#writing vc fanfic

[desertfangs]

Writing VC fanfic is a constant experience of "Wrote one line that refers to an event in a book, better pull out that book and double check it actually went how I remember it going so I don't look like a fool" and still managing to get so many little things wrong.

[rapha-reads]

To those of you wondering (aka no one), I finished both The Vampire Armand and Merrick and I have a lot of thoughts and feels. I'm skipping Blood and Gold for now to go directly to Blackwood Farm (I'll read B&G later), but first I'm going to read something else, just to take a break.

TVA thoughts: man, Armand is messed up. And extremely compelling. But so messed up. As always, the theme of faith crisis, which seriously reaches new heights with these bitchy vampires, is not something I can fully immerse myself in, but it was fascinating to see his numerous metamorphosis. I liked how he bridges Western and Eastern Christianisme, especially through art. Now I'm thinking that if Rolin Jones makes him originally Muslim in the show, that could expand even more the conversation on how faith, and especially Abrahamic faith, has been in conversation for thousands of years and could be such a rich, diverse and spiritual, intellectual and artistic theme. I can already imagine some fascinating discussions comparing (not in a superior way but in a complementary way) coming from Muslim faith to Roman Catholic faith, the way book!Armand talks about the richness of his life in Kiev Rus despite the poverty and ascetism, and the richness of his life in Venecia despite the luxury and abundance.

As for Benamin and Sybille... I don't have much thoughts about them. Sybille is one of those female characters AR seemingly favors, not so much human as a nymph or a dryad, "perfectly splendid". And Benji is a caricature of an Arab child. Nuance? 401 not found.

Merrick thoughts: David for the love if everything, shut. The. Fuck. Up. Holy moly. I like David, I do, but damn the entire recollection of his history with Merrick was looooooong. I'm here to see Louis haunted by Claudia and haunting Lestat's coma, not how hard you're pining for the kid you practically raised! Also. ALSO. You're just going to leave that whole thing with the Olmec or possibly another more ancient Mesoamerican civilisation without ever giving us more? That was the most interesting part of it all! The vodoo history, the connection between Louisiana and Caribbean vodoo and old Native South-American religions! More about this, less about Merrick's perfect breasts, I am begging you. (It is at this point that the reader of this post realises OP is 100% definitely ace and more interested in books and witchcraft than breasts and whether a 70yo man can still get it up - also, hey, Anne Rice's vampires are practically asexual and their lust and pleasure is mostly derivated from blood, with some notable exceptions like Armand and Marius, and a love relationship between two vampires is then based on romantic love and blood sharing, so can I hear a hell yeah for some ace representation or are we still conflating eroticism with sex)

Another thing I kept thinking about throughout the book is how Louis is perceived by his fellow vampires. Since basically the second book, since we've lost his own POV, everybody who's ever said anything about him (so Lestat, Armand and David) have insisted on two points: how very weak and meek Louis is, and also how irresistible, beautiful and charming. Granted, I've known Louis first through his portrayal on the show (hi Jacob you're so fiiiiiiine), and then through his own narration in the first book, but I've never had the impression that he was weak. Beautiful and seductive, yes. Weak? I see a human man going through tragedies and still enduring, going through vampiric transformation and then suffering for decades the loss of his humanity, struggling with reconciliating both sides of himself, but mostly I see a vampire who rebuilt himself after losing everything without sacrificing his sense of self. I see Louis as very strong actually (up to the point where resilience breaks, because resilience cannot be sustained on a long term, but that's another debate). He knows who he is, and don't you know how hard that is? He doesn't cling to faith or pride. He knows he's doomed, he knows he's monstrous, he knows there's nothing he can do to change that, and instead of railing against his fate, he goes on about his undead life. He gets his books and he reads them, he surrounds himself with literature and what little comforts he thinks in his shattered self-esteem he deserves (his ragged sweaters and soft trousers); let's not lie to ourselves tho, Louis doesn't like himself, or more exactly he doesn't care about his corporeal body - what matters to him is his mind, and once again, this author is extremely ace and also very aro and very nonbinary, so Louis to me is very much ace and agender coded, though really not aro, because his love for Lestat (and sometimes his fondness, shall we say, for Armand) is the only thing that can rouse him up from his literary slumber.

