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feanorianethicsdepartment · 4 years ago

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Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

#ask #my terrible headcanons #elros #elrond #maglor #elwing #earendil #feanorians #niphredilien #yellow feathered faerie #putting your old url in the tags for archival purposes #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #ironically it turned out almost as long as the songfic that clogged up my askbox in the first place #and it is DONE #fuck this took forever to write #stayed up late just to get it out the door so i don't have to think about it any more #this is a long ramble and i'm pretty sure the end is just me repeating myself ad nausem sorry #i'll admit to a certain pro-feanorian bias in my interpretation #but i also don't want elros and elrond to just. live in a neverending horrorshow for decades #the silm's cruel enough we don't need that #narratively i feel like elrond being All Of The Elves is a good mirror for elros being All Of The Humans #but it didn't really fit the angle i was going for #bleck #let's see how many followers i lose for this

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zeta-in-de-walls · 4 years ago

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Tommy’s character and the theme of failure

One thing I’ve always rather appreciated about Tommy’s story in the Dream SMP is how it explores the idea of failure. It can be a challenging one to do right as it means exploring a character’s weakness a lot and can start to feel unsatisfying if the character never succeeds but I feel like Tommy’s story avoids this issue as his arc is ultimately an encouraging one. His character never stops trying or gives up in spite of his losses, showing the perseverance to keep going until eventually he starts to find happiness, no matter how elusive it seems.

Tommy’s character is no stranger to failure of course but I’d say this theme starts to become prominent with November the 16th. Tommy had two goals: to save L’Manberg and to save Wilbur. He was pretty optimistic about both. And he failed. The day ended in disaster with Wilbur dead, Technoblade, his idol, mocking his heroism and telling him to die, and his home in ruins. It takes him a long time to come to terms with who Wilbur was, separating Wilbur into two in his mind: President Wilbur and the ‘crazy’ Wilbur who blew up L’Manburg.

But Tommy continues on, quietly moving on as L’Manburg gets rebuilt. No matter what, he still believes in L’Manburg; it’s still alive. Also, he wants to finally get his remaining disc back from Dream, feeling the need to do this after putting it aside for so long.

But of course, things don’t go well. That which he had taken for granted, his bond with Tubbo, was under fire. His personal wish to get his discs back was causing division. A simple prank gone wrong was tearing everything apart as Dream threatened L’Manburg once again. None of these things were purely Tommy’s actions, and yet his actions played a part all the same as Dream essentially took advantage of all of Tommy’s weaknesses. Tommy was being viewed as a liability, a troublemaker, as self-centred, as a problem.

Tommy’s character likely blamed himself somewhat for his failure with Wilbur and L’Manburg the first time but it had been out of his hands and his reactions were more shock than being truly broken by the events and he kept up his optimism. Yet this time, the problems were not things far beyond his control. It seemed it was his own mistakes spelling his doom and it impacted him quite severely. As much as he recognised Dream as an antagonist here, his friends distrust of him was his failure. Despite his best efforts, he could not convince Tubbo not to exile him.

Rather than seeing the fairly resilient, optimistic Tommy like the first time he was banished, this time Tommy’s defeated. We see the full effects it takes on his mental state and the narrative does not pull its punches. Tommy’s already depressed and we start to see evidence of suicidal thoughts very quickly. This is all made far, far worse by Dream who encourages his dark thoughts and feelings of worthlessness, telling him everyone’s better off without him while breaking his spirit and making him miserable by repeatedly blowing up his items.

Dream was of course Tommy’s enemy, he’d recognised before that what Dream had been doing to L’Manburg, with the obsidian walls and insisting on banishing Tommy, had been unfair even if Tommy had been helpless to stop him. Yet over exile we see him really start to internalise Dream’s words, starting to really believe that narrative that he is unloved and a liability, despite his best efforts. As his mental state worsens we see him starting to believe Dream’s lies so much that he begins to believe that Dream is really his friend who cares about him. Meanwhile, he’s angrier and lashing out at the people he cares about, we seem him kill Jack, break the bridges he built and generally lashing out at the people he misses the most.

So through exile, we see Tommy at his weakest and most vulnerable. We also see some of his flaws with his uglier side, his uncontrolled emotions, his dependency on others, his deep self-worth issues and how he can be so successfully lied to. This deep exploration of Tommy’s character allows us to really see how the repeated failures and setbacks and losses affected his character mentally and depict it as yet another obstacle he needs to overcome.

And ultimately he does, ultimately deciding to fight back and run away from exile on his own. Tommy’s arc goes to very depressing places but manages to remain an inspiring story by showing you at his weakest and yet also show him never truly giving up but pressing on, in search of that happy ending. Running away from exile has him also realising that Dream is his enemy, not his friend and he commits to fighting back against him.

But of course the narrative doesn’t entirely move on. Tommy’s struggles and failures continue to plague him as the mental issues he has with self-worth and his confused feelings towards Dream do not go away. He managed to continue but that wasn’t the perfect victory as most of his problems are still there and he’s still the same person. at Techno’s house, we see him and his confusion. He’s lighthearted and joking about but he’s still deeply troubled without a clear stance on Dream or L’Manburg or Tubbo and he clings to the idea of the disc as a simple goal. It seems as if he’s doomed to become the person he hated or make the same mistakes again. He once failed to save Wilbur and it seems as if his greatest failure would be to go down Wilbur’s path too, blowing up the country he once loved.

And Tommy nearly goes too far. He finally meets Tubbo again and his anger, his issues all come back as does some self-centred behaviour as he declares that ‘the discs are worth more than you ever were’.

And he immediately regrets it. He apologises, he turns around and gives them up to Dream. He won’t let himself turn into Wilbur.

And yet, every little victory he fights so hard for is met with an even greater failure. He switches sides on Technoblade while giving Dream exactly what he wanted. His story isn’t a happy one in spite of him trying his very best and making the decisions that are right for him. And we can only wonder how inevitable it was or if he could’ve done better for he hurts Techno deeply. Is he doing better or does his very nature doom him to make the same mistakes again and again?

Once ore, we see L’Manburg blown up and this time Tommy declares it a lost cause. Despite his best efforts, it’s over and we can only stare at the ruins of the nation he’d once helped build with Wilbur. Additionally, Tommy is dead to Techno now, that relationship seemingly broken forever.

But it’s not the end. Tommy is defeated once more, with each failure hitting harder than the last but he doesn’t give up. He keeps on fighting. For all he’s lost, he’s won Tubbo back, and the experiences may have been terrible but he has learned something through all of it. Even if all that is, is understanding suffering a bit better and getting back the courage to apologise and reconcile.

He and Tubbo go after Dream and it’s almost, almost too late. He’s nearly locked in prison forever and Tubbo almost killed.

But it’s not end. Just this once, it’s not a failure. They bet it all and finally had that victory. The rest of the server comes to save them and Dream gets locked in his prison while Tommy and Tubbo are finally free.

Course, Tommy’s story isn’t over there. And the thing with this theme of failure is that it keeps on cropping up. They may have finally gotten a victory but Tommy’s issues aren’t over. he tries to start again, building his hotel but the trauma from exile has made an impact on him. It’s something that can’t be solved in a day, but only over a long time. And despite everything, the issues keep coming back. Tommy feels like things are unresolved with Dream and visits him again.

And he gets locked in prison and dies and then gets resurrected. And its all absolutely devastating and it seems as if Tommy will never get better, that he’ll never truly have his happy ending. His hotel gets stolen from him and its as if everything he tries to do ends in failure.

He tries to sort things out, tries solving things with killing Dream and it just gets Ghostbur killed and the guilt can only eat at him. Wilbur is back at Tommy’s afraid but time has passed and he’s starting to see Wilbur more for who he is. After all he’s been through, he understands him way better than he did before. He once more commits to helping him but Tommy isn’t the naive kid he once was.

Tommy still lives in the very same spot he always did. He still wants the same things he always did: a home, security, peace, friends, and he’s been experiencing many losses. And yet, his story is not a hopeless one. Because in spite of all that’s happened, he’s still trying again. And he’s learned and can avoid making those mistakes again. Right now, he’s doing better, he’s committing to living peacefully in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He’s been attempting to build bridges and though all his failures haunt him, he is gradually healing day by day, still trying to find that happy ending.

I think Tommy’s story is very cool for the way it really explores these themes of failure. It does not pull its punches, its dark, never easy or straightforward but that’s also what makes it so powerful. Those bright spots, feel so good, they feel so rewarding because they were so hard-fought. We root for Tommy’s character because we’ve seen his journey and really feel he deserves his happy end even though its never going to be perfect and indeed every failure is a mixture of forces outside of his control and his character which he has been trying to improve, learning to be nicer, more forgiving and more aware of his own emotions. He can’t fix Dream nor does he know how best to help Wilbur but he can help himself and that’s what he’s always trying to do. He holds himself to account and always tries his best.

#tommyinnit #meta #analysis #dream smp #long post #finally got round to writing this #dream smp meta #heh i blame the music i was listening to #ive been thinking about this subject a lot but suddenly listening to this song called 'the same mistake' one too many times #and i finally wrote my thoughts out #this is mostly from his character's perspective if it sounds like im blaming tommys character a lot here #he's biased ofc - he's just trying his best and didn't deserve the consequences he received #aaah a lot of characters on the smp have failures but i like how tmmys really toy with the ideas of failure a lot #i love character who never give up no matter how many times they fail a i find it super encouraging #so yeha i do love tommys character

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spiderling-space · 4 years ago

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Hey so this thought has been on my mind for like ages and I think that you'd be able to write a headcanon about it in a wonderful way, so I'm presenting this idea to you hehe ( I love ur blog so so so much btw!)

So let's say that whatever miracles of seven happened, that Yuu overblots. Being constantly pushed around by other students by being magicless, solving the idiot trio's problems, trying to survive overblots and dealing with Crowley's neglectful ass cheeks sure is not easy. With all the piled and bottled up negative emotions, Yuu like the previous boys, overblots. Yuu wasn't that hard to defeat cuz you know, they're magicless, but the twst boys did struggle and Yuu's quite the challenge too. So what if, after Yuu's overblot, they had a full on mental breakdown. Not like crying mental breakdown, they're full on SCREAMING, their voice are cracking too, and very painful to hear. They started to unconsciously harm themselves so they have to be tied down to prevent to hurt themselves further. How would the dormleaders react to that?

(Sorry for my English and if I ever break a rule, it's OK if you decide to not do this too. Btw I got this idea when I watch ATLA aka Aang the last airbender, for reference of the breakdown of Yuu just search "Azula's breakdown" that practically how their breakdown looked like :D)

I cant write headcanons because you basically wrote everything. I will just make comments and additions to this. first I mention the background, secondly Azula’s breakdown so non ATLA watchers can understand a little and lastly, MC having breakdown like Azula. For the record, I could write about ATLA for pages since it is something I love since 2005. LOL This became a bit meta xd

You can join the discord server here 😉🤣

Firstly, the back ground:

I was 7 years old when ATLA started airing. I’d be excited to get back home to watch ATLA after school. Azula’s breakdown was awful back then when I first watch it as a kid. And of course, when they aired the episodes again and again. I rewatched again because I remembered the show being dope when I was in 12th grade which was stress relief while studying for university exams, and then I rewatched last year and even founded a Zutara server. Now I’m getting back to the point. In the last two rewatching, I saw Azula in a different light and her breakdown at the end of the show was understandable. I can recommend some ATLA meta that you might like.

