#I feel like. Grief about this ngl

[rubberduckyrye]

I think I have to be honest with myself and say that: The moment I saw the Sumeru interlude quest and felt such a strong need to fix it that I wrote 50k in a week was the moment I think I lost interest in Genshin Impact as a story.

I knew before that story came out that Genshin had a bad rep for mental health, noting Kokomi's side story and how the solution to the mental health crisis of the soldiers in Watasumi wasn't therapy or counseling, oh no--but to give them something to essentially take their fighting spirit out on. Like okay cool but can we also have therapy for these war scarred warriors? No? Okay.

Anyway I knew before hand that Genshin's writing was not like. Great about mental health. Like they showcase mental illness well, but they don't show how to heal well at all. Wanderer's whole story being botched up and being a suicide attempted disguised as a botched-up self-sacrifice muddied the whole message about how you can't erase your past by erasing yourself, your mark on the world will still be felt. That suicide isn't the answer, that you will find a way to deal with your hurt and trauma and move forward.

Granted, Wanderer himself was always written well--it's the Traveler and Nahida and Paimon in this instance that botched up the whole fact he tried to commit existential suicide--and I really liked his and Mini Durin's story in the summer event. It felt like the writers really understand Wanderer's story and that he is a damaged but healing character who can relate to this other creation who means no harm but has been hurt in the past beyond comprehension for reasons that aren't his fault.

When everyone was talking about how Mini Durin was violent, Wanderer quickly pointed out that his actions were logical, actually. Because Mini Durin was hurt and scared and everyone else who had come into his lair aimed to kill him. His reaction wasn't just logical, it was expected, and that moment really especially reminded me how much I actually love Wanderer's story and how well he's written. He's got a scarred but gentle heart that he tries to hide away, but it shines when it really matters most.

But the sour taste in my mouth over the Traveler, Paimon and Nahida essentially ruining the Sumeru interlude quest never went away. I couldn't stand the implications that Nahida knowingly led Scaramouche to his suicide attempt, the belittlement of that attempt/not taking the attempt as a true attempt but some botched-up self-sacrifice gone wrong--it just. It felt like the higher ups were so scared to show a playable character as actively suicidal that they forced changes to the narrative that were like taking puzzle pieces from another puzzle and forcing them to fit in a new one.

There's a reason why I got so obsessed with fixing the interlude quest that I dropped everything and went insane about it.

And from there it just, kind of snowballed.

Fontaine's story was pretty good, but the huge oversight of making Fontaine uplifted on land, sitting up above a bunch of waterfalls and above most nations, and then flooding the entire nation without thinking about how every other nation would experience tsunamis thanks to that, with so much water that even the tallest structures of Fontaine were submerged, really hit me in a sour note. Like it was the first instance where I really felt the "rule of cool" overtaking logic, reason, and thoughtfulness. Like at least say there was some magical barrier protecting the other nations from the flood? Like. Something. I maintain that Fontaine should have been lower in the ground rather than higher above, but yeah.

I think in retrospect, the trial against Furina with it being a "trap" felt really upsetting too. Especially with how the preview for the final part of Fontaine's story blatantly told us that the verdict for the Hydro Archon was the death sentence. So the whole time I was watching I felt like the characters were marching her to her doom and that REALLY soured that plotline for me, especially because I love Furina as a character.

The Traveler makes me especially salty though because they've sen a human with adeptus-like strength (Shen-he, I know Hoyo has forgotten about her but like???) and a puppet becoming a god (Scaramouche) so why is it such a problem for them if a "human" was a nation's god? Like they were acting like it was a carnal sin or something, and when Furina was about to "die" they only reached out for her because they wanted answers. It felt like they didn't even care about her well being at that point.

Like having a trial against a "god" was cool, don't get me wrong, but it felt... stupid. Like I don't have any other way to put it, it just felt kind of stupid and cruel of the characters setting Furina in that trap. (Also: Hugely disappointing that Arlecchino played no part in that??)

I haven't seen much of Natlan's story, but the design choices for some of the characters were. Grating. And it finally dawned on me that I've had a problem with Genshin as a story for a while now, but I was in denial about it.

So... yeah. I think that I need to be honest with myself about how disappointing Genshin has been for me the past year or two. And I have to be honest with myself and say that I'm extremely disappointed by it. Disappointed and detached, missing the days when Genshin didn't need to care about the rule of cool and just told the story it wanted to tell.

[densewentz]

All I can think about is how fucked everyone treats a Shadow Dragon Rook if they choose to save Treviso over Minrathous. Because the decision is sound, you know? Horrible, and hard, but Treviso is this half-broken merchant city. No guard other than the crows, no defenses, no giant floating big brother laser in the sky and one of Thedas' largest collection of mages. And so Rook has to trust their fellow Dragons to protect their home and hope to anything that they can keep the blight from Treviso. Only it's not enough, and despite the fact that Rook is one (1) person, who's only leading because no one else would goddamn do it, who has never even SEEN a dragon before the one at D'Meta's Crossing, and who still managed to fight off one dragon right after a grueling mission and then still have the energy to run off to try and help Minrathous - everyone still seems to blame them. And not just that, but the entire team spends most of the next act with their hearts breaking for Minrathous, and for Neve especially. 'Poor Neve, her home is gone, her people are dead, her life as she knew it is changed forever, poor neve, I know you didn't have a choice Rook but Neve is hurting now'. And I LOVE Neve. I love her. But it is so fucked up that as a Shadow Dragon Rook who was forced to make a horrific choice, who ALSO lost their home, their people, the life they knew- no one ever really bothers to comfort Rook. Or even consider that Rook would be absolutely shattered by what happens to Minrathous. Or fucking furious, because Rook and the goddamn Crows managed to fight off their dragon by the skin of their damn teeth with basically nothing, so how could the Shadow Dragons and the rest of Greater Minrathous not handle theirs! What were they goddamn doing that whole time?!?

The only difference between Rook and Neve is that Rook doesn't have the luxury of fucking off in the middle of a fight for the world to go mourn what they've lost. They have no choice but to pull their shit together and keep going.

And still every time Rook goes to a companion with the broken pieces of themselves in their bloody palms its just. "Oh Rook, how could this have happened to Poor Neve"

[graveyarrdshift]

this sunday is really sundaying

[snowbellecity]

A very important point in AZ and Xan's story is them visiting their mother's grave ... For AZ and Floette it's their first time in a long time, but for Xanthos, who was away (meaning: raging a war) during the time she passed, it's his first time ever...

I like to think that after that, they start visiting every year at least once... I think at some point into their relationship, AZ invites Nerine to come see her, too.

[mysticbeaver]

Angsty story ideas of one of the kids' parents passing away, how about it

[arainydaymcytblog]

I miss my fav bobby

My heart shall never heal from this wound he gave me upon his death

[furymint]

2023 Creator Reflection

ffxiv.

1. dance me to the end of love

this one was fun! i always like merging a character's outfit with the bg so i liked doing that again. picking the colors for elliots outfit was also enjoyable. ive wanted to make smth w that cover for a while

2. shame was still the tyrant of his life

i only wrote two nol and eli things this year and neither of them are finished. the first was a continuation of a scene where nol kisses elliot against the blue stained glass in his room--i once posted it but then i deleted it bc it made me feel woozy for its allusions to sex. i wanted to rebuild it and take a shot at it now that im comfortable writing n reading sex, but i never got very far. theres actually lots of nice parts! i just like nols dumb angsting the best!

