a/n: *This is a work in progress and subject to change. I wanted somewhere to dump my ideas as I work through them and this is it. Perhaps posting them as I write, which I haven't done in years, will motivate me to actually write.*

Anyhoo, what you'll find here is a string of character/relationship-centric vignettes, but the vignettes in question are interconnected and all point to The Ultimate Destination that is the last chapter (how many chapters you ask? You're guess is as good as mine! Not many, though. It'll be a relatively short one. I hope, lol.) I've had a lot of fun with this one, though I've reached a point where I feel a bit stuck. Here's to hoping I get my groove back (chapter four is delectably self-indulgent, so I'm excited to share that once it's done). Honestly, the whole thing is self-indulgent and experimental andI'vebeenworkingonitsolongIcan'ttellifit'sgoodanymore. Oh well.

If you're a music-head like me, check out my definitive Erehisu playlist featuring a conglomeration of various canon & AU-inspired songs that are Objectively Correct representations of their dynamic because I said so. Just search Erehisu on Spotify, my user is josephbroseph.

(Some notable ones that are precious to me: Earthmover by Have a Nice Life, Pyramid Song by Radiohead, You by Keaton Henson, Green Grass by Cosmo Sheldrake, I'm Not A Mountain by Sarah Kinsley, Communist Love Song by Soltero, We Were Meant to Be Together by Tom Brosseau, Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey, Anyone Who Knows What Love Is (Will Understand) by Irma Thomas, and -・・ ・- -・ -・-・ ・ - ・ - - - ・・・・ ・ ・ -・ -・・ - ・・-・ ・-・・ - ・・・- ・ by ･ ･－･ ･－ ･･･ ･ －･･. All devastatingly beautiful pieces of music. Do your soul a favor and listen to them.)

title: Earthmover
summary: In which a want is not a need. Or, in which Historia agrees to the 50-year plan.
disclaimer: sfw! Alternate Canon, Angst, Infidelity, Forbidden Touch/Proximity, everyone is selfish in their own ways, the inherent tragedy of fighting for freedom in a world that has none

The throne room was filled to the brim with chattering politicians and military personnel. Rumors had spread over the following weeks of the titans disappearance, the district fraught with suspicions as the Scout and Garrison regiments spent more time within the walls than outside them. As life slowed to an unfamiliar lull.

Minutes prior, Historia had found purchase in Eren's arm as she descended the carriage onto the icy roads of Trost. He'd regarded her with a stony expression, staring ahead as they ascended the stairs to the throne room.

"Keep your guard up." He'd said solemnly. "They're sharks, the lot of them. That Azumabito woman has no moral compass whatsoever. She'll devour you."

Of course, Kiyomi would turn out to be an ally of Paradis island, and quite the valuable one at that. An unwavering greed wouldn't change that, not when they had both the Attack Titan and the Founding Titan in their arsenal.

Despite this, and regardless of any sense or reason or, god forbid, trust he'd claimed to have in her acumen, her protector would stride into the room as if the entire world were waiting for him to let his guard down. Arm tight against her hand.

Then there was talk of royal blood and inheriting the Beast Titan and bearing children and fifty years of geopolitics and it was all she could do to bite back the venom that hid somewhere deep, the same venom she'd felt crawl up her throat like bile the day she'd tore chains from the boy seeking freedom. The same venom that made way for guilt and shame, for selfish decisions and the horrible, familiar feeling that maybe, just maybe, the world would be better off if no one was around to see it.

Fuck humanity.

That was what she'd wanted to scream, until her throat tore everything up with it.

Except she couldn't let go of those violent images that intruded her mind; children splayed lifelessly atop someone's mother, sister, friend. Streets stained a permanent red. Homes ripped from the earth and ground to its very core. Worst of all that horrible, blinding wall of steam that burned those fields of freedom they'd fought so hard to reach.

The rumbling simply wasn't an option.

"Very well. I'll inherit the Beast Titan."

The words had come out mechanically, like she'd known her entire life was leading to this moment. Perhaps it was.