Secondly, Azula’s breakdown:

Azula lost everything. In the flashbacks, you saw she was getting along with Zuko, laughing and playing tag until Ozai’s influence on her grew while Ursa showed more affection towards Zuko since Ozai basically hated Zuko. These two triggered each other and it grew like snowball effect which came to the point that Ozai-Azula and Ursa-Zuko. She didn’t get love from Ozai, she was just a puppet, someone to empower him more, not his daughter meanwhile to Ursa, she was a monster. Azula was 8 years old Ursa disappeared. Imagine how this would affect the child. After this, she had estranged brother that she was jealous of because of Ursa’s love, a father who manipulated her, and an uncle who was too in pain to do anything and he was more focused on Zuko. She only had Mai and Ty Lee as “friends” but it was toxic and Azula used fear to control them. After Zuko got banished, Mai and Ty Lee went to their own places, leaving Azula alone with Ozai. Just when Zuko got back, she was being like the last times, cruel teasing, Mai and Ty Lee with her. Later, Zuko went away and probably got lectured by Ozai for her lie. Mai and Ty Lee stood against her. In the end, she had no one. Ozai didn’t want her with him either because he only wants power. Being alone drew her to the edge. In the Royal Hair Washing, the girl sje fired had her face. Her self hatred was palpable. She started to reflect this via Ursa, the mother who thought her as monster and didn’t love her like she did Zuko. I believe she would have had breakdown if she actually killed Zuko. At the end, she couldn’t handle it anymore. Being all alone, not being loved, self hatred and finally failing at something which is something she knows Ozai would never tolerate like he did with Zuko. This 14-year-old wouldn’t be able to handle it anymore and had breakdown.

Now last section, MC having breakdown like Azula’s:

Let’s see the things MC went through:

Stripped away from home

Doesn’t have much memory of it

Is thrusted into a world so foreign to them, where everything is foreign to them. There is no familiar thing that can make them recall home or feel at home

Is forced to study things that they have no prior info where the others have prior info and they are expected to ace the tests. This puts on pressure on regular students, can’t imagine the pressure they would feel since they barely understand the magic.

Is treated like trash by everyone at least once. From the first moment they came to Twisted Wonderland, they were like dirtbag. Dire gave them a house where they could get Hepatitis A to C, tetanus, hypothermia and any other disease. They have lived in that state for months and the house barely got fixed by the end of exams. They got belittled or used by almost all characters at least once. Examples: Vil calling them nobody; Azul trying to take the only thing they have from them, the dorm; Riddle calling them uneducated because not having magical parents; Leona acting like they are a toy in E2; Jamil literally manipulating their choice; sometimes NPC characters talked; Cater making them do his work etc.

They are given more than a person should handle. They are not certificated psychologist, they aren’t superhuman, they don’t have super healing... They are just human but has to fight enemies than can easily kill them if it were not the magic users around them. They are given the task of dealing with the emotional breakdown of the other people.

All of these are building up more and more. Maybe they started to get along with people after the belittlement and being used but every new character does this. At one point, it will be too much and they will think “they are only nice to me because I did a favor to them. If not for that, they wouldn’t be nice to me” which would lead to self doubt. When one starts doubting themselves, everything else starts to go down. Also, new characters treating them that way adds salt to the wound.

MC isn’t a professional psychologist. They can’t handle other people’s issues without taking a toll at themselves. They don’t even catch a break between everything.

Dire is deliberately keeping them away from home as they all do the errands he say. To him, what MC wants doesn’t matter much. The game doesn’t show but if MC has family and friends or pets, you can’t tell me that they wouldn’t miss them once or see, hug them or know their state, alive-dead, healthy-sick etc.

Lastly not being invincible. The end of Episode 5 shows this well. They couldn’t stand against Grim who isn’t as powerful as the other overblot characters. They are mortal who can get hurt easily.

Now all these build up meanwhile we don’t see an MC centered chapter, how they are etc. It’s all about the others. Maybe there were a few chapters asking if MC is okay after everything but it feels like it is in the second plan.

Everything that I mentioned can lead to a breakdown like Azula’s. Everything is just too much to handle and they don’t talk with a professional about it. When they finally let out everything, it feels much better, screaming out their lungs, lashing out like all of them did. They are finally letting out all of their emotions, crying and screaming; yet still feels better than bottling everything up. They think maybe that’s how overblot characters felt.

All in all, everyone in NRC needs a counselor.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst mc #twisted wonderland mc #MC/Yuu #twisted wonderland meta #twst meta #twst yuu #twisted wonderland Yuu

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angelkurenai · 4 years ago

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Wish upon - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Title: Wish upon

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: You were close when Wanda’s grief took over and she inevitably started controling an entire town, including you. Being her closest friend, though, instead of simply playing along, you were given a normal life of your own, with a daughter and husband whom you knew very well but never thought you had feelings for. Months later as you try to figure out your emotions for Bucky, the man seems to be trying to find every reason to stay close to you. Including asking you to join him when he’s ready to follow Sam in his adventures.

“Is that... Is that what I think it is?” you blinked several times, head tilted as you took in the object your husband was, full of pride you could clearly tell, holding and showing off to you.

“You bet it is. Polished, glittered or bedazzled, I can never tell the difference it's equally sparkly anyway, but above all ready to deliver justice. It's finally finished. Right on time at that.” he set the small pink and sparkly shield on the kitchen counter, right next to the baby bottle you'd just filled, because he knew just as well as you did that it was honestly the only way you'd keep looking at the toy and hoped that you'd like it. Which you did, sure, but not in the way Bucky hoped. “Well, what do you say about it?”

“I say that it would certainly deliver justice, no doubt by dazzling the bad guys first and foremost. Besides-” you tore your eyes away from the toy to narrow them at your husband “Just on time for what?”

“Halloween, of course.” he shrugged casually as he slowly made to reach for a piece of the potatoes you'd cooked to have on the side for dinner, but you noticed him and slapped his hand away, earning a not-so-innocent smile in return “I mean... What else is there else to talk about, of significance, in a small town like Westview besides holidays and who the new otherworldly couples in town are. The second having little to no point when one's wife can read minds, amongst so many other things, and said one is a metal-armed 106-year-old.” he sighed, raising his metal arm which he usually kept covered when outside “Honestly, I don't know who're gonna get called out on it first. Wanda and Vision or us.”

“We're handling it great. Besides, oh well a 15 year old gap is so overrated anyway. I tell you, 106 is the new 30, don't you worry a second, dear. You don't look a day over that.” you smiled sweetly, leaning in to peck his lips as he grinned.

“Ah yes, coming from the woman who last time we fought you told me that it's time to stop mourning over my buddy Rexi the dinosaur cause they're all gone now.” he said with a raised eyebrow and you shrugged.

“I don't see what you mean, I was still right.” you brushed him off, checking once more the temperature of the milk “Besides, getting off track here? You still haven't explained to me how that lovely and sparkly shield is of any use to us in Halloween?”

“Well, not us, obviously.” he turned to, according to everyone including him, his little princess “Jean of course!” he picked one of her hands and let her tiny fingers wrap around one of his as she let a giggle when he kissed her belly “It's all you've been talking about with Wanda these days. Her boys have their suits already in mind, it wouldn't be right for Jean to not have hers. It's her first Halloween anyway, even if she can't do any proper trick or treat yet.”

“I'm well aware of that, seeing as I've been planning all of ours suits. And no-” you raised a finger when you saw him raise an interested eyebrow “No, I'm not wearing the skirt version of it. Besides, what we're talking about here is Jean and I still fail to see how a shield will be any part of our little Phoenix's suit.”

“Well, because it's Halloween and she's- Well, she's part of this and she'll- The shield is part of the suit, honey. Obviously. I don't see what confuses you so much as to-”

“And I don't see what confuses you so much that you'd make a shield for her, beautiful as it might be, even though it has no place in all of it. Especially after I made it quiet clear on what costume will be.” you pointed out, baby bottle back on the counter as you crossed your arms over your chest “Honestly, I would rather her have a sparkly version of Sam's redwing before incorporating the shield in her phoenix look.”

He let silence fill the room, save for your daughter's adorable baby noises, before he finally spoke in all seriousness “No, no you wouldn't. You hate that thing too... It was the main reason that made me ask the question, like when you realize you've met your soulmate.”

“I-” only half a pause before you nodded “Yeah, you're right. I hate it... although I can't really remember how it looks like sometimes to be honest. Huh weird.” you let out a breathless laugh, frowning nonetheless.

“Oh how I'd wish for that sort of blessing.” he huffed “Including its owner.”

“Hush you love him!” you hit his shoulder “And, well, that's still all besides the point. Because Jean is not going to have a redwing or shield to her phoenix look in any sort of way. Maybe next Halloween if you wanna choose the costume, fine by me. But this year I am following through with my plans and not changing my mind.”

“Plans of what? Her being a phoenix bird? I get it, it's all magical and what not but-”

“Not just any phoenix bird, geez weez, do you not even listen when I speak, Mr Barnes?” you shook your head with a roll of your eyes.

“Well, sometimes it gets impossibly hard when you look as stunning as today, Mrs Barnes. Sadly all words fade away and as I am captured by your beauty all I can seem to hear is kiss me. How can I not comply?” he said so innocently and with such an adorable smile you couldn't help your fond one in return.

Seeing such adoration and love written all over your face had your heart on overdrive again, as if it was the first time you realized you were in love with him again. It was incredible how you could barely remember that moment whenever you thought about it, however you didn't care. You couldn't find yourself to care when looking at him had your chest fill with warmth, a pleasant buzz all over your body and no weight dragging you down. He made things more simple, having his love and having him by his side made life have meaning and your future full of hope. It hadn't been easy, that much in a way you could remember, but you knew it was worth it because he was worth it. You wanted to give him all your love, wishing that it could live up to the one in his eyes for you in return, so that he could understand what you did from the first moment you met him: he deserved it.

And even if- you couldn't explain why you thought so, but even if there were ever people that would willingly leave him behind, even if you'd never understand that, you were ready to show to him that you could and would be with him till the end of the line. This love you had in you for him had sealed the deal long before you even knew about it.

If anything, you were more than willing to live in this small town, heavens in these four walls of your house, so long as you had him by your side and were able to give him all the love you didn't know you had for him.

You shook your head lightly and gave him “Sweet talking me will get you nowhere, darling. Or rather-” you paused, smirking at him “It might get you in one place. The bedroom.” you grinned when you saw his eyebrows raise in interest “To get Jean's suit. Cause I remember I have some adjustments to make.”

“Bet you do.” he huffed like a little child “Cause she'll be a bird and not a superhero who-”

“Not just a phoenix bird, Buck. The phoenix, that's different.” you pointed out, making him frown.

“How is that different? And what... is the phoenix?”

“Well, it's-” you started but paused abruptly, frowning at your own thoughts “It's actually-” you blinked several time and let out a nervous laugh “Funny thing, I... can't remember. Wow that's... it happens all the more often lately.”

“Can't be important then, right?” he brushed it off casually even though you kept frowning in deep thought which for some reason didn't lead anywhere “Certainly no more than Jean's suit that it... And how we could incorporate a shiel-”

“No.” you cut him off before he could get to complete his sentence “Not gonna happen. I've already got everything planned, you're not going to ruin my plans.”

“Is this how it's gonna go every Halloween now? Us fighting over what Jean's costume will be until she's old enough to choose herself?”

