#this set shocked me nearly as much as second anni

[cujohcaps]

empyrean’s touch pv

[fandomwriterstuff]

“We’re a well-oiled team of military-grade kindergarteners,” his best friend, and the only other human on the ship who would understand what kindergarten was, continued chastising him and his companions. “The level of education and training among the three of you eclipses that of the entire rest of the members of this operation,” Annabeth continued, pointing her finger individually at himself, his pilot Jason, and his Chief Science Officer Nico. “You know, I’m not that surprised with you, Percy, but you are our XO so you should really be more responsible,” he winced at that, still feeling a bit of imposter syndrome at being the Commander of the USS Olympus. “Jason, shouldn’t you be piloting a ship or something?” At that, he saluted her and did an about face before scampering off to get into more trouble. “And you, you’re definitely way too responsible to have gotten mixed up with this Seaweed Brain and Sparky, so what’s in this tomfoolery for you?”

Nico, the only Neptunian on the ship, shifted his large black wings self consciously under the scrutiny of their Chief of Operations. Percy, as the Commander of the vessel, felt obligated to protect his usually stoic and well-behaved… acquaintance? Di Angelo was reserved, almost standoffish, and resented anyone who tried to stick up for him for some reason, but that didn’t stop Percy’s stupid seaweed brain from doing so. Hence the acquaintance. Percy was 99% sure Di Angelo didn’t consider him a friend. But he was nice to Percy and a great officer, so Percy considered him his friend.

“It was my fault, Annie,” he used her childhood nickname carefully, not knowing whether it would soften her up or piss her off more. He was hoping for softening. “It was just another one of Jason and my dumb ideas that we thought we would need a scientist to help with, and we didn’t want to piss off Leo by involving him in it. You know how he is about his engineer and warp cores and whatnot,” Percy held his hands up placatingly. “Leave Di Angelo out of this, he has sciencey things to do, isn’t that right?” Percy side-eyed his companion who (not surprisingly) rolled his eyes.

“I try not to get involved with human pranks or even Jovian mischief, but Officer Grace and First Officer Jackson were about to be meddling with my linguistics team. It isn’t my duty to tell my superiors what to do, so I sought out the next best option, supervising and ensuring no lasting damage was done to the physical or emotional state of the linguistics team. Now,” Here Percy held in a smirk as Di Angelo shrugged. “If they caused interference with the machinery of the ship, that wouldn’t be my expertise, so I allowed it to happen and-” Percy held back a laugh as the other male started speaking even faster to get everything out as Annabeth turned redder and redder. “I’m very sorry about that, truly, but I had no control over the situation.”

“No control over the situation? You three broke our LIT machine and now we have to go back to Earth as soon as we pass close enough to fix it. Soon enough nobody on this ship will understand each other,” the woman across from them crossed her arms and Percy shrunk back a bit.

“I want to make a joke about a machine being called “LIT,” but I feel like it isn’t the right time,” he muttered. “I know the Linguistic Inhibition Technology is important, but most of us have a working understanding of at least one other language, so it shouldn’t be a huge issue, right?”

“You know it works by connecting to the implant technology in our brains, so as it shuts down one by one, members of this ship from spaces stations and planets far and wide will have no clue why they suddenly can’t understand their XO, or their Chief Officer, or their best friend. So you better explain this. And you have to tell them that we’re going straight back to Earth to fix it because no nearby planets have the same brain implant tech as us. Damn Terrans and their brand name technology copyrights,” Annabeth grumbled and finally turned around to walk off.

“Hey, you’re Terran, too!” Percy shouted after her, but she just flipped him the bird.

“She can do that?” Di Angelo asked, side-eyeing Percy.

“Yeah, she’s been my best friend since we were twelve. As long as she doesn’t undermine my authority in front of everyone else, I don’t really care. I’ve done way worse to her,” Percy laughed at the other man’s frown. “Nothing bad, just pranks and things of that sort. Maybe when we get back to Earth we can show you where we’re from. You never set foot off of the training grounds while you were in school.”

“I would… like that,” Di Angelo paused and gave Percy a soft smile.

“Great,” Percy patted the younger male on the shoulder and made his way to the Command Center.

Percy sat himself down in the rotating chair and pressed on the comms device.

“Gooooood evening crew of the USS Olympus, this is your Commanding Officer, Percy Jackson, speaking,” he smiled at the engineering crew that was scuttling by, only for one of them to pause and look at him like he was speaking a different language… Whoops.

“There was a malfunction with the Linguistic Inhibition Technology and we will be returning to Earth henceforth to repair it before the damage becomes problematic. You may experience glitches with your implant technology and may revert to only understanding your first language and those you have studied extensively. If somebody looks like they’re not understanding what I’m saying right now, please escort them to the linguistics team in Science Bay 3. Carry on. Jackson, out.” He clicked again and the mic turned off.

He sighed, this would be one of his bigger mistakes. They were supposed to be exploring, but they couldn’t do that if nobody could speak to one another. One trip home couldn’t hurt him, and he was sure Annabeth would be happy to see her father.

It wasn’t until later after the Chief Officer meeting when someone finally asked Percy about Earth. For many of the non-humans on the ship, Earth was a place to get education and training to go out in the star fleet, and they never set foot outside the campus grounds, just like Di Angelo. But people had stopped asking him questions because Earth was basically “Space Australia,” as Annabeth had explained to him. The adaptability of humans and their need to pack bond astounded many and horrified many others. So, he stopped talking about home.

It was a new member of their ship, Novax (a Vulcan who was a part of Leo’s engineering team), who asked him about it first.

“I hear Earth is 75% made of pure salt water, and is filled with animals of all kinds. Do you have a favorite water animal?” he asked Percy excitedly.

“Definitely dolphins, though they aren’t underwater creatures. Like humans they need oxygen to breathe, and come up for air very often. My favorite actual underwater species would have to be a hippocampus from Neptune. I’ve always wanted to go and see one, but my human anatomy prevents me from going on-planet,” Percy explained and sipped on his hot tea.

“There are a million creatures in the ocean and you pick one that doesn’t breathe underwater?” Clarisse grunted. His Chief Tactical Officer was a brutish Martian, but very specialized in weapons. “And your second favorite isn’t even Terran.”

“What else do you know about the ‘ocean’?” Novax breathed, leaning forward.

“Eh, not much,” Percy shrugged.

“I’m not sure I heard that correctly, maybe my LIT unit isn’t functioning well,” another member of engineering asked, Nyssa. “Your planet is 75% water and you don’t even know what is inside it?”

“I could tell you about the people who spend their life learning about what survives in the deep depths,” Percy looked up, knowing he had all of the non-Terrans hooked on every word. Even Di Angelo had paused in his note taking and was staring wide-eyed at Percy. “But I don’t know if you’d want to know.”

“No we do!” Nyssa exclaimed. “There are people who dedicate their lives to a place that’s literally not navigable by humans, the main inhabitants of the planet?”

“Well as you said, most of the planet is water. Which means that coastal communities are filled with fisherman, whalers, swimmers, and more. I could tell you about some of those. I could also tell you about the scientists that spend years of their lives building bots that can’t even come close to withstanding the pressure at the deepest depths without imploding, or I could tell you about those that do come close,” he shrugged.

“What happened to those?”

“The video feed cut out after only seeing multiple rows of sharp, jagged teeth,” Annabeth answered, her sharp grin frightening those who hadn’t noticed her. Some forgot that she was Terran, because she was also half Minervan.

“I could tell you about whales. Beautiful, they come in black and white or grey or blue. But they can be as big as almost 100 feet long. That’s as long as most pirate ships. And they could fit about 400 average sized humans in their mouths. You don’t want to cross one of them. And they only live on the surface. The things that live in the deep,” Percy shuddered for effect. There were no Neptunians on the ship, so there were no natural water dwellers there, so all of his rapt listeners were shocked by this information. “There’s the anglerfish. They light up the dark with an antenna on top of their heads, and the light lures in prey. But it’s so dim elsewhere that you don’t see their big sharp teeth until you’re right up against them,” he murmured. “Giant squids are almost as big as whales but not nearly as peaceful and beautiful. They have eight arms and two tentacles that could wrap around any boat and crush it.”

“Ten limbs?” Nyssa whispered, clearly disturbed.

“Plus, the Portuguese Man o’ War,” Percy shrugged nonchalantly. “Also known as the floating terror. It’s like a big blue jellyfish that sits innocently on top of the water with huge blue tentacles that sit just underneath with a sting strong enough to kill a full grown human.”

“Don’t worry,” Annabeth grinned that shark grin again. “Percy won’t tell you about the stories of the old days. He doesn’t want to scare you.”

“That was the not scary part?” Novax gulped.

“Anyway, I just got notified that we’ll be back on Earth in a few days, so brace yourselves,” and with that, she stood and left them all staring after her. When the door clicked shut, Percy had all eyes back on him. He shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. I wasn’t going to tell you about the kr- nevermind,” he stood. “Di Angelo, with me,” the younger officer stood, back to business and was at Percy’s side again in a moment. “Clear your schedule, you’re spending shore leave with me, pal.”

“Great,” came the deadpan reply.

“Don’t sound so somber,” Percy rolled his eyes. “I’m just going to show you the beach and maybe a good gay bar. You need to let off some steam my dude.”

The other male reddened.

“That is so… That is…” he huffed. “Highly inappropriate.” he glared down at the ground and Percy felt a little bad, maybe the guy wasn’t out? But it was clear he had a preference for males. Oh well, that foot was already in Percy’s mouth.

“Fine. But I will be attending and I am a great dancer so you’re missing out,” he winked at the flustered officer and made his way back to his cabin. It would be an interesting few days.

He made a plan with Annabeth. Day one before shore leave, Percy would spread a rumor to Novax about the kraken. Bigger than a giant squid and meaner. Known to crush entire pirate ships in the olden days.

Day two, Annabeth would mention sirens to Nyssa. Hideous creatures that could lure you in with their voices and lead you to believe you were bringing your ship in to everything you ever wanted, when in reality you would crash your ships and then drown.

Day three, Percy would tell Leo about the Megalodon. A definitely very real shark so big you couldn’t even imagine it. Percy shuddered at that one.

“But, there are some good things,” Percy was speaking to Nico Di Angelo from his Commander chair, in ear shot of some of the participants of the conversation a few nights prior. “Mermaids, the siren’s nicer cousin species. And the lost city of Atlantis. Known to be a great and bountiful city, lost to the sea and cursed by the gods to be stuck down there forever. Some believe it still exists, but it’s within the Bermuda Triangle.”

“What, pray tell, is the Bermuda Triangle,” Clarisse sighed.

“Hard to explain. Ships just… go in… and they never come out,” Annabeth shrugged. “Planes go down. Ships wreck. People who go in don’t come back out, so we don’t know if Atlantis is really there or not.”

“That’s… terrifying,” Novax whispered as he walked by.

Percy was sure he had created a healthy fear of Earth’s oceans in his crew. And he meant to, because while he loved the beach and swimming, he did want to make them shy away from the depths. They wouldn’t do well to explore it.

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Part 13

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem! Reader Warnings: Talk of parent death Length: 2.1k words Notes: Okay bitches here we go. I’ve got 3 kids doing online schooling, a desk chair that just broke while I was halfway through typing this out, a raging headache, and couldn’t be fucked to edit. I love you al, thank you for sticking with me and this little brain baby of mine. My guidance counselor from high school can suck my dick, “You’re not a creative writer, Cher, you should considering taking Home Ec as an elective instead” I digress....

Series Masterlist

"No." You glared at him and squeezed his hand harder, "You're doing that thing again.

Frankie's head whipped over to stare at you, shocked by your assertive tone.

"You're pulling away. You're stressed, out of your depth, don't know how to deal with it and so you're pulling away again-"

"You don't understand," Frankie interrupted you, shaking his head and trying to pull his hands out of your grasp. This only served to strengthen your resolve, and your grip on him.

"No." You declare again, trying to stay calm and have a mature conversation despite the tension and running emotions. "You told me to give you time to get your thoughts straight and vocalized. I can't do that if I'm not here to hear them. I can't understand your predicament if I leave. So," You moved so you're sitting cross-legged in front of him, making eye contact in an effort to show him he had your full attention. "Why don't you tell me what that phone call was about so we can start figuring it out, together."

The situation was more complex than you ever could have imagined. Frankie's ex-wife, Karla, had died. Her car had been hit by a drunk driver. Annie, thank the gods, hadn't been in the car at the time. Before she'd died at the hospital, Karla had managed to say a few words to the paramedics. At the time they didn't make sense, however, the paramedic had taken the time to write the words down and included the scrap of paper with the patient's chart. This evidence, as it turned out, had been monumental during the resulting legal battle for Annie, all of which took place without Frankie even being notified.

Child services, lawyers, extended family, and even doctors had been involved in the court proceedings. All arguing over the future of the six-year-old girl. All believing that they knew what was best for her, most believing that she should live with them, some having the gall to pretend that they weren't aware of the sizable life insurance payout she was about to receive.

Eight words. Eight simple, beautiful words whispered through the broken, bloody lips of a woman who knew she was about to die. A young girl's future was being held in suspense, and as fate would have it, a wise and sentimental judge was overseeing her case. Eight words were all it took to convince him that Annie's mother knew what was best for her own child.

"Francisco Morales. Trust with her, he's ready now."

From the time Frankie had received the phone call from Karla's family lawyer, the two of you had two days to prepare for Annie's arrival. Frankie worked his magic and erected a wall across the bedroom portion of his loft, allowing for the little girl to have some privacy but not feel like she was being closed in. 

He had fretted for a least twenty five minutes over colour swatches at Hank’s Hardware before coming to the conclusion that he should leave it white and have Annie chose her room colours once she had settled in. He bought himself a new couch, as well, that would convert into a bed and serve as his bedroom for the time being.

The conversation you never had a chance to have with him was still in the back of your mind, but you understood that moving in together as a couple was hard enough. Moving in together with a kid neither of you knew, whose life had just been turned upside down against her will, would be catastrophic. Instead, you focused on being as much of a rock for Frankie as you could.

You made a trip to the city and bought girls bedding, some stuffed animals, and a few little decorations to help Annie feel like the new space was special for her. You also thought to pick up comfort food that a kid might crave, knowing that when you were six the best way to your heart was chocolate. Just before you left the city, a sign caught your attention and had you swerving to change lanes, normally you'd feel slightly bad about your obnoxious driving but today you just waved your middle finger at the rear window in a mock salute.

The flower shop had so many bouquets and you had no idea what kind of flowers the little girl might like. You also had the morbid realization that bouquets might remind her of all the flowers she surely saw at Karla's funeral. Just as you began to second guess yourself, a stand near the back caught your eye and made you smile.

The day of her arrival came quicker than you felt prepared for, never mind how Frankie must be feeling. He hadn't had too much time to worry about how having his daughter would change his life, but once the two of you were standing in his driveway doing nothing but waiting, the nerves had finally settled in. You could see deep, calming breaths he was taking as they condensed into little clouds in the freezing air.

Grabbing his clenched fist, you felt his fingers relax enough to allow your gloved ones to slide through them.

"It's going to be weird for everyone, she's probably nervous too." You weren't sure if the words were reassuring or not but nervous talking seemed to be your forte so you ran with it. "I mean, she's probably sad that she's leaving everything and everyone she's always known, excited about moving to a new place, then feeling bad that she's feeling another emotion besides grief. It can be hard to juggle loss and hope. Just show her how much you love her and be honest about why you couldn't be with her before. Kids are smart and are aware of way more than adults give them credit for."

A few moments later a black sedan slowly crept up the driveway. You wanted to stay, to meet the little girl but had the feeling that Annie and Frankie were going to need time to figure out their relationship without another person in the mix. Suddenly having a new parent was going to be hard enough on the little girl, you were afraid that she might see you as trying to replace her mom and push you away.

Rubbing Frankie's back for one last show of reassurance, you kissed his shoulder then took a few steps back. You figured this was the best way to be there to support him but also staying in the background for the time being. Before the car could fully come to a stop, the rear door was flying open and, in a blur of movement, a little body was flying out of it towards Frankie. You know how people will say that there are times in their lives where important moments fly by so fast they barely have time to enjoy them? Well, this wasn't one of them.

As Annie barreled her way towards Frankie, you saw in slow motion how his handsome face went from being creased with worry, to eyebrow raised shock, to breaking out in a teary smile. He had just begun to crouch down and open his arms in anticipation of holding his little girl when instead she ran right past him and locked herself in one of the sheds.

Time continued to move in slow motion, making it all the more heartbreaking watching your boyfriend's face crumple, the tears of joy turn to tears of pain as he recovered from his initial excitement and realized that his child didn't want to see him.

Tiny, muffled sobs broke the moment and brought time, and the horrible situation, back into focus. The Child Protective Services worker who had accompanied Annie from California was calling apologies to Frankie while running after the little girl, trying not to slip in the snow in her hurry.

You wanted to go to him, to lend him some form of comfort, but you were also aware that some types of grief don't appreciate witnesses. Deciding to stick around and be helpful in the background, you made your way into the loft and started making coffee and sandwiches, foreseeing a longer stay for the caseworker than initially thought.

Nearly forty minutes had passed before you emerged again with food and drinks on a tray and the two adults were still talking to Annie through the cracks in the door. She had stubbornly refused to come out, demanding that she be returned to her home at once and that she hated snow.

Once you had set down the tray and cleared the snow off a picnic table, Frankie thanked you with a kiss to your temple and introduced you to Sharon after he convinced her to take a break from the negotiations. Sharon, who had been with Annie since the day of the accident, began filling Frankie in on what had happened to his daughter in the past month between sips of coffee. He was given a folder with notes from child psychologists, doctors, a letter from her maternal grandparents, and a journal Sharon had kept that described the ways Annie had been processing her grief.

While they talked, you decided to walk over and sit next to the door of the shed, laying a wool blanket down to protect your butt from the cold. You had no idea what to say to the girl but you figured she might like to be reassured she wasn't alone. Settling down, you dug into your own sandwich and hummed quietly to yourself.

You nearly choked on your next bite when you heard a soft voice singing along with the tune you'd chosen.

"Lavender blue, dilly dilly. Rosemary Green, if you are king dilly dilly, I'll be your queen."

After you'd repeated the song twice more, you stopped the tune and said softly,

"I've never heard those lyrics before, they're different from how I learned them."

A long pause followed, making you worry that you'd offended the child back into silence.

"How do you sing it?" Came the sweetest little voice, made all the more adorable with the barest hint of a lisp.

"We always sang, 'Lavender green', for one. Which never made any sense to me so I really like how you did it-"

"Yeah, cause lavender is another name for purple," she interrupted you with a matter-of-fact tone, "saying it's green is just weird!"

"Hmmm, it might be different," you conceded, seeing the opportunity for a lesson. "But either way you sing it, it's still a really pretty song, isn't it? Things can be different but it doesn't mean one is only good and one is only bad. Each version just had different good things."

Annie went silent again but this time you didn't worry about it, you knew she was thinking about what you said and needed time to apply it to what was happening right now. You eventually heard the shifting of metal and the creak of wood and had to will yourself to sit still and calm. The way you had let her approach you had worked so far, jumping up out of excitement could possibly erase all the progress you'd made so far.

Your patience was rewarded when Annie stepped out of the shed and lowered herself so that she was sitting on the blanket right next to you. Turning your head just enough to see her in your peripheral, you noticed how dull her eyes looked. Her hair was a mess and her skin looked pale for a kid who had been living under California's sun.

"My mommy is dead."

The way it was stated as a fact, with very little emotion, broke your heart. She was so little, so young, and so unable to fully grasp what kind of future had been ripped away from her.

"I know, I'm sorry that that happened to your mom."

"That man is my daddy." She was pointing at Frankie now, who was still engrossed in his conversation with Sharon.

"He's a pretty lucky guy to have you."

"That's the lady who has been taking care of me, she's been nice."

You were a bit out of your comfort zone with the conversation but there was no way in hell you were going drop it so you cautiously trudged on. Maybe verbalizing relationships and titles was helping her process?

"I'm very happy to hear that you've been staying with someone nice. Your dad is a really nice person, too, ya know? You should see the nice bedroom he's set up for you! I even helped him bake you an apple pie. Do you like apples? Or pie?" Her eyes went wide and a spark of happiness suddenly lit her face, making her appear more childlike than before.

"Is this an apple farm?" She practically squealed. “Like in My Little Pony?!”

Her outburst had finally drawn the attention of the other two adults, who were now only realizing that Annie had exited the shed. Frankie's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his two girls, beaming at each other. The twinge of jealousy from knowing that it had been you to draw her out was quickly squashed by how proud of you he was. He had been a little worried, although he hadn't voiced it, that his kid wouldn't take kindly to having a woman around but those fears were obviously for naught.

Part Fourteen 

[fanmoose12]

the devil you know

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Moblit Berner, Zeke Yeagar, Armin Arlert

Genres: Action / Drama

Summary: Can you still miss a person, if everything you knew about them was a lie?

Сhapter 2/?

Chapter 1

Her first visitor was - quite unsurprisingly - Moblit.

He brought food, a change of clothes and even books to her. All of them - Hange couldn't help but note - were picked up to suite her interests.

Then he sat down next to her and proceeded to clean the small cut on her cheek, the one she received during the raid on Liberio, when one of the bullets flew almost too close for her to dodge.

"It's just a scratch," she whispered, still unable to meet his gaze. She did not deserve his kindness. She never did.

"It still might get infected," Moblit murmured, applying a soothing balm on the wound. Gentle, he was always so gentle with her. So patient too. Hange’s eyes started to sting.

"And why do you care?" she asked, staring at the wall in front of her. "Don't you..." she closed her eyes, wincing. Why did she care? He was an enemy, the devil of Paradise, and yet— yet her heart still squeezed painfully and her stomach was in knots. "Don't you hate me?"

Moblit sighed, putting away the med kit. He rose up from his kneeling position and joined her on a small prison bed.

"I tried," he confessed softly. "I tried hating you, so hard and for so long but I just… couldn't. You know when Captain Levi broke the news of your betrayal..." he chuckled quietly, running a hand through his hair. "I started crying. I thought how could you do that, after those years we've spent fighting side by side, how could lie to us like this? But then..."

"Then?" Hange echoed, her voice wavering.

"Then I remembered our first expedition," Moblit smiled. "The one where I almost got eaten. You saved me back there. Nearly got your hand bitten off but you saved me, and that made me realize, you didn't lie, not always anyways. You're an extraordinary person, Hange-san, but I don't think even you can pretend like this all the time. All these nights I carried you to your room after you fell asleep in your office and you murmured 'thanks' against my shirt, all these evenings we and the guys from our squad got drunk at the bars, all these times you made sure to check on me, when I got myself into infirmary, finding the time to do so, despite your crazy schedule... I know all of this wasn't a lie, it couldn’t be.”

He paused for a moment, staring at her with the same devotion he always did, the one that always made Hange’s throat go dry, because she had never deserved it. She – a traitor and a liar – never deserved Moblit’s kindness and affection. But even now, he didn’t seem to understand it.

“I can't hate you, Hange-san,” he murmured softly, “because I know that this betrayal hurt you as much as it did all of us."

He touched her hand, briefly squeezing it, and when Hange looked up, surprised that her vision is clouded, Moblit wiped off her unshed tears and gave her another kind smile.

"I'll come back in the evening. Please tell me if you need anything else. I can go to your room..."

"My room?" Hange startled. "You haven't cleared it out yet?"

Haven't they destroyed everything there - burned all of her papers and smashed all of her samples? Why not?

"Captain Levi forbade us from doing so," Moblit replied, and that seemingly simple revelation had Hange’s heart beating madly. Her shocked expression didn’t go unnoticed by Moblit. He chuckled heartily, muttering something to himself.

"Good day, Hange-san," he said at last, leaving her to deal with the bewildering news on her own.

***

Armin came to her next.

For the longest time, he just sat there, fiddling with something small, enclosed in his hands and out of her sight.

Hange ignored him, pretending to read one of Moblit's books and watching him from the corner of her eyes, waiting for Armin to speak up.

Was it his method of manipulation? If so, it wasn't working.

But as the silence stretched on, becoming tenser with each second, Hange struggled not to squirm in her seat. What was the meaning of this? What was he waiting for? And then, when she was ready to speak up and ask what the fuck he wanted with her, Armin finally looked up.

He rose to his feet and hid the mysterious object inside his jacket before Hange could see what it was.

"I'll have tea brought for us,” he announced. “Just wait for a minute."

"It's not like I can go anywhere," Hange muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Just a minute,” Armin repeated with a nervous laugh, and then hurriedly left.

Once the tea was brought, Armin let himself inside the cell.

"There you go," he murmured, handing Hange a white porcelain cup. It was one of the best that the scouts had, Hange knew that this tea set was only used for that rare instances, where they had to hold meetings with the highest members of the brass. And Armin decided to use this set to have a tea party with her? The hospitality was making her uncomfortable. Was that Armin’s intention too?

She accepted the cup, looking at the boy over its rim. "How are Gabi and Falco?"

"Don't worry," Armin smiled. "No harm will come their way. Their cell is not... as luxurious as yours is,” he gestured to the bed, desk and even small bookshelf that stood inside. “But they're in good hands, you can trust me on that."

"Thank you," Hange nodded and drank from the cup. Her eyes opened wide as she tasted the familiar sweet flavor. How did he—

"You should try biscuits too," Armin the pushed the plate closer to her. Hange glanced at them. Just as the tea, those biscuits were her favorite.

"We used to do it a lot, remember?" Armin said, easily deciphering the reason for her surprise. "With Mikasa, Eren and the rest of your squad..."

"I remember," Hange quietly answered. She took another sip, her throat suddenly going too dry.

Was this all a part of his plan? To make her feel as the most disgusting piece of shit in the world? Armin shouldn’t have bothered. She was quite good at it herself.

"Good times, eh?" Armin chuckled, putting a hand under his chin. “Those evening at the barracks… You told us so many things, had us hanging onto your every word. You had enough passion in you to carry on for the whole night, but Captain Levi never let us stay for too long…”

“Is that the reason for your visit?” Hange snapped, interrupting him. Every word from his mouth was making her more and more angry. She didn't need some barely adult to lecture her, trying to make her feel bad. What did he want to achieve with that? Make her realize how awful she is? She knew that already. “Did you come here to reminisce about the good old days? Don’t you have anything better to do, Armin?”