The scouts had protested and the ambassadors whispered amongst themselves underneath the commotion and Historia sat there, surprisingly calm, eyes unblinking, folded hands in her lap, back straight and impassive expression shielding her from those pesky emotions threatening to pour out.

She had Erwin to thank for mastering the art of steeling herself in the face of unforgiving duties and impossible choices, the ones expected of those in leadership. Frieda, too, who had given her the resolve to show kindness and mercy to those who need it, those she would never know, and to those who didn't deserve it all the same. And Ymir, above all—steadfast, stubborn, selfless Ymir—who had given up her freedom on more than one occasion and, in her final act, offered the last of it up for Krista Lenz. To set her free.

Now that she thinks of it, perhaps even Krista Lenz. Perhaps especially Krista Lenz, who knew better than most how to use that kindness, that same selflessness, by way of feigned immunity.

Then there was Eren. Eren, who had shown her the ends of the earth. Eren, who would—who had, who will— scorch it to ruins if only she 'd say so. Eren, who had always offered more than he could possibly give.

Eren, who was being uncharacteristically quiet, and when she'd chanced a glance his way she saw the same expression there—one of immutable, cold neutrality—hands tucked in his own lap and back straight against mahogany. But his eyes… they'd danced with a fiery rage she'd grown much too accustomed to in recent months, eyes that gave him away no matter how hard he'd tried to contain it. (Or maybe it was always there. A small flame at first, growing in size with every life lost, in intensity with every betrayal, in fury with every brutal truth revealed and fanned, eventually, into a sweltering blaze. Ready, and willing, to burn everything in its path at the slightest passing breeze.)

Those eyes had always terrified her.

Of course, he'd protested despite himself because no reality existed in which Eren Jaeger bit his tongue about anything. The throne room had gotten a taste of his theatrical wrath then, but he'd objected, too, in the private walls of her room that night. Hands gripping her shoulders with the force of someone meaning to break, a dark husk in his admonishment, he shook her as if to shake out the part of her that he didn't understand, the part that didn't belong there. He'd shouted and called her selfish— selfish, of all things—and when he'd thoroughly spent his voice he grabbed her face in rough hands and kissed her defensive arguments away. A plea. A last resort.

She'd danced around his fire for far too long, selfishly enjoyed the warmth of it from a distance safe enough to avoid burning up, turned her eyes from its blinding glare as it licked desperately at the space between them.

It was too late to put that fire out now—she'd been caught in it from the start.

When she'd kissed back with a roughness to match, she dared to fight back against his accusations and proclamations with fists hard against his chest and eyes wet with shame. Against his silent confession, anticlimactic as it was, betrayed that he would use his feelings for her, and hers for him, to back her into a corner. An ultimatum. A means to his end.

And when he'd pulled away, there were his eyes above all else; heavy and far away, like he'd just woken up from a terrible dream.

This was the Eren Jaeger she'd come to know in their years together; the one who would use any means necessary to achieve his goals. The one forged from fire and storms and all things ravaging, devastating, and divine. The one who found solace in shadows and underbellies and words left unsaid. The one stuck in a nightmare.

That night, he'd finished his impassioned tirade with a terse, "this isn't you." How the smallest statement could have the biggest implications. Like: "I know you. I know you because you're everywhere, even when I can't see you and I feel you instead, you're here and now and always right, but right now you're so, so wrong because, right now, you're somewhere else."

Sounds familiar , she'd thought.

I know that better than anyone, she'd thought, too.

I know,

I know,

I know.

They were forged from the same fire, after all.

"Promise you'll stay, anyway." The ocean in her eyes fought against the fire in his. "Promise me."

He'd huffed. Turned away as if to leave her in tangled sheets and bitter shame; alone, like everyone she'd ever held a piece of. Time seemed to stop for the split second that lasted an eternity as she braced herself for that familiar tear, right through the middle of her, right where they'd all taken up space she didn't have.

Then he faced her again and time ticked on. A fraction of second. It had taken a mere fraction of a second for him to make his choice, eyes burning that familiar flame, but warm instead of searing. Flickers in place of bursts.

He squeezed her hand. A response where there was none.

For now, it was enough.

a/n: This one's short but the chapters moving forward are longer. Chapter two coming soon!