“Oh dear, of course not. It's not fighting when you don't stand a chance against me in the first place.” you shrugged innocently and he tried to look stern by narrowing his eyes at you but you smiled and pecked his lips before speaking “I mean, you could never say no to these pretty eyes, could you?” you batted your eyes at him and he very fast, much faster than last time, sighed in defeat and nodded his head “Besides, you don't have to worry. Next Halloween we'll make her a costume that incorporates the shield too, happy?”

“Always.” he breathed out with such ease that it took a few seconds for you to not openly stare at just how much relaxed he looked, how he truly meant it and how shockingly different he looked while admitting it compared to only a few months ago... months, you weren't sure of the time anymore but truth was that you didn't care, because if there was one thing you could remember was that he had not always been like this and to have him truly happy made everything worth it.

“However-” he cleared his throat, as if noticing how you'd zoned out “That doesn't really solve the problem. Having to compromise, you know. Why should any of us have to? However, if we were to have more than one option...” he trailed off, leaning in closer without any regard for your personal space, not that he needed to, as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him “Say... if we were to have more than one options then things wouldn't be this hard, right? Just... to make it easier on ourselves?”

“Make it easier... how exactly?”

His hands found your hips, earning a small giggle from you as he pecked your neck once, twice and three times before he kissed your cheek and the temple, whispering in the end “Let's make more.” it earned a squeal from your as your eyes widened but he grinned even more widely “Come on, think about it. A little boy or maybe another baby girl, Jean would make a great sister. And we wouldn't have to argue about the Halloween costumes. Besides... would be a fun process either way.”

“You have to be kidding me.” you gave him a serious expression but his hopeful smile- no, scratch that. His smile that was bordering that of an idiot, if not lovesick one (but you were on the same boat on that), didn't fade in the least bit “Oh you have to- Alright, Mr Barnes, how about you learn how to feed your daughter without making a mess first and then you can come and talk to me about a second or third one hm? Cause, good as you might be at changing diapers, it ain't just that.”

“She just makes a mess because she enjoys to laugh at my expense, just like you and Sam.” he pointed out and you fought back a smile “And- Hold up a second... did you just say third? You think you're gonna let me ask for a third one too?”

Your eyes widened when you realized that he was really considering the prospect before your lips parted, you being ready to retort-

Only for no words to be uttered after that from your lips. The only sound being a deep intake of air as you were startled awake. Soon followed by a groan as you took in your surroundings and realized you were sadly still in your room. Sadly? Really? You didn't know if that was the case but even if it was, you didn't want to think even more about it. You buried your face in your pillow, not ready to face the day yet because... who were you even kidding? You wanted to go back to it. If not that fake reality, if not the playhouse that Wanda had built out of her grief and had dragged you into it as well - and maybe you hated yourself for how part of you did want that - then at least your dream would be nice.

It's been months and yet it feels as if it's been just yesterday that you were all released from her control. How could you not feel that way after all? When you were awake, the fake reality you'd thought your life was constantly on your mind, and when you were asleep even if you were not thinking of it, you were dreaming about it. It was constantly on your mind. And as if the experience itself, mind-control and all, hadn't left you with a few mental scares to add to your already existing ones to take care of, then the realization of the truth that lay within your own heart, was more than enough to keep the events replaying on your mind day and night.

To put matters simply: when you had followed your best friend, Wanda, after seeing her so distraught, leaving SWORD, you had never thought you'd find yourself playing house with a fake copy of one and only James Bucky Barnes thanks to said best friend. But while there was a chance for that, you never thought there was a chance that you'd realize you had feelings for the man all along.

Your life had been different there. Maybe because you were always close with the other Avenger, who knew. While there were times where you'd experience Wanda's grief, her nightmares from time to time came to haunt you at night just like it did with the rest of the town, your life was mostly... good. No, forget that, your life was nearly perfect. You had everything you wished for and things you didn't even know you had wished for. Maybe deep down you had always wanted it, a normal life, peace and calm, a kid whether it was yours or not... Bucky. You had probably always wanted him but didn't know it yourself, no doubt you were too busy crushing over Steve.

If only your current self could see your past self, or at least self of barely a year ago, you'd have smacked some sense into your stupid self who thought Steve Rogers was the only man you could ever have eyes for. While you had come to be very close with the Captain and ended up doing almost everything together, everyone thought there was much more to the two of you, that it hadn't even occurred to you to think that Steve wasn't really the one you wanted. Maybe you had convinced yourself so, in a way that now that he was no longer there you were more shaken by the fact that you were not shaken by how he had decided to live his life with Peggy in the past than his absence itself.

You had not felt any sort of betrayal, nor that you were suddenly all alone, certainly not as if anything was missing from your life. Granted, you had plenty to think about most of the time, day and night, but that didn't change things. You wished Steve had had a happy ending and you would on the occasion miss him the way you'd miss... a brother. You were always calm, no worries or fears, content with the fact that you knew he had been happy even if it was away from you because, in a way, you wanted it to be that way, it was natural. However, the mere thought of someone else leaving, someone that you thought far too often about, made your heart leap to your throat and your stomach tie in knots. The mere thought that Bucky could leave the way Steve had done made your throat close in a painful way and your eyes burn with tears, making you realize just who mattered the most.

If, again, Wanda plucking the truth about your feelings for the man to give you a life with him wasn't proof enough.

Your phone buzzing made you jump once more, eyes landing on the device on the nightstand. Reaching for it you were not surprised to see the messages that were pilled in your inbox. All from the same specific someone. A specific someone you had found yourself speaking with all the more often lately. Each time successfully managing to make you smile in one way or another, without fail.

Good morning. :)

Did I use that one correctly? I keep forgetting them, no matter how many times you show me.

And show him you had, just like that there was an option for him to choose from different ones instead of having to type them, but that was still work in progress. So even if Bucky learning emojis was a memory that you'd cherish forever, it wasn't the only important one at the moment.

On second thought, it's a bit too early.

You're probably still asleep. Nevermind. Sorry for bothering you.

And then more, shortly afterwards.

I only wanted to know if you're alright, that's all.

Anyway, hope I didn't wake you up.

He, much like everyone else, thought it was hard on you to deal with Steve being gone so he did his best to keep in touch and being as selfish as you were, you didn't bring yourself to tell him the truth that you cared more to know about how he was and wanted the contact for that. Maybe he was also worried about you after Wanda's mind-control too. But if Sam's words were anything to go by, then it was all an excuse for Bucky to stay close with you. You didn't let your hopes get up for that reason though. You could gladly take whatever you got without wondering.

Again it was followed not much later by another message.

I've actually got something to talk to you about. Something happened, though you could already know if you saw the news. Can I come over to talk with you? I need your opinion on the matter.

And shortly afterwards came.

I've already got your favorite breakfast. To make up for, probably, waking you up. :)

The next one had taken longer, he had probably been waiting for an answer all that time. You couldn't help but feel bad about it. That and the fact that the reason behind you not replying earlier was because of how immensed you were in your fantasy life with him that you had not told him a thing about.

(Y/n)... are you sure you're alright? It's getting late even for you.

Truth was you had more trouble waking up after having a dream of that time. But you couldn't tell him that. And then there was the latest one.

Alright, I'm coming over. I really hope you're not dead in there. I'm not going to let you hear the end of it if you are. Oh dear, I sound like Sam right now. Forget I ever said that. Both of it.

Before you even had the time to think about what he could mean, because no you had really not seen the news yet, let alone type back a reply, the door to your bedroom burst open. It earned a squeal from you as you looked with wide eyes at Bucky standing on the doorway. You weren't even surprised how you hadn't heard him, not when he already had keys to your apartment and could easily sneak up on you. Not that him surprising you was what you cared about at the moment. It was, and you could only admit it to yourself, more important how you looked at the moment – and having just woken up you weren't sure just how attractive you looked – than anything else. Especially when Bucky looked better than ever with that new haircut that you were sure he'd gotten on purpose, just to test how much your heart could take.

“I thought doors existed back in your days, Barnes. Maybe knocking was an option too.”

You saw him let out a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing “What would have been the point if you were dead? You wouldn't have replied anyway.”

“Bold of you to assume I would miss on another chance to lecture you about the proper use of emojis, Mr Barnes. Even death could not stop me.” you broke into a grin and he chuckled.

“What, did I really mess it up?” he asked with a small, far too adorable for your own good, frown.

“Oh no you got it just right.” you said softly, adoring the proud look on his face before you added “However, I've told you, you don't have to type them anymore. There is an option on your keyboard with that kind of stuff for you to-”

“Eh alright, alright I get it. I suck at it. I'm not even gonna try using them anymore.”

“Wha- No!” you whined softly “No, Buck, I didn't mean that. Come on, you're good. You just... have a lot to learn still.” you shrugged “That's all. We didn't do great at first either. Nobody really got emojis a first, but you'll get the hang of it.”

“But you still think I am a grandpa when it comes to technology. And my age doesn't help on that case either.” he shrugged, as if he meant it casually as a joke but you could see a small hint of self-consciousness there as well.

“Nonsense.” you said softly, finally throwing the blankets off you “You're far from a grandpa, Buck. In fact, I strongly believe that 106 is the new 30, and you don't look a day over that.” the words were out of your lips before you could even think about it and when you realized what you'd said, your smile flattered a bit. You were glad his back was turned to on that second that he didn't notice. You cleared your throat, sobering up “Besides, new things are not everyone's cup of tea anyway.”

“Uh yeah...” you notice the relaxed, and almost happy, look fade away from his face as his eyebrows pulled back into a frown. He looked down for a second, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets “Things do change. Sometimes faster than we can adapt to the new world around us.”

“Alright, unless you're channeling Charles Darwin right now, which I don't think you are, care to explain to me what's wrong? Because... I am guessing something is, judging by your expression.” you got up and approached “Is this... about the shield? I- I don't know if Sam giving it up is that much of a good choice however... he must have his reasons, right?”

“Well, yes, but- this is not just about that.” he sighed, finally looking up to meet your eyes “Something happened and I've been thinking about it, I wanted your opinion on it. You know it matters to me.”

“...And? There is more to that, come on. Tell me.” you knew him too well and you hadn't even realized when that happened too “You know you can... Always.”

“I do.” he paused for a moment, holding your gaze before he let a soft sigh “It's just, I am going to go find Sam and... I want you to come with me. If you're up for it, I would like you to be there with me... maybe?”

“You know... I should punch you just for doubting whether I'd follow you or not. But just because it won't lead anywhere for me-” you smirked at him “Buy me dinner too and consider yourself excused and me up for any challenge. Strongest Avenger at your disposal, Mr Barnes.” you patted his shoulder, enjoying the deep chuckle that came from him. Even if his next words made the air get caught in your throat.

“It's a date then.”

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goneloot · 2 years ago

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How 2 talk to people (even if you’re really shy)

The last of the main game mechanics, yipee!

Only being able to KO and beat enemies always felt incomplete on my previous game. Plus, I saw some people even saying they felt bad beating up some of the enemies because they were too cute!

And, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, if the battle layouts got very funky you could just become unable to hit an enemy and get softlocked. So there has to be a way to deal with enemies no matter where they are on the field.

This game is about Apples and Love, but also Time. Those are three things, so it’d make sense they each had a corresponding stat.

So I knew I had to add a pacifist option, that used a stat different to the Magic/Mana/PP stat and, to prevent softlocks, that stat had to replenish over time. And that’s the basic mechanics of talking, really.

The mechanic went through a lot of thought until I landed on something similar to Persona 1/2′s demon negotiation, but much less complicated. You use an ability from the ones you know, you do a little minigame sometimes, and that ability has some effect on foes! Each foe has a different susceptibility to different abilities, so for example, an enemy might be “weak” to music-based skills, but not minding the “Encourage” skill. Some foes are also weak to being gifted specific kind of items, or being hit with specific attacks in specific parts (like feeding someone an apple).