"Sorry," weird, but Armin looked genuinely apologetic. Was he always that good of an actor? Or did he learn the skill of deceit after she left? "It wasn't my intent to stir... some unwanted memories. I didn't come here for this. I actually... wanted to ask a question."

"Ask away," Hange allowed, crossing arms on her chest.

"I've been thinking about this a lot," Armin began, playing with a cup's handle. Looking like that – with his head bowed and his eyes cast down, he reminded Hange of the boy she knew four years ago. She almost believed in his sincerity. “Reiner and Berthold, Annie... they wanted to kill Eren. At the very least, take him away. Why haven't you attempted something like this? You had more than enough opportunities. Why didn't you use them?"

Why didn't she indeed. Deep down, Hange knew an answer to this question. But since she wasn't only a piece of shit, but a coward as well, she wasn’t ready to admit it, even to herself. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to admit to Armin too.

She had an answer for him, though. A reason she fabricated to placate her superiors and give herself at least some peace of mind.

"I've never seen an Attack Titan. Kruger died before I became a part of Titan Research Society. And..." she shrugged, and put on a bright smile, her only mask and best defense. "I wanted to study him so much that I was willing to ignore my duty."

"And thunder spears?" Armin asked. "Without them, we would have lost at Shiganshina. Why did you create them?"

"Same reason," she took a biscuit in her hands, biting into it. Her lie was so good, she herself started believing in it. "I was too fascinated by your technology. Couldn't pass the opportunity to find out what your natural resources are capable of."

"Ever the scientist?" something very close to admiration shone in Armin's big blue eyes. Hange quickly looked away, not giving her guilt an opportunity to resurface. She’d have time for that later, when left alone. “Thank you for your answer, Hange-san.”

“Is that all you’ve wanted to ask?”

“No,” Armin shook his head. He shifted his eyes back down, staring into his cup. He slowly span the spoon, lost in thought.

“I know it’s unwise,” he stated, tone uncharacteristically firm for a boy Hange once knew. “And I know that others may not… agree with me on this, but I wasn’t supposed to be in this position. Commander Erwin left it to you, you’re his true successor and I…”

Couldn’t be, Hange thought. Was it another one of his games?

“Are you asking for an advice, Armin?”

“I…” he chuckled, nervously ruffling his hair. “I guess I am. It’s just— everyone looks up to me now, thinking I’ve got all the right answers, but I don’t even know what the question is supposed to be. I’m trying to deal with the mess that the attack on Liberio caused, and now everyone is coming after me for putting Eren in jail, and—” Armin rubbed his face, his shoulders sagging. Hange started to feel sorry for the boy, she could only imagine how hard it was to call shots during times like this. “After you… left, I thought I’ve learnt my lesson. I thought I knew that you can’t trust everyone. But Eren isn’t just someone, he’s my best friend.”

I was someone’s best friend too once, Hange almost said. She was someone’s best friend too, and then she betrayed him.

Would he ever be able to forgive me, she wondered.

No, Hange shut that train of thoughts immediately. He wouldn’t. He was too smart to be that kind.

“He’s a family,” Armin solemnly continued, breaking her out of the reverie. “But after what he’s done in Liberio… I can’t even look him in the eyes.”

“He changed,” Hange said, as softly as she could. She contemplated covering Armin’s hand with hers, but she doubted he’d allow it. “People do that sometimes.”

“Yes,” Armin nodded. “I’m… learning to accept that.”

“I know you still care about him. You always will.”

She will always care about him too. God, she was pathetic. A spy and a traitor and she couldn’t do even that properly, forgetting the most important rule of ‘do not get attached’.

“But you can’t trust Eren anymore,” Hange told him.

Talking about trust? Well, wasn’t she a hypocrite. Another one of her many, many flaws.

“I know,” he sadly agreed. “But Eren is not the only one, who worries me. There is also a matter of Zeke Yeager…” Armin reminded.

She smashed the biscuit in her fist. Zeke, the bastard had played them all. And to think she used to admire him… More than just admire him.

“Don’t let Eren and Zeke converse,” she warned grimly. “Under any circumstances. Knowing what Zeke is capable of, and witnessing what Eren is capable of, it would be best if you separate them.”

“Separate them…” Armin mumbled, biting his thumb.

“Get Zeke out of the inner city,” Hange advised. “As far as you can. Perhaps…” she scratched her chin, thinking. “Perhaps, have him hidden in the Forest of Giant Trees.”

“Huh… that’s a very sound idea,” Armin slowly nodded, some tension leaving his body. That bright light returned to his eyes, and Hange relaxed at the sight of it. Seeing some of his worries disappear made her feel just a tiniest bit better about herself. “I can appoint Captain Levi as Zeke’s guardian, he won’t be able to make a single move then.”

“You do that.”

Just at the mention of him, all of her good mood had disappeared. It was a good thing that Armin decided to get him out of the city too. Perhaps, her heart wouldn’t get completely shattered then.

“Thank you so much,” Armin finally smiled, looking up at Hange.

With his puffy cheeks and big, bright eyes, he looked young, she couldn’t help but note. He was still just a boy. And already he had a burden on his shoulders Hange wasn’t sure she herself would be able to carry.

“I know it may not mean much to you, but you’re doing good, Armin. He—” Hange paused, clearing her throat. She still couldn’t say hisname. Commander Erwin Smith was an enemy, a biggest threat to their mission. But at the same time… he was a man she followed for five years of her life. He was a man she admired like no other. Erwin Smith was a friend.

And she missed him terribly.

“He would have been proud of you,” she finished hoarsely.

“Hange-san,” Armin rose, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t know Commander Erwin as much as you did, but I think… I think he would have forgiven you. If that’s any consolation, I already did.”

Fuck. Hange turned her face away, hiding her eyes. Starting with memories of their time years ago, bringing up Erwin, forgiving her… Was Armin so determined to make her cry?

“Thank you for your time,” Armin said at last, leaving the cell.

As soon as the door closed after him, she left the tears flow.

***

Then came Sasha. Naturally, with Connie in tow.

With wide eyes Hange stared at the variety of meals the pair brought inside her cell.

"Um..." she gawked at it, feeling utterly lost. "What is this?"

"It's food!" Sasha beamed.

"Yeah, I can see that but... What's the occasion?"

"I just thought they don't feed you in here," Sasha answered, skeptically looking Hange over. "It doesn't look like they do. You seem thinner than before."

The sight of Sasha with hands on her hips and her lips pressed together in displeasure made Hange feel inexplicably warm. She desperately tried to fight off a smile, but in Sasha's presence it proved to be an almost impossible feat.

Ah, well, she was always her favorite...

"Moblit takes care of my meals actually."

He came to her every morning and evening, bringing warm food and engaging conversations. His quiet, soft voice was the only respite from the demons in her head.

"Pfft," Sasha rolled her eyes. "And you're calling that food? This is food!" she gestured at the plates they’ve carried inside. "Just try it, Hange-san, it's delicious!"

"It's from Niccolo!" Connie said, grinning just as brightly. "He's a real master."

"And our friend!" Sasha added.

“Something more than a friend for Sasha," Connie corrected.

Red hue instantly appeared on Sasha's cheeks, and Hange couldn't resist anymore - she snickered in her palm.

"Let's eat before it gets cold," Sasha muttered, avoiding everyone's eyes.

As she busied herself with serving the table, Hange exchanged a look with Connie. The boy winked. Hange hid a smile.

As they ate, Sasha and Connie entertained Hange with stories of their everyday life. They told her about the time they pulled a prank on Jean and almost made him believe he grew ten inches taller overnight and spoke of an arm wrestling match between Mikasa and Levi that Levi, to his immense shame, had lost.

They talked so animatedly, described everything with such vivid details that Hange felt like she actually had been present when all of it had happened.

Truthfully, she desperately wanted to.

"Thanks for the meal, guys," breathing heavily, Hange sat back in a chair. She turned her face away, unable to even stare at the food. Sasha was right, the food Moblit brought her - as good as it was - didn't compare to Niccolo's. As a result, she was completely stuffed. "It was delicious."

"And talking with you had been fun," Connie said.

"It's good to see you again," Sasha admitted with a kind smile that warmed Hange’s heart.

Sasha and Connie managed to make feel better than she had been in days since Liberio. Truth be told, they made her feel better than she had been since leaving the island all these years ago.

The kids rose from their seats, moving in perfect sync.

Just like twins, Hange thought with another smile.

They moved around the table, picking up the plates.

"You go, Sasha," Connie spoke as soon as they finished. "I'll catch up with you."

"Eh?" Sasha frowned. "What do you—"

"Go," he gave her a push, still refusing to meet her gaze. "I need a moment with Hange-san."

"And why must you throw me away..." Sasha complained , shaking her head. She gave Connie another look, filled with suspicion, huffed in annoyance and then walked out of the dungeons, leaving them alone.

Connie waited until the sound of a large metal door closing was heard and then looked up at Hange.

"Hange-san," the boy seemed a bit nervous. Hange wondered about the reason for a sudden change in his demeanor. She wanted to ask, but Connie suddenly appeared beside her. Without giving her time to react, he wrapped his arms around her. Hange stood still, not knowing how to react. "Thank you for saving Sasha,” he whispered. “I don't know what I would have done without her."

Oh god, again? Were those kids going to make her cry again? She had to resist it. She was a Marleyan soldier, one of the strongest and toughest they had. She could do it.

But then Connie had the gall to press his forehead to her shoulder, sniffling quietly, and Hange felt her resolve shutter.

She quickly wiped at her eyes. "I'm glad I managed to get there in time,” she said, more honest that she had been in a long time. “This world would have lost a lot of light if Sasha was gone."

"My world would be completely dark," Connie agreed, letting go of her. He took a step back, looking at Hange with a wistful smile that reminded her that he wasn’t the same naive boy anymore. None of them were. "Thank you again. I meant it when I say it’s good to have you back. We’ve all missed you terribly, Hange-san.”

Thankfully, he left before her face became covered in tears once again.

***

Jean came to her too. Many times, actually. He paced around the cell, he touched the bars, pulled on them.

But he never entered.

He tried to be sneaky about it too, coming down to the dungeons well after midnight. But his steps were too heavy, and Hange was a spy, and before that – a soldier. She was trained to be a light sleeper practically since birth.

However, she said nothing. Giving him the time he needed was the least she could do. Besides, she knew Jean. The boy was not a coward, she knew he’d certainly come around.

And on the fourth day since the Raid on Liberio, he finally did.

He marched inside her cell, looking like a man going to war.

"Why did you do it?" he slammed his hands on the table, right under Hange's nose.

She slowly looked up from a book she was reading. "You have to be more specific, Jean. I did a lot of things."

"Sasha!" he said with barely conceived rage. "Why did you save her?"

Hange put the book down and crossed her legs at the ankles. She looked at Jean carefully, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't want me to?"

"That's not it!" Jean growled. He shook his head and then continued in a much calmer voice. "You know that's not what I meant.”

Plopping down on a chair next to Hange, he hid his face in his hands and took a deep breath. "I just don't understand it..." he muttered. "We probably wouldn't have hurt those kids even if they did harm Sasha. So why did you do it? Why did you save her?"

Hange sighed. The answer was fairly simple. But everything it entailed – not so much.

"I didn't want her to die."

Jeans studied her pensively. "Isn't that what every Marleyan wishes for? To kill as much Eldians as they can? They sent you here with the same reason, no?"

Hange gave him a sharp look. "No. My mission was to survey and investigate. I wasn't ordered to harm or kill you."

Truth was - she probably wouldn't be able to, even if ordered.

Getting too soft, Zoe, a voice that resembled Zeke's sneered in her head. Hange ignored it, swatting it away like an irritating fly.

"God, you really are making this so hard for me," Jean mumbled, shaking his head.

"What exactly?"

"Hating you," Jean replied. "I spent four years hating you. You and Berthold and Annie and Reiner... I despised them for betraying us, for lying and pretending, but you... Your betrayal shook me to the core. I thought I was ready for it, you know?" he looked at her, staring right into her eyes and showing her all of his raw emotions. Hange hated herself just a little more for causing him so much distress. "I thought that after Reiner and Berthold, nothing can hurt me. But I trusted you so much. I respected and admired you. Between unwavering Commander Erwin and aloof Captain Levi, I thought you're the only one who gives a damn about us."

Hange stared back at him, not knowing what to say. Tell him that he wasn't wrong? That, despite everything - her orders, her beliefs and upbringing - she still cared? A lot of good her care did.

“I looked up to you, you know?" Jean continued, gazing up at the ceiling with a bitter smile. "Thought you're a real badass. Well, you still are, for what it's worth. Managed to fool us all, I couldn't believe it, when Captain told us that you left. No one could. Commander Erwin even wanted to call off the expedition to Shiganshina."

Erwin wanted to call off the expedition? The stoic, cold-blooded Erwin? She had trouble believing it was true.

And her heart was having trouble shouldering all that pain. She really was a piece of shit, wasn’t she? She played with their feelings, betrayed those, who actually cared about her, and for what? For a nation whose only motivation was greed, for a war that was justified solely by prejudices?

“He didn’t name another successor, by the way,” Jean revealed. “Technically, we still don’t have a Commander. I guess no one could fill those shoes, except you.”

“Please,” Hange scoffed. “I would have done a terrible job.”

“You’re selling yourself too short,” Jean protested, shaking his head. “Commander Erwin himself believed in you. That's gotta count for something."

"Erwin didn't know me."

It was Jean's turn to scoff. "Are we talking about the same Erwin Smith? The myth, the legend?" he rolled his eyes. "He may not know everything, but he knew you. Enough to entrust his legacy to you. You're not as bad as I was making you out to be, Hange-san. Actually," Jean tilted his head, his eyes softening. "You're not as bad as you think you are."

Hange turned her face away, hiding from his intent gaze. Jean’s words stroke a chord she didn’t she think she still possessed. So pathetic. After all these years, and she still yearned for acceptance.

"You never did any harm to us,” Jean went on. “Never hurt us, at least not physically. You helped us a lot actually. Your research and inventions… Have you realized what you were doing? I think some part of you certainly has."

"Besides, after all that shit that's been going on, we can't exactly be called good guys either,” he sighed, pushing the hair back from his face. “Maybe, you and I have more in common that I'd like to think.”

Again, Hange was at a loss for words. Should she thank him for making her feel better? No, she was already pitiful enough.

"Just something to think about," Jean finished, getting to his feet.

He fixed his uniform, brushing the invisible dust from his shoulders. Hange stole a glance at him, marveling at how much he had changed. If she had been his commander, she’d be so proud of him. He had grown into a smart, kind man. Perhaps, a little too kind, she thought, recalling their conversation.

"I've never thought I'd say this," just before leaving, Jean turned to Hange, his hand gripping the bar of her cell. "But I'm glad our paths have crossed again. It looks like there are still lots of things I can learn from you."

***

At last, Levi came.

Hange didn't hear him enter the dungeons. She was in the middle of reading a book when she got a strange, prickling feeling. She looked up, almost jumping as she instantly met Levi's grey eyes. They seemed especially cold this time. Have they always been like this? She was sure they weren’t. At least, not when they were directed at her.

As their gazes connected, he said nothing. He continued to watch her, and the weight of his gaze was so heavy, she felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Erwin is dead," he finally said. Impossible, but his eyes became even colder. "Killed at Shiganshina. Did you know that?"

"I read the report."

She wasn't present at the battle, Zeke had advised against that.

"It's too dangerous for you, Professor," he had said. "Attack Titan, Ackermans and those scouts, it would be best if you sit this one out. It'd be a shame if we lost a mind as brilliant as yours. Besides," his lips curled into smirk then, a knowing glint appearing in his eyes. To this day, Hange wasn't sure if he had been joking or not. "You lived with them for so long, your feelings are compromised. I'm sure you're filled with desire to kill them all."

Funny thing, Hange thought back then. Because if she had been thrusted into that battle - she wasn't sure she'd be able to fight for the side she was supposed to.

"In a report?" Levi sneered. "Your buddy Zeke must have bragged to hell and back about it."

Levi's words, even filled with so much distain and mockery, weren't that far from the truth. The voyage back to Marley had not been a happy affair. They almost lost Zeke, they almost lost Reiner, they've lost Berthold. Sweet, timid Berthold, Hange liked him so much. After Pieck's titan, his colossal was the most intriguing test subject. Soft and caring Bertold died, and she could only imagine how hard it was for Reiner. The poor boy didn’t speak throughout the whole journey back home.

“After being away for so long, you’d think he’d be happy that the mission is finally over,” Pieck noted, whispering her observations in Hange’s ear. “But then again,” she turned to her, her sharp eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You don’t look so excited either.”

Hange paid her no mind then, even if Pieck had suspected something, what of it? She was going home, and those Eldians – those people she lived with for five years – didn’t matter anymore. But Reiner did, and Hange watched him, intently, wondering what she could do to make him feel better. She wanted to comfort him, she even approached him and words "I know how it feels" almost slipped down her tongue. But she stopped herself at the very last moment. I know how it feels. Did she really?

She lost people before - a tall blonde man with a goofy smile who gave the best hugs, a blond woman with the most infectious laughter, the adorable petite girl who always looked at her with stars in her eyes, a cheerful young man in glasses who copied most of her gimmicks, the serious brunette who followed her every command - with every loss a part of her soul died, but could she really call them friends? They did not know her, and if they did, they would have never accepted her.

He wouldn’t have accepted you too, a malicious voice whispered in her ear.

The proof of that statement was staring her down at the very same moment.

Unable to escape Levi’s seething gaze, Hange remembered what Zeke had told her then, when she regrouped with them at Shiganshina.

“You did not mention those scouts are that crazy. To sacrifice so many people just for a chance of victory?” Zeke had scoffed, cleaning his glasses. “I just can’t understand it.”

You never will, Hange thought back then. Those brave, young soldiers. Her heart bled for them.

“And that Ackerman,” he continued. “To think they call me a beast titan. I thought I was done for. All that rage and blind hatred and all of it because of some Commander.”

“Erwin Smith.”

“What?”

“His name was Erwin Smith,” Hange repeated, her voice brimming with emotion. She blinked away tears. She would not cry, not right now. Not when Zeke was looking at her so closely. “And he wasn’t just some Commander.”

She left Zeke’s side quickly afterwards, afraid that she’d be unable to hold back her own rage. Some Commander? Erwin was much more than that. Even as Marleyan, she was able to understand that.

“Did you know about Mike too?” Levi asked, pushing himself off the wall he was leaning against. “And about Nanaba?”

She did, of course, she did. Zeke had sent her the letter, retelling everything he did to Mike in horrid, morbid details. Reading that letter, Hange struggled not to throw up. She could almost hear his screams, could almost see the horror in his eyes.

To not be simply eaten by a titan, but getting torn apart by them? Hange couldn’t imagine a fate more horrible.

The terror of it all didn’t leave her for the longest time. It was only in his arms – in Levi’s strong, gentle arms – that she managed to find some respite. She hated herself for it, but when he wiped her tears with his lips, whispering soft, soothing words in her ear, she could almost pretend to forget.

“And about Ragako?”

Amidst her inner turmoil, Hange missed the moment when Levi entered the cell. Now he was standing right beside her, looming over with dark, angry expression.

“Did you know about those people? About what was going to happen to them?” Levi wasn’t an expressive man, but his eyes showed it all. In a life where she pretended to be a mad scientist and a survey corps’ squad leader, she prided herself at being one of the few, who could read those eyes. But she could see nothing inside them right now. Levi’s face was completely blank, his emotions closed off. “Did you know what was going to happen to Connie’s mother?”

That was it, the final nail in her coffin.

And to think that just the other day, the boy was thanking her. Her, who condemned his mother, who destroyed his home.

Hange closed her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. She gripped the chair under her tightly, quelling the trembling. She would not break, not in front of him.

“What do you want, Levi?” she glanced at him beneath her hair. “What do you wish to hear? That I reveled in every death? That I sneaked out to the island to dance at Erwin’s grave?”

Levi pressed his lips in a line, a deep scowl forming on his forehead.

It was the same expression he had when looking at Zeke, Hange realized.

She thought her heart couldn’t break anymore. Apparently, he was wrong.

“I’m just wondering,” he said. “If there was ever anything sincere in you. Have you even felt something? After all these deaths, do you at least feel guilty?”

“If that’s what you think of me?” she looked him in the eyes, surprised to see something coming alive inside them. “If I’m a monster you think I am, what was the point of bringing me here? Why haven’t you just killed me? Surely that would have given you some peace of mind.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Levi surged forward, grabbing her by the collar. His grey eyes bore in hers with intensity that she had rarely seen. Inside them was an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. “Shut your stupid mouth, four-eyes. Do you really not get it? After everything you put me through, after all these fucking lies, I’d still rather die than harm you.”

He pushed her away, turning on his heels and storming out of the cell. To the sound of his quick, heavy steps, Hange slowly slid to the ground. Her knees gave under her, as she realized – it was not anger that she had seen in Levi’s eyes.

It was pain.

“Fuck,” she murmured, hiding her face in her hands.

[astridthevalkyrie]

Do you think AOT is better than FMAB?

sorry not sorry for the blunt answer but no, never, not in a million years, not even close, not for a number of reasons.

few reasons under the cut, because apparently I’m doing this instead of focusing in class. obviously there will be spoilers for both shows, and obviously some of this will be based on personal preference.

1. Genocide/Oppression

so both shows have some vivid imagery of nazi germany. bradley is addressed as the fuhrer in fmab, and the eldians wear stars on their sleeves in aot. and even if the aot writer wasn’t pretty much confirmed to be a nationalist and raging anti-semite, it’s rather painfully obvious which show handles it better.

in aot, the eldians are oppressed because they can turn into titans and were originally trying to take over the world or something, which is so blatantly anti-semitic that it’s terrible. shows are allowed to tackle these kinds of topics, but they should handle them well, not be a stand in for nazi propaganda. this is something so many fucking shows do wrong whenever they make an oppressed group of people - there’s always somehow a reason for having them be oppressed. take bbc merlin. wizards are oppressed because they can do magic and so they’re dangerous, just like how eldians can turn into titans and so they’re dangerous, and that’s a bad thing to imply, because it implies that jewish people somehow deserved what happened to them and that’s a fucking dangerous idea to put into an already anti-semitic world.

and that’s exactly why i was so relieved and appreciative of how fmab did the battle of ishval. it is clear who the bad guys are in that scenario, and it’s clear that it was never deserved and that the soldiers who carried it out are war criminals and deserve to be put into jail. riza says as much herself. while i think scar shouldn’t have been as guilted as he was (sure, he shouldn’t go after innocent people, but him killing winry’s parents is not comparable to what happened to him and doesn’t put all of them on equal footing), i was pleasantly surprised that he lived and wasn’t killed off in some stupid form of “redemption.” if roy deserved to live, so did scar, a hundred times over.

2. Characters

characters in fmab are done ridiculously better than in aot. let’s compare similar characters!

edward and eren - the protagonists

up until the third season onwards, eren is very one dimensional and uninteresting. he’s entertaining, but his one and only goal is killing the titans and it’s super frustrating because they lay down the groundwork for more, but it’s never really addressed. show more how he cares about his friends, show him dealing with his trauma through anger and how it’s unhealthy. (actually, a lot of problems could be fixed if they showed more of the cadets’ training days. i feel like i wasn’t feeling as betrayed by annie and reiner and bertholdt because i never really felt they were that close to eren.)

ed is a delightful main character. he too is angry and doesn’t mind talking with his fists, but at the same time, he’s starchly against killing anyone and has multiple goals. ofc his primary one is getting their bodies back, but when he finds himself in the conspiracy about amestris, he doesn’t hesitate before making that his problem as well. every relationship he has is wonderful. i could get bored with eren on the screen, i wasn’t bored with ed.

armin and alphonse - the deuteragonists

i’m sorry but armin is literally just “the smart one.” that’s it. he’s also the dreamer but it only comes up when they’re about to do something dangerous.

i feel like i don’t even need to go into how good of a character al is? he’s very obviously multifaceted and the epitome of sweet and badass at the same time.

winry and mikasa - the love intests-ish

i don’t like referring to either of them like that, but while mikasa is the tritagonist (or deuteragonist, her and armin can interchange there), winry is not. 

and surprise, surprise, this is actually where i’m not so sure winry comes out on top. mikasa is, in my opinion, the most interesting out of the trio. she also has a very single-minded goal, but seeing her interact with other characters (armin, jean, levi) who either fall in line or disagree with that goal is fun to watch. she’s also obviously super competent and i have a thing for competent characters.

winry is a good character and i love her, but it’s always bothered me how out of place her scenes feel in relation to the entire show. and as much as i know it doesn’t deter her agency, there’s just something off about ed telling her to have an apple pie waiting for them. it actually brings in one of my few problems with fmab. while its female are pretty good, they’re far from perfect, and that’s because nearly all of them exist because of their relation to the more important male character. winry is ed’s mechanic and the elrics’ family friend. riza is roy’s lieutenant. lan fan is ling’s bodyguard. izumi is the elrics’ teacher. i’m not saying that’s all they are, but this is a major part of their role in the story (olivier and mei stand out as female characters with goals relating to themselves and not a guy around them.)

so who’s the better character? mikasa is more fierce and winry has better lines that aren’t just calling out the protag’s name. i’m gonna give it to winry, but by a short shot.

roy and levi - the op fan favorites

this one’s much easier. roy is not just a badass who’s also the hero’s direct superior like levi is, he’s a person with clearcut goals and weaknesses and he has to make sacrifices and work for what he wants. levi has all the makings for a great character, a tragic backstory and a chill personality, but he doesn’t have a reason to stay in the scouts, he just...does. out of loyalty to erwin, i guess? it’s not clear and it’s even worse if you don’t watch the ova. roy’s reasons are clear and relatable. he also has a dorky and endearing side, plus the political side of things he brings to fmab is interesting and an equally important part of the story. his fight with envy is satisfying and thrilling. levi’s fight with the beast titan, while it is super well animated and cool, kiiiinda falls flat because there was no set-up for him being the one to take the beast titan down (should have been connie). it also ends a bit too fast, honestly.

but hey, you say, aren’t you the one writing 15k worth of fanfiction for levi within two weeks? didn’t see you writing that much for roy. yeah, well, unfortunately, my attraction doesn’t determine the better character and i never said i was proud of this, please leave me alone.

there’s more comparisons i could make - carla and trisha, hohenheim and grisha (ha, trisha and grisha rhyme), roy can also be compared to erwin, there’s multple side characters, but fmab wins, you guys get it.