...

Oh, man, I have a lot to say about Louis, for how little he appears in the books so far. Still have BF, BC and the PL trilogy to devour. So I guess you can say, for as much as Lestat is occupying my entire brain, very much like him, my favorite is Louis? Yeah, that tracks. Melancholy, quiet, dark-haired green-eyed monster with more humanity than humans, preferring his solitude and the company of books to anyone else, hopelessly and helplessly devoted to one person, expert in brooding and grieving, literature specialist, not very attached to his physical self. Yeah. I'm not surprised.

[leslutdepointedulac]

hello! “ why do you hate me? ” and louis :) thank youuu

Lestat stares at Louis for a moment, then rises to his feet and moves across the salon to stand behind him. He leans down, draping his arms over his shoulders and plays with a loose thread on his sweater, his chin resting on top of his head. 

“Why do you hate me?” Lestat huffs, his tone reminding Louis of a child when they get frustrated about not getting their own way. 

Louis makes a sound of disbelief and lowers his book onto his lap. “When did I tell you I hated you?” He tries to turn his head to look up at Lestat, but the weight of his chin resting on him prevents him from doing so. 

“What do you mean, when did you say that? You just said it less than a minute ago.” 

Louis opens his mouth to reply but closes it again and raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I said, Lestat. Not once did I tell you I hated you, I only said that I’d think about going into Paris, but that you shouldn’t get your hopes up.” 

“Exactly.” 

“That’s not the same thing.” 

Lestat shifts with a disgruntled noise, so that his head is now resting on Louis’ shoulder, his fiddling with the loose thread is ceased when Louis puts the book to one side and takes his hands. He twists the ring on Lestat’s left hand while holding his other hand up to his heart with their fingers interlocked. 

“I thought you needed to get the newcomers settled in.” 

“I did that earlier.” Lestat says. 

“Have you dealt with that petty conflict between those two fledglings?” 

“Of course, I did that last night.” 

“And you’ve gone to have that talk with Marius about those new regulations?” Silence. “Lestat, have you spoken with Marius yet?” Lestat makes a noise that Louis takes as a ‘no’. “You really need to talk to him, those regulations need to be sorted sooner rather than later, you know that.” 

Lestat groans and buries his face in Louis’ shoulder. “But he takes about two hours to go over something that should only take less than one hour.” His voice comes out muffled from where he’s hidden himself in the folds of Louis’ sweater. 

“He’s being thorough, you can’t just pass over it like it’s nothing.”

“Well his idea of being thorough is to see how long he can drone on for before I die of boredom.” 

Louis sighs, though it’s full of fondness with a hint of his amusement. “Don’t be so dramatic, you can’t even die.” 

“I might, if I have to listen to any more of Marius’ boring tangents.” 

A laugh escapes Louis and he releases Lestat’s left hand to reach up and tangle his fingers through his hair. Lestat relishes the touch for a moment, then raises his head to press his forehead to Louis’ temple. 

“I just want to spend some time with you for the night.”

Louis turns his head to face Lestat, making him draw back slightly so they can properly face each other. He looks at Lestat, who gazes back at him with what Daniel would probably describe as ‘Puss in Boots’ eyes. Louis can’t help but smile softly back at him and lifts both hands to gently sweep his hair from his eyes and cup his face. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” he starts, his smile growing when Lestat’s eyes brighten up. “We can stay here for another half an hour, let’s say, and then you go and find Marius. . . don’t give me that look. . . you go and find Marius, sort out those regulations and then we can spend the rest of the night together, doing whatever you like. Within reason. Does that sound fair?” 

