#cough phantom cough die by the sword cOUGH

[everwisp]

If Apartment Manager-san has a million fans, then I am one of them. If Apartment Manager-san has ten fans, then I am one of them. If Apartment Manager-san has only one fan then that is me. If Apartment Manager-san has no fans, then that means I am no longer on earth. If the world is against Apartment Manager-san, then I am against the world.

[bleachification]

hope is the devil’s crux

pairing: chuuya x doctor!reader

warnings: lil bit of gore, not very graphic at all

summary: sometimes life is a bit unfair. other times, life sticks you in an inescapable, abandoned tunnel with the man who hates your guts for betraying him, and who is also bleeding out from a stab wound that only you (the traitor) can heal.

authors note(s): part two can be found: here :*

“Go away. I don’t need you.”

“I am the only doctor in a ten-mile radius; we are stuck underground without a way out; I think you may have a concussion, and—oh right—you are currently impaled. So I would argue that yes, actually, you do need me.”

Chuuya tries to scowl, but it comes off as a stiff grimace instead. “I can handle it.”

You stare at him—a bloody mess leaning against a concrete wall—in utter exasperation. His dress shirt is soaked to the point where it blends into the black jacket wrapped around his shoulders. A foot-long jagged hunk of metal, dripping a sinewy red, juts out from the left side of his abdomen like some kind of sick accessory.

Chuuya’s breaths come in terrifyingly shallow beats, and his complexion is beginning to resemble that of a corpse.

Despite his horrid (and visibly pained) state, he refuses you.

If it weren’t such a tense situation, you would probably roll your eyes.

“Stubborn fool. I’m not going to sit here and watch you bleed out. What kind of doctor do you take me for?” You kneel beside him and begin carefully examining the wound. Featherlight fingers trace the outline of his injury as you assess its severity. The feeling jolts him. You can tell by the twitch of his muscles and the way goosebumps rise from his flesh, prickling as skin meets skin.

Chuuya pulls back, despite the pain moving causes. It is an instinct. A defense mechanism structured to protect and force him as far away from your hands as he can get. He needs space—needs it from your touch, your scent, your voice… from your very existence. Any closer and the throbbing in his chest would soon override every other feeling coursing through his body.

“I told you to get away from me; I don’t want your—“

“If the word ‘pity’ even tries to come out of your mouth, I’ll jam this thing five inches deeper,” you warn.

Chuuya doesn’t reply at first. Instead, he turns his head towards the source of your threat and for the first time in hours; he looks you in the eyes. His gaze is half-lidded, but that doesn’t mask his spite. It also doesn’t entirely hide the flickers of emotions he desperately tries to quell. Luckily for Chuuya, you are too preoccupied with arguing with him to register the brewing sentiments reflected in his eyes.

Beads of sweat trickle down the side of his cheek—all the way down to the edge of his chin—until they fall flat onto the dirt-ridden, moss-infested ground, sinking deep within the earth until all that’s left is a darkened patch. The tension is thick as oil and abundantly apparent—in both his jaw and the air between you.

“I don’t want your fake compassion, Doctor.” The redhead spits out that last part as if merely thinking the word fills his mouth with vile poison. Or at least something vividly similar.

You don’t let it show, but his words pierce the air and cut like a sword through your chest, cleaving your heart into halves during the process. It is a familiar sensation, a tangled mess of emotions that has been following you like a restless phantom since the moment you left—and inevitably betrayed—the Port Mafia.

Guilt. Frustration. A foreign and unpleasant sensation that you aren’t brave enough to put a name to.

“I don’t exactly care what you want. I refuse to watch someone die, knowing I could have changed the outcome.” You feign a quick cough, hoping it covers up the waver in your voice.

Chuuya does not believe you. He believes you would bleed him dry and leave him out to hang. He believes you are the sort of person that would enjoy watching him suffer—as you’ve caused him to do so many times in the past. He believes you to be the same type of scum as that idiot Dazai—a traitor who knows nothing of the meaning of loyalty. But at least Dazai had the decency not to toy with Chuuya’s heart and leave it a bitter, ragged mess. At least Dazai only left physical scars, not tainted marks hidden beneath the surface that are only perceivable to Chuuya and Chuuya alone.

You are lying. Chuuya thinks. You have been lying to me for years.

He almost speaks, a myriad of raw and acute thoughts on the edge of his lips, but stops himself just as quickly. Because voicing that thought will be the same as admitting he cares for your words and the weight they may hold. It would imply that you still occupy a place deep inside his heart, buried underneath the layers of dust and wounds, a weakness he cannot afford. So instead, Chuuya simply asks: “Will you leave me alone if I let you fix me?”

You sigh, and a hint of relief seeps out. “I might.”

What a big fat lie. If you don’t keep an eye on him there is a high chance of Chuuya sleeping himself into a coma, but lying is part of your nature and you will fabricate existence itself if doing so means helping him recover.

Chuuya tilts his head back until it gently rests against cold concrete, closing his eyes in acceptance of what you are about to do. Strangely it feels like he’s accepting you�� if only for this one night.

In this damp and eerily empty space, the only perceivable sounds come from dripping water and the both of your breaths; his are much raspier than yours. You hope he doesn’t notice the erratic thudding coming from your chest as you inch closer and closer toward him; until you can feel his body’s warmth wash over you. Ignoring (or at the very least trying to) his overwhelming presence, you begin working.

Chuuya is silent during the whole ordeal. As you peel the rest of the fabric away from the wound and examine it in its entirety, the only hint of discomfort he gives is a barely audible hitch in his breath.

You procure sanitizing wipes from the medical kit that sits skewed on your hip and then swipe them across his skin to sterilize the wound and prep for the next—and most crucial—step: extracting the metal.

“What I’m about to do… it will—”

Chuuya’s voice cuts you off. It's softer this time, perhaps from exhaustion. “Hurt. I’m well aware. This isn’t the first time, remember?”

You do. The amount of times Chuuya had walked into the infirmary with something needing fixed couldn’t be counted on the hands of a dozen people. Back when you still worked undercover at the Port Mafia as their head doctor, half your time would be consumed by Chuuya and his medical incidents. Most of those occurrences were for minor injuries that probably would have gone away with a band-aid or a few hours of rest, but you always suspected he used the petty cuts and bruises as an excuse to see you. You feel your lips lift up in a small smile at the nostalgic memory, back when your relationship with Chuuya was much, much simpler.

Chuuya sneezes, then groans from the motion. It snaps you from your stupor and you start to rip open the left side of your shirt, hurrying as you ignore the onslaught of echoes of the past.

Chuuya’s eyes bug out to the size of saucers.

“What do y—what are you doing?!” He sputters, voice rising an octave with every word. Colour seems to have returned to his cheeks as he frantically averts his gaze away from you.

The left sleeve falls off your bare shoulder as you struggle with tearing off the bottom. “I don’t have any bandages that are big enough. Plus, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“That time was an accident!”

The threads finally break loose as you give a final yank. “You ‘accidentally’ walked in on my private bath?”

“Dazai switched the signs. That prick,” Chuuya mutters, face still turned away from you.

His exasperation makes you laugh—a short, sharp huff that draws his attention to yours once more.

Your laugh falters as his eyes meet yours once again. They shine with something foreign, yet so very familiar. Chuuya loathes you. You know it. He knows it. The whole world knows it. So why does he look at you like a world like that could never exist? It is a terrible and false hope his expression ignites—one that pours poison into your eyes and blinds you to the truth. Hope is the worst kind of temptation—devilry hiding behind the mask of something pure—but it is also the only thing keeping you sane in this moment.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Focus.

The heat is making you dizzy, or perhaps it's the tight proximity between you and the man who has taken up almost every waking thought of yours in the last two years.

Definitely the latter.

“I don’t have any numbing agents. But here, open your mouth.”

He does as you say, though hesitantly, and you place a makeshift gag between his lips and motion for him to bite down.

“I am really, really sorry,” you whisper.

Chuuya’s groans, even muffled by the cloth, are loud. They echo and bounce off the tunnel walls until finally fading into the distance. It is a long and arduous operation, but he calms down significantly when you successfully remove the source of his pain.

“That was…” He blows out a sharp breath, “that was rough.”

Chuuya is less hostile now. You’re not sure if that’s a sign to be relieved or worried.

“I’m going to stitch you up now, okay?” Your voice comes out low, as if trying to pacify a frightened wild animal.

A curt nod is the only answer you get. At least Chuuya’s no longer trying to pull away or argue, though it’s probably because the night’s fatigue has finally taken hold of him.

You begin to patch him up and pretend his muscles don’t tense every time the needle pushes through.

Always pretending to be okay, even in the direst of situations.

It’s one of the traits he shares with you—an incredible stubbornness that frequently breeds trouble… and a whole lot of grief.

As you finish bandaging Chuuya’s torso, you sneak a glance at him. He is considerably more relaxed, but more importantly, he is staring straight at you.

“What? Something on my face?” You tease, with zero expectation of an answer.

So imagine your surprise when he scoffs and replies with: “I wish. Unfortunately, I find my sight gravitating to your face more often than not. It’s fucking annoying.”

What? Your head spins as his blunt admission sends your equilibrium askew and it takes a second longer for you to completely process his words, and their underlying implication. What does he mean by it? Is it an impulse fueled by his hatred for you? Or does it mean something else entirely… something that gives rise to flickering rays of hope.

“Are you done?” Chuuya’s raspy voice breaks your train of thought once again and grounds you back to reality.

“Almost. I need to double-check something,” you respond.

You spend the next couple of minutes rattling off questions and monitoring his condition. After checking him over once more and finding no sign of a concussion, you let out a sigh of relief and take a seat beside him against the wall.

“You should get some rest for now, your body needs it. I’ll keep watch and see if we can get a signal and call for help,” you inform, already turning on your phone and checking the service. There’s one bar (thank god), and you begin dialing.

Chuuya doesn’t respond until after you’ve called for backup. “I’ll watch. You sleep.” His tone is flat. Final. No room for discussion.

You shake your head, incredulous. “I’m the one who wasn’t bleeding out a minute ago. You sleep.”

Chuuya’s features contort into an expression of annoyance. “No.”

No? No?

You try a nicer tone—a polite one—a tone you use with your more obstinate patients. “Chuuya, your body needs rest. I promise nothing will happen and I’ll wake you when help arrives. Then I’ll get out of your hair and you’ll never have to see me again. I promise.”

He only stares at you like you’ve suggested disembowelment. It makes your left eye twitch. Just a little.

“I said no,” he argues.

You sigh again. “Chuuya plea–”

“I’m not fucking sleeping.”

You explode.

“God, why are you so hard headed? I’m telling you to rest, not cut off a limb! For fucks sake, Chuuya it’s not that big of an ask!” Your chest—much like your anger—rises as you draw in deep breaths.

“And I told you: I. Don’t. Need. It.” Chuuya grits out.

You glare at each other for a rigid minute before the exhaustion of the night takes over and pulls you to the ground, a fair distance away from Chuuya. You stay silent for a beat before voicing your thoughts out softly and wearily. “Why must you keep fighting me?”

A long and hollow silence fills the dark space around you. Not a single sound other than those set by the environment is heard. You quickly realize he has no intention to answer the question posed.

Five minutes pass. Then ten.

“I can’t.”

You jerk and practically keel over from the sudden response, but steady yourself just in time to cock your head and ask: “Can’t keep fighting me?”

Chuuya spares you a glance—it has ‘you are an idiot’ written all over it.

“I cannot sleep.” He enunciates each word as if he was attempting to explain quantum mechanics to a toddler.

What an ass.

You swallow down the insults bubbling up your throat (because you are a good person who exercises patience) and shift your body until you position yourself directly across from him. Toe-to-toe, face-to-face.

“Insomnia?”

One simple word; generally it carries minimal significance, and yet it has Chuuya freezing as soon as it is mentioned.

He hesitates and eventually: “...Yes.”

“Medications? Any therapeutic remedies?” You’re in full doctor-mode, poking and prodding in an effort to procure an empirical diagnosis.

“Didn’t work. Any of it,” he huffs.

“How long?”

He turns away from you and drops his head slightly, as if preparing for his answer. “Since November.”

November? Why would that month be such—oh. Oh.

Shit.

Chuuya turns to look at you and frowns upon seeing your expression.

“Don’t. It’s not—“

“My fault?” Your voice comes out shakier than before, but it’s nothing compared to how rattled you are from the realization that Chuuya can’t sleep anymore because of you. Because of what you did to him.

“It’s not,” he assures. His eyes are still fixated on you, and for the first time tonight he’s the one looking worried.

You can only shake your head, afraid of your voice breaking along with what’s left of your resilience.

“It’s not your fault I’m weak,” he murmurs.

That has you snapping your head towards him. Chuuya? Weak? He may be a lot of things, but weak would never come close to being an adjective that describes Chuuya.

“You… you’re kidding, right?”

He must hear the disbelief in your tone because he laughs—albeit sardonically.

“Please. If I wasn’t, do you really think I would have let you walk out of there alive that night?”

You suck in a sharp breath. He’s referring to the night you left the Port Mafia for good. Even after all this time, the image of Chuuya’s expression as you turned your back and walked away with the Agency members is still freshly ingrained into your mind—furious, disappointed, gutted.

“It was my job, Chuuya,” you whisper.

His next question knocks all of the air out of your lungs.

“Was I just a job to you then?”

No. Hell no. Never.

But you can’t say that. So you do what you do best; you lie.

“Yes. You were just a job, nothing more.”

Chuuya bursts out into short laughter, except it sounds too hysterical for it to be genuine. It winds down to a weary sigh as he drops his head into his head, his signature hat falling onto the dirt beside him.

He mumbles something, but his position and your distance makes it ineligible.

“Sorry?” You scooch closer until your thighs almost press up against his, craning your neck in an attempt to hear.

“I said..” He looks up, and you find yourself staring into his eyes for the millionth time today. Long lashes partially conceal his pupils as he repeats his words.

“You are very cruel to me.”

It is the last thing he says to you before the sound of sirens burst from the tunnel's collapsed entrance.

[scarletta-ruan]

Hello agian, first of all i'm want to apologise about my rude manner, i should forced you to write when you have bad week(sorry to be dramatic) today i want to request you agian it okay if you don't write it i understand, so my request is can you write dazai's fem s/o who almost die because she overuse her ability to protect Atsushi from enemies, her ability can turn herself in to wolf, she will get more speed and strength, but if she in wolf form for long time, her body will become weaker and she going to die, good thing dazai come nullify her ability just in time and he come up with back up and plan. I'm sorry if this request upset you, and i really sorry about my other request too.

PLEASE, WILL YOU WAKE UP AGAIN?

WARNING: OOC, broken!characters, mention of some nicknames (love, Belladonna), reader gets injured, reader is female btw

TYPE: Drabble

PAIRING: Osamu Dazai x fem!reader

WORDCOUNTS: 0.7k+ words

NOTES: And... your request arrives. I put all my heart and emotions into writing it, though. But this could not be written in oneshort because I don't have any ideas for this. Shortly, it's just about how Dazai feels when his beloved s/o nearly left this life, of course.

“[Name]-san!”

You unconsciously heard someone’s voice calling for you deep in your mind. Who was calling you right now? Did that person relate to you or did that person know you before? Who was that person in the end? You were wondering in your mind while something stole the control of your body, in the middle of white you saw a wolf was standing far from you. As you reached your hand out to touch them you knew that you were not able anymore, just like there was a barrier between you and that creature.

Atsushi shouted out your name, as he coughed badly. He nearly vomited blood if he tried to shout again, but he could not let you become like this. In front of him, the appearance of the half-man-half-wolf person did not stop attacking people. A moment ago, that one was his friendly colleague who talked about her daily life and also complained about how she took care of her lover - Osamu Dazai.

But now that girl was gone and all of everything had left here is the beast which was trying to tear people into a thousand pieces and sank its hand with blood. Atsushi had called Dazai a minute ago and he hoped that this man would be able to come and stop her. But before that… Atsushi tried to stand up again with his quivering legs.

He needed to stop you!

The place where the white-haired boy now was a white, injured tiger which got ready to stop the fiendish beast. But at the moment he took a step forward, there was a person who nullified his ability. A piece of sand-color trench coat that Atsushi realized immediately, as he shouted out that name.

“Dazai-san, please help her!”

“Got it, Atsushi.”

Dazai shouted back just to let Atsushi know that he already understood the circumstance was happening right now. Dazai’s speed could not be as fast as you when your ability turned you into a beast, but he knew how to control the beast which was attacking in front of his eyes.

“Kyouka-chan, it’s your time.”

As Dazai called out a name, you were immediately wrapped by a female sword-wielding phantom which was controlled by Kyouka. By the time you struggled to get out of the Demon Snow’s arms, Dazai was able to nullify your ability.

No longer human.

After a blue light appeared, the beast disappeared from Demon Snow’s arms to reveal a familiar woman to Dazai. Kyouka commanded the phantom to release you as he held you in his arms. Both of Dazai’s arms felt useless when he held you in him, he was afraid of losing you forever if he was not exactly here on time. 

While holding you, Dazai slowly kneeled up to the ground and let your body lay in his hug. He was hurted when he saw blood stuck everywhere on your body, your forehead, your arms, on the corner of your mouth. Just those things made Dazai shiver, he slowly hugged you tightly in his weak arms and mumbled like a small child who lost their friend.

“Please, open your eyes…”

You still lay there.

“Please, Belladonna, are you hearing me?”

No one replied to him.

“Will you wake up again and scold me like everyday?”

As no one replied to Dazai, his cold heart finally let him burst into tears. Tears fell down from the corner of his eyes as he leaned his forehead against yours. God, Dazai wished he would stop crying like that because it was no use after all if he was just crying like that. 

“O-Osamu…”

A hint of your voice calling out his name made Dazai shiver, you slowly opened your eyes and coughed a little bit before giving him a smile. When you saw Dazai was crying, you reached out your helpless hand to place on his cheek and whispered.

“Shh, don’t cry, my love. I’m alright, I’m here.”

Dazai held you in his arms and murmured something you may hear was his relieved sound. Because you did not want him to worry anymore, you stroked his cheek and said.

“Alright, I’m home.”

“Welcome back.”

Dazai replied to you after wiping his tears with the bandage on his arms.

Okay, then I am going to sleep after posting these drafts. So, good night to you all as if you are going to bed like me.

[bluevaractyl]

I ended up splitting this one into two, so there will now be seven chapters total.

There was a soft rasping sound as the Shadow drew its weapon.

Sky felt a surge of fiery anger. It wasn’t right! This shouldn’t be how it ended, for any of them. He’d wanted to build something wonderful, grow old with Zelda, and die peacefully in his sleep. At the very least, he would have wanted to go out fighting for something. Instead, he was going to be executed in this dank dungeon, far from home, dooming his friends and their worlds and helpless to stop it.

Sky raised his head. His vision was blurred with tears. He glared defiantly at the monster before him. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.

The Shadow seemed to pause. It tilted its head at him curiously. “Courageous to the end, I see. It makes no difference. You’ll be dead either way.”

It raised its sword. Red fire seemed to dance along the blade. Sky refused to flinch.

The sword came down and crashed against Legend’s Tempered Sword.

Sky blinked uncomprehendingly. Where had Legend come from? How had he gotten there so fast?

Legend took advantage of the Shadow’s surprise to press forward in a blazing series of attacks. The Tempered Sword sang with power, driving the Shadow back step by step. Legend left an opening and the Shadow lunged, making Sky jolt forward in fear, but Legend had vanished. The Shadow overbalanced as its blade met no resistance.

Wind charged in from the side and smacked the still-reeling monster full in the face with his skull hammer. The Shadow was flung across the room.

“Sky?”

Four’s voice in Sky’s ear startled him badly. His head whipped around. Bad idea. The burn of the rope twisting almost made him pass out again. He bowed his head, panting shallowly.

“Sorry! Sorry, I shouldn’t have surprised you like that,” Four said apologetically. Sky looked up and was confused to find he couldn’t seem to focus on the Smith. Seeing his expression, Four explained, “I’m wearing one of the Old Man’s masks. It makes me unnoticeable. Here,” he said, suddenly coming into view. He was holding a lopsided grey mask.

Four put down the mask and walked to Sky’s back. Prickly discomfort filled Sky at the vulnerability of the position, but he fought down the panic. This was Four. Four wouldn’t hurt him. He was only trying to help.

“I’m going to undo these knots, alright? Try to hold still. I’ll be as quick as I can.” Four got to work fiddling with the knot at the back of Sky’s neck. He was being gentle, but every light tug and careful twist made pain and panic shoot through Sky. It was getting really hard to breathe.

Sky tried to distract himself by observing the fight. Legend kept appearing and reappearing, striking at the Shadow from all directions. His pegasus boots lent him impressive speed. Wind had exchanged his hammer for the Phantom Sword and was diligently keeping the Shadow from making any moves towards Sky and Four. At some point, Hyrule had also joined the battle.

Sky tried to check them over for any sign of injury, but in the dim light, and at this distance, he couldn’t tell. Still, seeing them soothed a little of the ache in his soul.

Under the clashing of steel, Sky could now hear the distant booming of explosions. That was probably the other four Links.

“Done! Just your hands, now,” announced Four behind him. He gently pulled the rope away from Sky’s neck. Instantly, a weight seemed to lift from Sky’s shoulders. He took a deep breath, savoring the burn of air passing through his damaged throat.

“Th-thank you,” Sky rasped, and coughed weakly. Red speckled the floor. His tongue felt heavy and uncooperative.

Four moved in front of him. His concerned gaze fell to Sky’s neck. “Hey, don’t try to talk yet. Do you think you could manage a potion?”

Sky considered. The nausea from earlier hadn’t quite disappeared, and swallowing was difficult and painful. Reluctantly, he shook his head. Pain spiked at the small motion. He grimaced.

“I’ll free your hands, then you can save your voice by signing.” Four moved behind him again and began working at the knots. Sky winced as his sprained wrists were jostled but kept quiet.

The Shadow was losing ground fast. Wind, Legend, and Hyrule continued to batter it with attacks from three sides, forcing it closer and closer to the edge of the room. Abruptly, it ducked low and spun, catching Wind with its sword. The Sailor cried out and fell back, one hand pressed to his side.

The Shadow’s motion continued and it grew, changing shape. Sky tried to shout a warning, but the sound was choked off. He wheezed.

