#back to levihan

[jumpinguptothesky]

I don't know why I wanted to write this fan fiction. The fact is, I was really inspired and I'm really writing it without being able to stop. The only difficulty is translating it into English as well as possible.

Just goes to show, brain rott is real. Levihan always comes back to my mind, even when I think I've forgotten it. You can find it here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62060140/chapters/158719963

I hope you'll enjoy it!

His Scent of Tea and Cedar

Summary:

Hange Zoe is a renowned writer. Her editor suggests she write about sexual services for women, but she flatly refuses. However, when she learns that her friend-with-benefits and impresario, Zeke, is about to get married, a creeping sense of loneliness begins to settle in. Craving intimacy, she decides to give the sex therapist service her editor recommended a try. To her utter shock, the man standing at her door is none other than her young and strikingly handsome janitor: Levi.

Notes:

Inspired by Yasashii Milk by Tadaka Rose

Chapter 1: Invisible Fractures

Excerpt:

"You think I’d just let you say this to me like it’s nothing?" Hange's voice trembled with raw emotion. "You couldn't tell me earlier? You had all the time in the world... at the door, when I offered you a drink, when I invited you up. Don't you dare blame me for your cowardice! I can’t believe you’re telling me this after everything... while... while we were..."

The living room was bathed in the gentle light of the morning sun. Golden rays streamed through the vast bay window, illuminating a garden where dew glistened on the leaves like countless diamonds. These almost ethereal gleams brushed the pages of an open manuscript resting in Nanaba's hands. Her short-cropped blonde hair reflected the faint golden beams, and her piercing eyes scanned the lines with intensity. Across from her, Hange sat nervously, shifting slightly in her leather armchair.

She tried desperately to maintain composure, though the subtle expressions of her editor, who had been silently reading for some time, left her feeling unmoored. Each moment felt like an eternity, as always when sharing her work.

Hange attempted to focus on the scenery outside, her hand nervously brushing her disheveled brown hair. She resisted the urge to chew her nails or adjust the frames of her glasses.

“This is incredible, Hange, truly,” Nanaba finally declared, closing the manuscript with care. “Your style is as captivating as ever. Every sentence resonates; every description transports.”

A modest smile graced Hange’s lips. “Thank you, Nanaba. You have no idea how much it means to hear that from you.”

But then Nanaba furrowed her brow, placing the manuscript gently on the coffee table. “That said…”

Hange detected a note of apprehension in her voice. “What? What’s wrong?”

Nanaba shrugged. “You’re starting to go in circles, Hange.”

“In circles?” she repeated, crossing her arms, clearly affronted.

“Don’t misunderstand,” the editor continued, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “Your last bestseller, about that group fighting for freedom against monstrous colossi, was phenomenal. But it feels like you’re clinging to the same themes. Even though each of your stories is different, your topics and perspectives always revolve around similar ideas… You need to try something new.”

Hange narrowed her eyes, skeptical. Her first saga, Wings of Freedom, had been a massive success. Since then, she had continued to write about humanity’s struggles, crafting noble, idealistic heroes. Even when she created new worlds, she returned to the fantastical, translating life’s everyday challenges, wars, and resistance movements into epic battles against oppression. She sank into the couch, rubbing her temples.

“So, what do you suggest I write? Science fiction? Mystery novels?”

Nanaba smirked playfully. “New Romance!”

A nervous laugh escaped Hange. “New… what?”

Full Chapter on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62060140/chapters/158719963

[violetscanfly]

How to care for your scientist - a visual guide

[agathas-megacoven]

I LOVE Onyankopon. He is FEARLESS. Everyone on that plane is either a survey corps member very much accustomed to taking on Titans or they ARE a Titan or BOTH. Onyankopon is just a dude with giant balls very skilfully flying a plane that’s clearly over the weight limit bc of his giant balls. He might as well be flying that plane over an active volcano, if the turbulence don’t take them out, the heat or Zeke’s rock throwing might do it but that ain’t a problem for him. I swear if he doesn’t survive this to spend his final years on little old man tea dates with Levi reminiscing about the time Hange nearly yeeted them all to their collective deaths when Onyan let her drive their hire car in Marley bc she yanked so hard on the handbrake she pulled it out then I am DONE

[starshower1215]

Adventurous Adventures of Levihan in the Bio Notes Margins [pt. 10]

Ft. lemonade, spring, and more sunbath naps in a notebook of my friend's (otherwise known as Special Paper)

[lunaefknlumen]

first photo with levi ~

[theysangastheyslew]

But you understand, don’t you?