Lestat pretends to think about it and then sighs, feigning resignation. “I suppose that’s acceptable.” He straightens up and comes around to the front of the sofa, where he sinks down beside Louis and lies with his feet propped up on his lap. “Go on then, start reading. I’ve only got thirty minutes before you kick me out.” 

He’s met with a disapproving look, though it’s only mocking, before Louis picks up his book again and opens it back to the page he was previously on. Every so often, having to place a hand on Lestat’s ankles to stop him from moving, after almost getting kicked in the face from his shifting. 

Those thirty minutes fly by for Lestat and before he knows it, he's counting down the seconds until he can go back to his husband for some well deserved time together.

[enbylestat]

Vampride 2024

A violinist becomes hostage of a Lelio and Flaminia.

"Hope" is a thing with feathers.

Where did you get those eyes, mon cher?

Always on the margins.

To define is to limit.

Allons-y Chér(ie).

Full collection here.

[queerquaintrelle]

Vampride: Pride Parade

Allons-y Chér(ie) on ao3.

[boxwinebaddie]

tfw u write A Silly Fake Song for Your Silly Fake Fanfic, but feel so intensely passionate abt it and it’s relevance to The Silly Fake Plot that you could go back to school..

— And Write An Entire College THESIS On It?!

[rebel-revenant]

An alternate universe retelling of the Devil’s Minion wherein Daniel sold his soul to the Devil for notoriety as a writer. Now, fifteen years later, Armand is the fallen angel who has come to collect it. Enraptured by the manuscript Daniel has yet to complete, Armand extends him an offer of borrowed time to finish it under his watchful eye.

Chapter 5 Excerpt:

And to him, I would have been perfectly beautiful in any state of mortal decay. Mon dieu, he is beautiful, is he not? All the more for his age. He has a peculiar frown line, you see, and it wedges itself there like a question mark. And my heart aches with bittersweet love for him, all the more because it will not last, he as he is today, in this moment, none of it, and the lines of his face will be more crude, and he will be shorter than I am by another inch, and perhaps his feeble mind will begin to forget my name, just every so now and then, and perhaps enough to become concerning, and it will hurt, perhaps it will be the worst pain anyone can ever feel, should his mind grow brittle and forget me, but do you know why it will hurt?  Because it was all of the love of a fully lived life. So good it hurts, and the hurt is good. That is why he’s so beautiful. More than I am, more than I could ever be. All of it, Daniel. All of it was futile. The design was already perfect before I bargained it away.

[killianxswan]

Prompt: “Oh, baby, you’re drooling everywhere.”

nice one, shazzy

He held her hair back behind her ears, fondling it and twisting it as he guided her head up and down his shaft.

She was sucking him mercilessly, keeping him just on the brink of his orgasm and slowing down at just the right time before he could soar over the edge. Kneeling in front of him, she used her hands to steady her grip on his muscular thighs, using the leverage to help him fuck his member into her mouth even faster.

When she finally stopped teasing him and properly finished him off, she slipped him out of her mouth and let the mixture of her saliva and his release dribble down his cock and his balls.

The sight was so erotic, Killian couldn't help but stroke her hair and admire her as she continued to devour him.

"Mmm," he grunted. "bloody hell, Swan, you're drooling every where."

She hummed softly on his skin, causing him to shiver. "I'm addicted to your taste."

[nightcolorz]

I would love a Louis/Armand cry me a river drabble! If you have the time of course. I really like your writing and you seem like a pretty cool but busy guy so if it doesn't work out I'll happily wait for more millenia gate!

u r so sweet anon tysm <3 I hope u enjoy this drabble. It was my first time writing loumand and my first time writing a Drabble so, lots of brave steps I’m taking here 😭. I rlly enjoyed writing this it was almost hard not to write more. Takes place during the relationship era in iwtv (book verse) post Claudia’s death where Louis and Armand are dispassionate lovers, Louis’s too sad after Claudia’s death to give af about armand, armand is hurt cuz he expected Louis to not be so affected, etc. Yay! Enjoy!

