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1896 - somewhere in central europe
she kept seeing a vision of a goddess.
Ymir stood outside the palace in her black hood, covering her face and ensuring she would mingle into the midnight sky surrounding her, and leant against the stone cold wall waiting for her lover to sneak out and meet her. The sound of a guard approaching led her to jump behind a wheelbarrow nearby, akin to a child hiding from their parent, and she silently cursed as she stood up fixing her hood, while holding the cut on her finger she sustained from jumping.
Many would assume Ymir’s behaviour was of a typical young woman in love, but for Ymir, this was deeper than a childish school crush. Her lover wasn’t some guard entrusted with protecting the royals, or a servant who prayed that serving the royals could ensure a better life for his future family. If fact, her said lover wasn’t even a man, a small detail which could lead to an outrageous “scandal” among the town. To add even more heat to the fire, her lover wasn’t just any woman.
It was the Queen.
Many people would label the circumstances in which Ymir met her Royal Highness as a rare coincidence. It was almost as if the universe wanted the two to find each other, ensuring that no matter the circumstances they were in they would always graviate towards each other. A soulmate situation, if you will.
Her Royal Highness was attending one of her many functions, a role she despised but had to carry out, in the orphanage nearby. Her advisors warned her that the people in that side of the town were “dirty” and “criminal”, and sent multiple guards to ensure the Queen’s safety. The visit to the orphanage was something the Queen thoroughly enjoyed, cherished even. The dull meetings with the various Lords in the area afterwards however, was something she did not.
Despite bonding with the children and feeling a connection to them due to their shared pain of having a lack of parental affection and presence in their lives, the Queen was..... bored. She knew she should be grateful for her status and life, but she couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. Or someone, she was unsure. She wanted so much more from her monotonous duties and puppet like behaviour. She was tired of parroting her father and carrying out the wishes of everyone she knew aside from herself, it was as if she was screaming in a packed room but the only person who could hear was herself. She felt, trapped. Lonely. Vulnerable.
Longing for someone who could free her from this bubble she was in.
Her Royal Highness excused her guards and the Lords, lamely informing them she had to use the bathroom, before sneaking out of the large estate they were in, not knowing where she was headed to, but knowing she needed to leave. The Queen had various thoughts swimming around in her head over where she should run to, but the most prominent one was telling her one thing.
Fucking run and don’t look back.
Which is what the Queen would have done had she not ran face forward into a tall young woman cradling a large portion of baguettes in her arms. The Queen looked up, and briefly took a moment to take in the stranger’s features.
The stranger was tall, although due to the Queen’s petite figure, most of humanity could be considered giants next to her. The stranger had short brown hair tied up in a ponytail, they were tanned, something the Queen found herself taking in, and had freckles which the Queen found herself dying to touch.
Her Royal Highness fixed herself up and stood face to face with the stranger, patiently waiting for an apology. She may have looked like a mess and was the one responsible for falling into the stranger in the first place, but she was still the Queen, and as she was taught her entire life, the Queen was never in the wrong.
An apology from the freckled stranger seemed unlikely however, as the Queen found them scowling at her in disgust, as opposed to bowing down upon making eye contact with the Queen. In shock, her Royal Highness found herself placing her arms on her hips and tiptoeing to make herself look more intimidating, which seemed to have had the opposite effect, with the stranger instead smirking at the Queen’s attempts to look bigger and, if the Queen wasn’t mistaken, was now slightly blushing.
“What on earth are you laughing at? Do you not know who I am?” Her Royal Highness sternly asked, now folding her arms across her chest and glaring at the stranger, who continued smirking.
“You’re the Queen aren’t you? I’ll be honest, you’re more attractive in person.” The stranger grinned, causing the Queen to blush furiously while biting the inside of her cheek to avoid smiling.
“You will address me as your Royal Highness and bow down-“
“I don’t bow down to people unless I find them worthy of my love. Or if I think they’re a goddess, of course.” The stranger interrupted, tilting her head at the Queen while poking the inside of their cheek with their tongue. Cute, the Queen found herself thinking.