3. valentine

i really wanted to focus on nol's eye here, but also not make it too obvious lol. i used a ps filter like a schmuck but i wanted it to be darker without making it even more difficult to see, so i took away their bodies and limited the colors to make it what it is.

4. amateur cracksmen

the second nol n eli wip, which doesnt have many interesting lines rn, was a raffles-inspired story where eli drags nol as his valet to a rival artist's house and tries to steal back the brooch that he bought from an underground dealer feat. much babbling abt the state of societal responsibility that war is supposed to bring

ffxvi.

1. herz an herz dir

i wrote some reflections about this one already here. i honestly was very (distressed voice) cant believe im writing pure fanfic for the first time in over ten years and lacked a lot of direction when i started bc uhhhhh terence has 8 and a half mins of screen time. i tried to convince myself that it's not much different than me stealing brucemont for my own evil devices, but the unique perspective of seeing quite so much fan content def influenced my interpretation. i wanted their relationship to be much more imbalanced from the get-go initially--dion using his power unintentionally and terence barely passing a thought abt it until later bc he's just so accustomed to obeying--but i ended up giving terence a lot more sway & ammunition in their argument. the breakfast bed thing is also smth im rly fond of.

2. mund an mund

there's also additional meta for this one here. i made a silly doodle abt it also. dion kept picking fights here! it honestly turned out how i expected. when i first started this fic, i was gonna have dion start out right in oriflamme and meet ter and kihel there, but i booted them to northreach so i could have this stretch of conflict. i think it's like. Bad Pacing. technically. if i still believe the conflict introduced in the next chapter is the core one, that is. which i sorrrrta do. but i dont care bc i rly like the visual of kihel laying in dion's lap and getting to put a gun on the wall w ahmed.

3. eines atems

its been two months since the last chapter and this chapter is humiliatingly not written. i have all my scrambled notes and scenes that i jotted down in between the first two chapters, so i have a full direction, but it's been really difficult to write lately. ive been devoting all my time to trying to recoup my mental health and work on my teredio secret santa. ill start next year with this wip as a priority, so for now i only have the photoshop edit for it. kihel is holding terence's hand--it's his pov turn.

overall i didnt like this year very much. i didn't read, create, research or do a lot even though i tried to. i became really disconnected from all of my friends bc im too tired to stay for rp or hold online conversations. at this point, i dont play ffxiv at all except the few times i managed to rp a little. i moved into nanny's house and have my own space, but don't have the presence of mind to do anything about my pc, books, and so on, although i did make a lot of progress rewrapping my books w fresh wraps and some other things. my plans for next year are to reach out to a couple of my friends, build my pc, relearn + rebuild + relaunch my queer lit blog on open source code, survive school, and rediscover the productivity ive lost the past few years.

teredio has helped me a LOT to find community, inspiration, and art in my loneliest year yet. im very proud of my fic and grateful every day to the ppl who have reached out to me about liking it. even if im sorry about my productivity rate in comparison to how many extraordinary writers there are in the ship's fandom, i know i have to be easy on myself to relearn how to write, create a writing schedule that works for me, and stop punishing myself when i cant get the words out.

past reflections:  2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020 | 2021 | 2022

[shidoukanae]

The farther I go into the light novel, the more I’m convinced the manhwa deciding to center the plot around Lyla’s relationship with Helene was a really clever idea

Im ngl, outside of the moments where Paris and Fian interact, or when Paris and Helene have little chats together, the most interesting part of the light novel is Lyla’s and Helene’s relationship together.

It’s a lot like in the manhwa, wherein Helene is both kind and cruel to Lyla, and the intrigue surrounding Helene candidly rejecting Lyla and Lyla struggling to reconcile the fact she is hated by a heroine who should love everyone is SO GOOD. Lyla worshipping Helene as who she should be and feeling both desperation for her help and resentful for her ire is so delicious. Helene showing obvious gestures of care towards Lyla while also openly admitting she is selfish enough to want to destroy her own weaknesses is such a fun take on her, if not overly cruel.

Both gals are very human and I adore every interaction they get. They literally have the most interesting relationship in the LN (barring Paris & Fian, Paris/Helene, and recently Daniel & Lyla), and while the LN is starting to become a little too slow for my liking (I’m so tired of Fian/Lyla lmao. It was cute at first but it’s so repetitive now come on) every single goddamn moment shared between Lyla and Helene is enthralling as fuck.

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

Watching the fandom come to realisations I did 5 to 10 years ago sure is interesting.

[oreolesbian]

barry jenkinssss you could’ve been making that alvin ailey biopic you had in development, sir pleaseeeee not the mouse 😭

[mad-hunts]

if barton tried hard enough, he thought, imagining himself being literally anywhere else but the warehouse right then was easy. this place was never meant to be lived in for an extended period of time after all; despite the fact that it had appliances that you might see in an every day home like a fridge.

it put him on edge instead of at ease, and it certainly didn't better barton's mood when he stayed in it either, after all. but so long as he was allowed to dream within it to some degree... it was tolerable. plus, he had company here, courtesy of nico, jack, and barton also supposed jervis counted. nico had complicated feelings towards the doctor, though, and spending time around jack whilst in it thus far gave barton an unfortunate impression; which was that his own son was made nervous by him.

and the irony of it all was, barton only gathered that because he could feel cognitive empathy towards him. something that didn't include feeling but reasoning. therefore, the hopes of him somehow patching that up with jack someday were drastically decreased. barton vaguely listened to jervis respond to what he'd said about him being in the warehouse solely because of them; all of the words but one not quite having any actual impact on him, this being 'nightmares.'

the smell of the yuja tea that jack prepared for jervis, as fragrant in the air that it was, seemed to be the one thing keeping him from being sucked down a unpleasant train of thought. for someone who didn't feel human half the time, barton sure as hell experienced his own fair share of seeing 'ghosts' from the past and mourning the way some things had gone in his life. and regret, as well as sorrow, were practically intertwined in every single 'normal' person's life that he'd known.

speaking of regret, once he'd closed the curtains, something from the small cabinet hanging on the wall next to them fell to the floor. barton picked it up and was immediately reminded of why he kept this photo here instead of at his home. hiding it away helped alleviate the pain of not only loving someone and losing them, but also knowing that at the time it was taken, everything seemed fine.

