#hangebirthdaybash22

[silvermarig0lds]

Birthday girl <3

Heavily referenced from daniel f. gerhartz again lol

NOW BACK TO MY ASSIGNMENTS BYE

[giuliadrawsstuff]

Hange Week Day 3. Science.

[levihan-drabbles]

Hange's Birthday Bash Event + Hange Week 2022 Announcement! 🥳

Are you in the process of getting your fics and arts ready for Hange's birthday on 5th September? Or are you still looking for ideas to spark your imagination?

Either way, you can join us here on Tumblr or on the Yet Another Unrequited Love For A Titan Discord server on our week-long birthday celebration for one of our favorite characters, Hange Zoe!💜

The Hange Birthday Bash Event will be held on Sunday, September 4th at 7am PST (yes, we're starting a day ahead because why not). We’ve got some fun action-packed games to go along with it!

• A potential Hange-centered quiz will be played! Answer your questions correctly or feel the wrath of the Floch's Wheel!

• Hange’s Day Off Padlet: A Padlet where everyone can contribute self-care tips, positive affirmations, compliments, and anything to help make the day less stressful and more relaxing for the community.

• Karaoke bots will be added back to the server! Come sing along to your favorite songs and test your musical knowledge!

• Since it’s Hange’s birthday, we’ll be changing our server nicknames to show appreciation towards Hange! if you don’t change it rika will change it for you and it’ll be the tika cult all over again so watch out

• we’ll also be opening back up the “for hange” channel in the server for you to gush over hange as much as you want!

• and lastly, we’re introducing something new! We’ll be playing and streaming this online game called the Hunger Games Simulator- with the aot characters and the server members as tributes! (more info in the server announcements section)

And that's not all! In addition to the server event, we’re celebrating Hange’s birthday all week long with the Hange Week '22!

Create fanart, fanfics, edits, and any other media portraying the following themes (feel free to interpret them however you like):

• 4th- Sunday: Hange's Birthday Bash Event

• 5th- Monday: AOT Junior High

• 6th- Tuesday: Science

• 7th- Wednesday: Free day!

• 8th- Thursday: Hange appreciation day/analysis day

• 9th- Friday : Shinzou wo Sasageyo (Dedicate your Heart)

• 10th- Saturday: Hange's Backstory

Use the hashtag #HangeBirthdayBash22 so that we can find and reblog your arts, fics, and edits. It is not necessary to post on that exact date if you find yourself needing more time or having prior commitments, but make sure you tag your posts so we can find them and reblog them according to the days or at the end of the event.

Join us in the Yet Another Unrequited Love For A Titan Discord community if you haven't yet. Get the invite here!

Excited to see you all there! 💖

Event Banner (and our display picture) by the wonderful @giuliadrawsstuff <3

[metapsyda]

Finished it way too late, but still worth uploading

Happy birthday Hanji <3

[dactyli0nn]

Jr high!!

I absolutely love any Isabel Farlan and Hange interactions it’s so wholesome to think of Hange being a good friend to Levi’s little siblings y’know. Hange looks older than I planned in this but that’s okay that’s cool mentor mentee I vibe with it. Anyways. Hange tries to teach Isabel to cook something and it goes not well. Hange then fears for their life since the kitchen is gonna be a mess and Isabel is stressed and oh god oh fuck Levi’s home in like 10 minutes they’re screwed-

[glassesandswords]

I was too excited for Hange’s birthday and I also am bummed that I wouldn’t be able to post this on fifth September (it’s too long), so I decided to share with you guys a sneak peek into the Erurihan fic I’m working on for Hange’s Birthday Bash Event! 

---

As the days grew colder and snow covered entire towns in a white, powdery blanket, the annual winter holidays were finally announced for the Survey Corps. Cadets and officers alike packed their belongings and loaded them on hired carriages with enthusiasm, the thought of warm home-cooked meals and the smiles on their family’s faces by the fireside clouding their minds. 

Gazing at the departing crowd through the frosted glass of Erwin’s office, Hange hummed.