16-cry me a river

For all Armand said of my emotional distance and my coldness, he was essentially the very same. He kept himself carefully maintained and regulated, always in control. His thoughts were never not behind lock and key, so deliberately even my weak vampiric telepathy could sense that cage kept around his soul. I thought him mature for it. Could you believe that? I admired his wisdom, wished I could be so calculated in my frigidity. There were times when I played at reading with my eyes cast down, expression mild, and wished that I couldn’t feel myself trembling with emotion. I’d pictured Armand’s blankness and I’d envy that power. 

But of course, Armand and I’s relationship was built on a series of lies, of illusions, and eventually- all these illusions had to fade. Armand was as alien to me as any stranger I’d kill in an act of selfish primal desire, and this was a revelation made gradually until our eventual underwhelming end. It was a moment not long before said end that a part of the seductive spell was broken. I was reading, unbothered and inattentive, and he stood in front of me expectantly. He peered down at me like a curious child observing a squashed bug beneath him. Encountering agony with the innocence of someone who could not understand empathy for things so beyond him. His eyes were wide and hypnotic, so striking I could’ve sweat. I avoided his gaze. I wondered if he’d dig his heel into my wing and spread my guts across the pavement. I wondered if he would instead hold me and perhaps put me in a jar so that he could observe me until I suffocated. 

Suddenly the facade broke. Armand clasped my chin with one fine unmovable hand and held it so that he could look into my frightened eyes, so that I could look into his. For a split second he was calm, impassive. And then he crumbled so utterly I was startled. His face contorted into a portrait of such horrific suffering it almost seemed physically painful with its ferocity. His countenance was grimacing and tortured. It was like watching a wax face melting into a despairing puddle.

I was held in place, forced to watch those beguiling brown eyes glaze over red with vampiric tears. The blood pooled down his cheeks with the elegance of a bleeding wound. The powerful smell aroused in me an unwitting hunger that I felt close to ill with. I struggled in his hold. “Let go of me.” I said, bite-less, quiet. He remained. “Please.” I insisted. The agony in him was awful to look at. It repulsed me, I wanted rid of him. Armand let out a horrible gasp, like an animal close to death. He stared directly into my eyes as he sobbed. “Why do you do this to me.” I heard, thought maybe, felt inside me-as a reverberation inside my chest, repeated over and over like the pulse of my dead heart. 

It took me a moment to register that these were Armand’s words. He had opened his mind to me only once, at this seemingly random moment, to communicate something meaningless and petty. I felt all together revolted in a way I had never been by Armand, my majestic mentor, my educated elder, my sophisticated cold lover. I was compelled to hurt him. “Cry harder.” I thought willfully, “Cry me a river. It’s good to see you cry. Like a clown parodying what a person feels, it’s almost cathartic. Go on, I enjoy it.” 

I don’t know what compelled me to be so cruel. Whatever it was, it worked. He withdrew his hand carefully from my face as if scared to bruise it. The expression of anguish retreated gradually into the familiar mask of dispassion. He was stiff and his eyes were wide and large. His lips were swollen and glossy from the tears, his cheeks reddened, and I thought with some interest that I could see why a vampire had once loved him enough to preserve him for eternity. I could imagine that there had been a human there once, who with his passion and his life caught the attention of a greedy monster. He backed away from me with his eyes down, hands folded in front of his lap, and donned his coat and his hat with a normalcy that was almost comedic. I assumed that he was going out to kill, most of what he did when he was going out, and I hoped that whatever life that was lost tonight at his soft un-calloused boy’s hands would be taken very brutally and unjustly due to our encounter. It was comforting to think that, almost like I was real, and I was making an impact. I looked down to my book and re-read the opening sentence.