Her Royal Highness was somewhat taken aback, of course. Never in her life has anyone spoken to her in such a brash tone, but instead of being offended and furious, she found herself insanely attracted to the freckled stranger’s dismissive attitude. They didn’t seem to care about the Queen’s status, treating them they way they would treat anyone else. Not to mention their presence seemed to fill the Queen with a sense of familiarity, almost as if they had met before.
Had they?
“Why are you holding all that bread?” The Queen lamely asked, partly in an attempt to drag out the conversation a bit longer.
“This?” The stranger replied, holding up all the baguettes with a playful smirk, “this is for the orphans. I used to live there and trust me when I tell you that they don’t do shit for those children, at all.”
“So you visit them to offer them food?” The Queen enquired, now holding her heart which she was sure was going to burst from adoration. Why was this stranger making her, a Queen, feel all these pathetic feelings?
“Yes.” The stranger replied, moving closer to the Queen, slightly leaning to match her small height. The Queen found herself leaning upwards to match the stranger’s action, seemingly unaware of her conscious decisions anymore.
“I wish I was like you.” Her Royal Highness whispered, almost as if it was an escaped thought which wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone, aside from this stranger in front of her.
“You could be.” The stranger began, now moving away from the Queen, who whimpered in response at the now missing contact, “you just need to live for yourself and do you want.”
The Queen paused for a moment, before placing the freckled stranger’s hands in hers, and offering her a rare genuine smile. Not one which would offer to her guards and Lords and other people didn’t really care about, but one in which she never thought would be seen by anyone. The freckled stranger was taken aback briefly, before squeezing the Queen’s hands in response.
“What’s your name?” The Queen asked, placing the stranger’s hand to her lips, and placing a soft yet passionate kiss on it. The stranger seemed briefly confused, unsure of what to do next, pondering what move would be best, and decided on mirroring the Queen by also placing a kiss on her hand.
“Ymir.”
“Ymir, sounds like a goddess,” the Queen mumbled, “come with me.”
The Queen dragged Ymir into a nearby barn, and what followed was a series of passionate lovemaking, sweaty bodies pressed up against each other in the heat of their attraction, a contrast to the crisp and bitter weather outside, their moans hidden behind the sound of furious rain pouring outside. It was as if they were two lovers reuniting after decades apart, filling the ache in their bodies with momentarily pleasure and wanting to briefly forget the existence of everything and everyone that wasn’t them.
The rendezvous in the barn should have been the first and last time her Royal Highness saw Ymir. Instead, the pair found each other unable to part, writing secret love letters to each other while taking every opportunity to meet in dead of the night. Their meetings usually had the same unspoken words hanging over their heads, along the lines of “I wish I could marry you but society would never let us. I want to be with you forever.”
It was another one of those covert meetings that had Ymir outside the palace, nursing a small cut and draped in a long black hood. The wait didn’t last long however, with the sight of the petite Queen coming approaching her nearby, equally dressed in a black hood to avoid any alarms. Ymir took a moment to take in the Queen’s - her Queen’s - appearance felt a mixture of passion and adoration swell in her heart. Ymir bowed down as soon as the Queen walked near her, leading to a blush to form on small blonde face.
“I’m so sorry for making you wait my love.” The Queen gushed, placing butterfly kisses across the freckled woman’s face.
“It’s alright, my Queen.” Ymir replied, trying to hide her small cut from her loved but to no avail, as the Queen noticed it immediately, her face flooded with worry.
“Ymir? What happened to you?” The Queen exclaimed, her voice laced with worry.
“It’s fine-“ Ymir never got a chance to finish her sentence, as the Queen gently grabbed Ymir’s finger before placing a kiss on her cut and placing the finger in her mouth, slowly bobbing her head while looking up at Ymir with a mixture of adoration and lust.
Ymir found herself blushing and removed her finger from the Queen’s mouth, leaning in and placing a kiss instead. The Queen looked up at Ymir and placed her hands on her cheeks, pulling the taller woman down to face her properly.
“You’ll never leave me right Ymir? You’ll find me always? Promise me.” The Queen quietly pleaded, “promise me you’ll always find me in this life and the next.”
“I promise Historia. In this life and the next, always.”