“The year flew by real fast this time. Say, what are you both going to do for the next fifteen days?” 

“There’s a lot of paperwork I have left to do,” Erwin said, buried in said paperwork, “Including the signing of the official death certificates of the soldiers who died in the recent expedition. Needless to say, I’ll be coming here everyday, holiday or not.”

“Being a commander sure is tough, huh… What about you, Levi?”

Levi did not look up from the three steel mugs he was pouring hot tea into. “I don’t have anywhere to go other than the training grounds.”  

Hange raised an eyebrow, “Even during the winter?” 

“Of course. The holidays are not an excuse to dawdle around. A soldier must be prepared at all times. You best keep that in mind, Shitty Glasses.” 

“Who do you think I am?” Hange protested as they saw Levi place a cup of tea next to Erwin who muttered his thanks while poring on a document. “I too have grand plans that I’m working on.” 

“Is that so? And what might those be?” Levi asked, eyes narrowed as he handed Hange their cup. The heat of the piping hot tea seeped through the mug, warming Hange’s cold fingers instantly. They took a long sip, relishing the searing heat on their tongue, as they let Levi’s question simmer in a dramatic pause.

“It’s top secret.”

“Knowing you, it’s yet another reckless plan to get a pet titan for yourself.” 

“Hange is tasked with the development of a special target restraining weapon that can capture titans alive without any casualties,” Erwin replied without missing a beat.

“Too soon! Erwin, I was planning to let him go in circles for a while! Stop ruining the fun.” 

“Sorry.”

Levi hummed, refilling Erwin’s half-empty cup before taking a sip from his own. “How far is it coming along then?” 

“I just got done with the test blueprint and approved it from our trusty commander here," Hange lightly patted Erwin's head, "I’ll be working on the nitty-gritties of its construction and figure out what materials we’ll need so that we can calculate the number of sponsors we’ll have to lick the boots of to get it done by the next expedition.” 

“Sounds quite troublesome.” Levi refilled Hange’s cup. “I don’t know how you two manage to get out of those meetings with even a shred of your dignity intact.” 

“You know how it goes, Levi," Hange shrugged, "Anything for the cause, dedicate your hearts, yada yada.” 

Levi let out a sarcastic huff as Erwin shot Hange his steel sharp ‘Commander’ glance before returning to the contracts on his desk. Hange stared at the tendrils of white steam from the surface of the golden tea curl in the air. They opened their mouth, hesitated, and closed it again, wondering whether they really wanted to go ahead with what they had in their mind or not. 

“Why do you look so constipated all of a sudden?” Hange’s indecision was not missed by Levi. “Spit it out.”

That was enough for Hange to gather their courage. 

“Say, are you both free three days from now?” they posed a nonchalant question.  

“Mmm... not really,” Erwin hummed thoughtfully as he approved a receipt. “But I must be done with the immediate paperwork by then.” 

“You, Levi?” 

“Depends on why you ask.” 

“You’re free then!” Hange blatantly ignored Levi’s narrowed gaze. “Great! I recently came across a research that said that working in one place for too long can dampen productivity. So, in order to get us all fired up again, I propose a short trip!” 

“A trip?” Levi repeated unsurely, as Erwin paused his paperwork and turned towards Hange, wondering what they were up to this time. 

“Where?”

“To the illustrious hub of science and engineering,” Hange beamed at them, splaying their hands forward and accidentally spilling some tea on the carpet, much to Levi’s dismay. “To the Industrial City!”

---

The whole fic will (hopefully) be out on my Ao3 on September 10, right in time for Hange's Backstory Day in the Hange Week '22 (for more deets on that, check here).

Thanks for reading!

[wingedwhitelioness]

Happy Birthday to the brightest ray of sunshine 🌞

✨Hange Zoe ✨

😍💜🎂🎉

#hbd hange

[nuri148]

Fic: Saving Private Zoë (M)

[3337 words, rated M, manga spoilers, almost post canon, canon divergent]. ETA: Now on AOT!

