TeddyTen

“And when he did…her head fell off!” Sasha squeals with excitement, looking at the people congregated around the fire, trying to see who has gotten freaked out the most. They can easily be divided into three groups: The Scared, which includes Krista and Reiner, who are currently clinging to each other for dear life, and Connie, who is peeking out from under his Cadet jacket that he has pulled up over his head. The Enraptured, consisting of a very attentive Armin, a slightly entertained Bertolt, and a wide-eyed Eren. And The Indifferent, made up of Mikasa and Annie, who, as usual, have very little to read on their faces.

Running in circles, hands thrown out to your sides, you tromp through the fresh snow that sparkles in the uncharacteristic sunshine of midday. You quickly get dizzy, and you stop running and fall dramatically backwards, sinking into the foot or so of white powder that covers the yard, and the neighborhood, as far as the eye can see. You giggle, sliding your arms and legs back and forth in the snow, making the biggest possible wings and dress for your snow angel. Closing your eyes, you thoroughly enjoy breathing in the crisp, cool air that stings at your flushed cheeks. “Uh, (name)?” A soft voice calls out to you, and you lift you

Tapping your toe against the shiny tiles of the terminal, you look at your watch and sigh. The airport announcer said five minutes ago that Flight Whatever from Who-The-Hell-Cares-istan had arrived and the passengers were all unloaded. So where is he? It’s not like you even want to be here right now, spending your Friday night in the airport waiting to pick up your best friend’s cousin because she got stuck at work. Friday nights are for relaxing and drinking wine, and certainly not for waiting around under fluorescent lights for a man you’d never met, let alone never being told what he looks like. Your feet are killing yo

“Where the Can Bartu* is that iğrenç* file folder?” There’s the sounds of papers shuffling, then of something falling to the floor, coming from behind the closed door leading to your boss’s office. You sigh, setting down your cold tea – it was warm an hour and a half ago, but your boss is way behind on his paperwork this morning and you’ve spent the whole time you’ve been here frantically trying to catch him up. Pushing your reading glasses up to rest on top of your currently disheveled (h/c) hair, you stand from your cluttered desk and make your way across the room to the door, rapping you

A bit of language in this, you've been warned. ------- I don’t want to go. Not like this. Echoing through the murk of your consciousness, the thought stings like a hot knife in your gut. It almost out-shadows the true pain radiating from your belly, a sickly warm feeling that singes up your spine and renders you utterly helpless. A pair of worn out cowboy boots comes into your fading vision, walking closer to you across the dirty wooden floor. The vicious grin on his face can be felt like a fever across your skin. You moan softly, hand slowly finding the wound, wet and tender under your sliced shirt. Damnit, (name)! I told you not

Hell on Earth. What a phrase. Rain plummets down from above, spattering the already filthy uniform he wears, sloughing off the mud, if only for a second. It's freezing cold, and the constant onslaught of water does nothing to help the situation. He shivers, brushing off the cold as he fumbles with numb fingers to reload his gun. The bullets slip from his grasp, clattering to the muddy ground. All around, people are shouting. Guns are firing. There's screaming. People are dying. The battle rages on. It swirls around him like a hurricane – a vast blur of metal and cloth and blood. The smell of gunpowder hangs in the air. He scrambles t

She's cold. Hungry. And not entirely sure where she is. The young woman opens her eyes, her blurry gaze falling on the river, which reflects the full moon back onto her pale, naked skin. A light dusting of snow covers the cobblestones, and a fresh layer is falling from the black sky. She shivers. Uncurling from her fetal position, she moans as each and ever muscle in her body protests in unison. She resorts to just lying on the freezing ground, taking in her surrounding with curious cerulean eyes. It seems to be a street corner of some kind. There's a lamp burning to her right, and a neat row of little shops facing the river, their windows

 They never asked her where she went. Neither did I. It was November the first, if I recall, and an unusually blustery day at that. The wind was that special kind of sharp, and the sky that deep shade of purply-grey. The leaves had all but lost their autumn splendor, trading the crimsons and golds for deep, sick browns. They blew in little cyclones, the dry rattle of their husks making a unearthly backdrop for the evening's happening. Dinner had been ham and potatoes, the good old-fashioned Sunday dinner courtesy of her mother, and dessert was chocolate cake and sweet wine. I was clearing the table, blowing out the candles, turning off th