned up a spare room to start building a nursery despite Mikasa’s reminding him that the baby was only the size of a lemon at that point, but he didn’t care. He thought about paint color, which corner to put the toys and changing station, how many of Marco’s baby items did they still have, and where to position the crib so they could hear the baby’s cries at night. Furthermore, and he was the same with their son, he took to carrying all the bags from the market, kept a close watch on her every time she cooked and even cleaned on her knees, and didn’t let her carry the laundry basket.

Mikasa and Jean, however, agreed to wait until she was ready to show to tell Marco the news. Jean cooked Mr. Omelet Jr. for Marco, and Mikasa drizzled the amount of ketchup that Marco liked. She even let him unpeel and eat two oranges, even though up to three gave him a stomachache.

“Marco,” said Jean once they were all seated, “your mother and I have some news that we think it is time for you to know.”

Marco took a big bite and his time chewing. “Are we moving?”

No.

“Are we getting a puppy dog?”

No.

“Is Grandmama good?”

Yes.

Mikasa took a deep breath and put her hand on her abdomen. “I…I am pregnant, Marco.” Marco looked confused. “I have a baby in me. You–You’re going to have a little brother or sister this year.”

Jean would have immediately agreed to combat a Colossal Titan again to preserve the look on Marco’s face forever. He had no idea that a three-year-old could be that excited to become a big brother.

***

Mikasa’s eyes flung open in the dark. Her heart ached in her chest. Her gaze darted around the dark room, and she listened carefully for any suspicious, unwelcome sounds–but all she heard was Jean’s breathing in his sleep and the rustling of the tree leaves outside as the rain pelted against the house.

Still, Mikasa closed her eyes again and kept listening hard. It felt real, and yet it was real. Her nightgown was wet against her skin, but she could still hear the horrible sounds, feel emotions that she had buried away for years, and see…them again, like they never went away.

Then she heard a loud crack, and Mikasa sat up immediately. Unfortunately, it also woke Jean. “Mikasa?” he asked upon seeing his wife sitting up. “Are–”

“I am good,” she said. “It’s just…I don’t know why that lightning woke me up.”

“Yes,” Jean agreed. “That is strange. You normally sleep through rainstorms, you know, and thunder and lightning.” When Mikasa didn’t say anything, he put his arm around her. “Come on. Let’s go back to sleep.”

Mikasa worried that she wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again that night but didn’t want to concern Jean, so she let him lower her back down onto the mattress. His pressing his body against hers gave her some relief, especially the steady feeling of his chest against her back. It was calming, unlike the harsh rain outside–normally, the rainfall was gentler, less violent. She hesitated to close her eyes and fall back asleep.

When the rain finally stopped after several days, the family decided to picnic their lunch right under a tree. Even though it was still warm, Jean went outside to chop wood for the fire while Marco helped his mother peel oranges, dice sausages, and bake bread with fresh herbs. The boy happily hummed and swung his feet at the table, with the sound of his father chopping wood in the background.

“Mama,” Marco began, “how did the baby get in you?”

Mikasa immediately stopped and looked at him. “What?”

Marco looked down at his mother’s dress. “If the baby is growing in you, how did it get in you? And how will it get out?”

Mikasa would have laughed, but Marco was at that age where he would have thought that her laughing meant that she was making fun of him. She licked her upper lip. “Um, that is something that you will know…maybe when you are a little older.”

Marco’s mouth opened, and then he frowned. “How much older do I have to be? I want to know how babies get in and grow in mamas.”

His mother shrugged. “I would tell you, but it’s hard to explain–like things you will understand when you grow and your…body changes.” She worried that the comment scared Marco, the indication of puberty before he knew what puberty was, but Mikasa pouted and went back to peeling oranges and occasionally munching on fistfuls of blueberries. Mikasa picked up her knife and continued to cut the meat until she realized that she could no longer hear wood chopping. Was Jean already done? If so, why was he still outside?

Mikasa stood up and walked to the window. She didn’t see Jean walk across the lawn for more wood, so she stepped to the left for a better angle of the tree stump and a trail of blood leading to a human arm.

Panic seized her, and without warning, the door opened to the sight of three grown, dark-dressed men with satisfied grins that made the world freeze.

“You were right,” one of them said. “An oriental lives here.”

Oriental… Mikasa had not heard that description for years, and a familiar fear that she had suppressed in that time came rushing back.

“Marco!” she screeched as she pushed against the door–a door that the men refused to let close. “Run!”

“Mama?” asked Marco.

They’re coming for me, they’re coming for him, they’re coming for us, it’s happening all over again–

Mikasa struggled against the men who fought back. “Do as I say! Get out of the house!”

“What are you waiting for–take her down, like that man outside–”

Mikasa nearly shut down at that point. Jean… They killed Jean. They killed the man she loved, the man who loved her despite her nearly lifelong devotion to someone else who saved her but also hurt her in unforgivable ways.

Then they pushed back the door and grabbed her arms. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Marco had left the table and was running from the backdoor.

“Get that boy!” one of the men yelled. “Put this one–”

“No, look! She’s carrying another oriental! Know how much we could go for once that baby comes out?”