The Shadow had transformed into a massive, armored beast wielding a ball and chain. It swung the ball toward Wind. Wind squeaked and dove out of the way.

Four gave one last tug on Sky’s restraints and the ropes fell away. Pins and needles stabbed their way down both arms. His shoulders were screaming from holding the uncomfortable position for so long. He gritted his teeth and rolled them experimentally. They felt stiff and strained. His sprained wrists were even less amenable to movement, and he gave up on trying to stretch them out immediately.

Four patted him gingerly on the shoulder and shouted, “Traveler, trade me!” Then he leapt into the battle.

Hyrule ran over. Sky felt terrible about pulling him away. He longed to help them fight but couldn’t even hold a sword.

Hyrule’s hands hovered uncertainly over Sky’s neck. “I—I’m not sure where to start, there’s just so much. It’s a miracle you can even breathe right now,” he said, brows furrowed in concern.

Sky raised his right hand and whispered, “Heal my wrist. Need to fight. Th’ rest can wait.” He tasted metal.

Hyrule looked conflicted, but they both knew he didn’t have enough magic to spare for all of Sky’s wounds yet. They still needed to get out of here. Regret in his eyes, Hyrule finally took Sky’s right wrist and began to work. A cool sensation soothed the pain and eased the tension. He let go, and Sky flexed it and clenched his fist. It twinged, but the pain was much more manageable.

Hyrule laid cool fingers over Sky’s throat. Immediately, Sky tensed. The memory of excruciating pain mixed nauseatingly with the ache of the rope burns and deep bruising under Hyrule’s hand. Hyrule’s spell began weaving through him, lessening the swelling. It was helping, but at the same time, it was making everything worse. Sky could feel himself spiraling the longer the Traveler touched him. He gasped out, “Stop. Enough, save it.”

Hyrule withdrew. He met Sky’s eyes, somehow looking more worried than he had before. “Are you sure? I’ve hardly helped at all…”

“Move!” cried Four, and suddenly Hyrule was yanking Sky to his feet with impressive strength and pulling him out of the way of the Shadow’s giant ball and chain. It smashed into the ground where they had been, sending bits of cobblestone flying. The Shadow yanked the ball back towards itself and began swinging it again.

Wind, Four, and Legend were doggedly slashing and stabbing at the chinks in the Shadow’s armor near its knees and ankles, but it was clear they were tiring. Legend had stopped using his magic cape altogether. Every time the Shadow swung the ball, they all had to scramble, roll, and leap out of the way. They weren’t going to last much longer.

Gathering himself, Sky rasped to Hyrule, “Need my sword.”

Hyrule didn’t try to argue. He yelled, “Vet, the Master Sword!” Legend darted toward them in a flash, drawing the sword from his bag and tossing the sheath in their direction before rushing back in to cover for Wind, who was limping. Sky drew the Master Sword one-handed and gave Hyrule the sheath, since his sword belt was still missing. Then he charged forward.

At the sight of the Master Sword, the Shadow seemed to balk. In any other circumstances, this might have amused Sky; the monster was currently over twice his own height. Now, however, all he felt was a burning determination. He flew at it in a flurry of dancing slashes, slicing through its thigh almost to the bone. Inky blood gushed forth as the Shadow screeched. It swung at him with the chain. He ducked underneath it and came up behind it, quickly attacking its stout tail. It roared with furious pain and tried to stomp on him. He stumbled out of the way.

Time was suddenly beside him, stabbing at the unarmored tail. Looking past him, Sky saw Twilight wielding an identical ball and chain. He released the ball, sending it smashing into the Shadow’s wounded knee. It buckled. Time hurriedly yanked Sky out of the way as the beast went down. It tried to stand, but Wind and Legend were already tearing into its other leg.

Sky walked haltingly to stand facing the Shadow where it lay snarling, trying to rise and striking out at anyone close. Wordlessly, he raised the Master Sword skyward. Light illuminated the blade with a ringing chime. The Shadow’s red eyes widened. Sky brought the Master Sword down in an arc, sending a beam of light shooting toward it. Before it could make contact, the Shadow melted away, armor and all. There was no sign it had ever been there.

The Shadow’s escape left an eerie stillness behind. All the strength went out of Sky. He didn’t remember hitting the ground.

[catcas22]

Daedicar's Woe

So I saw a post (can’t remember if it was here or on reddit) pointing out all the reasons why Rya would make a great squire/traveling companion for the Tarnished. Then I watched a couple lore videos about the Prison Town, Daedicar, and the Temple of Eiglay Godskin. Then this sort of happened.

Will include mentions of canon-typical violence.

Disturbing likeness of a woman whose skin was flayed.

She smiles with a serene tenderness.

Increases damage taken.

It is said that this woman, named Daedicar, indulged in every form of adultery and wicked pleasure imaginable, giving birth to a myriad of grotesque children.

            Idril trudged along the narrow strip of volcanic rock, hardly minding the searing heat or the taste of sulfur and ash that accompanied every breath. After a week of plumbing the depths of this accursed manor, both had become almost familiar.

            She leaned heavily on the spear, practically dragging herself along. Her body burned with the pain of her five battles with the Serpent King, the phantom pains of four deaths between his jaws, and the fresh ache of her final victory.

            Her ribs were broken, she was sure of that. No matter. Pain was but a passing inconvenience to a tarnished.

            The dark stone of a flanking tower loomed ahead, the interior of the inset door darker still. Setting the unwieldy spear aside, she drew the sword she’d taken from Sir Moongrum and stepped over the threshold.

            At first glance, she mistook the figure tucked into the corner for another torture-maddened albinauric. No, it was Rya. The girl, now in her human form, huddled against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest. She was holding something, something dry and ragged that she cradled in both hands.

            Idril sheathed her blade and coughed to announce her presence. Rya didn’t move, didn’t even look up. Idril took a tentative step closer.

            “Rya?”

            As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she finally made out the object the girl was holding -- a head, long dead, parchment-dry skin peeled back like the petals of a grotesque flower.

            “Ser Idril.” She finally looked up, eyes red rimmed. “I’m sorry, I... I’ve learned something terrible.”

            A heavy pit of dread settled in her stomach. If Rya was here, then she’d been through the prison town. She’d seen the true face of the Volcano Manor, with all its atrocities. She’d learned what sort of person her loving mother really was.

            “I was born of a hideous ritual,” she rasped, voice hoarse from weeping. “Neither man nor serpent could ever accept me. Even Lady Tanith...” Her voice gave out, and she hid her face in her knees once more.

            Idril stood there uselessly, words of comfort catching in her throat as the pieces fell into place. The truth of the matter was cruelly obvious.

            Daedicar.

            She’d come across that name time and again as she pored over pages of notes left moldering in the Prison Town. Daedicar was a harlot, a blasphemer, a mother of monsters, or so the writings said.

            Kneeling down, she gently lifted the mummified head out of Rya’s hands. The skin of the face had been flayed back, exposing desiccated muscle and broken teeth. Despite all that, the lipless mouth remained eternally frozen in a reassuring smile.

            Idril recalled the young albinauric she’d found strapped to a rack, flayed and left to die. She thought of the monstrous noble who haunted the snake god’s temple, clad in the stitched skin of his victims. Her breath caught, lungs prickling at the memory of a dozen deaths on the point of his rapier.

            Daedicar’s head weighed in her hands, heavy and yet terribly fragile. Who had she been in life? A mad cultist betrayed by her own dark gods, or a woman used up and discarded when the Serpent King had no further use for her?

            It hardly mattered, she decided. Not now, not where Rya was concerned.

            Carefully, she set the head aside and moved to sit beside Rya, armor creaking as she slid down the wall. When the girl didn’t flinch away, Idril gently settled an arm around her thin shoulders.

            They remained there, running out the minutes in silence. Idril was no wordsmith at the best of times. And here, what could she possibly say?

            “Lady Tanith was always so kind to me.” Rya’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “But those things in the dungeons, the things that were done here -- Idril, she had to know.”

            Godrick using his last moments to cry out for his grandfather. A queen with the blood of thousands on her hands tearing down the world that had taken her son from her. The iron creations of a madman left behind in Raya Lucaria to protect his mother.

            Idril chose her words carefully. “Even the worst sort can still hold love in their heart. Even if it isn’t enough to save them.” She drew a heavy breath, the full force of her exhaustion finally hitting. “She really did care for you. In fact, she asked that I look after you.”

            Rya remained silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was flat, hopeless. “Then do me one more kindness. Please, kill me.”

            Idril recoiled. “What?”

            “Please,” her voice wavered, eyes welling up with fresh tears, “what else can I do? Where would a monster like me ever be accepted?”

            “I’ll do no such thing! Rya, you are no monster.”

            One look in the girl’s eyes told her that her words brought no comfort. Idril took a deep breath, gathering herself before forging ahead. “Rya, your father was a Carian Prince. He was born of the noblest of lineages.” She stood, pointing out the door toward the sprawling expanse of the Prison Town. “Your father became a monster long before he gave himself to the serpent. He chose his path with each innocent life taken. Actions make a monster, Rya, and you’re not a monster yet.”

            For the first time, Rya met her gaze with a glimmer of hope. Idril extended her hand. “Come with me. You don’t belong in this place.”

            She hesitated. “I don’t want to be a burden to you…”

            “You won’t be.” Of course Idril would have welcomed the girl regardless, but instinct told her that Rya needed to feel useful, needed to feel that she still had a role to play. “You’re a fine scout. I’d wager you know Altus better than I do.” She offered her hand once more. “Please, come with me.”

            Rya took her hand, rising unsteadily to her feet. For a long moment she hesitated, looking as if she wanted to say something. Then the air before her shimmered, her form warped and stretched, and Idril stood face to face with Zorayas in her true form. Her voice sounded almost absurdly small and unsure, coming from an eight-foot serpent. “Are you sure?”

            “I’d be grateful for your company.” She stepped forward, drawing Zorayas into an embrace. The scout leaned forward, resting her chin atop the knight’s head. She released a small sigh of contentment.

            “I suppose I knew in my heart of hearts. How kind, and uncompromising, you always were.”

[thenextchapterbegins]

Im still here..and they arent.

Lucifer rubbed at the bridge of his nose. looking down at the pieces of paper covering his desk

His head tilting up looking at the city of pride covered in the darkness of night illuminated by lights

His head turns to look behind him the silence was unbearable his castle stood still in time, no sound, no movement, nothing but the unending silence before looking back to his desk.

Fingers gripping a pen as he looked down at the sheet the written lines felt like they were blurring together.

"Working so late? Again. As if it will change anything." His eyes looked up out the window again the bright city lights going dimmer and dimmer before darkness befell it all.

He heard something behind him but he dared not look. His fingers gripping his pen tighter.

"Your such a coward you know? Wont even look back, terrified to look back. What are you doing? Writing some law? writing some good? What made you begin to care?" The voice behind him sneered, angry, filled with wrath and malice His eyes shut tight before opening.

He now stood the desk and comfort of home gone. now he stood across a desloate wasteland. The smoke heavy in the air as he coughed slightly. The sounds of distant fighting, eruptions and explosions of magic.

"Ah the sounds of battle. Remember it. When we fell. this was it. this was your kingdom. IS YOUR KINGDOM...for you locked here, and you havent left it. So WHY ARE YOU PRETENDING!" Lucifer perks up and turning bringing up something as a sword collides with his own turning to face the...monster behind him.

Half angelic, half demonic...a combination of so many faces soliders, allies, friends...so many lost for this. A monster of his failures.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN FIX IT BY WRITING A FEW LITTLE REFORMS! NOW YOU CARE?!?! WHY DID WE DIE SO YOU COULD MOPE FOR 10 THOUSAND YEARS!" The monster screams slamming its weapon like a beast against his weakening defense.

"We should have lived! you should have fallen! why did we die?!? for what cause??! why did you lead us to death??! what was the point of it all!" There was no answer, no defense he could give as he raised his hand weakily the next blow sending his own blade to the ground as a sharp pain went through his hand.

Dropping to his knees eyes looking to a shaky hand his left with 3 of his fingers just gone...bleeding as his eyes so tired, so shaken, so broken looks to the monster of his own creation.

Then overwhelming pain as a light beyond all others engulfs him and then he jerks waking up with a scream his hand and leg screaming with some sort of phantom pain. his body panting in a cold sweat as he looked around...the empty space beside him in the cold dark room...

A hand slowly rests itself on the side of his face as he breathes in and out...before letting out a tired sob.

[pinkpruneclodwolf]

Hi!

Lately I've been reading your blog in my spare time.

And oh heavens...I'm in love with your amazing mind!!

I hope you won't mind if I share some of my thoughts? I'm sorry if I'm being too dramatic.

I thought for a long time about all this "accumulation" of ink in the body, during Yuu's stay in NRC.

The first is that in the world of Yuu, there is no magic as such, then their body will be exposed to magic more strongly than other students.

I think it would be logical that with the appearance of the first magic stones, magic became more stable and had less influence on the "carrier" and this is what has been produced in the bodies of TWST residents for many generations. They are used to living surrounded by magic. They no longer have the "side effects" of magic like their ancestors.

But Yuu didn't have a single chance to skip this "phase", their body is trying to adapt to all this monstrous power of magic in college. (Poor Yuu was just thrown literally into the magical Chernobyl)

Add to this the fact that Yuu and Grim do not live in the best conditions.

Give them a normal home already, I beg...., I know what it's like to be in terrible conditions for a long time and I can literally see the consequences on Yuu's health. Considering that the roof is leaking, I am sure that there is mold and mildew in the building. And they definitely won't spare the lungs of a teenager who sleeps on a multi-week draught!

It's a constant cough, it's suffocation from dust and a musty smell.

Yuu's body literally cannot be at rest and safe for any length of time.

(Leona i just thanks, at least for the fact that they could sleep on the floor. Not a five-star hotel, but it's better than it was. It's still warm in Sawanaclaw.)

And something else has been bothering me for weeks.

Do you remember Director Crowley saying that Yuu has memory impairments due to teleportation magic?

And that she should recover over time?

But what if Yuu's brains were literally....Burned out by magic?

For a long time Yuu can't remember something more "concrete" about his world. Holidays are very common, some sports that can be heard by chance.

What if magic had irreversibly burned their memories of their home into Yuu's memory?

Irrevocably and cruelly.

"Magic is not omnipotent"

She will not be able to repair or restore their memory, because there is nothing left of her.

And this is the cruelest thing that can ever happen to poor Yuu.

Their body is literally soaked in toxic ink, which slowly kills them and makes them behave very harshly and rudely towards others.

Their minds are definitely out of order. (I won't even argue Yuu will have PTSD at the end of Chapter 6.)

Because they have no guarantee that their mind is clear and does not break, they do not go crazy because of everything that has happened.Yuu has no evidence that all these "dreams/visions" are not something normal in TWST.

Yes, it is possible that this is a gift of "foresight". Something like the strength of Merlin from the cartoon "Sword in Stone". He can't tell who and when. But he knows for sure that this will happen.

This can be a very rare phenomenon among magicians, which many will want to get to use to please themselves.

So they have to hide it all like in a Pandora's box. Not for anything, not to show anyone, under any circumstances, because they have been taught more than once not to show their weaknesses.

And you know I don't trust Crowley. * cough * because he is a Phantom Blot and is clearly plotting something * cough*

Why doesn't he make a Puppet for himself?Literally break up an unformed teenager - Yuu, for your own purposes?

The soaked body of a teenager without magic cannot form a "full-fledged Phantom" right?

But they also cannot die, because without a "carrier" there will be no shell necessary for the Phantom to live. ..

In any case, thank you for your attention! I wish you a good week, you're wonderful, don't forget about it!

And I am proud of all those small achievements that you manage to do!( •̀ ω •́ )✧

[luckyspacerabbit]

would you ever share the background you created for kai leng? i'd be so interested in hearing it!

Hehe, yes! Thank you for waiting anon. I wanted to really think this through and make sure I was working with all the possible details of his character.

Okay, so my goal with fleshing out Kai was not to excuse him as a villain or to necessarily redeem him, but to humanize him and hopefully incur sympathy because I find his depiction as a mysterious lackey boogeyman to be 🙄 one dimensional and playing on racist tropes like the yellow peril ✨ (also bioware making him predominantly chinese + a lil russian. extrapolate what u will lol)

So here is my background for Kai :) Lots of childhood headcanoning and then some general talk about his character/why I chose certain elements as I did (such as dumping that dumb phantom blade for butterfly swords AEORHIG)

Childhood: According to the wiki, Kai is Earthborn, and from his general heritage we can assume that he grew up in Northern China (omg that's where my ancestors are from). The most populous city there is Beijing, which, if there was a spaceport or alliance recruitment anywhere, it would be there.

I headcanon that he was born to a bit of an unsteady family, where it was likely there was estrangement and unsafe conditions between the mother and father that may have created a sense of helplessness and neglect from a young age.

In my canon, Dan Hyun's mom, Hannah Shepard was the head of an agricultural research facility on Trident, and was an old friend of Kai's mom (From University, possibly).

As conditions worsened throughout Kai's childhood, his mom decided to take a chance and flee with Kai (age 10 at the time) to Hannah Shepard's science facility on Trident (Sentinel Agricultural Research Facility), where she and Kai would stay for about two years as his mom worked to save enough money for their own place .

Since Dan Hyun was already being homeschooled, it was easy enough for Kai to join up alongside her.

Dan Hyun (12 at the time) was extremely happy to have a friend since life on the facility could be really lonely-- but with all these changes Kai was having a difficult time adjusting, especially when Dan Hyun felt put off by his competitive attitude. After so long feeling neglected and growing in a tumultuous home environment, he craved external validation: homeschool provided an avenue for that. They developed their own academic-based competitive rivalry that counted towards friendship, but grew distant when he moved out with his mom about two years later.

When Dan Hyun was 18 (Kai at 16), she managed to apply to an Alliance Research Training program and receive admission-- something that was considered highly prestigious, despite her parents' reluctance. Kai had already begun to build resentment towards her due to the way her parents treated her (very preciously, sheltered, and without exposing her to the difficult parts of life) in contrast with what he lacked in family and world kindness, creating a drive to supersede her and compete with her once again, if only to have tangible proof that just because he began in a lower place didn't mean he couldn't surpass the vision of success.

After this event, they would strike up a still somewhat friendly rivalry again that continued until Kai enlisted in the Alliance at the age of 18 (his attempts to join directly at 16 failed in my canon lol, but he sure tried )

Alliance Service:

Kai took the combat-driven route while Dan Hyun was receiving training for her eventual research establishment in Akuze, meaning that in their line of work, they never crossed paths-- Though they maintained occasional communication and met up here and there whenever Kai was back from his tours.

This is where I believe his decline truly began.

Some habits, like his desire for tangible proof of success and seeking external validation, manifested more heavily in this time. Collecting badges off of dead soldiers (To remember his skill first hand) is a notable one, but I speculate he relied heavily on the word of his commanding officers to counter his self-esteem. Titles were incredibly important because they were proof. When he began to feel a loss of control which led to emotional outbursts and breakdowns, he would fall back on these bits of evidence that he had done something, anything.

The weight and violence of service combined to break away his mental strength and conditioned him to that of a soldier.

Famously, he was discharged in 2186 after his N7 designation. In a bar fight on shore leave, he murdered a Krogan (OKAY. Listen. The wiki says "first-degree murder" but first degree requires premeditation and bar fight implies heat of the moment. So IDK I think the details around this one are a little fishy. He was on leave but he was a soldier, so ? he probably just had a weapon on him? Okay, I'm not excusing him but premeditation is a bit different from manslaughter so just something I've pondered. It separates intentional killers from accidental murders).

At this point, he is formally incarcerated and set to serve a twenty-year sentence.

Cerberus Contact:

The year is 2177, and Kai has lost everything he's ever worked for. His prestige is gone, he is at the worst place he has ever been, his mom won't talk to him, and he has no one. He had even stopped hearing from Dan Hyun, the only person he could have considered a friend once.

Through a small TV in the prison, he is able to hear about the attack on Akuze, and its one survivor: Alliance Scientist Dan Hyun Shepard. In the attack her biotic abilities (Which she had kept secret for many years) were revealed, prompting immediate recruitment into the N7 Program and a contract for ten years of service. This drove Kai into rock bottom-- while he had nothing, Dan Hyun was steadily on track to uprooting the only thing he had ever felt like he had accomplished.

This is when Cerberus intervened, promising him a home, freedom, belonging, and success.

So of course Kai agreed. Why wouldn't he? He had nothing left in his miserable life and there would never again be a place for him.

Cerberus Intervention:

It's my belief that Kai wasn't necessarily "alienphobic" in the beginning. Instead, I think The Illusive Man saw a very clear opportunity to recruit and nurture a broken man into a pawn of service. TIM is incredibly smart-- everyone who works for Cerberus is. He knew what Kai needed was validation, the promise of success held directly on the tip of his tongue to drive him into tenacity and action.

Organizations like Cerberus, even in real life, prey on people at weak points, fulfill their needs and drape their ideology on top like icing on a cake. That's not to say that Kai is completely innocent-- he ate the sweets and readily threw the world to the side in order to attain more-- but it does give some perspective.

Kai in Cerberus:

In ME2 we know there is some apprehension on Kai's part about the role Shepard will play. He is already starting to feel slighted from failures with Rasa and takes even the possibility of rejection from TIM extremely hard and with violent emotional outburst. This evidences how much TIM has whittled him away over the decade of service. Kai feels as though he owes everything to TIM, that TIM saw something in him-- failing him is disproving that and accepting what Kai has feared all along: that he truly is a worthless and incapable person.

Kai and Shepard:

Kai is best known for his direct antagonism towards Shepard in the events of ME3, directly killing their allies and potential love interests in a way that is extremely personal. Yes, it is part of the job, but at the same time, it's clear Shepard gets under his skin. It's because in the end, after all that setup, Shepard is the one person who can take it all away from him.

They can replace him as TIM's prodigy/ They can bring an end to the organization that gave him everything (From his cybernetic enhancements (uh indoctrination cough couch) ) to his purpose in life. Kai threw it all in with them because he didn't see another choice.

My Canon: The End

So how do things end for Kai in my canon?

As you're aware, you can unalive him, violently. But Dan Hyun is very emotional and due to their shared childhood, I like to believe that there was still a grand feeling of kinship between them, a recognition of the other due to shared insecurities. I don't think there was ever a time Dan Hyun looked at Kai and saw anything other than her slighted friend (which is very romanticized, but SHE is very romanticized), it was just about getting Kai to see that too.

