#and its like no. These things that have happened are inconsequential and will mean NOTHING to anyone effected in a couple weeks

[nofomogirl]

Metatron's manipulation step by step

Part 9: Metatron's Goal

Part 1 - where I discuss the significance of the coffee.

Part 2 - where I take a look back at season 1

Part 3 - from Metatron's arrival on Earth to sending the Archangels away

Part 4 - inside the bookshop after sending the Archangels away

Part 5 - at the table in the street

Part 6 - Inside the bookshop after the ineffable breakup (mostly)

Part 7 - the very last scenes

Part 8 - speculations on what could have happened off-screen

There's only one big question left to address: what was Metatron trying to achieve with all of that? The truth is we don't know what his endgame is but I think for now it's safe to assume he wants the world to end. Still, why exactly did he lure Aziraphale to Heaven?

I see two possible answers. He either wanted to separate Aziraphale and Crowley by any means necessary, in which case he's going to keep Aziraphale in Heaven simply to keep them apart, or he actually does need Aziraphale for something.

Let's dig into each of them.

1. Metatron's goal was to separate Aziraphale and Crowley

By the time Metatron arrives on Earth, it's quite clear that if he's serious about bringing about any kind of apocalyptic event, Aziraphale and Crowley cannot be left to their own devices. They must be contained somehow for three reasons:

They've proven they're ready to fight for Earth and humanity against Heaven and Hell.

It turned out they can perform VERY powerful miracles together.

Crowley has infiltrated Heaven and accessed its files.

My headcanon is that:

#1 (true at the end of season 1) was deemed inconsequential in the long run.

After all, Aziraphale and Crowley's actions weren't the main factor in preventing the end of the world. Most of their efforts turned out unnecessary and a lot of things sorted themselves out without their help. I can see how one could question how significant their contribution was in the end.

#2 (true at the beginning of season 2) was concerning and called for attention.

Heaven already knew Aziraphale and Crowley were ready to fight with all they'd got, they just assumed it wasn't anything to be concerned about. However, the miracle proved that what Aziraphale and Crowley got was actually quite a lot.

In this version of events, I imagine this is when Metatron did his detailed research on Aziraphale and found instances of his cooperation with Crowley. Right after the alarm went off.

#3 (true at the end of season 2) was what required immediate action.

Let's not underestimate the fact that in season 1 Aziraphale and Crowley were able to do anything because they were in the middle of things. They knew a lot of details, including when exactly it was supposed to happen. Regardless of how motivated they were and how potentially powerful, it meant nothing if they were completely in the dark. If Gabriel had voted in favor of Agmageddon the Sequel, it's quite likely it would have happened as planned simply because they had no idea what was going on and might have not realized it until it was too late.

Did you notice that Metatron's actions are timed perfectly to prevent Crowley from sharing with Aziraphale everything he has learned in Heaven?

I know a lot of people are pointing out how Crowley was withholding information from Aziraphale, but I really don't believe he would keep that to himself. In season 1 he called Aziraphale about Armageddon the second he was able to and immediately hatched a plan for how they could stop it. Now that he knows Heaven and Hell are plotting the next one right now, he wouldn't just pretend it's not happening. I just don't see it. If they weren't separated, Crowley would possibly plan a day off and enjoy their extremely alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz, but then it would be back to business. Back to saving the Earth together.

Aziraphale doesn't learn crucial information not because Crowley intends to keep him ignorant but because Metatron prevents him from sharing it.

If the goal was to separate Aziraphale and Crowley, Metatron's logic is correct. Taking Aziraphale to Heaven was the best and most efficient way.

But it is possible there was more.

2. Metatron's goal was to get Aziraphale

Metatron offered Aziraphale the position of Supreme Archangel.

It's suspicious for a great many reasons, but one that I don't think we're addressing enough is that there was a position to be offered at all.

Think about it.

There was no Supreme Archangel for the entire duration of season 2.

Metatron was very big on Heaven's image and avoided anything that might imply there was an institutional problem. Logically, when he removed Gabriel from office, he should name his replacement right away. But from what we know - which, okay, is very incomplete, but still - he didn't even mention it.

It didn't look good at all.

It looked even worse when Gabriel didn't go quietly but ran. I mean, nothing tells "no institutional problems" like facing a crisis without a leader, with Archangels squabbling over who was responsible for what, right?

With what we know about all characters at this point, I find it hard to imagine Metatron just failed to pick someone. I'm more inclined to believe he had a reason to leave the post open.

Yes, the most plausible reason I can think of is that he had someone specific in mind and he knew he had to approach that person very carefully and at just the right moment.

So, what may happen in season 3?

I've seen a lot of theories that Metatron won't stop at taking Aziraphale to Heaven but will also tamper with his memories to better control him.

I think it's very likely too. In fact, I think that might have been one of the reasons why Meatron was in such a rush to take Aziraphale back with him. We know that memory wipe can be done remotely but that doesn't mean it's unlimited. Perhaps an angel needs to be in Heaven for the procedure to work?

What I think will happen is pretty much what all the fandom thinks will happen - Metatron's plan will fail and it will be in part because he underestimates Aziraphale again.

Specifically - and that might be a less popular opinion - I think Metatron underestimates Aziraphale's innate capacity for rebellion and overestimates Crowley's influence on him in that regard.

In season 1 when Aziraphale finally decided to truly go against Heaven it wasn't because Crowley convinced him to. It was because Heaven disappointed him. Yes, Crowley convinced him to do many things, to take many small steps that made the big final step easier. But still, that final step was all Aziraphale. And he is capable of taking that step again, even without his memories.

In the end, what I expect from season 3 is Aziraphale and Crowley to be reunited and play the final game as a team. What I hope for in season 3 is that they will both achieve something on their own before that happens.

I've seen a lot of people speculate that they'd both keep hitting dead ends until they're back together. Honestly, I don't want that to be the case. I want the story to reflect their relationship and what I want for their relationship is to be a choice, not a necessity. I don't want them to be useless on their own and only capable of functioning together. I want them to be capable on their own but stronger and happier together.

That concludes this series of posts. Thank you all for reading!

I'll probably do a mother post for it and I'll keep posting other metas and analyses. I might write about our sister fandom once the final episode of S2 hits. Most likely I will slow down a little and return to work on that one GO fanfic I started not long after season 1...

Whether I'm active here or not, I love you, you're the best fandom to be part of!

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens 2 spoilers #aziraphale #crowley

[silverskye13]

Ren was yellow. If this were Third Life, if this were Last Life, Ren being on yellow would mean… Well, it wouldn't mean nothing, but it would be inconsequential. It would be a game. A traumatic game. A game he would be thrilled by, turn over in his head like a bad dream - or a very guilty good dream - for weeks after the event. He would think about how scary it all was, how scary he was, how scary his friends were, and then he would think about other things. He would live, he would die, he would lose, he would cope. He, eventually, wouldn't care all that much.

But this wasn't Last Life. This wasn't Third Life. This was Hermitcraft.

The trouble with being a yellow life on Hermitcraft, besides the fact that it shouldn't be possible, was that if Ren lost two more lives… he didn't know what would happen. After Third Life and Last Life, when Ren had lost his lives and succumbed to the dark, he had reawakened on Hermitcraft. Hermitcraft was his home. This was the place his soul returned to. He didn't know what would happen when his soul was no longer allowed to come back here. He didn't want to know. The yawning black of the void, normally ominous and dark and infinite but ultimately toothless, suddenly revealed itself to be jagged and razor sharp and ravenous.

Ren had been thinking a lot about death lately, and mortality. That sort of happened when those things suddenly had weight again. It was a fear that gripped. It wrapped squeezing hands around his insides and it refused to release until Ren forgot it existed, and it was very, very hard to forget it existed.

He wasn't coping with it great. No one else was either. 

--

Doc wasn't stupid enough to think this was his fault. It wasn't Doc's fault Ren had summoned The Red King for a chat around the braai, fallen asleep, and been afflicted by whatever fell magic The Red King was beholden to. Doc was, however, conceited enough to believe he could've done something to stop it. Should have done something. As if he had a choice. As if The Red King were something that simple. That was the problem with Doc. He thought everything was a problem well within his capabilities to figure out, no matter how surreal or supernatural, or just downright unpredictable. It's probably why he and Grian were always at odds. 

Ren knew he was trying his best, knew he just wanted to help, knew this was all Doc knew to do but it was wrong. Doc attacked the problem of The Red King like he attacked gods. The Red King wasn't a god. Gods were ideals. They were powerful in a way both physical and ephemeral. Powerful in a way that could be calculated, measured. It didn't matter that sometimes that measure was the distance between stars; it could be charted. They were people, things that existed, thought, breathed and created. They were attainable, and fallible, and in some ways pitifully human. They could be reached, plucked from the sky or the void, fought and killed. When they died, like starstuff, they rose again the same but altogether different, and sometimes with a healthy respect for the thing that killed them.

The Red King wasn't a god. He was a mirror. He was half of a perfect whole Ren was supposed to be, and as long as Ren was himself, The Red King would always be, except twisted and bigger and different, like a funhouse mirror. Meant to thrill. Meant to scare. Meant to parody the person staring inside with menace. Or at least, Ren thought so. 

Ren also thought it was maddening watching Doc work, watching Doc poke and prod at the idea of The Red King like he was redstone coding, something that could be figured out through stubborn grit, trial and error, and the occasional curse at one of the many gods Doc had fought and killed. Doc meant well, but he'd sunk his teeth deep into something that Ren thought was unfixable and he worried if Doc stared too hard into the mirror searching for the way to fix Ren, someday his own reflection might flinch, and grin, and move on its own.