This also had some really cool side effects on other aspects of the games’ design:

Since using skills required time that replenished every turn, it was much more important to have survivability than raw power, making defensive strats much more useful if you go this route!

Making it so skills have the ability to convince foes encourages the player to use those skills on non-boss encounters instead of not bothering with them.

By making it a mechanic, people are more likely to remember enemies since they now must have a personality!

Of course, as this is the first go of this mechanics, it ain’t perfect.

The first problem is that players might gravitate to only one beating, KOing or talking to foes, and not try and mix and match them. To solve this, the game is simply designed to kinda force you to. The first boss is designed to be nigh impossible if you don’t mix and match them (or strategize), and some foes are just very hard to KO/kill/talk o you are encouraged to beat different foes differently. Besides the design, KOing or defeating foes just gives you some extra Time, so if you don’t have enough for a skill you can just try and do something else!

The second one is on enemy design. As there is a limited number of skills there is a limited amount of enemy variety so that the enemies’ personalities don’t feel too samey. This isn’t a problem in the game (I hope), it just made me have to start getting creative for some of the later designed foes. If I ever give this another go, though, I’ll find a way to differentiate enemies more. Maybe some foes could adore music and others hate it, and you could convince enemies by either being nice or annoying to them. But that’s a future problem.

I’m probably just overthinking stuff and the mechanic’s probably fine. But if I don’t overthink it, who will?

#Indiegame #paperverse #SMT #i didnt mention undertale at all that's gotta be a record or smth

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honkhonkrichard · 4 years ago

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Theory: Stanley Uris was Murdered.

Tagging @vvanini I hope you can follow this okay it’s very word vomity lol

Okay So TW because this post will touch on Stan's death ad the methods behind it

I propose that Stan Uris was murdered. by IT. In his home on that fateful night. I think that Stan posed the biggest threat to IT and therefore IT felt the need to take him out before the battle even started.

Allow me to explain.

Okay, so, I need to lay out some basic "rules" or "facts" before I make my case. They are as follows.

- IT planted it's roots in Derry, and finds it difficult to leave, but still can at it’s own wil. If you read the book (I honestly don't blame you if you haven't) You'd know that once the Losers kill IT for the final time, Derry (the Physical town) is obliterated. Buildings explode, sinkholes appear, things are flooded. The town is in ruins by the time that the Losers leave the sewers. The movies don't adapt this so If this is news to you thats fine. the bottom line is that destroying IT destroys Derry, like ripping a tree out of the ground with all it's roots. Because of this, we can make the claim that while it can Leave Derry (as it does every 27 years) it probably takes tremandous amount of power to do so, which is why IT only goes when the cycle is over. Why does this matter? Well, what if IT left Derry to get to Stan? The murders had stopped for about a week when they're all in the Jade of the Orient. Plenty of time for IT to cross from Maine to Georgia. Side Note: We KNOW IT leaevs Maine to elsewhere in the world because of King's extended universe all interconnecting. it's not far off at all to make the claim that IT is the same evil that haunts, say The Shining's Overlook Hotel, which is in Colarado.

- IT is omnipresent This is also a given, IT lives everywhere, and can fuck with time and space in godlike (or maybe eldritch like) ways. in IT: Chapter Two, when Mike claims "IT Doesn't know I know what I know" he's unfortunately wrong, because we know that IT can be in A) Multiple places at once, B) can manipulate anything on the drop of a hat (See: Stan being teleported away from everyone else in Chapter One, Everything about Neibolt, etc) and C) Knows everyone's deep fears. This is further proven by IT Saying things like "Beep Beep Richie" (although this is Horribly Horribly executed in the films, ugh.) and so on and so forth. On top of all of this, We can make the claim that IT can exist outside of Time as well, given that IT is immortal. SO, what's stopping IT from Knowing Mike was going to call them all back (Espically considering that IT TOLD Mike to do this?). Even if we keep IT's omnipresence to the location that IT inhabits (in this case Derry) IT would still have knowledge of where the losers are through Mike. And if you take the Lucky Seven/Chosen Seven route (oh my god I got theories on that too) you could argue IT knows where they are inherently due to their cosmic status.

- Stan is the "most Powerful" loser So, obviously all the Loser's are powerful, espically considering they're the ones who Defeat IT (Again going on to the Lucky/Chosen Seven theory). This next claim is going to be less focused on what the 2019/2017 Movies do because they are Bad Movies and that's a whole other rant. However, in the book, Stan is (to my knowledge feel free to correct me on any of this) the only loser to Actively ward off and 'defeat' IT on his own without running away. He uses his belief in this what is Real (birds) to ward off what is "not real" (IT). The other losers do manage to take down IT in their own Right, but Stan is ultimately the one to Really get IT. This is because Stan's character revolves around Belief and Willpower. These are, in some form or another, the ways to Defeat IT. the ritual of Chud is a battle of Wills. in the book, Bill takes IT down and Eddie does the final blow. In the Remake (ugh) the losers can defeat it Technically using the belief that IT isn't as powerful as it claims because IT's "just a clown" (Ihatethatfuckingendingsomuchugh). Stan being much more skeptical than the rest of the group in his ability to understand Reality vs IT's illusions is a powermove, and IT knows that ability doesn't go away as Stan grows up, but rather he gets more powerful. Stan is the Only loser out of the 6 who left that has any sort of knowledge about IT, where the other losers have nothing. Bev has nightmares, yes, but she still forgets them. We're told in his chapter (Chapter 3, Six Phone Calls (1985), Part One: Stanley Uris Takes a Bath) that he has some hazy knowledge of his place in the Lucky Seven, and even goes so far as to MENTION it sometimes, even if he doesn't quite remember or understand any of it, his knowledge of IT and Derry is worlds more prominent than that of the rest of the losers.

(page 52 of IT: "Stanley, nothing's wrong with your life!" "I don't mean from inside." he said. "From inside is fine. I'm talking about outside. Something that should be over and isn't. I wake up frmo these dreams and think, 'My whole pleasent life has been nothing but the eye of some storm I don't understand.' I'm afraid. But then it just... fades. The way dreams do." OR page 45: He had been smiling a little. Now the smile faltered, and for a moment he seemed puzzled. His eyes had darkened, as if he looked inward, consulting some interior device which ticked and whirred correctly but which, ultimately he understood no more than the average man understands the workings of the watch on his wrist. "The turtle couldn't help us," he said suddenly. he said that quite clearly.)

So, Stan has some cosmic knowledge of IT and Maturin and his role in the battle against It. What does any of this have to do with his death? Well, let me point out some other things about Stan's death that always stuck out to me. - His death chapter is narrated by his wife, Patty, rather than himself. The other chapters - almost all the other chapters - are narrated by their respective Loser (the caviot for this is Ben, but Ben is also wasted out of his damn mind so its understandable.) - Stan's personality is few and far between in the book, but we know he has a weird little sense of humour and that he's incredibly logical. I think that this logical part of him would be able to understand that Suicide is Never Ever the answer, and that it would cause FAR more problems than it would solve. (the 2019 movie tries to reexplain his death and it's crap and i hate the letters i hate the letters so much im gonna explode) The other losers try to rationalize his death by saying "He would rather Die Clean than Live Dirty (Page 506, Chapter 10, The Reunion, part 3, 'Ben Hanscom Gets Skinny') but he had already BEEN Dirty when he defeated IT the first time, and I think he would've recognized that. - upon finding him, Patty (in her narration) notes that Stan's head is bent back over the edge of the bathtub, so from his sight she would have been upside down. If Stan DID kill himself, why would he be positioned like that? It's unnatural, like someone Posed him. - the cuts on his arms are two length wise cuts. I'm no expert but.. that's suspicious. That's weird. - IT is written in blood on the wall. Why? Why would Stan right THAT of all things? You know who DOES like to paint with blood? IT.

Alright, returning to my thesis statement, Stanley Uris was murdered. Do I think Stan genuinely was going to take a bath at 7pm (which we're told is weird for him)? Yes. I think that's absolutely a thing he could have done or planned to do. Do I think he slit his wrists and commited suicide so he wouldn't go back to Derry? No. Not even remotely.

Let me paint a New Picture.

It's May 28th, 2016, or 1985. Stanley Uris gets a call from Mike Hanlon. Stan is incredibly hesitant to go to, and says he needs time to think about it. Or tht he'll try. He can feel the starts of a Panic attack, and as he's remembering the circles of Hell he went through as a child, he tries to hold himself together. He doesn't want his darling wife to see his break, so he says "I think I'll take a bath" and nothing else before going upstairs. he hides in the bathroom. He closes and locks the door, because, well, he's panicking. Locking doors is one of The Small things he does. Is it usually the bathroom door? no, but still (OCD is a bitch, and even with medication, but this is a special case). He looks in the mirror and tries to breathe. This is fine. He can do this. They killed IT once before and they can do it again. He thinks about his younger self, the promises made, and how he could explain all of this Patty in time to catch a flight to Maine. It's terrifying, but if his friends are going to bite the dust, he wants to be there with them, wedding vows be Damned. Then he looks at his reflection again. A younger, rotted version of himself stares back at him. IT crawls through the mirror. Stan freaks out, obviously. This isn't real. This Can't be real. But IT utilizes this notion against him. It digs it's claws into his arms, and forces him to bleed out in the bathtub. IT then sets the scene nicely. Razorblades on the counter, a bloody signature on the wall, a horrible posture of Stan's neck. So on and So forth. and then IT returns to Derry. IT's a little weak, yeah, but Stan is dead. That's what matters. the Lucky Seven has now Officially broken, and the balance shifts in favour of the clown.

So that's the theory. feel free to correct me on anything or engage I have plenty of theories on this story and I like discussing this stuff :).

#anyways #Stan #stanley uris #Stan uris #mine #Murder Theory #honktheory #thats a tag now I gues ??#pw #analysis #meta

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unmaskedagain · 5 years ago

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I’m Just your problem (But please tell me i’m a winner)

Okay so in my defense of this story, you didn’t actually say who you wanted to be the center of the story. And I kind of got inspired the second I heard the song and just ran with it. It’s a one shot about and staring Lila. So... yeah. Hope you enjoy it though. @abrx2002

I’m the winner!

Lila knew it didn’t have to be like this. It never had to be like this. She didn’t want to bury Marinette in the ground but little Miss Goodie Goodie just couldn’t leave well enough alone. So now Lila had to bury her with just a few words.

She couldn’t been Marinette’s friend. She wanted to be Marinette’s friend. Before even meeting the girl, the entire class had spun a tale of just how fabulous Marinette was. Lila had looked forward to meeting her, becoming her friend, and using her power to rule the class and school together. They could’ve both won. It would’ve been easy.

Too easy apparently.

Because never, not even, once did Marinette want to be her friend. She never even gave Lila a chance. Lila the villain in Marinette’s story as far as the other girl was concerned.

Nice guys finish last.

That’s why I win.

I’m the winner.

The Little princess in pink swore she just didn’t like liars. But everyone told lies, even the perfect Marinette. (Especially Marinette) It was a fact. So why was Lila the one she called out? What was so wrong with Lila that Marinette couldn’t just leave well enough alone.

“Marinette didn’t like liars,” Lila scoffed. “Or maybe she just doesn’t like me!”