She locked him down the best she could, yelled, cried, and beat the shit out of him, but ultimately, preserved his life. After the crucible had been fired and Thane (alive ofc) attended to, she sought to right things between her and Kai: whatever form that takes. Who knows if he'll ever be able to live comfortably in society again-- but at least here, he has the chance.

Random Tidbits:

Some notes! At his best, I like that Kai is portrayed as Loyal, Hard Working, Methodical, Clever, Tenacious, and Factual. I think sometimes he can be written off unfairly as wimpy or scared, but in truth, he's very sure of his abilities and able to calculate his chances extremely well. He's smarter than fandom gives him credit for.

He has an interesting conflict between arrogance based on title and humbleness. He knows he wants to be the best but he never airs it-- like when Rasa suggests that he wants to be the leader for Humanity but he grows quiet and says to just focus on where things are at right now.

His time as a soldier absolutely affected him in ways I think sharpened him to the killer he became. It instilled values that remained with him in Cerberus, such as when he berates Bates for abandoning his squad and calls him a traitor. Kai doesn't betray-- he's quite literally ride or die.

Also? The ninja sword is super dumb because Kai is Chinese and the swords and Phantom's themselves are designed to appear Japanese in aesthetic. Ninjas= Japanese, but China did have their own sect of Assassins which I believe gave birth to Wu Ching as a type of Martial Arts? Or was drawn from it hmm

To keep to accuracy, Kai would have trained more towards their martial art techniques which focuses on close combat and quick movements, as well as the use of dual blades called butterfly swords (You'd likely recognize them as a set of rogue daggers).

That's all for that meta! Phew. If anyone actually read to the end, hey wassup, hope you enjoyed, and take most of this with a grain of salt since it's my headcanons and background work :) Thank you again for reading!

[hxroic-wxlls]

A Race Against Death: Prologue; An Unexpected Crisis

*Cough, couch...*

Folding the last remainder of the laundry, Youmu let out a sigh of relief. How strange... Normally, something as simple as folding laundry wouldn’t be nearly enough to tire her out. But for some odd reason, it was as if she was constantly walking around with a weight on her back. When it came to gardening, she couldn’t go five minutes without needing to needing catch her breath. When it came to her swordplay, her body ached from even the simplest moves, and her advanced techniques would leave her on the verge of passing out... Just what in the world was going on? Regardless, even in the state she was now, she still had duties to fulfill. So, at least for now, she’d simply have to endure it.

A door slams open.

“Youmuuuu! It’s time for my sword training! Are you ready?”

Holding a sword made of ice in her hand, it seems like the fairy was ready for yet another training session with the half phantom swordswoman. Having managed to convince Youmu to help her learn the way of the blade about a few months ago, They made sure to train with each other four times a week, all on a set schedule. Luckily, this was the last training day for the week, so after this session was done, the gardener would have ample time to rest.

“C...coming.”

Staggering towards her blades, that were resting against the wall, the fairy would look towards her instructor with a worried expression. At just a glance, even she could tell that Youmu wasn’t well. There were dark bags under her eyes, her posture was off, her movements were sluggish, and it seems like she was struggling to just keep herself up.

“Uh...are you sure you’re okay to train? You don’t looks that well...”

“I-I said I’m fine...let’s go.”

Having come face to face on their usual training ground, outside, the fairy would wearily hold her blade. How could she focus on her training, when her instructor look like she looked like she was a light tap away from passing out!?

“Your...stance is...sloppy. Get...back into form...like we practiced...”

“...Are you being for real? look at yourself, first! You’re barely holding yourself together. Let’s just skip the training, you need to-”

“ENOUGH! I-I said I’m just...just...”

*COUGH COUGH!!*

Staring at the hand she coughed into, the gardener noticed it was now covered in blood...HER blood.

Feeling a sharp pain grow within her chest, the gardener would fall to the ground, barely gasping for air, as she tightly clutched the area where her heart was.

“W-what’s...going...”

Panic immediately overtaking the fairy, she would move to help the gardener lean onto her shoulder, as she flew inside the apartment.

“SOMEONE HELP! YOUMU COLLAPSED!!”

...

“Sh-she’s going to be okay, alright? This isn’t your fault.”

Holding on to the fairy, Madoka tried her best to comfort her, as Cirno was currently looking down at the floor guilt ridden expression, tears flowing freely from her eyes.

*Sob sob...*

As the door to the makeshift emergency room opened, Mario would walk through in his doctor garb, with a notebook in hand. His expression seemed...wary.

“It looks like she has a heart virus...it’s not like any other one I’ve seen so far, though. It’s much stronger than a usual one. I’ve tried all forms of medicine we had available, and even some of my 1-Up Mushrooms, and they only seem to temporarily lessen the symptoms. We have to find or make a cure, soon.”

“And what’ll happen to her if we don’t?”

...

“If we can’t get a cure within a week...she’ll die...”

“H-hey...if that’s a joke, that’s not funny...”

...

“Unfortunately, I’m being serious... Right now, we have to hurry and find a cure, ASAP. I’ll go through my world to see if I can find anything. You guys should do the same. Don’t worry, we won’t let this happen.”

...

“...No.”

“NO! I won’t just sit here and do nothing! I swear on my pride as the strongest, I WILL save her...”

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Apologies

ShinoMitsu Week 2021 Day One: (Music, Seasons, Apologies) Honestly kind of seasons too a little bit.

A/N: WARNING: MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD. Writings without spoilers will begin on day four, come back then! This is probably the saddest thing I’ve ever written. Of course being me though, there is some comfort along with the hurt and a hopeful ending that will be pursued throughout the week. Hope you guys like it! Word Count: 4,280

Seriously, some major manga spoilers. Stop reading if you care! I’d hate to ruin someone’s day.

Shinobu rubbed her eyes against the harsh flash of light, blinking as the light faded into a much more manageable brightness reminiscent to that of a fair weathered day. She put a hand to her chest and took a deep breath, appreciating how easily the air rushed into her lungs without obstruction.

It was over, she had done it. With the help of Kanao and Inosuke, that demon would never eat another woman again. Shinobu was fine with being the bastard’s last meal since he had ended up choking on her in the end. Months of preparation had let up to this moment and she was grateful it hadn’t all been for nothing.

She had taken her time, ignoring the pull on her very soul. She wanted to make sure that the Demon Moon’s demise was certain. Now that he was gone, Shinobu found herself in a field of tall, green grass and wildflowers. Sakura trees were scattered around her in full bloom. Her demon slayer uniform had been replaced by an autumnal kimono that fit snugly over her body. The pattern was certainly a stark contrast to her surroundings, but she hardly minded.

The most prominent thoughts in Shinobu’s mind at the moment were related to why she was here, what was here? She felt like she was waiting for someone in this field. Her heart was heavy and her lungs felt tight. Rather than linger, she assumed it was some phantom pain left over from her final battle. She decided that she would walk to keep her mind off of it.

Each step seemed to make the very ground vibrate with energy that Shinobu could feel crawl up her skin in warm waves. She kept going and as she traveled, the scenery shifted around her.

She watched with parted lips as memories manifested around her, fading back behind her as she walked past, creating new ones beside her. If she stepped back, the older memories would rejuvenate and replay for her but she didn’t dwell long. She didn’t need any reminders of the life she left behind, she had squared away all of her business weeks ago while her body grew steadily more toxic. She had done what any person who knew they were going to die would do and took care to make sure she could pass on with no regrets.

Shinobu paused in front of one memory as muffled laughter caught her attention. It was a mundane memory of cooking with her pupils, joined by the Kamados and company. Something that they had done together several times. The smile that tugged at Shinobu’s lips was bittersweet. Yes, she had no regrets, but there was certainly a feeling of longing that she would have to learn to accept as a part of herself for however long she’d linger here.

Shinobu carried on as memories bad, pleasant and mundane came and went with no rhyme or reason to the order of their appearance. At some point she had allowed her mind to wander and the already muffled sounds devolved into white noise.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the afterlife, but it certainly wasn’t this. How long had she been here? Was she really expected to watch eighteen years worth of snippets from her own life? She had already lived it, it was short and painful but admittedly there was light in it too.

“Shinobu!”

She froze.

“Shinobu, doesn’t it look good? I can’t wait to try it, we did such a good job!”

“It does smell nice, doesn’t it?” Shinobu heard herself say.

She slowly turned towards the memory, she couldn’t stop herself even if she wanted to. Gods, she could never give up an opportunity to see that girl again, even if it was all in her mind.

There was Mitsuri in all her glory. The memory was of one of their baking adventures with some western recipe Mitsuri had learned.

Shinobu smiled wistfully, watching herself wipe flour from Mitsuri’s flushed cheeks before walking on, allowing the memory to dissipate.

Not long after the crack of a wooden sword snapped up her attention.

“Why are you making yourself weaker?”

Ah, Shinobu remembered that day all too well. Mitsuri had been neglecting herself and Obanai had asked Shinobu to check up on her. It was hard to see someone gifted with such strength try to throw it all away. She was glad she had been able to help Mitsuri grow to be more comfortable in her own skin and in a way, she helped Shinobu do the same.

Another step, another memory. This one stung a bit actually. She and Mitsuri had been walking through the estate gardens together while the taller girl shared her woes about not finding a man stronger than her to sweep her off her feet and marry her.

“You’re so pretty and mature, Shinobu. I bet you could get a husband—” Mitsuri snapped her fingers, “—like that! Have you ever thought about it, Shinobu?”

“Marriage is something I’ve never given much thought to.” Shinobu had said, focusing her attention on a small, white butterfly floating through the breeze.

“Really? No man has ever made your heart race before? Usually when I meet someone I like, I can’t help but picture what the wedding would be like.” Mitsuri gushed.

“Oh? Have you ever pictured one for us? You like me best, don’t you?” Shinobu teased.

Mitsuri froze for a beat before her skin lit up and her arms started flailing. Her words were tumbling over each other making them unintelligible. Shinobu managed a laugh, allowing the conversation to be pushed elsewhere. The far off look in her eyes seemingly going unnoticed by her companion.

Yes, Shinobu hadn’t put much thought into marriage. She had never really seen the appeal of the men her sister, and then Mitsuri, had occasionally gushed over, but the idea of finding someone you would want to spend the rest of your life with did sound nice.

“That was never an option,” Shinobu sighed to herself, “not for me. I hope you find someone who will treat you right when the fight is won, Mitsuri.”

She continued on, walking a bit faster. She hoped the end would come soon because the novelty of this little trip down memory lane had run dry long ago.

More memories manifested and dissolved only fast enough for Shinobu to see snippets. Kanae and herself moving Himejima-san’s boulder, taking in Kanao and the other girls, feeding her fish with Nezuko, training Tanjirou, Zenitsu and Inosuke, teasing Tomioka, cultivating poison with Tamayo, a moment with her mother and father, telling Kanao about her plan that would ultimately take her life.

It was exhausting. Shinobu just wanted to be done. She did not see reason to dwell on her life. She had no regrets. She had no unfinished business. She just wanted to move on already.

“Ah!”

Shinobu stumbled backwards as a fog grew before her, blocking her path. Before now, the visions had only ran parallel to her. The cloud swirled with light painted edges, glowing faintly until the memory surfaced. It couldn’t have been more than a week before and Shinobu’s throat felt dry as she watched herself choke back another dose of powdered wisteria seeds.

The petals would have been a relatively harmless alternative, but the toxic seeds promised a stronger reaction and she could gain more potency from one seed than hundreds of petals worth of tea. Shinobu had been careful with her dosing, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel it’s affects on her body.

The image of Shinobu coughed, swallowing water in an attempt to soothe her burning mouth. She groaned softly, sitting back in her chair and gingerly cupping a hand over her stomach. She closed her eyes only for them to snap open at the sound of knocking at her office door.

“Shinobu, are you working hard in there? Can I come in?” Mitsuri had called from the other side.

Shinobu winced as she sat up, wiping sweat from her forehead. She took a deep breath and it scratched her throat unpleasantly but nonetheless, she fixed a smile on her face and called Mitsuri in.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I saw, uh, Tamayo-san, was it? I was her and her assistant retiring for the day and I thought I’d get the chance to see you then.” Mitsuri said.

“You aren’t interrupting anything, I’m glad to see you,” Shinobu motioned for Mitsuri to make herself at home and she did so with a happy hum, sitting on top of the lab table Shinobu was sitting at. “Can I do something for you?”

“Well, there was one thing,” Mitsuri began sheepishly, lightly swinging her legs as she presented her hand to Shinobu knuckles up, “I grazed my hand during a round of Hashira training and I know I could patch it up myself, but you always do it better.”

Shinobu gingerly brought Mitsuri’s hand to her face to examine the superficial damage and nodded, “I can take care of this. One moment please.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Shinobu stood, hiding her pained expression by turning her head towards the medicine cabinet she kept in her office. She walked over to it, taking an antibacterial spray and some thin bandages before turning back towards Mitsuri, watching her with those bright pastel green eyes that reminded Shinobu of spring.

She stood before Mitsuri scooping up the damaged hand once more.

“This may sting a bit.” Shinobu warned quietly before spraying Mitsuri’s knuckles.

The older girl closed her eyes, the burning, prickly feeling causing her to whine. Shinobu chuckled good-naturedly bringing the hand closer to her face almost close enough to touch her lips. She blew a gentle, cooling breath of air over the knuckles.

“Does that feel better?” She asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Mitsuri blushed, looking down, “I’m sorry, that was childish of me.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Shinobu said seriously.

She finished wrapping Mitsuri’s hand and held it between her own. Shinobu looked up, a tired smile on her face.

“All done.”

“Shinobu, you look so tired. Are you well?” Mitsuri asked, looking concerned.

“I’m fine. The research I’m doing with Tamayo-san is just very involved and intricate.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” Mitsuri frowned.

“It refreshes me just to see you.” Shinobu had said without thinking. “Your vibrance warms me like the sun.”

“Really?” Mitsuri squeaked, her hands cupping her own cheeks as they bloomed pink.

Shinobu felt her own skin prickle as blood buzzed through her ears. She held firm though, even if she hadn’t planned to say something so... poetic, she did mean it. In fact, she had more she’d like to say. Ever since she had began her doses, she had become more and more aware of her mortality. The final fight was fast approaching.

“Really.” She replied simply.

“Aw, Shinobu!” Mitsuri launched herself into Shinobu’s arms, making Shinobu have to take several quick steps backwards to keep them both upright. “You’re making my heart go, ‘bwahh woo!’”

“Is that a good thing?” Shinobu giggled.

“Very!” Mitsuri nodded vigorously.

Mitsuri held Shinobu for a few minutes, humming and swaying. She really was like the sun. Shinobu could fall asleep standing up if it was in Mitsuri’s warm embrace.

Unexpectedly, Shinobu was lifted over Mitsuri’s shoulder causing her to release a surprised gasp. The position was uncomfortable for her stomach but it hardly registered in comparison to being carried by the taller girl.

“Mitsuri, what are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed. You’re so tired you almost fell asleep just then.”Mitsuri cooed.

“I can walk...”

“Let me be your legs for a little bit. It’s me paying you back for always helping me.”

Whatever methods Shinobu tried to use to coax Mitsuri to put her down proved futile. She simply strode through the halls humming and waving at any passerby she happened to see. Shinobu was embarrassed, but couldn’t bring herself to be angry. Not when Mitsuri was so genuinely happy.

Before long, they made it to Shinobu’s room. Mitsuri put her down and helped her get ready for bed. There was a part of Shinobu that disliked the treatment. It made her feel small and weak. There was another part of her however, that was desperate to keep Mitsuri close and if the older Hashira wanted to help her pick her sleep ware and brush her hair she would take it.

Before Mitsuri left, she even went as far as to tuck Shinobu in, stopping with her face close enough to Shinobu’s that she feared the Love Pillar could find every insecurity she ever held in her eyes. Mitsuri tucked back a swatch of Shinobu’s hair.

“Shinobu... sleep well, okay?” Mitsuri said after a moment.

“I will, thank you for bringing me here.” Shinobu nodded, her eyelids already drooping.

“Whenever you need.” Mitsuri smiled.

Before Mitsuri could leave Shinobu felt compelled to speak, to share that part of herself that she had been keeping from her friend.

“Mitsuri...” Shinobu paused, her throat clenched and sweat recollected on her brow. She was suddenly frightened.

“Yes?”

“... be safe.” Shinobu said instead, her heart ached at the sweet smile Mitsuri flashed her.

“I will. See you soon Shinobu.”

Then she left and the room was bathed in darkness.

Shinobu clutched at her kimono and fell to the otherworldly grass beneath her. Shinobu didn’t have any regrets. She refused to. What was the point of looking back on things she had no power to change? She didn’t want to be here anymore and the white noise of the memories around her only seemed to grow louder and louder until she couldn’t bottle it anymore and clutched her head tightly between her hands and screamed,

“Shut up!”

The sound dissipated.

“Enough!” Shinobu breathed raggedly.

Whatever sounds remained were carried off like whispers on the wind as if spooked by the Hashira’s sharp tone. Shinobu stayed glued to the ground, her hands migrating from her ears to cover her eyes instead as she tried to reign in her emotions. Why, she wasn’t sure. There wasn’t much reason to keep her feelings under wraps anymore, but one simply doesn’t swallow down their boiling blood for years and then stop, even in death apparently.

She fell onto her back, stretching out as best she could in the kimono she was wearing. She noticed for the first time that the sky was blank, just empty, uniform white that looked cold despite its brightness. It hardly matched rich greens of the tall grasses or the colorful wildflowers, the vibrant pink blossoms that fell from the trees.

After laying back for so long, Shinobu was beginning to think that this was it. She was destined to be stuck here forever. She sighed, there could be worse places. She felt a shiver roll through her body as the air changed suddenly, but she simply rolled to her side.

“...?”

Shinobu blinked, sitting up on her elbows to peer through the tall brush curiously. She thought she had heard something, but it sounded far off whatever it was. She shook her head and laid back down. It was probably just some remnants of her memories.

“...!”

Still indistinguishable, but louder. Shinobu’s brows creased and she forced herself to stand, looking for the source in earnest now.

A ways off, she thought she could see a figure in the sakura tree grove. She rubbed at her eyes. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. No one else could possibly be here. Why would there be? Whatever it was, it seemed to turn in Shinobu’s direction and noticed her as well. Much like Shinobu, the entity didn’t seem to know what to think of her but appeared to be cautiously making its way towards her.

Shinobu decided to move forward as well to meet them halfway. She was already dead, what was the worst that could happen? As she got closer it became glaringly obvious who the figure was supposed to be. Even though she was still a ways off, Shinobu would recognize that watermelon toned hair anywhere.

Shinobu stopped moving. Trying to process what this meant. Some other way to torment her perhaps? When she had first arrived, she felt like she was waiting for someone and that feeling was slowly dwindling down the closer they got. It was a feeling that chilled Shinobu’s blood.

The figure must have noticed she had stopped moving because now they appeared to be running, running as best as they could in the flowery kimono they were sporting.

Shinobu felt an urge to run in the opposite direction but her feet stood frozen to the ground as the person got closer and closer until Shinobu could hear her yell,

“Shinobu! Oh my gods, Shinobu!”

Shinobu stared wide-eyed watching Mitsuri run up to her with tears glistening in her eyes, her cheeks wet and flushed from the excursion. Mitsuri was a beautiful vision Shinobu couldn’t take her eyes away from and then, Mitsuri tripped and fell to the ground with an audible, ‘oomph!’, disappearing into the tall grass.

Slowly, Shinobu’s brain started working again and her feet moved on their own accord until she was kneeling beside the other girl. Her hands hovered just above her, afraid to touch.

Mitsuri had no qualms about it however, and made quick work sitting up on her knees to embrace Shinobu tightly while tears continued to smear down her cheeks.

Slowly, Shinobu hugged back. She couldn’t help herself. Even if this was just some hallucination, she felt compelled to comfort her.

“Shinobu, I was so sad! I heard a crow report your death while I was fighting. I thought I’d never see you again and I felt really terrible.” Mitsuri cried, clutching tightly to Shinobu’s kimono. Afraid that if she let go, the younger girl would disappear.

What happened? What was this? Shinobu couldn’t understand. She shook her head, Mitsuri couldn’t truly be here. She was going to live on because she was strong. She was going to find love and get married like she always wanted. She wasn’t supposed to be here with her.

“You weren’t supposed to die.” Shinobu said aloud, her voice wavered slightly.

“And you were?” Mitsuri sniffled, another tear rolling over her cheek. “What happened Shinobu?”

“I... I faced the demon who killed my sister. He devoured me, but at a price. Kanao and Inosuke finished him off.”

“At a price, what do you mean Shinobu?”

Shinobu turned her head away, “I had been dosing my body with poison for months before the battle. It was the best way to assure my victory in the end.”

“You were planning that all this time. I knew something wasn’t right but I didn’t even try find out what was wrong,” Mitsuri wiped her nose with her sleeve.

“I hope you aren’t blaming yourself, I wouldn’t have told you even if you asked what I was up to. You had your own demons to fight.”

“But I wanted to be there for you! I remember how tired you looked the last time I got to see you. I thought we had more time, but then... Oyakata-sama and the explosion. I thought we had more time.” Mitsuri repeated through shaky breaths.

“Mitsuri...” Shinobu frowned. She had convinced herself years ago that she was on borrowed time, but Mitsuri had never seen it like that. Had it been cruel of her not to share her intentions?

“There was so much I wanted to do with you, so much I wanted to say that I didn’t even realize until I knew you were gone,” Mitsuri loudly sniffled again and Shinobu frowned into her shoulder, “I didn’t have time to mourn you properly, I had to keep fighting for everyone. I had to help fight Kibutsuji with everything I had so no one we lost died in vain.”

“You fought against Kibutsuji?” Shinobu asked, feeling a mixture of awe with a sting of, what, envy for making it that far? Sympathy for having to forge forward as comrades fell around her?

“I, uh, ripped his arms off actually.” Mitsuri exhaled a weak laugh at Shinobu’s expression. “It wasn’t enough, obviously, but after that it was... pretty much over for me.” Mitsuri sat back a bit, one hand over her chest while the other cupped her head. The wounds she sustained were gone, but their effects were still faintly felt.