'my 19th birthday party - spent right, with my handsome fiancé!' was written on the back in marcy's handwriting. barton felt like screaming and smashing something simultaneously. the photo was instead placed in his pant pocket, whilst he dragged his hands down his face and thanked his lucky stars that jervis wasn't exactly expecting any big conversations from him. barton's hand flexed by his side before he was changing his shirt, wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do after seeing that again.

grief was a thing he'd never been able to pend down how to deal with 'appropriately,' unfortunately. from marcy, to the momentary blink of an eye that felt like his bittersweet friendship with yves, to his son julien's death - barton thought he'd be destroyed by all of those losses for the longest time. but he supposed he was still here, god willing, or laughing at him more like if such a being did exist. barton noticed the fabric that was splitting on the blanket and how jervis very much appeared to be in his own world.

it was at that moment that he reached for something in that same cabinet he'd opened to change his shirt, finding that sewing thread and needle he'd stored in there long ago. barton kept it there because the shirt he was wearing had actually torn at some point and he'd fixed it. though, he had no use for it now, so he decided to put it on the edge of edge of the cabinet if jervis wanted it. but he didn't really know what he wanted. that night seemed to be a series of gut punches now as the other touched upon how jack was a good person and barton should be proud of him.

he blinked several times as he felt this sensation like something ugly was swirling within him. jack had always kind of gotten the short-end of the stick, and for what? ❝ ahh. well, sometimes i've found myself practicing behaviors towards him that my father used to use on me... but i try to stop myself when that happens. jack has come a long way, as the first time i met him, he was a scared two year old who was on his own with his brother. but now jack's a young man and very brave, despite maybe still being scared sometimes. ❞ barton cleared his throat then, ❝ that's normal though. so yeah, i am proud of him. ❞

barton turned his attention back to jervis and tilted his head at the other's sluggishness. being vulnerable like that surprisingly didn't feel too nerve-wracking, as he added just a bit more to the equation. barton gave the iv bag jervis was hooked up to a good squeeze, ❝ hmm. are you still in pain, jervis? or are you just tired? ❞ he observed the other silently and looked down at the cards before the both of them. that is, before barton heard jervis approve of him reading his fortune.

he drifted a hand along the cards then. choosing one that felt 'right' came without much difficulty to barton, and when he did, the reversed 'wheel of fortune' card for jervis's past. the next card he chose was the reversed 'six of swords' for jervis's present. barton flipped the last one for his future and was greeted by 'the sun,' which made him let out a soft 'huh' and smile a bit. ❝ well... i hate to start off with the past when you got this card, but i guess we have to. ❞ he was about to start interpreting jervis's fortune when jack came back into the room with the breakfast he promised the other. well, talk about convenient timing.

Jervis merely rolled his eyes at Barton’s remark, fingers biting into the fabric of the blanket as he pulled it around his shoulders like an old shawl. The plush material was a little threadbare at the corner; a tear disrupting the otherwise seamless fabric.

Sea-green and white plaid. Utilitarian, impersonal.

It sufficed perfectly; his thin frame was almost terminally intolerant to the cold. 27 years in Gotham had failed to inoculate him against the frigid rains and bone-chilling air sweeping off the harbor.

“Trust me, I’m well aware where I would be, if it weren’t for you both. I see enough of the place in my nightmares… so I don’t require any reminders.” He flexed his fingers around the teacup, feeling the warmth seep into his hands as he cautiously tipped the liquid into his mouth. It had a strange, but not unpleasant consistency, like warm, thin honey that slid smoothly over his tongue in a tangy blend of sweet and sour. Tiny bits of softened citrus peel floated in the syrupy mixture.

Barton’s IV pole scraped slightly along the concrete floor, a sharp metallic sound that mingled with the sudden rasp of the curtains being jerked shut. The room was clean and sparse, a sterile space designed to be free of clutter, yet a faint, telltale mustiness clung to the air—a lingering scent of damp fabric and stale dust that disinfectant alone couldn’t quite mask. Beyond the makeshift partition, the rest of the warehouse stretched out in vast, dark emptiness. The floor was cold, unpolished concrete, marred with cracks that split like spider webs. Dim, flickering fluorescent lights cast a harsh, uneven glow, barely cutting through the haze of dust that swirled in the air.

But, of course, beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to hideaways—especially when you’ve learned to take shelter wherever you can find it. Or when you were part of the criminal element.

How far he’d come and how little had truly changed.

Jervis glanced across the room at where his coat, shirt, and gloves rested neatly on the desk, carefully folded with almost surgical precision. He flexed his hands again around the teacup, feeling the phantom prickle of sensation where the wool-lined leather should be—an exposed vulnerability that gnawed at him, made his skin itch with invisible grime.

He sank his teeth into a particularly broad piece of yuja peel, the bitter tang releasing as he bit down; meanwhile, Barton’s voice drifted in one ear, out the other like the static hum on a faulty wireless. He chewed slowly, savoring the rind as he turned his attention back to the small tear in the blanket. Nodded intermittently.

Jervis’ callused, scarred fingers found the frayed edge; the fabric was worn thin and splitting, and he traced it absentmindedly, feeling the uneven fibers beneath his touch. For a moment, his thoughts shifted to the sewing kit buried somewhere in his bag, imagining the small spool of thread and the thin, glinting needles; each one ready to pierce the fabric and pull it back together.

As if stitching this small wound would make any real difference, he thought bitterly; like it could somehow soothe the cold reality pressing in on them from all sides… It was a small, pointless task, a flicker of control in a situation that felt like it was slipping away, unraveling faster than he could sew it back together. He knew it wouldn’t ameliorate anything—wouldn’t solve the problems looming larger than this tiny, frayed corner. And yet, his fingers lingered there, desperate for something tangible to fix; something he could make whole again, if only for a moment.

Jervis gave no reply as Barton moved to change his shirt; blinking hard as he gazed down at the floor, but the darkness behind his eyelids refused to stay empty. Flecks of indigo light bloomed in the black, shifting like dust motes that twisted with each beat of his heart. The room swam as he opened his eyes again, the ceiling blurred and murky like the styrofoam cup Alice stored her wet paintbrushes in. He scratched absently at the IV in his arm, feeling the tug of the thin plastic embedded in his skin but barely registering the discomfort. The bright pinpricks danced at the edges of his vision, trailing like little comets whenever he turned his head.

“You ought to be proud of him, I imagine. Your son… he seems like a good lad.” Jervis’ voice was a wisp of silk, smooth and thin, like it might unravel into nothing if he spoke too loudly. He tilted his head slightly, almost resembling a marionette on a slack string, the hint of a smile touching his lips but never quite reaching his eyes. He ran a finger along the rim of his teacup, the motion delicate and deliberate as he pondered Barton’s final query.

“Hmm… can you?” Gray eyes blinked slowly, the lids heavy and sluggish, further dragged down by fatigue. The question lingered in the air, softly innocuous. He glanced over at the tarot cards Jack left behind on the desk—arranged in a rough, careless spread, but somehow feeling deliberate, as though the cards had fallen exactly where they were meant to. The edges were worn, curling slightly; the images esoteric, half-familiar symbols. Stars, sun, moon, cups and swords, animals and human figures rendered in faded colors.

He paused, gaze narrowing, subtly curious despite the exhaustion that weighed down his expression. For a moment, his hand tightened around his teacup; twitched like he might reach out and touch them, as if by brushing the surface he could glean some hidden answer buried beneath the painted ink.

‘Why, they're only a pack of cards, after all.’

His grip on the blanket slipped momentarily, fumbling at the worn edge before he reached for his collar instead. He dug beneath the charcoal fabric of his T-shirt, searching with a practiced motion until his fingers found the tarnished silver chain again. He drew it out slowly, the weight of it comforting against his skin as he absently ran his thumb over his and Sylvie’s rings, threaded side by side on the links.

The metal was dull, no longer shining with the luster it once had, but it carried a certain softness now, smoothed by years of worry. His eyes dropped for a second before he let the chain slip back beneath his shirt. “By all means, if it tickles your fancy…” Jervis gave a short, rough half-shrug, the motion stunted as though his shoulder couldn’t quite decide whether to follow through.

[losinqdogs]

save me song that makes me experience art in such a visceral way i am possessed to make art myself... save me

[katabay]

MY DEAR VICTOR

“My dear Victor,” cried he, “what, for God’s sake, is the matter? Do not laugh in that manner. How ill you are! What is the cause of all this?”