Which was a blow to the Italian girl’s pride. Because Marinette liked everyone. She gave everyone chances. Even Chloe! The girl who bullied Marinette and everyone else in class far worse than Lila could’ve considering doing herself. If a spoiled rotten girl like Chloe deserved another chance (and another and another and another) but Lila didn’t get one, how rotten did Marinette think Lila was?

Maybe the lies weren’t the problem like Lila suspected. Maybe the issue was that she didn’t bow and cater to Marinette’s everywhere like the rest of the class seemed to do. They treated her like some goddess.

Is that what Marinette wanted? Did she wanted Lila to worship at her feet? Treat her like she’s perfect like her stupid little friends did? Loyal little lackeys that they are.

Were, Lila thought viciously. A few grand tales, some golden promises and they were at my beck and call. I won.

How’s that for friendship, Maribrat? How does it feel to know the friends you cared so much about turned on you with just a few words. Does it hurt? Does it sting?

Will you finally admit I’m better?

I’m worthy?

That I won?

Am I worthy of your friendship now?

Lila thought Marinette would stop then. After she turned everyone in class against her. Used the faculty’s foolishness to get the Marinette expelled. (Though it was reversed). The girl had lost everything. What was hers was Lila’s now. From bestie Alya, to meek pushover Adrien, to her place at center of class’s love and affection. It was Lila’s now. Because Lila won.

And the Italian girl thought it was a matter of time before Marinette came crawling back. A bit of time before she stopped calling out Lila for lying and just went with it. If she did, then Lila would be benevolent enough to stop accusing her of being a bully, coach the class into re-friending the poor sorry Marinette.

It never happened. Instead of begging and pleading to be Lila’s friend like Lila expected.

Wanted.

Needed.

Admit defeat.

Admit I beat you.

Admit that I won.

Marinette stopped looking hurt at all the nasty words her friends (Ex-friends, Lila thought viciously) were spitting at her, the girl started smiling at her phone, texting, giggling. She hardly ever batted an eye anymore. The only times she called Lila out on her lies was when Lila said anything directly involving Marinette.

She seemed to wash her hands of her classmates. Lila could only watch as she befriended other students from other classes. Classes where Lila had no influence. Friends that didn’t fall easily to little small fibs.

Friends that were smarter that her last ones.

More loyal.

Better.

While the class rightfully worshiped at Lila’s feet now, Marinette moved on to bigger and better things. She played a new game; one that Lila couldn’t win.

It wasn’t fair!

I already won!

Me! I did.

I won!

Student council. Fashion Club. Powered, a club for future female CEOs. She started her own design website. She went on amazing trips and met people Lila could only dreaming of meeting and constantly lied about. Marinette slowly but surely became one of the most popular girls in school.

While I dwindled in mediocrity.

Forced to deal with her stupid ex-friends.

Forced to only lie about things I’ve done.

Forced to watch you do them.

Forced to watch you rise like a star.

Forced to watch you WIN.

Marinette would have rather befriend the entire school, everyone and their entire mother, than to debase herself by admitting defeat and bending to Lila’s whims, getting her friends back in the process. Nope. She rather waste her befriending insignificant morons than be Lila’s friend. It was proof alone how much she hated Lila.

She just used the lies as excuse to cover up the thousands of reason she must’ve hated Lila. Marinette didn’t want Lila to apologize for lying.

She wants me to apologize for not being like her!

Sweet. Perfect. Angelic.

Sorry, that Lila wasn’t made of sugar, spice, and everything. Sorry that’s the stupid reason for anyone to not like someone. To go out of their way to avoid them.

Anyone else would crumble at what Lila threw at them.

They had.

Three. Four. Five. Girls

All were left nothing more than a puddle of tears after I was done with them.

I beat them all!

I won.

But Marinette had gone from those, precious hurt and betrayed faces, to looking at everyone in class like they were just an inconvenience. Like Lila was a minor inconvenience to her day.

But I had won!

I know it!

She can’t just play a new game.

I won.

Every day, she looked through Lila like people look at extra credit math problems in a class your already Acing. She could solve it, put in some minor effort, and fix it but what was the point? Marinette clearly had better things to do than to worry about her ex-friends, her ex-crush, about Lila; minor little problems in her otherwise PERFECT little life.

Lila was just a problem to Marinette. Not a friend, not an enemy anymore, just a stupid little problem. Not even a real person. Just a problem, she couldn’t even be bothered with anymore.

No! Marinette was too busy being elected Spring Queen at the Sweethearts dance.

Too busy on Claude, the star football play, the future Oscar-winning film maker, the most popular guy in school’s arm. The king to her Queen.

And to think Lila had be waiting, patiently, so very patiently, to see the devastated look on Maribrat’s face when she got to the dance and saw…

Adrien and Lila were at the dance, together, as dates; the perfect couple. Marinette was suipossed to be so, SO, heartbroken.

She never batted an eye.

She even told Lila how nice she looked.

And then went on her way. Because Lila wasn’t worth anymore of her time or energy. Like Lila hadn’t taken everything from her.

Like I hadn’t won.

Like I hadn’t beat her.

I did. I know I did.

I beat everyone.

I win at everything.

Marinette just wasn’t playing right.

It was the last time Marinette looked her way the entire night. She was too busy with her perfect friend, her perfect boyfriend, living her stupid perfect life. Being crowned Queen. Lila had broken every mirror and reflect surface in her room. If Marinette didn’t want to look at her problem than neither did Lila.

This wasn’t how winners acted…

After the dance, Lila had tried to get closer to the other kids in school, Marinette’s friends. But they didn’t bat at an eye at her. Had only given the barest looks of amusement, and pity, at her attempts.

It got so bad that Lila almost believed the lie she told the class about Marinette turning the school against her.

Truthfully she knew that Marinette couldn’t have been bothered to. She was too busy. Too busy to worry about the drama in their stupid little class.

Stupid busy for me!

No, she went on her day like Lila didn’t exist.

I exist, damn you.

I’m here.

And I beat you.

I won!

The more she ignored Lila the worst Lila got the class to treat her. Exile her. Got them to get Bustier to get kick Marinette off the school field trips.

Not that it bother Marinette. She just stopped helping fund raise. Went on jaw-dropping trips with her new friends. Ignored the sneers and glares from her ex-friends. Like nothing bother her. None of them matter.

None of them were important enough to matter to her! Lila wasn’t important enough to matter to the great Marinette.

Is this how you treat people who beat you, huh, Maribrat?

You ignore them?

Pretend they’re not there.

SO you can pretend I didn’t win!

Lila wasn’t going to apologize for beating her fair and square. She wasn’t going to stop lying, tell the truth, and beg for Marinette’s friendship. Because what would that really do?

It would be a forfeit.

It would mean I didn’t win.

And really it wasn’t like she did anything wrong, right? If anything Marinette should be thanking Lila for revealing the true colors of her so-called friends, of her crush. Not that Lila was trying to justify anything. Because she didn’t have to.

I won, after all.

Lila won so Marinette shouldn’t be ignoring her in class, right? She shouldn’t act like nothing Lila did phased her. Like Lila didn’t exist. Lila shouldn’t have to be the one to make amends, right?

History is written by the victors.

And I won!

It wouldn’t matter even if she did. Marinette had always hated her, had always been out to get her, had disliked her the moment she laid eyes on Lila just like Ladybug.

Lila had always been on Marinette’s blacklist. And she had done so many things, she couldn’t even remember what landed her there in the first place. It was something stupid, probably. Something so minor, some little lie that Marinette was to uppity to forgive, to let go of.

It was her problem, not mine.

It was all Marinette’s fault, right? It was all her fault! So NO! Lila wouldn’t admit defeat. She wouldn’t stop lying. So why do I want to…

Lila would rub everything she took from Marinette into the other girl’s face. Maribrat would break eventually. They always do. They have to, right? No one could deal with losing so much in such a short while. She’ll admit she was wrong, right? That She should’ve bowed down and accepted Lila as her friend, as the class’s new sweetheart. She’d admit Lila won then, right? Lila beat her. Lila was and is and always will be the winner.

I won!

I beat her.

So there! Lila won, that was it. That was how the game ended and how the story would too. She’d marry Adrien, make Alya her maid of honor just to rub it in Marinette’s face that Lila had everything she ever dreamed of.

Then she’d admit Lila’s won. Because Lila always wins! She already won, after all. Marinette just refused to be a good little loser and admit it…

Lila won.

I’m the winner, right?

#ml salt #lila salt #lila bashing #lila rossi #minor adrien salt #minor class salt #class salt

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lady-eny · 3 years ago

Text

TITLE: TIME TO TIME (11/13)

Some tags: Canon compliant, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Minor Mikenana, Veterans, Canon-typical violence, Character Study, Love to Hate, Hate to love, Mutual Pining

Summary:

When Hange met Levi, little did she know everything that would come after.

Not just titans and the end of the world, but their own personalities, problems, and not to mention those developing feelings none of them want to acknowledge.

Over time their relationship changes, for good and worse. But at the end they always come back to each other.

It’s only a matter of time.

—AKA the LeviHan journey. From meeting to friends, to something more, to hating each other (or do they?), to rekindling their relationship, etc. —

Cross-posting on: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 12 13

Notes: Thanks for reading! As always, feedback is appreciated!✨Have a great week!

Chapter 11 Each other’s anchors to the only ones left

Love, pain, trust… terms that tangle and mingle together, but still get detached by us while we claim the superiority of the first. In reality, though, aren’t all of those parts of life?

Nonetheless, love is indeed the superior force, isn’t it?

In a chaotic world, love is the constant that keeps people living, instead of just surviving.

“I was… unfit… to be a parent.”

Kenny Ackerman’s voice rolls around, bumping into his head’s walls and the wooden ones from the empty kitchen.

Levi finally has an answer to the question that’s been hiding in the depths of his mind ever since he was a child. However, it wasn’t the one he was expecting—what did he expect, though? To hear that he left because there was something wrong with Levi? Probably. And yet, that wasn’t it. With his words, he feels as if he’s finally beginning to understand him, understand that his departure was more of Kenny’s problem than his own. Somehow, that makes him see his life with a new perspective, see every time people left in a different light.

Maybe, after all, it has always been more about them or the universe being an asshole, than about himself. The knowledge removes a prickly rock from his chest. It seems that it’s always been stuck there, scratching him from within. And now, suddenly, it’s gone—despite its absence, though, the scars of the damage it caused remain, even when they no longer hurt the same.

The second he freed from it, he felt without burdens. But then, several more and more burdens started falling on his shoulders, practically knocking him to the ground.

Circumstances are in no way better than months ago. The truth of this world does not liberate them, only suffocates them with more danger, isolates them in a reality impossible to solve. Their enemies are no longer titans, mere creatures whom they must defeat in order to prevail. They’re humans, much like themselves, and millions for that. A world with technology beyond their imagination, and a conflict rooted in a millennium hate. Their fight isn’t for humanity anymore, but for the people on the island and the right to live as human beings. With all of that, it’s almost impossible to see the light at the end of this tunnel, to glimpse the world that the Survey Corps always dreamed of.

The Survey Corps which currently consists of nine members. The Survey Corps whose new Commander is currently locked in her room.

Hange has been quite busy, that much he knows. First, she took over the Commander position and made it her job to read Grisha’s books again and again—which explained how a civilization out of the walls despises them. Next, she reported the truth to everyone on the island of Paradis. All the while keeping herself with a countenance of confidence; although without smiling once, nor bubbling about titans and the numerous inventions that the other side of the world possesses.

She’s refraining… something. Could this be her new way of coping? Or has this world changed her beyond recognition, as it did with everything else?