3. The Story, Plot, Deaths

listen, i get it. aot is a bloody, brutal show and you’re not supposed to get attached to characters. i’m not gonna complain about pointless deaths, because that in itself is the point. it’s like twd or got, it’s gonna have lots of death. but the deaths don’t have to be so stupid. i’m specifically thnking of levi’s squad, because the way they die is so dumb. gunther should not be taken down by a cadet, petra shouldn’t be flying so close to the ground, oluo should know not to engage the female titan alone. these were elite titan killers, they knew not to be stupid. there were ways to kill them off without making them look so stupid. and if there’s not, consider not killing them off just for shock value.

fmab’s deaths mean something, especially since one of its central messages is that life is precious, no matter whose it is. everyone’s life means something and no one dies in vain.

.

there’s more i could go into, but i just spent my entire classtime doing this and now my second one for the day is about to start, sooo i think i’ll stop here. thanks for the ask!

[oncejaw]

@gerichteter​​​​ said: "I said don't touch me," Bertholdt bristles like feral animal, stiff-spined, callous. Without a glance, he jerks his arm back and jabs his elbow into Marcel's ribs. Nothing artful, nothing with strategy to it. In the aftermath of dread, his voice spikes and so does his pulse. All nerves alight in his body, the warrior, cornered and quaking, backs up further. Away from the pity-disappointment, the attention you'd pay a mad horse before putting it down. There's places on his body can't be touched. There's places that got brambles growing in them. Now the thorns are burying into his heart. Bertholdt set up every warning sign: Beware of dog. Now it's not his fault if Marcel gets bitten."Just- stop. Stop all that. Stop hovering, stop giving me that worried look! I'm fine! And even if I'm not— You have some damn nerve playing bedside nurse, you know that? You didn't give a fuck about any of us, you just reared us for the slaughter like everybody else. Sent us all to hell, one after the other. So just... Spare me."

-------------- Pain comes as a shock as much as the blow itself does. It shouldn’t, really. Bertholdt has always been the best fighter among them, second only to Annie; but four years are a long time, and it is the first time Marcel gets the chance to measure his friend’s new strength first-hand. It is the first time, too, that Bertholdt hits him with intent. There is an entire world of difference between sparring and self-defense, between disciplined exercise and survival. He had just never thought he would be the one Bertholdt would have to defend himself against. 

It packs a punch, that realisation. Bertholdt recoils under his touch, kicks and seethes like a feral animal, and perhaps it is his fault. Perhaps he clings onto something that is no longer there, something he can no longer provide, a role he has outgrown years ago while failing to tailor himself a new one. For four years he has been grasping at straws, holding onto shriveled ropes tied to broken masts to keep a sinking ship going. 

In just a few chosen words, Bertholdt makes all the ropes snap at the same time.

The world opens up and collapses under his feet. The abyss swallows him whole but bites him at the nape right before he gets to the bottom. Half of him sinks at vertiginous speed while the other freezes in undescribable pain, remaining limbs twitching in excruciating agony. Marcel’s body is always in movement, restless, alive, but in this instant, he is completely paralysed. You didn’t give a fuck. Bertholdt might as well have punched a hole through his chest with his bare fist and torn his heart out of its rotten altar. 

What is there left, once somebody does that to you? Sideration, first. Marcel looks inwards, and sees the gaping hole, the echo chamber in which Bertholdt’s accusation reverberates in infinite loops. And then? Then there is the bile, bleeding from where a fist squeezes and twists while the rest of the condemnation settles. Sorry, what? He did what? Bertholdt has his arm halfway through his chest already and keeps pushing and drawing blood; how else would Marcel explain the ferric taste in his mouth? You reared us for the slaughter, he says, like everybody else, he says, sent us all to hell, he says. Amber eyes widen under the violence of the blow. You, you, you. Marcel was once part of an us. Today, Bertholdt boots him out. From you and us, to you and them. From comrade and brother to oppressor and executioner.

Marcel searches for his own breath and cannot find it. His lungs have caved in on themselves, and the colour draining from his face washes off in one cold, deadly wave. He does not bend, but he sways. And when the second wave hits, when it comes crashing down with the force of a hurricane, he very nearly breaks. Even his back cannot withstand this much guilt, shame, and anger.

He doesn’t deserve that. Indignation, denial is his first instinct, virulent, swift and sharp as a child screaming out in injustice. He had done his best, hadn’t he? He was thirteen, and put in charge of a suicide squad, and he had done his best - and it turned out his best had not been good enough, but dammit, he had tried. Five years (five years!!) leading a hopeless charge without any of them questioning his decisions, without any of them questioning his position. I never heard any of you three volunteer to take the job, did I? He almost says it; the words dancing on the edge of his lips, on the tip of his tongue like acidic poison, but he keeps them in. Swallows them back, forces them down his own throat, because he heard himself say the words in his mind, and the sound of it birthes a sickening pull in his stomach. He had done his best. He had kept the mission in mind. And all it had amounted to had been four years of hell for Bertholdt and Annie gone missing entirely. Not to mention Reiner -- his very own original sin. He supposes this is part of what Bertholdt is referring to. Who would ever trust someone willing to put a friend’s head on the chopping block to save that of his brother’s? 

Apparently, three desperate children with no other option, who had not wanted to take any other option, and had kept their fears neatly locked away until the rot comes pouring out. Maybe he does deserve that. He forbids himself to think he’s not the only one.

Marcel stands there, split open. Blood beating at his temples, heart thumping in his chest like a madman banging his head against the walls of his cell. 

“I’m sorry I overstepped my boundaries, Bertholdt. I truly am.” Never in his life has Marcel tried so hard to control his own voice; but it leaks though gaping cracks, the simmering magma, the contained savagery trapped in his nape rearing its ugly head everytime its host is under attack -- regardless of where or whom the attack comes from. He has to hold it back, keep it in a chokehold. He would rather suffocate and die on his own rage and ache, than break form of his own immutable, withering, decaying stance.

Marcel’s only salvation, at this moment, is being, perhaps, more stubborn than the young man in front of him, than the open wound Bertholdt has become, determined to set him on fire.

“I’ll spare you the bedside nurse if you want me to, but try as you might, you won’t make me give up on you. Not again.” Once, they had been friends. Brothers. All care, consideration, attention and affection. Have they been stripped of it all entirely? They are both furious dogs unleashed, sinking their claws and teeth into each other until one of them bleeds out; Bertholdt bites to hurt and shake him off. Marcel bites to not let go. He is sorry - he doesn’t know how.

[pickalilywrites]

Third chapter is up ^^

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How to Get a Job

EreJean. Zombie Detective AU.

12752 words.

Read on Ao3!

Waking up and finding out that he was a zombie is hands down the most surprising thing Eren has ever experienced after a good night’s sleep. (Although, according to Armin’s calculations, Eren was asleep for far longer than just one night. It was probably something closer to a year.) The second most surprising thing that has ever happened to Eren after waking up is cracking his eyes wide open after hearing a blood-curdling scream and, after flailing around in his (re: Jean’s) blankets and rolling off the couch and onto the floor with a loud thud, seeing Jean’s mother standing in the doorway looking as if she’s about to faint. Eren can only stare back at her, his jaw hanging slack until Jean’s bedroom door opens with a bang and the brunet stumbles out, eyes screwing shut at the sunlight flooding through the open door.

“What the fuck …?” Jean mumbles, clinging onto the door frame because he’s barely awake enough to keep himself upright. He rubs at his face and looks at the silhouette in his open door, eyes widening as he begins to wake up and recognize his mother. It’s like a slow-motion movie watching Jean’s face go from drowsy to confused to realization and, finally, horror as he slowly turns his head to where his mother is looking. His wide eyes rest on Eren, his mouth open as if he’s about to offer his mother an explanation he doesn’t have.

“Jean Kirstein!” cries Mrs. Kirstein, her voice shrill. Eren hadn’t heard her yell like that in a while. She typically used that voice whenever Jean was about to get an earful. It was a lot more common to hear her yell at Jean when he and Eren were younger and picking fights with each other, often requiring their mothers to come collect them in the office for disrupting the classroom. In later years, it was usually because Jean and Eren were getting up to some kind of trouble together, but Eren hasn’t heard her yell at Jean like that since at least high school.

It’s enough of a wake-up call for Eren to sit up and, after a quick hiss of “What the fuck are you still doing here?” from Jean, scramble towards the bathroom on all fours, keeping his head down as much as possible so that Mrs. Kirstein can’t see his face. After nearly slamming his head into the doorframe and successfully making it to the bathroom, Eren thinks he’s escaped without being recognized only to have his heart drop when he overhears Mrs. Kirstein ask, “Was that Eren Jaeger?” just as he shuts the bathroom door behind him. He really thought that they’d be able to keep his zombie secret safe for at least a few days, but they’ve barely made it 24 hours before someone else has stumbled onto their secret. They’re terrible at this.

Eren rests with his back against the bathroom door, sliding down onto the floor with a groan. He has a little hope that everything will turn out fine. After all, Mrs. Kirstein sounded like she was in shock as if she couldn’t believe that it could possibly be Eren Jaeger, one of her son’s childhood friend’s who had mysteriously disappeared for an entire year, sleeping on Jean’s couch. Jean could lie to his mom and tell her that she was mistaken. It couldn’t be Eren because nobody’s seen him since the night he disappeared on the mountain. He probably left for the city, went undercover, or fell off the face of the earth. That guy that she had just seen slink off to the bathroom was, despite having the same build and physical characteristics that Eren had, absolutely not Eren Jaeger and was just a random hookup from outside of town.

“That’s Eren Jaeger,” comes Jean's muffled answer from behind the door and Eren just groans even louder, not bothering to hide the fact that he’s disappointed with Jean’s answer. Stupid Jean and his stupid love for his mother that prevents him from lying to her even a little bit. Eren would text this to the group chat right now but he had forgotten Jean’s phone on the coffee table while he was scrambling to make his escape.

Eren doesn’t even have to crack open the bathroom door to know what’s going on. He can see it perfectly: Jean’s mother is standing by the door, her arms folded across her chest while her foot taps impatiently as she waits for Jean to explain further. Her mouth is set in that way it always is when she’s displeased with Jean and Jean is hanging his head, hands nervously held together behind his back.

“And tell me what Eren Jaeger, who Carla hasn’t seen in over a year, is doing in your apartment instead of telling his mother he’s come home?” Jean’s mother asks.

“He just … came back the other day. He was in really bad shape, Mom,” Jean says. He probably doesn’t realize the way he’s whining the way he does when he’s explaining things to his mother. It’s the same voice he used when he was trying to tell his mom why exactly he and Eren had been caught stealing snacks from the teacher’s lounge and selling them to their classmates. (“The snacks in the vending machines suck, Mom!”)

“Do you know how worried his mother is about him? She still cries about him every night,” Mrs. Kirstein snaps. She’s not even speaking to Eren, but her harsh tone still cuts against him and her words cause the zombie to wring his hands together, guilt beginning to bite away at his skin. “Have either of you even called his mother?”

“Well, no, not yet,” Jean mumbles. He’s probably scratching at the back of his neck, feet kicking at the carpet. “We’ll tell her soon. He just needs some … time.”

There’s an audible sigh from the other side of the door and even Eren winces. Mrs. Kirstein letting out a displeased sigh is never a good sign. Maybe he should go out there and help Jean. Eren stands up and is about to turn the handle of the bathroom door when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He’s all sickly pale skin, veins of blue and purple, and gross, watery eyes. He flinches involuntarily at his own reflection and sinks back onto the hard tile floor. No, it’d be better to just stay here. Going out there and giving Mrs. Kirstein a good look at him in this state would only make things worse.

“I know you’re trying to be a good friend, Jean, but keeping something like this from Carla … if I were in her shoes, I’d be completely heartbroken,” says Mrs. Kirstein. “Armin wouldn’t have done this. Annie wouldn’t have either, and neither would Reiner. Why would you lie for him like this?”

“Mom, I …” There’s silence on the other side and a feeling of dread begins to prickle across Eren’s skin. He knows Jean’s probably approaching his mom slowly, cautiously, and placing his hands on her shoulders. Jean’s looking into his mother’s eyes and opening his mouth to say something very, very stupid. Eren just knows. He can feel it in his bones. When you know someone as long as Eren has known Jean Kirstein, you just know these things.

“I’m in love with him.”

Eren sits up so suddenly that the back of his head smacks into the bathroom door with a large bang! Whimpering, he rubs at a spot on his head that’s currently throbbing. His hand doesn’t come away with any blood, but it still really fucking hurts.

“I just … seeing him at my apartment in the middle of the night in his state … It just made me want to protect him. He was really upset, Mom,” Jean continues, somehow able to go on without stumbling over his words. The more lies he spews out, the more Eren wants to bang his head against the wall. “I was just so focused on making sure he was okay, I wasn’t thinking of anything else.”

There’s another sigh from Mrs. Kistein, but it’s not disappointed, just tired.

“I promise that we’ll tell her soon, Mom, just … give us a little time,” says Jean.

Sitting in the bathroom, Eren sits with his head between his knees as he tries to remember how to breathe. This is terrible. There’s absolutely no way that Mrs. Kistein is going to believe anything Jean is saying because none of it makes any fucking sense. She’s going to throw open the bathroom door and drag Eren out by the hair to apologize to his mother for being such a bad son. Then she’s going to realize that something’s not quite right with him and see that Eren’s not just back, but he’s also a zombie and then he and Jean are going to get lectured for putting the entire town in such a dangerous situation by allowing a zombie to live here. (“I know he’s your friend, Jean, but this is incredibly dangerous and irresponsible!” Eren can imagine Mrs. Kirstein saying before she bludgeons her son’s childhood friend to death with a frying pan to get rid of the threat to humanity.) He’s not quite sure where this falls in the list of offenses that Jean and Eren have committed together throughout their youth, but he’s pretty sure it’s up there.

“... Alright,” Mrs. Kirstein says to Eren’s surprise. “But get it done as soon as possible, or else I’ll be the one telling Carla where her son is.”

Jean lets out a sigh of relief at the same time Eren does on the other side of the door. “Thanks, Mom,” Jean says. He’s probably hugging his mom right now, thanking her for being so understanding.

Eren doesn’t hear much more of the conversation; Mrs. Kirstein’s voice doesn’t pass through wood as easily when she’s not exasperatedly lecturing her son and Jean’s low tones are difficult to detect, especially when he’s speaking more calmly. When Mrs. Kirstein finally leaves (making sure to tell her son to eat all the food she’s made him and drop off the Tupperware when he’s done), Eren slowly inches out of the bathroom with a miserable expression on his face.

“I can’t believe you told your mom you were in love with me,” he sniffs.

“Oh, shut up,” Jean says with a roll of his eyes. He checks the contents of one of the Tupperware containers and nods appreciatively at the spätzle and rouladen sitting inside. “It’s better than telling her you’re a zombie, isn’t it?”

“Why couldn’t you have just told her that it wasn’t me?” Eren mumbles. He shuffles out of the bathroom, ruffling his messy bedhead with a frown. “You could have just said it was a random hookup.”

Jean shakes his head. “She knows you way too well. She even recognized you only after getting a glimpse. We’re lucky she didn’t get a good look at you though. I don’t know what I would have done if she realized you were a zombie,” Jean says as he starts putting the Tupperware in the fridge. One of the containers — the one that held the spätzle and rouladen — gets left behind, probably to serve as Jean’s breakfast. “Besides, I can’t lie to my mom. It’s just impossible.”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re such a momma’s boy,” the zombie mutters under his breath as he shuffles over to Jean’s dining table and slumps into one of the chairs. “Why does your mom have a key to your apartment anyway?”

“‘Cause I’m a momma’s boy,” Jean answers shamelessly. Years ago when he and Eren were still in grade school, Jean had punched Eren in the face for calling Jean the very same thing. The two of them ended up in the nurse’s office, Jean with a bloody nose and Eren with a black eye. Jean has since accepted the title without any shame in the following years. “She comes by in the middle of the week and on the weekends to drop off food. It worries her a little less to know that I’m eating her food every week and not just sticking my hand in a cereal box every time I need a meal.”

“Hm,” Eren hums.

He watches Jean for a moment, observing how the thin cotton of his friend’s shirt clings to his broad shoulders and wondering how much muscle Jean’s packed on since Eren last saw him, and then rubs at his face, hard. It’s way too early to be having these thoughts about Jean in the morning. He’s still rubbing at his eyes when he hears a soft clink and opens his eyes to find a plate of pork belly sitting in front of him, the cut of meat shining with grease. Back in college, Eren tried to avoid fat and sugar as much as he could, but all he can think about now is sinking his teeth into that juicy pork belly and feel that thin film of grease coat his lips.

“Eat up,” Jean says, gesturing at the plate of meat in front of Eren. Eren’s about to do just that when Jean tuts and shoots a warning glare at Eren. “With your silverware.”

“Ah.” Eren’s hands, raised in midair, clench into fists before unclenching and wrapping around the cold, metal utensils Jean had provided. He wants to say something about how using a fork and knife really detracts from the experience of eating meat, but he’s sure that Jean would only scoff and bring up the deal they had made yesterday. Eren just eats the pork, the meat extra chewy from the excess fat but still rich in flavor. Jean doesn’t say anything when Eren involuntarily lets out an obscene moan, just rolls his eyes.

Jean settles across the table from Eren with a freshly microwaved container of egg noodles and sausage. If Eren were human, he might have asked for a bite. The sausages — succulent strips of bacon, sweet onions sliced up, and tangy pickles all wrapped up in thin slices of beef and covered in a savory gravy — were one of Eren’s favorite dishes from the Kirstein household, but now Eren wrinkles his nose at the scent of it. It seems so dull compared to a raw slice of meat. He doesn’t know how he was able to stomach it when he was a human.

“We should probably let Armin and the others know,” Jean says with a mouth full of sausage. “It’s a little disadvantageous now that everyone in town is going to know you’re back, but it’s kind of inevitable with everything that just happened.”

Eren frowns as he cuts another chunk of pork belly. “We should probably message the group chat.”

“Mm, you’re right,” Jean hums. He helps himself to another spoonful of his breakfast before getting up to collect his phone. He taps away absentmindedly, notifying the members of the group chat about how their plans have hit something of a speedbump. When it’s sent, he looks up at Eren and asks, “Hey, do you think you can get a job here now that people are going to find out that you’re back?”

Eren almost chokes on his food. “You never said anything about that when you told me I could live here!” he coughs, pounding on his chest to get the lump of meat in his throat unstuck. He gets it down after a few swallows, but it still feels like there’s a lump in his throat. Maybe it’s just the guilt of freeloading off his friend. “You really want me to get a job?”

Jean just shrugs. “It’s expensive buying so much meat all the time,” he replies, but he returns to his phone. He types something else on it before slipping his phone in his back pocket and returns to his seat at the dining table. “We can figure it out later.”

Eren grumbles and returns to his pork belly. It doesn’t taste as good as he thought it was earlier. It just tastes weird and rubbery like a leather shoe. He shovels the rest of it in his mouth impatiently. It’s bad enough that Eren has to deal with being a zombie, but now he has to think about finding a job on top of that. Sometimes Eren wishes he had just stayed dead.

-------------------

The two meet with the rest of the Zombie Investigation Squad in the basement of Hanji’s bookshop during their lunch breaks. Eren had spent most of the morning skimming through the rest of the books that Armin had assigned him yesterday, although he didn’t get much out of it. In between books and articles, he mentally drafted an apology for his mother when he eventually saw her. He’s not sure how much help it would be. Eren probably wouldn’t be able to get a word out before his mother collapsed on the floor and started sobbing about what a terrible son he was for disappearing for an entire year without any note.

With a sigh, Eren slaps his notes on the table. They’re written on stray paper torn out from one of Jean’s sketchbooks. His messy scrawl is barely legible and the notes are probably insubstantial, especially compared to the thick binders of notes Annie and Armin have typed up, but it’s a lot better than what Jean brought.

“You didn’t even bring any of the books that you thought were helpful?” Annie asks with a raised eyebrow, but she sounds far from surprised. Jean was just as bad as Eren at writing reports.

“I … forgot them at home?” Jean says unconvincingly.

“You didn’t even crack them open, did you?” Reiner snickers. The blond dodges a swipe from Jean, who scowls at him.

“It’s fine. I covered Jean and Eren’s reading just in case,” Armin says distractedly as both Jean and Eren make indignant noises. He nibbles on one of the chocolate croissants that Jean had picked up from the café, not noticing the little flakes that are falling on his lap. The councilman flips through one of his notebooks and stops on a page with a lot of different colored lines looping everywhere, connecting different cutouts of sighted zombies and missing persons over the past year. Judging from the dark circles under his eyes, Armin had stayed up the entire night making this. “It looks like none of the victims are connected but they’ve all shared physical characteristics listed on missing persons notices about tourists. Eren seems to be the only case of someone from town going missing and being turned into a zombie.”

“Lucky you, Eren,” says Reiner. “You’re the first person from our town to come back as a zombie!”

Eren only wrinkles his nose in response.

“I think we should stop looking at anything caused by disease,” Annie says and Armin nods in agreement. She plucks a donut from the bag in the center of the room and takes a generous bite, sugar coating her lips. Jean hadn’t said that the bag of donuts belonged to Annie, but he didn’t have to. The donuts always belonged to Annie and Annie only. “Disease seems a little too hard to control. Fungi and parasites seem a lot more likely. It’s stuff that someone can manage and use to reanimate people. I’m still having difficulty finding something that would cause zombification in a person though.”

Armin nods and jots something down in his notebook, taking notes as if this is a high school club and they have to submit meeting minutes at the end of the week. Eren’s still busy frowning at Armin when the councilman lifts his head up and asks the zombie, “Did you find anything interesting in your literature search?”

“Uh,” Eren says, mind drawing a blank. He tries to recall every smidge of information that he read earlier this morning on bokor and vodou traditions. There was an interesting story about a man that had claimed to be a zombie. Was his name Narcissus? It was an unusual name. Eren doesn’t remember if he bothered to write it down. “Um, I think there was this guy … mentioned something about being turned into a zombie? Something about being given a weird concoction. Narcissus or something, I think was his name.”

“Clairvius Narcisse,” Armin nods. Eren is surprised by his friend’s abundant knowledge on zombies until he remembers that Armin had read the same books he had last night, so he just feels kind of incompetent instead. Beside Eren, Armin clicks his pen and continues, “Yeah, I was looking into that. It might be that whoever turned you into a zombie is borrowing from the zombification rituals in Haitian vodou. I mean, they strangled you instead of using a concoction of drugs to kill you, but maybe they used a cocktail to bring you back to life?”

Eren wonders if Armin’s theory is any better than anything Annie had suggested. On one hand, it’s a lot more pleasant to think that his second life was because of an intricate mix of drugs instead of some kind of fungi or parasite fucking with his brain. On the other hand, the former would mean that some asshole is running around murdering people and intentionally bringing them back as zombies. At least Annie’s hypothesis brought forth the possibility that his zombification was an accident and that it was only a simple serial killer running around.

Reiner leans forward, blue eyes blinking curiously at Eren. “Right, your bruises. Can we get a look at them up close?” the schoolteacher asks, tugging at his own scarf. “It’d give us a better idea of the kind of hands we’re looking for.”

The zombie’s hands fly to his scarf, fingers hooked reluctantly around the soft wool. He was always shy about showing off his body ever since he became a zombie, but somehow letting his friends take a look at the bruises on his neck is even more embarrassing. “I’m not really sure how much it’ll help,” Eren mumbles, rubbing the scarf between his fingers. He looks up nervously at his friends who only watch him fidget in his seat. When Eren’s eyes land on Jean’s, the makeup artist gives Eren the subtlest nod of his head and the zombie feels himself relax just a little bit. Taking a deep breath, Eren pulls at the scarf and lets it slip off his neck and into his nap. He closes his eyes, not wanting to see the expression on their faces when their eyes settle on the purple markings decorating his neck.

“Whoa,” he hears Armin breathe as Reiner gives a low whistle.

“Eren cracks open an eye and sees his friends, all of them except Jean, staring at him like he’s a rare specimen at the zoo. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his hands twisting nervously at his scarf. “Are you guys done looking yet?”

Jean motions for Eren to put the scarf back on, which a thankful Eren does as quickly as possible. “The hands are a lot thicker than mine,” Jean says to the rest of the group. He holds out his hand, an artist’s hand, his fingers all nice and long and elegant.

“And whoever did it must have been strong,” Annie murmurs. She holds her hands out and wraps them around an imaginary throat. Her hands squeeze and Eren can’t help but feel shivers run down his spine. “I mean, they did knock Eren out beforehand, but depriving someone of oxygen long enough that they die takes a lot of hand strength.”

“Speaking from experience?” Reiner asks cheekily.

Annie flips him off without a glance.

The schoolteacher sits back in his seat and plays with the pen in front of him, rolling it back and forth on the wooden table. “So what are we going to do?” Reiner asks. “Just ask to hold everyone’s hand until we find someone with hands that are the same shape as the killer’s?”

“If only we could do that without arousing suspicion,” Armin sighs. He sits up, clearing his throat. “No, but we’re going to have to be very observant about people’s hands from now on. And their strength too, like Annie said, although that’s going to be harder to determine from a glance. Of course, it also helps that word is going to spread about Eren’s return.”

Eren’s about to apologize when he realizes what Armin’s said. “Wait, did you just say it was helpful that people are going to know I’m back?” he asks. Across the table, Jean is looking equally perplexed.