Mikasa struggled through tears. This couldn’t be happening, not for real! Not her precious babies condemned to a life of slavery, a fate worse than death. She fought against the hands that made her arms numb and sobbed. “Run, Marco! Don’t stop running…”

A cold, piercing stab in her stomach… Red flashing in darkness… Men yelling at each other… A familiar little boy’s voice screaming and crying… Numbness in her ears…

“Mikasa, Mikasa…”

Mikasa’s eyes opened. It was cold enough for her to shiver. The room was dark. Her mouth dried. Did the men capture her, and transport her and Marco to wherever they sold human beings? Was the stabbing real or her imagination, and the baby was still growing in her?

“Mikasa…”

Something shook her by the arm. She looked behind her and realized that she had never seen Jean look terrified, even when faced with death. “Mikasa? Can you hear me?”

Mikasa was relieved but didn’t intend to shed tears. Jean was still alive. Maybe he faked his death and was saving her and Marco. She tried to turn to his side but then realized that nothing bound her arms or ankles–just the blanket. “Jean? Thank goodness…”

Jean didn’t look satisfied. He kicked away the blanket and pulled his wife to sit up on their bed–their bed. She looked down and saw that her belly was slightly swollen, with no indication of outside injuries. “Come on,” said Jean. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Mikasa’s mind was partially numb on the way down the stairs into the familiar kitchen with the bare table–no sausages or blueberries or oranges, no…other indication of the picnic for which she and Marco were preparing.

Jean quickly brewed tea and handed her a cup. Once she saw her own reflection, she realized what had happened. What a fool, she thought to herself for no reason. When Jean sat across from her, silently waiting for her to speak, she warmed her hands and listened to the pounding rain outside. Only when the tea had cooled did she start drinking. “Are you not tired?” she asked.

“Not until you are ready to go back to bed,” he said gently but in a tone that indicated a desire for answers. He watched her stroke where the new baby was sleeping and sip her tea in awkward silence. She finished before he did and carried her cup to the sink.

“Mikasa,” he said, “you’re not ready to go to sleep. You know that as much as I do. As much as I’d love to go to bed…you’re not in a state to fall asleep, let alone stay asleep.”

Mikasa gripped the edge of the sink and hung her head. “Did–Did I ever tell you…” She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Jean didn’t say anything. Mikasa took a shaky breath. “I…I suspect…that my mother was pregnant…a second time, when she was murdered.” The tears came without her consent. “I think that’s why Eren’s father was coming to our cabin that day, to confirm if I was going to be a big sister–”

Jean knew Mikasa enough to realize when she wanted to vent but did not want to be touched. Instead, he stared at his tea and tried not to cry. “I’m so sorry, Mikasa.”

Mikasa wiped her eyes. “Now, I’m giving Marco an opportunity–something–that I never had but probably was…and I’m–I’m scared.” She looked through the window at the pounding rain. “I remember every detail of my parents’ murders, how they could have taken my mother but killed her instead, and were going to sell me into slavery.”

Mikasa remembered that day when she told Jean the story of her parents’ deaths and Eren saving her life, how Jean was horrified and squeezed her in his arms as though it could erase her memory. She was a little satisfied when she heard him breathing heavier.

“And now you’re worried…that it could happen again,” said Jean. “You’re worried that, even if you’re still considered to have ‘value’ because of your heritage…that you and I–that someone would kill us…and do to Marco what could have happened to you.”

Mikasa went back to crying at the thought of her sweet little boy being taken away, with no savior around nor a chance for the Ackerman gift/curse to mature and possibly save his life…or end it. She knew that her life would not have ended up like this, and certainly that Marco would not exist nor the baby growing in her if that tragedy never happened to her, but how she wondered too much of her parents if they were allowed to live. The world was too cruel to appreciate how beautiful it also was, and it was unfair.

When the nightmare came back the next evening, this time with louder rain, Mikasa nearly screamed as she woke up. She could feel it on her skin just like heavy raindrops–the terror, the instinct to flee, the shock that her husband had been brutally murdered, the horror in her son’s face, the horrible…horrible…

Arms wrapped around her from behind! It was one of them! They were going to kill her!

No! She wanted to scream. Please let me have my baby! The world is cruel but also beautiful…

“Mikasa? Mikasa?” There was light, familiar shushing.

The tension slowly faded from Mikasa’s body. She hung her head and let Jean pull her to his chest and onto his lap. He kissed her cheek and the side of her head. “Another nightmare?” he asked.

“Y–Yes,” she wept, too tired to deny it. She didn’t want to share any of the details, particularly that this time, she made the horrible, sickening decision to kill herself and the unborn baby and Marco to save them all from an agonizing future that no human being should ever endure. She hated the thought of ever being in a position where she had to do the unthinkable out of love, and it was even worse than the decision to kill Eren–her babies did not choose to be descended from a certain tribe, and they were humans, not possessions or anything to be abused.

Jean rocked her back and forth and whispered his love in her ear. “Take deep breaths, take deep breaths… Remember, you don’t want to stress the baby. Let it sleep.”

“But–But I…” Mikasa wept. She gripped his arm like something was trying to pull him away.

“Mikasa, Mikasa,” Jean whispered through gentle shushes. “It’s all right to calm down, I’m here…”

“Mama?”

The couple turned to their door and saw Marco standing with half his body in the room, rubbing his eyes and clutching a bedsheet. “Marco,” said Mikasa, “what are you doing up?”

Marco lowered his hand. “I heard noises, not outside,” he said. “Scared, wanted you and Papa.”

Mikasa realized and felt ashamed that her son likely heard her crying. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Marco,” she said. “Come in here. Papa and I will make you feel better.”