One thing he knows for sure: even if overworked, she’s been avoiding him. He already accepted it and has given her the space she required to grieve, to adjust to this whole new world. Yet, when it’s about her, being at a loss feels like missing a bone—and he has lost so much these last days, that one more thing shoves him to the brink.

Thus, not anymore. He’s had enough.

Levi tramps to her room, his footsteps echoing through the deserted corridors, echoing with the lost voices of his fallen comrades. Visions from the fight still chase his nightmares, still wander his eyes at the most unexpected moments. And every time, guilt clenches its hand around his throat—he couldn’t kill the Monkey, and with that, he failed everyone who died so heinously, failed his promise to Erwin, thus made them die for nothing.

He can’t allow their deaths to be meaningless. The Monkey will die, and he’ll fulfill his duty, even if it’s the last thing he does.

Daily, his friends’ absence tightens his chest, and despair engulfs his every action. They should be here, dirtying the floor and being loud and annoying. He wants them back, to return to those days when he used to wake up and meet them in the Mess Hall. Talk with Mike and Erwin, listen to Hange and Nanaba’s chatting. Those days were so long ago that the memories feel like daydreams.

Levi’s never been one to dwell long on the impossible, though, so he keeps going, marching until he arrives at her door.

Does she hate me, again?—the question returns, of course it wouldn’t let him in peace for much. He’s been asking himself that for the past few days, observing her somber demeanor. Watching how she closed into herself, forbidding his entry. Even if she hates him, though… he doesn’t regret his choice; letting Erwin go was the right thing to do. Sadly, he’s the only one—if you exclude Eren and that gloomy brat—who believes that to be true.

He knocks on her door.

“Come in.” Hange sounds as if she was in the opposite building instead of behind a thin door.

Her room (she’s been delaying moving into Erwin’s past quarters) is a mess. Nothing out of the ordinary there. She’s hunched over her desk, filling some papers with utmost concentration. Working—what she hasn’t stopped doing ever since getting back to the barracks.

“Did something happen?” She asks, gaze unwavering from her writing, hand at full speed over the sheet of paper.

“No.” He leans against the door frame, folding his arms over his chest. He studies her back for a few minutes; she doesn’t stop writing, doesn’t even pause for a second to stretch out her fingers.

“If you have nothing to say, close the door when you leave.”

He scowls at her dismissal. “You promised that we would talk things out, some time ago.” Her shoulders stiffen, hand stopping mid-movement. Levi walks in, closing the door behind him. “And to be honest while that.”

With the door closed, he notices more about her room, like her covered window, curtains restraining the evening light from seeping in. Levi finds the dimness of the room and the lack of flowing air frightening. Hange, who loved the fresh air of nature, seems to be avoiding it at all cost, as if wanting to take distance from her previous self as much as possible. When was the last time she mentioned a titan? He can’t recall it, but it must have been way before the Commander title preceded her name.

He hates that.

She resumes her writing, voice light and nonchalant as she asks, “Talk about what?”

Levi was hoping for her to do the talking. He should have remembered how stubborn she can be, sometimes.

“Do you hate me?” He inquires.

“… No.”

Then put down that fucking pen and look at me, he wants to yell. Instead, he settles on her bed, right beside her. The rough blanket scratches his hands when he lays them on its surface—no wonder Hange prefers his bed so damn much. He grips the blanket and sucks in a deep breath.

“What’s wrong with you, then?”

Somehow, his words trigger something in her. She springs to her feet, glaring at him.

“W—What’s wrong with me? Are you serious?!”

He doesn’t regard her sudden angriness—now that she’s faced him, it’s her features the ones that hold his attention. His eyes trace her scrapes, and the bandages all over her.

The doctor said her eye won’t recover, that she’ll have to live with half of her sight. She didn’t make a big deal over it—how could she, when everyone else died? ‘An eye is a low price to pay for being alive’ she said back then. Still, Levi’s chest mournfully squeezes his heart at the memory of it; her deep and expressive hazel eyes have always been his favorite. So, so beautiful. Now that one is gone, he appreciates the remaining one much more.

Even when, right now, it is burning at him.

“Didn’t you hear me?” She stands with hands on her hips, brows bumping together.

“I heard you,” he replies.

He didn’t. She cocks her head to a side, waiting for an answer. What did she say? He scratches his temple, but nothing comes to mind.

She loses her patience, and kicks the leg of her bed, potentially hurting her feet. She kicks and kicks and kicks. Levi limits to watch her, bitterness infesting his tongue. He lets her pour out her fury whilst calculating her state; beads of sweat slide down her forehead, and her face contorts in anger, pain, and helplessness. When her energy finally consumes itself, she sinks in her chair. Her hands cover her head, which is a mix of life and death: paleness, broken lips, and a solemn facade that’s glued to her face since she became Commander.

“You didn’t support me before,” she reproaches him, voice coming out muffled, as her fist is against her mouth.

What? Levi blinks rapidly. What the hell is she talking about? Unable to dive into her head to know, he racks his brain, but he can’t recall not supporting her. He’s been by her side at every step of this whole mess: chipping in when the correct words escape her, demanding the respect her position deserves, protecting her back everywhere she goes. He’s been trying, in full capacity, to share her burden, thinking that they were together in this as much as always, despite her recent absence in his life.

“When?” He finally asks, not coming to an answer by himself.

“When I got named Squad Leader. You didn’t believe in my capacities, in my brain, in my ideas!” She blurts out the last part clapping a hand on her chest, as if that was the most unforgivable sin.

His mind races from one thought to the other. Why does this conflict return? Sure, they never talked about it, not really—mostly as a result of him disliking these times, these memories, and these conversations about feelings.

Yet here’s this issue again. It looks like an unavoidable topic, and one that continues to sting, if only a little bit.

Levi runs an exasperated hand through his hair. “I know I should have tried to understand your crap more.” His tone raises, frustration bursting him. “I already apologized!” His hands clutch his knees, breathing accelerating.

What does she get with this, my torment? He thinks. At least she’s talking.

“You said I wasn’t suited for being a leader… how am I suited for being Commander, now? We’ll all die for my ineptitude!” She shrinks further in the chair, quiet sobs resonating through the room. “This is wrong. How are we the only ones left? You, and me, and no one else—I don’t get it. You’re Humanity’s Strongest, that makes sense, but me? From everyone else, I shouldn’t be here…”

His body tenses, heat flushing through his limbs. How can she… how can she say that? Believe that? She isn’t disposable. She’s literally the most important person in his world, and one of the biggest reasons the Corps made it out this far. He roses to his feet. Puts a hand on her shoulder, and takes her chin with the other to lift her head and meet her eye.

His mouth opens, but his voice struggles to come. He despises sharing himself, and his deepest thoughts repel to be unveiled. But he needs to say this, otherwise, she’d keep believing bullshit. And he doesn’t want to lose her, too.

He can’t.

He forces the words out; rips them from his soul and drags them through his throat. And it’s hard. “I—I have always thought you’re one of the best leaders. I just didn’t l—like seeing you carrying so much weight.” You liked to be free as the wind, with no restraints whatsoever.

Now everything is worse, a voice mutters from a corner of his mind, and it’s your fault.

He made her Commander, throwing a heavier weight to her shoulders. If she’s unhappy, it’s because of him, and the knowledge pains him. But it’s irreparable. He can only move forward and do his best with what they have.

“I’m not Erwin,” Hange states, the bitter truth she’s been trying to conceal, to hide so the others wouldn’t notice, now out in the open.

She fidgets and pulls at her necklace, feeling like choking. Erwin would know what to do with the millions of problems they are facing. He was wise and witty, and unlike her, he would already have a plan.

Levi chose to let Erwin die, though, and with that, gave her this position which she’s unfit for. She’s stumbling around, and they don’t even know how incompetent for this she is—they put their faith in her, but she isn’t good enough. She’s just a failure who will bring everyone down along with her.

“Of course you’re not Erwin. No one is, and he can’t be replaced,” Levi tells her, looking for her eye. A sting wounds her heart, and she drops her gaze to her hands—naturally, she knew it. She isn’t Erwin and will never be. “But it doesn’t mean you’re gonna do badly. You’ll do things in your own way as you always do, and they’ll be the greatest.”

Tears well in her eyes, as a lump aches her throat. What if her decisions are the incorrect ones? What would they do? It’s only the two of them, now.

“What are we going to do, Levi?”

He purses his lips as if containing something inside. He sounds shaky, when he says, “Stay together. End this together. You’ll lead us, and even if I die killing the Monkey, I’ll do it.”

“No.” She grabs his hand and squeezes it, gaze finally meeting his. “You’re not allowed to die like that. You’ll kill him and I’ll help you, but you’ll make it out alive. Understood?”

Levi nods, although she detects his doubtfulness. She wraps her arms around his torso and hugs him against her.

“I’ll make a mistake and fall, I just know it,” she blurts out. I’ll break under this responsibility. I’ll fail.

“I’m here to keep you up.”

She disentangles from him and stares at his face; his shining dark eyes show honesty, his thin and smooth lips almost smile in reassurance. The impulse to draw his face to her, to meet his lips as she did years ago, pulls at her, strong like a magnet calling for her.

His eyes slide down and lock on her lips, pupils dilated and mouth slightly open. His look sends shivers throughout her, something warmth spreading in her stomach. He leans in, his face close, so close, closer, and… a tube of ice wanders her chest, flooding her with fear. She jerks her head to a side, and his mouth bumps into her temple.

Her mind raids her with all the bad feelings from those days when they weren’t together, all the lonely nights she regretted that brief second when she allowed herself to lean just a little bit closer, and meet the unknown. The last time she took such a step, all went down pretty fast and pretty bad.

Hange can’t make a repetition of those days. Less right now, when he’s the only one she has left, the person she cares about the most, and the only one she couldn’t bear to lose.

He withdraws and clears his throat, distracted by the ceiling. Hange moves to her bed and lies down, putting her head on the pillow. She opens her arms to him, and he hesitates, but eventually complies and joins her. He envelopes her, breathing hot on the curve of her neck, his lemony scent giving her peace. She holds him between her arms as if he alone was keeping her away from the reality outside. Maybe he does.

They are here. They are alive. They are partners in whatever awaits them.

That’s enough for her.

***

The military members don’t plainly state it, but Hange reads their thoughts all over their faces. They believe this position is too big for her, and wish that Erwin could be here instead.

Well, get in the line, she thinks bitterly.

Hange finishes her speech, her last word giving way to a silence that fills the meeting room. Zackly massages the bridge of his nose with two fingers—there’s so much to take in. Before her, the rest of the officials around the long rectangular table shake their heads in disbelief. The wooden table’s surface is full of glasses, sheets of paper, and cigarettes, all chairs taken.

She wonders where Erwin used to sit, and who is the one that took his place to avoid offering her a seat.

“So, you think the Executioner from Hell will be able to eliminate all the titans, and then you want to explore out of the walls and go over to what Grisha called ‘sea’?” Zackly readjusts his glasses.

Pretty much, yeah. Hange presses her lips to avoid snapping. Why is his tone so skeptical? This is a good, totally plausible plan, in her opinion.

“Yes?” She stirs at her insecure tone—she didn’t plan for it to come out like that. It only propelled the men to whisper among themselves under her annoyed gaze. Her spine erects in a fruitless try to make herself look taller, more confident than what her answer portrayed. “I mean, yes. Within a year, actually.”

Zackly sighs. “We’ll revise it. You can go now; we’ll call you later.” He makes a dismissive gesture.