GIGGLES EVILLY HEHEE if u want to send me a Drabble prompt here is the prompt list I reblogged: https://www.tumblr.com/nightcolorz/735473060637016064/drabble-challenge-1-150?source=share

[leslutdepointedulac]

“ have you come to laugh at me in my miserable state? ”  - Armand/Nicki

“Have you come to laugh at me in my miserable state?” Nicki looks up at Armand from his spot in the corner, through the mop of unruly hair that covers his eyes. 

Armand remains stood in the doorway of the small room, the light behind him making him seem nothing more than a silhouette. He turns his head to look out at the narrow corridor and nods to someone Nicki can’t see, then turns back to face him again, his eyes glinting in the light as he moves. 

“You understand I only do what I do for your benefit alone. Despite what you may think, I don’t take any joy in locking you away, the safety of both you and the coven is my top priority.”

Nicki sneers and lets out a harsh laugh. “My benefit.” He mutters to himself. “You can’t fool me, coven master,” the last two words are spat in mockery. “You love nothing more than to see me suffer. It’s in your nature, you thrive off bringing living hell to my door night after night.” 

He’s turned away by this point, choosing to face the ground before him as he leans against the wall. Movement coming from his left triggers his senses, but he refuses to turn his head to face his tormentor. 

A pair of polished black shoes stop in front of him, before his vision is filled with the sight of the boy coven master crouching down to meet his gaze. 

“Believe what you will, Nicolas, but I told Lestat I would care for you in his stead.” Armand grasps him by the jaw and forces him to lift his head to look at him. “I’m not your enemy. Fight against me all you like but don’t think I’m giving up so easily.” 

It takes everything in Nicki not to pull back and huddle further into the corner like some frightened animal, though he keeps his eyes trained on the wall behind Armand. His head is jerked forward slightly, making him flicker his eyes to meet his gaze. 

He tries to keep up his composure as he forces out his next words. “Lestat doesn’t care if I live or die, and I don't care for him in turn. He can rot for all I care.” 

Armand tsks at him with a shake of his head. “Now, Nicolas, such aggression might just earn you another night in here.” He leans in so their noses are almost touching and says in a low voice, “I must advise you to take care in how you speak, and the tone in which you use.” 

Nicki wrenches his jaw from Armand’s grip and presses himself right into the corner with a snarl. When Armand merely studies him, still crouched on the ground before him, he spits at him and wraps his arms around himself in a hug. 

“Such a shame.” Armand murmurs, shaking his head again. “The only person keeping you here is yourself. I can only do so much to help you, Nicolas, the rest is up to you.” He rises to his feet and heads back over to the door, turning to face Nicki when he reaches the doorway. “Let’s see if another night of confinement will bring you back to your senses.” 

Armand steps into the corridor, casting one last pitying glance at him before shutting him in once again.

Nicki lunges for the door and tries desperately to open it, but the key has already turned in the lock, sealing him in for yet another long night alone with only his mind for company. He claws at the door, creating deep scratches in the wood but it’s to no avail. 

“Come back! Let me out, I can’t stay in here another night!” Nicki cries out in vain.

No one returns for him; at one point he could swear he hears what sounds like Eleni’s voice from the other side of the door, but still, he’s left alone. He continues scratching at the door until his nails are worn down and his fingers are left raw and bleeding. 

It’s another two hours before the clawing and the banging stops; another several minutes before the pleas for release cease and the room falls silent, a body crumpled to the floor with exhaustion.

[volfoss]

quinn is such a boring protagonist that the lj liveblog keeps referring to this as poorly written lestat x oc content and honestly i know like any of my mutuals who write that would do better than this

[enbylestat]

Love, a crowning evil

Handsome enough is this grim reaper - Lestat/Nicolas/Audrey(oc).

Opposite of Goodness - Lestat/Nicolas/Audrey(oc).

obsessions and fascinations - Audrey(oc)/almost everyone.

