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[Chapter Count]
(1979 entries)(+9 chapters last thread)

[for phoneanons who can't access the dead threads, here's the last thread. Link to all others in the 'all entries']:
>>https://warosu.org/jp/post/50573150 | 39.5th thread

[Expiration date: 2/12-2/13]

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RESUME!
>Hana, after passing out, dreams about Reimu. She muses it's the first time she's dreamt since the Solstice, and talks to the avatar of her mother about how her life is going and about herself. Hana understands she was leading a life that could've only ever be enjoyable if Reimu and Anon were present, clinging to a past that's already gone, and why she feels so angry about her amazing quality of life compared to the past. With newfound knowledge, she awakes and finds her father who heals her with the same spell he'd used during the battle in the Underground, though it is a much weaker version. Hana passed out for one night and awoke the next day before sunset. Hana and Anon leave his house and take the path to Yuuka's so they could talk in private. It starts light, but it soon devolves as Anon reveals he and Yuuka aren't together but he likes her, and Hana tries to explain her reaction the previous day. Anon sees through the bullshit and forces her to reveal her true feelings: she hates him for his actions toward Reimu's memory and that he doesn't love her mother anymore. Hana feels ashamed of having such feelings, but Anon doesn't chastise her and shares his feelings with Hana, how he's infuriated he thinks he has forgotten Reimu and is downplaying all he's gone through. That culminates in the realization they're not compatible anymore. They may love each other, but Hana loves Reimu and though Anon said he could've, in time, loved again Reimu in time if she'd survived, he vows to never allow her to take away anymore from him. Anon goes on about how Reimu took the spot he carved for himself in Hana's heart his whole life, became her role model and hero, and that the path Hana picked for herself he cannot follow in these circumstances. Hana understands his points and appreciates it, and they promise to meet someday, when the wounds have healed and there's no distance between them, to reconcile. Anon reaffirms his door is always open to Hana, who sees that as him challenging her and not believing she can survive the same path Reimu took without failing and getting hurt. Anon accepts that that meeting should happen at Reimu's grave and, after exchanging a few more words, with Anon telling Hana next time she sees Keine to tell her she has his permission, they part ways;
>Sekai is trying on different attires to Keine's marriage, with Remi and Sakuya helping her. Remi and Sekai talk briefly about marriage and culture and tradition while the former does the latter's hair, and soon they're off to the festivities. In the way, Sekai lies to Remi about experiencing an echo. Sekai grimaces about how the personalityless echoes are that way because of the premature destruction of her tree and that many of her powers and pieces of minds were lost. Remi tries to comfort her with assyrian trivia, but Sekai is starstruck by the size of the festivities. Remi and Sakuya fuck off to the tree palace and Flandre retards off after a dragon, leaving Sekai by her loneself. She explores the festival, engages in games of popping balloons with Yukari's malformed face and tries to drink alcohol but is stopped. A little later, when she's following a tour and thinking about a name for her stuffed toy, she's interrupted by a walking pamphlet begging for aid with the HSE babies. The pamphlet thinks she doesn't care so it leaves, and Sekai goes to see the parade.

So I'm guessing Takaneanon gave up? It's kinda of a shame. Highs and lows but no conclusion.

>>50626548
Let's hope he returns!
Takanon I give you my power!!!

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>>50626548
I swear to God I'll write my conclusion. I've had a very productive New Year so far, but for writing, it's been a death spiral of "oh, I should add this, subtract that" and then not having the time to do it.
Probably will just set some time aside this weekend to bang it out, there's important stuff I want to cap off.

>>50627456
This is karma for those stickmen.

>>50627485
The story chart still needs it's final edition.

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I’d walked on my own for about thirty minutes, sticking to the edges of the festival, not making it to the end of the—quite shady, now that I think about it—sightseeing tour of the Memorial Garden and the Mural they’d carved on my tree. Even then, I’d encountered a great deal of people, human and Youkai. Some Kurodani and their friends greeted and nudged me about my wreath or pigtails, but didn’t stick around, as even the youngest were tasked with something related to the festivities—didn’t stop the oldest from escaping through the cracks, holding a sweetheart’s hand—; some were echoes that hadn’t been eradicated, people that I’ve never seen in my life… But then I followed the herd to the main street, which cut the village from the previous house of the clan to the lift systems built on my tree, and was overwhelmed by the scale of the agglomeration before me.

A thousand people, in one place.