Everyone you meet will be parted from you one day

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Valentine’s Day prompt 💝

For Dazai x Reader 🔞: it’s Valentine’s Day & Dazai tells Reader how romantic it would be to die together today & Reader replies “how about we fuck instead?”

A Little Death (Dark Era; aged up/18+; NSFW) Mafia!Dazai x Reader  1706 words Tw: sui ideation, choking

It was a secluded scene, shrouded in silence. No one dared to cross the boundary of the hotel’s grounds; to do so was a privilege only afforded to a select few. Its air of secrecy was such that it rendered the half a dozen armed guards who brooded over the tower like ravens, quite superfluous. Port Mafia territory. For a scarce number, its walls knew their secrets but whispered none. For the rest, it was simply impenetrable. 

The hotel room was neither luxurious nor homely. Thin gauze blinds let in little moonlight. Outside, the starless sky was streaked with storm clouds. Even the fluorescence which defined Yokohama’s horizon and kept the city in artificial daylight did not reach this dark corner of the prefecture. Rain pattered relentlessly, the deluge so intense that entire waves were dashed at the rattling windows. Thin branches scraped against glass. You glanced above your head, half-expecting the flaked plaster to cave in at any moment. 

Quieter than the storm came the clicking of the heating unit. A stale smell lingered about the plain, whitewashed walls. A black suit jacket thrown over a chair. Unfinished business. Sake bottles cluttered the side table. A low electric light. Crumpled bed sheets and the scent of sex. 

You felt too cold to remain in the doorway. Shrugging your coat off, you hung it on a wall-mounted hook beside his. Its belt dripped rainwater onto the matting beside your discarded Louboutins. As you crossed into the room his silhouette came into view. Dazai sat cross legged on the floor, arms in his lap, his back against the end of a double, Western-style bed. He made no sign at your approach. His gestures, or lack of, were as inscrutable as ever. No one had ever sifted the murky depths which submerged his heart. You only knew that he played games. And, if his intention was to set you on edge, then you would just have to make yourself comfortable.

“I know I kept you waiting…”

The bed gave a small creak as you knelt upon it. Removing the tie from your hair, you allowed it to tumble down, sodden and tangled, past your waist. Then, with a sound of relative contentment, you flung yourself on your back and stretched out your legs luxuriously upon the pillows. Dazai was motionless; the back of his head remained against the foot of the bed. Dark, brown tufts stood up, unruly. You let your head hang down beside his so that your rain-flecked skin brushed against his face. His cotton bandage wrapping grazed your cheek. You felt his jaw tighten. Upside down, the cracks in the floor appeared more fragile than the ceiling. Either one could give way at any moment.

A hand reached into your hair. 

“If you remember, you did promise me romance…” Dazai’s tone was as soft as silk. With a turn of his head, the tip of his nose brushed your own. His breath, sweet with sake, clouded you. Threatened to pull you under. Only the initiating thread of conversation and he was already reeling you in.

Slowly his fingers stroked loose strands from your face, until he was cradling the back of your head. There was something so gentle, so loving in the subtle press of his fingertips that you closed your eyes. 

“I know…” Your words bore the weight of remorse, even if you didn’t feel it.

Rain lashed violently at the window. Dazai gathered your damp hair around his fingers, weaving a braid like a coil of rope. Playful. If his patience was worn then the lithe movements of his hands did not suggest it. 

“How beautiful…” he mused to himself, wrapping the twisted knots like a noose around his knuckles. Watchful, you lay still. In the gloom the pale skin of your neck shone silver.

“What is?”

Wet hair tickled your throat.

“...why, the thought of dying with you tonight. What else?”

Dazai’s voice was thick with desire, quite at odds with such a fatalistic notion. The weight of your corded braid was draped across your neck. With a rustling movement, he had risen to his knees.

“...that’s why you came here, after all.” Dazai poured his whisper into your ear. Liquid black. 