Her friends saw her disappear in a ball of fire, but that was just her cape! Late but still in time for the Hange Birthday Bash, here is my take on what actually happened to Hange after she dedicated her heart for the final time.

I spewed this in a bit more than 2 days, only 1 round of edit past 1 a.m., so sorry for any typos.

It broke her heart to break his heart like that. The sheer devastation on Levi’s face as she had said her farewell had shaken her more than the suicidal task she was about to tackle. Taking a deep breath in order to fight back tears, former Commander Hange Zoë shot her VMG and faced the wall of colossal titans relentlessly advancing towards the port of Odiha.

Adrenaline kicked in and the grief turned to exhilaration as she soared over the massive monsters.

“Titans really are wonderful!” she thought aloud right before landing the fatal blow on one. There wasn’t much to do in terms of planning. The Rumbling was a brute force attack, and so it required an equal response, even if the forces at play were so ridiculously unbalanced. She could only jump as she went and try to cut as many napes as she could.

Hange switched her anchor points and swung towards another titan. The temperature was unbearable; she struggled with her blades, sweaty palms hindering her grip and the vapours coming from below fogging her vision. She managed to fell a second one, and as she switched her VMG again she felt a searing heat up her side.

Horror struck her. This was not titan vapour. It was a ball of fire igniting her cape and spreading quickly towards her very flammable gas canisters. She groped at her gear, shot her grapple hooks, fumbled with her blades in a desperate attempt to free herself from the blaze. Suddenly, she became very aware that she was basically trying to choose between dying burnt alive or smashed to the floor after a 60-metre drop. Or both. The impulse of a nervous laugh caught in her throat as she felt the flames lick her skin. It was all a whirlwind of fear and pain and images flashing before her one good eye; a violent jolt at her hips; the feeling of falling; light-headedness; trying to scream but hearing nothing; the smell of burnt hair coming to the forefront of the general scorched bouquet filling the air. Was that the sound of a flying boat he was hearing, or was it just her imagination as death took her from this world? She hoped for the former, then everything went white.

“The flying boat!” She yelled, sitting up. She was in a titan-foot-shaped piece of flattened earth, miraculously unscathed.

“It took off,” Erwin said.

“Huh?” She tried to get up, but she seemed to either be glued to the floor, or her arms completely devoid of strength. She looked up to her commander, then to her aide next to him, extending a hand for Moblit to help her get up, but he just stood there. A third soldier turned around; it was Mike. She spotted Nanaba a bit further.

No, something was amiss. How could her comrades have arrived here so quickly? Their uniforms, they were … the old model. There was silence. Nothing smelled burnt.

It dawned on her. Of course, how could she forget. Suicide charge.

“Erwin … Everyone.” It was nice to see them again. She felt relieved. “Ugh, I swear; do you know how much I went through after you appointed me commander? The things that idiot Eren got up to …” She stretched her hand again. “Come on, help me get up and I’ll tell you all about it.” Erwin smiled, but stayed put.

“I will love to hear it,” he said kindly. “But not today.”

“Huh?”

“We’re sorry, Hange,” Moblit said, “but you can’t come with us just yet.”

Mike took a whiff. “You smell like barbecue.”

“You still have things to do,” Erwin said. A cloud of smoke obscured her vision. Squinting, she saw her comrades walk away.

“Wait! Erwin! Moblit!”

She couldn’t hear her own yells. She felt lightheaded, fell down backwards. That’s when it hit her.

PAIN.

Agonizing, searing, burning pain on her right side, from her head all over her arm and side down to her knee. Smell of burnt hair, burnt flesh, burnt everything. Taste of blood. Hange tried to scream, but only a choked sound came out her throat. Cracked lips. She opened her eye. She had a blurry vision of earth and rocks and a greyish sky. The horizon line was almost vertical.

So, I’m lying on my side, she thought before losing consciousness again.