Rows and rows and rows of people, packed in two big clusters—many perched on the roofs and windowsills; others just flew or floated—, each on a side of the main street, which the procession crossed. Flags flew high around, ahead and before a closed palanquin, with two shadows behind its sleek outside… though I could only glimpse its sheer top and a little of the closed windows of white fabric. The mass of taller people made it hard for me, their cheer loud, as was the music of the procession. Supposedly, this sort of parade should feel somber and respectful. Maybe they felt like it was a necessity? Following the destruction wrought by True Mother and the war, these festivities served to lift the overall mood…

Not that I could see since I’m a shortie.

I thought of flying or just hovering a little above the rows of people, Mother Patchouli’s preferred manner of transport, but dismissed the thought: such an easy path to accomplish something, through an ability echoed from the first person I could’ve grasped it from—True Mother…

… Eyes wandered around before landing on a heavy-duty rope suspended next to a wall. It went to the roof, and miscellaneous construction material rested around its bottom.

“Do you think I should?” I whispered to my stuffed creature. There was no answer but the sonorous amalgamation from the crowd and an echo of Auntie telling me to be a child. “I think I should.”

So I did.

My hands were just big enough to wrap around the rope, and after tossing the stuffed creature into the Gap, I climbed. This body immediately lashed out against the strenuous effort but groused and ignored it in favor of ascending, pull by pull—how can such a lithe body feel so heavy to pull up…? I know the answer, yes, although I kept my mind on climbing, feet pressing together tight as I did.

There were much better ways, a multitude of them, that I could’ve picked from.

No goddess should sink as low as to strain against a meter and a half of climb. A simple Gap; flying a little off the ground; maybe asking someone to hoist me up onto their shoulders… My lungs hurt; something within feels terribly stretched.

… Mother Patchouli would be so mad if she ever found out I did this…

This loud whistle made me open my pained eyes—when had I closed them?—, and though they inadvertently narrowed as a sharp ache converged in my lungs and threatened to shut airways, I couldn’t have cared: the parade was in full view.

I could see all of it.

Different people and ways of life composed the procession. Four samurai carried the palanquin with the brides, and those from the late Hieda clan, handmaidens and men-at-arms, now absorbed by the Kamishirasawa clan, followed. Religious displays from the people of the Myouren Temple and Toyosatomimi’s Mausoleum, with melodious prayers and their intricate designs and their beautifully dressed women; the shrine maidens from the Moriya Temple handed out pamphlets and small blessings as they went, to the tune of weirdly energetic music—a smudge of red and white blurred amidst the blue, green, and white—; the Kappa and Tengu from Youkai Mountain showed off technological advancements whilst the latter had their numbers and presence and such pretty black wings; the oni from the Underground… It felt less like a parade for the brides' honor and more about Gensokyo at large. A show-off.

Propaganda, even.

Oh, wait, Hana-neesan was there too! Alongside Sanae-san from the Moriya Temple and her apprentices!

We locked eyes and a huge smile came to me as I began waving at her—

—Lungs ached, a hacking cough suddenly queued in my throat, stopped only by a tightening and aggravating warmth. Only one hand on the rope wasn't enough to hold my weight when the limit of an ill body came crashing against me, and I was to fall…

What? Barely two meters?

That’s nothing; I just gotta use the Gap and—

“—B-Bwuah?!” I managed half a strangled cry of confusion before coughs assailed me.

Hana-neesan stare was blank, if a tad annoyed, and her arms loosely held me. “What the hell are you wearing? It's silly.” She grumbled.

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Pop the mouthpiece. Primed it yesterday; no need to prime it again. Shake it for a moment. Lungs empty, hacking cough fought against. Mouthpiece to mouth, grip it tight with lips, leave no gaps—, Mother Patchouli had hammered the steps into my head, though I already knew them from her echoed memories. When I asked, she'd told me, “This exercises the body, not the mind. You should trust both during a flare-up, not one,”—and, with all done, I pressed once on the top of the medicine case. Vapors exploded forth and drenched my trachea, airways and lungs, opening the way for relief that eased my muscles and pounding headache. Under Hana-neesan’s scrutiny, that entire process felt silly. “… Sorry for that,” I said.

She’d carried me away from the procession and to a nearby barrel where I now sit, the little ways from the cacophony a balm to a refreshed mind. “Don’t. What was that anyway?” She cocked an eyebrow, and—wow… Hana-neesan is so pretty. Light hazelnut hair brushed into a hime cut; her outfit was not that which she battles in, but the ceremonial version, consisting of a long red hakama and pure white hakui. She wore a golden tenkan trimmed with fresh Sakura blossoms and red threads, which cascaded down and framed a spotless expression…

I'd seen so little of her in the past three months. Her echo had perished during the exodus of my tree, its version that of a time her mind still reeled with demons, anxieties and every manner of travesty. A version True Mother exploited.