“Yeah. I mean, it would have been nice to keep it under wraps for a few more days so we could really plan this out, but if the murderer is around, they’ll definitely be more than surprised to see you,” Armin explains.

Annie is a little less optimistic. “Let’s just hope whoever killed you isn’t a good actor,” she says. Despite all the talk of zombies and murderers, Annie still manages to have the appetite for yet another powdered donut. Eren doesn’t know how she does it. His stomach is churning just thinking about a murderer running around such a friendly, quaint town like Shiganshina.

“We should have Eren close by at all times just in case the killer decides to strike again and get rid of the evidence,” Armin continues. He gestures at Eren, a.k.a. “the evidence.” Being referred to as such makes Eren feel a little weird, but the others don’t so much as bat an eye. “It’s a good thing Jean made it seem like he’s in love with Eren because then Eren doesn’t have to return home and live with his mom. That was really quick thinking, Jean. I don’t think I would have thought of that.” The others either moan or groan or giggle and Armin looks up, startled. Eyebrows furrowed, he asks, “What?”

“Can we not talk about that?” Jean mumbles as he rubs at his face, skin perfectly squishy and elastic at the same time. Eren really wants to pinch the man’s cheek, rip a piece right off, and pop it into his mouth like bubblegum. “It was … a moment of panic.”

“It makes sense though,” Reiner says. He pushes himself off the table so that he’s balancing haphazardly on the back legs of his chair. “The two of you are like … childhood assholes to lovers trope.” Reiner grins at them.

“Isn’t it ‘childhood friends’?” a confused Armin asks, and Annie only shrugs.

“This isn’t your stupid fanfiction, Reiner,” Jean snaps, and Reiner gives an offended squawk in reply. He runs a hand through his soft brown hair and sighs. “So now my mom knows I’m in love with Eren and I have to continue living with him so that we can keep his zombie secret from his mom?”

“Well, it’s that or his mom finds out about Eren’s secret when he eats her alive,” Armin replies. Beside him, Eren makes a horrified noise and Armin looks at the zombie apologetically, mouthing a very sincere “sorry.” He clears his throat and continues, “Besides, it’s not like you’re really dating. You just have to pretend until we have this all figured out.”

“... Right,” Jean says. He’s clearly unhappy about the situation and slides down in his seat, arms folded across his chest as he looks everywhere except at Eren, which Eren finds kind of offensive. Jean’s the one who made everything worse by making it seem like they were dating, so why is he acting as if Eren’s made a mess?

Eren opens his mouth. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, but he wants to pick a fight with Jean. Maybe he’ll point out how most of this is Jean’s fault, or at least everything that happened after Eren came back is mostly Jean’s fault. Maybe he’ll tell everyone about how Jean couldn’t tell one measly lie to his mother. Maybe he’ll just tell Jean his hair is stupid. He barely gets Jean’s name out of his mouth when Reiner speaks first.

“You know, if it makes you feel any better, I already told Bertholdt about Eren and his … condition.” Reiner is sitting properly in his chair now, hands folded in his lap. The schoolteacher is looking ironically like a student confessing to a minor crime, completely distraught and genuinely sorry. The others just look at him, expressions relatively unchanged.

“We know,” they chorus.

“Oh, thank god,” Reiner sighs, relaxing against his chair. He turns to Eren. “Sorry, Eren. I really wanted to keep your secret but Bertholdt -”

“- is the love of your life, we know,” Eren finishes for him with a sigh. He’s not even disappointed. It’s hard to be disappointed when you know something is inevitable. Bertholdt isn’t that talkative though, so he’s not that worried.

“Can we move onto actual problems? I don’t want to spend my entire lunch break listening to Reiner gush about how much he loves Bertholdt, ” Annie says. She ignores Reiner as he splutters indignantly, already listing reasons why she should be grateful to hear about how sweet and thoughtful and perfect Bertholdt is. Eren notices that the donut bag in front of Annie is now empty and she is now grumpily rubbing the powdered sugar off her fingers with a napkin.

“Okay, well, we should really focus on Eren’s reveal,” says Armin. He begins to scribble furiously in his notes, his handwriting neat even as his pen flies across the paper. “Eren, you should work on how you’re going to meet with your mother. I advise that you take Jean. It would make your relationship seem more genuine.” He ignores the flustered spluttering of the two idiots and continues to write. “Annie and Reiner and I will continue our literature search. I might take over vodou because it seems more pertinent to our particular case. And we should all take turns watching you.”

Here, the others begin to let their gazes stray. Annie, Reiner, and Jean's eyes are wandering around the room, their eyes intentionally avoiding Armin and Eren.

Eren sits up, miffed. “Why are all of you guys being weird?” he asks.

All three still refuse to look at him and Eren waves a gloved hand in front of Reiner’s face until the schoolteacher looks at him with a guilty look on his face. He starts to mumble a little bit, something about how it was unfair of Eren to single him out like this, before saying, “Well, it’s a little difficult for us to be watching you all of the time, you know? It’s unfair and inhumane of us to just lock you in Jean’s apartment for most of the day, but we kind of have full-time jobs. We don’t have the freedom to babysit you all day.”

“Babysit?” Eren parrots, completely offended. “What do you mean babysit?”

“You’re kind of a walking death trap,” Annie says, gesturing vaguely at Eren. This only makes Eren huff even more. “As Armin said, we all should take turns looking after you to make sure nothing happens but Reiner’s right. We don’t have the freedom to babysit you all day. Or at least most of us don’t.” Her eyes flicker towards Armin and soon everyone in the room is looking at the councilman.

“M-me?” Armin says, his pen falling out of his hand. He blinks, looking left and right. He’s completely bewildered. “You want me to look after Eren all the time?”

“Well, you’re in and out all of the time, and you could always make up something about going around town to help someone,” Jean points out. Reiner and Annie nod beside him. “The rest of us don’t have that kind of flexibility with our jobs.”

“B-but,” Armin falters. His arms flail at his sides hopelessly.

“You’re not scared of Eren are you?” Reiner asks. He ignores the frown deepening on Eren’s face and reaches out to touch Armin’s hand comfortingly. “Don’t be. Even if Eren did go on a hungry rampage and tried to eat you, you could probably take him down easily. My niece Gabi could shatter Eren’s kneecaps with a few good kicks.”

Reiner’s words are meant to be reassuring, but Eren only feels insulted. “Hey,” the zombie protests, but the teacher only waves him away.

“I mean, you guys are right, but I don’t like the idea of having to …” Armin gulps, not quite finishing his sentence. “I just hope worse doesn’t come to worst.”

Eren bites his lip, looking down at his hands. He’s thankful they’re gloved because he doesn’t think he can bear looking at the blue and purple veins that run underneath his thin, papery skin, serving as a reminder of the monster he had become against his will. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but his apology isn’t loud enough to be heard even in the quiet of the room.

There’s a loud screech as Annie’s chair drags against the wooden floor. Annie’s balling up the empty paper bag, collecting her things. “Well, since we’re done here, I’m going to look for more resources before I go back up. Hanji might come down here if they think I’m trying to avoid talking to customers again.” Annie brushes some crumbs off the table. “You guys are welcome to stay, but I think Reiner’s next kindergarten class starts soon.”

Reiner glances at his watch. “Ah, shit, you’re right,” he frowns.

“Wait, we’re not going to talk anymore?” Eren asks as both Reiner and Jean begin to shrug on their coats. Annie is already walking away from the table, tossing her paper bag into the recycling bin near the foot of the stairs.

“Why would we need to talk more? We’re out of donuts,” Annie says. She pauses for a moment, thinking, and then adds, “And things to talk about.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jean says. He pats Eren on the shoulder. “Just focus on what you’re going to say to your mom.” To Armin, he asks, “You’re fine with babysitting the zombie?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Armin sighs. He gives an offended Eren a weary smile. “Anything else you have concerns about, Eren?”

Around them, the rest begin to move on. Annie is already behind another shelf, flipping through more books and scanning their contents like the world’s fastest speedreader. Jean and Reiner are heading up the stairs together, Reiner talking Jean’s ear off about something cute Bertholdt did last night. Only Eren and Armin remain seated at the table, the latter collecting his notes and tucking them neatly away in his bottomless messenger bag.

Eren tugs at his earlobe awkwardly. “Well,” he says reluctantly, not sure how to ask his question. “I was wondering if you knew how I could get a job.”

“Oh.” Armin stops what he’s doing and looks up at Eren, his mouth in a perfect “O.” It’s clear that he hadn’t expected this question and, despite being one of the most prepared people Eren has ever met, has absolutely no idea how to approach this problem. Still, he squares his jaw and smiles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

-------------------

If Eren had thought finding a job as a human was difficult, then finding a job as a zombie is practically impossible. He had run through his options with Armin and there weren’t a lot of them after they filtered out jobs that required him to be around people for long periods of time. Although Eren was discouraged, Armin assured him that they’d find something for him eventually. Besides, they didn’t have the proper identification materials that Eren would need when he finally did manage to get a job.

“I’ll think of something,” Armin says, putting a comforting hand on Eren’s shoulder. “It’s only a matter of time. Meanwhile, you should consider the newspaper delivery job I talked about. I heard Colt was thinking of dropping it after getting his barista job.”

Eren wrinkles his nose. “You seriously want me to consider a job Colt could do? I’d rather just let another high schooler do it. I have a degree, Armin! I shouldn’t be delivering papers!”

Armin pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Eren, you died. You shouldn’t be walking around at all, much less finding a job to pay your rent with Jean,” Armin points out. He shakes his head. “I mean, I’ll still look into it, but it’s hard to find remote work here or any other kind of job that allows you to work outside of an office.”

Eren knows Armin’s right, but that doesn’t prevent him from feeling disappointed. He rubs the back of his head and sighs. “Thanks for everything so far. I know you don’t like missing work,” Eren says. He puts on a smile and asks, “You should probably get back to town hall. I don’t want your work to pile up because of me. I’m already causing you enough trouble as it is.”

“It’s fine, you’re no bother,” Armin insists. He pauses for a moment, studying Eren. “Are you going to be alright walking home by yourself? You won’t …?” He looks worried, not finishing his sentence but Eren already knows what Armin’s asking.

Eren shakes his head. “No, I’ll be … fine. Being with you guys helps with the cravings, I think, at least a little bit. And I’m pretty sure if I do end up attacking anyone, they can fight me off pretty easily,” Eren says. He doesn’t like the idea of being killed, but he’d rather die than eat someone. “Reiner was telling me earlier that Gabi could probably squash my head in with her plastic fire truck if she wanted to.” He believes Reiner, too. Gabi might only be five, but she was the most ruthless five-year-old that Eren has ever met.

Armin chuckles. “Alright then,” he says, giving Eren another pat on the back. “Let me know if you need anything. You still have Jean’s phone?”

Eren nods. Jean had given it to him, saying that it would be more useful for the zombie to have it in case he needed to contact any of the others. Eren was only borrowing it temporarily until Jean could purchase another one for the zombie to use exclusively.

“Great,” Armin smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” The councilman gives Eren an awkward wave before departing, heading in the direction of town hall. Eren watches his best friend until Armin disappears around a corner and he can see him no longer.

Closing his eyes, Eren breathes deeply in through his nose and lets out his warm breath in a cloud of smoke. He’s not looking forward to the rest of the day. He has the readings and notes from Armin to go through, but he knows he’s just going to let them sit in his backpack until 2 AM before he actually looks at them. Eren pulls his scarf over his mouth and shuffles down the street, walking as slowly as possible back to Jean’s apartment.

The zombie keeps his head down and his back hunched, trying his best to walk in a manner that others won’t recognize. If Jean’s mom can figure out who he is just from looking at him from behind, others certainly can as well. Eren’s not sure if he can manage lying about his real identity to so many people at one time.

Still, he can’t help his wandering eyes as he looks up and down the unchanged streets. Every shop is just as it was a year ago, the same people coming in and going about their usual business while Eren walked by without them noticing. Every once and a while he would see an unfamiliar face, but that was normal too. Tourists always came and went. Really, it’s like nothing at all had changed since Eren had left except for the fact that he was a zombie and could no longer interact freely with everyone.

He sighs again and continues on his path, making himself as small as possible so that he doesn’t bump into any pedestrians. Every now and again a passerby will try and peer up at his face as he walks past, but Eren keeps everything but his eyes visible so as to not be recognized, and the curious pedestrian will always shrug and go about their way.

Eren nearly passes by the news station, but he stops himself and turns to look at the building. It was the only news station in town because, well, not much happened in this small town and zombies were old news that they hardly needed to talk about. Back when Eren had first returned from the city, his mother had tried to talk him into looking for a job at the news station. After all, he had a degree in journalism (a useless degree that he oftentimes regretted obtaining after he failed to find a job in the city), so it only made sense. His pride wouldn’t let him consider it, however, because small-town news wasn’t the type of news that Eren wanted to write about. He wanted to write about corporate corruption in the big city, political scandals, and law enforcement taking brides, not about how a kid from the local high schooler had won the district spelling bee and would be traveling to the next town over to compete with their peers who had done the same. However, after everything that has happened to him recently, Eren thinks he wouldn’t mind writing a line or two about a kid who successfully spelled “vivisepulture.”

Eren’s too busy staring at the news building to notice that a woman had walked out and was looking curiously at him.

“Excuse me,” she says, startling him from his thoughts. When he turns to look at her, he realizes that he’s never seen her before. He’d be tempted to say that it’s because she’s a tourist, but the badge hanging around her neck clearly states her name as “Mikasa Ackerman,” a field journalist for the paper.

“Ah, um, hello,” Eren says, making his voice lower than its typical timbre. He feels ridiculous right after because he’s never met this woman before so there’s no way that she’d be able to recognize his voice. That and the fact that his disguised voice sounds like he’s trying to do a poor imitation of Christian Bale’s Batman. Embarrassed, Eren clears his throat and tries again. “Hello.”

The woman looks at him, narrowing her gray eyes as she does so. It’s as if she’s trying to recall where she had seen Eren before even though Eren’s certain he’s never met this woman before in his life. He would have remembered a face like hers: heart-shaped with stormy gray eyes and full pink lips. She wears a knitted cap, but locks of her thick, dark hair peek out from it, black like ink. She looks about his age, so she must have moved her during the year Eren had gone missing. Even if he didn’t hang out with everyone in his age group, he at least knew everyone and Eren definitely would have remembered a face like hers.

The woman realizes she’s been staring and backs away, expression apologetic. “Sorry about that. I just thought you seemed a little familiar,” she says with a smile. The woman holds out a gloved hand for Eren to shake. “I’m Mikasa Ackerman.”

“I’m Er-” Eren stops himself from revealing his full name. Mikasa gives him a funny look and Eren fakes a coughing fit to distract her, pounding at his chest to make it look more authentic. After what he feels is an appropriate amount of time, Eren straightens his back and tries again. “I’m, ah, Er…”

The reporter raises an eyebrow. “Er?” she repeats and then points vaguely at the sky, waving her finger in a circle. “Like … air?”

“Um, yes,” Eren says. God, he’s so bad at lying. He wonders if he was always bad at lying or if it’s just harder to lie when you’re hiding the fact that you’re a zombie. It might also be karma for judging Jean for being such a bad liar to Mrs. Kirstein earlier this morning. He’ll have to apologize to Jean later. Without thinking, Eren explains. “It’s short for Ariel. But people just call me ‘Ar.’ My, um, parents were huge fans of The Little Mermaid.”

Eren immediately wants to smack himself in the face for saying something so stupidly unbelievable, but he resists if only because doing so will make it blatantly obvious that he’s lying out of his ass.

“Oh,” says Mikasa, looking more confused than ever. “That’s … unusual. But it’s a pretty name.” When it’s clear that Eren isn’t going to shake her hand, she lets it fall to her side and Eren notices the weapon hanging from her waist and is taken aback.

“Is that … a sword?” Eren asks, pointing at the thing dangling at the woman’s hip.

“Hm? Ah,” Mikasa says as she looks down. With a smile, she pats the weapon around her hip as if it holds fond memories for her. Eren hopes that the fond memories don’t include beheading zombies. “It’s a katana passed down from my mother. I grew up in the city, so I didn’t think I’d be needing this. I ended up moving here anyway and my parents gave me this to protect myself because of the whole zombie problem.”

Eren’s eyes are fixed on the thin blade, noticing that it’s different in shape than a traditional sword. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone bring a sword, katana or not, to protect themselves. “It’s pretty … unconventional compared to other weapons,” Eren says.

The reporter shrugs. “Yeah. My family’s been in the business of killing monsters for quite some time though and they insist that weapons like these are far better than more traditional ones,” Mikasa says with a little laugh. She pats the hilt of her katana, smiling. “It’s kind of a bitch to clean after I use it, but it’s pretty effective since my cousin reminds me to sharpen it after each use.”

“O-oh. So you sharpen it every night,” Eren laughs nervously. He rubs at his neck, imagining the blade slicing him cleanly like a hot knife through butter. He gulps.

“It doesn’t take that long,” says Mikasa with a shrug, not at all noticing the zombie’s nervousness. She looks back up at him and clasps her hands together as if she just remembered something. “Oh, but I was going to ask if you needed something. You looked like you were about to go in.” Mikasa gestures towards the building.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Eren says, shaking his head furiously. He needs to find a way to escape the scary sword lady as quickly as possible. He bows his head gratefully, wondering if he should just before deciding it’s a terrible idea. She might chase after him. If she can slice zombies in half, she can definitely catch up to a runaway zombie. “I just … was looking for a job, but you guys probably aren’t hiring anyone anyway so I should probably be on my way -!” He tries to turn to leave but he doesn’t manage to take a step before Mikasa grabs him by the arm and yanks him back so forcefully that he almost falls on his ass.

“Did you say you were looking for a job?” Mikasa asks, whirling Eren around so that he faces her. She’s grinning from ear to ear excitedly and Eren’s so surprised that he just nods without thinking. “Oh, that’s so great. I’ve been looking for a partner for ages, but nobody ever wants to work with me.”

“Er, what’s your work?” Eren asks, wishing that Mikasa wouldn’t grip him so tightly. He can feel the way her fingers press against his arms even with the thick layers of clothing he wears.

“I work in the field, usually out in the mountains,” she tells him and Eren’s ears perk at the words “mountains.” If most of her work is in the mountains, that means she doesn’t typically see people outside of the occasional hiker. That’s something Eren might be able to work with even if it does mean he’ll be working with a katana-swinging news reporter who could probably kill him in the blink of an eye.

“Okay,” Eren says slowly. He pries Mikasa’s hands away from his arm. “I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”

“Alright, well,” Mikasa says, brushing a lock of jet black hair behind her ear. “It’s mainly, well, my seniors would call it ‘useless,’ but I think exploring the mountains is promising. I don’t know how much you know about the town so far, but it’s pretty well-known for its zombies. Other places, big cities and the like, don’t have nearly as many zombie appearances, but for some reason this small town does and I want to find out why. The people of this town want to leave it be, but I think it might be a big story if we can find a source.”

For some reason, Mikasa’s words are sounding awfully familiar.

“Unfortunately, it’s difficult for me to do the work alone,” Mikasa continues. “I’ve only been here a year and it’s dangerous to go into the mountains if you’re not familiar with them, especially at night. I’ve only been able to do work during the day, but I’ve been wanting to explore the mountains at night in case I’ve missed anything. With two people, it might be a lot safer …” Mikasa doesn’t finish speaking before Eren interrupts.

“I can help!” he blurts.

Mikasa blinks in surprise. “You can?”

“Yeah!” Eren says before he realizes that Mikasa believes he’s just recently moved here. He should probably backtrack and just offer to make her a map or something, but helping her might also mean getting more information about his current state. After all, Mikasa is looking into the same things as Eren and his friends. He should probably consult Armin or Jean about this, but he thinks they would agree that this is a golden opportunity. A job and the chance to further their research. “I … went hiking up and down this hill when I was just a tourist. I ended up liking this place so much that I moved here. I know these mountains like the back of my hand.” The fact that the last bit isn’t a lie helps ease Eren’s conscience.

“Oh, wow, that works out so well,” Mikasa says, eyebrows raised. Mumbling something that Eren can’t quite hear, the reporter fumbles for her purse and peruses through it. She finally manages to find her wallet, pulling it out and flipping it open so that she can pluck out a business card which she hands to Eren. “I’ll have to talk to my boss first, but I’m sure I can work something out. Call me on the number on that card and I’ll let you know the details when I have them.”

“Oh, that sounds … great,” Eren says. He was surprised by the katana, but he finds the business card even more surprising than the outdated weapon. Nobody in town ever carried around a business card because everyone knew each other. Mikasa must be on top of her shit, Eren thinks. He pockets her card in his back pocket and smiles at her, but his mouth remains mostly hidden behind his scarf so he’s not sure she even notices. “I’ll call you when I get home. This has been a pretty … productive conversation. It was nice meeting you, Mikasa.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I ran into you, Ar,” Mikasa says, and it takes Eren a minute to realize that she’s referring to him by the stupid disguise name he came up with. The reporter looks as if she’s about to bid him goodbye but she hesitates, narrowing her eyes at him like she did when she had first bumped into him. Tilting her head, she asks, “Are you sure we’ve never met before? Something about your face looks familiar. I swear I’ve seen you before. It’s something about this …” She gestures around her eyes.

Eren knows for certain that he’s never met Mikasa before today, but he’s still nervous about all her questions. He bites his lip and reminds himself that it’s impossible for Mikasa to have known him and tries to convince himself that he’s just being paranoid. “Yeah, I’m sure. I haven’t really talked to a lot of people here because I’ve just moved and spent most of my time unpacking. Today’s the first actual day I’ve walked around town.”

“Hm,” Mikasa says. She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she nods, seemingly accepting Eren’s explanation for now. With a shrug, she says, “Maybe you just have one of those faces.”

“Yeah, haha, I’ve been told that,” Eren says, going on laughing for an unusual amount of time. God, he wishes Jean were here so the makeup artist could slap the shit out of him for being such an obvious liar.

“Right, I should be on my way then,” Mikasa says. She doesn’t try to shake his hand anymore, which Eren’s grateful for, and instead gives a polite bow of her head. “Remember to call me. I’ll see you around, Ar.”

“See you,” Eren says, watching Mikasa walk off. As soon as she’s gone, he pulls out the business card, pinching the thick cardstock between his fingers. The card has a shiny red border around it and Mikasa’s name is written in the center in an elegant cursive. Underneath in smaller letters is her occupation followed by her contact information. It’s incredibly professional and far fancier than anything a field reporter from a small town would need. Still, Eren is impressed.

The zombie’s thumb runs over the letters of the reporter’s name, feeling each bump and groove of the letters underneath the pad of his thumb. He smiles to himself as he looks down at the card, feeling a little giddy. He can’t even imagine the look on Jean’s face when he tells the makeup artist about his great news.

-------------------

“That’s terrible news,” Jean says and has been saying for the past hour since Eren had told him about his meeting with Mikasa. It’s the exact opposite reaction that he had been expecting from Jean.

“I know, you’ve said that at least a million times since we’ve left the house, but you won’t explain why!” Eren huffs as he stomps behind Jean, sulking. In his fist is Mikasa’s business card, all crumpled up and bent after Jean had told him to forget about it. The zombie had thrown it in the trash in frustration the first time Jean had said it was a dumb idea to take the field reporting job, but Eren had dug it out of the wastebin and smoothed out the wrinkles after thinking about it for a bit. “I thought you would be happy for me. Armin and I talked it out and a job out in the open away from people would be perfect for .. for someone like me. I’d even be able to write!”

Jean runs his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends the way he usually does when he’s tired of arguing. “That’s not … the job isn’t the problem,” Jean says with a shake of his head. He looks so miserable that Eren almost feels bad for not letting up about the job at the news station.

“What is it then?”

The makeup artist hesitates as he decides whether or not he wants to give an answer. He sucks on his bottom lip for a moment, looking at Eren who hasn’t stopped glaring at him since they left the house. With a sigh, he finally replies, “It’s Mikasa.”

“Mikasa?” Eren wrinkles his nose. Mikasa’s only been in town for a year. Eren doesn’t know her that well, but she was pleasant enough this afternoon. It’s hard to imagine what the reporter could have done to make Jean feel so strongly against Eren working with her, especially since Jean isn’t the type to hold a grudge against people. “If it’s about me possibly putting her in danger -”

Jean shakes his head again. “I’m not worried about that. She’s the type that can fend for herself,” Jean says. He still doesn’t offer an explanation as to why Eren shouldn’t work with Mikasa though so the zombie tries again.

“Are you scared that I might let the truth about my ‘condition’ slip while I’m with her?” Eren asks.

Once more Jean shakes his head. “That’s not it either.” Jean sighs and runs his hand through his hair. His hair is beginning to look messier and messier the longer this conversation lasts. Eren would laugh at how funny it is to see a makeup artist with such tangled hair, but the current conversation is too frustrating for Eren to have any sense of humor.

“You can’t just not give me a reason,” Eren grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking at a pebble.

“I just don’t think you two would work well together, alright?” Jean snaps. Jean and Eren are always bickering, although it’s usually Eren that loses his temper first. What is it about Mikasa that’s making Jean so adamant that Eren not take this job?

The zombie looks curiously at his friend. “Did you and Mikasa … date by any chance?”

Jean’s head whips around to look at Eren so quickly that the zombie is surprised the man’s neck hadn’t snapped. “What? No!” Jean splutters, answering far too quickly for Eren to be convinced he’s telling the truth.

“Hm. You don’t sound very convincing. Maybe I should ask, Armin?” Eren raises his eyebrows and starts to reach for his pocket to pull out his phone, but Jean suddenly grabs for his wrist, stopping him. The zombie looks up in alarm.

“Don’t … please don’t do that,” Jean says, practically pleading. Normally Eren would just ignore him, call up Armin anyway and ask him why Jean’s acting so funny about a girl, but Jean looks sincerely distressed and Eren doesn’t want to aggravate him any further.

“... Fine,” Eren agrees and his hand falls to his side as Jean finally loosens his grip. The zombie puts his hand back in his pocket and looks up at the darkening sky, walking in silence beside Jean for a short while. “Do you want to talk about what we’re going to say to my mom then?”