Shinobu gently took hold of the hand Mitsuri held to her head, placing it on her lap with a comforting squeeze.

“You gave your all. You should be proud of yourself, I know I am.”

“Thank you,” Mitsuri wiped her eyes with her free hand. “We did it Shinobu, I was kind of already out of it by then, but Iguro-san told me we won, that Kibutsuji was defeated.”

“That’s... that’s really wonderful to hear. That’s honesty incredible news.” Shinobu smiled warmly whilst tears stung the corners of her eyes.

“I wish we could have seen it together, Shinobu. The world without demons.” Mitsuri kept a brave smile, but it was a watery one. She pulled her hand tentatively back up to her tear stained face, still holding Shinobu’s hand so it was cupped between her own hand and cheek, “I wish we could have done a lot of things together.” She confessed in a cracked whisper.

“Mitsuri?” Shinobu searched her face, trying to understand, but if the tightness in her chest was anything to go by, she already did.

“Shinobu, I love you! I love you a lot and I’m so upset that I didn’t tell you before. I’m so sorry!”

Shinobu simpered and brushed her captive thumb across Mitsuri’s cheek.

“You actually told me quite often how fond you were of me. You needn’t apologize, I always knew you looked upon me favorably.” Shinobu comforted. Mitsuri shook her head.

“I’m in love with you!” Mitsuri spoke with conviction, her pastel green eyes sprung fresh tears like a spring shower.

Shinobu’s lips parted in surprise.

“I wanted to tell you, really tell you, but I was so scared you wouldn’t like me at all anymore if I told you. I thought, the more time we spent together, maybe I’d find the courage to tell you... Oh, Shinobu,” Mitsuri reached her sleeve out to the other girl and gently wiped her face. Shinobu hadn’t realized she was crying.

Once she fully registered it, it was like a damn had burst.

As Shinobu’s breathing become more labored, erratic, Mitsuri pulled her to her chest and Shinobu clung tightly to her kimono. Years worth of anger and pain came in the form of hot tears. She couldn’t help but think of Kanae in her final moments, telling her to find love, to grow old and have a happy life. Even if she had tried to do what her sister had asked of her, it was always meant to end in tragedy.

“I love you too, so much. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to tell you.”

“If I don’t need to apologize, then you shouldn’t either. It’s alright, it probably would have hurt more, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, it still hurts pretty damn bad.” Shinobu replied with a shuddering laugh and Mitsuri gave a weak giggle of her own.

They sat quietly for awhile in each other’s embrace, letting the rustling of the grass fill the silence between them. They could feel it, something was pulling at them, exhausting them as they tried to hold onto each other as long as possible. Whatever this supernatural intervention was, it seemed to be coming to an end. Mitsuri spoke up again, sounding quite fatigued as she ran her hand through Shinobu’s hair.

“Shinobu, if we were reborn again in the world without demons, could we try being together the way we only dreamed to be?”

“Of course, I’d love nothing more.” Shinobu whispered, reaching up to cradle Mitsuri’s face once more. Her arms felt heavy like lead.

Mitsuri hadn’t the strength to keep herself upright and slowly sunk in the direction of Shinobu’s body until their foreheads met. Shinobu, unable to keep them both up, fell to her back with Mitsuri flat on top of her.

“I’m really tired,” Mitsuri’s eyes drooped. She snuggled her nose into Shinobu’s neck.

“Yes, it won’t be long now.” Shinobu wasn’t really sure what it was, but it felt familiar.

“Shinobu, could I give you a kiss before I go to sleep?”

“Yes, please.”

With a grunt of effort, Mitsuri rose herself up slightly on wobbly elbows and bumped noses with Shinobu who was fighting to keep her eyes open. With perhaps a bit more force than intended, Mitsuri’s lips met Shinobu’s.

The kiss was ever so soft and a tad salty. It was rather short, but filled with loving intent. Mitsuri’s arms gave out and she came back down over Shinobu with a light grunt, her forehead bumped against Shinobu’s cheek. With a bit of effort, Shinobu turned her head, resting another kiss over Mitsuri’s hair, the other girl could hardly make a sound but Shinobu could tell she was pleased with the small affection.

It could have been a trick of her blurred vision, but Shinobu swore the once blank sky was now bathed in blue, a large, bright sun shining over them.

Shinobu smiled and allowed her eyes to finally fall completely shut, confident that she and Mitsuri would find each other again and enjoy the product of their hard work and sacrifice in another life.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (14/17)

Summary:  “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” And Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: Feedback is very much appreciated!

Link: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Levi liked to believe he had the mental fortitude most—if not all of the challenges that stand in his way

Back when he was still jumping, competition after competition, that had been one of the more notable terms he had remembered hearing, constantly showered with praises.

Mental fortitude was important for every athlete. It was the reason behind perfect textbook motions during crunch time and breathtaking performances despite heckles from the crowd. It was the key to consistency or so he was told.

He only had his numbers and his stats to speak for him though. And he never contemplated for long enough on his own psyche, instead relying on the training and the performances to continue to speak for his strengths. So when the term ‘mental fortitude’ popped up in conversations with his coach, he didn’t think too much of it.

On the field, he was calm, he was collected and he was consistently focused on one goal: getting over the high bar in front of him.

Where did mental fortitude fall in that process? He would ask himself. Busy with the process of actually performing though, he never bothered to answer.

Five months after his last tournament, alone in his dormitory room with an ice pack propped on his injured knee, Levi was thinking back to that. And the long silent reflection had him stumbling upon one pathetic conclusion.

He never had the mental fortitude he was well praised to have possessed. The dreamcatcher he clutched tightly on his right hand, the phone he had placed on ‘do not disturb’ mode were testaments to that. Looking back at the tournaments, making sense of those emotions which were strongly linked to those experiences, he started to understand, the need to succeed at every tournament never felt too important to leave him pressured, shaken or entrenched in some do or die situation.

So it wasn’t mental fortitude that had pushed him forward. It had been something else carrying him through the bar, even in the most stressful situations. And soon enough, late night alone in his room picking at too many sensations and memories at once, he started to pick out that emotion, or so, the lack of it as he ran towards the bar and sailed through it.

He had this weird ability to easily disconnect from the audience. He could disconnect from his surroundings and from the factors that placed him in such circumstances where he had to perform.

And when he was disconnected from reality. He had no need for mental fortitude. Because if he could pretend the pain and pressures never existed and he could always pretend that running and jumping over the bar was just a slightly more difficult stroll in the park.

That ability had worked for him since so long before he could remember. It was a familiar companion and on the way home from the long hike he had scrambled for that go-to coping mechanism, willing it to do what it always did, pull him away from reality when reality started to seem too much more like an enemy than a companion.

For the first time though, it didn’t respond to pushes and prods. When he willed that habit to do its work, It didn’t. In fact, it had done worse than ‘not work.’ It pushed and prodded in return and as if taking advantage of its intimacy with Levi and the trust between them. It poked, maybe even stabbed where it knew it hurt.

Maybe that was the reason Levi was left frozen, shaken. Although he had tried to focus on the numbness that lay underneath it, he couldn’t. Because the root cause that consumed him wasn’t something he could have easily brushed away.

It was merciful enough to have allowed him a few hours of sleep that night though.

Or maybe it was his superstitious move borne of desperation that had him able to manage a few hours of sleep. He had been desperate enough to slip the dreamcatcher under his pillow, willing the dreams not to come. God knows those dreams could only confirm his suspicions on events his own emotions had only hinted at.

It was only back when he had fallen asleep though that it had seemed merciful. As soon as he awoke, it reminded Levi that it was cruel and vengeful. It was a weight much heavier than Levi had ever felt and it brought with it an ache that stung, crushed and grated all at the same time.

Muscle memory was what got him sitting up, placing his legs on the floor, his good one first, then his injured one, making sure the latter was well supported by the brace.

Routine was what had him checking his phone and the calendar that had him remembering he had a physical therapy session that day.

Soon after that, Hange barged into the room and reminded him that he had spent the long hours since they got home from their trip, isolated and unmoving in the room. And she pulled him up and mentioning what Levi had already figured out: it was a much busier weekend than he had expected it to be.

Right… Physical Therapy.

Her voice sounded distant, sometimes inaudible. She guided him through routine motions. She mentioned something about Erwin, then something about Armin and Mikasa. And in Levi’s little trance, it was as if she was speaking another language, and only those familiar names stood out in that one sided conversation.

When he willed himself to make sense of the syllables and to take control of his hands and his arms, it started to tick. When he pulled his thermal underwear over his body, then his sweater, he started to make it out as something a little clearer: a ticking time bomb inside him.

Sometimes, the ticking was strong and loud enough to aggravate something else inside him And Levi noticed it flared when Hange brushed next to him, when she would caress him, when she spoke, whether it be in whispers, in playful banter and sometimes with a tone too excitable that made Levi jump.

He soon realized though the effects were all the same. The bomb flared regardless of the volume of her voice or the firmness of her touch. Her presence was all that was needed for the time bomb to continue to tick and flare, tick and flare.

He couldn’t find a way to brush it away through, to disconnect like he had done many times before. He found himself instead getting amicable with that bomb inside him. Since that was the only thing he could do to get through the day.

Hange was a double edged sword, a necessary evil. She had done her part to keep him rooted in reality and to make the plight of getting through the day a little more bearable and very much possible. At the same time though, Levi was certain she was inadvertently aggravating the pain inside him.

It was just too much of a coincidence that looking straight into her eyes, letting her prattle on about plans as they got ready and made their way out of the dorm, left him nursing dull phantom aches. And when she had left him in the waiting room, mentioning something about meeting Erwin, Levi found himself relieved more than anything.

The reprieve though was short-lived.

“Hey Levi! It’s been a while. Looks like you’re off the crutches now?”

The ache came back, a different kind of ache yet at the same time an ache all too familiar that Levi was sure the crushing weight was similar, the same recurring visitor. As if that recurring visitor had stepped out of the room with Hange, yet stepped back in as soon as he saw her off.

“You okay?” The brunet asked.

Levi could only make eye contact for a split second longer before images of the dismembered body of the brunet flashed before him. Levi quickly looked back down at the blank slate on the white tiled floor. “I’m fine.” Levi managed to say. It could have come out as a cough or as a rasp. He didn’t have enough grip of his surroundings to tell.

“You okay? You’re looking a little pale. You sure you’re in the right ward?” There was good humor in that tone but even if the joke had been worth a laugh, Levi wouldn’t have let out a smile.

Someone propped their hands on his lap. Levi didn’t have to look up to tell who it was. He saw images of her decapitated head too vividly, he could have sworn it wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. “Levi, I just finished my last session for this year. So I guess we’ll be seeing you around January or February already?”

Did they make conversation after that? The rest had been a blur. But somewhere along the way, they had ended with pleasantries.

“Happy holidays!”

“Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.” Greetings were routine and mechanical so those were easy enough to say.

He achieved the bare minimum at least to have the two leave him alone. And alone in the silence, he let out a breath that came out rough and raspier than he would have liked.

Why does it feel so heavy? They’re alive. He reminded himself then. But he only had to look back at his own writing to recall everything. Farlan and Isabel, his companions in the underground city died a long time ago, long before he had even met Hange.

But why was he mourning a death he had only ever written about? And why did it only hurt then? Months after he had last written about them?

The answer never came. Any semblance of one though had come a few minutes after he thought it.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” It was just like her to apologize for a few minutes’ wait. She had always been punctual after all.

Punctual, obedient and caring. Levi was rattling off epithets in his mind like he was giving a eulogy.

“Come on, let’s get you up to speed.” She grabbed his two hands and gently pulled him up. She led him through the therapy room, passing one person after the other. And it was easy enough to follow suit.

Her eyes were scanning everything as she spoke, too full of life that Levi shouldn’t have been able to so easily picture her leaning limply on a tree.

Lifeless. For some reason, Levi’s stomach was turning.

“Okay, I’ll unwrap this now…” The sound of velcro, the weight falling of his leg, those two sensations in particular penetrated into his trance. “Levi are you okay? You haven’t talked since we got here. But you never really talk anyway… Sorry for asking, I realized that just sounds weird.”

“I’m fine. Just a little tired.” Another scripted response. But it seemed to work.

“Okay… One foot in front of the other.”

Levi followed the motions in front of him. Not the voice. He willed himself to look down, so he could forget her presence, force himself to pretend it wasn’t her of all people supporting him through the ordeal of putting weight on his injured knee.

For a split second, he was almost grateful for his injury, the odd sensation in his step was jarring enough for him to be able to forget her voice for a moment.

But only for a moment.

His knee was off the brace and for a few seconds it was stiff. Stiff enough that Levi thought it would hold as he put his left foot forward, forcing a little more weight on it than what could have been comfortable. And it threatened to wobble, it threatened to let go, unbuckle, retear all the already damaged ligaments underneath. It threatened to leave him on the ground worse off than before.

As Levi pondered those possibilities all at once, his thoughts flew back to the ticking inside him. It had been nagging to get his attention since a while ago after all. The knee was a call back to it with the way it threatened to explode and send pain rattling through him.

Just like the ticking time bomb.

Of all things, it was the routine exercises that had him understanding the nature of the aches and the weights that had been looming above him since their hike. The ache was a side effect of carrying such heavy weights. But where did the weight come from?

Uncertainty was a weight. Confusion, chaos and confrontations with the unknown were weights. Grief and mourning were weights. Levi couldn’t tell which it had been or whether it was all of them at once. They were glomping at him though and it was a miracle Levi could even get one foot in front of the other.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We thought we’d show up now, you know... In case you end early.”

“You didn’t have to, I still have twenty more minutes left. You're way too early.”

“It’s your belated birthday celebration. Besides, we haven’t seen each other in months.”

“Yeah, Oluo here was the one who insisted we hurry.”

“Shut up!”

Petra Ral. Oluo Bozado. Gunther Schultz. Eld Jinn.

The conversation continued, peppered with too many protests from Petra.

Just go. Levi would have wanted to say. He was in no mood to even be outside. The echo of unintelligible conversations were only making the whole ordeal unbearable already.

“Oh, is that… Levi Ackerman?”

“Oluo, he can hear you.”

“So the rumors were true. You really did get injured during training.”

Was Oluo talking to him? Levi forced his eyes up at them, and at that moment, the scene in the forest flashed before him. But he kept his chin high and let out a slight nod.

Oluo was saying something else to him. Followed by Gunther then Eld.

Introductions? Levi was too busy reminding himself that they were alive to even comprehend such a conversation. They’re alive. Those two words had become a chant that overpowered any other attempt at conversation.

“Petra, go ahead. Think of this as an early birthday present.” The person who spoke up should have been a life saver. After all, he looked like he had been successful in getting Petra's attention.

Petra looked very much ready to listen to that voice as she let go of Levi's hands and looked to the chair behind him. “Really?”

“Levi shouldn’t be having too strenuous of a session. I’ll handle it for today.” But he wasn't an hero. In fact, his voice had only left Levi worse off than before.

“If you say so… But why, sir?”

“It was my fault, I took him hiking yesterday. Sorry for only telling you now...” That was Hange's voice.

Levi expected relief to wash over him or maybe a lightness to take over as Petra guided him to his seat and let go of him. Surprisingly though, it had left him heavier, yet oddly empty. Even when she had said her goodbyes and walked away with her group of friends, Levi found himself completely frozen, unable to even look up and muster a smile in greeting.

There were more pressing matters after all. Like that one moment he started to realize how the weight had managed to feel heavier, even when it was already crushing him both inside and out.

I’m making the choice. Give up on your dreams and die. Lead the soldiers straight to hell.

Isn’t that what he told him? Before he marched to his death?

“Don’t get me wrong hiking is great physical therapy. But this is something Levi should have only been after a few more months of recovery.” Erwin crouched down in front of him and started to push at his knee.

“I should have been more careful,” Hange said.

Erwin continued. “This isn’t just an ACL tear. We’re talking about a multiple ligament injury. Full recovery is far more difficult to attain.” He gently ran his hands through Levi’s knee for a few seconds and soon he started to guide the knee through some light exercises.

Was it supposed to hurt? His knee was stiff. It was resisting the bends for sure. But was it hurting? Levi was starting to realize, he couldn’t tell. At that moment, he was dealing with pains far greater than that

“Levi, can you tell me if anything hurts? It looks like there’s no residual swelling at least…”

“Nothing hurts.” That was easy enough to say.

Those cold blue eyes locked on Levi’s, as if studying him. That should have been enough to keep him focused on reality. But how many times had he seen those cold blue eyes somewhere else? And Levi’s mind started to wander elsewhere, to that last view of Erwin on his horse before he took down the beast titan, to that last attempt to keep him alive, and finally, to that choice to let him die.

I didn’t regret it. But should he have regretted it?

“You sure? If you keep this to yourself, you might just end up regretting it,” Erwin said.

I didn’t regret it. Levi thought to himself. Did he say it out loud? He couldn’t tell.

At that moment, even when Levi had let his eyes fall to the ground, he still felt Erwin’s eyes on him, cold and calculating. He was certain he didn’t regret his decision to let Erwin die that day.

Regret, grief and fear though were three different monsters in themselves. Although one of them, he had easily brushed away, the latter two lingered. Did Erwin hold any animosity towards him for making that decision? Should he have let him live so he could see the basement?

Did those feelings have anything to do with the ache in his heart then, the feeling of being completely frozen, with the world completely out of his control?

Levi couldn’t be too sure. So he verbalized the only emotion that he could grasp. “I won’t regret it.”

Erwin let out a sigh. His features softening. And somehow that quick turn of events had Levi a little taken aback. “I don’t care if you won’t regret it. My job here as your doctor is to give you the best prospects. Competitive jumping is out of the basket for sure. but who knows you might be able to go into long distance running or cycling in the future…”

Levi watched as a hand settled on his thigh, he followed it to see Erwin had stood up. Levi didn’t meet his eyes then but he could have sworn he could feel Erwin’s gaze on him.

“It pains me to see someone like this giving up on recovery,” Erwin continued. “Especially someone with your talent Levi. You shouldn’t have to limit the world for yourself over one incident.”

You shouldn’t have to limit the world for yourself over one incident.

You shouldn’t have to limit the world for yourself over one promise.

Over one promise. Would Erwin have told him that then? Levi looked up at Erwin again just to be certain those words hadn’t been some figment of a fevered dream. Levi met his eyes and somehow, he found assurance in the way Erwin's features had softened and the the way his lips curled up into a subtle smile..

“Hange, take care of him okay? I’ll see you two later.” Those had been the last words Levi remembered Erwin saying. He had said something about having to check on a few more pages. Hange had commented something about him overworking himself on a Sunday of all days then proceeding to call him a workaholic.

It was definitely a ‘see you later.’ Not a ‘goodbye.’ But somehow, it cut deeper, it cut into him so heavily that Levi could only sit frozen, grappling for some comprehension of his emotions then.

He was alive. Hell, all of them were still alive. Yet Levi was sure, he was still mourning. And he was mourning multiple deaths at once. Deaths that didn’t happen yet Levi could have sworn had happened. That was what manifested as this crushing weight on his shoulders and an ache in his heart.

A weight on his shoulders. Hange decided to play on that then. Levi found himself looking up to see her looking down at him. The weight? Of course there’d be weight, she had placed both her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them hard.

“Come on, let’s go out for lunch.” She gave him the warmest smile. Eventually she let go though, instead pulling him up from the chair.

“Lunch?”

“Didn’t I tell you this morning? I got Armin to meet us for lunch. And he’s taking Mikasa with him. You wanted to talk to Mikasa right?” Hange didn’t wait for a reply. Instead she pulled him gently out of his seat and guided him to a standing position.

Levi didn’t plan on responding anyway, too occupied by everything else at once. Even when she was the one pulling her weight, the heavy weight on his shoulders stayed and it blanketed him, all the way until his back and down to his knees.

A strange feeling altogether. He had clocked that familiar weight to grief and mourning minutes ago already and his mind had supplemented his comprehension with visions of their last moments, visions of lifeless bodies.

Yet, even when Levi continued to stare at Hange, even when he had tried to find something similar in her hazel eyes in that split second that they locked, his efforts came up empty.

So he continued to search, even when she had looked away, pulled him through the stark white hallways of the hospital. For a good long while, all he could see was a back profile. Hange after all, had been pulling him the whole way, guiding him through.

That view in itself served as some veritable reminder that she had left him a similar weight. Yet there was no vision of a body, no vision of that last moment with her.

All Levi had was a good bye. But it wasn’t a ‘good bye,’ it was a ‘see you later.’ She had only turned her back on him and flown up to the sky after all.

Just because she flew up, didn’t mean she wouldn’t fly back down right?

Hange’s voice faded to the background. In the silence that followed, the silence that loomed over the ten minute stroll all the way to the diner. The time bomb was still ticking.

And it was ticking much louder. It was cunning about it. It ticked to the rhythm of murmurs, the clack of footsteps and to the honking of cars and it created a cacophony of sounds in the silence that battered Levi in a way that he could have sworn was only for him.

And finally it ticked to the bell that rang at the entrance of the diner.

“You’re here!” Hange chimed. She raised one hand in greeting.

Levi didn’t bother to follow her gaze but he was sure she had been talking about Armin. Soon after, he felt the grip on his hand tighten.

Hange continued to pull him forward. “Mikasa has a really busy schedule. We were lucky to get her off on a Sunday.”

He had been planning to talk to Mikasa. But somehow, then, he wasn’t at all excited to see her. Every familiar face he had run into that day had forced through him more emotions than necessary.

So he braced himself as he sat on the booth. When Hange had brushed her hand next to him and put her arm playfully around him, he tensed up for a second as once again and the ticking inside him flared. He moved to avoid the gaze of both Mikasa and Armin who had already settled on the booth minutes before.

“Armin! It’s been a while. Thank you for taking the time out to see me. I just wanted to send over a few documents for my thesis…” Hange started.

The rustle of papers, the sound of rubber swatting on paper, an envelope closing and opening.

And Hange continued. “Could you make sure your friends go through it and sign it? No rush though, I’m sure they’re still busy with competitions. You can send it over next year after the winter holidays.”

“I’ll still try my best to get it done as early as I can... You’re pressed for time right?”

“I still have a lot of other sections to write so even if you send it early, I probably wouldn’t look through it until mid January or even February.”

“Will remember that.” Armin was silent for a moment before he spoke up again. “Also… Levi...”