Marco didn’t hesitate to walk over and climb onto his parents’ bed. En route to the space between Jean and Mikasa, he put his hand on where the next Kirstein baby was growing. “Good night, little brother or sister,” he whispered, which made his parents beam. Once he lied down, he fell asleep as soon as his parents kissed his forehead once more and cuddled him close.

That night, for some reason, Mikasa did not have another nightmare but slept rather comfortably. When she woke up and saw Marco’s slumbering face in front of hers and the twitch of his nose, she wondered if Marco sleeping next to her had something to do with it.

***

Because the rain was still heavy when the family woke up, and Jean had already picked up eggs from the chicken coop, he decided that, after breakfast, he and Mikasa would teach Marco self-defense. Yes, a three-year-old would not win against a grown man, but the sooner he learned how to protect himself, the better he could fight off against anyone who threatened his life or well-being. Yes, they had to remind Marco not to start fights with anyone, but Jean remembered the neighborhood children who made fun of him for being heavy when he was growing up, who liked to prove that they were stronger by beating him to the ground until he cried and ran home.

To Jean and Mikasa’s relief, Marco was very excited to learn how to fight off bullies and bad men. He observed his parents as they showed him everything they learned from their days in the cadets and moves that Levi taught them after they joined his squad. Marco’s face was bright the entire time that he didn’t want to stop for lunch or dinner; he rushed through his chores to keep learning. Even while Mikasa caught up on her embroidery and sewing, she proudly watched Marco mirror his father on how to move his hands and legs, and knew that she and Jean would teach the new baby everything that Marco was learning, regardless if she had a boy or a girl.

Marco was disappointed when Jean said that it was bathtime, but he babbled about his favorite moves and how excited he was to learn more. One day, if people were big bullies to his little brother or sister, he would be the good big brother and stop the bullies from hurting his little brother or sister ever again! Jean smiled and agreed, though he hoped that the day would never come–and if it did, the little brother or sister would not need Marco to stand up to bullies but be able to handle his or her own problems alone.

After Marco was dressed in his pajamas, Jean carried him into his room, where Mikasa was already sitting on the bed with an opened picture book. Marco was picking up on reading rather quickly for three, but he had wanted to read to the unborn baby as often as he could. Ever since his parents told him that they liked to talk to the bump so that the baby could recognize its parents’ voices when it was born, he wanted his little brother or sister to recognize his voice as well. He repeated after his mother and averted his eyes from the printed words to the roundness under Mikasa’s nightgown, hoping that the baby was listening.

Mikasa fell asleep on Marco’s bed, with Marco’s arm and leg around her, but Jean stayed awake and kept an eye on his wife. She didn’t wake up at all; instead, her eyes moved behind her closed lids, and every now and then, she smiled. Jean wondered if sleeping next to Marco prevented the nightmares that their son would be taken away. The one thing worse than the nightmares were that they would come back and intensify after the baby was born.

***

The long period of rain ended with a warm, sunny day–which happened to be the late Sasha’s birthday. The Kirstein family woke up early and made the trip to the graveyard where their fallen comrades rested in peace. Mikasa, already showing but still active and mobile, overcame muddy hills and pathways to the familiar headstone. She and Jean held Marco’s hands, and Jean carried the bouquet of yellow roses.

On the way, they saw a familiar couple already at the grave, bearing flowers. Jean smiled but did not say anything on their way up. Then Artur and Lisa turned their heads, recognized the couple, and smiled. “Jean, Mikasa,” said Artur. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hello, Artur, Lisa,” Jean greeted them. “It’s great to see you.”

Lisa, who was smiling, walked past her husband to shake Jean’s hand. “Thank you for coming,” she said. She looked down at Marco. “And is this little guy your son?”

“Yes,” said Mikasa. “Marco, this is Mrs. Braus. She is our friend’s mother.”

Marco let her shake his hand. Then Lisa looked at Mikasa’s noticeable bump. “And congratulations to you, dear.”

She extended her hand, but suddenly, Marco pushed himself back between the women and held out his arms, giving Lisa a hostile look. “No!” he yelled. “My baby!”

“Marco!” Jean scolded. “Don’t be rude! She just wants to shake hands; she’s not going to hurt your mother…” He apologetically smiled at the older couple. “Sorry, he’s like this with everyone, even me. Very overprotective.”

Lisa gently laughed, not at all offended. “I think it’s sweet, how excited he is about this big change.” She waited for Jean to tug Marco away by his hand to greet Mikasa, and then Jean let go. Marco immediately wrapped his arms protectively around his mother’s middle, still giving Lisa a hostile scowl.

Jean sighed. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing we know this couple,” he muttered. “It’s worse with strangers, especially in the market where everyone else can see.”

Jean didn’t know that Artur could hear him until Artur chuckled. “He’s just a little boy, Jean,” the older man reassured him. “Let him be this way.” Artur studied the little boy who was giving him a threatening look as well. “Something tells me that the baby will be similar to him, especially if you go for a third, or just protective overall–it’s natural for children.”

“You don’t say,” said Jean with an uneasy grin. “Are girls like that as well, very protective when they’re that young?”

The older man raised his eyebrow. “It depends,” he said, “but from my experience–absolutely.” Then Artur put his arm around Jean’s shoulders. “May I give you some advice, in case you have a little girl?” he asked. Jean didn’t say anything but was clearly listening. “Daughters are more like their fathers than anyone would know. The more you understand yourself, the better you will understand the girl you are raising and therefore the young woman she will become.”

