return of then
a/n: from the point of view of a reader who went with the last of 104th to see if the world would end and if they could help save it. It's vague whether they were a part of the corps, can be read as yes or not.
There's never been an illusion in your mind that you would do anything but go down fighting. But you had a dream nonetheless, that maybe you survive, and maybe that survival means something because others will survive too.
Because what does survival mean, what is it worth, if you're the last and only person in the world?
Of course, no one is the last person in the world and if everything that matters goes away, you know what you'll do. You'll find something else that matters, because that's what life is owed.
But still.
It feels like there's nothing you can't do, and that there's nothing left to do. You're on your knees on the ruddy hard-packed earth in a land far from home. Your ears ring with the aftermath of bomb blasts and the cheers and cries of strangers, your throat trembles with each ragged exhale in time with the silent cries of the child mourners behind you. Your joints ache from the violent twists of the ODM gear and the days of fighting to have a chance.
You hold your breath to stop yourself from shaking, just for a minute, just long enough to see if…
You can't see if Levi's eyes are open and you hurt too much to move just yet because if he isn't. Well.
There's no reason that you should have survived, except for the sacrifices of everyone else who didn't.
His chest rises and falls. And over that, over where his heart has to still be beating, presses his clenched fist.
You sit back, ass in the dirt and blood all over your shirt, human so it doesn't vanish into the steaming wreckage littering the landscapes. There's a flicker of something around you, like those visions from the white sands, a flutter of cloaks, and your heart is in your throat.
For a moment, you're convinced you're dead, that this is your farewell. Nifa, Nifa - you never thought you'd see her again - leans down and her hands are on your arm, although you can't feel her. She tilts her head with a smile. You look up and behind her is Luke, shaking his head slowly liked you'd gotten thrown from a horse.
There is a forest of legs, boots and the flickering green fabric like whispering leaves, but you can see through it. You still feel half-deaf, but you can see all those people in the distance, alive. Levi is alive.
Nifa nods once, like she hear your thoughts and - it's such a simple thing, but it's also the most important - you are alive and so is he, and so are many others.
She turns away from you and stands in parade rest with all the others, and then they turn as one, walking the other way and passing you by. There are so many. Your palm goes to your chest because it hurts, to have lost so much because of choices made hundreds, thousands, of years ago.
There are so many you lose sight of Levi as the Survey Corps' dead move on. The ones you know sometimes smile as they go, but most go on with the same determination you'd seen on so many living faces when the gates rose. Determination, and something fiercely more.
Only one holds your gaze as they walk past. Your own shaky hand makes a fist over your heart when you spot Erwin, who nods but doesn't stop. Hange looks at you the whole way, brown eyes wide and stride strong until they too vanish behind your peripheral vision.
You know somehow, if you looked back they would be gone, lost in the smoke. Just as sure as you understand the words they did not say.
Levi doesn't move until the last bit of ethereal movement stops, and then his hand flattens, palm over his chest, his chin tips forward.
His chest still rises and falls, just enough for you to see it.
If you look hard enough, you can find something that matters, but this does too. The secret dream you had held close when the end got closer and closer.
Survival had meant something as long as there was anything left. It's worth everything just to have the memory of now.
Levi looks up and you can see him blinking in the harsh sunlight slanting through steam thick enough to move like clouds. You can't move, it feels like you're frozen. You can move, the grind of fine gravel under your knees won't matter if you can get to him.
He's smiling, soft and faint, and he sees you. The last ones left.
He's smiling and maybe that's the track of tears, shining silver on his cheek.
He's smiling and you know the war is over.
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Fandom is so different now and it’s becoming un-fun with how quickly shit moves.
I just want to enjoy things. I don’t want to have to play a game of Artist-Race that seems to be afoot lately.
Ya’ll eat up fandoms, leave artists and writers bone dry and then move on so fucking quickly then fucking wonder where all the Good Fandom Stuff is.
Idk Maybe cherish some things for longer. Reblog stuff. Interact with people. Comment and share.
Fandom is Capitalism now and I’m not being nuanced.
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