1947 - somewhere in los angeles
she kept seeing a vision of a goddess
Ymir stood outside the cafè, lighting what she felt was her billionth cigarette and drumming her fingers on the small table next to her. It was ridiculous, she thought. If you want a job done properly, you’re better off doing it yourself. So why did she entrust such an important job to two idiots like Reiner and Bertolt?
They assured her they could carry out the job and take care of Marco Bodt, the same man who was now rivalling Ymir and someone far more popular amongst the local gangs and politicians. Sure, Ymir could throw money at them to keep them quiet while offering to “take care” of things for them, but Marco could take the next step and give them power, use his connections in the police force/law enforcement to remove and plant evidence and offer them even more money and drugs than Ymir could even dream of.
To make matters worse, two airheads formerly known as Reiner and Bertolt managed to make the situation worse with their failed assassination attempt on Marco. The freckled man was now on the warpath and it was only a matter of time before one of his goons came to show her exactly how Bertolt and Reiner should have gotten the job done. God, she was exhausted. She needed a drink. She needed to disappear from this mess she was in.
The Jaw Tavern was a small bar run by a young man named Porco Galliard, who was a close friend of Ymir and had ties to her gang. He would often cover for Ymir if she found herself on the wrong side of the law, especially since his older brother Marcel was a corrupt police officer in the LAPD. He would also knock some sense into Reiner and Bertolt whenever they would pose a risk to the gang, which just so happened to be most of the time.
The bar itself was a small yet considerably cozy bar; with dark brown leather chairs, a collection of random mantelpieces on the wall and the lights always dimmed to create a mysterious atmosphere. The presence of a young singer named Colt Grice added to the ambience of the bar, and although his singing always tended to sound just a bit off key, it still provided a warm familiarity to the guests.
Ymir dragged herself towards the front of the bar to speak to Porco, who was now mixing drinks in a fashionable manner in order to impress a young black haired woman with sleepy eyes in front of him. Ymir couldn’t help but smirk at how pathetic her friend was.
“Hey, pork chop.” Ymir waved, sitting in front of Porco while winking at the sleepy eyed girl nearby, who was now dozing off, much to Porco’s chagrin. She ruffled Porco’s strawberry blond hair, which was slicked back in his usual style, earning a glare from him while he rushed to fix his hair.
“How many times have I told you to not touch my fucking hair Ymir?” He complained, taking off his green bomber jacket and fixing the suspenders over his white shirt.
“And how many times have I told you to buy a new jacket? It’s been years Galliard. That jacket is legally qualified to be a veteran.” She shot back, winking at the visibly annoyed Porco.
“Whatever. What brings you down here by the way? You usually give me a heads up beforehand.” Porco asked, lowering his voice just in case anyone nearby overheard.
“It’s Bodt.” Ymir whispered, taking a large sip of her whiskey before sliding the glass over to Porco, signalling for a refill. “I sent idiot one and idiot two to take care of him, but they failed and now he’s coming for my neck.”
“Shit.” Porco looked shocked, a rare expression to see on his otherwise annoyed face. “Should I call Marcel or-“
“It’s fine.” Ymir interrupted, waving her hand around and taking another big sip of her drink. How she wasn’t drunk out of her mind was anyone’s guess. “I can deal with this myself.” She stubbornly continued, resulting on Porco rolling his eyes.
Ymir opened her mouth to ask for another refill, but a small blond woman wearing a tea length dark blue dress on the stage with Colt had caught her eye. She looked gorgeous, Ymir thought, and she couldn’t help but admire her beautiful singing voice and petite and soft figure.
One thing was clear to Ymir. She needed her.
She turned around intending to ask Porco for more information about the small blonde woman, only to be greeted with the sight of a smirking Porco. Before Ymir got the chance to punch his shoulder, he leaned towards Ymir and pointed towards the blonde woman.
“Her name is Historia Reiss, she started coming here a month ago and insisted she sings along with Colt. Not that I’m complaining of course, she brings in customers and tones out whatever the fuck Colt is doing.” Porco then nudged Ymir, and his eyes seemed to be telling her to go strike a conversation with Historia.
Well, Ymir thought, if she had a death warrant out for her and was drunk as hell, was there really a problem in having some fun? It’s not like she would remember any of this tomorrow, and neither would Historia.