Did Doc have a hels? He'd never seemed interested, not until the idea of a hels was menacing someone he knew, and then he threw himself into fixing theirs, unafraid that the strain and the sleeplessness and the mistakes and the frustration might somehow summon his own. Or, and Ren dreaded this idea the most, he might make his own, whole cloth, from the mental anguish that came from trying to fix the unfixable in other people. Ren didn't know what terrifying thing a hels for Doc would be, but if he were anything like Helsknight and The Red King, he would be tailor made to snap him in half like dried timber, and Ren feared, desperately, in that same squeezing way he feared dying, that there might come a day where Doc was weary and miserable and broken and it was all Ren's fault.

We both desire above all else to protect our friends.

It stung, knowing The Red King was right. It meant he was probably right about all the other things too.

Ren spent a lot of time hiding from Doc. He couldn't bear to watch him. Couldn't face the consequences if he found out his running was making things worse. So he kept running. Sneaking away while Doc slept, avoided him when he woke, made excuses to leave when Doc offered to build together, gather materials, protect him. Anything but the one thing Ren wanted which was to be left alone to wallow.

Doc was smart. He knew what Ren was doing. He didn't call him out on it though. Probably he thought it was something he should've been able to stop too.

--

Welsknight, unlike Doc, was just dumb enough to think this was all his fault. Ren, on his worst days, was dumb enough to think he was right, too. As if Ren hadn't asked, unprompted and unnecessarily, if he had a hels. As if Welsknight wasn't just being a good friend when he gave an answer.

Wels, also unlike Doc, didn't stick around to try and keep Ren company. In fact, Ren thought Wels was better at avoiding him than Ren was at avoiding Doc, and he was trying really hard to avoid Doc. It was a big server though, and Wels was used to hiding. He was a wounded animal, stabbed through by his shadow, and he was good at finding places to slink away and lick his wounds. And they had gotten good at ignoring his death messages in chat. 

Ren had never noticed that before. The amount of stuff everyone just collectively ignored. He'd never had a reason to notice. It was something like polite, something like selfish, and something like cruel. Hermitcraft was a bizarre place. Weird things happened here all the time. Even events like murder and possession were… well, not a dime a dozen. Maybe a dollar-fifty? They were cheapened by their regularity. But Wels didn't die to other hermits, or to zombies, or to overzealous rocket blasts. He died to himself. Over and over and over. It was a little different, in that the tag attached was always Helsknight. But that's what a hels was - yourself, but a little to the left. The worst parts. The ruthless parts.

Wels was killing himself, or else he was trying really hard to and failing. And no one intervened. 

It was polite, in the same way it was polite not to talk about someone drinking every time they hung out with friends, or running to the bathroom after every shared meal. You don't just drag that stuff out in front of the whole server. You don't want to embarrass people. Even if they deserved it. Even if they needed help. 

Wels probably wouldn't accept it anyway. People had offered before. This was his fight, and if he wanted to keep it that way, they should respect it. Except they weren't "respecting" Ren the same way, and Ren noticed. And he figured maybe everyone else was like him. Sometimes, when faced with something you had no idea what to do with, you just decided to do nothing with it for fear of making it worse. What was the point of trying to fix a cracked teapot with a hammer, if you already knew the hammer would smash it to pieces, unrecoverable?

Was Wels a teapot, though? Was he a hammer? Was he fixable? Ren sure hoped so, because if Wels could be fixed, so could he. But he couldn't fix what wouldn't sit still in front of him for more than two seconds, and it felt too morbid to haunt spawn for the inevitable death message. 

Welsknight was killed while fighting Helsknight

Welsknight was fighting himself and losing. Welsknight was avoiding Ren. The server avoided him back, because what else were they supposed to do? This was all his fault after all. He wanted this. Probably.

--

Tango, and Impulse, and Xisuma and Keralis shoved totems of undying in his hands. All on different days, all wholly believing they were the first to think of that marvelous idea. Ren's pockets were heavy with the little golden totems. They cluttered his shulker boxes, sat on every free countertop and item frame and chest and barrel in his base. A totem of undying at every door and window and trash chute, like they could Ren-proof the world. He was sick of looking at them. Sick of being reminded what they meant. Sick of the color. 

Fragile as the gold his name was dipped in.

Ren imagined cracking them open like fortune cookies just to see what was inside. Probably nothing. It would be too convenient if, once broken, they could gift him a life like little single-use pez dispensers.

"Sweet face please, don't worry about the log shop," Keralis had told him with a giggle. "You've taught me well! And we have no reason to keep you hanging out by all those explosions."

"I can still prime it, my dude." Ren had laughed with him, because Keralis's laugh was infectious, and he needed a reason to laugh. "I'll be perfectly safe on the walk. And a mooshroom island is really the safest place for me."

"But the nether, Ren!" Keralis argued. "You might die on the way over, and then I'd be sad. We all would. Please, we'll get this sorted out, but you've got to stay put."

Then Keralis had winked, "Don't worry though, I'll keep those totems coming. There's always more--"

"--where that came from!" Impulse beamed at him, dropping off five whole shulkers of the damn things, shoving aside the two shulkers Keralis had left. "Don't worry buddy, it's just a short AFK session at the raid farm. And really you'd be doing me a favor, I've got these things coming out my ears at this point."

Ren smiled, and wanted to say he did too, but that would be rude. Rude like pointing out that no one had offered these to Wels, that Ren knew of. Rude like mentioning Doc was looking at blueprints for making a raid farm himself, just in case. Just in case.

"That's really nice of you Tango," Ren hummed cordially at the red shulkers Tango piled by his front door. "But I feel bad just taking these, dude. Doesn't Scar need them?"

"Scar can respawn," Tango pointed out, and winced, like his words stung him just as bad leaving his lips as they stung Ren landing on his ears.

"Well, still, I know you're busy with Decked Out II plans and stuff. And, well, obviously my base plans are on hold for now." Obviously, because even if he wanted to work on them, who would let him? Why should he anyway, when the end was looming? It was a waste of time. "I don't mind to AFK for you, if you wa-"

"No!" Tango shouted it like Ren was falling off a cliff, or offering to. He grimaced again, "I mean-- it's not a perfect setup. The vex-- it's--"

It's too dangerous. Too dangerous to stand and do nothing but swing a sword. To dangerous to leave his house. Too dangerous.

"Right. Gotcha."

"I promise I'll get it figured out. Really." Xisuma insisted, like this was his fault, setting his boxes on top of Tango's and refusing to number them. It felt bad, being redundant. "It's just taking a bit longer-- The Red-- or-- can, can I call him RK? I know Doc doesn't want us to use his title, but I can't for the life of me pronounce that silly name."

Ren shrugged.

"So RK, he's done something with your code, obviously. And I-- we can fix it Ren, I promise. We can."

Xisuma said it like he'd rehearsed it. But it wasn't the kind of rehearsal one has where you stand up and try to convince an audience of a believable lie. It was the kind of tired, desaturated phrase that one says again and again in the mirror, praying one day it's true.

"Grian and I have been working nonstop," Xisuma reassured him, as if that's what he wanted - them working themselves to exhaustion to fix his problems. "And I've even gotten in touch with Etho a little. It's just a lot of world code to sort through, and a little magic, but we'll get it. Just be patient."

Xisuma dusted off his hands, and Ren feels like he’s dusting himself of him at the same time. I’ve done my part. Now you must wait.

--

Beef offers him food, mostly because it’s all he has to offer. He’s too busy with his maps to gather materials for someone else. Still rocking mix-matched armor because the grind is more important than getting properly kitted out. Everything of value he owns has been a gift, and he isn’t keen on relinquishing them. It would be rude. Besides, Ren wouldn’t want him putting himself out just to offer a little comfort. So Beef shows up on his doorstep, a plate wrapped in tinfoil in one hand and a shulker full of meals in the other.

“I know you like barbecue,” Beef tells him with a radiant smile, “so I made you my best. We’ve gotta do a grill-out sometime, man. It’ll be fun.”

Sometime. Sometime in the future when Ren is less breakable, and something as benign as a campfire is no longer a threat. Ren takes the food with a sick stomach. He never wants to see another barbecue again, not after the failed braai. Not after The Red King. He holds the wrapped plate in his hands the same way The Red King did, keeping his hands where Beef can see them so he knows they aren’t weapons, knowing full well he has no intentions of eating. 

Beef leaves. Ren drops the plate in the trash. He’ll tell Beef later it tasted delicious. He’s too worried to prove himself right. He probably doesn’t deserve the care, anyway.

--

Cub and xB show up on his doorstep, surprised they picked the same time to appear. They probably would’ve dithered on the front stoop for ages, trying to decide who would go in and break the ice first. Ren hears them talking through the door, and can’t help but eavesdrop. He wants to know what they think of him. He wants to know what people are saying when they think he’s not looking. 

It turns out their conversation isn't even about him. It's about the diamond pillars they're building, and how that's where they're going next. For some reason, that stings. Ren is just one line on a list of errands, an event to check off for the day before getting back to work. That's unfair to think, and it's self-centered in the worst way, but he's thinking it.

Ren opens the front door, and pretends to be surprised they're standing on the other side. "Oh! Well good morning fellas. What's happening?"

They come bearing shulker boxes. Ren is starting to get really sick of seeing shulker boxes. Cub had made him potions: invisibility, regeneration, instant healing, turtle master, fire resistance, slow falling. Anything a person could ask for in the pursuit of lessening harm. He tells Ren not to worry about paying for them. He has plenty more if he runs out. Just shoot him a message, free delivery. Ren doesn't even have to leave his house. Ren is tired of people giving him reasons not to leave his house. If he wants for nothing, he'll run out of reasons to not be here when Doc comes around.

xB has two shulkers full of netherite gear, all with max enchantments. He recognizes it's impossible to Ren-proof the world, so he opts to world-proof Ren a thousand times over. 

