hanswrittenarchive-blog

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I'm sad to see you go. :c

Ah, I'm sorry! I'm afraid this sort of thing happens to everyone, and to be fair, two years is a long time with one muse, so I'm quite happy with the run I've had with Hange. It's nothing to be sad about! And who knows, one day her muse may return, but in the meantime, as mentioned, you're more than welcome to send an ask and request for any personal details if you'd like to keep in touch!

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It doesn't look serious.

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It takes one look for her to decide that none of this is real. She's tired, dragging on the cusp of fatal exhaustion, sore and bitter and hazy, and nothing about this place looks like anything she's seen outside of poorly painted recreations. It's calm, flourishing, not a setting set perfectly but still one much better than anything she's used to. Her first line of thought is that she's dead, she's failed, she's used up her allotted nine lives and this is just her aggressive reminder of what could have been. Her second thought falls somewhere into a dream, into hopeful thinking brought about by her body's refusal to move forward anymore without any sort of rest. Her third, and perhaps the most potent thought, is confusion.

Because this is nothing like she'd experienced thus far and she's bound to the memories of what's already happened. 

She notes reconstruction, buildings rising from the ashes. She notes smiles and health, flowers and air that's both clean and fresh. She sees bright colors and glowing skin and everyone looks so much better here, now, like a film's been removed from the world as a whole, like she's pulled back the curtain after painstaking picking and she can't help but look around for the pieces that are leftover, for the remnants of that film still stuck on the surface.

It takes a good minute for her to notice he's there at all, another for her to hear him. When she finally does, it'll take her years to accept what she sees behind her, countless nights of wondering to even digest how any of this is possible. She'd spent so much of her time fighting and striving for a world where he and everyone else could be safe and comfortable and free but she'd never pictured it clearly, never went much further than thoughts and hopes and dreams.

It's not entirely what she expected. He looks a little worse for wear, a little let go, but she notes the positives far more than the negatives. His skin is brighter, less ashen, less sunken in under the eyes. He's not as dark and grim looking. He's getting more sleep, she thinks, more water, more rest. More food too, probably, enough so that his entire complexion has shifted from borderline unhealthy to something much more approachable. 

He seems to stand taller, too, walk lighter, breathe easier. She'd never seen freedom so preciously painted on someone and it's honestly hard to believe at first, if only because she'd been thrown so many things recently that were grim and vicious and bitter that she can't help but imagine this is some sort of trick, a folly of the mind meant to make her feel worse. 

It takes a lot of effort to smile but eventually she returns the gesture, albeit tiredly, albeit half-heartedly. "I -- yeah, heh. I asked around, I guess. Figured out where you live. I hope you don't mind." Quietly she thanks the stars for her ability to lie, save face and pretend. "Eh? Oh, right. It is kinda cold. Guess I forgot." She wasn't dressed for it, by any means, nor had she really noticed until he brought it up.

"You live here?" It's a nice house, though wholly what she'd expect from him. It's small, out of the way, quaint and quiet and a little run down, but it's cozy. She imagines it's nothing like the home he used to have, the house he'd grown up in as a kid, but she never really thought he fit that lifestyle anyway. "It's nice! It looks like you, you know?"

When one door closes, another opens. It was a common saying, some bizarre alternative of the old silver lining phrase. For him, he had lived and existed in this life—this was his everyday reality. A system, still a schedule (though a little more lenient today), a cycle. He now teeters between living and simply existing, but he is content this way, he views it as nothing negative. He spoke less, but words flowed easier. It was a comfortable existence, he’d only recently woken and his daily cycle had begun.

He’s a little raggedy-looking, as she’d last seen him, but minor details have changed. No longer is his face sunken, even with some apparent time passing, weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He’s a little older now, years of concentration and furrowed brows having carved at him and it shows. A body that had been begging for rest, with all its wearing joints and scars, is now less built compared to years ago. He hadn’t had to hold a blade in countless months—normality felt odd to him. He bought food like any other, read newspapers he’d once been in, sat with men at the tavern that treated him like a lazy associate.  It was surreal.

But the day, at least, was something beautiful he could appreciate again today. He slips his feet into slippers by the doorway to step out for the morning, still in the clothes he’d rested in. The air was crisp, a personal favourite of his as he paused to breathe it in. Normally, he’d stroll down to the fence to see what wonders were out this morning—when the sun showed its face, the field sparrows would come out to play. But it seemed fate had other plans, gracing him with a nearby visitor. For a moment, he is cautious, slow to approach. Spontaneous, though he supposed that had always been her style.

“Hange…?” He asks out of sheer surprise, but that face was not easily mistaken. She looks just as he’d remembered her, though she looks a little worn, he assumes from her travels here. A smile, though still a little shy, surfaces as it all settles in—an old friend, alive, a familiar face that had wanted to see him. His loneliness has left him a little more appreciative of this company nowadays, a part of him almost convinced this was a dream and he’d slept in again. Since he’d left it all behind, he’d chosen a place where he could truly be—isolated, a small way’s away out of town, far enough to breathe and be. “I… can’t believe this, did you come all this way to find me? I didn’t realise you knew where I’d gone to…”

There’s a pause and some guilt sinks in, recalling how he’d for the most part vanished some time ago. It wasn’t a case of wanting to be forgotten—he could be found if one so desired without much difficulty—but he’d had enough of endless discussions in this life. For her, though, he would welcome it. He picks up on subtle things—her clothes, scuffs here and there, the state of her hair… he decides to not yet comment on it. He cares more for her being present than anything.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone today, though that’s usually the way here… it’s not common for people to pass by. Or, were you doing just that…?” He pauses. “…ah, either way, you look cold, and I know you aren’t too fond of that. Would you like to come inside? …you’ll have to excuse me and the state of my home, though.”

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But if you don't end up like me, you end up like the alternative, which is Erwin. Do you want to be a stick in the mud?

If it implies not ending up like you, then so be it. 

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You usually don't. And that's what makes you boring.

I’ve a gut feeling I want to know nothing of it, really.

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sterngazes replied to your post:emcore replied to your post: viirtutem asked:”I’ve...

:l

What can I say, the man has a point.

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emcore replied to your post: viirtutem asked:"I've heard that ...

I warned him not to spend too much time sitting behind that desk.

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— I don’t care for enlightenment, though. So, how is it relevant?  

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sterngazes replied to your post:"I've heard that Erwin confiscates science from...

[HOW DARE YOU TWO—]

Accepting the truth is the first step on the road of enlightenment and all that jazz.

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"I've heard that some kid often steals your glasses ONLY to hide them somewhere in your lab "

"It's not a kid, it's Levi, though I see how you could get the two confused."

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"I've heard that Erwin confiscates science from you sometimes... I've also heard that you've checked out his ass."

"He does, and I have! Though not on purpose, it just sort of happens sometimes, especially in training. Hard to ignore things that zip by. It's flat, in case you were wondering."

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"I heard that you like to eat eggshells for breakfast."

"Do people actually eat eggshells..." Not true, by the way, which she would have said if she could navigate her temporary food-related trauma.

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bossard replied to your post:I heard that you once swept a man off his feet,...

*war flashbacks*

Oh, hey Auruo!

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I heard that you once swept a man off his feet, quite literally.

"...You've seen it happen, what do you mean you heard."

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"I heard that you ----" Finish this in my ask box