Jean did not know why the hairs on the back of his neck rose, but something about that advice told him that he would not forget it, even if he had only sons. He wasn’t ready to tell a private secret yet, not even to his own wife. “I…I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with an awkward smile.

Artur’s smile dimmed. “Good. I wish I had known that earlier. Had someone told me, or I found out earlier…” His voice trailed off. “My darling Sasha, my greatest joy, my dearest pride, would probably still be here…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry, Jean,” he whispered. He turned his face away from his daughter’s friend. “I know I shouldn’t, especially if you’re going to be a father again…”

Jean shook his head and comfortingly put his hand on Artur’s shoulder. “No, no, it’s all right,” he said.

Artur closed his eyes, already wet with tears. “Days like this… I am proud that she wanted to die fighting for a cause she believed in, but I…I selfishly wish that she didn’t, that she could have lived to do what she wanted in life or something unexpected, and…and to be by my side as I am ready to pass.”

Jean took a deep breath. “Well, rest assured”--he smirked when Artur grinned– “if it is a girl, I won’t raise her any differently than Marco, but hopefully a little better, given the experience.” He shrugged. “The only difference is when her body changes and all that, but otherwise, it would not be any more lax or stringent.”

Artur smiled even with tears in his eyes. “I can tell that you’re a good father, even after all my daughter told me about you when you were just teenagers.” Jean’s embarrassed expression made him chuckle. “You’re going to be a good one again. Your second baby is already blessed.”

Jean tried very hard to not cry at that compliment.

Marco put his fingertips to his lips and touched Sasha’s name etched in stone. His mother gently squatted down and did the same. She sat in silence for about two minutes and with Jean’s help stood back up. Jean knelt down and didn’t care about the mud on his pants. He touched the headstone. Hey Potato Girl, he prayed to her, so much has changed since I last came over. He sighed. Not a day goes by where Mikasa and I don’t miss you. We talk so much about what you would be doing if you had more time–not just eating and hunting, but, you know, if you would have become an ambassador like me, or would you have moved back to Dauper.

The sadness was making his chest hurt, so Jean moved on: You know, Mikasa is having another baby. I can’t believe it! I was waiting for the day when we’d have another child. I…I guess I can give you this secret to take to the grave: I will love it no matter what, but…I’ve been praying for a little girl. I would love to have a daughter. I don’t know how different she would be from Marco, but I wouldn’t raise or love her any differently.

Jean looked up at the engraving. I just hope that I will raise a daughter in a way that will make me proud to be her father, the way that your father is still proud of you and what you accomplished in life.

Unfortunately, the ache was only growing, so Jean bitterly swallowed. I will see you soon, Sasha. We love and miss you so much.

Mikasa stayed behind and leaned against the back of Sasha’s headstone while her husband and son walked Artur and Lisa down the hill to the wagon they rode from Dauper. It reminded her of the day they buried Sasha and watched her parents and Kaya weep over where Sasha was forever buried. No parent should ever have to bury a child, especially an only child, even if that child was willing to die for a cause and strangers. Mikasa tried not to think about letting Marco or the baby join the army and fight like the fallen comrades who were not as fortunate to have a future or life like she and Jean had.

Sasha…if only we had an idea of where you would be right now in your life, Mikasa sadly thought. She lowered her face in her arms and silently wept. Memories of Sasha wouldn’t leave, she hoped, but she feared that one day she would forget the sound of Sasha’s voice and natural accent. Sometimes she had to concentrate to remember how loudly Sasha snored or even mumbled in her sleep. Little things that proved Sasha’s existence were in danger of fading from memory.

Just then, she felt something in her abdomen. Mikasa lifted her head and went still. The sensation came again–a sensation that felt very familiar, one that she had not experienced yet with this pregnancy and not since Marco was born. She put her hand over where she felt it and smiled to herself.

That night, as Jean lay down in bed, she sat beside him and put his hand over the movements in her bump. “It started at the graveyard, when I was alone with Sasha,” she said. Tears poured from Jean’s eyes, and he kissed over every inch that the baby had kicked. It must be a sign of something, Mikasa wistfully thought to herself.

***

According to the doctor, the baby was due to arrive in the winter, just like Marco, though hopefully not in the middle of a snowstorm like Marco. Jean, however, did not want to be optimistic. He still felt guilty that he left Mikasa to give birth alone, when so many horrible things could have happened to mother and child without professional care, and he most certainly did not want Mikasa to be by herself, especially when he had to take her to seek medical care when he arrived home the day that Marco was born.

Therefore, after convincing Mikasa, he talked his mother into briefly moving into his house. That way, she could distract Marco from the birth and help with the new baby–especially because they still had an older child to take care of and needed as much help as they could get. Mrs. Kirstein happily agreed and came to the house with suitcases of clothes and possessions on Marco’s birthday. Jean already had the nursery ready at that point and made sure that the new guestroom was spotless. Mrs. Kirstein set down her suitcases to unpack later and helped her son and daughter-in-law set up a private birthday celebration for little Marco before Armin, Annie, and Connie came to celebrate.

Marco was less excited about his birthday–his last as an only child–and more excited about the baby. For several days, he had been asking, “Can baby come out now? Can baby come out now?” Armin joked that soon he would be saying, “Can baby go back in?” The adults laughed, even though Marco didn’t get it. Still, he protectively hovered over his mother and didn’t let anyone, even his own father, come too close to Mikasa or the baby bump. His scowling, unfortunately, made everyone laugh.