Ymir shook Porco’s hand, another way of saying “thank you my dear friend I appreciate all of this”, and made her way over to Historia, who had now gotten off the stage and was dancing along to the jazz sound of Colt’s song with a glass in her hand. Ymir suddenly found herself feeling overwhelmed by an unknown feeling as she walked closer to Historia, and as if she also felt the same thing, Historia turned around and felt her eyes widen at the presence of Ymir.
Ymir’s plan was to whisk Historia away for night of love making that neither of them would remember in the morning, but just before she got a chance to try to break the ice between them, Historia threw her glass on the ground and almost flew out of excitement towards Ymir, engulfing her in a tight hug. Ymir stood there frozen and unsure of what to do, yet also found herself intoxicated by the sweet smell of strawberries and champagne omitting from the small blonde.
“Ymir,” Historia began, looking up at her with tears flowing in her ocean blue eyes, leading to Ymir to take a step back in shock. “I’m so glad I finally found you.”
Ymir blinked her eyes in shock. What on earth was Historia talking about? Was she so drunk that she mistook Ymir for someone she knew? Then again, she did refer to her by name. Was Ymir the one that was so drunk that she was hallucinating this entire interaction.
“Uhm, listen blondie. I think you’re a bit confused, I’ve never seen you before in my life.” Ymir replied, avoiding any eye contact with the small blonde woman, who seemed to be on the verge of tears after hearing Ymir’s reply.
“What do you mean? Ymir, you promised. I kept looking for you all these years and-“
“How drunk are you?” Ymir retorted, feeling a mixture of confusion at Historia’s words but also a sense of hurt at her heartbroken face. Why on earth did she have this effect on Ymir?
“I’m not drunk. I thought you’d remember that promise we made to each other all those years ago. Didn’t you look for me as well? I spent all those years remembering you Ymir.” The blonde exclaimed, tears now running down her perfect face and grabbing onto Ymir’s arm.
Ymir had no idea what was going on, yet she found herself feeling a tad scared at how she was slowly feeling some form of connection towards the blonde. She chalked it up to them being both drunk, although she had a feeling the small woman’s heartbroken face would haunt her for the remainder of her life. Nonetheless, Ymir knew she had to put an end to it.
“I don’t remember you at all.” Was all that she said, pulling her arm away from Historia and turning around, making her way out of the bar. Historia remained glued in her spot, tears still streaming down her face while the sound of distant jazz continued to play in the dimly light bar.
Ymir would usually ensure that her thoughts remained free so she could be on high alert for any threat around her, especially during a time like this, but she found herself unable to get Historia and the bizarre interaction out of her mind. What did she mean by her looking for Ymir? Did they really meet before? Why did she feel a strong sense of familiarity around her?
Maybe she was too quick to dismiss her. Maybe, Ymir thought, she owed Historia a conversation. Worst case scenario would be that Historia was truly drunk out of her mind or mistook her for someone else, not to mention that Ymir was finding herself intoxicated by this stranger, and needed to figure out if it was due to the alcohol or something more.
Ymir turned around and suddenly felt an intense sharp pain in her abdomen. She looked down to see a sharp blade had been stuck through her, and looked up to see the sleepy eyed girl from the bar holding the knife which had been pierced through her. Ymir collapsed on the floor; feeling numb and tuning in between consciousness and unconsciousness, before seeing the blurred figures of two people running towards her.
“Ymir! Don’t fucking die on me!” Ymir faintly recognised the voice of a worried Porco, and felt a warm jacket being placed on her.
It was however, the second worried voice which seemed to startle her as she began to drip into complete unconsciousness.
“Ymir, please don’t leave me again.”
It was that soft and tearful plea from Historia that seemed to awaken a whole new memory for Ymir.
“Historia,” she whispered, blood choking up her words as she was drifting more and more into the darkness.
“I remember it all now.”
2019 - somewhere in vancouver
she kept seeing a vision of a goddess
Historia hated parties. Sure, they were a fun way of getting to know new people and bonding, but it seemed so exhausting having to pretend to be interested in people she barely knew and dealing with complete dumbasses such as Connie, Eren and Reiner. If she had it her way, she would just feign an illness and binge watch New Girl on Netflix, but she knew that she owed it to Sasha to try and make an effort at this party.