Unkempt hair brushed your skin. A pale face; his scars half-hidden beneath wrappings. Dazai’s exposed eye gazed down at you with lust. Its colour was as dark as earth whilst the iris gleamed like molten gold at its centre. His words, his gestures, his games; who could look beyond the endless depths into Dazai’s heart? No; to meet his eye was to stare down into the core of the world itself.

A pull upon the end of your hair; the vine wound itself tighter. You smiled up at him, despite the pink blotches forming on your skin. 

“Actually -” you managed, your breath stuttering, “- what I proposed - was a little death.” 

Your scalp burned where strands were almost yanked from the roots. Ignoring your hold upon his sleeve, Dazai twisted your hair around his fingers. As ever, he wove his little designs only for you to fall, ensnared in his trap. Not that you minded. If you had any intention of survival, then you would never have accepted his invitation here tonight. Easy prey. What was the point in the struggle when Dazai could so easily devour you whole?

Then the twisted cord collapsed. Your chest heaved in the quiet room. The long ribbon of your hair was still gathered in Dazai’s grip. Fiercely, he jerked your head backwards. 

“Is that all you can manage?” Warm breath curled over the shell of your ear. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your lobe. Bloodlust rose to the surface.

You let out a shiver of breath, rolling your head back against the covers. Dazai’s shadow fell; rippled down your chest as he leaned over the edge of the bed. His black tie swung loose; draped over your ribcage. With a brush of cool air he drew your collar away. Languorous in his movements, he enjoyed the sight of you like this. His nose grazed your bare shoulder, breath ghosting over your skin. Then - a gentle drop of his lips.

“Find out for yourself, Osamu…” 

Dazai pressed his kiss to the base of your throat like a knife. 

Hands gathered in his hair, you sighed as Dazai trailed slow, hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your jawline. Your legs writhed against the pillows. Purple wounds nicked into your skin; each mark counted and tossed on the mound of his sins. They said that only darkness flowed through his veins. Mafia black. Doomed to love as dangerously as he lived.

Dazai tasted your jaw; lingered over your cheek, his breath coming quicker. Threading his fingers through your own, he drew your arms beneath him. A feather-light touch to the pale skin of your wrists, his fingertips wandered your limbs. A tuft of dark fringe swept your chin as Dazai kissed your lower lip. Thighs clenched together, you gave another airless sigh. Your mouth chased his, body arching beneath his caress. Head turning against his own, you felt his tongue glide over the back of your teeth. 

With a creak of mattress springs, the weight upon the bed shifted. Dazai’s knee sank into the covers beside your head. Bandaged hands smoothed the hem of your dress as his mouth nipped languidly at your bottom lip.  The material was bunched together in his fist, and then he slowly drew it up over your hips. 

You gasped as Dazai broke away from your mouth. Fingertips stroked your upper leg. A thumb dipped into the waistline of your underwear. 

“La petite mort… the brief state of unconsciousness.” Dazai’s breath warmed the inside of your leg. “Only those consumed by death or desire know it…”

With one hook of his finger he had drawn the lace down around your ankles. Teeth grazed your thigh. Your chest rose and fell as he pressed a kiss to your soft, warm skin. Inching closer, closer… until he was right above where you wanted him. Your hands slipped down Dazai’s lower back. Then, the first brush of his tongue. A low moan bled from your throat. His crumpled shirt almost tore under your nails.

Dazai teased, tasted your clit; his subtle toying sent heat flaring. But one taste had provoked a deeper craving within him. Tongue flattened against you, Dazai indulged himself. His grasp upon your legs tightened until his knuckles blanched. The swill of his tongue set your tender flesh aflame. Your mouth dropped open, back curved away from the bed. Beads of sweat broke out over your forehead as you gripped the bedsheets in your fists. All you wanted was to feel his movements inside you.

As Dazai leaned over you, the fabric of his suit brushed your ear. Self-serving, of course he never gave without taking. All that mattered was the price you paid. In this position, he had you exactly where he wanted you. Reaching out, your hand brushed the rigid pleat in his trousers. Hastily, you unclasped his belt; slung down the material; drew him out. With a firm grasp you guided his rock hard cock down to your open mouth. 

Lips closed around him. Tight. With a shudder, his hips thrust forward. Dazai’s bandaged hands lifted your legs, splayed you open to swallow you whole. Fingertips buried themselves in your skin. Oh how he longed to grip them in your hair whilst he rubbed himself against your lips. Your nerves were humming; shivers shot through your limbs like electricity. The first syllable of his name collapsed into a moan which sent vibrations down his cock. He scraped the roof of your mouth over and over, until his rhythm began to stutter.