“U-Um… it’s a sickness I was born with,” my voice was coarse, my throat itchy.

“Like root rot?”

“It’s not a plant disease.”

“… You were born from a tree.”

I blushed. “Y-Yeah, but—” She kicked the barrel, and I yelped, jumping off it. Before I could say anything, she gestured for me to follow… which I did with an angry pout. “—But it’s a human sickness! It’s a sickness my Mother has,” she blankly stared at me. “… Mother Patchouli,” a flicker of recognition in her eyes meant no more of that. “I’m human, like you.”

“Human?” She blinked, puzzled. “Weren’t you a goddess?”

“… That too.” Ah, it felt embarrassing saying that.

“So, how are you even sick? You can use Yukari’s Gap, can you not?”

“I can; I just don’t wanna…”

“Huh…” She looked down. “What with those clothes? A lot of white fabric—are you a Yūrei too?”

“Gee, so many questions—how about I make you one, Neesan?” She froze at the last word, but that moment of silence was all I got before her expression balanced, her body language impenetrable. Calm, floaty. The allure of mind-reading magic knocked… “Where are we going?” The door was not answered, thank you.

She shrugged. “Somewhere we can get something for your throat. No hate, but you sound like you had your asshole pulled out from the front.” Muffled cheering and far-away stomping made nearly empty streets a weird combination. Quite eerie, too. Neesan’s stride bore confidence, nothing like the fragmented echo of the person she was.

“Uh… sure…”

She can be crass…

I walked beside her, trying to mimic her stroll, but my legs are too short.

“Shouldn’t you be at the procession?”

“Sanae-san can handle it. It’s just a formality, anyway.”

“A formality?”

“Kinda? I got paid to be at the marriage, not to follow Keine-sensei around like a bloodhound.” I nodded. Neesan kicked a pebble and, a few paces ahead, I kicked it too. It didn’t go as far… Hana-neesan kicked it again, and I kicked it then—so on and so forth.

A memory came to the forefront and, despite a coarse throat, I pouted and said, “Father said you promised to visit me sometime—weeks ago!”

She had the gall to blush and laugh, so embarrassed. “Yeah, I did… I’ve been putting it off. Sorry about that.”

“You don’t like me?” My eyes strayed to a booth with many alcohol bottles on display—can't look at her—and focused on this bottle of high-end sparkling soju. The one manning it was an oni, whose eyes narrowed dangerously when they met Hana-neesan, who didn't budge at the death stare.

“Not that; it’s just that I don’t know you.” She approached the booth. “Don’t take it the wrong way, but my time’s tight. Gotta a lot of work to do every day…” And, as she came to a standing stop before the counter, she clicked her tongue. “… Which is why I really fucking hate when I waste my time on matters that may get me jack shit, y'know, imouto?”

Dread pounced on the oni’s death stare, mauling it into a powerless little thing.

From thin air, twenty thousand yen appeared, which Hana-neesan tossed on the counter before nodding towards the bottle of soju. I flushed terribly. “H-Hana-neesan! You don’t need to—”

She sighed, turned to me…

… And said. “Shut up, would you?”

That was mean…

A minute later, we sit on a random bench with the soju bottle between us. I held my half-filled cup and cast a long glance at Hana-neesan, who had a cup of her own.

We drank in tandem.

“… Tastes like crap.” She huffed.

I nodded.

“You feeling better?”

I nodded again, unable to fight off a silly smile.

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>>50628317
>>50628313
soon we'll be midway down Sekai's epilogue
more soon~!

>>50626491
Are there actual stories here or is it just one huge line of anons winging everything as they go?

>>50631609
An actual story, but it was collaborative. Read the curated ao3 which filters out a lot but not all of the shit that didn't add anything.

>>50628317
Eientei therapy failed, cat therapy failed, surely imouto therapy will work.

Keine the naziiiiii.

>>50635295
It makes you think that if Epstein had survived long enough to stumble upon the HSE and read it his favorite part wouldn't have been the underage sex or the rape dungeon, but Keine's yuri romance and jewish hostile takeover disguised as this benevolent revolution.

>>50638345
>Jweish
>Invents Nazism
It's like Rananon is trying to tell us something.

>>50639224
The samurai...lost to the jew...

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“Why was that booze-selling lady so angry at you, Onee-san?” Holding the half-full bottle by its neck, I allowed Mother Meiling’s echo of Ki understanding to up my strength and perfect my throwing stance. With a ‘swoosh’, the bottle flew towards the horizon of a setting sun, spinning fast, a tail of alcohol behind it.