Levi didn’t need to look at them to feel Armin’s gaze on him. Armin’s tone was hesitant and maybe a little too soft, yet somehow, that tone in particular made the unwanted attention all the more glaring. “Armin…” Levi said, as he let out a light nod in greeting. He braced himself for another ache, like the ones that had been bombarding him since he woke up that morning.

As it turned out though, nothing came.

“Oh, you still remember my name! I thought you would have forgotten since we didn’t talk for long,” Armin continued. “I’m not the most memorable person either…”

Levi slowly looked up to see Armin and Mikasa sitting side by side, like he had seen them so many times before in dreams. Oddly enough, Looking at them didn't give the same effect he had braced himself for.

And he found himself questioning. Was it really grief? Yet Hange’s presence there next to him was pounding, it was crushing. So how could he be so sure, it wasn't his inability to process at fault?

“Nice to meet you,” Levi said. He wondered if it had taken him longer than necessary to muster that greeting. He started to realize then, he had lost track of time.

“Hange told me you needed to talk to Mikasa so I asked her to come along.”

“Sorry if it was a little too last minute…” Hange said. “But I’m really grateful you showed up.

“No, it’s fine,” Mikasa answered. She let out a sliver of a smile and stuck out her hand for a shake. “I don’t do much on Sundays.”

“Either way, lunch is my treat,” Hange said as she pushed the menus closer to them with one hand and reciprocated the handshake with the other. “Order whatever you want.”

Ordering their next meal was quick and easy. Levi found himself skimming through the first page and picking whatever meal had the largest picture and the most glaring large price. He couldn’t bring himself to think beyond that.

The process of ordering the meals was methodical, natural and to Levi, it felt almost like an odd source of calm.

A calm which ended a little too soon. “You’re Levi Ackerman, the high jumper from Paradis University right?” Mikasa spoke up first. She had phrased it as a question but she sounded sure of her conjecture.

When Levi looked at her eyes, he was sure she knew the answer. He didn’t bother to even nod in return.

“Your coach put you up to this huh?”

“Put me up to what?” Levi found himself playing the same game as her.

“He’s been approaching me about applying since October,” Mikasa said.

“That’s what scouts do,” Levi answered matter-of-factly. “They look for the best players and convince them to join the team.”

“Tell them I’m not interested. I’m taking a gap year,” Mikasa said.

Levi could see from his peripherals the way Armin had fidgeted in his seat.

Hange looked like she was still finding the right words to say. She cleared her throat. “Why are you taking a gap year?”

There was someone she didn’t wanna leave behind. His coach had told him the answer already.

And he had the name on hand already. “It’s Eren isn’t it?” Levi asked.

“Eren?” Hange asked. “Your other friend?”

If Mikasa was surprised about how quickly Levi had figured out the root cause, she just didn’t show it. She looked unfazed as she answered. “I’ll wait for Eren to decide what college he’ll be going to.”

“Paradis University is a good school. You should at least consider it.” Hange said.

Armin nodded in agreement. “We’ve talked about this Mikasa.”

“I don’t wanna leave Eren. Besides, the prestige of the university isn't important to me.”

“It’s not just that,” Levi said. “If you want to continue high jumping after college…” It was hard enough already for Levi to speak up. The way Mikasa looked at him though had him a little more self conscious than usual and Levi found himself trailing off.

“What if I don’t wanna continue high jumping in college?” Mikasa asked. She gave him a onceover, all too observantly, almost judgemental. “I heard about your injury. I’m sure you already know what can happen if we overcommit to one thing.”

Overcommit? You lose everything in one go then you scramble to find some other purpose. Then Levi found himself asking something else. Was he the best person to convince Mikasa? He was a textbook example of a worst case scenario after all.

Despite such doubts though, Levi was convinced he was someone who could. He stared intently at Mikasa and studied the way she avoided his gaze soon after making such a bold statement. He started to suspect that that wasn’t her only reason for hesitating.

He only had to listen to that little voice in his head. The one that accompanied that ticking sensation and the dull aches to figure it out for himself. “You’re not gonna lose Eren if you go to a different college.”

“It’s not about losing him. It’s about wanting to be with him.”

“So you’re willing to give up a good opportunity like this… for Eren?”

Eren. He had said that name more than enough times in that span of a few minutes. He saw the way Mikasa avoided his gaze as she let her eyes fall.

Mikasa had given him that look before--- or more specifically, she had tried to avoid giving him that look before.

We can still talk to Eren. Levi started to hear those words as echoes, then too vividly. That was when Levi noticed, the past few minutes, he had been a little lighter, he had managed to round up enough conversation without having to pull some weight.

But what was it? He only had to let it loose for a bit to understand.

Something had ignited inside Levi, an ember that soon enough might even evolve into something difficult to control.

Give me a break… How many times did we save his life only for him to betray us like that?

But Mikasa wanted to stay with him. Levi soon realized, it wasn’t anything new. She had always been over fixated on Eren and with that, it was only natural that she would struggle to let go of him.

Levi barely knew Eren though. But at the same time, he could have sworn he knew him well.

We’re not in a place where we can be concerned about Eren any longer.

The frustration came first. The scenes that replayed in his head in a split second soon followed. When all three of them were watching him, Levi found himself unable to do anything but grip the edge of the table until his knuckles burned.

What was he supposed to tell her? Even before Levi could cherry pick the best statements in a vat full of emotions and memories which weren’t supposed to exist anyway, his mouth went ahead.

And he only realized he had probably said something a little too offensive, too out of touch from the current situation when he noticed the way Mikasa’s face shifted from one of pure surprise to one seemingly reminiscent of some raw animosity.

“Eren? What do you know about Eren?” Hange asked, looking surprised about the turn of events.

Eren was in the story for sure. Levi soon realized though, he had never connected that name to the founding titan in his writings.

Eren was the founding titan. The puzzle pieces were starting to build events a little more clearly. And soon enough Levi was seeing flashes of scenes as he stared up at Mikasa.

“What the hell do you know about Eren? Besides, why are you the one approaching me? Are you the captain of their team or something? Are you sucking up to your coach? Are you trying to get back on his good side after injuring yourself?” Mikasa asked. Her voice was cold and whether she had meant any ill will with the way she mouthed off like that, Levi never figured it out.

He tensed up with one word. Captain.

“Oh, you’re the captain?” Armin chimed in a little too enthusiastically, as if trying to dissipate the thickness of the air then. “Last time, I remembered it was Elijah… Maybe next time we should invite him…”

Captain Levi.

The next few memories enjoyed a smooth entrance in flashes, in sensations. But for the first time though, a meticulous-minded Levi didn’t enjoy such organization.

Captain Levi. Armin was still calling him captain even when he was already commander.

But Hange was the commander. Or so that was what Levi remembered. Since when was Armin commander? The memories answered the questions as soon as he asked him.

Levi was left speechless, void of any more questions.

“Levi? Are you okay?”

I’m going home.

Along the way, the memories had jostled that ticking bomb inside him. Soon, it turned out, it wasn't a bomb that waited for time to elapse. It was a bomb waiting for the right pressure at the right points.

The flares were threats that had seemed empty at first. But Levi soon realized, the bombshell continued to expand within him as if in slow motion. When it had enough, it threatened to release something worse.

And Levi was terrified to see what it was capable of.

“Levi, where are you going?”

Home. But where was home? The dorm? It used to be Hange. Maybe a few days ago, it would have been anywhere with her.

Levi lowered his expectations. Not home. Somewhere where he could be alone.

He called a taxi, and gripped the side door the whole way home. He had wasted a good meal worth of food with that taxi ride but Levi wasn’t feeling like eating anyway. He hobbled up the stairs and straight to his room, ignoring the twinge of protests from his knee.

The bomb had exploded a while back. It released more emotions than necessary. But as Levi soon realized--- and he should have known before---pent up emotions don’t have to come out as tears or as red hot anger.

It could come as catatonia. It could come out as a light switch that was hurriedly turned off inside him then a gradual transition to darkness and silence.

When he arrived in his empty dorm room, he felt it and he saw a blank slate, only accentuated by the darkness of the room. Levi couldn’t even bring himself to turn on the lights.

Write. Wasn’t that what he had been doing since before?

Those emotions that had released inside him that brought forth inside him---a blank slate, were begging to be written. But soon Levi realized, it wasn’t begging. They were threatening to force themselves out in predictable ways.

He had to find a way out.

Have you tried writing out how you feel? It’s a great way to process your thoughts and emotions. Something whispered inside him. Shela's words from months ago still echoed clearly in his head.

And the movements that followed were automatic. The laptop was in sleep mode. He only had to click once to reopen the desktop, click twice to open the browser and click one more time to bookmark the document where he had written everything.

Levi scrolled down to the last sentence.

Shoot or Listen. It’s up to you. He took a deep breath and continued to write.

***

Levi didn’t lock the door. And for what felt like an eternity, he was in his own world.

That eternity turned out to have lasted only a few hours though. By the time he noticed, the sun had set and Levi found himself staring at the clock at the bottom right of his screen.

He stared at it for a good long while. Even after the footsteps stopped. Even after the door slammed behind him.

“I just wanted to check on you. You’ve been snappy since we got back yesterday…” Even after Hange started talking.

And she continued to talk, even when Levi had committed to staring at his screen for the next minute already.

“I thought for a while that it could be because I did something wrong… I mean, yeah I brought that plan up out of nowhere. When I saw you were irritable yesterday I thought of inviting you to come with me and Armin… And I invited Mikasa along to help you out and since you didn’t protest, I thought it would be a good idea… But what Mikasa said hadn’t been nice either… She’s sorry about it...” Hange trailed off. She let out an uncomfortable sounding cough.  “The point is, Levi if you’re not comfortable with what I’m doing, just tell me. If you’re feeling sad about something, or angry, you know you can run to me right? You’ve been dealing with my bullshit for so long, this is the least I can do.” She paused for a second. “Are you listening? I really think it's important that we resolve this now…”

Then the lights came on, the glare bright enough for Levi to tense up in his seat.

“Sorry...The room was so dark.” Hange added wryly. “But anyway, I’m worried. Actually though I’ve been worried about you since your knee injury…”

The footsteps came closer yet Levi couldn’t bring himself to move. He eyed the X button on his browser. Yet the vacillation took a second longer than he would have liked.

“Is this about your story?” Hange asked. Yet, she didn’t seem surprised, as if that was where she wanted the conversation to go the whole time.

Levi didn’t answer.

“You know, I read your document before I came here,” Hange prodded the topic without hesitation. “Correct me if I’m wrong because I’m probably just making some weird assumptions now but… is this about Commander Hange dying in your story? Since you know, those are the newest updates I saw on the document, since you left the diner...”

Commander Hange? Dying? “She didn’t die.”

“Really?” Hange sounded purplussed. “When she flew up and fought the titans... but maybe I read it wrong.”

“She flew up,” Levi agreed. He found himself mimicking her tone as he said it, as if the only way he could bring himself to speak was to take the words from her and make it his own. “But it doesn’t mean she isn’t coming down,” he added a second later.

“But she burned alive right? Up there…” Hange said. “Unless...I did read it wrong.”

In the silence that followed, Levi could only watch as an icon appeared on the upper right of his screen--- anonymous otter. Hange had opened the document up on her phone.

“See you later, Hange. Keep watching over us,” She read aloud.

It felt almost surreal hearing those words from her mouth. The words stung and they stung as badly or even worse than they did when he first wrote it out. Hange’s voice of all things, repeating those same words he had said so long ago, sounded almost mocking.

Levi stared at the black line that blinked next to that sentence and he was almost tempted to erase those words before she said it again.

“Keep watching over us… It’s only natural people would assume she died right?” Hange asked.

He looked back to see her sitting on his bed, staring at her phone. “There was no body,” Levi argued.

“So she’s coming back?”

No. She didn’t. But thinking and saying those words meant different things and Levi was in no mood to articulate such a proposition.

“So she didn’t come back?” Hange asked, she waved her hand in front of him, looking pointedly at him as if to say ‘your face says it all.’

And Levi found himself a little self conscious of that last face he made. “It’s not over. She could still come back.”

“Captain Levi’s last view of Commander Hange was her burning alive and before that, didn’t she ask Captain Levi to let her go?”

“Why are you pushing it? Do you want her to be dead?”

Hange gave him the most incredulous look. “But you’re the one who wrote it…. Hange died....” She looked away for a second, out at the window, but it didn’t look like she was appreciating the scenery. Before Levi could ponder such a reaction, she looked back at him, looking much calmer. “Are you okay Levi?”

Levi found it useless to answer. He could see in her eyes, Hange had already made a conclusion already.

“Why is Commander Hange’s death bothering you so much? Is this related to the knee injury? Is this related to losing jumping? Is this related to your hyperfixation with writing now? Come on, Levi. Talk to me. And now that I think about it, how long has it been since you talked to Shela?”

“I’ve been busy with school.”

“Okay, you’re busy with school. Then I’ll be Shela. Talk to me. I’ll listen. What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. Nothing's wrong then." Hange nodded her head so gaudily it was obvious she didn't agree. "But Commander Hange’s dead.”

“It pisses me off how you can say that with such a casual voice.”

“Because I’m talking about the Commander Hange in your story. As far as I can tell, she died. And I have enough confidence in my reading comprehension skills Levi. Besides, why are you so touchy about her being dead?”

“Because. She. isn’t. Dead.”

“Why are you overfixated on a character you’re writing? And why are you insisting that she’s alive even after describing her burning alive in the air?”

“Why are you so obsessed with saying she’s dead?”

Hange raised her hands up in exasperation. “I’m not obsessed with saying she’s dead. If I’m obsessed with anything, it’s with pulling you out of this hole you dug yourself into. If you’re looking for Hange Zoe… She’s right here. I’m right here. I’m alive Levi.” Her voice sounded desperate. Her face though then had been genuine, like it always had been since he met here.

Yet, Levi found it mocking. “Are you commander Hange?”

Hange’s face fell. “Why name your character Hange Zoe then?” She challenged.

“Because that’s her name.”

“That’s my name too. Are you saying it’s a coincidence that our names are both Hange?”

“If you were Hange, you would know what happened to her.”

“She died,” Hange said too easily. Her voice was getting more and more grating by the second. But she didn’t stop. “My name is Hange Zoe, squad leader titan and researcher. On our expedition to take back Wall Shiganshina, Commander Erwin Smith died and left me with the commander title. Then the world opened up, then we prepared for a war with Marley…”

With the words flowed carried by that familiar voice, Levi could have sworn it was very much Hange.

And she continued. “Then in the forest… I told you...'I’d rather we just live here together, right Levi?'”

As she continued to talk, as she continued to quote herself, Levi could almost believe it had been her. But he couldn’t help but notice the disconnect in her tone.

“And when the colossal titans caught up… There was only one way out right? So I volunteered myself…”

You understand right? It’s finally here. It’s my turn. I want to look as cool as I possibly can right now.

So just let me go, will you?

The disconnect was apparent. When Commander Hange had said those words, her voice had cracked and faltered, particularly to the sound of the rumbling behind them then that was only getting louder and louder. Yet the Hange in front of him then, was saying it with a voice that was almost rehearsed.

Levi almost regretted sharing that file with her. Or maybe he did regret it. “Commander Hange would have remembered.”

“Remember what?”

Levi looked back at the screen and he let the catatonia once again blanket that bout of irritability. “Could you do me a favor. Just leave me alone first.” It had been a habit to say her name when he could since her name had served as some sort of a sanctuary since he first heard it. Oddly enough though, at that moment, even just saying her name out loud in his head had him recoiling. “I think I need to resolve this on my own.”

Hange let out a hitched breath. “Could you do me a favor too? It doesn’t have to be me… but can you at least talk to someone, Levi?” she asked.

Levi. The way she had said, had sounded so familiar. As if she knew him. But she knew nothing about Captain Levi and for some reason, that had Levi almost irritated, as if at that moment, Hange was prying into barriers he had set up for himself. Barriers that only Commander Hange should have been able to penetrate.

“Maybe I will talk to someone,” Levi said coldly. “I don’t need to hear it from you. Also, turn off the lights on your way out.” He fixed his eyes again on the screen, at the black letters on the white screen which weren’t making sense then. Maybe because he was too focused on the long sigh that had cracked along the way.

Hange’s sigh and that crack in her voice, like he had heard it countless times alone with her in the commander’s office. Then room went dark again as she switched off the lights and slammed the door shut.

Even when she had left the room, Levi heard her stilted sigh of exhaustion like he had heard it in the forest then, then in Odiha before she flew up in the air.

That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that Levi.

Even long after the door slammed behind him, Levi found himself fixated on that last line. Those last words spoken to him.

Maybe he started to believe that Commander Hange was gone too. Hange had proven it herself, although she was the closest thing to Commander Hange, she wasn’t Commander Hange either.

He closed the document to see the file was still displayed on his drive. He right clicked on it and down to the ‘remove’ button. He hovered his mouse over ‘remove’ then over the trash icon.

He started to wonder why the document existed and why he had shared it to Hange of all people. And with that, it became a little easier to click.

He clicked on ‘trash.’

Items in trash are deleted forever after thirty days. Thirty days was too long. He right clicked the document. His mouse hovered over those last two buttons for a few seconds more.

Restore

Delete forever.

‘Forever’ is a very long time. And that word in particular had Levi hesitating, keeping his mouse over it for a good few seconds more.

Then he started to wonder. What was the point of writing it? Who was he satisfying, writing everything out? And if Hange had existed, hell if Erwin, Petra, Isabel, Farlan and everyone else had existed, only to die, what was the point of writing everything out?

Of all things, it was Hange’s rant of a while ago that had him hesitating for maybe even a minute longer. Hange was invested for sure. If he hadn’t heard that disconnect in her voice, that part of her voice that lacked 'the Commander Hange' element, maybe he would have believed she was the commander.

But it was apparent in her voice, she wasn’t the commander. She was Hange Zoe, college senior, pre med student Hange Zoe who had gotten a little too attached to the story.

Her investment, her attempt to recount the story to Levi, had been that final nail on the coffin that had him clicking ‘delete forever’ twice in a row, a little too quickly.

He had been too invested too. For a few minutes longer, Levi stared at that empty space in his dashboard, and he couldn’t so easily get rid of the emptiness in his chest then.

What now? That question had been a little too difficult to answer. And Levi limped back to the bed and started to scroll through his phone. Seeing the message in all capital letters in banner notifications, Levi opened his messages.

LEVI? WHERE’S THE FILE?

And before Levi could respond, he heard footsteps get louder. Levi lunged for the door and locked it, gritting his teeth as it sent a wave of pain up his knee.

One knock. Then two. Then she spoke up. “Levi! Did you delete it? Levi?” Another knock.

He would have liked to ignore it, let her knock until her knuckles ached. But she had been difficult to ignore, especially as the knocks evolved to slams on the door.

“Come on! Why the hell did you do that?”

“It’s my file. I can do what I want,” Levi shouted, hopefully loud enough for her to hear.

Just outside the door, she had said other things for sure but Levi had started to scroll through his timelines, immersing himself instead on jumps, cat videos and the latest scandal on twitter.

Along the way, the words died down from screams of nonsense, and Levi started to listen again as it mellowed down to a crack in her voice, and a sound that had sounded like a mix of a sigh, a grown and a scream.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Then there were footsteps. Then silence.

For the next hour, it had been him and his timeline. An hour after that, he found himself looking through videos of Mikasa, then Elijah, then Mike then Nanaba.

They were all busy with Nationals and they would be for the next few months. Elijah had an invitation to train with the national team. With a quick google search, Levi confirmed as well that Mike and Nanaba had their invites too.

He felt the beginnings of what could have been a rumination of what-ifs that Levi was sure wouldn't have been a pleasant experience. Before his mind could wander though, he quickly put his phone in his bed side drawer and scooched a few more inches away from it. The distance was enough at least for Levi to scooch back closer to it, bend down and reopen the drawer.

But even without the material, Levi was reflecting. Eventually, he had let the uncertainty, that fear of the unknown blanket him in the dark. The weight loomed again and the aches took over.

And they whispered too many questions at one. Questions that Levi soon realized could be summarized to two words. What now?

[kaitoujokerscans]

The Night the Silver Cape is Set Ablaze CH10 (END)

<10> The Night the Silver Cape is Set Ablaze

"How is it that you're all here!? I thought you were at Riviera!" Noir demanded to know.

Queen produced an item from her pocket as she answered him. "We used this."

"W-What is that...?" asked Noir dubiously.

"It's Grandpa's latest invention, the Image Card!" Queen held the card up. Once she did, the face of the card showed the three thieves talking amongst themselves. It was the same footage as what they had seen on the TV screen just earlier.

"Noir, you were watching what happened to us hours ago. We figured out what you were scheming. Queen used her sword to slice apart the shutters, and then we used this to leave behind a fabricated recording!" Joker shouted, pointing his finger.

"Grr... That's what you did!?"

"You lured the two of us into Riviera HQ under the premise that we'd be able to fight you. But you weren't there. Thus it was only natural to assume that you had laid a trap," explained Spade logically.

"Confound it... Silver, did you know about this!?" Noir turned around to see Silver Heart grinning wide.

"Of course I did. I realized as soon as I saw the screen that they were using my new Image Card. I only perfected it a few days ago — fresh out of the workshop. No matter how much you scouted out in advance, you wouldn't have known about it."

"Mmmrghh..." Noir disgruntledly clenched his fist and grit his teeth.

"Phantom Thief Noir! We've won!" Joker tossed an advance notice at Noir. "I'm taking the Lachla Crown!" he proclaimed.

But Spade and Queen begged to differ.

"That's not happening. I'll be the one to steal it."

"Excuse you, it's obviously going to be me."

"No way, the treasure's mine!"

"It's mine!"

"Mine!"

They had pulled off a brilliant strategy only moments before, yet now the three of them had started to quibble like idiots. That did it.

"Quiet, you nitwits!"

Noir's angry bellow brought the trio's attention back to him. "!!?"

"Silver! I will never give the treasure to you!" Noir picked up the crown.

"...!?" Suddenly everyone's eyes were on Noir. In his other hand, he was gripping a stick of dynamite.

"Noir, don't...!" Shocked, Silver Heart started towards him.

"Stay back, Silver!" Noir's harsh cry made Silver stop in his tracks. "This crown is the hidden treasure of Lachla. Long ago, we were ordered to get rid of it. If it's going to fall into your hands anyway, I'd rather destroy it by my own hand!"