Even though Mikasa was due in a little over a month, she wasn’t as uncomfortable as most expectant mothers at that stage. Her feet were not as swollen, and she did not have too much pain standing up or sitting down, but she still wolfed down unusual cravings, such as celery and pickles, grilled salami with onions, and–to Jean’s absolute disgust–buttered salmon with blackberries. Fortunately, Mikasa restrained herself from “experimenting” in front of company and overindulging in the fruit tart that Mrs. Kirstein made, though she looked like she regretted letting Annie finish the last slice.

Marco fell asleep muttering for baby to come out and cuddled between his parents in bed. Jean and Mikasa kissed his forehead and silently agreed with him, but at the same time, they wanted Marco to feel as much parental love as he could, just so he knew that they would continue to love him just as much as they did at that moment, even after the baby was born.

***

On the morning of December 9, Mikasa had been sleeping soundly until she felt a sharp pain down her side. She sat up in bed in a panic and took deep breaths while the pain lingered. At that moment, Jean leaned up on his elbows. “Mikasa, what is it?”

Mikasa looked down at her bump for movements but saw no little bump that indicated a kick. She kicked aside the sheets and felt a puddle growing under her. “Jean… I–I think I’m going to go into labor soon.”

Jean jumped out of bed. “When did this start?” he hissed. “Just now?”

Mikasa nodded, and Jean hurried out of their room and into the guestroom. Without knocking, he opened the door and knelt by the bed. “Mama, Mama,” Jean whispered as he shook his mother’s arm.

His mother, groaning, reluctantly tilted her body and opened her eyes. “Jean Boy? What is it?”

Jean swallowed. “The baby’s about to come,” he whispered. As soon as his mother sat up, he continued: “Listen, I need you to do me a favor: Marco will still be sleeping–he is a very sound sleeper–but when he wakes up, I need you to cook him breakfast, and then take him back to his room and let him play or read or whatever, just so he doesn’t know what’s happening in the bathroom.”

“The bath–Jean Boy–” When she saw how Jean’s expression changed into concern, she sighed. “All right.”

Jean, beaming, kissed his mother’s forehead and rushed down the stairs, where he called the midwife. The telephone was still something that he wasn’t entirely used to, but he was so relieved that, especially in the winter dark, he did not have to rush over in case she was not there, and thus leave his wife to labor alone. No way was he going to allow her to go through that pain alone ever again!

An assistant answered on the fourth ring, and Jean quickly shared where he lived and that Mikasa had not yet been in labor for an hour, but his son was still sleeping, and he did not want to startle the little boy. The assistant reassured him that a midwife would be over in thirty minutes. Grateful, Jean hung up and, per Mikasa’s instructions, sterilized scissors in a pot of boiling water. He carried the scissors upstairs and stacked towels pulled from the rack beside the tub. Then he clogged the bathtub and poured in mildly warm water. Once the tub was half full, he rushed to his room and helped his wife change into a sleeveless cotton nightgown. Then he walked her into the bathroom to ease her contractions and checked through the window for the midwife. When Mikasa lowered herself into the bath, she let out a sigh, like it was medicine to a long-standing pain she had been holding onto.

“Jean Boy?” The couple jumped at the knocking. “Jean Boy? Are you in here?”

Reluctantly, Jean opened the door until it was ajar. His mother was carrying three water glasses and a full jug. “Remember to keep yourselves hydrated,” she said. “She will need it more than you will.”

Mikasa took a deep breath and breathed with her mouth in a small O. “You can come in, drop them off,” she panted. She watched her mother-in-law set the glasses and pitcher onto the sink counter and swallowed down another contraction.

Then Mrs. Kirstein knelt down, cupped Mikasa’s face, and kissed her cheek. “Good luck, darling,” she said firmly. “You’re an excellent mother already to my grandson, and I know you will be the very same to your new baby. Your children are blessed for you to be their mother.”

Mikasa knew that most loving mother-in-laws would say that, but it made her feel so much better and relaxed even some of the tension she was carrying. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Jean let his mother kiss him as well and then hurry out of the bathroom, promising to bring the midwife upstairs so Jean didn’t have to leave. Mikasa hung her head and panted through tears and sweat. “Did… Do you remember…when that–that Titan…grabbed me? The one you stabbed in the eyes?”

That memory still made Jean outraged. He could still hear her screech of pain when the Titan nearly shattered her ribcage. “I’ll never forget that,” he muttered.

“That–When I was having Marco, I realized…honestly, this…this probably hurts more…” She closed her eyes and opened her mouth for another guttural cry. Jean grabbed her hands and gently pulled her up as he remembered in birthing classes that instructed how fathers could ease laboring mothers.

At last, the midwife’s carriage parked in front of the house. Even though more people were adapting to and buying automobiles from Marley nowadays, some folks decided to stick with “old ways” regardless. Jean could see the sun starting to rise and hoped that Marco wouldn’t awake too soon. Then he heard knocking, and his mother led the midwife–one of the newer ones–into the bathroom, where she and the Kirsteins shook hands.

Jean said that he had two goals: keep mother and child healthy and safe, and make sure that Marco did not suspect anything happening. The midwife immediately took to examining Mikasa and asked about her previous birthing experience, particularly that she had to go to a doctor after the home birth. Through groans and yelps, Mikasa answered as best as she could while clutching Jean’s hand tight enough to splinter the bones.