After Mrs. Kirstein had given the boys an ultimatum to inform Eren’s mother about her son’s return this morning, Jean and Eren had decided that it would be best to get it over with as soon as possible. Eren suggested that they bring Armin. After all, his brain is better than both Jean and Eren’s combined, but Jean only shook his head.

“How often do you bring your best friend to explain why you’re dating your partner?” Jean asks, which is a very good point.

“I mean, never, but it was just a suggestion because, really, do either of us know what we’re doing?” Eren says. All his life he’s been bumbling around trying his best without any real clue about where he was going, but it’s only now that he feels like he has absolutely no idea. Armin probably doesn’t have this problem because he’s overly prepared for everything. Armin probably has a spreadsheet that tells him what to do in the case Eren becomes a zombie and his friend has to pretend to date him so that he can live at his house to avoid eating his mom when she’s asleep. Unfortunately, Eren could never be bothered with learning even the basics of Microsoft Excel so he can’t even hope to construct such a thing.

“We just tell her that you’re back, that we’re dating, and that you’ll be living with me but that you’ll come visit every once in a while.” Jean pauses for a moment to think about anything he’s forgotten. “Oh, and you should profusely apologize for worrying her to death.”

Eren scowls. It can’t be nearly that simple. “You make it sound easy,” he mumbles. “I don’t even know how you got your mom to buy it.”

“Why wouldn’t my mom buy it?”

The zombie wrinkles his nose as if it’s obvious. “I mean, it’s weird. You and I are like … well.” He doesn’t have words to describe what they are. It’s hard to explain their current state: a zombie and his talented makeup artist friend who has sworn to help him in honor of their 10+ year friendship. But even if Eren were a normal person, it’d still be weird. “It’s just weird.”

Jean raises his eyebrow as if he doesn’t quite understand what Eren is trying to say.

Eren sighs, tugging at the fold of his beanie. “We’re … friends.”

Jean puffs out his cheeks, cute and round and delectable like two ripe peaches. Thankfully, he breathes out and his cheeks are back to normal before Eren can think about leaning over and tearing his teeth into Jean’s face.

“Reiner and Bertholdt were friends before, too,” Jean points out. “It wasn’t weird for them.”

“Yeah, but that’s Reiner and Bertholdt. We’re nothing like them,” Eren says dismissively. Nobody was like them. It’s like the two were destined for each other, the way they circled one another before they had officially become an item. “Look, we could hardly stand to be in a room alone with each other without wanting to throw the other person out the window. How is anyone, let alone my mom, going to believe we want to be together in any capacity? It would be hard to convince my mom that I’d even want to room with you, and she knows better than anyone that I’d never want to date you.”

Jean’s face twitches like he’s mildly annoyed. “You’re so …” His voice trails off and he never says exactly what Eren is, only sighs and opens the gate to Eren’s house.

It looks the same as it always did: worn-down fence around a well-trimmed lawn, a two-story house with the white paint chipping off the sides, and the kitchen light on. Eren’s sure he’d be able to see his mother’s silhouette if he peered in, but the thought of seeing her makes his palms sweat and his throat dry so he keeps his eyes on the pavement, letting Jean lead the way to the front door.

Jean rings the doorbell and the familiar chime rings.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eren can see his mother’s familiar shadow stop and lean out the window. He knows his mother will see him soon, but Eren still ducks his head instinctively, hiding behind Jean’s broad back.

The door opens and Eren’s mother steps out. A part of Eren wants to peek over Jean’s shoulder just to see how his mother is. Has her hair streaked with more gray since he saw her last? Does she have another wrinkle or two in the year that he’s been gone? Will he be able to see how much his disappearance has taken a toll on her just from a glance?

“Hi, Mrs. Jaeger,” Jean says with an awkward wave.

“Jean,” says Eren’s mom. Her voice sounds a little wearier than Eren remembers it. “What are you doing here so late in the evening?”

“Er,” Jean says. He shuffles awkwardly on his feet before finally stepping aside and revealing who was hiding behind him.

Eren doesn’t look up right away. He stares at his mother’s feet first and sees how they’re clad in worn-out slippers that he had gotten for her years ago, the color faded and the light pink color faded to white. Slowly, he looks up and sees his mother in the same familiar clothes she always wore at home, a plain gray shirt and cream-colored pants with a thin robe thrown over her ensemble. She doesn’t look too different — her hair is a little bit grayer, the bags under her eyes a bit more prominent, and there’s a new wrinkle at the corner of her eyes — but Eren doesn’t remember if she was always this small.

Eren’s mother doesn’t seem to recognize him right away. The layers of clothing and the bucket hat that hangs over his eyes. He folds the brim of his hat up so that his mother can see his eyes and he sees a spark of recognition that quickly turns to surprise. Her eyes begin to well with tears and he gives her a sheepish smile. He’s about to hold his arms out to her and tell her that he’s sorry for disappearing without a word. He expects his mom to envelope him in her arms, perhaps cry about how much he worried her after being gone for so long. Instead, he gets whacked in the face with one of his mother’s slippers.

“Mom!” Eren yelps. He tries to hide behind Jean, but she begins to chase him, waving her other slipper threateningly in her other hand. The two run around Jean who’s awkwardly stuck in the middle. Eren manages to use Jean as a shield and splutters from behind Jean’s shoulder, “Mom, what the fuck?”

“Don’t you curse at me, Eren Jaeger,” his mother hisses. She tries to get a few hits in but ends up accidentally whacking Jean’s head instead. “Anyway, I should be asking you that question! Where the fuck have you been this whole year?”

Eren grimaces. It’s never a good sign when his mom starts cursing. He can’t say that this will end well. Either his mother will lock him in his room for the rest of his life so that he can never disappear again or she’ll kick him out of the house and officially disown him like she’s been threatening to for the past twenty-plus years of his life.

“Mom, stop, you’re gonna kill him,” Eren whines when his mother lands a particularly hard whack of her slipper on Jean’s head.

“Stop, stop!” Jean shouts, holding Eren’s mother back by the shoulders. His arms are long enough to prevent her from hitting him over the head again. He glares at Eren over his shoulder as if this is all Eren’s fault, which isn’t fair. It’s not as if Eren wanted to disappear for a year and come back as a zombie. Jean’s still struggling to keep Eren’s mother back. “How about we just … go inside and talk? We probably all have a lot to talk about.”

Jean leads a very angry Mrs. Jaeger into the house while a cautious Eren follows behind. The three of them seat themselves in the living room — Eren and Jean on the couch while Mrs. Jaeger glowers at her son from the matching sofa chair — but nobody says anything. Apparently, they didn’t have a lot to talk about.

“H-how have you been, Mom?’ Eren asks, giving his mom a shaky smile. He probably shouldn’t have said anything. He knows she’s only going to explode at him as she’s apt to do when she’s angry, but the alternative is sitting there in silence until the end of time and he really doesn’t want to keep Jean here longer than necessary.

“I was worried sick about you for the past year you were gone,” his mother replies. Her voice is calm, but Eren can feel the barely contained anger simmering underneath. “I see I was worried about nothing because you seem as fine as ever even though you haven’t bothered to let me know you were alright.”

His mother is absolutely right, but her words still sting. It frustrates Eren that he can’t reveal the true reason why he disappeared for a year. He should probably just bite his tongue and apologize for causing her to worry so much, but he can’t. He’s never been good at apologizing, but he’s even worse about sharing his problems. He’s not sure where to begin, how to explain his burdens, or how to ask for help. So he neither apologizes nor asks for help. Instead, he explodes.

“Why is it that you start nagging me right when I get home?” Eren asks. He’s rising up from his seat. The zombie ignores the panicked whispers from Jean even as his friend tugs at his elbow and begs him to sit back down. “I’m finally home. Isn’t that enough?”

“Why shouldn’t I start nagging? I’m your mother! Am I not allowed to be worried about you?” His mother is standing too, but she’s a dwarf compared to Eren.

“There’s nothing to worry about anymore! I’m right here!”

“You are now! But for how long?” His mother is trembling with anger, her clenched fists shaking by her sides. Her eyes are shining with tears and her face is flushed. “How will I know you won’t disappear again? What if you vanish again without a trace?”

Eren opens his mouth to answer, but Jean suddenly stands between the mother and son.

“I think we should … talk about this alone,” Jean says, gesturing to Eren’s mother and then himself. He’s voice is loud, but he’s not shouting. He glances at Eren and then tilts his chin towards the staircase, gesturing for Eren to exit the room. “Eren, you should go to your room.”

“But -!”

“Go to your room!” Jean and Eren’s mother repeat and Eren has no choice but to scurry up the stairs and into his room.

He starts to sulk as soon as he shuts the door behind him. It’s one thing if his mother tells him to go to his room, but Jean ordering him to his room somehow seems more humiliating. The zombie kicks at the familiar carpet and then, still pouting, looks around the room.

It’s just as he left it. There are still embarrassingly old anime posters plastered on his bedroom walls and action figures decorating his bookshelf. His bed is still here, a tiny twin-sized bed with little rocket ships printed on the sheets. Everything on his nightstand and dresser are the same, even the tiny Pokemon figurines beside his lamp. Eren walks over to pick one up and turns it in his hand, wondering why there isn’t any dust on anything. He realizes why a second later and feels a strange pain in his chest. He sets the figurine down and walks towards his bedroom door. It’s impossible to hear what his mother and Jean are talking about downstairs, but he presses his ear against the door anyway.

As expected, he can’t make out any words. Eren can hear his mother speaking, her voice high-pitched and hysterical. Jean’s voice is low and soothing in comparison. Eren’s not sure how Jean is able to speak to his mother. Whenever Eren argued with her, he could hardly get a word in. From what he can hear, Jean speaks every once in a while, but it’s mostly his mother talking. There’s a pause on the other end and Eren can’t hear a thing for a moment, just a sound like someone crying. He presses his ear a little bit closer against the door, but it doesn’t seem to help at all. After a moment, the crying stops and Jean speaks again.

Eren wonders if he should open the door and take a peek outside. It’s not like he’s five. He’s a zombie in his early twenties (or does age restart once you’re reanimated?) and can do what he wants. His hand hovers over the doorknob and is about to turn it when the door is yanked open and he nearly falls over. He stumbles a few steps and looks up to see Jean standing in front of him with an amused expression on his face.

“Were you … trying to eavesdrop?” Jean asks.

“N-no!” Eren replies a little too quickly. He stands up straight and clears his throat. As casually as he can, he asks, “What did you guys … talk about?” He glances behind Jean where his mother is standing and is surprised to see that her face is red and blotchy, and her cheeks are stained with tears. For a moment, he falters, “Mom, what … what happened?”

His mother turns her face away and hastily wipes her cheek with a finger. “I spoke with Jean. He told me what happened and that … you two are in a relationship now.” The words make Eren flush. He’s about to deny all of it, but his mother continues to speak. “He’s assured me that he would take good care of you so … I’ve consented to the two of you living together just so long as you call home and visit every once in a while so that I know you’re okay.”

It’s a lot to take in all at once, so Eren can only stand there in stunned silence. He doesn’t even notice when Jean takes his hand until the makeup artist intertwines their fingers. Surprised, he’s about to pull away but Jean keeps a firm grip.

“Come on, Eren,” Jean says, tugging Eren along lightly. “Let’s go home.”

He’s not sure what happens in between the time they leave Eren’s room and start walking down the street. Eren vaguely remembers saying goodbye to his mother and seeing her shut the door. He thinks he recalls walking down the steps of his front porch and wondering why he could hear muffled sobbing from inside his house, and he remembers turning back and wondering if he was just imagining his mother’s silhouette watching them from the kitchen window. They make it half a block down the street before Eren realizes he’s still holding Jean’s hand. He withdraws it quickly and Jean looks back, surprised.

“How did you get my mom to agree to this?” Eren asks Jean.

Jean looks slightly irritated at Eren, although the zombie has no idea why. “It’s like she told you,” Jean replies. He runs a tired hand through his hand and sighs after Eren gives him a look that says he doesn’t believe the makeup artist one bit. “I told her that you were just having a rough time after disappearing this past year and that you just needed some help. I said we were together and that I’d take care of you so she wouldn’t need to worry.”

Eren wrinkles his nose. “And she just believed you?”

“Yeah, I mean …” Jean’s voice trails off and he shrugs. He pauses to look at Eren for a moment and then says, “You know, you could have just told her everything. That you’re a zombie and everything. I know we haven’t discussed it with the others, but I think they would have understood.”

“But the secret! And people knowing! I thought we were supposed to do things slowly!” Eren splutters, waving a hand about.

“I know, but … it’s your mom,” Jean says, and Eren knows he’s right in a way. If there’s anyone who deserves to know the truth, it’s his mom. Still, he can’t bear the thought of telling her. “We could have worked it out if you wanted to tell her. Anyway, you know it’s okay to tell people things and ask for help from people, especially people who are close to you. They care about you, you know?”

Eren’s steps falter and he frowns. He’s not sure why Jean is bringing this up. He doesn’t need help, or at least any more help than he has now. He’s fine, isn’t he? Isn’t he managing as a zombie pretty well? Not only is he fooling his mom and other townspeople, but he’s managed to get himself a job too. Why should he ask for help?

Seeing that Eren doesn’t quite get it, Jean sighs once more and shakes his head. “Nevermind,” Jean says. He holds out a hand for Eren to take. “Let’s just go home. It’s getting dark.”

Eren knows that hand is for him, but he can’t bring himself to take it. He hesitates and then shoves his hands in both his pockets.

“Yeah,” Eren says. He pretends not to notice the awkward way Jean sticks his hand in his own pockets. “Let’s go home.”

[mego42]

Hii!! I was wondering if you plan on continuing Swear on a Silver Knife?? That first chapter got me hoooked!

Hi!!! I super am and I am so! extremely! pleased! you like it, that fic is my weird little unexpected but deeply beloved baby tbh. 

I’ve been making myself to stay focused on song bc it’s so close to being done, but once that’s up, I’m getting right back into swear. I already have ch 2 fully drafted (though in need of some rewrites and editing), 3 halfway drafted, and the rest worked out in a pretty detailed outline, so I’m feeling good about picking it back up once song's finished.

in the meantime, please enjoy this snippet from ch 2 for your troubles (it is nsfw in case you’re in a pharmacy or garden center or what have you)

Beth looks to the basket she’s using in place of a bedside drawer. Eyes the little pouch containing Annie’s congratulations-on-divorcing-your-trash-husband present. It’s an idea, anyway. It’s not like she has to think about—she won’t think about...anyone—thing. Specific.

Shucking off her jeans, Beth flops down on the air mattress and grabs the little pink vibrator. Her old one—and oh God does she hate thinking about it, wondering what happened to it, who’d seen it—had been a pretty standard issue: cylindrical, twist the base, press the button, and there you have it. This one’s smaller, intended only for external use, came with modes. It was quieter too—not that that mattered anymore. 

Lying back, she wiggles a little, trying to get comfortable, grimacing as the plastic mattress squeaks against the floor. She really should bump an actual bed up her list. If for no other reason, her back can’t take much more of this. Then, closing her eyes, she presses the vibrator on, jolting as it hums to life. 

For years Beth’s...alone time has been pretty, well, vague. She’s never been all that into porn. She knows there’s quality, feminist stuff out there but has never quite had the time or patience to find it on her own, and the thought of asking... 

It’s bad enough that her little sister has bought her not one but two vibrators now; Beth doesn’t think she could handle Annie’s commentary on Beth knowing or not knowing how to use them. 

And Ruby, well. Beth’s always been acutely aware her marriage hasn’t been remotely comparable to Ruby and Stan’s and she’s never been able to bring herself to talk to her friend about anything that might bring that to the surface. Beth knows Ruby wouldn’t judge her, but in some ways the thought of her sympathy is worse. 

Anyway, as a result, Beth’s developed a very...potent imagination.

She imagines sensations, feelings, being touched deliberate and intent and knowing. Being able to let herself go. It’s always been general or vague—hands, lips, skin—she’s never been big on specific scenarios. 

It’s only recently that her fantasies have turned...particular. 

Hands have developed calluses that fit the grip of a pistol, adorned by rings, a cold and biting counterpoint to her flushed skin. Lips have turned lush and expressive, quirking with sardonic amusement, falling slack in awed reverence. Skin has become burnished and velvety smooth, stretching taut over hard muscle, decorated with swirling black ink. 

No.

Beth’s eyes pop open and she stares at the blank, white ceiling above her. The soft buzz of the vibrator carries on, even as the heat that’d started to gather dissipates. 

She huffs out a breath. 

You think any of them can do this to you? You think anyone else can?

Gritting her teeth, Beth shakes her head, forcibly clearing her mind, then closes her eyes and tries again. 

She concentrates on the hum of the vibrator, the thrumming sensation against her skin. She focuses on each spike of her pulse, following each thread of heat twining through her, imagining fingers drawing patterns across her skin. 

She thumbs the intensity up a notch, a soft moan escaping as she clamps down on nothing. 

Her legs tingle, muscles twitching as the heat crawls down them and Beth digs her heels into the air mattress, her hips canting, searching, chasing a memory. A phantom hand slides up her thigh and she throws her head back, imagining a cool night breeze against her fevered skin, the sound of laughter echoing across a city square underscored by the sounds of late night traffic only a few feet away and when she blinks her eyes open, for a split second she sees a face silhouetted against a streetlight and she bucks, coming up off the mattress and—

No.

Flopping back with a frustrated groan, Beth fists her free hand in her blankets, gritting her teeth and shaking her head to clear the memory. 

Okay, fine, maybe she wants specific. It doesn’t have to be—

Casting about for a memory, any memory she can latch on to and use to block out...anything else, Beth remembers the class this morning and Bobby’s hand splayed wide across Mandy’s stomach.

That’ll work.

She clicks to the next setting, gasping a little as the steady buzz turns to a rolling wave, a pulsing sensation that ebbs and flows, drawing out her pleasure with each undulation.

Beth whimpers, spreading her legs a little more to get a better angle. Her eyes fall shut and she concentrates on the image, imagining the feel of a hand—Bobby’s hand—big and warm and heavy against her stomach, fingers spread wide and dipping low, then lower. The heat builds, smoothly, steadily, each cycle of the toy stoking it higher, and higher, and pretty soon she’s arching, rolling her hips in time to the vibrations. 

She flicks the vibrator up, the buzz intensifying and she bucks. Her necklace shifts, the charm a shock of cold as it flips and falls against the hollow of her throat. She remembers the feel of another pendant dangling, tapping against her collarbone in time to the movement inside her. Remembers tangling her fingers in the chain, the links biting into the crease of her palm as she used it to tug him down to her. Then the taste of him, rich and smooth on her tongue, as she’s kissing him and kissing him and kissing him and he’s kissing her back, a nearly frantic urgency in the press of his lips and the way his breath gusts shakily against hers as they move together, scaling a peak, the edge looming closer and closer and then she’s—

Not thinking about Bobby anymore. 

No.

Beth rips the vibrator away, her whole body trembling, muscles spasming and heat pin-balling around her nervous system so close but not quite enough to push her over. 

She flops back down on the bed, toy still clamped in her hand, humming uselessly, the noise loud and obscene when it’s not muffled by her skin. She stares up at the ceiling, blinking away the memory of the blank expanse awash with the afternoon sun, streaming in through the gauzy curtains.

The ceiling stares back. 

Fuck. 

[insanity-times-10]

zero

part one of the #1 Fan series

also posted on AO3

huge shoutout to my friend Ash who let me use their OC

“Hey there!” Jane said with a wave. “What’s your name?” The bright-haired teen stepped backwards, their place quickly filled by the screaming horde that was the Queendom. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Jane decided to follow the shy fan.

Bad choice, Jane.

The fans swarmed around her, making it nearly impossible to move. Somehow, she managed to stagger through the throng and catch up with the teen.

“Hi,” Jane panted, completely out of breath. “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to scare you. What’s your name?”

“I’m Zero, I’m... I’m a really big fan, Ms. Seymour.”

“I’ve noticed. You’re here about once a month, right?”

Zero laughed nervously. “Yeah. I didn’t know... I didn’t think you noticed things like that.”

“I do. We notice a lot more than people think we do.” Jane noticed Zero looking around anxiously, so she decided it was time for her to head back to the theater. “Hey, listen,” she said, “I’ve gotta head back inside, I think the others are looking for me. I’m on pretty much all the social media, though, so feel free to shoot me a message anytime!” She turned around and left with a wave, and to her surprise, Zero ran up behind her.

“Hey, uh, do you... do you think I could meet the other queens?” they asked. “I’m just... I-I’m such a big fan, it’s my dream to talk to all of you in person.”

Jane smiled. “Of course! You’ve been here one night a month since we opened. I think it’s time you finally met us.” Jane led Zero inside through the stage door and back to the dressing rooms. The two stopped first at the dressing room Jane shared with Cathy and Kat. Jane knocked on the door. “Everyone decent in there? We have a guest.”

Kat opened the door. She was wearing a sports bra and leggings, since she absolutely refused to put on her hoodie until she had to, and had obviously been reorganizing her makeup organizer. Cathy was still in costume, methodically taking off her makeup with a cleanser she constantly raved about, both online and to the queens.

“Heya, Janey,” Kat said. “We were worried you’d gotten a girlfriend that none of us knew about.”

Cathy nearly spat out the water she’d just taken a drink of. “That is untrue!” she shouted. “Don’t listen to this heretic, babes, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“You haven’t got a need to worry, honey. I’m yours as long as you want me to be.”

Kat cleared her throat. “Hate to break up the cuteness, but didn’t you say something about a guest?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry! This is Zero... I’m sorry, what pronouns do you use?”

Zero, who had been picking at their nails, jumped at the question. “What?” they asked.

“She asked what pronouns you use, darling,” Cathy helped.

“Oh, okay. I, uh, I use they/them. And you can, um, you can call me Z if you want.”

“Alright, then, this is Z, they’ve been coming to our shows about once a month, and they really wanted to meet us,” Jane explained. Z gave a small wave.

“What do you think of the decorations?” Kat asked.

Zero looked around, taking in everything. They smiled. “I really like the flags,” they said. “It’s cool that you all have your own.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. Someone sent them to us for pride month, and then we bought a few of our own that we use as blankets,” Kat explained.

“That’s neat!” Zero exclaimed. They turned to Jane. “Ms. Seymour-”

“Call me Jane,” she interrupted. “You can call us all by our first names, we’re not that formal.”

“Except Lina,” Cathy added. “You wait for permission to call her anything but Queen Catherine.”

Z snickered. “Queen Catherine?”

“Yep,” Kat said. “Her Royal Snobbiness refuses to give up her title.”

“But don’t tell her we called her that,” Cathy chimed in.

“She’ll have our heads,” Kat joked.

Zero nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Anyway, you were going to say something?” Jane prompted.

“I was gonna ask if we can go say hi to the others,” they replied.

“Of course! Are you okay going by yourself-”

“Could you come with me?” Z interrupted. “I’m just not- uh, I guess comfortable would be the word- introducing myself to people.”

“I’ll go with you!” Kat volunteered enthusiastically. “Well, if you’re okay with it, that is.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Zero said. “I just don’t wanna go alone.”

“Yay!” Kat cheered, jumping out of her chair. She nearly put her arm around Z’s shoulder, but stopped herself. “Is it cool if I put my arm around you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks for asking, though.”

“Anytime, friend.” Kat draped her arm across them, and the two set off into the hallway. “Wanna bet Jane and Cath’ll be making out when we get back?”

Z flinched. They weren’t used to anyone being this open about being in a same-sex relationship. “Uhm… they might, I guess?” they ventured. “You know them better than I do.”

“Huh. I guess you’re right.” Kat shrugged. “Anyway, here we are. Go on in, I’ll be right behind you.”

Z stepped into the dressing room and was taken aback by all the bright colors and loud sounds. They couldn’t quite tell what was playing on whoever’s speaker was blaring music, but it didn’t sound like anything they’d heard before. Kat must’ve noticed the look of discomfort on Zero’s face, because she’d gone to do something with the promise of being right back. Just like that, the music’s volume lowered, and Z let out a sigh of relief. Kat pulled a chair up next to the costume rack in the middle of the room and climbed on top of it.

“Ladies!” she shouted, almost instantly quieting everyone down, save for the alternates, who were in the corner finishing up a rather vicious card game. “Ladies, this is Zero, Jane brought them in to meet everyone.” Z waved nervously.

Almost immediately, Anne was in Z’s face. Kat, of course, practically had to pry her off of them.

When Zero caught sight of Catalina, they quickly bowed and muttered, “Your Highness.”

“Oh, none of that here. Call me Lina. I don’t know what those two-” she looked warily at Kat- “told you, but you don’t need to call me Queen anything or Your Highness, anything of that sort, mijo.” Her eyes widened as the last word left her lips. “Oh my goodness, that was rather insensitive of me. It’s just… Spanish is so heavily gendered, and I’m not about to let go of my mother tongue-”

“Lina. It’s fine,” Z interrupted. “It’s actually nice that someone is willing to call me pet names, especially after what happened with my parents… let’s just say we’ve got a pretty strained relationship.”

“Oh, cariño, I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” Catalina comforted them. “I want you to know that we’re all here for you, and you can message us on social media anytime, even if it’s just something little that made you feel happy.”

————————

Z spent the next three hours perched on Catalina’s dressing room counter, finally excusing themself when they realized that they had an early shift the next day at Barnes & Noble.

Zero let themself into their apartment, taking off their shoes and tossing their keys into the little dish they kept by the door. They reeled for a second at the shock of taking off their platform shoes, but they quickly adjusted. They grabbed a cookie off of the countertop, a couple of those could serve as dinner. They tapped a quick hello on Ricky’s (their betta fish) bowl as they walked past on their way to the living room. Then, seating themself on the floor, they pulled out their phone and opened the photos app. There, at the beginning of their camera roll, was the selfie they’d taken that night with all the queens.

————————

“I really liked that Z kid. I hope we talk again soon,” Jane said.

Cathy hummed some form of a response, too intently focused on the back rub she was giving Jane. “You’re really tense tonight,” she observed. “Everything feel okay? Nothing’s sore?”

“I’m fine,” Jane replied, waving the question off.