"Ghh..."

"The treasure...!" Joker took a step forward.

"Joker!"

"That's dangerous!"

"Shut up! I can't forgive anyone who would just waste treasure like that!" Joker cast an angry glare at Noir.

"Heh heh heh. You've got some nerve, Phantom Thief Joker. This time you won't be granted a free minute!"

"I won't need it!" Joker promptly threw a card.

With a wave of his cape, Noir whacked the card down. "It's futile!"

"Grr..." Joker shot off a series of cards. "Shooting Star!" The cards shone brightly and flew straight towards Noir, but these too were knocked down in vain with a light wave of his cape.

"Heh heh heh, your attacks don't work on me."

"Joker!" Spade and Queen exclaimed.

"This is my last resort. Here goes!" Joker shouted, and fanned out cards from his pocket in front of him.

"Ha ha ha! I told you, it's useless!" Noir twisted the end piece of his spectacles and changed them into sunglasses.

"Straight Flash!"

That was the moment.

All of the playing cards strewn across the ground emitted blinding light. Joker had made it so every single card was part of his Straight Flash! The light from below wasn't blocked out by the sunglasses and hit Noir's eyes.

"Gwah!" Noir recoiled, and that very moment, Joker swiped the crown out of Noir's hands. "How...!"

"Heh hehn. Weren't you the one who said not to let down your guard, old man?"

"Mrrrgh... Curse you, disciples of Silver..."

"We've learned a bunch of things from Master. One of them is 'knowledge can't beat experience' — so even though I lost against you, it still gave me experience!" Joker boasted. Behind him, Silver Heart smiled.

"Well said, Joker. That's exactly right."

"Aha..." Noir got up gently and walked towards the fence around the deck.

"Noir...?"

"Silver, I've already quit being a spy. I have nothing more to lose..." said Noir, and slowly lifted up the dynamite he was holding. Silver Heart saw him take a lighter out of his pocket and shouted.

"Don't! Noir!"

Silver Heart bounded toward him, but he was a split second too late. Noir lit the dynamite fuse. Sparks sizzled from it.

"Holy crap!"

The three disciples grabbed onto Balloon Gum that Joker had inflated and floated up.

"Master, hurry up!"

But Silver Heart and Noir were still entangled and were rolling about on the ground, restrained by the deck fence.

"Silver, let me go!"

"I won't!"

"Rrrrgh...!"

Silver Heart twisted his arm up, and the dynamite fell out of Noir's hand.

"...!"

At the same time, Silver Heart pushed down Noir with all his might. The two of them lost their balance, and then—

BOOOOOOOOOOM! The deck exploded. A pillar of flame erupted, and the whole area was filled with a curtain of smoke.

"MAAASTEEEEEEEEER!"

"MASTEEERRRR!"

"GRANDPA!"

The wind blew the smoke away. The trio scanned the deck from the sky, but there was nobody to be seen.

"This can't be happening..." Joker was about to jump down, but Spade and Queen stopped him in alarm.

"Don't do it, Joker!"

"It's dangerous!"

"But Master is..." Joker's eyes blurred with tears.

Below them was a panorama of dark, nighttime ocean. White foam sprayed off it. The only sound was the billowing of the waves.

—But then, something happened.

"Look at that...!" Spotting something, Spade shouted.

"...!"

There was a small boat at the coast up ahead. They could see a dimunitive silhouette coming up over the side of it. Queen hurriedly took out a pair of binoculars and took a look. "It's Purple-san!"

Through the binocular scopes, she could see Purple in a diving suit lifting herself onto the boat. Purple pulled on a rope that extended out into the ocean, and up came a pink mass enveloped in Image Gum. It burst with a pop, and from within appeared Silver Heart and Noir, soaking wet.

"Master!" Joker and Spade shouted at the same time.

Purple dragged the two onto the boat and then waved a hand their way, as if to tell them not to worry.

"Sheesh, what were you thinking?" Purple asked the two reprovingly. Silver Heart and Noir coughed loudly, spitting out water before they choked on it. Then they exchanged glares at each other. Flames from the explosion must have caught Silver Heart's cape, because it was in tatters.

"Noir! My cape burned to a crisp! This is your fault!"

"Excuse me!? Who asked you to save me!? In the first place, this is your disciple's fault!"

"Come again!? I won't forgive you for this!"

"That's what I should be saying! I haven't gotten my revenge yet!"

"I don't care about your revenge! Once we reach land, fight me again!"

"Fine by me! I won't die until I bring you down!"

They had forgotten all about the explosion that just happened, and now the pair were quarreling and tugging on each other's faces. Any dignity they had as a legendary spy and legendary phantom thief had left them.

"...Well, I guess they're fine if they've got all that energy," sighed Purple, and started up the boat's engine.

Drifting in the air, the trio watched as Purple's boat putted away to shore. Queen commented.

"Looks like Grandpa is still conscious. I think I heard him yelling. I hope he's okay..."

"He's fine. There's no way Master would be done in so easily."

"Yeah, that goes without saying."

Joker and Spade smiled a little. Peaceful expressions crossed each of their faces.

"Though..." Joker started with a grin, "You were a real piece of work back there, Spade. You were shouting 'MASTER!' so desperately."

Then Spade scowled back at him. "You're one to talk! I saw you tearing up, you know."

"Huh? That wasn't nearly enough to make me cry!"

"Oh, I wonder about that. I seem to recall you crying and wailing 'sorry' after Master spanked you a hundred times back in the day."

"That happened because you snitched on me! I remember that!"

"Switching out Master's hair tonic with adhesive was way out of line!"

"I seem to recall that you were the one who suggested pulling the switch in the first place!"

The pair glared at each other. Above them hovered the Sky Joker and Twin Thunder Shark. Hachi and Dark Eye, who had come out to get them, watched as they argued. Beside them, Queen sighed.

"They never change. Let's go home, Roko!"

The two of them floated up to the biplane tethered to the Sky Joker. Meanwhile, Joker and Spade were still feuding.

"Joker-san, let's go!"

"Spade-sama, if you don't leave off, you'll get a fever..."

Once Hachi and Dark Eye called to them, Joker remembered something and addressed Hachi. "Oh, right! Hachi, did you make that?"

"Ah, yes... I made it as fast as I could..." Hachi produced a water bottle. Joker took it and held it up.

"Hey, Spade! This is Riviera made according to the recipe I just took! You like it, right?"

"Huh...? Yeah, I like it."

Then Joker chugged it down and smiled with satisfaction. "Ahh, that was delicious! Riviera is the best thing for after a caper! If you really want, I can let you have a sip!"

"H-Hmph! I'm fine!"

"Oh, really? Mmm, tasty! This is the best!"

"Enough already! I swear I'll take that recipe from you next time!"

"Heh heh, bring it on! I'll be ready for you!"

Glaring at each other, Joker and Spade exchanged fighting words. Hachi and Dark Eye sighed as their argument continued on endlessly in the background. Watching over the two rivals, the moon glowed quietly...

FIN

The Night the Silver Cape is Set Ablaz

Author: Naohiro Fukushima

Original Work: Hideyasu Takahashi

Thanks for reading!

[delimeful]

(don’t) take this the wrong way (3)

sequel to underwater & blood | ao3 link

warnings: blood mention, hypnosis/mind-altering mention, fear, miscommunication, bad assumptions made while stressed

-

Virgil hurriedly propelled himself through the wide tunnels of the underwater cave system, all of his nerves screaming. Every time he turned a corner, he expected the two giant mers to be on the other side, sharp teeth and cage-like hands at the ready.

It didn’t help matters that he was already weighed down by an entire human dragging along behind him. He cast a glance over his shoulder, where Logan was clutching at his spectacles with one hand and desperately hanging onto Virgil’s wrist with the other. Good thing humans didn't have claws, or Virgil would be spilling even more blood all over the place than he already was.

A fresh current brushed past him, and he took the next turn sharply, just barely not grazing the rough tunnel walls. There! He could see an exit, the bright blue of the open ocean just beyond it.

Halfway there, Logan’s grip on his hand turned painful, the bones in his wrist creaking under the pressure.

“What?” he snapped, despite knowing that the human couldn’t understand his irritable clicks.

When he turned, however, the problem was obvious: the human was out of air, bubbles leaking from his nose and mouth.

Virgil bit his lip and wasted a moment looking between Logan’s purpling face and his gateway to freedom. His instincts knew what the smart thing to do was, but he couldn’t stop remembering the way the human had given him space, spoke politely, kept him calm in the face of overwhelming terror.

“Oh, fine, fine!” he finally groaned, swearing profusely as he found the nearest upward crevice and dragged the both of them into it.

The moment they breached the surface, Logan was spluttering and gasping, halfway to choking on his own spit. Virgil shoved him up onto the nearest ledge and hurriedly pulled himself up after, the phantom feeling of giant hands grasping at him enough to make him want to vacate the water entirely.

Unfortunately, he’d massively overestimated the size of the rock shelf, and ended up flopped over the wheezing human from head to fin.

Whoops.

---

“Wh-- What--?” Logan attempted to dislodge the mermaid sprawled on top of him, and then stilled as Virgil hissed at him from close range, those rows of teeth only inches from his neck.

It was just one thing after another, today. He tried to steady his breathing, and after a moment, regained his composure. “Seeing as this is a limited space and sharks are quite sensitive to blood, I would advise against trying to consume me at this juncture.”

Virgil pushed himself up further, enough that their faces weren’t inches apart, and now Logan could properly see his disgusted expression. “What? Ew, gross, no. If I cared that little about your life, I would have just let you drown back there.”

“Oh.” Logan coughed awkwardly, his cheeks a bit hot. “In that case, why tackle and pin me?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to keep out of the water so we don’t get noticed, numbskull. Do you see any more room on this little ledge?”

It was true; there wasn’t much space in the fissure. At least some light made it down from above, illuminating their current position. Logan frowned thoughtfully.

“Hm, if you’ll allow me to adjust…”

With a significant bit of shifting around and a few more hisses from Virgil about ‘manhandling’, Logan managed to get upright, with his legs crossed in the lotus position. Virgil was sitting up as well, though half of his tail had to curl over Logan’s lap.

“Much better,” Logan said, satisfied. Virgil still looked a bit green around the gills from watching Logan bend his knees. “I suppose this is as opportune a time as any to thank you for saving my life.”

Logan had kind of hoped the mermaid would be too nauseous to pay attention, but to no avail. Virgil’s ear fins twitched strangely, and he lifted his head to look at Logan with something like surprise.

Seemed as though he had to elaborate. Ugh, feelings. “From my observations, you could have left me and made your escape much faster. It would have been pragmatic of you, but I appreciate that you didn’t. Unfortunately, now we’re both trapped here, with no idea when or if those giants lurk nearby. So you have my thanks and my apologies.”

Virgil made a strange trill-click, his expression amused. “Don’t apologize for me saving your life, dumbass. You had no say in the matter. Anyways, at least when I die, it’ll be in the company of a ballsy human.”

“If you die,” Logan corrected the cognitive distortion automatically. “Remember, there’s still options available that could lead us to freedom. Though… I’m unsure how far out in the ocean the siren carried me. It’s entirely possible that I will run out of stamina and drown before I reach land.”

“Listen, if we get out of this alive, I’ll tow you to a beach myself,” Virgil replied with a snort. “Sorry man, but once they find their snacks have vanished, they’re going to be out for blood.”  

“You seem to have quite a negative outlook on our chances.” Logan watched as the purple caudal fin flicked back and forth absently. “Are they truly that devoted to devouring us?”

“I mean... I dunno how much, I’m not a mind reader. I just try not to make a habit of pissing off anything big enough to eat me in one bite,” Virgil snarked back. “It’s how I’m still alive. If there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that there’s no way they would just let us go.”

---

Patton and Roman stared at the cave shelf in stunned silence.

Where before there had been a human and a tiny mer, there was now only a splotchy puddle of blood and the remnants of a fishing net scattered about.

“Oh dear,” Patton said, looking down at the kelp bandages he’d retrieved.

Roman dropped his sword and ran his hands through his hair, shocked. “Why in the sea did they vanish like that? What about sharks? What about the human?!”

“Oh dear,” Patton said again, remembering how far out they were from the little guy’s home. “Why would they leave? I didn’t think the human could swim far enough or long enough to get out of this cave system!”

Roman frowned, squinting at a sharp tooth he’d found among the shredded net. “... Maybe he couldn’t. The little mer— he couldn’t hurt us, obviously, but— the human is so small, and he growled at him, remember? What if—?”

The shark mer was looking more horrified by the minute, and Patton set a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Ro. How about I try and call for the human? If he hears it, I’ll know.”

Roman nodded quickly, and Patton took a deep breath before letting the magic coiled inside him rise up, lace itself through his voice in the ringing tones that the human had best responded to back on the beach.

In the distance, there was a jerk of surprise-recognition-fear as his song reached the ears of the human, and Patton grimaced at the feeling that curled along the siren bond. He tried to soothe the terror, coaxing the human back towards the water with promises that he wouldn’t be hurt, that they were just there to help and get him home.

After a few moments, the human succumbed to his magic, letting go of his resistance with something like resignation. Patton bit his lip briefly but didn't stop, waiting for the moment he would hit the water and reveal his whereabouts to Patton.

It never came.

Patton blinked, surprised, but the human continued to stay in place, despite struggling to reach the song’s source. Was he being… restrained?

He broke the song off after another few moments with no movement, quickly reassuring Roman that the human was still alive, and not hurt.

“I think he’s being held in place though,” he added, and Roman’s expression darkened. “I can get close, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to pinpoint the exact place. In tunnels like these, it could be anywhere.”

“The small mer was bleeding, remember?” Roman replied, tail swishing in agitation. “If I can catch the scent, I can get us the rest of the way there. Let’s go.”

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Night Terrors, pt. 2

WARNING: While there are no torture flashbacks in this section, Pt. 2 continues to deal with PTSD, as well as some phantom pain and a character who lost a limb in combat. If you are uncomfortable with this, please do not read, as I do not wish to offend anyone. I understand that PTSD and phantom pain are very real issues that many have to deal with, and I have no first hand or even second hand experience with PTSD, only night terrors, and I am getting all my information regarding how someone might react during a PTSD flashback episode, how to help them during one and phantom pain from the internet.

Constructive criticism is very much appreciated.

(Secondary reminder that this is part of my first stories for the current iteration of Modern Inheritance, and I’ve learned a lot since this about war trauma, PTSD and post-war life and difficulties. I tried my best to be respectful and sensitive.)