“Do not ask me,” cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; “he can tell. Oh, save me! Save me!” I imagined that the monster seized me; I struggled furiously and fell down in a fit.

Poor Clerval! What must have been his feelings? A meeting, which he anticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness. But I was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not recover my senses for a long, long time.

This was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for several months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. I afterwards learned that, knowing my father’s advanced age and unfitness for so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my disorder. He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest action that he could towards them.

Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley (CHAPTER 5)

ah, to be cared for! the unconditional depth and gentleness of it. also have you guys ever listen to the ost for the korean frankenstein musical. sometimes I think about how musical!victor uses his henry's (dupre in the musical, not clerval, but henry all the same) head for his creation. that's also an unconditional something!!

ngl I considered attempting a full bernie wrightson homage for this, but then I thought about how I like having fun and that would totally ruin my hands for the week and settled for drawing a bunch of lines until I got tired of drawing lines lmao

ko-fi⭐ bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: Someone turns up on Sanemi's doorstep after the final war - that someone being a part of Genya's life Sanemi regrets never knowing. A/N: NGL I lost a lot of respect for Sanemi after he tried to poke Genya's eyes out but I do feel really bad for him after the final battle with Muzan because what is he going to live for now? What's he going to do? Fall into depression, probably, and that just made me sad so here we are to be sad together. You don't have a choice. WARNINGS: Genya x GN Reader but mainly Platonic!Sanemi x Reader

Seeing as nearly everyone he had known was dead after the final war, the hesitant knocking at his door startled the wits out of one former Wind Hashira.

He probably shouldn’t have stayed up late last night drinking and wasting everything away because he could barely see straight stumbling towards the doors, cursing the early dawn, the furniture he stubbed his toe on and the pounding in his head, but nothing numbed the dull grief and pain better than being blackout drunk and coma-like sleep. At least Sanemi wasn’t seeing double like last time.

Although he was wondering if he was hallucinating shit, because ain’t no freaking way there was someone showing up at his doorstep at 6 in the morning asking if he was Shinazugawa and if he could please, if he didn’t mind, help them find someone?

“Yeah…what?”

They repeat their question, tugging nervously at their sleeves, hopeful underneath all that anxiety. “Are you Shinazugawa Sanemi? Genya told me to go find you if…”

“He’s-”

His first reaction, out of force of habit, was to deny that he had any brother, but the words glued themselves to the sides of his throat and would only spill out in the form of ugly sobbing. His second reaction was pretty much equally brutal: tell them that his brother had long died, sliced in half by the late Upper Moon One, all because he had failed in every duty possible, as a brother, as a slayer, as a human. But Sanemi, undeniably, had mellowed out and if he had to crack that porcelain-frail look of desperate hope in their eyes he too would shatter in his precarious mental state.

So he settled for delaying the inevitable. “If what? You a slayer?”

“No,” they say, shaking their head. “I…he was my, um…”

Oh.

No.

Please no.

“Your boyfriend,” he barks out bluntly, but tries to tone down and soften his expression when they wince, flustered. “That’s…”

Unexpected. He could still remember a time when Genya either beat down everyone and not gave a rat’s ass about it or when he would explode into a ripe tomato if someone good looking so much as said hello to him. Or maybe sweet. Sanemi’s always wanted him to have a normal life, go get married, have a family, live peacefully to a ripe old age while he did the bloody work of slaying. At least he got a taste of it. Most of all…sad, really. Sad that he pushed his younger brother away so much he never even know he’d fallen in love, someone new had entered his life, he’s gotten over his emotional constipation somewhat. Sad that he never got to spend the rest of his life with them like Sanemi had no doubt he had promised. Sad that they had never known, all this while, that Genya would never stagger home to them.

It seemed like this conversation would be one of trailed-off sentences.

They nod. “Yes…”

“Huh. Can see why he liked you,” Sanemi says off-handedly, but remembers he never actually knew what his brother’s type was. Funny how he only realized it was stupid of him to keep trying to cut off ties with his only brother after he died. But they are cute in their mannerisms, the air that just made you want to protect them forever, wrapped in innocence. No wonder Genya fell in love.

“Liked?” Their expression falls, but it’s still hopeful.

Sanemi can’t think what’s worse, for her to have the only option of thinking that Genya has moved on, fallen for someone else, left them behind because the other option is too terrible to contemplate. It’s the truth, however.

“Liked,” he repeats, and he can feel his mind just wanting to succumb to the hopeless pain. Sanemi digs his nails into his palm and bites the insides of his cheeks instead.

“I think I should start from the beginning.”

“Come on in, then.”

He waits until they're further into the room before he releases a breath, slumps his shoulders and stares at the sky to mouth his apologies to his brother for not giving him enough time to spend with them, to the gods for leading them on for so long, to someone, anyone, who would spare a sinner like him some forgiveness as he prepared to cry all over again about Genya.

***

“And then he told me if he isn’t at Himejima’s Estate, go find his older brother who’s probably living alone somewhere, scaring everyone away with his temper and dog.”

They laugh, clear as bells, at the memory, hiding their smile behind the steaming cup of tea, but it’s broken, like their fake grins and the mug in their hands. Sanemi wants to laugh too (is this how you really saw me, Genya, after all I did to you?), but he might actually start the waterworks. Sanemi was already halfway there, listening to his brother’s secret romance and everything he missed out because of his own foolishness.

“He said he hoped he’d finally be there with you, or if he wasn’t, you’d tell me where he went.”

I could tell you where he went, Sanemi agreed, because I saw him. When I was dying. And he was dead.

They fidgets, tugging at their clothes again. “I waited a really long time for a letter. He said he’d send me one if he could after the…after the fight, but it was so long. I checked up on Himejima’s Estate all the time, but he was never there. Nobody was. I asked around; they told me the owner had died and - and -”

“I know.” If he was a better person Sanemi would probably be reaching out to put a hand on their shoulder, assure them. If he were a better brother Genya would be alive and drinking tea with them. But he was none of those and so all he could do was awkwardly say two words. “Go on.”

“I didn’t know to look after that.” They wipe at their face, setting down the cup. “Genya said you had white hair and was covered in scars, and well, there aren’t that many of those sort of people around, but even then it took me forever to find you. I tried tracking down Muichiro, but I couldn’t either.”

Tokito. Another failure. Sanemi turned away slightly.

“Then I finally found Tanjiro last week. He’d been trying to find me as well, but heh, since I kept traveling it made it hard.” They shrug. “He told me where to find you, so here I am. Sorry for intruding…but it’s a little late for that.”

They glance around, clinging onto the belief. “Is he - is he here? Can I see him?”

“Yeah,” Sanemi whispers hoarsely. “I’ll take you to him.”

Not before he winds up sobbing himself dry on their shoulder, pathetically trying to assure them as well as tears streamed down both their faces.

***

There was no body but Sanemi had carved out a tombstone for him anyway.

It was under a tree, scattered with leaves, wilting flowers and weeds watered by his grief. Sometimes when Sanemi’s more sober and when he can light a candle without burning anything else he’ll leave some there, so waxy stubs are left over. That Kamado kid and his friends came down sometimes and left behind their mementos as well. Unlike his own home, Sanemi did his best to keep it clean.

He left to give them some privacy, walking a little further away, but even so the wind carried their words over and Sanemi couldn’t pretend he couldn’t hear them raging against fate, death, Genya.

