Bliss was the one word she could use to describe it. That unadulterated feeling of everlasting love, knowing that no matter what, he would always be by your side. No matter what health, financial, or emotional issues you faced, the man you love would be with you for the rest of your life….unless you killed him first.
Very few people mention that bliss included dreams of premeditated murder.
"I'm going to kill him," Grace muttered. "I'm going to kill him if it's the last thing I do."
She TOLD him she didn't do socks. Told him that if he wanted matching socks, that he would have to do it himself. She never lied to him. Never told him she would do them. Grace had no clue why he was so frustrated why he couldn't find his other slipper sock (well, she knew, but she forewarned him before the "I do"), only to find out Alphonse ate it.
Didn't have to yell about it, for crying out loud.
"Lord, I could really use some Pizza Hut right now. Preferrably supreme…but without olives."
Ding-dong.
Grace glanced at her watch. "Ten seconds, not bad." She threw herself over the couch and hustled to the door. Unfortunately, what she discovered was NOT the pizza man.
Instead, a young red-head, a brunette, and a (bloody) blonde greeted her at the door. Two of the trio were barely conscious, and the red-headed girl was near tears.
"Please," she begged, "Help us. My friends are hurt, and we don't know where we are. We're lost, I think he'slosingalotofbloodpleaseyouhavetohelp—"
Never in her life had Grace seen so much blood.
"Of course, bring them in. Here, let me help—JAMES!"
She helped the girl bring her friends into the living room. Drops of blood were soaking into the carpet—the boy's breathing was ragged—his friend was starting to wake up—bruised, but not bleeding—not like his friend was—dangit, Grace needed a towel—
"JAMES! I NEED YOU!"
The terror in her voice must have been palpable. Grace had never seen James race down the stairs so fast. "Grace, what's—"
"GET ME A TOWEL! NOW!"
"Grace, what the he—"
"TOWEL! NOW!"
James bolted toward the linen closet as the brunette began to stir, mumbling "arm in" and asking Sasha (the redhead, Grace supposed) what happened. Sasha had completely lost her marbles. She was sputtering and sobbing, completely incoherent as Grace tried asking her what in the world happened. Something about "Titans". Grace was still trying to decipher as James handed her a towel, telling her he was going to call the paramedics.
"No."
Almost everyone jumped as the blonde spoke. Grace was surprised he was even conscious, let alone talking, with all the blood loss. "No please," he mumbled,panicked, "Please…want….live…can….make it—" Violently the blonde retched on the floor.
Grace and James locked eyes. Swiftly he flipped his cell phone and dialed 911.
"I need an ambulance…"
(EXPONENTIALLY LONG COMMERCIAL BREAK HERE)
Armin had felt ill even before the mission. He thought it was just from lack of sleep. Aches and pains, chills; the weather had been colder lately. Armin didn't really think he was getting sick, just his body reacting unpleasantly to the seasons changing. The further the mission proceeded, however, the worse it progressed. He didn't tell anyone though—he couldn't drag everyone down, couldn't be a burden. They would either have to carry him or leave him to die, and he understood which option they would choose.
But when the titan came, and when Armin was so dizzy he could barely stand, he slipped from his post. Right between the titan's fingers.
He wasn't sure what happened next.
The whole world tilted as the men in white lifted him. In the distance he could hear Sasha crying. A hand grabbed his. Yelling, arguing, then the hand let go. Stay awake, Armin thought, stay awake or you'll die. Perhaps they were dumping his body as titan bait. Maybe that was what paramedics were. Weakly he tried to wrestle away, but a hand pushed him down. His breathing became more uneven and ragged, gasping, begging to be let go. Armin wasn't even sure that they could understand him. The hands kept pushing him down. They were trying to kill him, throw him away. Armin didn't want to die—not like this. He began to sob. Armin couldn't help it. He had been through so much, and this was how he was going to die?
"Eren," he choked. "Eren, please."
Warmth. A hand. "Armin, it's okay."
Eren.
"It's gonna be okay," he whispered, "We're going to a doctor. You're gonna be okay."
Slowly, Armin relaxed. Eren was there, his hand firmly grasping his. Safe, Armin thought. I'm safe. He let himself sink into the darkness, Eren's hand a harbor through his fear.