"I recommend wearing the chest plate at all times," xB tells him. "I mean, it'll suck walking everywhere, but it's safer."

Ren looks out at the horizon, at spawn town and the blooming shopping district. All unlit, or else sparingly so. Latticed with half-finished bridges and boardwalks. No one has laid out any roads yet. Well, at least that's a project to keep him busy while he waits. What is he even waiting for? Waiting for the problem to fix? Waiting to die?

Ren thinks dying and getting it done and over with would be preferable to limbo, and then the fear of the unknown afterwards grips him again, and he changes his mind.

--

Ren doesn't see TFC. He does see the mineshaft that clearly belongs to TFC, which magically appears a few steps from his front door. There is a sign out front.

"If you need materials, leave me a list."

There is a fence gate by the opening, making sure no mobs can escape from the depths. Ren sighs. He leaves a note asking for granite for a road he doesn't want to build, but needs to make his life easier. The next day, three double chests full of granite have appeared beside the mine entrance. Ren at least takes comfort in the fact that it’s one less person asking him how he’s doing.

--

"I could build you a vault," Mumbo says, and he's only half-joking. "Tall sturdy walls all around the house, sea lanterns for lighting. I've come up with this new wall design - it's my favorite thing right now. You like deepslate and copper, right? Of course you do. I mean, you and Doc did The Octagon."

Ren winces at the mention of Doc. He hasn’t seen him in three days - successful avoidance. Three days ago when he saw him, Doc looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He might not have. 

Mambo doesn’t know any of this. He laughs, high and tense, trying to keep things light. "Anyway, I'd like to see this Roterkönig guy get in one of my vaults. Even Grian can't get through my vaults. They're impenetrable."

"Thanks for the offer, my dude," Ren is tired. He's tired of people offering him things. He's tired of turning them down. He's tired. "But I don't think a vault would be the most fun place to live."

"Oh. Well no, I suppose not." Mumbo scratches his head. "Well would you like some help with anything? Need anything dangerous done that I can do? I don't mind losing a few levels."

Ren feels tired, and he feels bitter. That should be him. Death is supposed to be a minor inconvenience. It should be losing a few levels, or some gear. It should be mundane, a soft limit, not a brick wall. Ren has two lives and they're so precious he has no idea what to do with them except refuse to live them at all.

"No, I don't need any help. Thanks for offering though."

Mumbo looks guilty, like he's stepped on someone's cat by accident. He wants to help, everyone else has, but he has nothing else to offer. How does Ren explain he doesn't want help? How does he explain he hates that people keep asking? How does he explain that by trying so hard to make things easier, they're making things worse? He wants nothing more than to feel normal, and the world is too dangerous for it now.

Ren isn't The Red King. He doesn't need gifts and services to appease him. He wants his life, his lives, back. It's something Mumbo can't give.

--

"So I've spoken with Pearl, Iskall, and Stress,” False informs him. “If you want to get out a little more, we can escort you. We’ve got some rotating shifts planned out.”

Ren doesn’t want an escort. Ren doesn’t want to be an inconvenience. He wants some time alone, grinding materials, building projects, firing redstone. He wants to be normal. False reads the unspoken words in the measured silence.

“I’m sorry Ren,” she sighs tiredly. She’s allowed to be tired, Ren tells himself. This experience is allowed to be wearying for more than just him. “It’s the best we can think of. No one wants to lose you.”

“I know, False.”

False wrings her hands nervously, and then runs them back through her hair, like she can sooth her own worry that way. Judging by her expression, it doesn't work.

"I'm sorry Ren," she says uselessly. "I'd fight him for you if I could."

"I know."

"If I thought- we could spar maybe. I could teach you some moves. Give you some fighting practice. But… I can't…" False runs her hands through her hair again and then grips the golden ends, like she'd pull it out if it would solve anything. "If I hurt you I'd never forgive myself."

Ren nods. Given the state he's in currently, he'd have trouble forgiving her too. It's too risky. Everything is too risky.

"But if you wanted to build something, we'll keep an eye on you. We'll make sure you don't get hurt. I promise."

Ren shakes his head. That's not what he wants. He doesn't want them to hover over him while he tries to be normal. He doesn't want to try to be anything. He wants it to be effortless again, like breathing. He wants to rewind the days to before he ever asked about The Red King, and what a hels was. Ignorance really was bliss. They watched the sunset together, but Ren wasn't allowed to watch the moon rise. It was too risky.

Ren doesn't think he's made of glass. He thinks he's made of ice. The Red King turned him into one of those red ice sculptures, and he's clasped in the closed fist of his friends, slowly melting. 

--

"--if you ever need anything, I'm all ears."

That's what Scar had offered him. Well, that's what everyone offered him. They were expected to. Here, take all these physical things that will do nothing but remind you of where you are and what's happening. And if these things don't sate you, we can talk. But please let them sate you. We're busy.

Scar's was genuine, though. Scar's came to him from a wheelchair, shrouded in jittering vex magic after a near crash landing. Ren's house was only barely accessible to Scar. He forgot. He forgot like he forgot Wels. He didn't need to remember until it was in front of him, and then he felt stupid about it, as he should. 

Scar didn't expect him to feel stupid. He'd joked about the tight doorway, made excuses when a wheel clipped into a side-table and knocked a lamp to the floor. He'd tried to sell Ren a new one when it broke. And then he'd looked up at Ren and said, "But no, really, if you need to talk--"

"Yeah, all ears," Ren chuckled and yanked on one of his own fuzzy dog ears. "Love the elf ears this season, by the way dude."

Scar smiled at him patiently. He wasn't joking. That was rare and sobering. "Listen man, I know what it's like."

"Well… yeah. Third Life."

Scar sighed, and rested his chin in his hand, and he seemed to debate with himself for a moment on whether he should explain. Finally he said, "I know what it's like to be fragile, Ren."

Ren found himself again feeling really, really stupid.

"More specifically," Scar continued, "I know what it's like to be perfectly capable, and have everyone treat you like you're made of glass anyway."

Scar flicked his wrist numbly, a totem of undying spawning into his hand like it'd always been there. "I get it."

Ren felt something in him start to break, a hairline fracture. His emotions seeped down the sides of it like a broken cup, leaking slowly, so that you only knew it leaked by the ring left behind on the table. He was standing in a puddle of his own thoughts, and Scar was waiting to clean him up.

"It feels like they're showing up to my funeral," Ren told him. 

Scar nodded.

--

"Well, it's Hermits Helping Hermits," Joe informs him. He stands on Ren's porch, hands in his pockets, doing a good bit better at not treating Ren like he's made of glass than a lot of people. He stands a few steps away though, like he's scared an accidental knock will shatter him. "And, well, if anyone needs some help right now, it's you."

Cleo, Jevin and Hypno stand in the grass by the Hermissippi, waiting patiently for direction. Ren has none to give them. He sighs.

Joe is smart - not in the same way that Doc is. There’s logic, redstone smart, and then there’s the ability to look at a person and get a feel for them, reading them. Joe is smart like that. Ren watches the gears turn in his head as they stare at each other, parsing the slant of Ren’s shoulders, the fatigue in his posture, the worry in his eyes. Joe is reading him like an open book, or a particularly out-there tabloid piece. 

“I get the feeling the last thing you want right now is help,” Joe observes.

Ren scrubs his face tiredly and nods.

“You know, HHH doesn’t have to be -- we don’t have to help you make something, or exist.” Joe tells him. “Is there anything you want right now. Anything at all.”

Ren blinks at Joe. He looks over his shoulder to Cleo, Jevin and Hypno, who in their boredom waiting have taken to picking at each other to see who will get mad first and do something about all the ribbing. He can hear Cleo’s raised voice - she’s losing. Or maybe she’s winning. She likes hitting people. It’s an oddly endearing quality of hers.

“I want a break, Joe,” Ren says. “Just like… one afternoon, man.”

Joe nods slowly. He pulls an elytra and some rockets from his inventory.

“Give me an hour.”

--

There were four loud gongs, and then the chat was flooded with concern at the revelation that, for some reason, HHH had decided to fight four withers in the nether. Tango’s nether hub was in danger. They needed help immediately, from as many people as possible. Ren watched as hermit after hermit rocketed across the sky towards their nether portals, anyone who wasn’t AFK or knee deep in an important building project diving to help. Doc stopped by long enough to make sure Ren was staying put before joining them.

Ren was, blissfully, alone. Alone to go where he wanted, do what he wanted, without anyone blowing up his communicator to ask where he was or if he was safe. Normal. The illusion of normal was right there. No one swinging by like they were visiting his wake, or consoling him for mourning himself. No one telling him to talk, that they understood. No one hovering over his shoulder making sure he didn’t shatter, or The Red King didn’t spring from some surface to do the shattering for him. 

Ren donned his elytra and flew. He picked a random direction and fired rocket after rocket. He wanted to leave his communicator behind, but couldn’t bring himself to. If he got lost, if he needed help, if someone felt betrayed and tried to track him down… well, he’d need it. Besides, normal included his communicator. He wondered if he should bring some blocks. He could build a house. Make some tiny build in the middle of nowhere, pretend everything was alright. What he ended up doing was finding a peaceful place by a stream and some trees to throw the world’s most isolated tantrum. 