She came to with a shiver, and the return of the excruciating agony of her wounds. Curious, she observed, how she could be trembling and burning at the same time. She tried to incorporate, and this time she did scream as the pain stabbed her from all fronts.

Panting, she looked around. Her glasses were broken, but one of the lenses was still intact. Holding it to her eye she saw she was, indeed, in a depression on the terrain, but the image of a barren land with an even titan-footprint pattern had been part of her near-death hallucination. The actual landscape was far harder and less poetic to look at. For Odiha had not been an endless steppe on which to play stamp pressing, but a thriving city with all that entailed. There was rubble everywhere: crushed buildings, fallen towers, cracked pavement. Hange had been lucky enough to have landed not on the hard debris but on a former park, judging by the flattened grass and flowers beneath her aching body, charring trees lying on the floor farther away, as well as the ruins of a marble fountain.

No, she reconsidered. She had been incredibly lucky to be alive at all. But how?

Howling in pain, she managed to get on her feet. A new, different pang shot up her left leg. Great, she had a sprained ankle as well.

A couple of her VMD gear straps were broken, and wire still hung out of her left winch. Limping very slowly due to the agony that came with every little movement, Hange got rid of what was left of her gear and followed the wire. She clambered over piles of brick, mounds of cobbles, pound gables, towards the rising column of steam that came from the second titan she had slayed. When the heat emanating from the decaying body made her burns flare up, she pulled the cord. Soon she found resistance and, after a few tugs that made her almost faint, the cord came free and she was able to haul the rest of it up to the anchor hook. Closer examination revealed smoking bits of titan flesh stuck to its grooves.

She remembered a violent yank and the sensation of falling slowly, like in a dream.

The anchor must have stuck at a weird angle, scraping down that titan’s flesh and arresting the fall.

She realized there weren’t many fires around. The colossal titan could produce heat at will, but since this ability seriously affected its muscle mass, and the rumbling was a distance run …

They do not aim to burn, just to trample everything. Their core temperature is clearly only able to ignite highly flamable substances. Those plants I woke up on, they looked poached, not roasted.

The sun was setting. She was all alone in the complete ruins of an unknown city thousands of kilometres from home. They must think I’m dead. If they’re still alive, that is. Should she ever want to have the chance to prove them wrong, she would need to find shelter and, if possible, water and medicines. Scanning her surroundings, in the distance she distinguished the remains of the port from where her comrades had took off.

Hange started to walk.

One. Two. Threeeee. F—”FUCK!!!” she screamed, tears spilling from her eye. Four.

She wanted to make haste, but still advanced at a (literally) painfully slow pace. Each step was torture: stepping on her left foot made her ankle throb; putting down her right foot caused her burns to hurt like hell. Her stomach was in knots and her head  was swimming.

She came to with her nerves on fire and bile mixing with the blood in her mouth. She got on all fours first, panting, thinking. After a few moments, she stood up.

Twelve. Thirteen.

She fainted three more times by the time she arrived to the port, one thousand ninety-three steps later. The sky was already dark, the sea choppy and full of debris. Hange rested against the flattened remains of the Port Authority building, two piers before the hangar where she had last seen her friends. Knowing that the piers were 100 metres away from one another and applying simple rule of 3, she reckoned she'd walked 700 metres, give or take, from her landing site to her current position. She inched along and over the rubble, searching for some protrusion that allowed her some shelter; looking upwards as she was, she almost fell into a whole in the earth; her reflexes were still quick enough, though, to avoid adding a bad fall to her condition. Once she recovered from a new ache-induced dizzy spell, she was able to marvel at what had almost swallowed her: A staircase. Heading towards a basement. The full moon thankfully provided enough light to make out that, despite the wrinkled, surrounding terrain, the stairs seemed still solid enough to climb down without fear of cave-ins.

Several minutes, curses and yells later, as she finally reached the lower level and her eye adapted to the faint light, Hange couldn't help but cry with happiness.