Precious Guilt - Louis/Lestat.

My Joy - Louis/Lestat/Audrey(oc).

My darling one, my Gabrielle - Gabrielle/Audrey (oc).

Full here.

[queerquaintrelle]

TURN Week 2024: Favourite Crossover

"You're free to leave me but just don't deceive me — and please, believe me when I say I love you.." - El Tango de Roxanne, Moulin Rouge

My Fic: Anti-hero.

(the question is... is it Benjamin Tallmadge or Lestat de Lioncourt in this situation, or someone else entirely... or both, or neither... 🤷‍♀️😈)

[cbrownjc]

I've been working on the next fic that is to be posted for The Forgotten Years series basically since October. However, between my health issues and the fact that it's a different POV than I've written before now, yeah, it's taken much longer to write than I originally anticipated.

But I do feel like it's finally coming together, mostly thanks to the help I've gotten from @faerywhimsy. I'm working on the final part of it now. Once done, editing and revising are much less stressful than the initial writing, at least for me.

We plan to begin posting to the series again after the New Year. I, personally, want to get the series done and posted before Season 2 begins to air and probably renders the series 100% AU too. (Mostly because I have a hard time writing AUs when some major canon thing is added or taken away from what I thought it might be. The introduction of the Horcruxes in Book 6 of HP really had me reworking a massive amount of stuff for a fic I was writing at the time that was an HP/Buffy crossover that I ultimately never finished).

[molloytheboy]

alright at this rate I will have shared this entire fic already by the time I post it but whatever I need the validation rn. making progress on my modern au where Nicki and Louis meet

They went on in similar fashion for some time, fifteen minutes perhaps, though it felt much longer. Lestat’s accent became more pronounced the longer they talked; his distinctive mix of Auvergnat and Parisian French. As he further relaxed I noticed several instances of casual physical intimacy which put me further on edge; the brush of a hand or momentary resting of a head on a shoulder. Lestat stretched his legs out across Nicolas’ lap after lighting his second cigarette and I was about to suggest it was time for us to go when a phone started ringing. Nicolas pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen, cursed under his breath and answered, “What? … I don’t care, whatever they have is fine. … I told you, just a black coffee. … No, don’t bother asking, just-” Lestat held out his hand and Nicolas gave him the phone. “Hello, Mr. de Lenfent? Yes, it’s Lestat. … It’s- yes, we’ve just arrived. … I know, he’s being impossible, as usual. Some things never change.” He laughed at whatever was said in response and began pulling his shoes back on. “Look, I’m coming to meet you. … Yes, I know what he likes, I’ll help you pick something. … Alright, I’ll be right there. See you soon.” He hung up and handed the phone back, pressing a kiss to Nicolas’ cheek before he stood to leave. Exactly the same sort of automatic gesture of affection he would have given to me. Our eyes met as he stepped around the table and he paused mid-stride, looked suddenly like a child caught sneaking candy before dinner. “I, uh… I’m sorry, I completely forgot to introduce you, I…” He shoved one hand deep into his jacket pocket to hide the nervous fidgeting as he gestured impotently between Nicolas and I with the other. “Don’t worry,” Nicolas said as he lit up again; I had already lost track of how many he’d smoked. “I think we can handle it.” Lestat gave me one of his questioning and cautiously hopeful looks; a nonverbal request for permission. I gave him a thin smile and a nod. He continued toward the door, stopped abruptly with a quiet squeak from his shoes on the hardwood, then turned back to kiss my cheek and squeeze my shoulder before he dashed out the door.

[dorminchu]

wip wednesday -- aot, marley arc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lead the way.”

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

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

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

Eren shrugged. “All right.”

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

“It’s pretty heavy. I can help you.”

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

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

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

“Rough day?” called Eren from the threshold.

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

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

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

“Only ‘til the festival.”

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

“You don’t look drunk,” said Annie.

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

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

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

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

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

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