“Fuck…” you heard him choke. “...fuck… no one else can take me like you do.”

He gripped your legs higher, pulled you to him, drank you down. Insatiable. You were burning alive. Helpless, your body melted on his tongue. With a choked gasp, you clenched your thighs around his neck. 

“...wanna die happy…” Dazai’s voice was weak as he wiped his mouth on the inside of your thigh. “...so let me die between these legs, Beautiful...”

[tsxmu]

JUST A THOUGHT...

but do you ever think that after the war, levi sometimes just sits down with a cup of tea while reading the newspaper and when it's like eerily quiet, he mumbles to himself a quiet "levi" like hange would so it's like they're still there in a way???

Idk, I just kinda feel like hange would often call out to him, visit his room at random times, share breakfast, lunch and dinner with him, have late night tea conversations while doing paper work, ect ect. So now that there's nobody talking to him, he does the talking for them?? Just like how they did most of the talking for him?

[fanmoose12]

“Petra fancies you.”

So abrupt and indelicate – what else should Levi expect from his own personal cause of headache, Hange Zoe? Well, if he was being honest with himself, he fully expected that by now she’d already get on top of the table in the center of the cafeteria and start what only she can classify as dancing. That’s what she usually does when she has as much alcohol as Levi had noticed she’d consumed tonight.

But, apparently, that course of action has gotten a bit too boring and predictable for Hange’s ever-changing tastes.

So, now she decides to pester him of all people.

Levi isn’t so easy to pester, though, so he does the most logical thing one can in such a predicament – he does his best to ignore Hange’s presence entirely. He stares resolutely into his own cup of piss that people around here deem good enough to call beer, and hopes that Hange would get bored of him and his silence swiftly and move onwards to find another victim.

That, however, doesn’t happen.

Hange doesn’t bulge, as though she had been glued to the chair right beside him, and she stares. Intently. Levi can practically feel the force of that stare on the back of his head.

And when it becomes too unbearable even for him, he sighs, shifts a bit in his seat, tilts his head upwards to meet Hange’s eyes and asks a pointless, “What?”

Giddy that her ruse had worked, Hange moves closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She does so without his consent, without so much as mumbling a question. She invades his personal space like it isn’t much of an obstacle to her, like for her - it does not even exist. She always does it, and for some reason that Levi fears to find – he always lets her.

And Hange’s insolence, unfortunately, does not stop there. No, it grows, evolves, and so she gets even closer, and before Levi can utter a single sound of protest or, at least, throw at her a dirty look that will prove to be absolutely useless against her lack of manners, she unceremoniously, downright shamelessly, throws her legs onto his lap.  

“Petra,” she whispers, embracing him with both the retching stench of beer and intoxicating heat of her body, “fancies you.”

Levi stays put – against his better judgment, despite all the warnings that are blasting in his head louder than the bells that announce the opening of gates that lead to the dangers of the world beyond the walls. He doesn’t kick Hange, doesn’t even curse, he stays put – because he has to. Because otherwise Hange’ll think him weak. Or, worse, she’ll get ideas, funny ones. And, clearly, she has too many of them already.

“And you know this how?” he asks, again – against his better judgment.

Hange throws her head back and laughs – loudly, and, Levi thinks, a bit wickedly.

“Because I have eyes, silly. And only a blind would miss the looks she constantly throws at you. Gods, the girl wants you to devour her. Or, maybe, she intends on doing the devouring—”

The thought, the mental image that Hange so effectively painted in his head stirs an unpleasant feeling in Levi. His insides churn uncomfortably, like he’s about to puke. The thought is… a troubling one. Petra is a nice girl, a pretty one, there is absolutely no denying that. One, as Hange had put it, would have to be completely blind not to know that. And, despite what some may say about him, Levi, in fact, is not blind to the appearances of others.

However, viewing Petra in that particular regard has never occurred to him. Not even once has it crossed his mind.

Petra is a member of his squad, she’s his subordinate, she’s someone that he was entrusted to teach, guide and – if possible – protect. That is his duty, one he tries very hard to fulfill. And, no matter how beautiful she is, he can’t see her as anyone else, rather than his subordinate.