Part 1 // PART 2

~~~

Glenwing jerked, tearing himself from his waking dreams. He had heard the thunderstorm long before, and had not been bothered by it, but a new sound was echoing through his home. It was uniquely different from the storm outside, and the difference unsettled him.

Beneath the rumble of the thunder and the crash of the lightning he heard a faint ‘thudthudthud’ from his living area.

“Who the hell…” Concerned, the elf tossed off his sheets and pulled on a pair of sweats over his boxers. After more than seven months of learning how to do simple tasks both with and without his prosthetic, Glen managed to get the pants on only a few seconds slower than he would have with the prosthesis. He deftly pulled on a plain white t-shirt to cover the end of his scar covered shoulder, the prosthetic on its stand beside his bed, and made his way to the front door.

Instead of the louder bangs that he had heard earlier, the only sound emitting from the door now were a series of soft, regular 'thunk…thunk…thunk’ noises. He frowned, confused, and peered out the viewer into the night.

It took him a long moment. He first only saw rain and brief flashes of lightning. Then he saw a sword lying in the mud, a shaking hand holding it in a death grip. A new sound, soft and pleading, reached his ears now that he was closer, and with a shock he threw the door open to the raging storm.

Arya tumbled into his home, drenched with rain water from head to toe and clothed in her casual, day-to-day combat gear. There was blood and mud on the side of her face, the red liquid gushing from where she had been repeatedly hitting her head on the door. Besides the cut she looked physically sound to him, so he crouched low to the ground and slipped his remaining arm under both of hers in a cross chest carry and gently pulled her fully inside the house.

Once she was inside Glenwing returned to a crouch and, supporting the woman’s weight with his chest, slipped his head under one of her arms as shifted his grip to her opposite side. “Hey, can you hear me? Arya?”

“Let me die….” The woman’s head lolled against his shoulder, eyes half open. “It hurts…can’t do it again….”

“Not going to happen, Cee-Oh. You’re a tough lil’ spitfire of a lady, so we’re going to stand on three, okay? One, two, three!” Glen heaved them both up, staggering as the added weight on his uninjured side nearly unbalanced him. He managed to get to the couch and fall backwards, wincing as his former commander’s elbow dug into his stomach. “Good job, Ari. Good job.” A flicker passed through Arya’s eyes at the words.

“It hurts…” The woman gripped his shirt, appearing a little more aware of her surroundings. “Glen…I can’t do this….”

“Take it easy, Arya. Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Can I take your jacket off? You’re soaking wet.” Arya shook her head, looking terrified at the very idea. “Okay, that’s okay. Can we at least get you washed up, rinse out that cut on your he–”

“NO!” The shout came both verbally and mentally, a short spike of terror that left a sizable dent in his mental defenses. Glenwing leapt off the couch and away from his friend as a pistol suddenly appeared between them, torn from the belt slung haphazardly from shoulder to hip. “No water!” She shouted at him, a mixture of fury and pure fear on her blood streaked face.

Then the gun slipped from her fingers, the color draining from her skin as she wrapped her arms around her middle. “'Think ’m gonna be sick.”

Glen carefully moved behind couch and to the kitchen and snatched up the bucket he used for cleaning. He came back around and set it in Arya’s lap, grabbing the pistol and unlatching the belt as he did so. She didn’t comment, only slid to the floor and dry heaved into the small bucket, coughing and sputtering as nothing came up.

When she finished, shakily curling into a half ball on her side, Glen sat cross legged next to her on the floor and leaned against the couch. “You okay?”

Arya shook her head. “It hurts.”

“Your stomach?”

“Back. Head. Everything.”

Glen nodded. Her difficulty speaking and combat ready attire had already clued him in on what was happening, feeling an ache in his chest as he watched her try to fight the flashbacks and phantoms in her head.

“Can I touch your shoulder?” He asked softly. The woman nodded, and when the male elf gently set his remaining hand on her arm she grabbed it and held onto it as if seeking a lifeline back into the present.

They sat like that for a long time, the rain pounding on the roof and the thunder rumbling through the forest.

Arya slowly seemed to relax slightly. Her grip on Glen’s hand never released, but she moved closer to him, her upper back lightly brushing the outside of his leg. He took it as a sign that she was feeling a bit more grounded and asked, “Can I heal your head?”

“Yes.” She mumbled, exhausted and pale. Whatever she had seen and felt had ripped through what little progress in sleep she had made, and it left her cold and shaking. “Please.”

“I might need my kit.” Glen told her softly, squeezing her shoulder. “I need to get up and get it. Will you be okay?”

“…Maybe.”

“Do you want to hold on to something? Dog tags? A pillow?” The medic smiled as his former CO reached up and dragged one of the small pillows off the couch and released him. With her free hand she clutched at the dog tags around her neck, running her thumb over the raised letters of each. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Using slow movements Glenwing pushed himself up, grabbing the couch armrest for support. His knees and his lower back popped as he came out of the hunched position, and he rolled his neck as he retrieved his prosthetic from his room. The ruddy orange and white streaked limb locked on with a familiar click and hiss and the medic flexed his metal fingers, touching to tip of each one to his thumb in the now automatic check on the link to his nerves.

Satisfied with his findings, Glen opened his closet and pulled out a dusty backpack similar to the one Arya had in her room. He unlocked it with the thumb scanner and dug out his belt and the attached medkit, then grabbed an armful of towels. He was about to return to the living room, stepping out into the short hall, when the closed door across from his room caught his eye.

'That might actually help.’

A few moments later he was back at the couch, setting his collected items down. “I’m back.” Arya nodded a little and Glen sat, patting his leg. The woman scooted closer and rested her head on the offered knee, familiar with the methods he’d had for caring for head wounds she or Fäolin would acquire in the field. “I’m going to ask you a question that might scare you. There’s all sorts of debris in this cut. I can rinse it out with cleaning solution or I can clear it with magic.”

Glenwing saw the other elf’s throat convulse, and for a moment he was afraid she would slip back into her memories or start gagging again. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she gripped her tags in a white knuckled grip as she shook her head. “No…water. No water.”

“Clear it with magic, then?”

“…Magic.”

As Glen gently moved her mud caked hair away from the still trickling wound, his mind reverted back to that of the battlefield medic and bodyguard he had been before that night months ago. The cut wasn’t deep, but like all head wounds it had bled profusely. The mud had helped stop the bleeding somewhat as it dried, and with a light touch he gently brushed the larger pieces of dirt away before breaching the flow of magic in his mind and murmuring a spell to remove the debris from the gash. Once it was clear, he set about healing it completely.

“There.” Glen set his hand on Arya’s arm as the last bit of skin flowed together. “All healed up.” To his confusion, Arya shook her head. “Are you hurt somewhere else?” She nodded. “Tell me.”

The woman hugged the pillow closer to her chest and buried her face into it, pulling away from her friend. “Back…Back’s open again.”

Glenwing felt a tingle shoot down his metal arm. There would be much more blood if the scars on her back had opened. He almost asked ’are you sure?’ before he caught himself, one of his own memories giving him pause.

He sat in Rhunön’s shop, remaining hand clenched at his hip as he screamed at the sky “It still hurts!” Then the wizened blacksmith had marched out from her forge, interrupted from shaping the plates of his prosthetic, and slapped him across the face hard, shouting for him to unclench his fingers. When he finally did she seized his hand and slapped it on the end of his stump, her rough fingers holding his in place.

“Feel that?” Rhunön had snapped. “It’s gone! You have no nerves down there anymore. It hurts, I know. But you have to make your brain remember that it is gone.” Glen had shivered and tears streamed down his face as he did as she told him, rubbing the thick pink scars that marked where his shoulder now ended.

And the pain had eased.

If it felt real to her, he had to show her that the past was not lingering in the present.

“Alright. Then we need to take your jacket off.” Arya shivered but still eased herself up from the floor and pulled her arms from the sleeves, shedding the garment by tugging the hem on the back so that it fell from her shoulders.

Just as he had suspected, Glen saw no blood on her shirt as he moved to sit on the couch behind her. The wet olive green fabric was darkened by rainwater but showed no telltale, pitch-black patches where blood would have seeped through.

“Arya, I’m going to pull the back of your shirt up, okay?” Glenwing warned her as he brushed her loosened braid over her shoulder. When she gave a shaky nod of approval, he carefully pulled the cloth up until it was midway up her back and held out his hand by her side. “Give me your hand.” When she paused, Glen touched two fingers where he knew the Yawë was inked into her skin. “Vae hávr yawë, fyrn-darmthral.”

She relaxed, the undeniable truth of his words putting her more at ease, and let him take her hand.

Slowly, gently, Glenwing guided Arya’s hand to the exposed skin of her back. She flinched when her fingers first brushed it, then sucked in a breath when he ran her hand over the first scar, the burns that raked her side. When she didn’t react beyond that, he continued, letting her fingertips glide over the healed rents in her skin.

Finally, he touched her palm flat against the center of her lower back. Her fingers felt blindly for open wounds but only found scar tissue. Glenwing released his hold on her hand and let her feel along a nearly inch wide hypertrophic scar that reached to her hip, checking under her own control that what she felt was real.

After a long moment, Arya spoke, her voice no longer strained with pain but slightly disbelieving and oddly awed. “They never opened.”

“They never opened.” Glenwing confirmed, again abandoning his spot on the couch to sit next to her on the floor. “How do you feel?”

Arya was silent, then she grunted, “Sore as all hell.”

“That’s expected. You headbutted my door hard enough to make a Kull proud.”

“I probably woke up half of Tildarí hall.” The woman groaned and put her face in her hands, mortified, then pulled back with a mildly surprised expression. “I’m covered in mud.”

Glen couldn’t help but grin a little. “Yes. Yes, you are. You wouldn’t let me clean you up. You, my friend, are in desperate need of a shower.”

Arya shuddered from head to toe and her eyes flicked to the window, where rain continued to pour down from the heavens. “I don’t want to be near water for a while.” She rubbed her upper arms as goose bumps flared over her damp skin.

“Here.” Glenwing picked up the jacket he had retrieved from the closed room.

His friend accepted it gratefully and pulled it on, then froze. Her pupils first contracted then dilated in a split second, and for a moment Glen feared his action had triggered another attack. Then Arya hugged her sides and tugged the hood over her shoulder, inhaling a scent that Glenwing couldn’t detect and smiled slightly.

“This is Fäolin’s, isn’t it?” She didn’t look at him with any anger or accusation, only a strange relief as if the scent of her lost love had chased away the final demon lingering in her mind.

“Yeah.” Glenwing gently grinned back at her. “I figured you could use something familiar.”

“Thank you, Glen.” They sat together in comfortable silence, the fluffy towels bunched around them on the floor seeped in their body heat. “What time is it?”

Glen checked the digital readout on his arm. “Ah, almost Oh-Four-Hundred.” Arya started to stand, apologizing profusely for waking him up in the middle of the night. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down. “Hey, hey, stay! I’m not letting you out of my sight for a while. You nearly beat my door in with your head, so I need to watch you for signs of a concussion.” He chuckled. “I’ll need your help fixing the dent you put in the paneling when morning comes, too.”

Arya paused, considering it. It was still raining, and she didn’t want to risk triggering another episode by going out in the deluge. Plus, she very well couldn’t go back home until she had washed up, which might be some time in coming as the very thought of even wiping her face with a wet washcloth made her throat tighten. She could change clothes from the go bag she kept in Fäolin’s room and just tell Islanzadí that Glen had called her over early in the morning for another lesson on how to repair his prosthetic. If she even asked.

“Okay, fine. Can I take the couch?” A flicker of confusion flashed across Glenwing’s face, and he started to gesture back towards the closed room in the hallway. “I don't…I don’t want to sleep in his bed without him.” Arya murmered, jamming her fists into the pockets of Fäolin’s jacket.

Glen’s face softened. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that. You can take the couch. You know where everything is, right?” She nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep my door open, so if anything happens all you need to do is call me and I’ll be out here in a heartbeat. All set? Okay.” He smiled and stood, patting his former commander on the head while she swatted his arm in good natured retaliation. “Good night, Arya.”

“Glen, wait.” He turned to see Arya leaning with her arms folded over the back of the couch. She touched her first two fingers to her lips. “Elrun ono, Glenwing-Vor, fyrn-darmthrell.” And she added in the common elvish tongue, “For everything. You pulled me out of a second hell.”

Glenwing bowed with his orange fist twisted on his chest. “Onr astorí, Arya, fyrn-darmthral.” He straightened and moved into his room with a tired wave. “Sleep well.”

And for the first time in weeks, she did.

Translations

(Most of these are very rough and cobbled together from words that are similar to what I was trying to convey with a few alterations, so it is not exact.)

Vae hávr yawë, fyrn-darmthral– 'You can trust me, war-sister.’ Literally translates to 'We have a bond of trust, war sister.’

Elrun ono, Glenwing-Vor, fyrn-darmthrell– 'Thank you, Glenwing, war-brother.’ Vor is an honorific for a close male friend

Onr astorí, Arya, fyrn darmthral– 'You’re welcome, Arya, war-sister.’

[ranmanjuu]

not a request but can you imagine oda forces trying to play smash against the anti-oda or they all play minecraft together

i’ll expose myself here. i have never ever played smash (although minecraft steve being announced is super pog) so i can’t tell ya that part bud. but i can with the blok game. (disclaimer that this request was made after i closed it yet my heart said No, you actually Want to do this so here i am. most probably will be short).

‎

welcome folks, to SengokuSMP.

oda forces:

—nobunaga:

would be the one that steals your iron and shit. commits thefts willy nilly, and no one is exempt from this. if he needs it, he’ll get it with or without your consent.

would kill an iron golem for the few iron it gives

before he got his own base (cause i think he’d just spend most of his time mining and getting materials to protect himself) he’s probably just barge in the nearest bed and sleep in it, regardless of the owner.

his base would probably be built by hideyoshi or sumthn.

he prefers playing pvp more than just survival. since mc placed a kind of restriction for the end (and therefore blocking them from completing the game), he goes onto servers and practice his battles even in a block game.

1.9 axe-shield pvp. he’s tactical in knowing when to strike and block and to back down, and is immaculate with his crits.

—hideyoshi:

probably spends the first few days around nobunaga to protect him. he always fights off the mobs near him even if nobunaga can handle himself.

always reminds people to sleep every night, so that the phantoms don’t come. even though a lot of the players prefer to just stay up.

built a base for nobunaga near his mine cause he needs A Place and not just mooch furnaces and beds from other people.

spawned iron golems for “protection” but nobunaga keeps killing them cause it just gets in the way

would be the one to make mines 4 blocks high so you don’t Bump your head thing, probably like 3 block width and even staircases. would also be the one to make a safety railing across any bridges he finds.

if an ally, he’d greet new players and give them some extra stuff so that they have Something to start off with

i feel like he’d be a pve player idk why

—mitsuhide:

no one knows where he is most of the time. nor his base.

unless you see his nametag (which, most of the time, he’ll see yours first) it’s kinda hard to find him when he’s off and alone.

mf is the black market of the server. whatever potions, potion ingredients, or shit like that, he has. he probably owns like several wither skulls enough to summon a wither.

he would sneak around when mc is mining and just like. scare the shit out of them. the cave noises don’t help.

(the newest screenshot hasn’t been released yet but,) y’all know the warden? the new mob? cause it’s reliant on sounds, if anyone is ever in its proximity he’d throw like snowballs at them so that it goes after them. little shit.

bow skills?? perfect. even in a game his accuracy is spot on. you know those obstacles people make with like slime blocks and maybe mlg 360s? mf can do that

he probably knows enough redstone to make traps, too.

somehow knows what everyone has/doesn’t have.

—masamune:

prank ass bitch.

he probably has like a Source of tnts in his base or something. if anyone is moving out of their old base, he’ll either blow it up or burn it, whether they wanted to or not.

fuck it. he’ll do it even if you’re not moving.

probably doesn’t often sleep and would rather fight off the phantoms than anything.

he probably wants to defeat the dragon quick, cause it’s supposed to be the game’s ultimate goal. but because of the previous restrictions you put, he just goes off and fights other players (cough kenshin, nobunaga)

and when he does kill you, expect like half of your items to not be returned.

also one of the casual thieves in the server. he just doesn’t care that it Belongs to someone and just yoinks

also a pvp player, although i find him leaning more to 1.8 style. he will jitter click you out of existence.

has dogs because idk he gives off that vibe also they Attack.

—ieyasu:

does not log on much lol. he got on once and then Never Again. it’s only when you ask him that he begrudgingly does get in in his own contrarian way.

definitely goes wayy far out for more isolation cause he doesn’t want to get caught up with whatever shit masamune has.

the only major thing he did besides mining and everything was that he got a cat. and almost no one knows about it, other than you because:

“ieyasu has made the advancement [Best Friends Forever]!”

“mc: :OOOOO!!!!”

yeah, you never told anyone.

the longest time that he logged in at first was probably when he found out that cats sleep in beds and just. sat there as the night goes by in his bunker just watching and hearing it purr. he’s a bit irritated when the others tell him to sleep, but then see that the cat went and slept on him that secretly made his heart soft.

and then you insisted on going to his base which took a considerable amount of time, and even with his denying, you decide to decorate and expand his base! you also got to name the cat, but you never knew since you just said like “i’d name it [...]!” and later ieyasu found a name tag and actually did name it that.

—mitsunari:

he doesn’t run a lot i don’t feel. primarily because he was wonky with the controls from the start.

i feel like he’d have the brain to be a redstone engineer. he spends more time like, making those cool machines than anything (probably those that’d help out everyone like an automated farm, etc.)

thing is he forgot that he could die, so most of the time he’s just starve to death without even noticing it.

much like in real life, he always forgets to sleep. and that’s why phantoms are his number 2 in his cause of deaths.

doesn’t have an actual base. hideyoshi built a small one for him, but mitsunari kind of never uses it and just logs off on the spot. at this point it just became a part of the main buildings for everyone or something.

he doesn’t do an awful a lot of collecting and often asks others for some. and when he is given it, he goes “thank you ^^ <3″ and does like the happy-shift thing. it’s honestly too cute for it to be just pixels.

probably knows a lot about minecraft stuff too, it’s just that he never uses any of it.

—ranmaru:

he was so excited the first time you told him that he was invited to the smp of sengoku warlords! would probably frequent the most.

i think he’d just vibe really. not exactly going extremely into pve or pvp or redstone or building, he plays it at a very slow place and more like an animal crossing player would.

like, he builds a small farm and stuff. it isn’t as efficient as mitsunari’s, but it is what it is. also has an animal pen with loads of one animal category and he tends to let people use it with the exclusion of some (coughs masamune) as long as they breed them again or something.

and while he doesn’t go for the big projects, he is kind of a builder? he has the Aesthetic sense while building his house and stuff yk. would maybe lean into the cute, cottagecore stuff.

favorite food in game is probably cake! it takes more effort than most other foods and it just looks cute so he likes making them.

totally has shaders on.

is scared shitless of cave noises at times. you could play 11 near him and he’d just straight up panic and log off.

‎

uesugi-takeda forces:

—shingen:

i find him to be maybe one of those builders that stick to large projects and stuff idk why

he does other things too, mainly pvp (he likes to just head over to nobunaga’s base and kill him sometimes. not that the man doesn’t accept the challenge). would probably also be more into 1.9 pvp because he’s a very calculative person in fighting. yes even in block game.

but the first thing he built once he’s set from collecting materials, was a “restaurant”. for what, you ask? why of course he takes you on a minecraft date. that was the top of his list the moment you even told him about the smp

once the others found out (which was not that long) he just started bragging. kenshin burnt down the building later on.

but he always escorts mc or some shit while spewing out his Lines in chat, sometimes doing the bow in game thing. in response, there are several barfs in chat, and a list of people coming to kill him.

mf likes to combat log on kenshin when he’s on a Killing Spree for the shits and giggles.

—kenshin:

first time you told him about it, he was very happy to learn something about mc’s modern times, even if it’s a children’s game. unfortunately, he didn’t know what an ‘smp’ meant.

so when he logged on and saw that there were Other people, his smile turned into a deadly frown as he just began punching them to death. he only stopped when they ran off and you intervened.

he tried having you stick around longer when you were giving him a tutorial of how to play the game.

at first he only collected material to get stronger. and by that only sword because he sees no need in getting armor (he doesn’t die in battle irl, he can’t die in a simple game). but WRONG cause he got killed by shingen who, even though he had a stone axe, had iron armor while kenshin got nothing but an iron sword.

he doesn’t make a base (why do so many here don’t make bases istg). in fact, he doesn’t log on much.

at first, he only goes on if mc is on. it’s only when he sees that mc appreciates some of the work the others have put into things (like shingen’s builds, mitsunari’s redstone, etc.) is when kenshin tries to Do Things Too and kinda fail.

this man kinda has no aesthetic sense in the block game. but you give him a for effort.

1.8 pvper. he can definitely do 1.9, but more the former mostly cause his deadly anger makes him jitter click like crazy. often challenges others (consented or not) which mostly includes masamune and nobunaga, and he often surprise attacks shingen and sasuke.

—yukimura:

honestly a normal player in survival.

he makes a decent house, has some pretty strong gear, and just helps around his allies a lot (mostly {try to} drag kenshin away from trouble, scold shingen for being too close to mc {though it’s a him problem ngl} and just being a messy caretaker).

i feel like he’d enjoy tekkit tbh. sasuke would probably introduce it to him and he’d just generally enjoy it.

but this is about the smp

he got lucky the first drowned he killed dropped a trident and it’s been his favorite weapon.

probably tried at one point to build kenshin a small base but he wouldn’t listen so like. shrugs.

he’s a bit iffy with playing alongside the enemies in the same server, but they are kind of divided into two. and mc did say it was just for fun and games and they didn’t want to see actual wars be dragged into this, so he just lets it go and has fun.

he looks forward to beating the enderdragon a lot, when the end is available.

—sasuke:

oh Boy he’s having a field day. his adored sengoku warlords? playing minecraft, his childhood game??? absolute pog.

even though it was you who proposed the idea, the one who set up the server in the first place was sasuke, since he has more knowledge on that stuff.

since he got his bearings quicker than the rest from experience, and he was earlier to log on due to testing and stuff, he mostly helps you with building like the main hub, like the center place for everyone and generally things that involve helping the overall smp.

can mlg water bucket, through a lot of trial and error. he uses it mostly to make dramatic entrances where he drops from a hill and just not take damage.

^ speaking of Dramatic Entrances, he probably has a chest full of ender pearls for those specifically.

although he helps a lot with guiding everyone, at times, he pulls out the ol’ “sleep in the nether :)” suggestion just to troll

ngl he’d stick to his ninja thing and successfully make a redstone-wired door and has his banger secret base in it

—yoshimoto:

the s in smp doesn’t exist to him.

he’s just a collector, really. one of his first priority isn’t even materials like stone, the moment he finds any kind of flowers he’ll pick it up. it’s only when yukimura and sasuke actually Give him shit does he start living a not broke life.

probably dies a lot to mobs and stuff

but like legit, this man spent a long time collecting all 13 discs and almost every flower (yes, even the biome only ones) because he wants to take it all in. nevermind the fact that he can just listen to the discs online and all.

he’s immaculate in his aesthetics. even with just wood he makes his base look really cool ngl. 

some parts of it are plastered with every painting there is in minecraft, or just item frames, or flowers in their pots. every decoration you can think of, lamps, campfires, even armor stands, he has them.

you gotta give him credit, it’s a lot of effort.

he often afks just to listen to the music even though, again, he could just listen to it online.

got into a bit of a spiel with ranmaru, since he unknowingly dyed a lot of his sheep (he did categorize it with color though). and so they made an agreement to just have every color sheep, and put them in different pens. so they just shared it now

he saw the cave updates and went silently bonkers because how pretty some look (like the lush caves? hello??)

he has like. 14+ texture packs and 4 different shaders ready at his settings.

[gusu-emilu]

sometimes I forget (2/3)

chapter two: grieve what I happen to grieve

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Wen Ning and Jiang Cheng travel to Dafan Mountain to find the cure to Lan Wangji’s fever. Their animosity results in a very strained partnership, which only becomes more complicated when Jiang Cheng develops the fever too. But along the way, they address the scars that haunt them and find something new in each other.

< Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 > | Art

Post-Canon, Rated T - read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

Wen Ning stood up. “I-I’d like to visit the memorial I made with A-Yuan. I’ll be back soon.”

Jiang Cheng grunted with indifference.

Wen Ning headed out, but he had only taken a few steps when he heard, “Wen Qionglin.”

He turned back to Jiang Cheng, who had now opened his eyes.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Take care of yourself,” Wen Ning said. “That’s what you should do.”

They fell silent for a few moments, staring at each other.

Reluctantly, Jiang Cheng reached out to receive Sandu. “Fine. I won’t fly.” He turned abruptly and strode down the forest path.

Walking the rest of the way did not cost too much time. The village on Dafan Mountain was closer than they realized.

At first, Jiang Cheng’s only noticeable symptoms of the Four-Sunsets Flu were a slight temperature and haggard breathing. But by the time they reached the foot of the mountain, Jiang Cheng’s skin was slick with sweat, his hands shook, his knees gave out.

They still had a tall summit to climb. Jiang Cheng was not strong enough for it.

Knowing Jiang Cheng would be too stubborn to agree to wait behind, Wen Ning said, “Let me carry you.”

Jiang Cheng pressed his sword into the dirt like a cane, his limbs wobbling. Beads of sweat appeared at his temples. “I’d sooner die than let you carry me twice in one night.”