It’s the stress, he tells himself as he grabs the biggest rock he can find and throws it as far into the water as he can. It splashes with a heavy, hollow plunk that scatters the fish like shattering multicolor glass. Ren picks his way down the shore, throwing more stones. He finds some flint in the gravel of the shore and skips it as hard as he can. It splinters across the water and cracks on the opposite shore, shattering to bits on the rocks on the other side, spraying sparks. Ren thinks it’s the most cathartic thing he’s ever done in his life, and looks for more flint. The next piece he finds is in the shade of a massive oak tree. Ren snags it, turns to throw it, and catches a silhouette out of the corner of his eye. He gasps, stumbles back a few steps, and clutches a hand to his chest. The armored knight, arms crossed leaning against the tree trunk, simply tilts his head.

“Jeez,” Ren gasps, catching his breath from the startle, “you almost scared the life out of me, Wels.”

The knight narrows his eyes. “Not quite.”

The voice is distinctly not Welsknight’s. It’s close. If Ren didn’t know Welsknight as well as he did, he might be able to convince himself he just had a cold, or he’d just woken up or something. His voice was pitched slightly lower, slightly rougher, like it was used more often for shouting than speaking. Ren took in the knight’s armor, its jagged edges, its horned helm and the dark stain that clung to everything like smoke. There were whisps of white-blonde hair that wafted like spiderwebs around the edge of his face, and a smattering of freckles Ren had never seen on Wels. Ren took another step back. The knight smirked.

“You’re Helsknight,” Ren stated the obvious. 

“You catch on fast.” Helsknight chuckled. His voice was different, but his cadence and inflection when he spoke were identical to Wels’. It was jarring, like watching a ventriloquist; Wels could be hiding somewhere, throwing his voice, and this knight was just really good at catching it. 

Ren backed up another step. He was alone. All he'd wanted was a few minutes of peace and now--

His growing panic must've been obvious, because Helsknight held up his hands, signalling they were empty. "Heel, fleabag. I'm not here to hurt you."

Ren narrowed his eyes at the dark knight. "Right. Sure."

Helsknight put his hand over his heart and offered a shallow bow. His cape fluttered like bat wings around his ankles. "On my word as a knight, Rendog of Hermitcraft, Mirror of The Red King, no harm will come to you by my hand, nor by my blade this day."

When he said it, he sounded almost regal. There was an undercurrent of sarcasm, like he felt such a promise was in some way beneath him. Like Ren should just trust him at his word, without the added formaliy. But even still, he was knightly in a very genuine way. Ren found himself wanting to believe him. He probably shouldn't, but Hels was for the moment unarmed and at ease. That counted for something at least. 

"What do you want?"

"Well isn't that the million diamond question." Hels said patronizingly. He resumed his lean against the tree, arms and ankles crossed, sharp and arrogant. Cloaked in shadows, Ren thought he might disappear if he stood there long enough, melt away back into whatever dark he'd come from. "I'm here to offer you an apology."

Well. Ren could honestly say he wasn't expecting that. "What?"

Helsknight sighed, like explaining all this was a chore he hadn't quite worked himself up to doing yet. "When Wels reached out to me about your helsmet, I was trying to scare him when I talked about him. But in doing so I've put someone outside our quarrel through great distress."

Helsknight leaned his head against the tree, feigning boredom. "Not that you care about knightly tenets, but generally speaking, collateral damage is bad form. So I am, for the moment, indebted to you for my…"

Helsknight grimaced, searching for the right word.

"Asshole-ery?" Ren supplied. Hels snorted a laugh. 

"Impulsiveness," Hels corrected him. 

Ren thought there wasn't much difference, from where he was standing.

"Well you can take your apology and shove it," Ren growled, unable to stop the bitterness rising inside him. "I don't want your help either. If I had nothing else to do with the hels dimension weirdness for the rest of my life, it'd still be too much."

"You seem upset," Helsknight stated flatly, more for the sake of being ironic than any real concern.

"I'm going to die," Ren spat. "Yeah, I'm a little upset."

Helsknight looked him over, measuring him up almost. "You need my help."

"No. I don't. And if I do, I don't want it."

Helsknight smirked, "You two are a lot alike."

"What? He doesn't want your help either?"

"Nope."

Helsknight is watching him coyly, and Ren can see the game he's playing. Goading Ren into getting angry, into agreeing to something just because he hates The Red King that much. To not admit they're anything alike. It's petty. It's obvious.

It's working.

"What can you even do?" Ren snarls disbelievingly, and Hels's smirk twitches with amusement. "Besides make things worse."

"It's my job to make Welsknight's life hard. Like I said, collateral damage is generally frowned upon."

"Good to know I'm just collateral."

"What do you fear, Rendog?" Helsknight asks him, inviting the sharp turn in conversation. "What is your darkness? The worst things about yourself. The things you hate, that bring you despair."

Helsknight levels a piercing stare at him, and his eyes spark like nether fire. "What are the things you wish you could tear out of yourself and cast aside?"

Ren blinks at him, feeling a bit like a rug's just been torn out from beneath his feet, off-balance. He doesn't know how to answer. He doesn't know that he wants to.

Helsknight shrugs and offers an olive branch, "I'd give anything to rid myself of my damnedable conscience. You know how much easier my life would be if I could just slash and hack my way through hels without worrying who gets hurt for it?"

"You have a conscience?" Ren finds himself asking.

"You've met him," Helsknight says matter-of-factly. "Galivants around with bright silvery armor, name starts with a W."

"But that's… he's not…"

"We are shadows," Helsknight informs him. Ren has heard this before. He's heard it from Welsknight himself. He gets the feeling he hadn't really realized what it meant before. "Together we might be complete. Who knows? But he is the worst parts of me, the things I want to rip out, to pin to the floor with my blade until it finally stops wriggling and dies."

There's so much contempt there it's frightening. Helsknight's voice darkens. His eyes spark. His lip curls in a sneer, like talking about Wels is akin to muttering the words of some terrible curse. Then he relents, and he sounds like Wels again. "The feeling is mutual. That's how this works, Rendog. A mirror isn't a one-way window, and a shadow never leaves your feet, even in the dark. If The Red King is evil, if I'm evil, well, you'd have to be too, wouldn't you?"

It sounds rehearsed, reasoned-through. It sounds like an internal debate finally spoken aloud. It sounds like overhearing a private conversation, or private thoughts. It sounds like Wels, or something Wels has argued with himself in circles.

“So I ask you again, Rendog,” Hels prompts him. “Knowing this is the key to defeating your enemy - what parts care you, when they stare back at you through the mirror.”

Ren sinks into the grass to think. Helsknight towers over him, still leaning against the tree, non-threatening, or at least unthreatened. They are silent for a long while, not because Ren doesn’t know what to say, but because he doesn’t really know how to say it.

Finally he admits, “Uhm… I guess I think I’m a coward.”

Helsknight said nothing, only waiting for him to continue.

“And I guess I’m weak.”

Helsknight nodded. Ren couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with him, or just prompting him to continue. He decided on the latter.

“It’s like… I dunno. I’m a burden on people sometimes. I get scared of big projects, and the big awesome things everyone else is doing. And I worry about dragging them down. It’s - like I know I can do great things my dude. Of course I can. My hands have shaped worlds. But so have theirs. And they’ve done it faster, or cooler, or bigger and more impressive. Doc really carried us last season. I was too busy getting myself mind-controlled by a moonrock to build much--”

“So you made a hels that was big and strong and… I’m guessing creative?” Helsknight looks out at the river perplexed. “I’ve never seen The Red King make anything. From what I’ve heard, Dogwarts was pretty utilitarian.”

“I made Dogwarts,” Ren corrected him. “And you’re right, it was. Using my nightmares to turn my friends into hyper realistic ice statues was pretty creative though.”

Helsknight let out an impressed whistle. “I should take notes.”

“I’m scared of death now, too. That’s new.”

“That was also pretty creative,” Hels points out.

“This isn’t helping.”

“What do you think The Red King fears?”

Ren blinks down at his hands, crossed in his lap. “Well… me, I guess.”

“What about you?”

Ren shakes his head, “I have no idea.”

“You should ask him.”

“We’ve established the coward thing, right? Besides, last time I met him, he killed me and cursed me with this yellow name stuff. He’ll just do it again.”

“Maybe,” Hels shrugs, “maybe not.”

They sit in silence for a long while. Ren feels like this conversation hasn’t helped at all, and Helsknight seems content to stand there and offer nothing by way of cohesive advice. If this conversation had a point, Ren’s missed it. And the sun is setting. He needs to go home soon. He’ll be in danger soon, and the other hermits will be finishing up with their battle with the many withers. Ren scrubs his face. He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to be confronted with his friends again, all of them walking around him like broken glass in a funeral home. He doesn’t want to face them, and all their grimness, and be smothered under the constant reminder of what it means. 

Helsknight clears his throat and says, “When I - or Wels, I guess - was a squire, we were given the tenet of courage. Most knights have to learn it at some point. Cowardice is a great way to lose your knighthood.”

Helsknight straightened. He brushed off his cloak, casting a few leaves that had caught on the hem to the ground. “We were too young to know what courage was. The knight training us told us so. And then he gave us some advice, which I’m going to give to you.”

Hels cleared his throat, “He said for someone to know courage, one must first know fear.”

He looked down at Ren and he said, “I think fear has been a dear friend to you, Rendog.”

Ren blinked, and he was gone.