“It’s your shoulders,” Cathy continued. “You’re taking enough time for yourself?”

“Probably not, but seriously, everything feels fine.”

Cathy stopped working the taut muscles in Jane’s shoulder. “Are you worried about anything? You’re seeming pretty off.”

“I told you, I’m fine. Can we just go to sleep?” Jane asked.

Cathy sighed. “Yeah. I guess we can.”

————————

“Chérie, stop overthinking this. They told you, it’s fine that you used the masculine form.”

Catalina stopped pacing long enough to give Anne a stern look. “Yes, that’s what they said, but is it what they meant?” she asked.

“Fair point,” Anne replied, “but you’re still giving it too much thought. Come to bed, we can talk it out in the morning. You’ll be able to think better after you get some rest.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Catalina said with a shrug. Anne patted her wife’s side of the bed, and Catalina climbed in without much hesitation. She gave Anne a kiss on the temple and lay down.

“Night night, mon amour,” Anne whispered.

“Buenas noches, querida,” Catalina replied. She lay there for about ten minutes, still wide awake. “Annie?” she whispered into the darkness. Anne grunted. “Oh, good, you’re still awake.”

“Awake being a loosely used term, yes,” Anne grumbled.

“I just wanted to say one more thing.”

“Then say it before I go to sleep.”

“I hope our baby grows up to be just like you.” Catalina smiled as she said this, hoping it was a good way to break the news to Anne.

Anne shot up in bed. “Our… our baby?” she managed to stutter out. “You’re pregnant?”

“Yeah. And I already talked to Lucy, I’m performing until I’m physically unable to.”

“That’s great.” Anne yawned, then laid down with her head on Catalina’s stomach. “I think I’m gonna stay like this,” she decided.

“It doesn’t hurt me, so as long as you’re comfortable I’m fine with it.”

The two fell asleep like that.

———————-

“Y’know, they mentioned our flags,” Kat said.

“Really?” Anna asked.

“Yep! And they just seemed pretty cool in general.”

Anna laughed, shaking her head. “You realize I was there, correct? I did meet them.”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry,” Kat apologized.

Anna finished putting on her pajamas and went to join Kat on the bed. “It’s alright, love. I’m glad you thought they were cool. Perhaps you can message them in the morning?”

“It might take me some looking,” Kat replied, “but I could probably find them. I might let them follow my private account as well.”

“Sounds like a plan. Bedtime now, alright?” Anna snuggled up in the covers and turned off the lamp. Kat curled up against her, earning a kiss on the head.

“Nighty-night, baby,” Kat said, already half asleep. Anna did not reply, only snored softly.

————————

Zero got up from the floor and stretched. They’d already been awake longer than they should’ve been. They went into their room and put on their pajamas, then went back into the kitchen and said goodnight to Ricky. They grabbed another cookie, their fourth for the night, and laid down in their bed. They turned their phone on and opened Instagram.

God only knows how long they’d be awake.

[janeyseymour]

Let Me Help You

Hello! Here we are with yet another piece of writing! 

Jane Seymour was always the first one to help her fellow queens. She didn't mind it one bit because, in a way, they were helping her by letting her help them.

Can also be found here! 

Jane Seymour often helped the other queens. For Catherine of Aragon, it was subtle. She was slowly breaking down the walls that the first queen had built up around herself. For Anne Boleyn, it ranged from holding her through nightmares to simply patching up a skinned knee. Anna of Cleves was hard to help, ever the independent woman, but Jane Seymour knew that if it ever came to it, she would be there in a heartbeat to help out the German woman. Katherine Howard was most certainly the queen she helped the most, stepping in as a maternal figure to the youngest queen. Catherine Parr was one that just needed a push in the right direction when it came to taking care of herself. And Jane? Jane didn’t mind any of this one bit.

-

I.

Catherine of Aragon never liked to put her emotions onto anybody else. Instead, she held everything in for as long as possible before unexpectedly exploding at the smallest of things. Unfortunately for Jane, Catherine was about to unleash her wrath.

“Oh my- Jane, can you just relax for like five minutes? Kat went out with Anne and Anna! She’s going to be fine, and she’s going to do the dishes when she gets back!”

“But I told her they had to be done before they went anywhere! And forgive me for worrying about my daughter while she’s out with the two who are most likely to get her into a sticky situation,” Jane shot back.

“Okay first of all, you need to give Anne and Anna more credit and-”

“That’s rich coming from you, Miss “Anne is the most irresponsible person I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t trust her as far as I can throw her.”

“You know what Jane?” Catherine’s voice got scarily low.

“What Aragon?”

“Stop mothering everybody, especially Kat! Newsflash, she’s not your daughter! You just feel like you need to step up because you couldn’t even be a mother in your last life! You died before you could!” she shouted.

Before Aragon could speak another word, Jane had wrapped the woman in a hug. This was the last reaction that the first queen could’ve ever expected from the third queen.

“Lina,” Jane sighed. “What’s got you down?”

“Jane! What the- I just said something so terrible, and your first instinct is to hug me and ask me what’s wrong? Are you insane?”

“Thank you,” Jane whispered as she continued to hold Catalina.

“What the- why are you thanking me?” Catherine was beyond confused. “You should be yelling at me, screaming at me like I deserve!”

“You trusted me enough to break that stoic persona you have. You lost your cool. You needed to do it, and I’m just glad you didn’t lose it on Boleyn.” She let out an uncomfortable laugh.

“Jane, what are you talking about?”

“Even in the show, you say something about having to “keep your cool”. You only carry that over into real life. I’m just happy you finally trusted me enough to let down your guard.”

At those words, Catherine of Aragon broke. Jane Seymour wasn’t wrong in what she had said, and the golden queen had been so blinded by trying to keep up some sort of characterization that had been fabricated for her.

The blonde was shocked at what was happening before her, a small pang in her chest surging through her. She had broken the first queen. The Catherine of Aragon was openly crying in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” Jane sighed as she pulled the crying queen close to her.

“No, you were right. I don’t ever break. Thank you for being here,” the first queen gripped the third queen’s shirt as if her life depended on it.

“Of course love. Don’t think for a second I won’t ever be here for you.” Jane placed a gentle kiss on the woman’s hairline. The golden queen didn’t cry for much longer, but the silver queen held her through it all.

“Are you feeling better love?” she asked gingerly as she felt the upset queen’s breathing regulate once again. She felt a nod. “That’s good. How about we go sit down and watch some television to relax?” She felt another nod.

Normally when the two women watched television together, Jane found herself on one end of the sofa while Catherine settled on the other, but today the two found themselves sitting beside one another.

It was an unusual sight for the other queens to walk into: the strong Catherine of Aragon tucked into the motherly Jane Seymour’s side fast asleep.

“Mum? Wha-” Kat started

“Please go do the dishes I asked you to do,” Jane paused as Catherine moved in her sleep. When the golden queen situated herself the blonde continued pointedly, “ before you left the house today.”

II.

Anne Boleyn had a tendency to get hurt quite a bit. After she had purchased her heelys, the occasions where she wasn’t covered in bandages were few and far between.

“Janey!” Anne’s shrill voice called out. “Jane!” She called again when Jane didn’t come running to her rescue.

“Yes love?”

“Remember when you told me if I got hurt again and had blood dripping down my legs again, if I got blood on your white carpet again, you would take away my heelys?”

“Jesus Annie,” Jane sighed loudly. “Stay outside, I’ll grab the first aid kit and be out in a moment.” Jane set down her embroidery and pushed her glasses up before setting off to find the first aid kit.

“Jane! It’s kinda getting all over the front step!”

“Better than my white carpet,” Jane huffed as she brought the first aid kit out. “It took me weeks of scrubbing to get that stain out.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Sorry not sorry... I’m just tryna have some fun,’ and then you laughed.”

“But I apologized after!”

“After I took away your wheels for a week,” Jane rebutted. “Now, please give me your leg so I can clean this mess up.” Jane opened the kit to find various snacks in place of the many bandages she had stocked up on for occasions like this.

“Anne Boleyn, where is all of my medical equipment?” Jane spoke lowly, slowly becoming more and more frustrated.

“Well uh,” Anne laughed awkwardly. “Funny story about that: I thought that if I got hurt again, and clearly I was not planning on it-”

“Mistake number one.”

“I thought I would probably want a snack instead of a bandage. I guess I was wrong.”

“For the love of-” Jane stood up. “Just tell me where the darn bandages are.”

“My bedroom, in the top right drawer of my desk.”

“You are so lucky I love you,” Jane muttered as she walked back into the house. Moments later, she came back with a wet paper towel and bandages to see Anne had dove into the cheetos that were placed in the medical kit.

“Turns out, past me was right. These cheetos are really hitting different.” As Anne continued to munch on the snack, Jane began to clean up the mess. Once, the green queen offered the blonde a cheeto but was told “Anne, you know I do not put such snacks into my body, and I’m still not quite sure you do either given how bad they are for you.”

“But they’re so good!” Anne whined.

After a few minutes, the third queen had finished cleaning up Anne’s leg and grinned.

“Wheels please.” She outstretched her hand.

“But Jane-”

“I don’t want to hear it. Wheels. Now.” The second queen slowly began to take out the wheels of her shoes and placed them in the silver queen’s hand. “You’ll get these back in a week.”

Anne groaned. “But now I have to walk . Where’s the fun in that?”

“At least you won’t be getting as hurt this next week. Please be more careful in the future.” Jane threw a pointed look at the girl before dropping her facade and placing a kiss on the other queen’s head.

It was a good thing Jane had taken away Anne’s wheels, because had she not, Anne would’ve broken her arm the very next day.

III.

Anna of Cleves almost always refused help.

“Seymour, I’ve got it handled, seriously. It’s fine,” she would say.

Jane would protest, “But Anna, you don’t have to go through this alone!” And most days, the blonde was met with “but it’s really fine. I know how to handle myself.” But there were some days where Anna couldn’t just brush the issue under the rug and go about her day.

Jane’s cell phone rang, and as usual, she answered with, “Hello, this is Jane!”

“Seymour, I know it’s you. That’s why I called your number,” Anna deadpanned.

“Oh Cleves! Where are you?” She then looked down at the number she was calling from. “This isn’t your number!”

“I-” she was interrupted.

“Miss, you have one more minute before I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the phone,” a voice could be heard saying.

“Who is that?” Jane’s heart began to flutter. Where was that girl?

“Doesn’t matter. Listen, I’ll get straight to the point: Anne and I-”

“Hey don’t forget about me!” Katherine’s voice could be clearly heard.

“You have my daughter?”

“Uhm, Anne, your daughter, and myself may be in a bit of a sticky situation.”

“Anna of Cleves,” Jane began, only to be interrupted by Anne.

“Ooh, she used your full name! You’re in trouble!”

“Anne Boleyn!” Jane’s voice was much sharper this time.

“Ooh! Someone’s in trouble!” Anne’s voice rang through. “Oh god, it’s me. I don’t know why I did that.”

“Just tell me where you are,” the blonde was about to blow.

“The police station on main and third. Please come bail us out.” The line went dead. Anna of Cleves had hung up on her, mostly in fear of what Jane would say next.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, the three were greeted with a not-so-thrilled looking Jane.

“I’ve posted bail. Let’s get going. We’ll talk about this in the car.” Jane began to hurry to the car, the other three not far behind her.

“Can somebody please explain to me why I’m picking the three of you up from the police station at 9 pm on a Monday?” Jane’s tone indicated she wasn’t playing around.

“Mum, it’s honestly not our fault,” Katherine tried.

“Not the time Kat.” The pink haired queen shrunk in her seat.

“Seymour, I was protecting your daughter from a creep. The man in the cell next to us? He tried to make advances at Katherine. I tried to push him away, and we kind of got into a bar fight. The cops were called. I didn’t have my wallet on me like I usually do because we just opened a tab, so I couldn’t post bail. I’m sorry.” Jane’s face softened at the admission.

“Is this true?” She directed the question at the other two queens in the car. Both nodded. “Well then, none of you are in trouble. Thank you Anna.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat for your daughter, you ol’ mum,” the red queen chuckled lightly.

“And I’d bail you out again in a heartbeat ol’ Cleves.” Jane gently ruffed the woman’s hair.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t just bail us out myself.”

Later that night, the third queen made her way to the fourth queen’s room.

“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe. Seriously,” Jane smiled softly as she handed the German some chocolate.

“I’d do anything for you queens,” Anna happily accepted the chocolate.

“And we would do anything for you too, you know.”

If only Jane had known Anna had been craving chocolate all night.

IV.

Katherine Howard relied on Jane Seymour quite frequently, not that you would ever hear the older queen complaining. It made her quite happy to be able to put her maternal energy into something instead of having to bottle it up, and the pink queen didn’t seem to mind being coddled. Yes, she relied mostly on Jane to comfort her from her fears and nightmares. Yes, Jane almost always was the one cooking meals when they weren’t eating out. Yes, Jane was even the one who mostly accompanied on the very few outings the fifth queen wanted to make. But Jane was useful for other things too.

What most people wouldn’t pick up on about the blonde is that she was quite good at styling hair. Most wouldn’t know this due to the fact that the third queen’s hair was often worn down, or at the very most in a plain bun.

Katherine quite often liked to change her hairstyle. Some days it was down, some it was up in a simple ponytail, and other days one could find her with some sort of intricate hairstyle that Jane had done.

“Your hair looks so pretty today!” A stranger in their local store would say.

“Thank you,” she would blush. “My mum did it.”

Today, Katherine had taken it upon herself to try to style her own hair in two dutch braids. Unfortunately for the fifth queen, her locks had decided to work against her today, and she instead only succeeded in tangling her hair. After trying to brush it out for fifteen straight minutes, she gave up and walked into the living room.

She watched Jane for a few seconds before the mother figure pushed her glasses up on her face as she read her book.

“Mum?” She whispered from the entrance.

“Oh hello Kitty!” She took in the girl’s appearance. “Having a bit of a struggle with your hair today?” She said, although not in a harmful way; it was soft, almost sympathetic.

“Yeah,” the pink haired queen played with her fingers. “Do you think you could-”

“Of course.” The blonde haired queen stood from the chair and led her daughter back to her room.

“How do you want your hair today?” Jane asked as she began to brush out the younger queen’s tangles.

“Just two plaits please,” she asked shyly.

“That seems a bit too simple for you to not be able to do yourself,” the blonde chuckled. “What do you really want?”

“Two dutch braids. I just couldn’t quite get all of the hair to stay in neatly,” she admitted.

“That’s quite alright. That’s what your ol’ mum is here for, isn’t it?”

“You’re here for so much more, and you know that.”

“T’was just a joke, dear daughter of mine.”

As Jane worked, Katherine couldn’t help but become fascinated with the way her mother so effortlessly twisted her hair. With a few more twists, the girl was presented with two clean braids, much nicer looking than the ones she had attempted earlier.

“There you are love.” Jane smiled softly.

“Thank you.” Katherine turned to face the blonde and pecked her cheek.

“Only the best for my daughter.” Jane gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind the girl’s ear.

“Thank you.” Katherine grinned from ear to ear.

Jane knew that Katherine liked being referred to as her daughter, but she didn’t quite know how far that one simple title went for the younger queen.

V.

Cathy Parr was quite the independent woman; her past life only proved this. Her song in the show only proved this. That didn’t mean that every once in a while she leaned on the mother of the group though.

“Jane?” Cathy called from her room.

“Yes dear?” Jane appeared with a skillet in hand.

“I need help.” Jane stayed quiet, silently urging the woman to continue. “I can’t find the right words to convey what I’m trying to say.”

“Well, how long have you been working on this piece?”

“Far too long,” Cathy sighed. “It’s been like three hours, and I just can’t come up with the right words.” She handed over the laptop and allowed her fellow queen to skim over what she had written.

“Well, it seems to me Catherine, that the point you are trying to make is quite simple, but it can get a little confusing with all of the bigger words you use. You know, it’s okay to not use such big words. It’s okay to keep things simple sometimes.” The blonde handed back the laptop.

“I-” Cathy read over what she had written, seeing that what Jane had spoken was true.

“You’re right. Maybe I should try to say things more simply.”

“When are you going to realize that “Mama Jane” is almost always right?” the silver queen laughed. “Mama Jane also knows that you haven't had anything to eat today, so come eat some lunch with me, will you?”

“But I have to finish this Jane,” Cathy grumbled.

“You won't be able to finish it if you haven't got any brain food, now will you? Come on, it’ll be quick. I won’t keep you for too long.” Jane exited out of Parr’s room. Cathy groaned but rose from her desk to follow the blonde.

“What’s for lunch?” she questioned as she watched the silver queen busy herself.

“I was thinking of a stir fry. Any requests?”

“Lots of vegetables please,” Cathy responded. “So, what have you been up to today?” She tried her hand at holding a conversation.

Jane was a bit taken back. Parr wasn’t one to casually strike up this sort of conversation. These conversations were normally reserved for Aragon and Katherine. Still, she was delighted to answer.

“Oh you know, same old, same old. I spiffed up around the house, watered my flowers, and settled in to read a bit. I took to reading some of your writing. It’s quite good.” Cathy blushed at the compliment. “I’m assuming you’ve just been trying to write since you woke up this morning?”

“I, uh- thanks. And, yeah, but it wasn’t really going anywhere. Thank you for making lunch by the way.” Jane nodded as if to say you’re welcome.

A few moments later the two were happily diving into their lunches in silence, save for the few crunches that could be heard from the vegetables being devoured.

“This is delicious,” Cathy complimented.

“Thank you!”

“You should like, open up a restaurant or something. Everything you make is just- to die for!” It was Jane’s turn to blush.

“Thank you love. Maybe in another life,” she laughed weakly. The two continued their lunch when Parr was struck with an idea.

“Oh my gosh,” she mumbled to no one in particular.

“What is it, love?”

“I know exactly how to word what I’ve been trying to say!” The writer stood up abruptly and began to clumsily make her way to her room. “Thank you for lunch Jane!”

“I told you you needed brain food!” Jane shouted in good nature.

-

Jane Seymour had adapted to being the mother figure in the house, and she didn’t mind this one bit. In fact, helping the other queens helped her. They might not know it, but in helping them, they were helping her.

[unfortunate-arrow]

Birthday Fic, part 3: Ryan and Cara

[Part 1, Part 2]

[Annie @department-shoe-stud , Tu @wangxianforever000 , Aishwarya @hogwarts9 , Tessa & Gracie @danceworshipper , and Luna @lunasilvermorny]

RYAN

Ryan couldn’t believe his eyes. It was incredible. He couldn’t remember the last time one of their birthdays had been an event. Uncle Doyle certainly never commemorated the day. The man barely acknowledged them unless he was angry or had some comment about “your filthy mudblood father.” It was amazing that their friends had actually done this. Aside from an elaborate streamer display overhead, there were four separate corners, each decorated in their house colors. There was a brilliantly drawn lion on fabric that was draped over a chair in what was obviously his corner. After all, Ryan was the Gryffindor O’Donnell. 

“Happy birthday, dude!” Ryan blinked and whirled around to see Anna Louise O’Reilly. 

“Hey, Annie. Thanks,” he said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. 

“By the way, I am seeing Bats logos, right?” 

“Yeah. I think there’s a Kestrels logo or two hidden around here.” 

“You like the Bats too, then?” 

“Yeah. They’re probably our number 1 team, followed closely by the Kenmare Kestrels.” 

“The Holyhead Harpies are my other team. Do all four of you like the Bats and Kestrels?” 

Ryan laughed a little. “Well, Sara doesn’t get quidditch. So really it’s just Cara, Conor and me. The three of us do quite enjoy quidditch.” 

“Ah.” 

The two Gryffindors spent a little more time discussing quidditch and the Ballycastle Bats. Ryan invited Annie to join him, Cara, Conor, and Malcolm for a game when they got back to Hogwarts and the quidditch league started up again. 

“Happy birthday, Ryan!” Aishwarya Mehra exclaimed, tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Thanks, Aishwarya,” he said, smiling. 

“You’re welcome! This party is pretty cool.” 

“Thanks, but I can’t take credit for it. I didn’t even know that this was happening.” 

“Oh. Well, it is your birthday.” 

“Yeah. Thanks for coming. I mean, England is a good distance from India.” 

“It’s not too bad. Plus, I like you and your siblings. Honestly, though, the distance isn’t that bad. It’s more so the culture shock.” 

“I guess British and Irish culture is rather similar. If only because the fecking Brits invaded.” 

“Maybe. It’s probably just the Western vs non-Western culture. Not just the fault of the British.” 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

Ryan shrugged and the two moved onto a different, less volatile topic. They discussed fighting techniques for a while, with Aishwarya dominating the conversation. She even showed him a few simple moves. 

“Happy birthday!” Ryan nearly jumped, whirling around to see Tu grinning widely at him. 

“Thanks Tu,” he said. 

“No problem! So, have you heard anything about the new Defense Against the Darks Arts professor?” 

“Nah. I’ve seen the book list though. It won’t be Rakepick, though. That’s a good thing.” 

“Yeah. I never liked her either.” 

“She just always rubbed me wrong.” 

“She played favorites too much.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Anyways, here.” 

Ryan took the long, brightly wrapped package from her. He quickly unwrapped it and almost dropped it. It was a sword. He raised his eyebrow. 

“For you guys to defend yourself,” Tu said. 

“Thanks… I think.”

CARA

Cara grinned at the party in front of her. It was in full swing and she was immensely thankful for all of their friends that had decided to do this for them. 

“Hey, happy birthday!” Annie exclaimed and Cara grinned. 

“Thanks, Annie,” she said. 

“You’re welcome! So, Ryan said you like the Bats and the Kestrels.” 

“Yeah. Him and Conor definitely lean more towards the Bats, while I’m more likely to root for the Kestrels if they’re playing the Bats.” 

“I feel kinda similar in regards to the Bats and the Harpies. I love that the Harpies are all women.” 

“Me too. I think it’s badass that they’ve committed to that.” 

The two girls continued to talk about quidditch for a while. They even exchanged a few different chaser strategies. 

“Happy birthday, Cara!” two voices exclaimed. 

Cara smiles at the Chiva twins. “Thanks Tessa, Gracie.” 

“This is pretty cool,” Tessa said, and Gracie nodded holding a plate of food. 

“Thanks, but the credit isn’t mine.” 

“We know, we just thought I’d mention it.” 

“Ah.” 

“So, I was wondering if you could tell us anything about Irish lore.” Gracie nodded. 

“Have you heard of the myth of the selkie?” 

“Yeah. Aren’t they merpeople?” Tessa asked. 

“Kinda. In our world, yeah. The Irish ones are called merrows. In Irish myth and legend, though, the selkie is a seal woman. On land they shed their skin, and normal people are apt to fall in love with them. Sometimes, they’ll even take the selkie’s coat, so they can’t go back into the water. There’s an island called Roaninish in Donegal that’s the focus of the myth a few times.” 

“That’s fascinating,” Gracie whispered and Tessa nodded. 

The three girls shared different myths and legends for a while. Tessa and Gracie were completely enthralled by all the different Irish lore. The twins offered a few of their own stories. 

“Wow. The music set is pretty good.” Cara turned to see Luna.

“This is Conor’s choice, without a doubt,” she informed Luna. 

“Who is it?” Luna asked. 

“R.E.M., but I’m actually surprised that The Who haven’t come up yet. That’s his favorite.” 

“Not a bad choice. What do you like?” 

“The Weird Sisters are my favorite, but The Stones are a close second. I’m very similar to Ryan in that regard. He prefers the Beatles though.” 

“Nice choices. I like Pink Floyd and a lot of other rock.” 

“Yeah. Rock is my favorite genre.” 

“Oh, happy birthday by the way.” 

“Thanks.”

[violent-bulldog]

Protection Or Suffocation?

An argument gets out of hand and Jane does something that she instantly regrets...

Anne appreciated Jane. She appreciated the way Jane mothered her, how she truly cared about the young girl. Anne often found herself referring to Jane as "Mum" much like Kat did. But sometimes, Jane was just a little bit overbearing.

"Have you eaten today?"

"Yes"

"Have you showered in the last two days?"

"Yes"

"Have you been drinking enough water?"

"Yes"

"Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Yes!"

Anne did know how to take care of herself. She didn't need Jane constantly breathing down her neck and making sure that she was okay. It was nice at first, but this was daily.

It was the queens day off, so Anne and Kat were, naturally, ecstatic. The youngest queens always had so much energy that Aragon often claimed that they stole most of hers. They were planning to go out to the park and play on the swings until they couldn't feel their legs anymore. But, naturally, Jane had to make sure that they were okay before they left.

"Have you got your phones?"

"Yes"

"And you know what time to be back by?"

"Yes"

"And you know to look both ways before crossing the road? It gets busy around this time"

Anne rolled her eyes. She was being treated like a little kid and she was getting sick of it.

"We know how to cross a road" She stated bluntly. Jane turned to face her, her eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"I'm just making sure that you'll both be okay. You're practically my kids" She said back, her tone more serious than anyone liked to hear it. It caught the attention of the other queens, who all looked up from what they were doing.

"You don't need to treat us like infants though. Just because you never got to be a mum to-" Anne quickly cut herself off, shaking her head. Her gaze flickered down to the carpet.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I swear-" She was cut off again, but not by words. There was a sharp sound that echoed around the room and Anne stumbled backwards, her hands rising to her cheek. Jane stared at her own hand in shock at what she had just done.

"Anne!"

"Jane!"

"Jane!"

"Jane!" The other queens all shouted in unison, Kat immediately going to her cousin's side. Anne stood in shock, her hands clutching her face. Kat saw the tears shining in her eyes and could hear her ragged breathing.

"Anne, come on. It's okay, just breathe with me, yeah?" She whispered, breathing slowly. Anne followed her little cousin's guide, slowly breathing. Once she lowered her hands from her cheek however, both girls flinched. There was a gash just underneath Anne's eye, which was already beginning to bruise, from where Jane's ring must have made contact. The small amount of blood was enough to make both the girls uncomfortable.

"C-Come on, Kitty. Let's go" Anne whispered, her voice breaking softly. Kat just nodded, following her cousin outside and slamming the front door, letting the remaining queens know that she was upset.