“Why?”

“Why you?”

“Why would you do this to me?”

You and me both, kid, Sanemi thinks.

“You said you’d come back! You said you’d take me to see your aniki! We were going to - there was so much we haven’t - what am I supposed to do now, Genya? You were supposed to be here with Sanemi-san as well, not just me!”

He’s always been too caught up with himself. Damn, blind to what Genya really wanted to the end, Sanemi thinks wryly.

For a moment there seems to be someone else beside him. He turns and for a moment he sees someone’s shadow on the ground, someone smiling, someone asking. Someone who didn’t want him to go squandering his life on regrets; a favor, the silhouette seemed to say, so will you do it for me?

The answer was always yes - Sanemi blinks, and it’s gone, so he hurries back to the grave.

They're dragged out of their misery by a heavy hand, rough but gentle. “I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be.” They hiccup and drag a hand across their face. “I'm sorry. Sorry for…I wish you both had gotten a chance…”

Sanemi laughed, voice scratchy. “That was my own fault.”

“You know what I mean.” They managed to roll their eyes.

“Where you going now?”

“I'm…not sure. I don't know. Back to my hometown, maybe, but there's not really anyone there.”

Anyone to go back to, they meant.

“Tch.” He began to stomp back to the house, gesturing for them to follow. Sanemi pauses at the doorway, frowning, and turns back. “You planning to sit there all day? You can stay if you like, I don't like the idea of you walking around alone and defenceless.”

“Stay - what?”

“Stay,” Sanemi agrees, exasperation in his tone at their stunned, slow reaction. “And you're having ohagi for breakfast whether you like it or not.”

***

Days fly past.

Mostly they’re spent in mourning together. Privately Sanemi preferred this to the funeral they had held with what was left of the Corps, because it feels more…closer. Similar. Here were two people that were a part of a big chunk of Genya’s life and yet never knew the other part.

They sat at the grave a lot and just…nothing. There were no tears or comfort. Just silence, never knowing what to do because you’ve been living for someone who’s now dead so you could live, but what are YOU living for? Sanemi wished time and time again he’d be the one to bite it. Not like anyone much would miss him, and maybe all those times he’d been hurting his brother was so Genya could move on in the event he died, very much unlike him right now.

On the third day they finally made conversation.

“So…” Sanemi cleared his throat. “How’d you both meet, since, y’know, he’s a slayer?”

They squint at the dirt, absently pulling up blades of grass. “I didn’t actually know he was one until a lot later, but even then he didn’t tell me much.” They tilted up their head. “He never wanted to expose that part of his life to me. I thought he was just another traveler when we first met; I offered him a room in my house.”

“House? Will you go back there?” Suddenly Sanemi is seized with panic - if they, his one and only link to Genya now, went back, and he ended up alone again…

“It’s not really my house. It’s more like…my employer’s house at that time…”

“Ah. So you’ve got nowhere to go for now?”

“Mhm. When I got fired I stayed over at Himejima’s occasionally. Then Genya sent me away before…yeah, before all that.” They blink and their eyes glisten. “What was he like, as a slayer? I knew he was different or something, because Tanjiro and his friends used a sword and some technique he couldn’t master, so the gun and all.”

Unbeknownst to everyone Sanemi had been watching his little brother train all those years ago. It’d be the first time he exposed himself. “He was really hard-working. Threw in everything he had to try and learn Breathing Techniques but he just couldn’t master it, and I think it took a big toll on Genya. I didn’t help much.”

“It’s alright. He forgives you.”

“Present tense?”

“Would he have told me to go look for you if he hadn’t?”

There. The real reason Sanemi would lose it if they left. He needed someone, something, anything to prove all the accusing, guilty voices in his head that Genya hadn’t died hating him.

“Tch. Fair enough. Tell me about his life outside the Corps now.”

***

Weeks go by.

Having them around, Sanemi discovers, is a stark reminder of what had happened to Genya, yet not in a bad way. Sanemi started forcing himself to bathe more frequently, take care of himself better - don’t want them having to put up with my stench - not just doing the bare minimum for his dog. He’d been alone and heartbroken for so long he’s honestly stopped functioning like a normal person, forgotten what Genya had died for.

Now he had to go out and buy food more consistently because he wasn’t the only one around anymore. Sanemi had to get around to repairing all those things that had fallen to ruins at the Wind Estate. Grudgingly he even agreed to let them take over cooking meals in order to get more than just ohagi in his diet.

But he only really noticed the differences when one morning Sanemi staggered into the kitchen looking for a drink after another round of restless nightmares and instead stumbled onto them dumping the contents of the sake bottle he left out down the drain.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sanemi made a grab for it but they ducked out of reach, flinching at the sudden yell.

“Getting rid of this. You’ve been drinking a lot lately.”

“For a damn reason!”

“What reason?”

Because every day is painful and I just want it all to go away, isn’t it obvious? Sanemi dug his nails into his palm again, muttering obscenities.

“I thought you of all people should know better than to cope like this.”

“I-”

He should. He remembered the former Flame Hashira before Rengoku. He recalled Kyogo.

Sanemi had always feared he would turn out like his father and here he was proving everyone right. Genya wouldn’t have wanted that…god, what was wrong with him?

“You’re right.”

They watched uneasily as Sanemi stalked off, but they had nothing to worry about. Sanemi threw out the rest of the bottles that day and apologized to the grave.

“Bet he’s pretty mad I turned out like this after all he fought for.” A scarred hand gestures listlessly at the headstone, the other holding a cup. The both of them sat in evening silence, watching the wind flitter around from the engawa. Remaining rain droplets trickle down from the roof.

“Genya?’ They set down their cup and ponder. “Not really. He could never get mad at you.”

Sanemi snorts. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Ah, he should’ve.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here.” They flash him a smile. In truth they could’ve been his sibling regardless - sibling-in-law, but he’d settle for surrogate now.

Sanemi rolls his eyes but likes the idea more than he admits, of Genya watching over him even now…because it has to mean he’s forgiven him, right, for everything he did wrong? “What was he like?”

“Huh?”

“Y’know.” Sanemi draws random blobs in the air, vague shapes of hearts. “When you both were-”

“SHINAZUGAWA!”

“Did you make out? At least once. You had to.”

They’re mortified and got up several times to leave but not before Sanemi’s heard everything he missed out: yes, they’d gotten to the kissing stage but no, they did not make out, why was he so vulgar, yes, Genya often had a panic attack every time they held hands, yes, they could show him all the dried flowers Genya had gifted them, stop laughing at their confession story, you’re right, Genya was horribly obvious with his blushy crush phase and NO, Shinazugawa, Genya would self combust before they ever got to the topic of marriage or starting a family!

***

Years pass.

Sanemi’s gotten married. Four mini-mes running around as well, a fifth on the way. He likes to think of it as a parallel between him and his own siblings, because his oldest is the only to inherit his shock of white hair and the second bears a striking resemblance to Genya. They think so too, written clearly on their faces every time they look at him.

Speaking of them, they hadn’t left all this while and Sanemi doesn’t want them to. Not when they’ve been there to pull him out of his depressive state, united in grief, see him fall in love with a local girl, urge him to court her despite his anxious worries, stood next to him when he was getting hitched, supported him throughout fatherhood and babysat the four hurricanes when he and his wife went out on date nights.

It’d be just as bad as losing Genya.