#the barking writer #The Red King Hels #rendog #the red king #helsknight #docm77 #welsknight #hermitcraft ensemble #most folks are mentioned and some speak #i'm not tagging all of them #it's under a read more cut this time are you happy now /j #i don't know what it is about tumblr specifically but i swap wildly between present tense and past tense #when i write stuff here #it's very weird and hard to edit around #i'm sorry if it makes the read confusing

[anhed-nia]

I finally finished reading The Phantom of the Opera, which is a total mess and often mind-numbing, but one of its main crimes involves this device I often see in pulp fiction that's sort of curious. Gaston Leroux has a lot of trouble figuring out what you can just summarize versus what you need to describe in detail, and when you should do those things. For instance:

The Phantom's main demand is that the opera's resident diva should make way for Christine. He also wants a dedicated box, and an allowance of $20,000. The managers are skeptical of the widely-believed rumor that the Phantom is a real ghost (because why would a ghost need money?), and assume someone is scamming them. They ignore the Phantom's demands, which incurs an act of violence--and that's the whole narrative purpose of these guys, to provoke the Phantom one time so we can tell he means business. And the main thing is Christine, who is the center of the entire plot; the money part is so inconsequential that it doesn't even make it into most adaptations. It's not as if the Phantom specifically needs money For Something, and also the managers aren't in danger of bankruptcy or whatever. When you take the money out of the story, it continues to function in exactly the same way, this is really not a load-bearing issue.

However, what happens is that in the third act when Christine is mysteriously kidnapped out of the middle of a performance and you feel like FINALLY something exciting is going to happen, suddenly we're forced to rewind an hour or two so we can spend time with the managers who are having a complicated conversation about the Phantom's allowance and also still debating whether the Phantom is real. At this point I know the Phantom is real, Christine knows, her stupid not-boyfriend Raoul knows, and the only thing that really matters is saving Christine and hopefully having some kind of thrilling final showdown (which doesn't happen btw)...but we're stuck with these two pointless characters who spend literally around 20 pages arguing about how it is that the Phantom's allowance is conveyed to him. Like what's the method of administration there. It's incredibly uninteresting and doesn't serve the plot really at all. And at the very end of the book the Phantom gives back all the money, so it turns out that we didn't even need to spend time on this idea in the first place.

BUT we are not done with this topic. During the epilogue the narrator, who has been aggregating all this testimony about the Phantom debacle, goes back to one of the survivors and asks him how the money moves around, and there's this extremely dull description of exactly how the Phantom was able to creep around everywhere--something we already take for granted about him by now--and then there is even further discussion of how the Phantom gave all the money back, which affects nothing. Also in the epilogue is a brief summary of the Phantom's actually-interesting backstory of being a carnival freak and an ingenious polymath who learned the art of villainy from a sadistic sultan's daughter--like oh my god, why is this not in the main story where the 20 pages of money talk is just taking up space and slowing everything down?? But that's the kind of thing that Gaston Leroux thinks is not that cool and he can just casually shove it up the ass end of the story to check a box.

What this made me think about, besides how bad the book is despite the story's enduring popularity, is that there's kind of a thing in pulp writing where MONEY just becomes involved for its own sake. And let me be more specific, because I realize that money is a common motivator of many kinds of genre plots: Heists are a whole subgenre, terrorists in action movies usually want money, money is essential to any mob-related story, and actually there was a whole rash of "recession horror" movies in the last 10-15 years (think KNIVES OUT). But often when you're reading a horror novel, or something like that where the main plot is not finance-related, it happens that the hero experiences a huge windfall or discovers a major stash, and it can be a convenience to explain how they get from Point A to Point B, but it often feels like it's just there for the thrill of it. When we think about the exploitation elements of genre storytelling, we usually think about scenes of "gratuitous" sex and violence that mainly exist to provide titillation and catharsis, but I think there is a kind of pornography of money that sometimes enters the picture for the same reasons. In the (awful) Girl With the Dragon Tattoo series, Lisbeth's ability to steal is indulged with great interest, but it isn't just about the thrill of the caper or its effects on the bad guys; there are quite long (and strangely sort of good) stretches that just involve Lisbeth alone administrating her hoard, shopping, looking at apartments, taking little trips, etc. They're just languorous descriptions of what it would be like to have money, designed to inspire a sense of desire and pleasure in the reader that isn't much related to the story. Knowing that author Stieg Larsson had been a broke journalist who ate nothing but McDonald's all the time seems to explain this to some degree. I'm sure there are also examples of this in the work of Stephen King, who grew up without indoor plumbing for a time. Not that you need to have been dirt poor to understand the pornography of money, but I'm sure it helps. I wish I could think of more concrete examples, I just know it's very familiar. If you read any amount of genre fiction, you've probably thought of some yourself.

[invested-in-your-future]

Does RWBY's geography suck?

Its just...completely barebones.

Places, locations, towns, etc exist only in the path the cast travels through. Its especially notable in Mistral since that whole continent literally exists solely just so Ruby could walk through a forest for over a volume till she gets to Haven.

Like, we all know the whole "oh Monty spilled ketchup on a napkin and that became the map" stuff but that's fine.

Map complexity, worldbuilding and geography isn't defined by the shape of your continents. They could be outright rectangles or squares for all I care as long as they are filled coherently and characters don't teleport between locations offscreen.

Here's for example, the map from Brandon Sanderson's Stormlight Archives:

While one can instantly see that the map shape is outright weird and doesn't match anything in real world, it doesn't really matter. Sanderson's setting holds up on it's own - how the shape of it came to be doesn't really matter in the end because its a well thought out setting.

I bring up Sanderson specifically because his lecture on geography is kind of really good and covers quite a few common mistakes people do, as well as highlighting while maps are kind of good thing to have for your story. How having a sensible geography can help you figure out where characters can and can't be, how various story plot points can or can't affect each other and so on:

And even while someone like Joe Abercrombie or N.K. Jemisin do show a somewhat of a distaste towards publishing maps (and for good reasons), that's also fine.

The map can be something that only author sees/imagines. Whether one publishes it or not is really dependent on the individual, but for me personally if it's a fictional world and you are trying to flesh it out, showcasing how it changes or how it is impacted by character actions, then, in a sense, the world is a pseudo-character. Either way, make it public or not, the map IS and characters move through it and interact with locations on it, affecting them or being affected by them.

And there lies a pretty big issue with how RWBY handles it. The world is inconsequential. Pointless. Whether its bodies of water or arid deserts, mountains or villages - in the end it doesn't really matter. For example, there's nothing unique to Mistral that matters. Ruby could technically be just walking through a ten times smaller forest in Vale and it would be exact same story.

RT, instead of looking at the world they have, dirty napkin or not, and going "hmm, what does this place mean and why is it this way? what does this mean for the characters here? Does a character being there and doing this in anyway impact anything over there?", just plop down bunch of locations in straight line and that's it. Because they have decided that a character has to go from point A to point B in exactly this amount of episodes and that's it. That's the world building. And then sometimes they would realize they forgot another character so that character just teleports over, without even having a single doubt on whether that character CAN be there.

In a story whose main selling point is Remnant, the so called "The world of bloody evolution", where everything is MYSTERIOUS and woooo Moon is broken and OH NO that continent looks like a DRAGON and the communications between kingdoms are broken and there are grimm everywhere and this place got screwed up hard before and so on…suddenly none of that really matters. There isn't really an attempt to give Remnant characterization. How does each kingdom function? How does things going REALLY wrong in Atlas affect the economies and state of other kingdoms for example? Does Fall of Beacon and the destruction of communication system even matter? How would different locations be affected by the broadcast at the end of the tournament? How would various characters introduced from various locations deal with what happened? Miles and Co aren't interested in that. There isn't really an attempt to actually pay attention to distances between places and different methods of transportation because we gotta do all this in exactly this number of episodes somehow. The only time transportation methods mattered is when they had to put Blake onto a pointless padding storyline with her trip to Menagerie.

As much as people REALLY like joking about characters teleporting (be it in RWBY or in game of thrones), there's a bigger issue with Remnant in that it doesn't really feel like a coherent world. Places don't feel "tied together". There's little thought put into figuring out how things happening can affect the bigger whole. And thus the world feels smaller and smaller. Mistral could be another continent or Mistral could be an island or Mistral could be right next to Vale. Vacuo could be on the other side of the planet or literally two steps away from Beacon. In the end with the way RWBY is set-up It doesn't really matter. Characters WILL appear where the plot needs them to be. Consequences of specific things happening WILL be ignored if the plot needs them to be. Difficulties, location context and other things like that WILL be ignored as long as the plot needs them to be.

The last real attempt at characterization of Remnant is all the way back in the first three volumes - when the story goes from Beacon to the town around it to Mt.Glenn, establishing world-building elements there that then come into play in V3 conclusion. We don't get much but we get a sort of sense how the kingdom of Vale would have slowly expanded and how much Mt.Glenn is a sort of a wound within Vale, with unfinished and destroyed buildings highlighting the stagnation of that expansion as it hit a wall made out of as much of unknown dangers as it is made out of humanity's own vanity and pride. Which in turn ties back nicely into the vanity and pride involved in Fall of Beacon where once again a location falls apart because of the threats they refuse to see. There's a sense of progression and you can sort of see and FEEL this location that show spent three volumes in…die. And the logic and idea of the Goliaths moving from one location to the other, the idea of Vale being cut off from it's allies with the fall of the tower, the idea of the wound spreading, the idea what's safe and what's unsafe SHIFTING on massive scale matters. Blake disappearing matters because there's a difference between HERE and THERE. Weiss being taken away by her father matters because DISTANCE plays a part. Ruby setting out on a long journey matters because the DISTANCE matters. And through that, the sense of the world being no longer "connected together" is felt. V3 finale is in a lot of ways about things that should be there and have been there, now being missing. And it also sets up the expansion of the world as the characters are thrown out of their safe zones into places beyond, in turn slowly connecting it all together as a bigger whole.

