1 - 20 of 110 Works by Varazserdo
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Summary
Anticipation crests,
pain and blood
(Agustine said we are all born between urine and faeces —
the filth of the body)
receding into memory
and now
this bud unfurls.Free verse poetry on the abjection of the human condition.
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Guilt and Desire by Varazserdo for polly_perkins
Fandoms: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
27 Jun 2026
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Annie doesn't care about anyone on Paradis and she certainly isn't infatuated with Mikasa Ackerman.
“Hey, Mikasa! Want to partner up for the next task?” Annie asks.
“Sure.”
Ackerman is taciturn on the best day.
They move through the course, Annie pushing herself to keep up. Together, they attack the last dummy titan, slicing neatly into the nape and landing in the grassy field where Instructor Shadis and Instructor Belmont are waiting, clipboards in hand and stern expressions on their faces.
“Full points, Ackerman, Leonhart. Dismissed.”
In the equipment shed, Annie observes Mikasa’s strong back and the muscular curve of her buttocks under the tight uniform trousers. She’s grown taller, and her uniform is too small, her wrists and ankles sticking out from the cuffs. There’s a new swell to her breasts, too. Annie blushes and looks away before Mikasa can catch her staring.
There’s no point in mooning around over Mikasa Ackerman, who, aside from being an enemy combatant, is desperately in love with that idiot Eren Yeager.
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Bitter as Hyssop, Sweet as Honey by Varazserdo for itskindnessinfinite
Fandoms: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
23 Jun 2026
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Following Armin's assassination, Mikasa invites Annie to stay with her indefinitely.
“What are you doing now?" Mikasa asks, prodding and indelicate.
“I don't know.”
Mikasa digs in, persistent. “You resigned. Will you go back to Marley?”
“We were supposed to go there together. To Lake Lago. The house.”
She waves her hand vaguely as if to indicate the whole obliterated future, all her silly plans. Mikasa reaches across Armin's desk and interlaces their fingers.
“Don't go there. You’ll be alone. Come to Shiganshina. Stay with me. For the summer at least, or longer. For as long as you want.”
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The Intercepted Letter by Varazserdo for ilejeshi
Fandoms: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
19 Jun 2026
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Hitch can't stop thinking about her new roommate Annie Leonhart, especially after she intercepts a letter from her boyfriend Reiner Braun. Hitch's big fat (unrequited?) crush on Annie. Set just before the Female Titan arc.
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When I Waked, I Cried to Dream Again by Varazserdo
Fandoms: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
09 Jun 2026
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The Rumbling is over. Reiner Braun has survived despite his best attempts at a heroic death. Now he has to face an unknowable future.
“You a soldier?”
A pointed look at his uniform, the strange metal braces criss-crossing his legs and the straps and belts that held the ODM gear. His shirt is an unidentifiable colour, stiff with sweat and salt and dried titan fluid.
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I was there.”
He’s dizzy saying it. The battle rushes at him. Terror and desperation. The strength of his titan (a strange longing grips him at what he has lost). The surety that he would die on Eren's back. The unreality of his survival, neither desired nor anticipated. The wrongness of his fragile human body, exhausted and bleeding.
The man makes a sign to ward off evil. “Then I guess you better come in.”
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Reiner searches for Jean at the bar after he misses another information brief. Things escalate.
There’s a moment of disorientation as he steps into the gloom of the bar. It’s dark and cool inside, the usual smell of beer and liquor, a haze of cigarette smoke, the jukebox playing the same record on a loop. Nothing much coming out of Liberio these days. The bartender washes glasses in a sink of soapy water. Two men play cards, faces grim, a pile of coins and crumpled bills between them. A girl titters in the corner; a young soldier's hand running up her thigh, and she throws her head back, blond hair a corona around her face in the dim, shadowy room. The place has a subterranean feel, although it’s just off the palazzo on a twisty little side street.
“Time to go home, Jean.”
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To Every Thing There is a Season by Varazserdo
Fandoms: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
21 May 2026
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It takes three days to destroy the world. A lifetime is not enough to mend it. Sometimes things are beyond repair.
It takes thirty-five days to travel from Fort Salta to Shiganshina. Some journeys transform the traveller.
The woman who wades ashore, pulling a stolen fishing boat onto the rocky beach, an oddly lumpen knapsack slung over her shoulders, hair matted with filth, fingernails blackened, and lips cracked from thirst and the pitiless salt spray, is not the same woman who left the island hoping to save Eren from himself. She pats him through the canvas knapsack, feels the reassuring curve of his skull, and trudges inland, homebound.