“You better be good for them, or I’ll string you all up by your feet.” Despite Sanemi’s threatening words he’s unusually gentle as he peels his two youngest from his legs as they cling on and whine at him and mom not to go out without them, they wanted to go see the fireworks too, can’t they stay up late this one time?

“Don’t worry, they’re all angels.” They help remove the other two older ones from their mom, rolling their eyes. “And before you say anything, yes, I’ll get them all to bed before ten.”

“Sometimes I think Sanemi nags more than I do,” his beloved jokes, taking his arm and the both of them leave, calling out to the protesting kids as they’re hauled off inside and the door closes. He’s lucky, he thinks, tucking his wife closer, that even after all this he managed to be happy. He can almost see Genya in front of him, smiling and telling Aniki not to get too naughty, not abandon them for so long to try and control four rowdy kids.

Sanemi wishes the same could be said of them, though.

When he comes back, tells his wife he’ll be back into the bedroom soon, checks on his kids and realizes they’ve disappeared again, Sanemi knows just where to look, quickly making his way to the grave, carrying a lantern and something else.

“You really have to stop coming here in the middle of the night. There’s no more demons, but ya think you’ll be safe?” Sanemi huffs, taking his seat next to them. They snort derisively. “I’m serious! What if you get mauled by some wild animal? Who am I gonna dump the kids on if you’re not here?”

“Tomioka’s around. Kamado too,” they sing-song.

“Tomioka would give my kids depression and maybe I’d trust Kamado but not his friends.”

“You give ME depression.”

“Haha, very funny.” Sanemi passes the slice of watermelon to them, taking a bite of his own. Genya’s headstone looks chipped in the yellow light, worn and old, but still lovingly cared for. “I think he might want you to move on, you know? It’s been years. He’ll understand. He’ll want you to be happy. You can’t keep waiting around, crying and wasting time.”

“You’re stealing my words.”

“Hey, it worked back then, when you told that to me. You’re a hypocrite. Use your own advice.”

“I tried. It didn’t work out. I kept coming back here.” A finger traces the stone, uncertainty in their tone.

“You feel guilty, like you’re being unfaithful to him or something?” Sanemi passes them another slice, awkwardly trying to sympathize. He wants them to be happy as well, after all.

“No, it’s just…” They shrug, head shaking from side to side. “I dunno. I can’t. Not like you did.”

Sanemi understands, suddenlyl, sort of. They gave him their heart and maybe it wasn’t theirs to take back yet. It didn’t really make sense and wasn’t enough of a reason to argue against moving on, but feelings were weird and rarely made enough reason.

“No one’s going to be like him, huh.”

“No. No one,” They agreed, and they both lapsed into silence.

“I mean, the guy we met yesterday looked like a great match-”

“Have fun taking your kids on your next date, Shinazugawa.”

“I was kidding!”

They wipe their mouth and set down their watermelon rind before, a ghost of smile tugging at their lips. “You and Genya really are the same, you know.”

“How?’ Years later and he’s still learning new things he should’ve known during all those years he wasted thinking it was a good idea to push him away. Ah well.

“Um…I guess in the way you both really suck at trying to talk about feelings.”

“You wound me.”

“You’re a former Hashira. But you both try to understand and make me feel better anyway.” They smirk. “In the form of bad jokes, usually.”

“I’m hurt.” Sanemi got the point, mouth twitching.

“So, yeah. You both don’t really know how to do it but you do your best. That’s good enough.”

Sanemi caught their eye. “…good enough for me, at least.” He stood up and picked up the rinds, returning back to his tough boy exterior. “Enough mushy stuff. Go back to bed.”

“Yessir.”

***

“You and Genya really are the same, Sanemi.”

They lean their forehead against the cool, rough headstone. The new one. It was new and clear but now it was wet with tears. “It’s gonna be hard…why did you both have to go?”

Five years later. Sanemi’s slayer mark had finally caught up with him, but not before he had gotten the chance to settle down and leave behind some kids, have another chance at enjoying life, find a new sibling. Still, no one had expected him to just…not wake up one day. It seemed a little too quiet of an ending for the tale of Shinazugawa.

“Where was all your talk about going down in a blaze of glory to the kids last night, huh?” They coughed out a laugh. “I know you must be really pissed to just die like that.”

They’ve been holding it together the past few days, for the sake of Sanemi’s children and his widow. Only now could they cry in quiet, in the same spot where Sanemi and them had cried over Genya. Tomioka’s widow and two kids had joined them as well. Three united in grief.

“I know you said you’re happy you got a chance at all this, Sanemi, but I can’t help feeling like you were robbed of having the full experience in all this. Like Genya all over again. When you see him, tell him I miss him a lot, okay? Still very much head over heels and making an absolute fool of myself…”

They laid down their bouquet, taking a breath. “You also said you were afraid Naomi, Hiroshi and Remi won’t remember you if you die so early in their childhood…it’s alright. I don’t think anyone will forget you. Least of all me. Thanks for everything.”

“I hope you and Genya finally see each other again.”

It wasn’t seen or heard, but rather, felt - a lover’s arm wrapped around their shoulders and a brotherly hand on the other.

[empress-simps]

A Gryffindor's Grief

Pairing: James Potter x Fem! Slytherin! Reader

CW: Reader's family and language

Genre: Angst

Masterlist

Note: My first ever marauders fic! Kinda nervous to post this ngl… I'm still thinking if I should make a second part. I want to hear what you guys think about this! Requests are open! Photos used are from Pinterest! Credits to the owner!

It was forbidden love, really.

Those little moments of not-so-accidental touches, stealing glances, and discreet smiles sent each other's way were your means of communicating with each other.

James Fleamont Potter, a Gryffindor boy that was absolutely smitten with You; Slytherin's Princess.

An odd combination that would only lead to chaos.

Being one of the sacred twenty-eight wizarding families meant that you command power and respect from everyone you meet— intentionally or unintentionally. The idea about blood purity, power, and influence was already in your mind as soon as you were able to grasp things your toddler brain could handle.

You were taught to only mingle with pure-blood families, people who could be useful and loyal to you, and those with power, influence, and wealth. Your family’s distaste for muggles and muggleborns were also ingrained into your mind, as if they programmed you to believe what they believed in. It wasn’t that hard, after all you were surrounded by rich witches and wizards who are blood supremacists.

For someone who grew up with those ideals and values, you thought it was right. Although, your belief came tumbling down the longer you spend time at Hogwarts and got to know James Potter and the rest of the Marauders.

James, he made you feel alive.

It felt as if he was the breath of fresh air that you never knew you needed. Away from that suffocating Malfoy Manor, the scrutinizing gazes of your family, and away from rich pure blood problems. Being with him felt exhilarating, he was the buzz in your life. James brought so much joy into your dark, lavish, and empty lifestyle.

It was quite funny, picturing him as your knight in shining armor, whisking you away from your pretty, gold cage.

"Malfoy!" Evan Rosier, a pure-blooded Slytherin raised his hand in your direction, motioning you to come over and sit beside him during breakfast in the great hall. Cold eyes like Lucius Malfoy's travelled in his direction, a questioning brow raised.

"Rosier, you are being too loud." She commented, walking, and sitting next to him before greeting the person beside him, Regulus Black.

"Good morning, Regulus."

"Good morning, Y/n."

