Erwin X Levi X Eren One Shots ※ Eruriren

The Odds Are Never In Your Favour

Eruriren Weekend ~ Future

Eren resisted the urge to scratch at his skin under the itchy fabric that was his dress shirt. He had to dress nice, his mother had told him. His father hadn't said a word. Hadn't wanted to say a word.

He had entered himself eight times.

Eight times for the world's most deadly competition: The Hunger Games.

His father was a teacher and Eren wasn't dumb but, still, they were short on food as of late- his mum made little to none making her dresses nowadays. There were plenty of others taking the job and the market was far too competitive. So, Eren got the money from entering and bought them enough food to last a month and maybe more if...if Eren got chosen.

He didn't want to get chosen. No one did. Everyone knew your chances of dying if you were chosen was over 90%, everyone knew that it was a massacre, they all knew that it was just a way to keep the rebels at bay.

Eren had never dressed up before except for the choosing ceremony. He had never enjoyed it, the woollen trousers scratching at his burnt legs and his uncomfortable shirt now clinging to him far too tight after a few too many years of wear.

Fifteen-years-old and Eren was about to be sent to his slaughter. Or, at least, it was probable.

'Eren! Get out here now or we're going to be late!' No one dared be late for the ceremony. Eren, after sprinting down the crooked wooden staircase, stood in front of his mum, presenting his outfit. Although she wasn't entirely pleased, she didn't send him back up. With little time on their hands, they had to go and now.

Grisha would meet Carla there whilst Eren went to line up with the rest of the boys from District 8. They walked out, side by side, drawing as much attention as the next mother-child pair on their way to the stage, winding their way through the billowing smoke that the factories pumped out day and night.

Eren no longer knew whether his skin was dark by nature or by circumstance.

They still had a little time to spare by the time they reached the venue and Eren gave his mum no more than a quick hug before joining the rest of his friends in the line, chattering away to try and cover the morbidity of it all. Eren may have put his name in eight times but no doubt some had put theirs in far more. It was a game of chance now, one that anyone could win.

The flipping stomachs could also be heard as each and every child, whether against their will or not, gripped onto the hand of their neighbours and prayed that it would not be them.

It wouldn't be Eren.

He was safe, he reassured himself.

'Welcome to the choosing ceremony for the 38th Hunger Games!' The commentator suddenly shouted. What was supposed to cause excitement only stilled the audience into silence. It was finally time.

Sighing, the lady- her wig as flamboyant as it was every year- went over to the ball, spinning it five times before pausing it with a gloved hand- the gems reflecting eagerly into Eren's eyes, even through the smoke.

As she dipped her hand in, Eren expected it to never come out. She spent minutes flicking through the pages, ones that Eren even recognised as his own. Missed. His chances of survival were gaining.

And then, with an ugly flourish, the woman pulled her hand out and waved the ticket in the air. 'The male tribute for District 8 will be...' A pause, the speakers that had been set up the night before playing an obnoxiously loud drum roll. '...Eren Jaeger!'

He was as good as dead.

Eren walked up to the stage as if the floor was poison. His mind reeled, he didn't even have time to comprehend what was going on. As he turned, he saw his mother crying- his father trying to console her. Nothing would work. They had just lost their son.