“Aww,” Hange places her head on his shoulder, and steals his cup, taking a generous sip from it, while Levi is too busy debating his next move. Should he be the responsible one, throw the drunken idiot over his shoulder and carry that embarrassment back to her room before she makes an even bigger fool out of herself, or should he simply kick her down to the floor and leave before she manages to stand up straight enough to follow after him? “You don’t like her?”

Levi doesn’t give an answer, although it seems that Hange doesn’t actually need one. She takes another gulp of beer, puts the cup back down on the table with enough force that the table rattles and the liquid splashes all around, and launches into a rant that is surprisingly passionate – especially considering that its subject has nothing to do with her beloved Titans.

“Why don’t you like Petra back? She is amazing! Kind, and smart, and cute, and skilled, and so, so graceful! Honestly, among all of our comrades, she’s like an angel, an actual ray of light amidst all these horrors! Most would kill to get us lucky as you are!”

“So why are you still here?” Levi drawls, glancing at Hange from the corner of his eyes. She looks absolutely wild – with cheeks flashed, glasses askew and practically slipping down her nose and hair in more state of disarray than Levi ever remembers seeing. Hange is a mess personified, a compilation of everything Levi despises combined in one single person, and yet – for some reason, he finds that he cannot find the strength to look away from the radiant spectacle in front of him. “If you like her so, why sit here with me, if you can go and woo her?”

“I just told you! She sees no one but you. And besides,” Hange’s voice grows quiet, her whole demeanor dims, becomes more timid, as her cheeks get just a bit redder than before and she mumbles, “She’s not really my type, you know?”

“Hm,” Levi nods, and – because teasing can go both ways, and, that, without a doubt, what Hange absolutely deserves for all her mocking – adds. “You must really not like her then.”

“Eh? Why would you say that? Just because I don’t like her in that way, I—”

“Because you sit here,” Levi says, interrupting what almost surely would have turned into another infuriating word vomit. “Practically draped all over me, while Petra is in the very same room. What would she think when she sees us like that, huh?”

Hange opens her mouth, blinks a few times, her gaze rapidly shifting between Levi’s face and the corner that Petra and other members of his squad are occupying. She looks so damn clueless in that moment, in equal parts confused and ashamed that Levi can’t help but revel in the lost expression on her face.

Not many are able to stun Hange Zoe into silence, after all.

“Oh… I… I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah, you’re shit at this kind of thing.”

Hange begins to pull away, nearly gets to her feet – or, well, at least, she tries to. Levi doesn’t let her, though, and instead wraps an arm around her waist, bringing her even closer to him. Hange doesn’t try to wiggle out of his hold, and – strangely – doesn’t even comment on their rather curious position. She stays still and silent, absorbed in thought.

Whatever it is that’s going through her genius mind right now, Levi doesn’t particularly wish to know.

Hange is quiet, Hange was beaten at her own game by none other than him, and what’s most important – she’s right next to him, wrapped securely in the circle of his arms.

Levi can’t help but enjoy it, delight in this brief moment of peace. It’s not often that life grants him a chance to taste what real joy feels like.

But it’s Hange fucking Zoe that is with him. So, naturally, that peace is laughably short-lived.

She starts squirming, but not with intent to leave, as Levi immediately begins to fear. Instead, she just tilts her face up and searches for his eyes, holding his gaze, when she finds them.

“Say, Levi,” she begins in a tone that can – and definitely does – mean trouble. “If you weren’t sitting with me right now, but, let’s say, with Petra, would you still—”

Levi clicks his tongue and cuts Hange off before this nonsense goes far enough to ruin the moment entirely.

“Shut up, four-eyes,” he grunts curtly, but – without even a hint of malice that his words intended. “Let’s just… stay like this. Preferably, in silence.”

As much as he enjoys the sound of her voice – and he does, although he’d never admit it to her face, there is enough ruckus in the room without Hange’s insistent blabbering adding to the chaos.

She throws a curious look at him, but, thankfully, doesn’t argue. She snuggles closer to him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

Levi swallows a content sigh. This… this feels nice.