Never again after that. 6 Volumes ago and never again after that. Characters take volumes to get somewhere or get there in a single scene change. Characters being in different locations doesn't matter. Sense of scale means nothing. The villain can be right at the doorstep and still far away for months to pass. Kingdoms don't feel like they belong in the same setting and no matter how grand the events that happen are, in the end it doesn't even matter because characters left the place. Does anyone REALLY think ANYTHING From mistral will EVER come up or matter? I really doubt that.

Its pretty telling that "adding a single ruined town" of Mt.Glenn is STILL the pinnacle of RWBY world-building.

Its pretty disappointing too because the setting deserves so much more.

#rwde #rwby

[ratsandfashion]

I love J.urassic P.ark so much but every time I listen to the audiobook it just drives me crazy how very BLATANTLY that the Park doesn't fall because of "c.haos t.heory" or "life finds away" or "inherent instability" or ANY of that, it falls because of very intentional human sabotage combined with cost-cutting. A disgruntled employee is the one who shuts down all the security and fences, that didn't happen on its own.

And the reason it's such a disaster when that happens is really hammered home in the book in a way it wasn't in the movie---for instance, H.ammond didn't want to allow any weapons that could hurt the dinos, so they have almost no guns or anything similar that can fight the T-rex. There is a single rocket launcher he allowed but N.edry takes it with him when he goes into the park (M.uldoon does get it later and uses it against a raptor in the book, and unlike the movie he does not die!) but that's it. They also have insufficient tranqs for the bigger animals; the T-rex nearly eats Tim before it sets on. There's also the fact that they "streamline" things to have minimal staff on the island, meaning minimal people to handle a disaster.

In fact, N.edry's betrayal is spurred on by cost-cutting; in the movie, he's simply stated to have financial problems and it's implied they're his own fault, but in the book his mistreatment by Hammond is chronicled to the point his stealing the embryos is as much about revenge as money. Speaking of N.edry, a point is also made that neither he nor W.u actually bothers to learn much about the dinosaurs, even their names. This is probably true of much of the staff, with the exception of M.uldoon and H.arding (the vet, who features more heavily in the novel than the movie)

The movie doesn't include all this, but the point still stands in the film that the failure of the park came from human sabotage and human error, not the whole "you cannot control living things" point that the film and characters try to CLAIM. We do find that the dinosaurs are breeding (and, in the book, escaping the mainland) but that's not what makes everything go under, and in fact doesn't even factor into the failure at all. It's more used to support the "life finds a way" message, but it ends up being very inconsequential. There's nothing about what happened that couldn't have been prevented by having a better staff and not cutting corners, it was in no way "destined to fail" at all.

Like. In most ways I consider it a perfect movie (and a good book) but I can't help being driven crazy by how it fails to execute its point.

[saltwukong]

Re: The Ruby Rose Meltdown

In order for me to explain this, I have to explain why I...really don't care.

I mean, I don't. I was not invested in the idea of the Ruby Rose collapse, never wanted it nor felt it was vital, and I didn't really care enough to anticipate its arrival, and that's because of...well, the reason Volume 8 looks the way it does.

Creating an absolutely bone-headed plan that displaces hundreds of thousands of people and crashes two city-states via landmass colony drop and then throwing all of those people into a desert filled with vicious monsters? Don't care.

Or at least, I don't care about Ruby Rose's part in that. I don't care about any responsibility or accountability she takes, I don't care about how the results affect her emotionally, and I don't care about any hypocrisy she may or may not have exhibited in relation to Ironwood, and what I mean when I say this stuff is that I don't care because Ruby Rose is completely inconsequential to these plot points.

These were not actions that matched a logical character trajectory for Ruby. They were not actions she took because they were in her character. All of the above things along with a shit ton more shit in Volume 8, happened because of railroading. Ruby didn't crash Atlas because it made any kind of sense or was a thing she would do, she crashed Atlas because Miles Luna wanted Winter to have the maidens' power, wanted Ironwood to be a villain, and wanted Atlas destroyed, and did not care how the hell Ruby and Penny and the cast as a whole fit into those goals.

Any character could've been used to achieve what was desired and nothing would really change.

So I can't muster any desire to see Ruby confront those events--they weren't hers to see through, so why should the fallout be hers to carry? Ruby's meltdown can never be entirely within her character if the ultimately crucial cause of it wasn't either.

There is still some novelty to be had in The Great Ruby Rose Meltdown, if you're into that sort of thing, albeit it's still coming way too late. It's kind of like Yang finally calling Summer Rose her mom in Volume 8--yeah, cool, way too late, this shit stems back to Volume 5, bucko. Ruby Rose finally expressing anger and resentment and impatience has been cautiously approached before, but finally getting it now doesn't exactly fill the stomach. Went and got my food elsewhere in the years you were fooling around, RWBY.

So free of the burden of having to care about Ruby's logical responses or moral compass, and the scene lacking even novelty flavor, I can just enjoy the Ruby Rose Meltdown for what 50% of it actually was: bitching at said plot being dumb.

Honestly, when Ruby got up in Blake's and Yang's faces and was like "good for you, yeah yeah we're happy for you, fuck off" I was like "gurrrrrrrl read them read them read them". I genuinely believe Miles wrote that to vent his frustration with being forced into that position to begin with. You know damn well him and everyone else at Rooster Teeth were not dropping the Bee Bomb until there was literally no other option left. Usually I hate when Miles lets his feelings bleed into the characters--terrible thing to do, leads bad places, see Volume 8 for worst case results--but he kinda slayed here. Having Ruby turn and ask if she's supposed to give a shit about Jaune's tomagotchi pets was just the icing on the cake.

#i am CACKLING babygirl #rwde

[tenshiharmonia]

The Fourth Piece

"Courage that is untempered by kindness risks eating itself forever. Wisdom that is untempered by kindness is no wisdom at all."

I recently played Tunic, and the above quote reminded me of something I wanted to write about for quite some time now, in regards to The Legend of Zelda. You see, I'm a big enjoyer of the "Tetraforce" theory. I guess the name is pretty self-explanatory, but for those who don't know, it's the belief that the Triforce as it is is incomplete, and that there is a fourth, missing piece, taking the shape of an inverted triangle meant to fill the hole in the middle of the sacred relic*.

Now, I'm fully aware that it will likely never be a thing in canon (I even heard that the theory has officially been addressed and refuted, but I never really checked the veracity of that statement, so make of it what you will), but hey, as far as my headcanons are concerned, it's quite a fun and interesting idea to toy with. :3 Of course, if you're a fan of the Zelda franchise, you probably know that a core aspect of its mythology is that each of the existing pieces of the Triforce corresponds to a certain quality. We have Power, Wisdom, and Courage, so the question is : what ideal would this hypothetical fourth fragment stand for ?

I think you see where this is going, but personally, my favourite take on the matter is that the lost piece would represent Kindness. This is definitely not an original idea, of course. As you may know, it initially comes from Majora's Mask, where four of the great fairies who inhabit the world are referred to as the Great Fairies of Power, Wisdom, Courage and - you guessed it - Kindness. So it already has some basis in the series' lore (even if the great fairies have technically nothing to do with the Triforce XD ), but most of all, I really like how well it complements the other three pieces. Kindness fosters harmony. It helps bring balance. For Courage and Wisdom don’t amount to anything without Kindness, as explained by the line I quoted earlier from Tunic. And Power will just set the world on fire without it. They need Kindness to temper them, but Kindness also needs them to help guide its efforts. Really, I love the dynamic it creates, if that makes any sense.

Alas, Kindness and its champion are missing from the world. But what would happen if they were to awaken ? Who knows, they might hold the key to putting an end to Demise’s curse, the curse that was born from wrath and hatred… On the other hand, the events and context that led the fourth fragment to be "missing" in the first place also make for an interesting topic. First of all, the existence of a fourth Triforce piece naturally implies the existence of a fourth deity, a deity who would be on a par with the Golden Goddesses and who would have also partaken in the creation of the world. But once again, what could have led to their contribution being erased from the legend ? I mean, considering the level of almightiness we are dealing with, it can reasonably be assumed that it could only have been the doing of the other three creators - or at least one of them -, but even then, it doesn’t tell us much. XD

Really, there are so many directions this story could take. I’m almost afraid of picking one ! So here is a bunch of mostly inconsequential details I was musing about instead. :p

First thing first, I should probably mention that I like to imagine this fourth deity as a god rather than a goddess. Don’t take it as a statement of any kind, I just like the immediate contrast it creates. XD (Also, I love the idea of Kindness being represented by a buff and burly - yet gentle and caring - man. :p )

I was also toying with the idea that he could be related somehow to the "Fierce Deity" whose power imbues the eponymous mask. Maybe it could be an incarnation of the rage he felt after getting erased from the world’s history. I don’t know, but it could be interesting…

Since Din, Nayru and Farore are respectively associated with Fire, Water and Wind, it’d be fitting for their "brother" to have an elemental attribute as well. And it just so happens that we are missing one of the four classical elements to have the complete set : Earth.