Still, it seemed ridiculous to gather up any energy for a dumb college party, which is how Historia found herself leaning across the wall in Jean Kirchstein’s living room holding a cup of punch which tasted absolutely awful (Historia wondered if Jean had served them actual urine or something) while shooting dirty looks at anyone that tried to approach Sasha.
Sasha tried to drag Historia over and mingle with others at the party, but she declined leading to a hurt Sasha to drag Pieck instead. It seemed like everyone were up to their usual antics; with Jean trying to speak to Mikasa, Eren, Connie and Reiner doing some weird shit that made everyone cringe internally, Bertolt, Marco and Armin being on standby to enforce peace if needed and Annie quietly sitting near Sasha and Pieck, who were gossiping about their Economics professor.
She felt so.... bored. It was as if she kept repeating these same events over and over, and found herself considering running off to run of the bedrooms to just take a small nap before she was dragged out of her thoughts by a tall freckled dark haired woman, who looked insanely familiar.
“Let me guess, you want to run away from this place as well?” The stranger laughed, lifting up her cup as if to say ‘cheers’ to Historia.
“Well have you seen how fucking lame this is? Reiner spent the last 20 minutes flinging Connie around while Eren cheers them on.” She retorted, pointing to the trio who were now in the middle of a fierce drinking game which would only result in Eren passing out on top of Reiner while Connie would cry in the corner.
“Yeah they’re cute and all, but I’m more interested in loverboy over there trying his hardest to get with Mikasa.” The stranger pointed to Jean, who was seemed to be in the middle of an intense attempt to woo the stoic dark haired girl, and it seemed almost comical to Historia to see how hard he trying, not knowing that Mikasa was secretly involved with Annie Leonhardt.
“Do you think we should tell him about Mikasa and Annie?” Historia asked, trying her hardest to hold back laughter while smiling at the stranger standing next to her.
“I wanted to, but I remembered that Jean has personally fucked me over at least 3 times this semester, so consider this payback for him.” The freckled stranger winked, taking a large sip of her drink before spitting it out. “God this is awful. Did Jean serve us piss or something?”
“That’s exactly what I said!” Historia exclaimed, shaking the cup in the stranger’s face.
“Oh my God, are we soulmates?” The stranger laughed, leading to Historia’s smile to falter. She suddenly found herself feeling guilty about all this, and was unsure if the stranger was joking or if they were genuinely flirting with her, something that she knew she could not allow to happen.
“Uhm, what’s your name?” She asked, quickly changing the topic while taking note of the stranger’s disappointed face.
“Ymir.” She curtly replied, extending her hand for Historia to shake. Out of nowhere, Historia found herself feeling a sense of familiarity, as if her and Ymir had met before. Then again, they did both go to the same college, so it wouldn’t be too far fetched to assume that they had bumped into each other on campus at least once.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Historia. Have we met before?”
“I don’t know, maybe we bumped into each other on campus? I feel like I know you really well though.” Ymir blurted, titling her head at Historia, who suddenly felt overcome with a desire to kiss Ymir. Danger, she thought.
“Yeah maybe we saw each other on campus.” Historia softly muttered, while the sound on Eren and Connie yelling in the background drowned out whatever Ymir had whispered.
“Hey uhm, do you want to escape from here?” Ymir leant forward to Historia, brushing her blond her away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “We could go onto the balcony and maybe-“
“Listen Ymir, I really like speaking to you but uhm, I have a girlfriend.” Historia mumbled, pointing towards the now passed out Sasha on Annie and Pieck’s laps. She knew that telling Ymir this was the right thing to do, so why did she feel a tight knot of regret in her stomach?
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I had no idea, uhm wow.” Ymir nervously chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “I should go, maybe I’ll see you on campus or something?”
“Yeah.” Historia replied, her eyes glued to the floor. “Maybe in another life?” She joked, earning a laugh from Ymir.
“Yeah, maybe in another life.”
Historia spent the remainder of the semester and the next one hoping to bump into Ymir again, only to never see her again.
Maybe they would meet in another life, Historia thought.