Barty Crouch Jr. looked up from his meal and snickered at the both of you. "Good morning, Mum and Dad." He teased, greeting you both as Evan laughed along with the other Slytherins near them. Heck even Severus has a small smirk planted on his face. "If you wish to make your family line extinct, then please feel free to continue with your remarks, Crouch."

He smirked, putting his hands up in mock surrender "Just kidding, Y/n. Geez. Rough summer, I suppose?"

You felt your lips press into a thin line, an obvious answer to the question; It was horrendous.

Evan’s laughter slowly dies, he shakes his head, “Give her a break mate, she just got the biggest news of her life during summer. Isn’t that right Y/n-“

“Shut your mouth Rosier if you do not want to be hexed into next month.” Her empty threat really doesn’t do damage to Evan, he just shrugged, taking it as a warning that you’re not in the mood for jokes.

Your father, Abraxas Malfoy and older brother, Lucius Malfoy made a huge decision for your future. Hearing rumors here and there about their Slytherin Princess being romantically involved with a blood traitor in Gryffindor enraged your father, Abraxas. That will certainly not do, they will not sit idly and watch as the Malfoy name be... tainted with those rumors.

You remember how you felt dread entering your system, fighting the urge to run and throw up as you mustered up a façade, “Those are just baseless rumors, a plot to ruin my image in school." You held your head high, praying they do not see the truth.

Abraxas stared at you, his daughter, with a monotone expression. "Your brother and I do not care whether those ridiculous rumors are true or not." Lucius nods, agreeing. What a lie. You know your family well enough to not believe what comes out of their mouths in situations like this.

"We do not care if you had relations with the boy, even though it is rumored that he is a blood traitor, you knew well enough not to fool around with mudbloods. Well done, Y/n. Perhaps you could change his views, get him to join our cause.” Lucius looked at you. You could press your lips into a thin line, trying to find an answer.

 “That tactless boy's role is to only be a bed warmer for you, remember that Y/n." Your father stood from the chair he sat in the drawing room. Slowly walking towards you. “Although, I suppose it ends now. I heard Lady Walburga Black is looking for a potential bride to their heir, Regulus Black.”

After a week, it was official; You are to be wedded to Regulus Black, your friend, Sirius’ brother.

You could not do anything about the arrangement, what fight would you have put up? A young girl like you, who does not have any power, influence, and wealth could only suck it up and accept.

How you wish it was James you were betrothed to.

“James, you came.” You breathed out, seeing him take off the invisibility cloak. The moonlight in the astronomy tower complimented his features, he offered a small smile sitting beside you.

The stakes were high, you were sure underlings of your brother (and possibly father) in the school have their eyes trained to you as you enter another year in Hogwarts. You would need to find new ways to meet up with your lover. Regulus’ eyes discreetly looked towards James, who is undeniably looking at you.

“Wouldn’t want for my girl to be alone, you know?”

He joked, intertwining his finger with you, a second nature to the both of you. Squeezing his hand, you softly looked at him. “I missed you, pothead.” He leaned towards your face, kissing you on the forehead. One of the things he does that never fails to make you feel flustered. “I missed you too, love.” You rolled her eyes, slightly shoving him playfully, “Stop being sappy, Pothead.”

“You secretly like it, love. You can’t lie to me.” He grinned, although the last sentence made you tense up. James shot you a concerned look, noticing your body language. “Something wrong, love?” You were torn, deciding on whether you tell him about the engagement rather than keeping quiet and leaving him in the dark about your current situation.

“I got engaged.” Before you could even stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth. Shit. It wasn’t how she planned to tell him. The light atmosphere suddenly became dark and heavy. You can feel James turn rigid, freezing up as he muttered. “So, it was true, huh?” He scoffed bitterly, hurt overtaking his features. “James…” You gently called, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, turning his body away from you.

She tried to ignore the hurt she felt, pushing it down as she understood why James was acting this way.  “Sirius told me.” He choked out, still not looking at you. James really does know you well, answering the question you haven’t even voiced out yet. The slight tremble in his voice made your heart crack. You bit your lip, of course Sirius found out; he was still a Black after all.

“I love you, James. I really do.”

You spoke to him, you raised your hand, about to put a hand on his back that was still facing you but deciding against it before it touched him. Your hands faltering before dropping down to your sides. He shakes his head violently, his curly locks getting messier than they already were.

“Don’t… Don’t say it like that, love.” He pleaded, slowly turning to face you again, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Don’t say it like you’re about to leave me. This. Us.” He croaked; you felt his large hands placed on top of yours. He brought it up to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

“James…” You managed to utter out, voice getting caught at the throat.

James knew he was acting like a child, but damn- he never thought it could hurt this much. He pictured both of you marrying each other, living in a large house with a big backyard because he insisted it will be great for when you have kids. Merlin, he even imagined about 3 or 4 kids looking like the perfect mix of you both, running out and about with their names already carefully thought out.

out. He daydreamed that the both of you grow old, watching you tell stories to your grandkids about their grandfather’s mischief during your years at Hogwarts.

“I have to, James.” She chokes out, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Those four little words made James’ little bubble of happiness burst with just a bat of an eye.

“Don’t… don’t do this to me, love.” He pleaded; he even went down onto his knees as he saw you standing up from your place beside him. Poor James, luckily it was only you, the moon, and the walls of the Astronomy Tower watched him become a wreck.

“I love you, please remember that you will always have my heart, James. I wish you find happiness.” The part ‘without me’ was unsaid but was heard. It took a lot of courage, strength, and self-control not to fall apart. Deep down, you wanted James to say the same to you, proclaiming his love again for the last time you’ll be together.

“I love you Y/n, so much. No one will ever make me feel the way you did. I’ll find a way; a way for us to be happy together. I swear on my life.” He promised, looking at you straight in the eye. You could only close your eyes before smiling at him, trying to blink the tears away. Stars, you hoped James really does find a way.

“Goodbye, Potter.” She turns, walking away.

Maybe Slytherins and Gryffindors really aren’t meant to be together.

[aviiarie]

˚ ₊ ‧ ♡ THAT'S THE SPIRIT! — feat. tengen + wives event masterlist.

synopsis. they might be gone from this world, but they'll never leave your heart. or your side. or you alone. they loved you in life, and now they have a whole afterlife to spend haunting you. warnings. death. ghosts. themes of grief & mourning. notes. requested by anon! kinda angsty ngl. gn!reader. 1.8k words. i love hinatsuru, makio, and suma so much. their husband's okay i guess.

When you woke, it was to a dull throbbing in the back of your head, and swollen eyes from a night spent crying yourself to sleep. The time was well past midday if the sun peeking through the crack in their curtain told you anything, but your body still stung with exhaustion. These days, no matter how long you slept, the heavy ache in your arms and legs never seemed to ease.

A groan slipped through your lips, as you pushed your body into a sitting position against the pillows. Under your palms, the bed felt cold. You never quite got used to the sensation, even after a whole month.

Day by day, you were told. Take it one day at a time. And you had tried to take the advice to heart, truly. Even as your late mornings lazing in bed turned into afternoons, and your efforts towards making food whittled away until you resorted to takeout only, you were surviving.

You would keep your head above the water, gulping in sweet lungfuls of air, even as the current pulled you down. You needed to keep afloat, no matter how much your chest burned with every breath.

Day by day, breath by breath.

It had been over a week since you had seen another living soul. Everyone had been quick to offer their comforts and shoulders to cry on, but you had only returned the sentiment with polite refusal. You couldn't bring yourself to face anyone; the funeral and the wake were draining enough.