Whatever is that type that Hange had mentioned, he isn’t sure he has one. But what he’s absolutely sure of is that he likes this – having Hange so close to him that he can feel the warmth radiating from her body. Even the smell of sweat she hasn’t washed off for god knows how long and the inescapable stench of beer that hangs all over her like a particularly nasty cloud cannot sour this moment for Levi. And if it were Petra in her place, or Nifa, Nanaba, Mike, or any other man or woman, Levi is sure none of them could make him feel so warm, so at peace with just their presence.

“Someday,” Hange murmurs, as she absentmindedly picks at the fabric of his shirt. She sounds sleepy, Levi can’t help but note. It seems like he’ll have no choice but carry her to her room, after all. But – later, just a bit later. This moment is way too precious for him to cut it off so soon. “We’ll have to talk about—” Hange gestures vaguely – “this whole thing. But – not today. Not when I’m so drunk. I want,” she looks up again, meeting his eyes with a smile that snatches Levi’s breath right out of his lungs, “to be sober when I say this to you. I want to remember how your face looks when you hear it.”

What is that thing that Hange to say to him? What is it that she so badly wants him to hear?

Whatever it is, Levi wants Hange to say it. He wants to hear it. And – there are some things he needs to tell Hange too. Things – that for now – he’s afraid to reveal even to himself.

And when – or if – the time for such confessions will come, he wants to remember Hange’s face too. Down to every detail.

But now, it’s not the time to ponder on such things. Now, he has a drunken idiot he needs to take care of.

So with a sigh, Levi raises to his feet, lifting Hange along with him, not letting go of her even for a second.

After all, where would he be without his ridiculous four-eyes?

[tundrainafrica]

@halcyonstorm

*BREATHES* I do not deserve your unwavering patience with me.

[sayonarasanity]

“Bury me near the seashore.”

There is a picture of a seagull on the page of the book that lies open and still on top of his knees. The corner of the page is curled between his index and middle fingers. Moonlight is pale while clouds are heavy, their motion languid, and on her face, there are shadows, flickering eyelashes on her cheekbones. Her still functional eye is dark, loud with emotions where her voice isn’t sufficient and the other one is dull and lifeless. A deep frown creates creases between his eyebrows. Soft, black hair parted, his eyes are alive, ignite. A blue fire. Maybe that is the reason why she burns with his every touch on her and her every touch on him.

The bed squeaks under her as she moves closer to soothe the sharp lines on his face with her thumb. For once it doesn’t work. And he doesn’t let her press her lips there either. “You start talking shit again.”

“I am only kindly asking for a favour.”

Levi closes the book with a loud, hard thud and Hanji winces. “Sleep.”

“Come on, Levi…” She reaches out to thug at his t-shirt. “You have to promise me.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he leaves the book on top of the bedside table and turns his back to her, ready to get up from the bed. She panics, instantly. A night without him means a night without the tiniest bit of sleep which would result in heavy headaches during boring, political meetings while she plays a role she is not fit nor asked for. “Don’t go.”

Miraculously he stops, sitting on the edge of the bed. His back is broad, and strong, bearing countless responsibilities, carrying unnumerable scars and losses. Yet at the time, with his hands dropped on top of his legs like all life had been sucked out of them and his shoulders slightly down, head bent he looks like he has just lost a battle without even having a chance to lift his blade.

“What about me?”

“Huh?”

Levi stares at the rug on the floor, raged and overused, barely containing its shape. He feels her curious gaze on his back and almost hears the question marks forming on top of her head. “Where are you going to bury me?”

The following silence causes the inhale she takes to sound even louder. The topic is unnecessary and irrelevant. Considering that they buried Erwin merely a month ago. He didn’t get to choose his grave. So why should Levi? Why should she?

Why does he have to think about burying her at all?

“Cruel, isn’t it, Hanji?”

The sheets rustle as he moves to lay on his side and covers himself haphazardly. Hanji is quiet. Just like how she has been for the weeks that passed. Levi isn’t upset at her for such a question, Hanji barely goes into serious talk without meaning it. So, if she asks him so, she must’ve made up her mind for some time. Why though? He doesn’t know. Doesn’t need to. She is his commander, and it is his duty to obey her wishes as well as her orders.

But he doesn’t want to be the one to bury her. The thought alone makes him sick. He hates it. Hanji doesn’t belong six feet under. She belongs here. Right beside him.

There is some rustling behind, she must’ve laid down too. He can feel her cold breath on his nape, but she doesn’t touch him just yet. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s fine.”