“Good morning, my sweet Marco,” they heard Mrs. Kirstein gush to her grandson. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” said Marco through a yawn. “Are Mama and Papa downstairs?”

“No, they’re still sleeping.” Mrs. Kirstein lowered her voice into a hushed tone. “So why don’t we go downstairs for Mr. Omelet–just for you–and then we can play in your room while we wait for them to wake up?”

“Can I help make Mr. Omelet?” asked Marco.

Had Mikasa not been in so much pain, she would have beamed at her son’s politeness.

***

Between bites and recollections he had of last night’s dreams to his grandmother, Marco finished Mr. Omelet in half an hour. He helped her wash the dishes and wipe the table. After they were done, he asked his grandmother if they could check on Mama and Papa, maybe even cook Mr. Omelet for them, but the older woman said no–it was rude to wake people from their sleep, just as Marco didn’t like it when his parents woke him up rather than letting him wake himself.

Marco looked disappointed, but he went back to his room and pulled out his box of toys to pass the time. He liked the building blocks painted many colors because it was fun to see how many he could stack on top of each other until they fell. “Remember to keep your voice down,” said his grandmother in a hushing voice. She pulled out a sewing kit and stitched clothes for the family that Mikasa intended to fix but couldn’t with swollen fingers, as well as patches over holes in socks and cardigans.

Marco nodded and first moved a toy airship around his head, making noises and pretending that he could hear one very much like the airship that his parents used to ride. Of course, they never told him stories of their experiences, and Marco didn’t understand why. Being up in the air, so close to the clouds and seeing the world below, seemed like so much fun.

***

Based on what the midwife was saying, Mikasa was laboring for much less than the ten hours that she had with Marco. Jean appeared both dumbfounded that women could endure contractions for that long and guilty that he still, though against his will and knowledge, left her alone to experience that fear and pain. Mikasa muffled her cries by biting into a folded washcloth, though the midwife didn’t seem fond of that option.

At last, the midwife said that Mikasa was dilated and ready to give birth. Jean squeezed Mikasa’s hand back, ready to support her and watch as he became a father a second time. Mikasa closed her eyes, took a deep breath, screamed into her gag, and pushed. When she stopped screaming, Jean removed the cloth and coached her into breathing by counting to ten. “Remember to breathe, or you will deprive even the baby of oxygen,” he reminded her. Mikasa, nodding, bit into the cloth again, inhaled, screamed into her gag, and pushed.

Naturally, the sight of a woman in childbirth would have made Jean feel uncomfortable, but seeing his own wife through the process, and the fact that the result would be a human being whom they created and would raise together, made Jean fully appreciate how strong and powerful women truly were, to risk their lives and not complain about the physical agony. “I love you,” he whispered to her through a third scream. “You are strong, and you are fearless–that’s what I have loved about you since the day I first laid eyes on you.”

Mikasa was heaving, but the corners of her mouth lifted. She certainly loved hearing that. Then Jean pushed back his wife’s hair. “You’re almost done,” he said. “Let’s try to do this in four or less, all right? One, two…”

“One, t-two…” his wife cried into the washcloth again and pushed.

“Good! One more, two more…”

Mikasa pushed again–

“I can feel the head,” whispered the midwife. “It’s partially out–”

With one more scream, Mikasa pushed again. With a deep breath, the midwife pulled the baby’s body from its mother and out of the water.

Mikasa nearly slipped back into the tub, briefly blinded, but her vision cleared in time to watch Jean, open-mouthed, take the baby and smack the newborn’s back to induce a first wail.

***

The wall of building blocks crumbled around Marco’s lap, sending the cheering little boy onto his back in a fit of giggles. Building blocks were his favorite toys to play with and pass the time. The best thing about things falling apart was finding ways to rebuild them without making the same mistakes and finding ways to keep them stronger and upright for longer.

***

The couple in the bathroom laughed and cried at the same time. The newborn twitched and wailed against Jean’s shoulder. Jean kept the baby close to him but scooted forward and reluctantly handed the baby to Mikasa, who embraced the new addition to their family with open arms. As she pushed herself up and leaned against the end of the tub, Jean gently pulled aside the umbilical cord to check between the baby’s legs. It was a girl.

My prayers have been answered, he thought in relief. He wanted to cry from joy again. “Mikasa…it’s a daughter.”

As if she didn’t believe him, Mikasa lifted the baby’s leg. “She’s here–little Sasha.”

Never once did Jean and Mikasa discuss baby names for a little girl–had it been another son, Mikasa contemplated naming him after her father. As for a daughter, they never discussed names–it was a silent but an inevitable agreement that they would name their first little girl after a certain important person in their lives, also gone too soon. Jean didn’t look away from his daughter at all, not even when the midwife handed him the scissors and he cut the umbilical cord, officially making his daughter’s body her own.

***

Mrs. Kirstein watched her grandson happily rebuild a wall and see how many triangles he could balance on a cylinder. He giggled every time he made a mistake and was surprisingly quiet when blocks fell apart. When he tired of playing with blocks, he put them all away first before moving on to playing with toy airships and steamboats. Maybe Mama and Papa did not talk about being in an airship, but when he and Mama got to go with Papa to different countries, he enjoyed riding on steamboats and running around to see how they worked and looked inside. It would be fun to do the same when the new baby was no longer a baby but able to walk and run.

