A/N: Welp, it's been a while since I've written any fanfics, a year as a matter of fact, so sorry if this is a bit rusty! Anyways, I'm in a derpy mood, and derpy moods entail derpy, crazy fics, so enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan, for this masterpiece belongs to Isayama Hajime.
I: Baked Potato
Baked potatoes tasted rather insipid, but given a dab of butter or even a sprinkle of salt 'n' pepper, they filled tummies up in a matter of a few bites with wonderful flavor. Sasha giggled blankly as she ducked just in time for the incoming tree branch to lightly brush the top of her head. Nothing sounded better right now than a steamy potato with wrinkly tan skin that merely begged to be devoured. Just one single potato could shush and soothe her stomach's loud complaints after having eating privileges whisked away for 48 hours.
"Sasha, stay focused!" Connie's voice stirred Sasha from her sumptuous thoughts. Jogging beside her, he turned his head back only to whip it back forward with a terrified expression on his face. "Shardis is right behind us, and he's giving you the stink-eye!"
Keith Shardis hated her, to say the least. And frankly, Sasha didn't exactly understand his reason as to why. She did all the grueling work he assigned, played nice with the others, and even trudged through the extra push-ups and laps he designated just for her. Nevertheless, the chief instructor insisted on going out of his way to restrict her food privileges. As a matter of fact, he even took away her right to fetch water from the wells, and she had gone all morning under the merciless sun with nothing in her stomach. If the little blonde goddess hadn't surreptitious offered her canteen under the table, Sasha would've flat-out crashed by now.
Connie was right. Hooves clomped dangerously behind her, and as expected, the boot of Shardis came hard down onto the small of her back. "Braus, what the fuck do you think you're doing!" Before Sasha could turn around, the chief instructor's stallion rounded her, and his imposing glare burned from the dark circles ringing his eyes. "You've got long legs, so why the hell aren't you at the front of the pack with Ackerman and Braun? Even Arlert's catching up to you, goddammit!"
"Apologies… sir!" she responded groggily. Shardis' next verbal onslaught flew over her head in a loud buzz as she begged her legs to pick up the pace. However, as hard as she tried, not a single drop of energy willingly lent itself to her. Her body felt completely spent and empty, and Shardis' bald head was beginning to blur before her vision.
Steamy. Wrinkly tan skin. Begging to be devoured.
Yes, that sounded good. Excellent. The hooves clattered forward, leaving behind a cloud of dust that made her cough—and for some reason, it also made her salivate.
Salt 'n' pepper.
"S-sorry, Sasha!" It was Armin. Heaving and sweating, he passed her, gripping his weight pack so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "E-excuse… me!" Before she knew it, his yellowy-blonde hair disappeared over the steep hill.
A dab of butter.
And Sasha was alone. Dead last on the daily march through the mountains. Hungry as hell and ready to just drop. Somehow, she managed to make it to the top of the steep incline, and her legs simply gave way. There, at the top of the hill, she gazed aimlessly into the bright blue skies and the fluffy clouds, wondering why she even signed up for this. Why did she sign up for this physical pain? This mental deterioration courtesy of Keith Shardis?
Her eyes drifted down to the 104th Squad marching away into the valley. Armin's butter-blonde head. The cloud of salt 'n' pepper that make the others choke and cough. And leading the pack was—Sasha's eyes widened. That was impossible. She must have imagined it because a beam of brilliant sunlight suddenly struck down on that beautifully tan and wrinkly… potato. Yes, it was a potato mounting that savory horse steak.
"P-potatoes and… m-meat?" She sat on the top of the hill, wonderstruck by the glorious view before her. Unconsciously, she staggered to her feet, her eyes locked on the baked potato quickly escaping on its T-bone steed.
And then it hit her.
Potatoes taste best when warm.
Every second passing meant that that beautiful potato was slipping away, cooling down and becoming less and less delicious. Sasha clenched her teeth. There was no possible way that this meal was going to go to waste.
Sasha broke off to a sprint, flying down the hill, empowered by a deep hunger that surged through her wearied bones. She shoved past the butter, which made a strange squeaking noise as she surged forward. She charged straight through the salt 'n' pepper, ignoring the stinging sensation in her eyes and suppressing the urge to cough. There was just no time. The potato would get cold by the time she spread the butter or seasoned it, and that was no good. Alas, the T-bone steak. That comes second, she decided, clambering atop the steak, letting out a guttural growl as it bucked and protested.
And there it was.
Steamy. Wrinkly tan skin. Begging to be devoured.
All she needed to do was reach for it, cup it in her hands, run her fingers over the wrinkles that signaled that it was ready to eat. And then the next part would be bliss. She ate potatoes skin and all. No need for unnecessary, tedious peeling. One single enormous chomp would launch her thousands of miles into the atmosphere, right to the gates of heaven.
Chuckling ravenously, Sasha lunged forward towards the saddle where the divine potato sat, just waiting to be devoured.
"Tch, she ought to be checked out by the officials. I mean, who knows? She might be part Titan," Jean snorted. "Damn, that was probably one of the most hardcore things that I've ever seen. Leaping straight onto that saddle and—goddamn. Talk about aggressive."
"Imagine what she'd be like in bed," added Thomas. The guys shivered in unison.
"But you gotta admit," Reiner began, "Shardis' face was pretty fucking hilarious when she got him. Did you see his eyes?"
"You kidding me? What's hilarious is the way he tore her off of him, flung her into the woods, and how she came right back like a fucking boomerang!" Jean replied, slapping his knee and guffawing. "And the way she screamed, 'POTAAATOO!'"
The door creaked open, and Eren entered the men's barracks, helping Armin balance on his crutch. The small trainee was covered in stark white bandages from head to toe, and he sported a green cast over his arm.
"Yo, it's Armin!" Connie called. "What happened to you?"
"I-it's not a big deal—"
"She pushed this guy into a ditch with thorny shrubs at the bottom," Eren answered flatly, leading the victim to his bunk. "And he ended up breaking his leg and fracturing his wrist, not to mention getting all torn up and completely shitfaced."
"Goddamn," Jean repeated, shaking his head in wonder. "They're probably going to starve her to death for this."
"Actually, no." Eren's voice was chilling. He exchanged a glance with Armin who swallowed nervously before nodding. "We passed by the kitchen and she was there—"
"Stealing more food?!" Connie choked.
"No, let me finish!" Eren sighed uneasily. "Shardis was there too. And he was force-feeding her…" His voice trailed off.
"Garbage," Armin picked up where Eren left off. "Like rotten meat, stale bread, spoiled leftovers—it was all stuff you'd find in the dumpster. They had huge platters of it, and if she didn't finish it… she's gone."
"B-but…" Marco murmured. He stared into the dim lantern. "Remember when I wasn't feeling so great this morning, and I vomi—ah, forget it."
"Okay, guys. I'm done," Jean said abruptly, swinging his legs over into his bunk. "Goodnight and uh… sweet dreams, assholes."