Hanji hums softly and Levi waits for her to move just for a few more seconds. But the silence goes on and he lets the sounds of her breaths fill his ears for a little while. Then he sighs and reaches behind with his hand.

She grabs his searching fingers, and he pulls her closer, wrapping her arm around his waist. Her hand is secure inside his palm, warm against his skin and her lips are hot when they press a lingering kiss right under his ear. Her body is firmly pressed on his back. He can feel the rising and falling of her chest, regular like the beats of her heart.

“Why?” he asks, albeit reluctantly while also wondering if he wants to know the answer or not. Hanji rests her cheek on his nape and hums questioningly.

“What?”

His thumb caresses her knuckles absently. Calloused hands entangled. He thinks that it’s the best he can hope for in this world. Cracks fill in the cracks. What completes a shattered glass is another broken piece. “Why the seashore?”

Hanji doesn’t actually need to think of an answer for she already knows. Yet she keeps quiet and decides whether she should tell him or not. Whether she should talk about it any further. Now that she thinks about it carefully, it kind of feels selfish and not that important. What’s their end going to be like? Who’s going to die first and who will be left behind? There is no telling, no way to learn. All talk is futile when the road ahead is blurred with fog.

“I like the sound of the seagulls,” she snorts quietly, already knowing that he’ll find it foolish. “And the waves.”

Levi doesn’t respond immediately, and Hanji thinks he has fallen asleep. Though it’s unlikely. He rarely sleeps before she does. And he shifts, signalling he is still awake. “You think you’ll be able to—” He stops, abruptly and huffs. “That’s fucking stupid.”

Hanji chuckles, nuzzling closer to him. “I knew you’d say that.”

“You shouldn’t have told me then.”

She presses another kiss on his neck. “Sorry.”

He squeezes her fingers in return, and she closes her eyes. Despite the ruckus inside her head and the unknown weighting hard on her shoulders, she can feel sleep tiptoe on her slowly, and heavily. Darkness is ready to take her in and she wonders if she’ll be able to hear the cries of the seagulls and the howl of the waves in her dreams.

And then, just as she is about to surrender to the tempting darkness, he asks again, silently, “Why the seagulls?”

Hanji sighs and tightens her arm around his waist. She likes the way he fits so perfectly with her body, and she likes that he is strong enough to take an army of Titans down just by himself yet between her arms he is just Levi. Not a captain, not a soldier, not the strongest, not a weapon and certainly not a machine. But a human. A human with a beating heart, a human with a grieving soul, a human with a thoughtful mind. A kind man who frowns just a little too much. A kind man who knows her body and soul.

“Because they have something I don’t,” she says.

“Wings?” he asks, nonchalantly.

“No,” she chuckles. “You know what.”

The thing she envies the most.

Levi knows. It’s what they have been carrying around on their shoulders for all these years. Written on a piece of cloth. The thing they’ve been fighting for. It’s what, Erwin, Moblit, Mike, Nanaba, Petra and all the others had fought for. He wonders at what cost will they attain it or if they’ll attain it at all.

“I’ll promise you if only you promise me one thing in return.”

“What is it?” she asks curiously.

The old, wooden bed creaks when he moves around to face her. There is a candle on the bedside table, a feeble flame reflecting on the wall and its shadows dance on her features. One inquiring eye watches him expectedly, waiting for the continuation of his words. His eyes trace the lines of her face, soft, dark hair on her shoulders and slightly parted lips. Usually, he deems physical affection quite daring. Sometimes his body gives in to the heat of the moment and fuels with a desire that he merely lets overtake him when he is with her and it makes him follow the curve of her throat with lips and tongue, hands roaming all over her body in an almost possessive or even addicted way and she holds him so close that he can feel her heartbeat against his own. But other than that, he fights against the growing, agonizing need to touch her. As if it’s a luxury, something too precious for someone like him to have and once he gets so used to it will be impossible for him to ever stop.

But to no avail. Apparently, his fingers had a mind of their own and they never paid any attention to reason.

Her eyelids flutter when his thumb moves along her cheekbone, with a featherlight touch and his palm settles on her cheek. How can he call himself humanity’s strongest when the tiniest smile on her lips makes him weak? “Don’t make me keep my promise, Hanji.”