Jane sunk down into the couch, holding her head in her hands. She sighed deeply, trying to process what had just happened.

"What the hell was that?" Aragon snapped. Although she didn't show it as much, she was practically the cousins' second mother in this life-time.

"I don't- I don't know. I was just trying to take care of them and then Anne was going to mention... Edward, and I just snapped" Jane whispered, slowly looking up at the three women around her. Aragon looked angry, Cathy looked distressed and Anna looked uncomfortable.

"So, your immediate action was to slap Anne?" Cathy murmured, her eyebrows furrowed in deep thought.

"I didn't mean to! It just... happened. I've never raised my hand to anyone" Jane tried to protest, but Aragon cut her off.

"You may never have raised your hand to anyone, but that doesn't mean that you haven't hurt them before. You've always favoured Kat over Anne, even though they're both the youngest among us. In the past, you played a key role in Anne's beheading and then, you were engaged to Henry the very next day and then married to him before the month even ended! You've been patronizing her for the last few months and treating her like she's a little kid. She's an adult, Jane. She can make her own choices and take care of herself. You had no right to lay a finger on her, especially after she immediately apologised for what she had nearly said" She ranted, pacing around the room. Cathy and Anna stayed silent, but it was obvious that they agreed. Jane just sighed again.

"I need to apologise to her when she comes home"

Katherine hated it when people fought. All she had wanted was a fun day at the park with her cousin. She knew that Jane could be a little bit too protective of the duo, but she didn't mind it too much. She was just happy that someone cared for her. But, she knew that Anne didn't like being restricted. Anne needed freedom to do whatever she wanted, otherwise, she wouldn't be like herself. She would be moody and quiet and Kat hated it when Anne was quiet. She needed her cousin's chaotic energy to break away from her own life and memories sometimes.

The duo were sat on the swings, swinging silently. Anne hadn't said a word since they had left the house, but Kat knew that she was still shaken up about what had happened. Once they had arrived at the park, Kat had hesitantly helped the cut under Anne's eye to stop bleeding. They both were majorly uncomfortable with blood because of their past, but neither of them wanted the cut to become infected, so they took deep breathes and got it over with. That led them to where they are now, slowly swinging on the swings.

"You know she didn't mean it, yeah?" Kat said softly. Anne turned her head to face her cousin. Kat winced at the sight of her eye, which was bruising quicker than she thought it would.

"You don't hit someone on accident" She muttered, stopping her swing. Kat stopped hers a moment later, glancing at her cousin.

"I mean, she's been really stressed lately. The shows are exhausting her and she struggled to sleep. She was gonna snap soon anyways, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time" Anne scoffed at Kat's words.

"Or maybe, I broke her. You all already know that I'm a lot to handle and I don't know why you bother. I'm obnoxious and loud and annoying and... a jerk. You all should hate me and I think I managed to get Jane to realise it. She snapped because she realised how shitty of a person I am" Anne ignored the tears slipping down her cheeks, only wincing slightly when they made contact with the fresh cut. Kat stood up and went to her cousin's side before carefully sitting in her lap. She weighed as much as a feather, so Anne just steadied her feet on the ground to support her little cousin. Kat wrapped her arms around Anne's shoulders.

"You're so dumb sometimes. You're not annoying or obnoxious or a jerk. You're confident and proud and supportive and caring. I remember when I fell during rehearsals and skint my knee, you were the first person by my side. You kept asking if I was okay and you made sure that I didn't see the blood while Cathy put a plaster over it. I remember when someone was sending Anna insults about her appearance, you started a live stream on Instagram and ranted about how beautiful she is and how the person who was sending her hate was obviously just insecure about how they looked, and then a couple hours later, that person sent an apology to Anna. I remember when someone in the streets said that you looked weird compared to the rest of us and you just said that being different is what makes us all perfect. You're amazing, Anne. And we all love you. So, so, so much more than you know" Kat said softly, playing with Anne's hair gently. Anne clung to Kat, sobbing quietly into her shoulder.

"I love you too, Kitkat" She murmured after she'd calmed down slightly. Kat smiled and pulled back from the embrace.

"Wanna go get ice cream? My treat?" Anne grinned at the offer, wiping the remaining tears from her face.

"You think I'd turn down free ice cream?"

It was late in the evening before the cousins came home. They would normally have been home before six, normally when dinner was ready, but today, they came home after eleven. All of the other queens had tried to call the duo multiple times, but all their calls were ignored. When they stumbled through the door, Cathy and Anna had to catch them so they didn't fall to the floor. The young duo immediately broke into fits of laughter.

"Are you- Are you both drunk?" Cathy asked, only getting more laughter in response. She glanced at Anna.

"Seems like it" She murmured, dragging Kat towards the couch. Cathy followed her, dragging Anne. The drunk girls landed in a heap on the couch, giggling at nothing in particular. Cathy sighed as she heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs.

"We heard the door slam open and laughing" Aragon said, stepping into the living room with Jane following behind her, only to spot the mess of girls on the couch.

"Hiya" Anne grinned up at her, before breaking into another fit of laughter with Kat. Aragon shot Jane a glare before turning back to the duo.

"Where were you two? You had us worried" She said, kneeling beside them.

"Annie was sad and saying bad things about herself, so we got ice cream. And then, we went to get drinks!" Kat grinned at the three queens she could see. She lifted her head to see Jane and her smile instantly fell. She flopped her head back so she didn't have to see the older woman.

"Bad things? What kind of bad things?" Cathy spoke up, glancing between the girls and Jane.

"How she must be a shitty person to make Jane snap at her. And how she didn't think we loved her, even though we doooo!" Kat said in a sing-song voice before breaking into giggles with Anne. Cathy heard Jane sniffle before her footsteps were heard as she returned to her room.

"Do one of you two want to try and deal with Jane and the other help me try and get these two to bed?" Aragon said while supporting Anne as she stood. The other two noticed the way the young girl swayed, even with support.

"I'll go deal with Jane" Anna said before heading to the stairs. Cathy helped Kat to stand and noticed the way that she swayed less than Anne did.

The trip up three flights of stairs with two drunk girls was much harder than it had to be, but eventually, the four queens were in Anne's bedroom. They knew that the cousins would normally share a bed because they were both constantly prone to nightmares of their past. Aragon sighed as she dropped Anne down on her bed.

"Are you two capable of getting changed by yourselves?" She asked. Kat shrugged before giggling again and Anne stared out her window in a daze.

"Guess that's a no" Cathy sighed before grabbing Kat again to help her. Aragon also sighed before helping Anne.

As Aragon was fixing Anne's shirt, she couldn't help but notice some fairly fresh scars on the young girl's forearms. She knew that they weren't from the girl's past and they were definitely self-inflicted. She sighed softly before leaving the room with Cathy when both girls were changed and laying in Anne's bed. Aragon noticed that Cathy seemed tense too.

"You alright?" She asked, startling the younger girl slightly.

"Yeah, it's just... Kat had scars on her arms. They didn't look recent, but I'm pretty sure that she did it to herself" Cathy said softly, her mind clearly wandering. Aragon turned to look at the now-closed door to Anne's room, biting her bottom lip.

"Anne had scars too, but they looked fresh. Not as in she did it today, but maybe within the last week or so" She replied. Cathy muttered something to herself as she continued down the stairs. Aragon chose to ignore it, more focused on the fact that the youngest queens, her kids, were suffering.

Katherine groaned as the sunlight poured into the window and directly into her face. She shifted on the bed- wait, when the hell did she get into bed? And when did she get changed into pyjamas? She slowly cracked her eyes open, squinting because the sun was still in her eyes, and recognised that she was in Anne's room. She moved her leg and heard a whine. Okay, so Anne and herself had made it back to the house somehow, but how did they get upstairs?

"Oh, shit" She whined, closing her eyes again. The other queens must have helped them. And that meant that they all saw the duo drunk.

"Wait... shit" She whined again as she heard a muffled noise that vaguely sounded like Anne telling her to be quiet.

"Oh, wake up!" Kat muttered, jabbing Anne in the ribs with her foot, which earned her grumbled whimper in pain.

"Too early" Anne mumbled, pulling the duvet over her head. Kat scowled quietly.

"Bitch, move. You need to talk to Jane or she needs to talk to you... something like that. And I need pancakes... and paracetamol" Kat kicked Anne again as she sat up, the room spinning for a few moments before steadying again. She slowly stood from the bed before going to Anne's wardrobe to steal some clothes. She heard Anne sit up behind her.

"Uh oh" Anne whispered.

"Here we go?" Kat replied, automatically, even though that wasn't her line. Anne rolled her eyes.

"No. Look at your shirt. Look at my shirt" She said softly. Kat glanced at the pyjama shirt she was wearing, her eyes going wide.

"Short-sleeves" She whispered, glancing at Anne again. She was biting her nails as Kat chewed her lip. Crap.

"Great" Anne mumbled before standing to get changed too. They changed in silence before leaving the room. Kat gently took Anne's hand into her own and she sensed how much Anne relaxed as they made their way downstairs.

Cathy knew to make pancakes that morning. Although she'd never seen Katherine or Anne drunk before, she had seen them tipsy and the next morning, they both were craving her pancakes. She also had bottles of water and paracetamol sitting out for whenever they arrived downstairs. She hadn't slept the previous night, her mind running full-time. Would things be okay with Anne and Jane? Would she have to talk to Anne and Katherine about the scars that Aragon and herself had found? Would the two girls finally open up about their past lives and the nightmares that the entire household knew they both had?

"Hey Cathy!" Kat smiled as she walked into the kitchen. Cathy jumped, slightly shocked to see the young duo up so early. Well, early for them. She couldn't help but to smile slightly when she saw that Kat was wearing a green hoodie. They all knew that the cousins shared clothes constantly, but it was still cute to see it.

"Hey Kit. How'd you feel?" She asked as both girls slumped down in their chairs. Anne's eyes lit up at the sight of pain killers, quickly taking some, whereas Kat's eyes lit up at the sight of pancakes.

"There's pancakes. Everything is good in the world" She said before rolling her eyes as Anne dunted her leg. The older cousin pointed towards the paracetamol, making Kat take some quickly. She hummed contently.

"They'll be ready in a sec. Anne, how do you feel?" Cathy asked, knowing to be careful with her chosen words.

"Fine" Okay, Cathy was good with that answer. At least Anne was talking while sober again, unlike yesterday. The room fell into a semi-comfortable silence, just the soft music from the radio. Cathy served the duo their pancakes, laughing to herself when she saw how wide Kat's eyes got. She sat to the youngest girl's left, sipping her coffee contently. Aragon came down soon after, grabbing her usual cereal before sitting to Anne's right. She couldn't help but notice the bruising around the young girl's eye and the semi-scabbed cut underneath.  

"So, how hungover are you both?" There was no bite to her voice, just an amused smirk on her face. Cathy almost choked on her coffee, trying not to laugh, as Kat dropped her fork.

"Umm... not?" Kat whispered, trying to play innocent. And it almost worked, until Aragon saw the paracetamol box beside Kat and the half-empty bottles of water beside both girls.

"Uh, huh, sure. You gonna tell us about what happened last night?" Okay, her godmother's approach wasn't as subtle as Cathy had thought it would be, but alright. If it got them to talk, then sure, okay.

"What do you mean?" Kat mumbled, staring intently at her pancakes. Cathy had to fight the smile tugging at her lips.

"Well, you came home five hours later than you were meant to, you ignored all of our calls and texts, you were both drunk and Cathy and myself had to help you both get changed" Aragon said, making sure to keep any anger out of her voice. She wasn't particularly angry at the girls, but she'd been worried for them all night. Cathy swallowed nervously, dreading the next part of this conversation.

"Meaning you saw...?" Anne whispered, refusing to look at any of the others.

"The scars, yeah. We're not mad at either of you for it, we just want you both to know that we're here for you if you need to talk. We care about you more than either of you know" Anne scoffed quietly. Kat kicked her shin lightly, silently telling her cousin just accept the fact that they all loved her.

"Mu- Jane doesn't" Anne stuttered, fidgeting with her fingers.

"I'm not going to make an excuse for her. What she did was completely out of line and she knows that. Anna went to talk to her while Cathy and I helped you two to bed and she said that she was distraught. That she was ashamed of herself. That she thinks that your relationship is ruined and that she doesn't know how to fix it. She was out of line, but she still cares for you. What you nearly said yesterday was mostly true. She treats both of you like her kids because she didn't get to be a mum to Edward. But, I think she didn't realise that until you said it. Which is why she lashed out. You told the truth and it shocked her" Aragon explained. Anne sighed shakily.

"I didn't mean to say it. But, she kept trying to protect me. It just... kept reminding me of Henry. He wouldn't let me read or paint or anything that I wanted to do back then, and then Jane is telling me not to stay out too late and to look both ways before crossing a road and I just couldn't deal with it. Of course, I still love her, but I can't help but be reminded of the way he treated me. It makes me feel like I'm choking. I just... need to be free to just like, run across the road or to jump from the swing when it's up high or to just do the things that kids love to do. I never got to be a kid or to be independent and do what I wanted, so this feels like my only chance. I wanna be dumb and reckless, but to come home and still be cared for" Anne wasn't sure when she started to cry or when Kat had taken one of her hands into her own. She shook her head and wiped her eyes with her free hand.  

"Oh, sweetheart" Everyone at the table flinched at the sudden voice. They all turned to see Jane standing in the doorway, tears filling her eyes. Anne looked away quickly and Kat squeezed her hand reassuringly. Jane didn't move closer, seeing how timid the young girl seemed.

"H-How much of that did you hear?" Anne asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"Most of the conversation. But, I want you to hear it from me. I'm so sorry for how I reacted yesterday. It was awful and inexcusable for me to lay my hand on you, especially since you apologised immediately after you said it. I didn't know that my actions made you feel like that, you're an adult, you should be able to make your own decisions. I'm sorry that I made you feel restricted and I'm sorry that I reminded you of... him. I'll do my best to give you more space to do your own thing, but you're still always going to be like my daughter" Jane said softly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Good, because I don't want to lose you. You've cared for me more than anyone ever has and I never want to lose that" Anne replied before standing up and hugging Jane tightly. The older woman reciprocated the hug quickly, sighing contently. When they separated, Jane noticed the tiredness in both of her girls' faces.

"Want a hangover cure?" She asked, entering the kitchen properly.

"Please" The cousins mumbled in unison.

[thgfanficinspo]

Fear of the Water - Chapter 12

(FINNICK)

Millet and Cash have encountered each other on one of the endless cement boulevards. The pavement is uneven and cracked, and there are a handful of those muddy sinkholes strewn about. Great place for a showdown.

Millet runs from Cash at first. She’s slim and slightly muscular and fast as the wind; she could probably outrun him. She doesn’t have much in the way of weapons: a small knife with a blade as long as my thumb (which is all but useless) and a spear. She broke the head off of it and uses as a knife; she uses the shaft of the spear as a long-range weapon.

Cash chucks a spear in her direction; it misses by only an inch or two.

He starts to give chase. When he’s close enough, Millet suddenly whips around to face him and strikes him in the head with her staff. He stumbles; Millet whacks him again in the back of the knee, knocking him to the ground.

But Cash still has his wits about him. He uses the knife in his hand to stab her in the calf. She falls as he stands. He thrusts his knee forward and hits her in the face, breaking her nose. She coughs out a mouthful of blood and a tooth on the ground. All seems lost for her – until she punches Cash right in the groin. He stumbles backwards.

Millet forces herself to her feet and uses her staff to beat him back toward one of the sinkholes until he stumbles in. He fails to pull himself out the way Annie did and dies of suffocation a few minutes later. Millet gets double the sponsors she had already, and Teff, one of the victors from her district, showers her with gifts of food and clothing. People start chanting Millet’s name both on the rooftop where the party is and in the streets below.

Seven tributes left.

Millet was already a favorite when she entered the arena, but Seegred and that boy were long shots at best. And Cash and Euphemia were top contenders. With more than half their allies gone, the surviving Careers are becoming less and less likely to win. Seegred and Millet are nearly tied in the betting pool of who will win.

No one’s quite sure about Annie. She’s partially sheltered thanks to the mat she wove. She finds enough food to keep herself from starving. She defeated Gad, another favorite more than twice her size, without any weapons, but she’s “cracking a bit,” as Caesar puts it, which lowers her odds. She never stops singing that song.

Tributes crack every so often. The most recent to do so was Titus of District 6 in Johanna’s Games, who started eating his fellow tributes out of some mixture of hunger and insanity. Insanity. They threw that word around the moment Titus bit into a dead boy’s leg, but nobody’s said it about Annie yet. Tributes go into shock all the time and yes, she appears to have it worse than the others usually do, but there’s a good chance she’ll snap out of it.

The party goes ahead anyway, though it’s only for the seven tributes now. Millet’s sponsors and mentors are over the moon, as one might expect. Seegred’s sponsors are cheery, too, since she just killed someone a day ago. Things are looking good for these two young women. In fact, they’re vying for the top spot in the polls.

No one really seems to care that Cash is dead since Shine is still in the running. She’ll inherit all of her partner’s funds. And Cash was boring, anyway.

This is shaping up to be one of those years where a Career doesn’t win. It’s not unheard of – a non-Career usually wins every two or three years – but the change of pace is still exciting.

Of the non-career districts, 11 has the best odds on paper. A lifetime of labor and repression makes them physically and mentally strong, and angry and determined. They don’t win that often, though.

Most of the other districts are equally screwed: their industries have no application in the arena, and the tributes are usually poor and downtrodden children without much of a real chance. It’s generally agreed that no one under sixteen will ever win, so younger tributes’ odds are automatically lowered. I was the only victor under sixteen to win, and like everybody says, I’m the exception, not the rule.

(ANNIE)

I wake up to funny noise. I think it’s thunder at first, since it’s always raining here, but it’s growling. From an animal. Many animals. The sound gets closer.

Maybe I’ll run? No. I’ll stay here. I’m too tired to run. Too tired to do anything.

Let the animals come. I’ll stay here. I’ll stay here.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

The animal is a lot of animals. Dogs. Mutts that look like dogs. Black coats and bright orange eyes. Big sharp teeth that are so big and sharp that they can’t possibly fit in a dog’s mouth. Bodies built all square and muscular like the fighting dogs back home but bigger and scarier.

They are chasing a boy. A boy with black hair and baby fat still on his cheeks. He has a pack. Looks pretty full. Maybe from District 6? District 10? Doesn’t matter. Not sure who’s left anymore. No one is left anymore.

The boy is bleeding from just about everywhere. A big chunk of flesh dangles from his upper arm like one of the dogs tried to tear it off but couldn’t finish the job. I think I see his bone.

He stumbles and falls as he runs, only to get up and stumble again and again until the mutts are on top of him. I watch from my perch as they tear his flesh. It makes a funny noise as it rips.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

It’s not a nice thing to see but I can’ tear my eyes away. I’ve never seen somebody’s insides. He’s just a hunk of meat. So am I.

I heard in school that there’s a limit to how much pain the human body can feel. It’s not endless, which I think is nice. And sometimes if it really hurts too much, you just pass out because you can’t process it.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

A cannon goes off, and soon the mutts tire of their meal and move on. I climb down and run over as fast as I can to loot the body. I start taking everything I can reach, things I urgently need. Boots, socks, knife, pack.

I can feel the hovercraft somewhere behind me, waiting to take the body, and I return to my nest to go through the bag. I still take a long time to lay it out because everything has to be in order before I can eat or drink because everything has to be in order before I eat or drink because everything has to be in order before I can eat or drink and everything has to be in order. The sun goes down and the rain starts up.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

Bandages, a pack of raisins, a salve, a half-empty canteen of water, a knife.

I drink the water as fast as I can and set it out to collect rain. I’m happy because starvation is better than dehydration and now I won’t be dehydrated. I wasn’t really dehydrated before because of all but I really don’t want to die like that, and now I’ll have two water bottles to drink from during the day when the sun is out.

The boots don’t fit me right but the socks are dry and ill-fitting boots are better than no boots.

I make another mark on the wall by the other marks for the other people that are dead. Seventeen. Is that right? I guess it doesn’t matter.

I smile and wiggle my toes inside the dry socks inside the dry boots and I think how happy I am to have two boots again because I lost one in the sinkholes so I only had one so I was uneven and both sides have to match and I almost took off my second boot because both sides have to match but I made myself keep it on even though both sides have to match because one boot is better than no boots but now I have two so I don’t have to worry.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

There are sixteen raisins, which is good because sixteen is a square number like four. So I eat four raisins and I have twelve yet and I can eat three more times because I have to eat them in fours because it has to all be square and both sides have to match.

(FINNICK)

Annie keeps a tally on the wall beside her. Anytime a cannon goes off, she uses a pointy rock to scratch a tally mark into the stone wall.  

She repeats her song over and over all day long until her throat is dry and she has to drink all of the water she’s gathered. She spends the rest of the day lying very still. Then she sets her bottles out again and lets the rain collect overnight.

She sometimes goes into these sort of frenzies and will spend an hour scrubbing her hands and arms raw. Luckily, these have only happened at night so far, so she can wash herself down as many times as she likes without worrying about dehydration or heat stroke, which have become major concerns for some of the tributes.

Things seemed to be speeding up when the boys from 1 and 6 died in two days, but they grind to a painful halt once Axle’s body is carried away. Nothing interesting happens for three days.

The surviving Careers are forced to leave the Cornucopia every day because the blistering sunlight heats the metal and essentially makes it an oven. Around sundown one day, there’s a torrential downpour that results in a flash flood that washes away the remaining food and supplies. But the flood isn’t enough because no one died or fought.

It’s no surprise when the Gamemakers decide that a feast is in order. Something to get things going again.

We’re at the endgame now. That’s almost comforting. I don’t want Annie to die, but I do want this to be over.  I want to stop hearing that  damn song  playing over and over in my head. I keep all the windows open at night  so I can hear the noise from below. It’s usually enough to drown out the song.

I open the windows in the bedroom when see my patron after the party. I don’t have to explain why I need background noise; he’s all for it because he thinks I’m an exhibitionist.  I’m not an exhibitionist, but I am whatever the client wants me to be. So for a few minutes I’m an exhibitionist.

He passes out as soon as he’s finished like most men do,  so I don’t expect to get my customary payment of a secret. He wakes up every hour to pee though – something to do with his prostate that I really don’t want to know about – and strikes up a flirtatious conversation.

“I hear you’re something of a collector,” he says as he fixes himself a drink.

“Oh?” I lift an eyebrow. “And what do you ‘hear’ that I collect?”

“Information. Secrets.” He hands me a glass tumbler identical to the one he holds, right down to the murky grey liquid inside. “A funny thing for a victor to collect.”

“You forget my first and favorite collection,” I say. “Conquests. Rich, handsome, important people like you.”

He chuckles. I think he’s actually convinced himself that I don’t mind being whored out, that maybe I even like it. Fine. At least he’s not weeping with guilt like some patrons do when we’re finished. I can’t stand that. Why buy me in the first place if it’s such a strain on the fabric of your morality? I’ll never make sense of these ultra-rich people.

“What sort of secrets do you like?”

“The juicer the better,” I say.

He takes a sip from his glass and frowns in thought. “Did you know I’m a perfumer?”

“I did. Don’t tell me your secret ingredient, though, that’s much too precious to share.”

He chuckles again. “I worked with the president’s gardener for a time.” I wonder if this is the same gardener that my other patron told me about, the one that fucks his identical twin. “And a few botanists. This was decades ago, long before you were born. We were engineering the roses in the president’s garden to have a stronger smell. Too strong, if you ask me. I prefer subtler stuff.”

“Sure.”

“But it’s what the president wanted. These are the same roses he pins on his lapels, mind you,” he says. “They reek. And I couldn’t understand why until I met him myself. He’s got something wrong with his mouth. Open sores that never heal.”

Gross.

“So he uses the flowers to cover the blood smell,” I say. “That’s not as exciting as I’d hoped.”

His eyes light up. “Oh, that’s not the secret,” my patron says. “The secret is how Snow developed those sores in the first place.”

[starstaiined]

Surprise! (Pt. 1)

SUMMARY: Don’t have the brainpower for a pretty blurb, but basically some cute lil fluff centering around the Queen’s first Christmas together (after doing the show for a year) and some secret santa shenanigans! Did half of the exchange now, the other half will be posted in the next few days. 

TW: None, really? Tis a fluffy fic my mates. But there is a bit at the end where they discuss the kids they had in their past lives and how much they miss them, so lil sad piece. 

TAGGING: no one this time i don’t think

Katherine Howard loved Christmas. Even back when the holidays had been rough, living with a dad with a hairpin temper and two older brothers determined to wreck her day, she’d wait eagerly all year for the time of year where she could shower them with affection and they would semi tolerate it. And she was beyond excited to spend this Christmas with the other queens, who didn’t mind her more affectionate ways. 

And the present! If there was one thing she prided herself on, it was her expert gift giving abilities. She’d barely been able to sleep through Christmas Eve, and at six sharp she’d rolled out of bed and carefully padded down to the kitchen. She had decided, in her sleepless haze, that she would make the other Queens a beautiful breakfast to celebrate the holidays, that they could eat before the present exchange. 

Of course, there was one problem with that idea: Kitty had the culinary expertise of a seven year old. Nevertheless she prepared for breakfast. She set up six plates on the table, and immediately set to work making a wreck of the kitchen... 

The other five queens, however, woke to the smoke alarm going off. They stumbled towards the kitchen in alarm, only to find Kat fanning the toaster and looking a little worse for wear. Flour and bits of eggshells clung to her hair, but her smile was undeniably wide as she saw them. “I made breakfast!” Kat hummed happily, gesturing towards the plates on the table proudly. The plates which consisted of: two Eggo waffles that were stiff and brown on the edges but still had frost glittering at their centers, a single cold pop-tart, and a couple forkfuls of rubbery looking eggs — flecked with pieces of eggshells. 

“What-” Anne mumbled, still addled with sleep, before Jane cut her off.

“-a kind thing to do, Kitty! Isn’t it great, girls?” Jane glared at the rest of the queens, who were quick to murmur in agreement and plaster on fake smiles while still eyeing the food warily. 