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Mikasa wrestles with her conflicted feelings about Eren in the aftermath of his desertion in Liberio. Jean offers assistance after a gruelling training session in the new ODM tactical uniform.
“Hey, what happened to your foot?” Jean asks, leaning over and lifting her leg to inspect the oozing blister.
He smells like sweat and wool and a woody, resinous cologne popular in Marley. The mixture is familiar and alluring. She inhales surreptitiously, guilt and attraction burbling in her belly, as he turns her foot gently and whistles at the sight of the raw, glistening skin.
“Nothing. I guess my boots are too small. I'm breaking them in.”
“Looks nasty.”
He holds her ankle and runs his thumbs along the bare sole of her foot, pressing into her sore muscles, and she lets out an involuntary groan. They both stop, suddenly still and flushed red, Jean still holding her foot. There's a long moment of coiled tension.
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A Long and Torturous Goodbye by Varazserdo
Fandoms: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
10 May 2026
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Eren and Armin explore the coast on a Survey Corps mission.
The sun hides behind the grey clouds moving agitatedly across the sky. The sea churns and sends up salt spray. You're both soaked through, your green wool cloaks plastered to your heads. You shiver in the autumn chill. Below you see dolphins jump in the bay. Armin has spotted a minke whale; seals with long whiskers and the faces of old men; shiny fish as long as your forearm; and black and white puffins with intelligent eyes. He scribbles in his notebook, sketching the plants and animals that live here where land meets sea.
Armin draws a crude map, marking down the site of the village. He has learnt the names of things from a book once forbidden and now integral to the Survey Corps’ mission. He holds a copy now, confirming the existence of the pelican and the albatross. His fingers move along the map, finding the names of forgotten places. He writes the name of the village on his map in neat, small letters.
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My father teaches me how to count.
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Eren grapples with the full power of the Founding Titan.
Another cabin fic, featuring possessive Eren and the mind-warping power of the Founding Titan.
Two thousand years of memories and sensations wash over him, flood his puny human brain, synapses firing, dendrites going wild, a storm of biochemical reactions and frenetic electrical activity inside his severed head. The titan entombs him, and there's excruciating pain where his body should be but isn't. The worm quivers and burrows against his spine, curls into the base of his skull and unleashes tethers of flesh, binding him to the massive body lurching forward. He wants to grasp his head in his hands, but his hands are somewhere sixty metres below on the street.
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The Battle of Trost is over. Jean searches for Marco and confronts the loss of the future he thought was within his grasp.
The last titan had been felled, and all that was left of them were the mounds of regurgitated flesh they’d puked up during their rampage. The bodies were twisted together, a compact bolus of limbs and faces contorted in terror. Jean passed one now, searching the faces of the dead. Relief washed over him. They were strangers. Hope flickered weakly inside him. He hadn't seen Marco in hours.
The chain of command had collapsed, and the surviving cadets wandered aimlessly in the empty streets or sat blankly in the barracks’ forecourt. There were two Garrison soldiers handing out ration blocks and a haphazard line of exhausted cadets and a few higher-ranking soldiers waiting for the dense, yellow bars. The mess was full of bodies, the dead and dying, and the mangled living who cried out for succour. Jean stood in the entryway, searching for Marco, eyes roving, sweat beading on his forehead, trickling down his back and between his shoulder blades.
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Bertholdt hates Paradis, especially the food.
The mess hall was filled with a strange and pungent odour when Bertholdt entered, freshly showered but sadly sweaty in the humid fug of midsummer. His uniform shirt had already begun to stick to his back, and his neck prickled with the heat. He joined the line, holding his metal bowl and spoon out for his nightly allotment of lukewarm stew. The dining options on Paradis consisted of various thin vegetable potages, porridge with bits of dehydrated meat floating in it, potato stew, lentil stew, lentil and potato stew, a soup of mostly beets, a soup of mostly green peas, and an ever-present bread roll made of dense, chewy flour that required a great deal of masticating. Today there was a jovial, celebratory air permeating the mess, and the distinct scent of fried meat did, indeed, fill the air. Bertholdt looked around at his comrades’ bowls. A curious pale green stew filled them, and a crispy meatball adorned the centre of each metal dish.
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Poetry in the confessional vein, in which I am saying a long goodbye.
Your departure has hollowed me out.