The memorial service itself was a quiet affair, which you were grateful for. Only a select group were invited, limited only to immediate family and select friends who were close enough to feel the sting of their loss the most. And you, of course. It passed by in a blur of solemn words and well wishes for the next life, punctuated by sobs every few seconds.

There was a part of you that was thankful that you didn’t have to plan the event; a small, selfish part. It might have customary for the closest of the bereaved to organize the funeral proceedings, but the fog in your head meant you could hardly focus on the sound of your own voice, let alone putting together an entire ceremony.

It was Mitsuri who ended up taking your place and organizing everything you couldn't bring yourself to.

“Don’t worry about a thing, [Name].” Mitsuri had squeezed your hands, forcing a smile even as her eyes were glossy with tears. “We can handle everything. I know it’s hard for you right now, so just focus on yourself, okay?”

“Okay...” You mumbled, slightly dazed.

The daze didn't fade, even after days passed and your grief began to settle in like a parting gift. Sometimes it felt distant and unreal, as if you could still stretch your arm out and find a warm body on the opposite side of your bed; others, it felt like it was the only thing left in your mind, filling up the cracks that the loves of your life had left behind.

Still, you had to keep surviving, if not for your own sake, for your beloved spouses who could no longer survive with you.

Day by day. You could make it through one more day.

Slowly, you pulled yourself out of bed. Your vision was filled with stars as you stood, head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. You gritted your teeth and ignored it, sliding the bedroom door shut behind you.

The cold, weightless feeling of arms sliding around your waist should have been a surprise. It wasn't.

“What's got you so gloomy today, huh?” The voice was whispered right into your ear, a low hum that brushed up against your skin.

You leaned your head back, resting it on the chest of the person hugging you from behind. The sensation was strange, both solid and slightly incorporeal at the same time. Even so, there was something familiar about the chuckle that sounded afterwards.

“Tengen...” You sighed, closing your eyes. Perhaps you could ignore the distinct lack of a heartbeat near your ear; his voice sounded alive enough to compensate. “You weren't there when I woke.”

“Aw... missed me, did you?” You heard the smile in his voice, the light note of teasing that used to always get on your nerves. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, lingering there for a moment.

“I always miss you...” You said shakily, gripping the arms still circled around your waist. There was a hollow desperation in the way your nails dug into his skin, a feverish need to touch him, bring him closer, prove that he's really there.

“Don't worry.” Another kiss, this time to your cheek. “You can't get rid of us that easily.”

The faint pressure against your skin was cold enough to make you shiver, but you didn't mind. His touches could feel like ice for all you cared, as long as he was still touching you.

You still couldn't understand why it was that he was able to touch you when as far as you were aware, he was completely intangible and imperceptible to the rest of the living world, but you had shoved the question to the furthest corner of your mind.

Instead you embraced the opportunity, savouring his touch as long as you were allowed it.

Even so, it wasn't easy to adapt to your new way of living.

The first few days after the news was delivered were the hardest, when you spent hours alone in your house, until a friend or acquaintance stopped by to offer their condolences. They never seemed to mind that you didn't speak much, but eventually the visits stopped coming.

When the burial came, that was when you spoke the most. You were given a chance to give a speech, and took it graciously, as much as the words clawed at your throat.

The group was quiet afterwards, save for the odd sniffle. Mitsuri looked like she was seconds away from bawling, but she was holding herself together remarkably well. “A-Ahem. Thank for those… touching words. I-I know they meant a lot to you.”

“They did.” Your eyes drifted to the headstones, arranged right next to each other just like they would have wanted.

Tengen Uzui. Beloved husband.

Makio Uzui. Beloved wife.

Suma Uzui. Beloved wife.

Hinatsuru Uzui. Beloved wife.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or sob at the simple words etched across the stone. There wasn’t enough room on the headstones to truly tell how important they were. Not even your words—as close as they brought the group to tears—were enough.

You didn’t mention the way Tengen would instinctively reach for you in the mornings before he was fully awake, never settled until he made sure all of his spouses were safely at his side; nor did you mention that Hinatsuru’s sharp eyes could spot a gloomy mood from a mile away, always ready for comfort. And you didn't certainly mention Makio's worry for your wellbeing hidden behind her occasionally brash words, or how Suma's constant tears were only the result of the sheer amount of love she held for her spouses.

You didn't mention how much you adored them with every heartbeat and every breath, how waking up in the morning in an ice-cold bed was another stark and cruel reminder that you were alone.

“We're going to leave now.” Mitsuri squeezed your shoulder gently. “Take as long as you need.”

You didn't say another word, only numbly staring at the gravestones and imagining what yours would look like, propped up next to the four. Who would speak at your funeral? You didn't have anyone left to offer touching words, apart from Mitsuri perhaps.

In between your musings, you heard it. A loud, pained cry, like the sound of a wounded deer.

“Waaah! [Name]’s speech was so sweet!”

“Shut up, Suma! Let them be!”

You could have sobbed at the sound. Your head swung back, to see your four spouses crowded some distance away, awkwardly huddled by a cluster of gravestones.

They looked exactly like they did the last time you saw them, faces etched with wide smiles, soft eyes, and falling tears—the latter being courtesy of Suma.

“Are you done here, love?” Tengen asked with a soft smile. You stared at him as if in a daze, afraid to blink in case his image disappeared before your closed eyes.

Cautiously, you stepped forward once, then twice. Step by step, you closed the gap between, reaching out a shaky hand to brush your palm along his face. Under your thumb, his skin was cold, staticky, but real.

And all of a sudden it became all too much, and you were letting out a low cry and falling into his ready arms. The wives all surrounded you, offering soft touches, gentle words, and comforts. For that moment, you could almost believe that they'd never left at all.

It was hard to tell if they were even fully aware of their ghostly state. They had all heard your speech at the burial, but the moment you brought up the subject you were met with... odd reactions.

“Dead? Do you want us to be dead?” Makio scoffed. She had your head in her lap, absently patting your hair like you were a cat.

“I don't wanna be dead.” Suma's eyes turned glossy, and Hinatsuru was quick to pull her into an embrace.

“I don't think that's something we need to worry about.” Tengen said gently, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “We're here, we're happy to be here with you... that's all we need to focus on, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered back, letting your eyes flutter shut. You took his words to heart; since then you didn't dwell on why, only fixing your attention on the four people you loved the most. Not even death could pull them from your side.

“[Name]! We've been waiting for you!”

“Give them a moment, Makio!”

“Are you alright, [Name]...?”

And yet, even with Tengen's arms around your waist, and the sound of your wives calling you from the kitchen, there was a hollowness that you tried desperately to ignore.

Hinatsuru's face peeked out from the corner, a look of concern washing over it at your shaking form still held in Tengen's arms. Your husband and wife exchanged a look, before Tengen let go of you and stepped back, allowing Hinatsuru to step forward.

Her hand moved to your cheek, lightly brushing your jaw with the pad of her thumb. “What’s with that look… Aren’t you happy to spend the day with us?”

You leaned into her hand, your skin burning for the touch. Against your cheek, her fingers were as chilling as Tengen's.

“No...” You murmured. “I'm happy. I love you.”

Her concern softened into a smile, and she kissed your jaw, lips lingering long enough to whisper a promise into your skin. “We love you too. In this life, and in every one afterwards.”

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