Aragon ruffled Kat’s hair affectionately. “Why don’t you go sort the presents into piles while I get some hot chocolate going?” And some coffee, she was going to need coffee to get through this. “And thank you for breakfast, Kat, it looks wonderful!” She could worry about the moral implications of lying later, right now she was more than content to enjoy the bright smile on Kat’s face. 

None of the queens were willing to risk hurting Kat’s feelings, so they all (valiantly) choked down their mess of a breakfast. The only one who managed not to gag at all was Cathy, who could eat just about anything with a straight face. (It was the sleep deprivation, it numbed the sense.) Finally, finally, they finished and filed into the living room. 

Kat was on the couch, her gift for her secret santa in front of her while she all but vibrated in place. Jane smiled, settling on the space next to her. Aragon settled down by the tree, Cathy on her left and Anna on her right. Anne sat across from them, her back pressed flat against the wall. Overall, they were in more or less of a circle. Anne, noticing Kitty all but vibrating, nodded to her younger. “I think Kit Kat should start this whole thing off.” 

The rest of the queens seemed fine with that. Kat all but launched herself off the couch, pushing her giant, neatly wrapped box over to Anna. 

Anna carefully peeled off the wrapping paper, being sure to go extra slow as she watched Kat nearly implode. Finally, she stopped teasing the girl and ripped into the present. She tore off the remaining wrapping paper, then opened the box. Inside...was a stack of sweaters. Anna laughed. “This your way of making up for the sweaters you’ve stolen, Kitty?” 

Kat smiled brightly. “No, these are too replenish your stock so I can steal more.” She was only half joking. Nonethless, the others laughed. But Kat was quick to point to the box. “There’s more in there, you’ve got to pull the sweaters out. And be careful!” 

Anna raised a brow, interested piqued, and gingerly pulled out a sweater. There was obviously something hidden in the folds, so she carefully reached inside and pulled out a bottle. She stared in shock at the clear bottle — her favorite brand of vodka — before laughing. She can hear poor Jane sputtering in the background. 

“Katherine! When—How?” Jane stumbled over her words, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline in confusion and concern. 

“I have my ways.” Kat’s lips were pulled into a half smirk, freckled nose scrunching as her eyes glittered in a way eerily similar to Anne’s. (In that moment, the family resemblance was damn near startling.) The others often forgot that Kat could be just as much of a delinquent as her older cousin—those doe eyes hid a penance for mischief. “It’s better not to ask.” 

Jane buried her head in her hands, trying to process what just happened, as Anna continued to open her present. Luckily, or unluckily depending on who you ask, there wasn’t anymore alcohol. There was, however, enough energy drinks to power a small city. Underneath the sweaters and forbidden drinks was a simple best friends matching necklace, clearly home made. One half of a heart hung on a red necklace, the other on a pink one. Anne’s lips quirked into a smile. “So, I can give this necklace to anyone I choose?” 

“Uh huh. Your choice. Totally. One hundred percent.” Kat answered, attempting to appear disinterested. Even so, the smallest twinge of hurt passed over her features. But it disappeared as soon as Anna fixed the other half of the necklace around her neck.

“I was just teasing you, Kat.” Anna said, pulling the younger girl into a half hug. “I love it, all of it. Thank you.” 

Kat beamed, and settled back on the couch. Almost instinctively, Jane held out an arm and Kat curled up to her side. 

Anne watched the scene unfold fondly, glad to see her baby cousin enjoying herself. Her musings, however, were cut short as Anna yelled her name. Anne turned in time to see a small wrapped box flying directly towards her face. She let out a yelp, sticking her hands up to block her face. The box hit the top of her head before bouncing to the floor, and although it didn’t hurt in the least Anne looked up fuming. “What the fuck, Anna?” Her swearing was lost amidst the laughing of the other queens, surprised to see the princess of pranks dethroned. Anne grumbled something under her breath, before unwrapping the small box that had hit her. She opened it and...it was empty? She blinked a few times, confused, before she noticed the scrap of paper. Pulling it out, she read the words in Anna’s chicken scratch writing. Cleaning closet. 

She stood up, walking over to the closet that only Jane really used. Opening it, she found at least ten medium sized, neatly wrapped boxes lining the shelves. Well, that was one way to keep her from going through the presents. She loaded up her arms, and Cathy walked over to help carry the ones that didn’t fit, As she settled back in her seat, she gave Anna a quizzical look. 

Anna just grinned. “Thought I should give your presents a bit more of a personal touch. You know, let them reflect you.” Anne just stared, not getting it, to which Anna sighed. “You know, since you spent so much time in the closet?” 

Jane choked on her hot chocolate, Kat nearly howled with laughter, Cathy buried her head in her hands to hide her grin, and even Aragon couldn’t help the tears of laughter building in her eyes. Anne made a noise of protest, but it died to second it reached her lips—after all no one appreciated a good closet joke more than Anne. She give the queens a couple seconds to settle down, Kitty was still giggling maniacally, before she opened her present. 

Much to the horror of the other queens, they were chock full of pranking material. Itching powder. Realistic looking fake bugs. Fake blood. When Anne pulled out the stinkbombs, Aragon sighed and shot Jane a distressed look. By the time Anne had opened nine of the ten packages, each worst than the last, the queens waited with baited breath for the last package. But when she did, they breathed a sigh of relief. Anne’s eyes gleamed. “Jelly beans!!” Before Anna could say anything, Anne shoved a handful in her mouth...to spit them back out immediately. She looked utterly distraught as dark eyes focused on Anna for an explanation. 

Anna chuckled nervously. “Those....weren’t meant for you to eat, Annie. They’re called beanboozled, they put in a bunch of gross flavors. Thought it’d be good prank material-”

“You ruined jellybeans.” Anne pouted, pushing the last box far away from her. “Jellybeans Anna! That’s sacrilegious.” 

“Oh, stop being so dramatic you big baby. Just give your gift.” Aragon said with a roll of her eyes. Anne glared at her, but nonetheless picked up her gift. She walked over the couch, while Kitty all but vibrated in place. And she handed Jane three boxes, stacked on top of each other and tied off with ribbon. “Start with the biggest box. Kitty helped me with that one.” 

She took it carefully, smiling up at Anne before she unwrapped....a book? Jane’s brow furrowed as she opened it...and found a page carefully decorated with stickers, glitter, and Anne’s loopy script next to a set of adorable candids. She flipped through each page, in shock at the obvious care placed in each page’s appearance. 

And the pictures, they were pictures she’d never seen before. Aragon, caught mid-laugh with her eyes sparkling like the sun. Cathy, illuminated by her computer, sleeping on the kitchen table. Anna scowling down at her video game console. There was even one of her and Kitty. Her arm was thrown around Kat’s shoulders, her eyes shining with love, while Kat looked up at her with a lopsided grin. They were snapshots of real life: like someone had stopped time and caught their honest reactions when they didn’t even notice. Jane’s eyes had teared up while she flipped through, not that she’d noticed. “Where did you get these pictures?” She asked, voice rough with emotion. 

Anne was avidly trying to avoid eye contact. She had never been the mushy type, and she could tell that Jane was on the verge of getting sentimental. “I took them.” Anne answered after a minute. “I like taking pictures when you guys aren’t paying attention. Sometimes you guys look really stupid, and it’s good blackmail material.” She was lying through her teeth, attempting to keep her image. 

Jane saw right through her, but she didn’t say that. Instead she composed herself and nodded. Her fingers traced the cover of the book, before she handed it to Kitty to hold while she opened her next gift. The second box was filled with various kinds of knick-knacks and sweets: aka Anne’s favorite way of expressing her love. It brought a smile to Jane’s face. But it was the last gift that pushed her over the edge. Anne fidgeted uncomfortably as Jane began to unwrap that last gift, all eyes on both of them. 

Inside the last box was a rather plain locket, and a piece of paper. 

Jane’s brow furrowed, and Anne began to explain. Her cheeks burned bright red, her eyes suspiciously bright. “It’s uh — there’s this — ” Anne tripped over her words, looking uncharacteristically on edge. Kitty edged her way over, tilting her head and taking Anne’s hand. The contact seemed to soothe her, and with a shaky exhale she tried again. “There’s a company that sells stars. Like, the stars in the sky. You can buy one, and name it, and then they send you this locket with a picture of your star, and that certificate.” 

“You named a star after me?” Jane asked in confusion, not understanding why Anne seemed so on edge by that. Until...she looked down at the certificate. 

Edward. 

That one word sucked all the air from her lungs. It was lifetimes ago, but the pain had never ebbed. It was a five hundred year old wound that hurt just as much as a five second old wound. Shaking hands opened the locket, and on one side was a picture of a singular star. On the other, Anne had slipped in a portrait of him. Her heart twisted in her chest, and a tear hit the paper. She carefully put the gifts to the side, pulling Anne into a tight hug. 

To her surprise, Anne squeezed back just as hard. They stayed locked in that embrace for a long time, the rest of the room utterly still. When they finally broke from their embrace, both of them were sniffling. It was then that Jane noticed the same locket around Anne’s neck. And it was then that she remembered. Elizabeth. 

As much as Anne hid behind the laughter and the antics and the carefree attitude, she carried around the same pain. It was easy to forget sometimes. Jane squeezed Anne’s hand. Her mouth said, “Thank you.” Her eyes said I understand, and I’m here. 

Anne gave a watery grin back. “Don’t get all sappy on me, Seymour.” She scoffed, but her red rimmed eyes said I know. The two shared a moment of understanding, and then Anne settled on the couch next to Kitty. Her younger cousin curled up to her side and held her hand, and Anne felt some of the tension drain from her shoulders. “Okay Jane, why don’t you give your secret santa their gift? Get the ball rolling again?” Anne said with a forced chuckle. 

[darkdisrepair]

the first step (is always the hardest)

alright guys fun fact someone asked about the origin of the queens living together but i wasn’t sure how to answer the ask while also having a title so here we are! hopefully whoever asked sees this.

in this, i’m thinking parr is around 20 (which would be about her second/third year of university in the united states, idk about the uk) which makes anne around 21-22

~

“I think I found our place,” Anne declared with a wide grin on her face. Parr looked up from her worn copy of Sense and Sensibility, eyebrows raised.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about it, then,” Parr said, closing the book and turning her her full attention toward the brunette. 

“It’s on Upper Park Road. The website says we’d have housemates. They’re looking for two women to help them pay rent, but they don’t really care how old. There’d be a meeting first, so that the other people living in the house could meet us.”

“Upper Park Road is a really nice area,” Parr said skeptically. “Do you really think we could even realistically afford that?!”

“Honestly, it doesn’t look like they’re asking for much. I’m pretty sure whoever owns the house isn’t too worried about making a profit, necessarily.”

“Does it say what they’d expect us to pay? Let’s not forget that we both have university fees still.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Would I be bringing this up to you if I didn’t think we could do it? They didn’t mention a price estimate. They just want whoever’s interested to set up a meeting and then they said that we’ll talk money there. If it doesn’t work out, fine, we’ll keep looking.”

“I don’t know, Annie, this seems way too far out of our wheelhouse. Houses on Upper Park Road go for millions of pounds, and I, for one, know that that’s definitely out of my price range.”

“Just give it a chance, okay? It’s a beautiful house, and it’s in a pretty decent location. We could get where we needed to go without having to deal with the tourists all the time.”

Parr still looked skeptical, with her arms crossed over her chest. “Anne...”

“It’s just one meeting. And then we can go for ice cream afterward, and I’ll pay.”

“That’s a dirty move.”

“But I know you’ll say yes.”

Even though she tried not to hide it, Anne was incredibly nervous for this first meeting with the homeowner. She and Parr had been looking for somewhere to stay for quite some time now, and this was one of, if not the only promising prospect they had.

It was either this, or find some run down old place on the outskirts of London, in some sketchy neighborhood. Which Anne would rather not do. They tried another place a few months prior, but their landlord had been less than pleasant, always lurking around the building, following Anne to the store one day, trying to bargain a kiss from Parr another...

She just prayed that whoever it was wasn’t going to ask them for much, rent-wise. She made a solid amount performing, but it wasn’t a lot, and Parr was in her final year of university. They certainly couldn’t afford a house on Upper Park Road by themselves.

Anne had dressed as nicely as she could, in one of her favorite olive green sweaters, dark jeans, and a pair of nice boots. Parr wore a white button down shirt, a blue blazer, and maroon pants. 

“Ready?” Anne asked, hand on the doorbell.

“As I’ll ever be.”

The doorbell rang once, twice, before the door swung open to reveal a very professional looking woman, with blonde hair that was nearly white. “You must be Anne and Catherine.”

“Yes, that would be us,” Parr said a bit awkwardly. “And you must be Ms. Seymour.”

“That would be correct, but do call me Jane. Come in. I was thinking we’d get to know each other a bit before we talk business, if that works for the two of you. Are you in much of a rush this morning?” Jane asked as she led them down the entrance hall.

“No, we have nothing planned.”

“Lovely.”

They’d reached the living room now, which was brightly lit by a large window on one side. 

“These two women are Catherine Aragon and Anna Cleves,” Jane said, motioning toward the two women who were seated on the couch. “They are also staying here at the present time. Catherine, Anna, meet, well, Catherine and Anne.”

“It looks like your Catherine and Anna quotas are already filled,” Anne quipped as she sat down in one of the armchairs. “Don’t need much more of those around the house.”

“All we need is another Jane,” Cleves added, smirking. “Then it would be even teams.”

“How about you tell us a little about yourselves? What do you do for a living? How long have you been in London?” Jane asked, looking at the two of them in a manner that made Anne feel like she was a piece of art to be appraised in a museum. 

“We both went to university here, and I’m currently auditioning on the West End,” Anne said. “I studied musical theatre.”

“And I’m planning on becoming a writer after I graduate,” Parr added. “But I still have a little ways to go.”

“What sort of writing?” Catherine Aragon asked, at the same time Cleves asked about what shows Anne was going for.

“Um, well, I like writing about social issues. Women’s rights, how people interact with others, problematic trends. But I also enjoy fiction quite a bit, so maybe I’ll write some novels on the side while I work as a journalist the rest of the time.”

“I’ll really go for any role they want me,” Anne explained. “But I love dancing, and I love playing the quirky characters. The love interest doesn’t really suit me- I prefer the witty ones, the ones with the good one-liners.”

~

The conversation continued like that for about thirty more minutes. To Anne, it felt more like a job interview than a get-to-know-you session, but when something as intimate as sharing a house was on the line, she couldn’t blame any of them for wanting to know as much as possible.

“I have one more question before we make our decision. What brought you here?” Jane asked.

“We had a bad experience at the last place we visited,” Parr said after a heavy silence. “Our landlord was very... pushy. He followed Anne around all the time, flirting with her, trying to get her to go on a date with him... I forgot the keys one time and he tried to get me to sleep with him in order for him to let me in. It just wasn’t where we wanted to be anymore.”

Anne couldn’t bring herself to look at the other women.

“Thank you for telling us that,” Aragon said, but Anne couldn’t tell if her tone of voice had changed because she disliked the two of them or because she disapproved of their old landlord. 

Jane, Aragon, and Cleves left the room for a few minutes to discuss, leaving Anne and Parr alone in the living room.

“They seemed nice, if not intense,” Parr commented. “They seem so put together.”

“They are older than us. They’ve had time to find out what they want to do with their lives, where as we’re just... skating through.”

“Do you really think they’re even considering letting us stay with them? We’re so different from each other. They’re successful, well-off women, and we’re practically kids,” Parr wondered out loud.

“I don’t know. I can see it going either way.”

Anne definitely couldn’t see Jane Seymour appreciating the late-night lifestyle of a theatre actress, or Anne’s passion for wearing wheeled sneakers indoors, but she didn’t tell that to Parr.

The three women came back.

“We’ve made our decision. We’d be happy to have the two of you stay with us, if you would like,” Jane said with little fanfare. “You seem like you have promising futures ahead of you, we’d love to be a part of that. I know the value of a healthy living environment, and while I don’t have much experience acting as a landlady, I’m more than happy to open my home to bright young women such as yourselves.”

“And we need some new life in this house,” Aragon added.

“I’m sure we don’t be without our disagreements. Those are inherent when you put five women in the same house for long periods of time. But as long as you’re willing to adapt, compromise, and try it out, I’m willing to give it a shot,” Jane continued.

Anne held her breath.

“I’m not going to charge you an exorbitant amount. I’m the CEO of a company- I don’t plan on taking your hard-earned money away from you. I consider this less of a business transaction and more as a foray into the human experience. I refuse to let the two of you go through another housing experience like your past one. So, we’ll settle on some kind of monthly payment that fits your financial abilities, such as a few hundred pounds a month. You’ll contribute to groceries, and such, but I am certainly not depending your money in order to keep this house. That was never the issue.”

Both girls were stunned. Anne couldn’t even process what the blonde woman was telling them, she was so shocked. “Is this a dream?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“No, it’s not a dream,” Jane said warmly. “Is this a yes?”

Anne and Parr barely needed to look at each other to confirm before they nodded their assent.

“Welcome home, then, Anne and Catherine.”

[the-beacons-of-minas-tirith]

Together From Now On

Fandom: Castle Rock/Stephen King

Ship: Joy x Chance

Words: 1862

Part: 1/?

Rating: G (fluff, kissing)

Notes: This is literally the very first fanfic I have published. I’m not a huge ff writer, but the “bury your gays” trope is one of my biggest pet peeves and I just really really wanted to correct it this time. I haven’t had a lot of time for writing lately, so I figured I’d post what I had so far and continue the story. Spoilers for Castle Rock S2

@fanpageknight @wormoffthestring sorry it took so long! Here it is!

The sky was gathering with clouds, a familiar scent on the wind: rain was coming. Through the open window of the passenger seat, Joy Ingalls looked out at the wooded landscape that seemed endless. But, she wasn’t really Joy Ingalls, was she? After nearly seventeen years, she had learned her true name, which was Evangeline Wilkes.

She had also learned of her true parents, Carl Wilkes and Rita Green, and that the woman whom she had believed to be her mother, Annie, was really her half-sister. Violence, death, murder, these were the things that Annie had fled from…along with Evangeline, who had been no more than a baby when a teenaged Annie had hidden her in a cardboard box and made her way to the river, intending to drown them both and escape “this dirty world”, as she often called it.

But something happened, something that had saved them both, and that was that Evangeline had smiled at Annie. She had never done so before, always crying when the troubled girl had held her, but this time, this time… Something had changed in Annie at that moment, something had pulled her back from the edge, and for the first time in a long time, Annie felt that things might get better.

Many years had passed with Annie and her sister, now renamed Joy and passed off as Annie’s own daughter, living a life on the run, although Joy had never known it – Annie, now a nurse, had kept up a pretense of the necessity of nurses moving around often. And so they did, moving from place to place, staying in areas for only months or even weeks before leaving, many times in a hurry, which Joy now knew was because of her adopted mother’s habit of stealing pills from the hospitals in which she worked, in order to control her unstable mind.

And it had been for this very reason that Joy had not, at first, believed Annie’s frantic paranoia of a man she had claimed to have killed, a dangerous man, coming back to life. After all, tales of the supernatural, even from locals who believed every word of it, were a thing of fiction, right? Maybe in some towns.

But not in Castle Rock.

Joy squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to block out the horrid memories, memories of the townspeople falling under a sinister trance, moving like zombies towards an ancient statue, memories of people who were no longer people, but vessels of wicked souls returned from centuries ago.

She had almost become one of them…

But her mother, who was not her mother, had kept that from happening. And now…

“Hey.” A voice broke Joy out of her dark thoughts. It was Chance, approaching the passenger window from the small convenience store they had stopped at. Joy had opted to stay in the car.

“Oh…hey.” Joy wrung her hands and looked down, breathing out slowly.

Chance opened the driver’s door and, setting the drinks she had bought in the cup holders, made herself comfortable in the seat. She glanced at Joy, a concerned look on her face. “You good?”

“Fine,” said Joy quietly, chewing her bottom lip.

Chance looked at her for a moment, then spoke. “You were thinking about it again,” she said softly. She gently put her hand over Joy’s; she could feel it trembling slightly.

“Joy.”

Joy looked up at Chance slowly. The girl who held her affections was good at seeing the truth, even without words. They hadn’t talked about anything that had happened in that town since they had left almost two weeks ago. She had pushed it down as long as she could, but now Joy could feel the words she longed to say rising inside her, like the late August heat that surrounded them.

Swallowing hard, Joy closed her eyes again. “What if I was wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“What if I – I shouldn’t have left her? What will happen to her without me? She saved me, I could have become one of those –” Her voice cracked, and she paused to take a deep breath. “She saved me,” Joy repeated slowly. “And I left her.”

Joy remembered this part vividly, perhaps most of all. Unlike the other memories that came unwittingly, surfacing every now and then like skeletal trees in a valley of fog, this one stayed at the front of her mind, burning intensely as if it had been branded behind her eyelids. Annie’s face, so eagerly hopeful at the thought of what she was sure was true, that Joy wanted to leave this wretched town with her and never come back. Well, part of it was true. Joy was desperate to leave.

Just not with Annie.

How her adopted mother’s face had slowly but surely crumpled, how her eyes, still so wide and emotional, were now filled with shock and fear instead of hope. Joy knew this would happen, but it didn’t make it any easier. “Mom,” she had said. “Mom, I think…I think I need to leave. Without…you. I love you, mom. I really do. But…I can’t…be with you anymore.”

           Annie had tried her best to keep her emotions from taking over. “Oh, Joy, little love, you don’t mean that! You’re just…” she hurriedly searched for what to say. “You’re overwhelmed. And why wouldn’t you be! Y-you’ve been through s-so much recently that – that you’re not thinking clearly! Those horrible people – those, those, dirty birds almost killed you!”

           “Mom…” Joy wanted to say more, but Annie cut her off.

“I’ll tell you what, little love, you need a good night’s sleep. We can go back to the lodge and rest, and then we’ll discuss it in the morning, okay? Okay?”

           But Annie knew she wasn’t letting Joy go anywhere alone. And Joy knew it too. Which is why what she had to do next broke her heart.

           She left a letter for her mother, expressing as best she could her feelings. That she needed to find her own way, that she still loved her, and hoped they could reconnect one day in the future. Taking with her a bag of clothes, her phone, the keys to her mother’s car, and what little money she had, Joy had left the lodge while Annie had slept, meeting Chance outside and helped her push the vehicle far enough away that Annie wouldn’t hear it start. They were lucky; the tank was almost full.

           And so they had driven, mostly in silence, stopping every so often to eat or find a hotel to stay at. Chance had, in the confusion of the town trying to regain its sanity, taken as much cash as she could from the register of the local bar, so they had plenty to keep them going for a while.

           Chance looked at Joy with empathy in her eyes. “I get it. I know what you’re going through. It sucks to be apart from your parents, even if they aren’t good for you. But it gets better. Hey, at least you have a phone now.”

           Joy gave a small chuckle.

           “When I left my folks, I was terrified,” Chance continued, rubbing Joy’s hand gently. “I had no idea if I would last. But you know what got me through it?”

           “What?”

           “What got me through was knowing that there was nothing left for me in the past, so that meant that everything I had to gain was in the future. That I had to keep moving forward.” Chance raised Joy’s hand and pressed it gently to her lips.

           Slowly, slowly, Joy’s anxious heartbeat decelerated, and she looked deep into Chance’s eyes, eyes that conveyed love and compassion. She had never felt this way about anyone before, had never felt this strong sense of safety and belonging, safer than she had ever been with her mother. Her chest felt lighter than it had in days.

           Joy smiled at Chance, and Chance smiled back. As if by second nature, they both leaned carefully towards each other, their lips meeting tenderly for more than a moment.

           A light patter had begun on the roof of the car; the rain had started. It was the soft, sweet rain of summer, cleansing the world around them and bringing new hope to their lives.

 ***

             Chance and Joy pulled into the parking lot of the hotel just as the rain had started to pick up. Dodging the drops, they ran in to the main lobby with their bags over their heads. Inside, they brushed their damp hair back, and chuckled as they looked at each other. Once their humor had subsided, they surveyed the interior.

As one of the common chain hotels, the lobby was hardly distinguishable from the others they had stayed in. The tiled floor was a pale cream color, there were fake plants in the corners, and the small sitting area had a flat screen TV showing a news channel. Right now, the anchor was pointing to a weather map and explaining that the rain would last until the end of the week.

           Chance started towards the front desk, where a middle-aged blonde woman was occupied with a magazine. Chance cleared her throat. The woman glanced up.

           “Yeah?” she said.

           “We’d, uh, like a room?” said Chance. “Please,” she added.

           The woman – Beverly, said her name tag – moved to look at her computer. “Name?” she asked absently, as she typed.

           “Andy,” said Chance in an even voice. She and Joy had agreed that it was best to use fake names for now, at least until they made it to Canada. No telling if they were being searched for.

           “Last name?” said Beverly. She seemed to be keeping herself from rolling her eyes.

           “Evans,” Chance replied.

           With a few more clicks on the keyboard, Beverly turned back to Chance. “Only rooms we got left have one bed. The couches are pull outs thought, if you want,” she said glancing at Joy.

           Joy paused, exchanging a look with Chance. Chance held her gaze for a few seconds before turning back to Beverly. “That’s fine. We’ll take it.”

           “How many nights?”

           “Um, four. Tonight to Sunday morning.”      

The blonde woman typed on her computer, then got up and went into a room behind the desk. She was gone for a minute before returning with two key cards in her hand.

           “Room number is 79. Third floor.” She placed the cards on the counter and then looked expectantly at Chance, who pulled a thick envelope out of her backpack.

           “How much?”

           “One-eighty, even.”

           Chance rummaged through the envelope and handed Beverly several bills. The clerk put the cash in the register and then gestured towards the elevators. “You’re all set.” She became engrossed in her magazine once more.

           Once the two girls were in the elevator, they sighed in relief. Chance looked at Joy. Joy looked at Chance. And all of a sudden they were laughing, leaning back against the mirrored walls. They were just two girls in this moment, two girls closer than friends who were happy and carefree and in love. Taking each other’s hands, they stepped off the elevator and made their way to the room.