Hange hates them, sometimes. Even when most of the military leaders are gathered here, she keeps being left out. If Erwin had been here, would things be different?

She bets they would.

“I’d prefer to stay. I heard we would discuss th—”

“Later, Hange,” Pixis interrupts her. He’s next to Zackly at the head of the table. His considerate eyes tell her to obey. “We’ll call you later.”

Hange hugs her papers against herself and nods. Jaw set, she leaves the meeting room.

In the yard, she kicks stone after stone, mimicking their voices. “‘Later, Hange.’ Not ‘Later, Commander.’ Idiots!”

She soaks up the cool air of the day to expel her anger. A lot of time has gone by without her experiencing fresh air like this, such a revitalizing sunlight. Even though a carriage is waiting to drive her back to the Survey Corps Mitras’ branch, the day is so beautiful! It’d be better if it was night already, but there are no clouds in sight, and birds fly and sing cheerfully above her head.

When was the last time she had a break for herself? Although she misses Levi by her side, he had to stay in the barracks to train the new recruits, which is perfect.

The mood between them has been strange, lately—he seems uncomfortable with being alone with her, and she isn’t any different. The image of his lips closing to her, followed by that overwhelming fear, charges back whenever someone walks away and leaves them alone. In a closed room. Seated close to each other.

Unerringly, both of them hurry to do something else, anything, as long as they’re accompanied or in free air.

It bothers her, but what can she do? She already has a lot of work to occupy her mind and time, which is much more important than whatever troubles her in private.

Hange saves her papers in the carriage and explores the streets, trying to get used to having a blindside, which has been problematic for her balance. Although at the beginning she collided with the walls, now she’s proud to be able to walk with ease.

How much time has passed since she visited, let alone on her own? Some people call the place where they were born home, yet for her, Mitras is a mere city. A beautiful, clean, and flavorless one. Carefree people, dressed in fine casual clothes and eating expensive food, stroll around, ignoring Hange on their way. The opulence of the mansions catches her admiration, though only retain it for a second.

When she was a little child, these streets were the only ones she knew, that food the only one she was allowed to taste. She used to be so bored by them that, at the first opportunity, she ran away to the skirts of the city. Today, she follows that same route she discovered back then, which conducts her to bumpy streets and ramshackle old houses. Her eyes prickle with tears when she meets a familiar view, the smell of coal reaching her nose.

Her languid steps come to a halt in front of the oldest house, with a misaligned, porous wooden door and cracked green walls. Still, her favorite of all, then and now.

Knock-knock. Hange steps back and waits. An old woman with gray hair and wrinkles in every part of her face opens the door, supporting her weight with a cane. Hange tilts her head… she looks familiar, but at the same time…

“Hi!” Hange exclaims, already regretting coming here. What should she say now? Her mouth dries as her brain races, stressing to find something proper to utter. “I was passing by and was wondering if… I used to visit here years ago and—”

“I remember you.” The wise green eyes of the woman widen in recognition. “You are the little kid who experimented in my kitchen, staining my walls and ceiling with rice.”

A slight smile appears on Hange’s mouth at the memory. Ah, good times.

“That’s me.”

The woman subdues a peal of laughter. “You’re taller. I always said you were going to grow up as tall as me, and I wasn’t wrong.”

“Ohh… thanks? Are—?”

“They aren’t here,” the woman drops with a monotone voice.

“Oh.” Hange closes her mouth in surprise. Why, though? She should have expected that. When most people grow up, they find their own places, even start a family. Her playground friends mustn’t be any different; they must already have wives and children of their own. “They moved out?”

“You could say that.” The woman stares down at her crane. “They got a good job in Shiganshina, years ago. You can deduce how that ended for them.”

Hange’s body hardens. Shiganshina? No…

“They… they…”

“I’m sorry, kid.” Her dull gaze meets Hange’s teary one. “They’re long gone.”

Hange swallows down her tears, throat hurting with them. “I’m sorry. I should…” She signals at a side and the woman nods. Hange strides away with a pressure in her chest.

They’re gone, too? As she wanders the deserted streets, more and more memories invade her, spilling tears down her cheeks. They were the reason she decided to join the Corps in the first place; she wanted to build a better world for them, silly as that was. Now they’re gone, and she couldn’t help them. And she still can’t. Even as a Commander and with the right ideas, people don’t hear what she has to say.

What’s the point of thinking and thinking if they use nothing that she comes with?

Her friends… Death is nearby, all the time. So far, it has taken almost everyone she cared about; her childhood friends, her family in the barracks… when will it take her? She wishes for it to never come close to her loved ones ever again. It always arrives so unexpectedly, though. Tears her heart and then disappears as if nothing.

And… it is yet closer to ill people, isn’t it?

Hange doesn’t think about it, less she regrets it. She walks past streets and streets, past deteriorated houses and luxurious buildings, until an old-fashioned mansion comes into view, not unlike the many others lining the street. From the outside, it looks cozy, yet Hange knows appearances are deceptive. It’s built with white stones and has white cedar decorations, the roof covered with ceramic tiles. Squared windows are symmetrically arranged on the walls, and below them, lies a well-kept garden that Hange used to adore. The many flowers she planted years ago peek out, taller and leafier.

What brought her here? It could be a thousand things and none at the same time; it’s been calling her for some months now. She’s so tired of delaying it.

Hange knocks on the door and detects movement at the other side, shadows ebbing in the crack at the bottom of the door. She adjusts her tie and flattens her jacket with her hands. The door breaks open and the unknown face of a red-headed woman appears.

“Good evening.” Hange grins. “I was wondering—”

“They aren’t receiving visits.” The woman inspects her from head to toe. Pauses on her patch, something that makes Hange avert her face.

“Oh. Maybe if you told them I am—”

“Hange Zoe, isn’t it?” The woman smirks. “The daughter who ran away. I was instructed to inform you that they aren’t receiving visits.”

Her heart contracts. She hunches as if that could protect it from further pain. “I see.”

The door is closing when Hange puts her foot in to prevent it from sealing. The woman struggles against her foot, until she gives up and reopens the door.

“Yes?” The woman exhales tiredly.

“I just wanted to…” Hange tries to slip into the house but collides with another body.

“Hange?”

The voice sparks shivers through her back. “Mother?”

Her brown hair caught in a bun is speckled white, but without a shadow of doubt, it’s her. Same sharp features, delicate complexion, and haughty look. Likewise, there isn’t warmth in her stare, only censure.

“What are you doing here?” Her mother arches a thin eyebrow.

Hange wrings her hands and clears her throat. “I was around, and wanted to… I want to see dad. I heard he was rather ill…”

“He’s resting.”

“I can wait for him to wake up,” Hange mumbles. She rubs the back of her neck.

“He doesn’t want you here.”

Hange winces at those words. It’s not like she didn’t know it; the returning of her unopened letter delivered that message loud and clear.

“How are you?”

Her mother’s lips curl in annoyance. “If you cared about that, you wouldn’t have left to play the hero. There were better ways to kill yourself.”

Like an accurate punch to the stomach, those words destabilize her. Hange lowers her head.

“I became Comma...” She trails off. Is there a point in saying that? Her mother would just express how embarrassing it is that not only did she join those suicides, but that she also became their leader. “I can come back to see him later.”

She knows a reunion with her father would go much like this, and yet… what if he dies, and she doesn’t get to see him ever again? Only one last glimpse at his shape, that’s all she needs.

Her mother shakes her head. “It would only make him angry, worsening his condition. Please, leave.”

“But—”

Her mother shoots her a look, one that used to freeze her as a child. It achieves the same effect; Hange stops talking and breathing, feeling like the culprit of some mischief.

“Goodbye, mother.” Hange turns and walks away, heart weighting with dozens of questions—why doesn’t he let her see him? Will he ever forgive her? Would he ever accept her, smile at her accomplishments?

Never mind—she squares her shoulders and tilts her chin up—It doesn’t affect me. Everything comes down to one truth: she isn’t welcomed and doesn’t belong in this house and this city. Nothing retains her here.

She takes the first carriage she spots and rushes to the Survey Corps branch in Mitras, a place which isn’t her home either, but that is closer. Her footsteps resound in the lonely building as she strides to her old room, determination crowding her veins. When she travels back to Headquarters tomorrow, she’ll be ready—ready to face her position, to defend her right in a hall full of old men, to look at her best friend in the face without darting her gaze.

In her room, Hange studies herself in the mirror, and doesn’t recognize the person there. The patch at her left. The weary expression. The deep lines on her forehead—when did they pop up?

The one in the mirror is doing her best, but is her best enough? Is this what people perceive when they look at her? Someone whose eye coils in fear, who is barely holding on? It would be better if they did; instead, no matter what she does or says, they merely see a titan-freak. The crazy Squad Leader who Erwin kept by his side by a lapse of judgment, never the Commander of the Survey Corps, not worthy of attention, and certainly, not someone with considerable intelligence, even though proofs indicate so.

She’s still the lonely girl who freezes under her mother’s glare, not an adult in possession of any authority. She continues to flinch and run away. How do the last years matter if she’s the same? No accomplishments, a failure to her family, and alone.

The wet face on the mirror contorts with pain, frustration, and lastly, defiance.

It seems like the only way to make her ideas heard, to put them into action, is forcing them to recognize her as the Commander she is. Levi said she was going to be great, and he’s the most honest person she knows, yet she’ll never do it if things continue like this. The Survey Corps will lose their power and perish if the other military branches keep looking down at their leader.

Hange releases her ponytail, waves of brown hair streaming over her shoulders. She picks up some scissors, hands trembling slightly. Grabs a lock of hair between her fingers. And cuts. Cuts, cuts, and cuts. Another lock, then another, and another. She scarcely makes out what she’s doing, sight too blurred by tears.

She just wants it to be gone, and as she cuts more and more, some of the weight on her shoulder dissipates.

When she’s done, she wipes her tears and stares at the mirror. Although she still doesn’t recognize the person looking back, she strikes as someone worthier of attention than the previous one. Her features harden as determination floods her muscles.

They’ll hear her, now. She won’t allow anyone to disrespect the Survey Corps. And she’ll figure things out; regarding titans, the upcoming conflict with those out of the walls, and herself.

Hange is, after all, the Commander of the Survey Corps.

***

Year 851.-

Levi yells at the new trainees. He keeps an eye on them in case someone falls from the trees, and another one on Hange, who is talking with Yelena at the entrance of the barracks.

Yelena, Onyankopon, Niccolo… all Marleyans who arrived months ago in a rather unexpected way, as no one ever anticipated that, when they stopped that boat, a rebellion was going to take place. Since their landing, they’ve been teaching the people on the island about Marley and the rest of the world; from their territory to organization and weapons.

The good part is the inner vision they’ve provided, the details of which the Corps would have never acquired had it not been for them. The bad one is that they aren’t trustworthy—at least, to Levi they aren’t. Zeke killed most of his comrades, and working in some sort of alliance with him leaves a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

It’s so odd how, every time he turns, he catches sight of them sauntering around. They’re so different; not physically per se, but in the way they talk, how they express themselves, and the intention behind their eyes. Or it might be just Levi’s imagination. Hange, for instance, seems to like them—a lot. Whenever they explain how their technology works, she looks the happiest he’s seen her since she became Commander.

Maybe that makes her biased.

No. He tilts his head to the sky and lets the sunlight wash his skin. No matter how much Hange likes learning, he knows he can trust her judgment, even more than his own. Hence, perhaps they—or some of them—are trustful. Still, he can’t but worry that they’re relying too much on these new friends, that their trust shouldn’t be that blind. But they have no other choice: Paradis needs them to improve. They can only hope they aren’t making a fatal mistake.