She was in a huge utility room of sorts, walls lined with shelves loaded with boxes and tins of every size, tools, bottles, bundles of stuff. There were two doors on each side of the room, though one was caved in with rubble from the ground floor. Another flight of stairs descended to a second basement. There were big fissures on the columns and walls, but the beams looked relatively well. No dust was falling from the cracks.

So hopefully the ceiling won't fall on me and kill me overnight. Though it'd be a better death than dehidration, infection or gangrene.

She walked to the desk propped net to the first door on the right and found one of those torches they had in the continent, which used something called a battery to power a miniature lightbulb. She thought the name was cute. Using the torch, she inspected the shelves, thanking Onyankopon for having taught her to read Marleyan script and bursting again into tears every time she came across something that could help her in the immediate future.

“Yes! Yes! Oh, thank gods! Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she actually cried out upon breaking the lock of the far side cabinet and discovering that it was indeed filled with drugs and medical supplies.

The stuff she needed most, she piled up near the stairs, where the moonlight was enough to see, thus conserving the torch batteries. The door nearest the drug cabinet let to a nurse's office; the one on the left side of the room was a pantry; the one next to the desk was a small office which also contained cleaning utensils.

When she finished her raid, she had blankets, rags, a beaker, bottled water, distilled water, a handful of sugar cubes, a variety of medical supplies, a spoon, and a tin of tuna.

First, she drank some water. There were only so many bottles, so she used the beaker as glass to ration the amount consumed. Next, she stripped, and assessed her wounds. They looked awful and felt worse, but most of the burns were first- and second-degree ones, which seemed to confirm the titans were conserving thermal energy and relying on mechanical force to carry out their raid. Crouching with her left knee on the floor, she bit a leather pen pouch she'd found and proceeded to clean the burns with distilled water, stopping every few moments and putting a sugar cube in her mouth to recover her dropping blood pressure. Once clean, she rubbed ointment on them, using a whole tube of it. The relief was heavenly. Next, she stuck an IV needle of her left hand and helped herself to a bag of saline solution. Then she tended the several scrapes and cuts and, lastly, she bandaged her ankle. With a second beaker of water, she downed a couple of painkillers and a vial of something labelled penicillin which she seemed to recall was good to stave infection. Finally, she ate the tuna with the spoon, half seated at the desk, while she logged the events of the day on the first available notepad.

She woke up in full daylight, burnt skin torturing her again. She was glad to only need 3/4 tube of ointment to mitigate the pain, partly because there were only two more left. She drank two beakers of water and plugged another bag of saline to her arm.

It occurred to her that it was very quiet. It made no sense, of course. The place was already deserted the night before. She thought to go outside, and as her sprained ankle quivered, she had an epiphany.

It’s not sound that’s missing. It’s vibration. They must have stopped it. They stopped the Rumbling!

Laughing with gratitude, she fell back into sleep. She woke up again in the afternoon, shivering. The thermometer confirmed she had a fever. She dragged herself to the nurse’s office, away from the drafts coming from the staircase. Equipped with enough drugs and tins to wait out a couple of days, she lay in the gurney and hoped for the best.

She was in a thick forest, the air hot and damp, clothes stuck to her sweaty body.

“Levi?” she called out. “Levi, where are you?”

“He’s right here,” Ilse Langnar said, gesturing to the tree hollow where her diary had been found.

“Levi!” Hange yelled, running to the tree, rummaging through the mass of torn out limbs that filled the hollow.

“Tch, relax, shitty glasses!” Levi said, leaning cross-armed against the tree. “I’m not dead yet.” He walked away, blood oozing from nowhere and gushing down his fringe and clothes. “And go take a bath, for fuck’s sake. You reek.”

She couldn’t find her IV. She drank the last bag of saline solution. She had to log this.

“I love the way you smell,” Mike said, ramming into her in her bedroom in the Trost barracks. Except it was Onyankopon. But she was fully dressed. And he was actually Mike and was giving her a foot massage, sniffing between each of her toes. “Hmmm … Rancid.”

She poured half a bottle of water over her face trying to drink straight from it. Did she have green peas in her hair? It smelled like shit. Where was the notebook?