Sadness and sorrow don’t suit her, he thinks as he watches the way they change her smile and make the light on her eye turn darker. But he doesn’t have the strength to make them go away. Not yet anyway. “I’ll try,” Hanji says. Not a promise but something akin to it. It is the best he can have at the moment, and he’ll take whatever it is she can give him. No matter how little, no matter how weak. As long as the flame of the candle is alive it is still possible to maybe, just maybe hope for something better.

Before the storm comes crashing in and wipes away the flame along with all the hope there is to hold.

[qafi]

i want levi to take care of hange’s orphaned kid after the rumbling, kind of in a ‘last peice of my dead lover’ way but also out of a sense of responsibility. holding them in his injured arms and patting their back soothingly as they cry, they keep crying and he’s not sure how to make it better. he’s forced to be a softer version of himself

[agathas-megacoven]

Bauklötze is such an amazing song. It can be interpreted as if it’s about Eren, everything he lost when the wall fell and what he became because of it.

But recently, when looking at both contexts in which it was used, I think it can also be interpreted as a giant metaphor for the true Survey Corps but especially Levi and his heart. The first time it was used was when the original Squad Levi, especially Petra from what I can remember, was begging Eren to trust in them. Eren does and it all goes tragically wrong and Levi’s looses some of his most beloved companions.

The next time we hear it, it’s Hange’s outro song. She wants Levi and co. to trust her decision to buy them enough time and this time, it goes tragically right. She succeeds but she dies in the process - and she’s the last of Levi’s most beloved companions from a time the rest of them can’t remember.

“I like playing with blocks, I build carefully with bricks. Take a look at my empty box of bricks.” A wall has been built, slowly, purposefully, around someone’s heart. “You innocently break my wall down with dirty hands.” Despite how distant Levi tries to be because of previous loss, he can’t help letting people in and he cares deeply despite the inevitable pain. The dirty hands bit - the lyric also really fits with Bert being an innocent kid with blood on his hands, but there’s also Levi with his comrades, soldiers covered in dirt and blood and grim and Hange is known to neglect her personal hygiene without Levi’s intervention.

“And that day was a fiery sunset.” In contrast to the breaking of the wall, the day Levi lost Hange in the Anime was a fiery sunrise. “I hide the blocks from you. A sad memory of my childhood.” The loss of his mother, his first loss from what we know, what caused his first wall. He’s hiding the blocks from the broken wall, hiding how much it hurts to lose someone, Isabel, Farlan, his first squad, Erwin, now Hange.

“Is that the destroyer or the creator?” Eren with all manner of things he could do with access to the founder, he’s using it to destroy the world and create a new one for loved ones who don’t want him to commit such a massive atrocity in their names. “With the fervour of hate, we weild our swords. Is that our fate or our will? We’ll fight until the hot wind takes our wings away.” Don’t even get me started on that final line. That’s Hange, through and through. She’s the only one who wears the classic Survey Corps cape in that episode, wings of freedom on the back. It’s the first thing to catch fire from the heat of the wall colossal titans. It’s so damn literal. I can’t help but wonder if Isayama based her outro around this line or if Isayama had any say in what kind of lyrics he wanted in certain songs.

“I don't put anything into the box of bricks. I don't want to lose anything. I hide the toy blocks from you. I carefully build walls of bricks again” he doesn’t want to lose Hange but he’s hiding how much her decision is hurting him so as not to disrupt her bravery or interfere with her choice. He’s so used to rebuilding the walls that keep being broken around his heart. To love is painful and it’s as Hange says when she hugs Mikasa on that rooftop in Shinganshina:

[sodafizzyart]

If you can read Japanese, don’t correct me, my ego is weak

[lunaefknlumen]

my idol 😌

[theysangastheyslew]

Top 5 what-if scenarios/deleted scenes I'd like to see but definitely won't because the Lord is cruel and Isayama is crueler:

1. The memory shard???! It was seriously right in front of us come on

2. Hange lives (duh)

3. Miche's death actually getting verbally acknowledged in some way by the cast

4. If Zeke hadn't pulled the pin and blown himself and Levi up. Like what was the Jaegerist's original plan? Was Floch going to offer Hange up as hostage in exchange for Zeke, and execute them if Levi didn't comply?

5. Pieck shooting Eren in the face when she had the fucking chance. She could have taken the founder right then and there even without transforming and putting Gabi at risk 😒