Marco imagined himself chasing a little brother or sister around a steamboat deck, hunching over him or her as they poked their heads into the boiler room, munching on seafood in the fresh sea air, and looking for fish ahead of the bow. He smiled and suddenly became anxious for the baby to be a big boy or girl.

***

Jean carefully peeked from the bathroom and saw that the door to Marco’s room was open, but nobody was in. Marco must have gone downstairs for lunch; he could hear a little voice downstairs. With assistance from the midwife, Jean immediately helped Mikasa and the newborn out of the bathtub, patted them dry, and put his arm around Mikasa’s back to walk her and baby Sasha into his and Mikasa’s bedroom.

After he helped Mikasa into a warm nightgown, the padded undergarment for postpartum bleeding, and her bathrobe, he and the midwife cleaned the bathroom and concealed any evidence that a birth had just occurred. When he was done, he closed his eyes and happily cried again. He still couldn’t believe it–a baby girl! Like he wanted.

He walked the midwife back into the room to check on mother and child once more, and then downstairs. Luckily, a wall blocked the steps from the kitchen, so Marco would not be able to see anything. Jean quickly paid the midwife and promised to call if something happened in the meantime to either Mikasa or the baby. Then he hurried upstairs to lay beside Mikasa, who was nursing baby Sasha. Jean snuck a finger into Sasha’s hand and beamed when she tightly gripped him. When Mikasa patted her back, she let out both a belch and a sneeze, which made her parents chuckle.

As soon as Jean heard his mother and Marco climb up the steps, he reluctantly left the room and stepped out into full view. “Good afternoon, Papa,” said Marco, who ran over. An elated Jean picked him up and tightly hugged him.

“Good afternoon, my sweet boy,” he whispered. He pulled away his son so Marco was looking at him. “Come meet your new baby sister.”

Marco’s mouth opened. “Wha–Mama had–?”

“A little girl?” whispered Mrs. Kirstein. Her hands pressed against her chest. “Oh! I’m so happy!”

Jean let his mother and son into the main bedroom. Mikasa finally looked away from the sleeping newborn, saw her son, and beamed. “Marco, baby,” she whispered.

As soon as Jean set Marco to his feet, he slowly walked to the bed, like he didn’t know if he was dreaming. When he reached the bed, he cocked his head for a better view of his little sister’s face. She had Mama’s black hair, in little wisps above her forehead, but he could see Papa in her nose, cheeks, chin, and eye shape, like the framed drawing in their grandmother’s apartment of Papa when he was a little boy.

Marco didn’t care to ask how the baby got out or when she got out. He outstretched his hand and softly touched her chest. She was real–a real baby, a real baby sister. He touched her cheek–warm and plump, like an unpeeled orange. Her lips were pouted, and her snores were soft.

“You’re a big brother, Marco,” said their grandmother. “Isn’t she adorable?”

Marco barely heard her; he was more focused on touching as much of the baby’s body as he could, still unconvinced that his mother was holding a baby and not a doll like in the toy store. “Would you like to kiss her?” asked Papa.

With Mama’s smile and nod of approval, Marco leaned forward and put his lips to the center of baby sister’s forehead. “You’re going to be the best big brother that any little brother or sister can have,” said their grandmother.

I will be, Marco thought to himself. I promise I will.

Mikasa handed baby Sasha to her grandmother, and her mother-in-law never once took her eyes off her granddaughter, who slept through her grandmother’s whispers and tears even as she beamed. Jean knew what his mother was thinking–another healthy baby. Another grandchild. Another child to teach how to cook Mr. Omelet, at last a little girl for whom to buy pretty dresses. Another child to one day grow up proud of who her parents were and what they did before she was born. Another grandchild to spoil with kisses and the occasional apple doughnut from the market.

“You have the best mama, and the best papa, and the best big brother, little one,” she said. “Your mama and papa worked very hard for you and your brother to live the best lives ever. You and Marco deserve nothing but good health and all the happiness in the world.”

Jean took a deep breath and hoped that it was true. Just as he knew that Marco would have endured his horrible death even had he known about the future Kirstein boy named after him, he knew, in his heart, that Sasha–Potato Girl, the friend whom he and Mikasa missed every day–would have allowed herself to pass just so a little girl named after her would not have to experience the fear and insecurity that plagued Sasha’s village and the children who did not deserve to grow up in fear.

Jean watched his mother continue to gush over his daughter and was even more determined to raise a strong woman like his late friend, one who would live to be at his side in his final moments as a reminder of the good that he had done so he could pass with pride in himself.

***

One week after Sasha was born, when Mikasa was finally strong enough to walk downstairs without too much discomfort, Jean and his mother hosted a private feast for the family and their loved ones. Mother and son polished every room and cooked with the finest meats, freshest eggs, and firmest potatoes in the market; Jean even ordered the finest wine from the local liquor store and pulled out the pickled vegetables and fruits preserved for the winter.

Armin and Annie were the first to arrive and happily pointed out Sasha to their own little girl, who at two was both intrigued and bored. She preferred munching on the pickled watermelon and observing the sleeping baby, oblivious to her big brother sitting beside her on the table and running his hand up and down her abdomen. Armin, who balanced little Abigail on his lap, asked Marco questions on how he was a good big brother; Annie promised to give Sasha all of the clothes and shoes that her daughter outgrew.

Marco studied every feature of Sasha’s face, even when someone knocked on the door and his father left to answer it, until Papa said, “Connie! Thank you so much for coming!”