“Speak up, you filthy cunt!” Yelena shouted, slapping her left and right with those man hands of her and shoving her across the small cell they were in. The stone walls were cold, humid and covered in slime. Hange held her hands up protectively and saw her fingernails had been ripped off.

“That’s alright, child,” Pastor Nick said, placing a hand on Yelena’s shoulder.

She kneeled at his feet, clawing to his tunic, whimpering. “The stench! I can’t take it!”

Pastor Nick shook her off and turned to Hange, a beatific smile on his face. “Walls bless you,” and he threw a bucket of cold, dirty water at her.

The first thing Hange saw on opening her eyes was a sliver of yellow light projecting from the half-shut doorway onto the ceiling. It must be late afternoon; that’s the only time of the day the sunrays could make it so far into the room.

“You were right, boys …” she smiled to the ceiling. “It fucking stinks in here.”

She sat up with relative ease. She was soaked in her own sweat and had peed herself at some point. Even in the dim light, the room looked like a hurricane had gone through it. Her burns hurt much less; she had no recollection of whether she’d applied more balm or not … How long had it been? Shit, the air did really smell putrid. She had to clean herself, she’d deal with the room later. The good news was that her foot also hurt noticeably less when she stepped down the gurney; the bad news was that the torch was out of batteries. She pulled the door open to let more light in. Something fell down from her head.

Oh. So they were peas alright.

She took the notebook and the last tube of burn ointment (capless, but full) and limped out to the main room. Then, she picked up the necessary things and moved to the entrance for light. Not knowing if she’d find more water than the one still available to her, proper washing was out of the question. She cleaned herself with rags soaked in water and vinegar. The burns looked better; the worse ones were festering some, but the itching was a good sign. She dabbed the pus with a clean gauze, rubbed ointment were possible. The cuts were healing nicely.

Her hair, though, was half burnt, half matted and fully hopeless. She cut it as short as she could, wielding the scissors blindly as the only mirror she’d found was pocket-sized. Not that Mike would suddenly come back from the dead for a quickie and run off again, spooked by her lack of style. She did miss Mike.

Clothing was tricky. There were several uniforms and scrubs available, but the blisters and tender flesh from her ribs to her thigh made it nigh impossible to wear trousers. After some rummaging, she finally put on two hospital gowns, one tied to the back and another to the front, and cut a hole in a blanket to fashion a poncho.

When she was done making herself presentable, Hange sat at the desk and checked her notes from the fever. If they could be called notes. There was indecipherable scrawling, disjointed words, random lines, and a smear of something that looked suspiciously like excrement. She tore that page off and binned it with a grimace. Sighing, she grabbed some food and for the first time in … however long it had been, she climbed up the stairs.

The setting sun was just touching the sea, calm as a lake now, debris neatly lumped along the shoreline. She sat on a flat chunk of concrete, taking in the view. If the Rumbling had stopped when she thought it had, there must be still a fraction of humanity left to build from the wreckage. If she had been able to survive with such slim odds, there had to be many more people whose lives had been spared by the skin of their teeth.

There was enough food supplies in that basement to last for more than a week, two if she rationed them wisely. There had to be more intact basements with non-perishable food, kitchen utensils, clothes, medicines, stationery. She knew how to make a fire. She was certain she would eventually find a broken pump or fountain from which to get drinking water and, if not, she would find the way to obtain it from rain and dew. Plants would regrow. Animals would breed.

She opened a can of peaches in syrup and a bottle of beer and treated herself to it. It was an evening to celebrate.

Sooner or later, someone would find her.

By then, she would be ready. Never mind that she’d missed a few days of notes. From now on, she’d log everything. And when they did find her, they would know every effect and consequence of the Rumbling in this city in the weeks, months, or years to come. It would be the most comprehensive case study of the continent. She owed her friends that much.

“Till we meet again.” She raised her beer towards the setting sun.

It was a pyrrhic victory, but victory at last.