Which, based on the iconography of Minish Cap and the Four Swords games, means that his dedicated colour would likely be purple. (I was going to say yellow**, to match the aforementioned Great Fairy of Kindness (and because I kind of feel like it complements the other three better), but the colour is already associated with the Triforce as a whole, so it’d probably be redundant…)

As for his name, I’d like to base myself on Twilight Princess. Since three of the game’s four provinces are named after the golden goddesses, it’d make sence for the last one (which is apparently not considered a part of Hyrule) to reference the fourth deity, one of the few hints of his existence left in the world. That’s where it becomes a bit difficult, considering how vastly different the English name (Ordona) is from all the other versions (that are mostly variations of the Japanese name, Latoan). Naturally, the version I’m personally used to is the French one, Latouane, so you can guess which one I’d base myself on. :p (I was thinking, maybe something along the lines of "Latoun", but there is obviously nothing definitive about it.)

Another thing to consider is what his contribution to the world’s creation could have been. We know that Din modelled the earth and everything material, Nayru defined the laws of nature, and Farore was the one who created life, so what does that leave us with ? My first idea was that it was him who gave living beings a heart (metaphorically speaking, of course), bestowing them with free will and a sense of self, as well as the power to defy destiny. Which, naturally, could have contributed to his ultimate erasure. But once again, I’m just brainstorming out loud…

By the way, is it just me, or does it start to sound like I’m basically recreating the Diamonds from Steven Universe ? I mean, four impossibly powerful beings, each tied to a particular colour and elements, with the fourth one being strongly associated with Earth and freedom and having disappeared under mysterious circumstances ? I swear it wasn’t intentional, but the similarities are definitely here. XD (Even the Diamonds’ sigil seems to hark back to the Triforce in a way, especially the triangular version used after the shattering…)

Anyway, this is pretty much everything I had to say on the matter. As you can see, it’s quite a mess of ideas. I would have said it’s a work in progress, but let’s be honest, it barely counts as a work to begin with. XD Still, I needed to get it all out of my system. Of course, if you have anything to say about the content of this post, I’ll be more than happy to hear you. As I said earlier, there are so many directions you can take with this concept. But then again, it’s also what makes it so fascinating in the first place. ^_^ (Also, go play Tunic if you haven't already ; this game is an absolute gem. :p )

* Note that while "Tetraforce" is an useful term, the object itself would probably still be called "Triforce", as the fact it was already named as such when there were only two pieces seems to indicate that it likely got its name from its shape, and not from the number of components… ** Which is actually purple’s complementary colour, funnily enough.

#the legend of zelda #tloz #tunic #secret legend #tetraforce #tetraforce theory #triforce #din #power #nayru #wisdom #farore #courage #the fourth piece #the missing piece #kindness #majora's mask #fierce deity #great fairy #great fairies #the minish cap #four swords #four swords adventures #elements #twilight princess #latoan #latouane #ordona #golden goddesses #golden god

[ordinaryschmuck]

"Ooh, look! Another Amphibia critique from Schmuck!"

Yeah, yeah, blame Twitter. This one came to me last night because of a post and it's been stewing in my brain ever since.

I'm learning more and more that nothing causes an Amphibia fan to foam at the mouth more than when you tell them that the first season is mostly filler.

Cause here's the thing: I've seen that first season THREE times. And every time, it felt like a chore to get through as I'm forced to watch characters go on silly adventures as the show dangles this carrot on a stick in front of your face, promising something interesting with a grander story.

"Ooh, look! Something's going to happen with the music box!"

"Ooh, look! Sasha's here and she means business!"

"What will come of this? Tune in next time to find out!"

And when you tune in next time, you're met with Anne and Sprig pretending to be cops or the town having a literal shipping war. And sure, that can be funny, but when you promise a grander story and take too long to get to it, it leaves people WANTING that story feeling a little disappointed.

Or worse: Annoyed.

Even MORE worse: Angry.

And when you bring up that season one is mostly filler, you're given the usual three responses:

"It's to build the world and develop characters!"

"It's starting off fun to suck people in before getting darker like [Insert show here]"

"[Insert show here] had a first season that was mostly filler and people loved THAT. Y'all just hating."

And those are good arguments, but there's also good counters to all of them.

Infinity Train is a series that has a new cast of characters every season, each one having only thirteen episodes to grow and develop while showing off the world around them. The writers make each episode count though, not wasting time as every goofy adventure the characters go on it either reveals something about themselves or about the lore of the train. You can absolutely let characters go and do something silly for ten minutes AND have it feel like the plot and development of the world and characters are moving forward. You just gotta do more than something as inconsequential as Sprig learning to be more patient when watching a hog or Hop Pop learning how to be honest instead of selling literal garbage. The meat of those episodes (I.E. the LESSONS) can be brought up in smarter, better ways that leaves EVERYONE satisfied, especially when they learn these exact lessons later in the series anyway.

As for starting off by being fun defense, it's a fair one until you realize what show everyone's trying to copy.

You see, Adventure Time is a great show. One that nailed the "silly at first but serious later" mindset. It changed the landscape for serialized animation, and shows have been trying to do what IT did ever since. BUT they forget one essential factor that's the reason to Adventure Time's success: It had NO plan. It started off silly and fun only to get more serious over time, but in a similar vein to your favorite comic series. The writers just wanted to have goofy fun times and nothing else, but the longer the series went, it would get more and more serious as it started to evolve into serialized storytelling. There was never a singular arc in Adventure Time or even an endgame in mind for how the show would conclude. There were definitely arcs but they were treated as small webs of something the show COULD build upon if the writers wanted to and less as a part of this grand narrative to a complete story. Even the latest spin off, which has a singular story in mind, is something based on an idea that NEVER went further beyond being something silly upon its conception. The writers just wanted to do something fun and would LATER come up with a good and expansive story through it.

Basically, the reason why Adventure Time nailed the silly THEN serious style is because it improvised the whole thing. When a show like Amphibia tries to go through the same style, it does it WITH a plan in mind and forgets that Adventure Time succeeded because it didn't HAVE one. The writers know exactly where they want the show to go and plan out how to reach that finish line, leaving behind crumbs of the grander narrative every now and again. But in Season One, so much of the focus is about characters going on fun adventures and leaving behind those crumbs not as often as they should. The end result might just be one of the weakest examples of a show being silly THEN serious because of it tries to be one thing while also wanting to be another.

And as for the final defense, about how other shows tries to be silly THEN serious too, let's look ANOTHER series made by Disney: Gravity Falls.

Gravity Falls' first season, let's be honest with ourselves, is a lot like Amphibia's. There's hints of a story there, but much more time is dedicated to Dipper and Mable going on goofy one-off adventures while the second season takes a much more serious direction towards the plot and characters. It still leaves crumbs as well, like what's going on with Gideon and the Journals, but the majority of the season is still stuff like Mabel freeing a merman trapped in a public pool or Dipper using a video game character to intimidate Robby. So while it's the same as Amphibia it terms of tone, there's ONE difference: Episode length. Within the first season, Gravity Falls has twenty episodes where Amphibia has thirty-nine. Amphibia has ten-minute episodes stitched together to meet the twenty-minute runtime that Gravity falls have, and the end result is making a series feel MUCH longer than it actually is. It drags out the silliness longer, making Gravity Falls more digestible because we're watching random nonsense ONCE per week and not TWICE. So when the bigger, more serious story stuff comes, it feels like less time was wasted to get to it.

You can argue all you want about how Amphibia's first season doesn't have filler or, if it does, it's not a detriment. And if that's how you see things, that's fine. But not everyone is going to feel that way.

Look, filler can be fun. It can give you an enjoyable little adventure in between the meat of this grander narrative the writers are building. But filler isn't fun ALL THE TIME, and you need to find a right way to space it out between the story bits if a serialized story is what you want to make. As fun as it can be, it's not the necessity that people claim it is for a good show to exist. Some amazing series exist when they're all killer and no filler. Just because the characters don't randomly go to a casino for an episode, that doesn't mean it's a lesser form of storytelling.

And the same goes for shows WITH filler. If you like Amphibia's first season because of how silly and fun it is, I don't blame you. To me, it was a show that got my attention because there was a hint to a bigger narrative, but it's not what the show tried to do in it's first season. It took its time and the end result was a finale that legitimately brought me to tears, so SURELY it isn't all bad, even if most of those silly adventures weren't my cup of tea. It's DEFINITELY a season of filler, but whether or not that's a detriment to a show is depending on who you ask.

#amphibia #amphibia critique #infinity train #adventure time #gravity falls

[hyperfocusthusly]

Crashing down

Read on A03 here

Crowley woke up late, from the moment his eyes opened the day felt wrong. He groans and reburies himself in the duvet. Eventually he emerges in the late afternoon, the sense of wrongness persists squirming under his skin and making him irritable. Aziraphale notices, of course, Crowley notes him peering around bookshop shelves, fiddling with his rings and offering tea slightly more often than necessary while Crowley engages in his usual, and favourite, activity of scaring away would be customers with a little more venom than normal.

“Are you alright dear?” Aziraphale appears somewhere behind his left shoulder, a gentle press on his lower back soothes the nagging feeling pulling at the back of his eyes. He raises a hand and rubs his temple.

“Just feel a bit off angel, nothing to worry yourself with”

“Maybe a walk would do you some good, bit of fresh air?”

He suspected it wouldn’t, but anything to abate the radiating worry from behind him.

The walk, as it happened, took him as far as Nina’s coffee shop. In the years since he and Aziraphale finally were able to settle in the bookshop they had developed some kind of ‘mutually grumpy half of the pairing’ friendship. He pushes open the door to find an enormous mug waiting for him, she had seen him coming and automatically prepared his usual. He miracled out far too much for a single coffee and passed it to her. The dull pain behind his eyes had sharpened in the street, but eased a little in the relative gloom of the coffee shop in the late afternoon haze. He took his normal seat in the back corner sipping his coffee and willing himself to calm down.

“Are you alright?”

Nina. She looked concerned.