I am quite empty
wandering alone out of our past —
that secret place of dirt and loam. -
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Eren has deserted in Marley. The rest of the Survey Corps returns to Paradis to face interrogations and an uncertain future. In the wake of uncertainty, Armin and Mikasa seek comfort in familiar routines.
They're in the bath, the grime and filth of Liberio washing off them in rivulets and eddies of soapy water. The claw-foot tub is big enough for both of them, big enough to wrap around each other and feel the wet, slippery slide of freshly washed skin against freshly washed skin. Mikasa sits behind him, pours water from the cracked pitcher with the big pink rose on it over his head, and works the soap into a lather, massaging his scalp, her nails rubbing circles against his skull. His hair hangs long and limp on his neck, brushing his shoulders. It's grown long, and she gathers it in her hand, carding through the wet strands thoughtfully.
“What if I cut your hair tonight?”
“Alright.”
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Mikasa wakes up from a nightmare, and Armin comforts her.
Fear and terror fill her. She's in a familiar room, with a familiar body beside her. She takes stock of herself: arms, legs, head, toes; the uncomfortable straw mattress under her; and the scratchy wool blankets over her. Tonight the moon is a shining sickle, thin and bright in a cold black sky. She peers out through the wavy glass that sits precariously in the wooden pane, the night air seeping into the room, watching the bare trees dance and undulate against the starry night. Her breath puffs out of her in the cold room, and she shivers and cries. Arms encircle her, pull her down into the warm cavern of blankets so they're lying face to face.
“You're alright,” he says, voice gravelly with sleep.
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Eren is slouching through life working as a culture critic for an alternative weekly and looking for love. After his live-in boyfriend leaves him for work opportunities abroad, he finds himself drawn back to his childhood friend and sometimes lover Armin.
The '00s journalism AU you probably didn’t know you wanted to read! Starring nostalgia for the noughties, Eren as the quintessential Gen X slacker, marine biologist Armin, and the stunning wedding of goth Mikasa and bad girl Annie at a quaint and probably haunted New England bed and breakfast.
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A flash fic exploring Annie and her father's canon backstories.
“Hey, Leonhart, you want this?” Morena called.
Enver Leonhart stopped and turned to inspect the bundle in Morena’s arms. The tiny baby was red and wrinkled, a film of blood and slime drying in its fine, fuzzy white hair. Morena unwrapped the blanket, which was actually a woman's night gown, revealing a scrawny baby girl, her umbilical stump raggedly cut and rather long.
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Back from the failed Paradis mission, Reiner Braun finds himself trapped in a role he no longer believes in. The idealism of childhood is gone, replaced by guilt and self-loathing as he carries out atrocities for Marley. Reiner's miserable four-year time skip.
Reiner had lost himself on Paradis. The more he tried to be Marley's Sword and Shield, a good Eldian, a perfect Warrior, the more apparent it was that he was incapable of being any of these things. Maybe it was the inevitable result of growing up — losing faith, seeing through the illusions and lies to the festering truth beneath. Maybe he was contaminated, irrevocably stained by contact with the enemy. It happened, especially in campaigns where soldiers were in close contact with enemy populations — defection and fraternisation. This was why there had been a push in the 820s to expand the use of Eldian battalions. Nobody wanted to fraternise with devils.
He teetered between the desire to die and the conviction that living was the punishment he deserved. On the frontlines it was easy to believe he was already in hell.
Series
- Part 2 of Do or Die
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What Lips My Lips Have Kissed by Varazserdo
Fandoms: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
14 Mar 2026
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Eren and Armin's relationship in six kisses.
The moon hung in the sky, a bright sickle slicing through black clouds. In the forest a fox yipped, and the wind moaned like a vengeful ghost. Armin lay with his back to Eren, eyes closed but mind racing. Eren lay awake beside him, heart thumping wildly, his body heat slowly warming the nest of blankets. They had slept like this every night for the last four years, tangled together for warmth and comfort, Armin stroking Eren's back when he woke up sobbing from nightmares, the specifics of the dreams immediately forgotten, leaving only a visceral pain that sent him shaking and gasping. They had always been close, but recently, there had been a change; Eren's hands wandered, skimming Armin's back, his chest, his arms, and his thighs. There was a curious, probing quality to his explorations, and Armin always lay completely still, awake and flooded with desire, breath stuttering.
Eren's hand began its nightly journey across Armin's skin.
“Armin,” he whispered.