Marco immediately jumped off the table and ran to where Papa and Connie grasped hands. “Con Con!” he yelled. Before Connie could even say hello, Marco grabbed Connie’s hand and dragged him into the kitchen, ignoring the shushing from his mother and the Arlets. “Con Con! Come see Sasha!”

Connie chuckled and took his time greeting Mikasa and the Arlets without looking at the baby on the table. As soon as Connie saw the baby, however, his smile instantly dropped. The emotional state he was in when he read Jean’s letter and that the baby was named after someone he considered a twin immediately returned. Of course, he held his tears and was excited that the baby was born healthy, but seeing the bundle wrapped around little Sasha made him miss his friend so much.

Jean, beaming, held out the newborn. “Would you like to hold her, Uncle Con Con?”

Connie nodded but sat down in case he felt overwhelmed. Then he took baby Sasha in his arms, and the tears that he restrained came out.

“Con Con?’ asked Marco, but his mother put her hand on his shoulder. He knew that it meant that he shouldn’t ask why Con Con was crying. The other adults, on the other hand, knew at once the reason behind Connie’s weeping. He studied baby Sasha’s nose, the point of her chin, the shapes of her lips, and her eyebrows–details inherited from her father but that brought to life his late friend’s features and how she looked when she was happy, sad, confused, angry, frightened, embarrassed…

Connie set Sasha against his shoulder and rubbed her back, smiling when her breath warmed the side of his neck. His crying slowed down, though he still wept fresh tears. Had Jean not been so preoccupied with acting as host, he would have run upstairs, grabbed his sketchbook and charcoal, and sketched his friend embracing the baby. Little Sasha’s fingers flexed and gripped the collar of his shirt, and the corners of her mouth lifted.

“She loves you,” Armin said quietly as little Abigail continued to shove pickled strawberries into her mouth. Connie nodded along but barely heard him. He just sensed a connection to the little girl that was much different than his bond to Marco.

Not surprisingly, Sasha stayed in Connie’s arms until she whined, for which Mikasa correctly sensed that she needed changing. Mrs. Kirstein hovered over her daughter-in-law and kept refilling her glass of water and cup of tea, made sure she served herself first, and held Sasha when Jean helped Mikasa out of her chair to use the bathroom or ease the tension in her ankles and feet. Marco and Abigail ate and touched the baby until Armin and Annie left to get their daughter ready for bedtime; Connie stayed until Mrs. Kirstein carried a yawning Marco upstairs, and Jean and Mikasa walked him outside for final, tearful hugs.

“Sorry about the crying,” Connie whispered. “It’s… I just miss her so much, and…what I wouldn’t do to have her back.”

Mikasa and Jean painfully agreed–what they wouldn’t do to have at least one of their fallen comrades back. Mrs. Kirstein came downstairs in time to say goodbye, and then hurried back into the kitchen. Mikasa walked over, but her mother-in-law waved her away. “No, no, I have this. You go upstairs and spend time with your baby.”

As if on cue, Mikasa stiffened and smiled. “Speaking of which,” she said, “she’s hungry.” She eased herself upstairs into her room. Jean collected the plates, dishes, cups, and utensils, which his mother took and waved him away with a soapy hand.

“Go upstairs, bond with baby Sasha,” she said. “I have this–you go enjoy our little girl.”

“Thank you, Mama. Good night.” Jean kissed his mother’s forehead and walked upstairs to get ready for bed. Mikasa was feeding Sasha when he walked into the bedroom, and Jean snuck glances at Sasha between changing into comfortable clothes. Then he sat beside Mikasa and belched the infant.

Sasha fell asleep automatically, but her parents were not ready to put her in the crib just yet. “Good night, Sasha,” said Jean. “We hope you had a wonderful first week. It was chaotic, but at least not like your brother’s. Just know that you were born into a loving family–your mama loves you, I–your papa–love you, your big brother loves you, your grandmother loves you… All of your parents’ friends adore you so much.”

Mikasa kissed Sasha’s forehead and lovingly stared at her. “We love you so much. I wouldn’t wish my past on anyone, but I wouldn’t wish it away, because all of it led to you. You and Marco taught me everything I needed to know about pure love…and I cannot thank you enough.” She let two tears fall onto the fabric of Sasha’s blanket and watched Jean bring Sasha to the crib, which they planned to move back into the nursery within a month.

Jean laid down Sasha but gripped the sides of the crib and watched her sleep. You were named after someone so important to your mother and me, he planned to tell her someday. She taught us so much about ourselves and the world around us, about fear and endurance and patience and pain. I promise that I will raise you to be as great a woman–if not better–than my late friend. Jean leaned down and kissed her cheek. Thank you for letting me be your father, Sasha.

Sasha’s breathing was the sweetest sound. Her father unwillingly turned away and made his way to his wife, who was already under the blankets but watched him. Once he went to bed beside her, she turned away and took his hand to hold against her chest.

Jean cuddled his wife and breathed into her hair. She was the perfect wife for him, just as he tried to be the perfect husband for her. They had the most wonderful son and now the most amazing daughter, and he knew that they were going to grow up to become even more fantastic adults. It was the perfect life that Jean wanted, and he looked forward to an even greater future for his children.

#jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #attack on titan #jeankasa #fanfiction #armin arlert #annie leonhart #connie springer #aruani #jean kirschstein #conny springer #shingeki no kyojin #eren yeager #sasha braus #sasha blouse

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