Yelena walks off. Levi strolls to Hange, who swirls to him with her shoulders sagged. He leans his side against the doorway and observes her—she’s probably killing herself trying to determine how to win and survive this war. Their prospects mustn’t be hopeful, he concludes due to the stiffness of her neck and how it hunches under the weight of their circumstances.

What’s new about that?

“What did she say?” Levi cocks his head to a side, narrowed eyes reading into the dark circle under her eye. He misses how she used to drive herself, always looking up to admire the world around her; her laughter gushing out without inhibitions; how comfortable she used to be in her own skin. Lately, she’s like this: quiet, stressed, and pessimistic.

Alas, there’s nothing to do about it. Their problems are too great to be relaxed.

“We’ll need to talk with Pixis again.” She scraps a hand over her face as if to get rid of every one of her frustrations. She rearranges her patch; he’s noted that it’s been bothering her lately. “Never mind. I’ll send him a letter.” Her gaze drifts around from one side to the other, looking for something and not finding it.

He’s about to reply when she begins her retreat. Levi goes after her, which only makes her hasten her pace.

“I’ll see you later!” She waves a hand without glancing back.

Levi comes to a halt. For some reason, she’s unable to stay alone with him longer than the strictly necessary. Quite honestly, he used to have problems with her closeness while alone with her, as the air tended to grow charged between them—months ago. Now that he’s over with his discomfort, she’s taken it to the heart and evades him in private.

This situation has brought many awkward moments, and instances in which Levi tries to convince himself that her avoidance is in his mind alone. He hasn’t found the right moment to talk it through with her and ease his concern, though. Free time has been scarce between meetings, plans, and the marleyans’ lessons. Even though he misses his best friend, he gets how busy she genuinely is, how tiring everything is for her. No need to bother her with personal matters just yet.

After all, the entire island is looking up to the Survey Corps, and consequently, to Hange. Many desire the power she seizes in her bare hands, not realizing how heavy and draining that power truly is.

So, he lets her go without a word, and limits to watch her as she almost runs to the stables.

He examines the training Corps as they practice with the vertical maneuvering equipment, circling the yard’s perimeter. In the streets, whispers of disapproval condemn these trainings, as many believe they to be outdated for the upcoming times. That holds some truth—their enemies are no longer titans, and their weapons don’t compare with those of the world out there. Levi sort of agrees; yet, isn’t this how they should defeat them? Using what makes them themselves?

Hange has opted for a mixed training, though, which he fully supports.

Those debates about what awaits them in the upcoming years have him feeling like shit. In this new world, what’s his use? He was Humanity’s Strongest and someone essential to humanity when fighting against titans, but now? This world with bombs and railways and tanks he doesn’t know, and is populated by millions of humans he’d prefer not to hurt.

“Hey, don’t climb like that! Use the gear! Activate your gas!” He screams to a dark-haired girl who’s precariously holding on to a branch. To his ears, his voice sounds dry and hollow. What he’s doing feels senseless.

Across the yard, Hange exits the stables with Onyankopon closely behind.

She has no problem spending time alone with Onyankopon, yet she does with me? This world is too different for him. Here, what’s his purpose, beyond exterminating the remaining marleyan titans?

A tiny, hidden piece of him feels like he’s been replaced by these modern people and improved tools, that he’s no longer necessary. And not only has he been replaced by this new world, but by her, too. Just a tiny, little piece of him.

Levi grinds his teeth and stops in his tracks. Hurries after the pair, wariness coursing through his veins. He really doesn’t trust these fucking marleyans.

Rather than walking slowly, Hange and Onyankopon are striding through the path among the warehouses. Levi speeds up to catch on them, head spinning with undesirable thoughts. He knows he’s no longer who he used to be—or better said, he’s exactly the same when the world around is changing so damn much. He never seems to change, and the world is leaving him behind.

Why is she leaving him behind too, though?

Hange and Onyankopon enter the building designated for the classes and demonstrations relating to the outside world. It’s where they are developing new weapons and technology, mirroring those that the Anti-Marleyan Volunteers gave them. Levi deflates; Hange will surely immerse in a long talk about these inventions, and much more stuff like that.

Inside, Levi slides like a ghost, going unnoticed. Hange is in the middle of the room, excited hands pointing at the tables. He places himself on a dark corner, entertained by the sight of her, this shadow of her previous self that resurfaces at times like this—because this isn’t Hange in her greatest splendor, only a mere glimpse. Albeit that’s better than nothing.

“I think we should build one of those railway lines! Like the one you talked about yesterday…” Hange’s eye sparkles with passion at her plans.

The ends of her short hair almost reach her shoulders. He has no doubt that she’ll cut it again soon to keep them in place. The haircut suits her; it makes her appear solemn and much more like a leader—which, he guesses, was her intention. But he somewhat dislikes it. It’s unlike her persona, and he kind of misses her swinging ponytail.

Onyankopon slings an arm around Hange’s shoulders and shoves his other hand into his pocket. Levi’s face contracts into a vaguely annoyed frown. As his swirling thoughts betray, his sudden tension comes from many places, some of which he refuses to identify. Some of them stand out, like his surprise at the level of casualness with which they touch each other. How at ease Hange currently is, Onyankopon’s eyes smiling at her…

He kicks off those thoughts and focuses on the most obvious source of his apprehension, the one rocking within his head: Onyankopon’s hand in his pocket. He could pull out whatever, from one of their weird weapons to a knife to… anything. Onyankopon believes Hange and himself to be alone. Perhaps, he’s been nurturing Hange’s trust in him to get her like this and betray them, kill her and—

Onyankopon pulls out a small candy from his pocket. He gifts it to Hange, who giggles while taking it. Levi feels a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, but he ignores it. He forces his tension to decrease at the lack of danger, but most of his body rejects loosening.

Levi is aware of his recent over-protectiveness. It’s obvious enough, as even other people have noticed—like Armin, who hasn’t remained quiet about it.

“Captain, you don’t have to be so worried. Commander Hange can take care of herself,” the blond boy told him weeks ago.

Hange was sauntering off with a group of marleyans to the Mess Hall. He knew she was in the barracks and fit to protect herself, not to mention under the Corps’ protection. Either way, he couldn’t help feeling at an edge whenever she was near the potential danger that these newcomers undoubtedly carry with them.

“They could poison her food,” Levi muttered through gritted teeth as their figures shrank in the distance. As Hange had asked him to check if Zackly had answered her latest letter, he couldn’t go with her immediately.

He hovered in the middle of the corridor with Armin, looking at them in the distance. Armin’s blue eyes gleamed with fun at his reply. Levi didn’t find anything amusing about dying by something you ate.

“Connie and Jean made dinner today, and they wouldn’t let poison anywhere close to Hange’s plate.” Armin gave him an indulgent smile.

“They could just kill her out in the open.”

“The Mess Hall is overflowing with Corps right now. Even if they try, she can manage herself. Besides, the marleyans are too afraid of how you look at them every time they’re with the Commander. They wouldn’t do anything against her.”

Levi ended up pinching his lips into a thin line, unconvinced.

He knows he can get over the top with her security, but after losing so much, after so many deaths… he isn’t letting Hange get hurt or die under his watch, and less in a situation he can very well prevent.

Nonetheless, Levi isn’t stupid. Aside from the occasional glare, he doesn’t unfold his suspicions with the outsiders—and won’t do it, unless they attempt something. He wants to be proved wrong, but won’t wait still until they do so. If he’s right, he’ll be ready to make them pay, damn the benefits they bring.

Hange leans towards a table full of Marley’s models. She switches some of the small figures there to different locations.

“How did the marleyans start with their railway?” She furrows her brow, pushing her glasses up her nose with a finger.

Just at her side, Onyankopon bends, too. Hange turns at the same time he does, and both stop there, noses a breath from each other. Levi detects the exact second when Onyankopon starts leaning towards her frozen shape. The look hitches Levi’s breath and creates a tightness in his gut.

Levi clears his throat and steps forward, revealing himself from the shadows.

Hange straightens instantly, almost tumbling in the process.

“Levi! How long have you been there?!” She exclaims in a rather excessively jovial way. Her face splits into a smile, and she widens it from ear to ear, blinking and blinking. The epitome of innocence.

Levi arches a skeptical brow.

“Why? What were you doing?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest and eyes Onyankopon furtively. The tall man erects and mimics Levi’s posture. The view makes Levi’s insides twist and boil with fire like he never felt before.

Her eyes grow round. Beads of sweat slide down her forehead. “Nothing, nothing!” She waves her hands in front of her to emphasize. “I mean, we were planning how to build a railway…” She trails off, and bites her lip.

“Really?” His tone is clipped, and the air coming out of his nose, burning.

Levi inhales, willing himself to calm down. Why is he even this… mad? There’s no reason to. But what the hell was Onyankopon doing? He inhales slowly again.

Hange fidgets with the lapels of her jacket. “Of course…” Her foot taps and taps on the floor.

“I just came in,” Levi lies to alleviate her nervousness, which is only upsetting him further. Her cheeks paint red as she darts her gaze. He adds, “A word?”

His stomach churns when she inclines to Onyankopon and asks him, “Can we discuss the railway later?”

Onyankopon scratches his cheek. “Yelena will take us to Mitras in a few hours.”

“Oh. Right. I see.” Hange turns to Levi. “I’m actually quite busy now. But… later?” Her pained expression doesn’t hamper the darkening of his eyes, and neither his neutral mask beginning to crack.

“Sure,” he hisses.

Even though he orders them to leave, his feet are planted on the spot. It’s because he’s concerned about her safety, of course—what else could it be? He glares at Onyankopon, who glares back as well. Clearly, he is anxious only because she’s all alone and so trusting of their enemies. Doesn’t she see that this… man isn’t reliable?

Armin’s voice resounds in his head. ‘She can manage herself…’

The kid was right. Levi knows that she can and that he should trust her—in every sense of the word. It’s only challenging to do so when she behaves like this; when he feels so disconnected from her. He doesn’t even know what happened that made her cut her hair, and that was months ago!

Something creeps into his mind—does Onyankopon know the reason? Did she share it with the foreigner instead?

Hange used to be so open before all of this Commander crap. He hates how closed into herself, closed to him, she is as of late. Just as much as he hates this new world that holds no place for him.

“Something else?” Onyankopon asks, tearing him from his mind.

Hange’s eye meets his, her hazel iris permeated with concern. She looks beautiful today, he absently thinks.

“No.”

Levi sweeps out of the room. He strolls through the barracks for hours until making out a small, dark frame in the distance.

Brownie.

Neither Hange nor he have seen the dog since long ago, so long that they gave up on their search. Whoever was its owner must be dead, anyway.

The dog sniffs at the abandoned plate where it used to eat, which nowadays is empty. Discovering the lack of food, the dog barks—yet it sounds more like a cry, and Levi wonders if maybe it wasn’t originated by hungriness, but for the absence of Brownie’s owner.

Levi squats down and caresses its head, understanding its pain in some way. It has been left all alone. The dog allows his caresses, and then shakes loudly. Levi oughts to ignore the dirt that its fur sent flying with the movement.

Without another look back, Brownie trots away. Hange never found out where it lived… it’s possible that it is heading to that place, isn’t it?

Levi straightens, dusting off his pants. He follows the dog, hurrying to keep it in sight.

He’ll uncover this mystery, once and for all.

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