Hana-neesan sent forth her steel needle—

—Almost a mile into the orange-purple sky, the sparkling soju bottle shattered. The cloud behind it bore a vast hole.

“I must've killed someone she cared about.” She sounded indifferent, yet satisfied. “Don't call me ‘onee-san'! It makes me sound older than just neesan.”

“… A-ah… sorry.” I nodded, doleful. It’s her job to dispel the evil, so it makes sense.

“Thinking about it, I’d guess it was during the Solstice, when I was fighting off Douji and Yukari in the Underground. A bunch of onis thought Father and I were sacrifices in Douji’s honor. They attacked us, coming unto me like a horde. I killed them all.” She looked at me then and paled a little. “… Um, sorry ‘bout that, imouto. Probs should have more tact talking about that stuff.” She tried injecting lightness into her words, but it fell flat.

“Yeah…” I threw another bottle after a pause, and another steel needle hit its mark. Broken glass rained down on the forest. “I don’t blame you, alright? She… brought it upon herself.”

I'm not talking about the oni.

Her red eyes narrowed, unreadable—cold—, which made me fidget, rather uncomfortable. Mine avoided hers in preference for the pile of bottles we’d scavenged as the festival grew lethargic and evening inched near. I grabbed one at random and prepped to toss it— “Do you think about her very often?” Neesan asked, voice even… And though I tried not to, a sad smile came to me, as naturally as breathing. Those eyes lacked any judgment as I fiddled with the top of the bottle and stalled the throw.

“She and Dad were all I had in that place… for a long time,” I simply told her.

Hana-neesan nodded, and that neutral facade showed empathy. “… I don’t think about her at all,” she whispered, and another rain of cracked glass disappeared amidst a sea of green. The village and the bustle of thousand-strong crowds and the celebration felt so far away, as if tectonic plates had suddenly sprung up and crested a chasm between the two of us and the rest of the world. Sunlight, dimming and purple, bathed us, and the breeze carried a slight chill. “What’s with that face?” Looking up to meet her eyes, I wondered what kind of face I was making that left hers sour.

“I-I’m sorry, neesan.”

“About what…?”

“… What True Mother did to you.” The throat felt clamped.

Hana-neesan scoffed, a jarring sound. “Your sorry means nothing to me.” Ouch. I fought off tears with pressed eyelids as an apology formed in the back of my throat.

Our first time talking alone since I was born, and things come to this?

I want Mother Patchouli's arms…

“… Because Yukari means nothing to me anymore. She's destroyed my life, but I ended hers. And now things are good, after I’ve had time to recover and seek help. Not as good as they could’ve been, just good enough for me—I got prospects, a future…” She sighed and the bottle I was holding slipped down. “T-Tsk, stop sobbing! What goddess sobs for no reason?”

Sobbing? I felt my hot face with the heel of my hands, and indeed, liquid warmth flowed. I'd failed to stop the tears. “… S-Sorry for this unsightly display, I just… I-I… How could I not cry for a person I love so much, but who caused great harm to everyone around me—to you?”

Eyes packed with tears hid from me a streak of kinship that crossed neesan’s, only it was felt when her calloused hand came down and pressed against my scalp, a terrible mocking of the act of headpatting. I gasped, looking up to see she’d taken my flower wreath. Her frown had creased hard, and lips overturned in clear disgust. Heart throbbed, expecting harsh words— “… I guess it can’t be helped. Fools like us cry for anyone these days. Hypocrisy is despicable.” She removed her tenkan and slammed it down on my head. It wasn’t a good fit, and I had to hold it so it wouldn’t drop. “There, not so silly-looking anymore. Actual blooms of a tree on your head, treekid~!” It was said with a hum as she neatly placed the flower wreath around her hair and stepped away, kicking the bottle pile as she went. They loudly shattered; Hana-neesan remained unperturbed.

“Hypocrisy…?” Chen-nee came to mind, holding her bouquet of aconitum, her eyes so very empty.

We stood side-by-side, and we mourned differently, with a world between us. She’d looked at me and saw the purple-eyed monster who had ruined her life.

“Sheesh… are you coming or do I hafta hold your hand, imouto?” Neesan shouted from a few meters ahead, fists on her hips and a creased brow. “The ceremony is in the evening. I was paid to be there!” Unbothered if I followed, she turned and resumed walking.

Hana-neesan saw past the shadow.

“W-Wait for me!” I ran after her.