This did not offend Wen Ning. Nothing much out of people’s mouths did anymore. Yet, he realized, his usual desensitization was not why this time, he didn’t mind the harsh words.

It was because behind all the spite, there was humor in Jiang Cheng’s voice. Dark and bitter, but still humor.

Wen Ning did not know what to do with that.

“It’s morning now,” he found himself saying. “So it doesn’t count.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed and started up the mountain trail. He struggled after just a few steps, his legs uncooperative, his brow knitted.

Wen Ning watched from below, waiting for him to give up.

He was soon forced to a stop. Jiang Cheng clutched the mountain terrace on the side of the trail and hunched over, his breath unsteady. He shot a glare down at Wen Ning that looked like he wanted to hurl rocks at him.

“Will you agree?” Wen Ning said as he easily scaled the slope.

“Just get it over with.”

Instead of carrying Jiang Cheng bridal style like before, this time Wen Ning carried him on his back. A piggyback ride did not have the chance of eye contact. Less awkward.

But this was an even more vivid reminder of the night he rescued Jiang Cheng from Lotus Pier. This was exactly how Wen Ning had carried him.

The pressure of Jiang Cheng’s weight was different—partly because Jiang Cheng was much older now, partly because everything felt different as a fierce corpse—but the sensation was still too similar to be comfortable.

They reached the summit.

Hazy orange-blue light of the morning’s earliest hours crept through the sky and cloaked the village. The Dafan Wen residence was a phantom of its former self, abandoned and decaying. Raiders had scrounged through it multiple times over the years.

Despite the village’s decline, Wen Ning knew these paths of caked yellow earth all too well. It was still the same home he had spent his childhood in.

How fitting, that at the beginning of Wei Wuxian’s second life, he and Wen Ning had reunited at this village. The place where everything had started for Wen Ning. The place where part of his soul was snatched by the Goddess Statue, leaving him spiritually distorted and unable to fully cultivate, and enabling Wen Ruohan to use him as collateral against his sister.

The place where years later he destroyed that same Goddess Statue at Wei Wuxian’s command. Felt the rust of catharsis at defeating his childhood monster.

The place where Wen Chao had turned Wen Ning’s entire family into puppets just to ambush Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Where the remnants of his clan were taken captive by the Jins, marched to Qiongqi Path for forced labor.

And now the village was dead.

Wen Ning had thought that constructing a memorial here with A-Yuan would finally grant him peace about his family.

It was foolish to have thought that. Nothing ever ends so easily.

“Are you going to put me down?” Jiang Cheng said.

Jiang Cheng had been purposely sagging his weight for the last half minute, Wen Ning realized.

“Sorry.” Wen Ning released him.

Jiang Cheng held his forehead in his hand and swayed back and forth.

“Can you stand?”

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng snapped, despite how he leaned onto the wall of a house and then sank to the ground. His face flushed pink.

“W-W-Wait here.” Wen Ning hurried down the dusty road of the village.

“Where are you going? Wen Qionglin!”

As Wen Ning turned the corner, he stumbled a bit at the sound of his courtesy name.

Jiang Cheng had not called him ‘Ghost General.’

It felt strange. But not unpleasant.

Wen Ning rummaged through the village for any trace of herb satchels or bottles of tonic that might have been left behind. The Dafan Wen Clan’s medicine worked better and faster than any other. He could find something to get Jiang Cheng back on his feet before they hunted for the final cure to the Four-Sunsets Flu.

But it was a slim chance that anything would be left. Thieves had stripped the buildings bare. They had even stolen the tattered red curtains that used to hang over the doorways.

Wen Ning regretted not going through the village when he visited with A-Yuan, to recover what few items remained. Instead, he had avoided the village and only gone to his clan’s burial grounds.

Somehow, it had been easier to visit the graves. Those were supposed to be lifeless. His home was not.

He sped up his search. He did not want to spend any more time in these empty houses.

In one of the elders’ huts, he found a secret stash of medicine in the wall. He hugged it all into his arms, hoping that he wouldn’t break anything, and ran back outside to where Jiang Cheng lay limp against a wall. He was farther down the street than where Wen Ning had left him. He must have tried to follow Wen Ning and not gotten far before falling back down.

Wen Ning squatted down and dumped the medical supplies in front of Jiang Cheng. A jumble of bottles, vials, and jars rolled in the dry yellow dirt.

“What is all that?” Even when collapsed from fever and exhaustion, Jiang Cheng still managed to channel enough sass into his voice for a man and a half. He wrinkled his nose. “It smells awful.”

Wen Ning had no sense of smell as a fierce corpse, so this was new information. Although it didn’t especially matter to him if Jiang Cheng disliked the scent.

Rearranging the bottles, Wen Ning said, “I might be able to give you some temporary treatment.”

“What’s the point when the cure is here? Don’t waste our time.” Jiang Cheng eyed the bottles suspiciously as Wen Ning lifted them one by one to decipher the faded labels. “How do you know those aren’t rotten? You’re going to poison me.”

“They keep for a long time.” When Jiang Cheng scowled more, Wen Ning said, “It might take a while to find the cure. So I’d like Jiang Wanyin to have some strength back before we start searching.”

“What does it matter to you?”

Wen Ning looked up from the bottles. “You shouldn’t come on this journey and then make me do all the work.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Fine, then. Whatever it takes for me to not be your patient any longer.”

He was surprisingly cooperative as Wen Ning held out wrinkled old herbs and a vial of bitter fluid. He took the medicine without a complaint, other than a few coughs and a disgusted grimace.

Several minutes later, some of the redness left his cheeks, and he was able to stand. “You better not have poisoned me,” he muttered as he brushed dust off his robes. “Where do we find the cure?”

“The remedy hasn’t been needed for centuries. All I remember from my family’s story is something about an ice-blue flower that blooms on this mountain at night. But I’ve never seen it.”

“That’s it?” Jiang Cheng yelled. Having regained his strength, his voice had also regained its volume. “We came all the way here and that’s all you have to go on?”

You could’ve asked before deciding if it was worth it to come, Wen Ning thought. But what he said was, “We have to check if any ancient texts were left behind. They might have the answers.”

“Shouldn’t you already know if there are records left? Didn’t you come here with that Lan boy?” he said, as if he didn’t know Lan Sizhui’s name. “What kind of descendant doesn’t guard the relics of his clan?”

Wen Ning winced at this. Jiang Cheng had an unmatched skill of firing shots of criticism posed as questions. But masked or not, his words cut just as sharp.

Back then, Jiang Cheng had lost everything. He had rebuilt Yunmeng from the ground up. Fought for the Jiang Clan, clawing its way back to power, leaving his people in want of nothing but an heir.

What had Wen Ning done for his clan but let it die?

Was the pain of their loss not equal? After Jiang Cheng’s parents were murdered and his city was burnt to cinders, he still had the strength to create something from the ashes. Was Wen Ning too weak to even lay eyes on the ashes that remained of his own clan?

Jiang Cheng cleared his throat. The sound brought Wen Ning back to the present.

No, he decided. Their situations had not been equal.

Wen Ning did not have the foothold that Jiang Cheng had. For years he was chained up by the Jins, tormented and experimented on. Stripped of his consciousness by nails shoved in his head. Even if he had the freedom to try to rebuild, there had been no foundation left. His clan had been wiped out.

Why would he want to create something from ashes as dead as he was, when there was life elsewhere?

“A-Yuan,” he found himself saying.

He did not look at Jiang Cheng, but he felt the man’s gaze boring into him.

“A-Yuan is my clan now. And A-Yuan has been granted a new life with the Lans.”

He did not dare voice it, but to himself, he said, Wei Wuxian is one of mine as well.

When he turned to Jiang Cheng, the man was staring at the ground, his eyes frail and downcast. “I…”

His fingers shifted in his clenched fists, as if he were channeling whatever he had to say into his hands—perhaps into Zidian—instead of the air. Then he set his jaw and marched down the narrow street, leaving Wen Ning behind.

* * *

They scavenged through the village until noon, searching for ancient Wen texts. They stopped every hour for Wen Ning to prepare another dose of medicine for Jiang Cheng. The treatment kept him upright, but each dose was less effective as his condition worsened.

They did not have much time. Two sunsets, and the fever would reach its peak.

They overturned the few pieces of furniture left in the buildings and gouged every crack in the walls. All they found were a few keepsakes—a necklace, a burlap sack, a compass—that Wen Ning set aside so he would not have to imagine the faces of the people they had once belonged to.

Nothing remained of the Dafan Wen Clan’s medical literature.

Now Wen Ning and Jiang Cheng stood in the dusty street, baking under the hot sun, feeling as hopeless and bleak as the ghost town. Jiang Cheng’s face was bright red. His hands were trembling slightly. The midday heat was not helping his fever.

Panting, he retreated into the shade of one of the houses. “I thought Wei Wuxian said we would find the cure here.” It was meant to sound accusatory, but most of the bite had been sapped out of his voice.

“We will,” said Wen Ning. “The ice flower grows somewhere hidden on this mountain. I just don’t know where it is or how to use it.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He shook his head disapprovingly for a few moments. Then, “What about the cave?”

“The Goddess Statue’s shrine?”

He nodded.

“I think it will be empty. But we can try.” Wen Ning started on the path to the cave. He looked back when Jiang Cheng didn’t follow.

Jiang Cheng still leaned against the wall, avoiding eye contact.

“…Do you need me to carry you?”

Jiang Cheng did not answer, so Wen Ning took it as a yes. He heaved Jiang Cheng onto his back and headed for the cave.

It was strange to see the shrine with no Goddess Statue. As much as Wen Ning hated the goddess that stole part of his soul and killed his father, he wished that she still loomed over the cave floor, frozen in her haunted dance. At least that would be something on Dafan Mountain that wasn’t gone.

Wen Ning let Jiang Cheng rest against one of the rock formations beside the shrine as he searched the cave. There were a few offerings remaining from when the villagers at the foot of Dafan Mountain used to worship the goddess, but those had long since rotted away.

Having found nothing useful, Wen Ning wandered aimlessly around the cave, more to have something to do than to continue searching. He trailed a hand along the wall and wished that the stone beneath his hand felt real like it used to. It used to send a chill along his arm, giving him goosebumps. Now his body was just as cold as the stone, and he felt nothing.

If I don’t find the cure, will Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin die?

He tried not to think about it, but fear was eating away at him. He could not be responsible for more deaths. Especially not two people that Wei Wuxian loved.

But what hope was there?

A-Jie…I need your help…

If only Wen Qing had survived instead. She had always been smarter than Wen Ning, more perceptive than him. She would have known how to find the cure.

After a few more pointless circles around the cave, Wen Ning returned to Jiang Cheng.

“I don’t know what to do,” Wen Ning said.

Jiang Cheng looked up, his eyelids heavy. “You will.”

Wen Ning sat down front of Jiang Cheng, feeling hopeless.

And angry.

Resentful energy swirled inside him. He knew that it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t find the cure, and neither was it Jiang Cheng’s, but for some reason he wanted to hit both of them.

“I wish I knew what to do.”

“Do you want to get us killed?” Jiang Cheng yelled.

Wen Ning flinched backward. “W-W-What’s wrong?”

“You can’t make wishes here! That goddess has stolen the souls of people who made wishes in her presence!”

Wen Ning looked at the empty space behind the goddess’s former shrine.  “But her statue is destroyed. She isn’t here anymore.”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust that. Her spirit could still be around.”

Her spirit…

Something clicked in Wen Ning’s mind. “What if she can still be summoned?”

“Even worse, then. That goddess is a nuisance.”

“We should summon her.”

Jiang Cheng looked at Wen Ning like he was crazy. “For what?”

But before Wen Ning could answer, Jiang Cheng had already turned his attention to the shrine. His brow softened. “You’re right…if her spirit is still here, she might be able to help us find the cure.”

Wen Ning scooted closer to Jiang Cheng. “Can you summon her?”

“Can I summon her? Your clan lived here. You should do it.”

“I…” Wen Ning stared at the ground. “I can’t. I’m not alive.”

“Oh.” Jiang Cheng frowned. There was regret in his voice. He dug his fingers into the stone wall as he tried to push himself up to stand. “Sometimes I forget.”

Wen Ning meant to go forward and help him, but instead he sat frozen in place, repeating Jiang Cheng’s words in his mind.

Sometimes I forget.

As hard as Wen Ning searched for sarcasm or disdain or malice, there was none. He had said it simply, sincerely.

With his cold, stiff body, and his empty eyes, and his skin streaked with black veins, who could forget that the Ghost General was not alive?

“A little help?” Jiang Cheng said.

“S-S-Sorry!” Wen Ning hurried to support Jiang Cheng as they approached the altar, his mind still spinning.

Jiang Cheng sank to his knees and pulled a stick of incense from a qiankun pouch in his robes. “Leave me be.” Once Wen Ning backed away, Jiang Cheng lit the flame as an offering and closed his eyes.

Wen Ning imagined the rich, musky fragrance of the incense that he could no longer smell.

Another reminder that he was, indeed, not alive.

And yet…

Sometimes I forget.

He stepped closer to Jiang Cheng.

The incense smoke snaked through the air in front of Jiang Cheng. His face, usually dour and strong-lined, was calm and soft as he fell into the trance to summon the goddess.

Everyone knew that Wen Ning was not alive.

The juniors, as much as they enjoyed his company, were careful to avoid his cold hands and the resentful energy that bound his body together. Once they had grown comfortable enough with him, they even started making playful jokes about his un-dead condition. The banter helped Wen Ning feel better about life as a fierce corpse. But it also continued to remind him that he was different now, and he could not change it.

Lan Wangji did not seem to mind his presence, but Wen Ning always felt like he was intruding on the Cloud Recesses, even though it was his new home.

Perhaps a few of his family members had accepted him as the same A-Ning they one knew, but they were all gone now.

And Wei Wuxian…

Although Wei Wuxian had done all he could to make Wen Ning feel human again, and asserted his humanity to anyone who questioned it, he had also transformed Wen Ning into his weapon. Into the Ghost General.

Wen Ning would have killed for Wei Wuxian. It had been his choice. And with one note of Chenqing, Wen Ning would kill again, if his friend needed him to.

But would that still be his choice?

Who could be controlled this way other than a fierce corpse?

So then how could Jiang Cheng, the man who had raged against anyone who dared speak the name of the Ghost General, who hated Wen Ning for making his nephew an orphan, who refused to let Wen Ning set foot in Lotus Pier—how could he so casually ‘forget’ what Wen Ning was?

Suddenly, Jiang Cheng gasped and jerked awake. His eyes were wide. Disbelieving.

“J-Jiang Wanyin?”

Jiang Cheng seemed to struggle for words. He turned his head toward Wen Ning. He almost looked like he felt guilty about something.

“Go outside.”

“What…what happened?”

“Go.”

Wen Ning obeyed and hurried out of the cave. He looked over his shoulder at Jiang Cheng and saw him remove a small tan pouch from his robes.

What is he doing?

Wen Ning decided that it was best to respect Jiang Cheng’s demand for privacy. Anything to get them closer to the cure.

He found a comfortable place to sit and played with a handful of pebbles as he waited, rolling them through his fingers, wondering if the sensation felt a bit more defined than usual.

Several minutes later, there was a scuffing sound. He glanced up, expecting to see a standing figure, but had to redirect his eyes downward to where Jiang Cheng was crawling on the ground at the mouth of the cave.

Wen Ning jumped up. He helped Jiang Cheng to his feet, holding him upright. “Did you summon the goddess?”

A peculiar expression appeared on Jiang Cheng’s face. He shifted his jaw in discomfort, his dark eyes darting away. “I summoned something.”

“What was it? Does it know how to find the cure?”

“The Ever-Frozen Flower grows in the center of the western forest. Its nectar is the cure. It only blooms for a few moments at the coldest point of the night, and we need to harvest its nectar while its open.”

“Great! That’s it, then!”

Jiang Cheng nodded. He looked a bit happier than before, but still troubled by something.

Wen Ning noted that Jiang Cheng did not tell him what he had summoned.

Well, that was less important. They would have hours to wait until night when the blossom opened, so Wen Ning had time to ask again later.

This evening would be the second-to-last sunset before the fever fully consumed its victims. They had found a lead just in time.

“There’s hope,” Wen Ning said. “Thank you, Jiang Wanyin.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “It was your idea.”

“But I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I’m…it’s good that you came.”

Jiang Cheng leaned away, which didn’t get him very far as Wen Ning’s arm was wrapped around his torso. “Er. Right. Let’s get out of the sun.”

His fever had already gotten hotter. He radiated heat so strongly that even Wen Ning felt it as he held the man’s shaking body.

It had been a long time since Wen Ning had this much physical contact with someone. Especially someone so…warm.

“R-Right.” Wen Ning guided him back into the shadows of the cave.

Wen Ning prepared another dose of medicine, taking his time now that there was no rush to rummage through the village or find clues. They had their answer. They just needed to get the timing perfect to harvest the Ever-Frozen Flower’s nectar. Wen Ning felt lighter now, relieved that a cure was in sight.

“Here.” He held out the medicine to Jiang Cheng, who was all but melting from the fever by now.

He swallowed it immediately. “Thank you.”

Wen Ning shifted his weight as he kneeled in front of Jiang Cheng. Something felt off.

Since when did we start thanking each other for things?

“There’s only one dose left,” Wen Ning said. “There wasn’t much to begin with. I can get more medicine later.”

Jiang Cheng looked better already. “At least this sunset isn’t the last one. We have a full night to get the cure.” He rested the back of his head on the cave wall and closed his eyes. “Let’s hope whoever named this Four-Sunsets Flu didn’t get excited and overcount.”

Suddenly Wen Ning was laughing.

Jiang Cheng peeked at Wen Ning with half-open eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up. “You should know better than to laugh at a dead man.”

“You aren’t dead.”

“I sure feel like it.” His shoulders relaxed as he leaned into the wall more.

“…Jiang Wanyin?”

“What?”

Wen Ning stood up. “I-I’d like to visit the memorial I made with A-Yuan. I’ll be back soon.”

Jiang Cheng grunted with indifference.

Wen Ning headed out, but he had only taken a few steps when he heard, “Wen Qionglin.”

He turned back to Jiang Cheng, who had now opened his eyes.

“I’ll come with you.”

Wen Ning could only stare at him in disbelief.

He wants to visit my clan’s burial grounds? Is the flu affecting his mind too?

Then he realized that Jiang Cheng was staring at him, and he should have responded by now. “Oh—Oh, you should rest. It’s hot outside.”

“If you’d prefer to go alone, that’s fine.”

Wen Ning gently clasped his hands together. “No…that’s not what I meant.”

After a few moments, Jiang Cheng raised an arm, indicating for Wen Ning to help him up.

What a strange sight. The Jiang Clan Leader reduced to a feverish puddle, waiting to be picked up by a dead person he despised, to go visit more dead people. Wen Ning could’ve burst into laughter again.

* * *

With Wen Ning’s arm strapped around Jiang Cheng’s torso, they bowed in front of the memorial together, slightly out of sync.

The memorial that Wen Ning and A-Yuan had built was not too large. It was a carved stone that sat to the side of the older memorials in the Dafan Wen burial grounds. Simple and rudimentary, but crafted with care. Wen Ning could not imagine it any other way. Their branch of the Wen Clan had not been one for ostentation.

The bodies of Wen Ning’s family were not here. He did not even know if the Jin Clan had given them a proper burial. It filled him with rage to think about it.

The most he could do for his family’s spirits was to act like they were here. To hope that after he and A-Yuan honored them with the memorial, they had found their way home.

“A-Jie, it’s me. I hope you’ve been well.” Wen Ning’s throat felt dry. “A-Yuan has been growing up. He’s very happy with the Lans. You’d be proud of him.”

He pulled from his robes a small canister of dried fruit that he had packed before leaving for the journey, and placed the jar on the ground. “A-Jie, I b-b-brought apricots for you.” They had always been her favorite.

Suddenly Wen Ning felt heavy. The air was heavy, the sunlight was heavy.

Guilt struck him. He should have brought some of Uncle’s favorite liquor, and some rice cakes for Granny, and—

I miss you.

He should have been with them.

But now, how could he die?

What a cruel trick of fate. He was a walking reminder of what had become of the Dafan Wen, left behind to carry on their bloodline with no blood.

As he stood before the memorial, he felt phantom touches from years ago.

A hand in his.

He remembered lying in bed, just before falling asleep. Wen Qing held his hand. She made the bed tilt a little when she sat on the end of it, creating a tiny slope for Wen Ning to lean closer to her.

She loved music, but she was terrible at singing, so if Wen Ning wasn’t too sleepy he’d hum a song for her. It made soothing vibrations in his chest. Humming always felt the best when it was for his sister.

After he finished the song and began drifting off to sleep, Wen Qing squeezed his hand every so often, letting him know she was still there.

Then he remembered sitting on Granny’s lap. Feeling the subtle rocking of her body as she weaved red thread into a tassel she gave to Wen Ning. It was a charm for luck and protection. Wen Ning carried it with him everywhere.

He lost it three years later while exploring a forest. Granny had not been mad. She just weaved him another. By then, Wen Ning had grown too big to sit on her lap, so he sat at her feet instead to watch her weave, feeling warmth on his back from the small fire crackling behind him.

He didn’t know where that tassel from Granny was now.

He remembered Wen Qing’s hand on his forehead. Those gentle pats that she always gave him. Sometimes soft, sometimes chiding, but always loving. How she had to stand up on tip-toes to reach him once he got too tall.

A flash in his mind. He was overwhelmed with pain of the labor camp at Qiongqi Path. Blisters on his hands from chipping away the carvings of the Wen Clan to replace them with murals of the Jin Clan.

Hypocrites.

Broken bones in his legs when he didn’t obey. Agony that had only been bearable because he shared it with his family.

And then—a wooden spear through his chest. Ghosts that tore at him. Darkness and freezing cold.

Crinkly papers stuck all over him, and hard rock under his back. Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing’s breath on his neck as they pleaded for him to come back, and how desperately he wished he could.

The day he did wake up, nothing felt the same. Not even his family embracing him in celebration, or Wen Qing hugging him tighter than she ever had before.

But he had felt her tears of joy—warm droplets on his dead skin—and that made him feel a little more alive.

He wished that he could cry now. That he had tears to drop into the dirt below the memorial, and maybe his tears would make Wen Qing a little more alive.

A hand in his.

The day he and Wen Qing stood before Jinlintai, Wen Ning had given his sister’s hand one last squeeze.

Why couldn’t he squeeze his sister’s hand again, and let her know that even now, he was still here?

A-Jie, please come to your next life soon. I will search until I find you.

Jiang Cheng was trembling as Wen Ning held him.

He hadn't been shaking so much before. Had the hot sun made the fever worse?

“Why did she choose Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng said. His voice was quiet.

All Wen Ning could manage was a confused grunt in response.

“She gave her life for him.”

The shaking stopped.

“I should’ve been the one to do that!”

Wen Ning did not know how to react. Who would have expected that at his own family’s memorial, it would not be he who cried out, but the man who let them die? Jiang Cheng had feelings for Wen Qing once, he suspected, but he never would have thought they ran this deep.

“Wei Wuxian had already given up so much to let us live in peace a little longer,” Wen Ning said quietly. “It was the least we could do in return.”

Jiang Cheng gave him a perplexed look, as if Wen Ning had said something offensive and out of place. Then his expression melted into unease and he quickly turned away, like he was afraid of Wen Ning discovering something in his eyes.

Then Wen Ning understood. He had been talking about Jiang Yanli.

Both of them were mourning their older sisters.

Wen Ning decided that it would be kinder to pretend he didn’t know Jiang Cheng’s true thoughts. “She did like you,” he said.

Jiang Cheng shifted, but didn’t respond.

“Although she wished that you stood up for us. We all did. But in a way, we understood. No one’s position was easy back then.”

Stillness. Only the numb feeling of Jiang Cheng in his arms.

“You had your clan to worry about. And there was…” Wen Ning trailed off. There had been Jiang Yanli for Jiang Cheng to worry about, but it was better not to say that.

Jiang Yanli had gotten married while the Wens lived at the Burial Mounds. She had visited them, given Wen Ning soup he couldn’t taste, but he appreciated that soup more than most meals he had when he was still alive.

When Jiang Yanli visited, she had even let him see her bridal dress.

And I killed her husband.

Her own death was just as terrible. It hadn’t been at Wen Ning’s hand, but it might as well have been, linked as his sins were with Wei Wuxian’s.

Jiang Yanli would not have died if Wen Ning had been able to control himself at Qiongqi Path.

And neither would have Wen Qing.

A-Jie...

A thought that Wen Ning had been pushing down rose to the surface of his mind.

Was Wei Wuxian’s life more important than Wen Qing’s?

She had warned Wen Ning to stay away from Wei Wuxian. Yet he had chased after the boy over and over, first only doing small things like stealing Wen Qing's medicine to give to him, but eventually bringing Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli to Yiling as fugitives, when his sister had never asked to save them.

At the Burial Mounds, Wen Ning had tried to convince her not to turn herself in to the Jins. She hadn't listened.

But it was Wen Ning who owed the most to Wei Wuxian. Wen Qing had made enough sacrifices.

It should have been Wen Ning who went to Jinlintai. Only Wen Ning.

I should’ve protected her.

Would things have really been different had Jiang Cheng protected the Wens? Would Wen Qing still be alive?

His mind drifted back to the memorial in front of him, to Jiang Cheng, who now felt a little more solid in his arms.

“It’s okay,” Wen Ning said. “Caring about my family too late is better than never.”

“Don’t act like it’s worth anything now,” Jiang Cheng said bitterly. “You shouldn’t be so quick with empty words like that.”

“I didn’t mean that I forgive you. I don’t.”

Jiang Cheng shrugged and looked away from the memorial.

Wen Ning stared at the jar of dried apricots on the ground. It was such an inadequate offering for his sister, but he knew she would be happy with them anyway. She had never asked as much of Wen Ning as she should have. “There are others who will forgive you no matter what.”

Jiang Cheng began trembling again. Perhaps he was still thinking about his family.

Or maybe this time, it was Wen Ning who was trembling. Their movements were starting to blend together the longer they stood in front of the memorial.

They were not friends. Even by a stretch, they could barely be called allies. But if they were together right now, then they should be together, shouldn’t they?

Wen Ning took Jiang Cheng’s hand and squeezed it.

Jiang Cheng glanced down at their interlaced hands.

Wen Ning was not meant to touch the living. Not even A-Yuan accepted his touch without a shiver. Yet this felt natural, like it was the only thing meant to happen right now.

“I miss my sister too,” Wen Ning said, deciding to stop pretending that he didn’t know Jiang Cheng was thinking about Jiang Yanli.

“Your sister…your sister was a good person,” Jiang Cheng said.

“So was yours.”

The sound of Jiang Cheng’s breath became uneven, then slowly steadied. “...So are you.”

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3.

Ch. 3 >