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A peaceful quiet formed between me and neesan on the way to the ceremony, but the streets had gained a life of their own. Food stalls and attendees had draped themselves for evening celebrations with lanterns and kimonos to ward off the slight chill of a spring night. In this busier crowd, Hana-neesan stood out like a sore thumb, accompanied by glares and whispered words under breaths and palms next to mouths. I couldn’t help but frown. What are they talking about her that’s so universal? Human and Youkai alike seemed to understand. Something bad, something good—something saucy? “Ignore them,” she spoke with finality, both her tone and posture steel.

“Why?”

“Because it’s all they got,” her brow softened. “Actions speak louder than words.”

I nodded, and that was that.

Down the main cobblestone street that crossed the village stood a construction much like a temple, though dignified to no god—in a sense. The mere fact it is connected with the roots and stump of Yggdrasil ties it to me, nourishing me and the tree Faith that powers beyond the comfortable stasis offered by True Mother’s Great Hakurei Barrier—, grand but not overly opulent, with a march of toro lanterns on each side of the narrowing street. Flower wreaths—shimmering blue chrysanthemums made most wreaths—, offerings, and burning incense were spread all over them. Children played around the lanterns. Rocky steps were raised alongside a prominent root, which I brushed my hand against as Hana-neesan and I climbed. “… I wonder if you’ll ever end up rotting away.” Such a small comment didn’t go unregarded, with the miko’s over-the-shoulder glance locking onto me.

“Will it stink?” She asked.

“I don’t know—maybe?” Hana-neesan crinkled her nose. “Besides, it may never decay. True Mother’s barriers are in a league of their own.”

“… I guess.” That was all the answer her pride allowed, it seemed. At the top of the stairs, we came face-to-face with huge open doors with a stylized scene painted all over them. No input was needed for the miko to groan and say, “D-Don’t stare too much! They did a shitty job painting me…” A fiery blue moon centered the scene—the doors' handles—, and underneath at the base was a depiction of a terrifying headless demon holding a sword in one hand and its head in the other. A rotting carcass would’ve been a better definition for the demon who was once a man. In the upper half of the recounting mural were people I recognized. Keine-sensei took the center, besieged by Fujiwara no Mokou, Sanae, Toyosatomimi no Miko… and Hana-neesan, who was painted as the smallest person of the bunch and looking ridiculously flamboyant. I couldn’t suppress giggling. “T-They exaggerated it…” Her words sounded like a cross between an angry snarl and a whimper.

I know she’s right. I’d witnessed it from my astral cage and read between the lines of the future while writing my book…

But I really want to bully her a little after her rudeness.

“Doesn’t seem exaggerated~!” Ah, she blushed such an intense crimson. Both my hands had gone to my mouth to suppress my laughter. The tenkan—its size adjusted with a Gap—, did not fall down.

“Ugh… you’re lucky I owe your mother for her advice, otherwise…” We walked down a lengthy corridor-room lined with people wandering around, looking at things on display or plaques, eating or just hanging around. The ceiling hung low, with smoked hardwood the primary material used. It borrowed from Shinto shrines?

A somber light contrasted with well-lit artifacts from the brief war before the Winter Solstice, housed inside rigid glass cases like a museum. This terrifying, half-destroyed kabuto was what people stopped most to look at.

Hana-neesan gave it one look and hurried her step.

“Why build a museum in the way to an elevator?” I wondered out loud—

“—You should never forget that which brought you to where you stand upon.” Her voice came before her presence, and Hana-neesan jerked to a halt. The finest of white silks made her uchikake, and the hefty shiromuku framed a jade-like beauty. Twin horns sprouted from the top of the headwear, similar to Auntie's fangs jutting from a row of regular teeth. She looked pristine, draped in pure white, and she stood before neesan, half an inch taller… and she pouted. “You’re late, Hana-chan!” Keine-sensei whined. “Were you and Sekai-chan playing around? I thought you tended to your responsibilities like an adult.”

“Don’t pull my leg,” Hana-neesan hissed. “I’m here before the San-san-kudō, so what’s the big deal?”

Keine-sensei tittered. “There’s no big deal; apologies for my prank. But I wanted to talk to you, Hana-san.” Soft red eyes turned to me, ‘alone’ left unspoken. Rootless resentment sprung within: her echo was one of the many I lost in the exodus, which meant I also lost my power to peer into the future with accuracy.

Auntie’s Fate Manipulation remained as a failsafe, but still…

… Ah, guess I’ll be by myself ag—

“—Nah, I want to spend some quality time with my imouto.”

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>>50642504
>>50642503
I cannot state with certainty if someone was hurt by all that broken glass…
more soon~!

>>50642503
This is not therapy to fix Hana, Hana is corrupting Sekai...

>>50644777
Numbers

>>50644790
I cannot fathom a world Sekai is as bad as Hana so the trips of truth must be wrong this time.