“You’re just looking a little pinched, more than normal, I mean”

A small hum is all he manages, the feeling is intensifying the coffee shop suddenly feeling small and repressive, the air thick and sticky in his throat. He stands, abruptly, the chair skittering away behind him.

“Something bad…” he murmurs,

“I need some air”

Nina watches him leave, slightly unsteadily, and wonders if she should call Aziraphale, what do demons consider a bad thing anyway?

The air outside is cooler, the autumn evening revealing the best of itself in a crisp breeze. He sighs. The feeling is still there, clawing at the back of his throat, demanding to be felt. He glances up and down the street, nothing. No angel hoard, no lurking demons, nothing out of place.

The chime of the record shop bell catches his attention as Maggie comes out of her shop. She waves to him as she sets out to cross the road, on her way to walk Nina home, as always. Nina clinks the lock on the door to the coffee shop and steps out beside him, ready for the evening ritual.

The unease sharpens, pulls at his senses.

Moments pass, tiny, inconsequential, flickering past until he sees it, suddenly, horribly and with perfect clarity.

The car skids around the corner, careening wildly, directly towards Maggie.

And before he can raise his hand, it hits her. She disappears under it and the world stops. Crowley has seen a lot of things on his time on earth, death and destruction wreak havoc here constantly, but not here, not now, not in this corner of the world they had carved out for themselves. Not to his friends.

Nina’s screams pulls him back and he’s raising his hands before the first step is complete. He reaches out for the tenterhooks of time and grips them, feeling the power screech along the nerves of his corporation, wrapping around his wrists like burning white ropes.

He pulls, time screams at him it’s done, it’s done.

He pulls harder.

“No,” grits his teeth, refusing to back down, “you will obey me.” It begins to relent, winding back, slowly, too slowly for the affect its having on him. As the car runs back he feels something in his head pop, his corporation is shaking under the pressure of the metaphysical form pressing through. Nearly, nearly there. The car is pulled back, Maggie is upright. His body is screaming, but she is safe.

With one last push, he sends the car screeching up the road and lets go, the ropes slip away, searing away the skin in their path.

The world returns briefly, a fades away just as fast. He feels suddenly heavy, exhaustion pours over him as the damage to his corporation makes itself known. He’s loosely aware that he’s falling, legs unable to hold themselves up any longer.

He’s also aware that he’s caught, a gentle heat against the cold crawling over him. He’s going to discorporate he thought, he wonders how he’ll explain this one to Hell, how long it will take to get a new corporation, to get back home, he hears the scrape of metal across asphalt, the cold rush of death breezing closer.

Everything is fading, it’s happening, sounds blurring together until something rings through with crystal clarity.

“You will not be needed here today”

He recognises the voice, of course he does, the only constant of 6,000 years on earth, how could he not.

The numbing cold is replaced gently by warmth, things begin to knit themselves back together and he suddenly feels calm.

Aziraphale is here, and he is safe.

—————————————————-

Aziraphale feels time stop outside the bookshop, he drops the books he’s holding and rushes towards the door, trying to keep the icy fear from over taking him. The door pushes open with some effort, time is holding out here, sticking to him and making movement difficult. He emerges on the street in time to see Crowley, face taut with effort, extend his arm and throw a car sideways. He reaches out his own arm and forces the air out of the tyres, grinding it to a halt.

He turns as the world zips back into life, released from the hold it had been trapped in, turns to see Crowley crumple to the floor, barely caught by Nina.

A cold sweeps down the street as a figure emerges from a side road. Black cloak sweeping, Scythe scraping your torturously across the asphalt.

No no

He’s running again, desperate to get to Crowley before the figure. He drops to the floor, into an atmosphere clouded by pain, distress emanating from crowleys alarmingly still form, theres blood running from his ears painting the skin of his unnaturally pale face, dark black bruises forming under his closed eyes. He reaches out again, feeling for the damage.

He spares a look upwards, meets the gaze of empty sockets and spits out “you will not be needed here today.”

He refocuses all of his energy on pulling back together the parts of the broken body in front of him. Breathing becomes steadier, a heart rate less erratic.

Somewhere around him he dully hears the squawking of crows, another gust of icy wind and then, finally, the warmth of the autumn sun.

Death was gone, Crowley was safe.

#I don’t know what this is #and consequently #you won’t either #no beta we fall like Crowley #this has consumed me for the last 24 hours so here you go #did I take liberties with crowley’s time powers? yes I did #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #Nina #tw: mcd #so briefly #blink and you’ll miss it #Maggie #ineffable husbands #although #can be read platonic #Maggie x nina #crowley x aziraphale #Aziraphale x Crowley #aziracrow #my writing #fanfic #good omens fanfic

[tommykinard6]

hi, it's me again, the anon with the "911 characters have no real ambitions" ask :) i agree with your take and the takes of the people who reblogged and commented on this. it's interesting to see other people's opinions on this, and i'm glad i'm not alone with it.

911 is solely about this one team and allowing this team to change in any kind of way would go against what the show is about in its core – i never expect it to change in that regard, hence my deep disappointment. especially during season 3, i was so hopeful that they might be brave and allow the characters to slowly test the limits of their own comfort zones and the rigid team dynamics. buck asked the others if they would all still be in touch even if they left the 118 (hen and chim admitting that they didn't stay in touch with former team members), and eddie said something like "this won't happen to us". and like, yes, that is the point! if they truly are a family, shouldn't they be encouraged to spread their wings and be allowed to be their own persons? it would not have hurt the 118 but rather enriched the characters and family dynamics. again, i get that 911 would and will never do that. you need much better writing to pull this off, after all.

in the end, the complete lack of real character arcs is a fatal flaw (or how the one user called it, a "build-in bug") and the inevitable demise of the show. in the long run, having set up the narrative like this, it means that nothing that ever happens to them will be allowed to have real consequences, that none of the drama is allowed to matter long-term, that none of the characters are ever truly challenged and changed and developed. comas and (near) deaths and suicide attempts and trauma and disputes and disagreements and attempts to leave the team and attempts to try different careers. all of it falls completely flat because we, the audience, already know how the story will end. there is no suspense. we know better than the characters that they'll end up back where they started anyway, so why waste our time feeling excited over things that won't matter. you can have the 118 go to space with their ladder truck in season 10 to save the world and there will still be zero suspense. you cannot rinse and repeat the exact same storyline every new season without the audience losing interest at some point, because flat writing can only keep you afloat for so long. new season starts out with some inconsequential drama (again) that triggers usually complete exaggerated reactions in the characters (again) which ultimately leads to nowhere (again) because in the last episode, the 118 family must be together (again). and again, and again, and again, and again. all it does is slowly but surely chip away at the integrity of the characters until you cannot even stand them anymore.

i agree that one can enjoy a good romcom movie or a romance novel where the focus is romance/love only, of course! however, there is a significant difference we must acknowledge here: you have one (1) overarching story arc with one (1) final resolution for those narratives (resolution usually means canonization of the main couple). with 911, though? you have years and years, seasons and seasons, of one (1) circular story arc. every season, for all the seasons, no matter what happened, the characters end up where they started, oftentimes completely nullifying things that happened to them which would have been pivotal points in any well-written narrative. but not in 911, because character development is the enemy. how much longer can 911 go in circles before it meets its expiration date and starts stinking like old fish? tbh, that has started for me in season 5 already, which is why i only pick and choose specific scenes to watch while skipping out on like 80%. it doesn't even matter. i'm not missing out on anything because there simply is nothing substantial to miss in the first place.

sorry that this got so long... i hope this doesn't come off as negative towards you or anyone because i'm just rambling sdkjds. i'm just sad and frustrated that the characters i really loved in earlier seasons, who had interesting and unique backstory and so much potential, will not be given real arcs and goals. they all have cool "begins" episodes, they all have cool pasts, they all struggled immensely! only to land and forever be stuck in the 118 hamster wheel where nobody is allowed to develop and leave. orz

Anon, I spent a couple days trying to figure out how to answer this. As I read your ask, I said to myself “it sounds like they’ve given up” and indeed, at the end, you said you pretty much have. So I’m not sure anything I say will help or shift your perspective on anything. While I fully respect your take and see where your concern is coming from, I don’t think I necessarily agree on all points.

I’m interested that you don’t seem to think the characters have had full story arcs. I think, fundamentally, that isn’t correct. Yes, they haven’t advanced in careers. But Buck used to be a self diagnosed s*x addict with commitment issues, family issues, self esteem issues, you name it he probably had it. Look where he is now. He’s grown up. His relationship with his family and his sister has never been better. He’s still not the best in relationships with women, but he’s come worlds from where he was before. Plus, he’s discovered he’s queer, which is absolutely huge for him. He’s gone through so many up and down arcs that I can’t even list. Every season, we have him moving forward. His arc is really beautiful. I didn’t even used to like Buck, but now I adore him.

Eddie Diaz. His arc is still very much ongoing, but it involves him digging through his PTSD and his own self esteem issues. He goes through the trials of being a single dad. We see him have a full on breakdown in season 5 because he couldn’t keep going on like he was. He even left the job briefly to work PR, but came back.

Bobby Nash. Came in as an alcoholic with a death wish. A little black book to fill before he offed himself. Now look at him. He’s married to Athena, he turned the 118 around from its regressive state into a family, and has in recent times still shown that he has in fact still got it. I think we get a little less drama with Bobby personally speaking but he’s still undergone a huge arc and I’m hoping we continue to get more.

Chimney. Oh boy, the arc on him is tremendous. From the man that lied to the girl he was dating and held very little care for himself to a dad, a soon to be husband, a very competent senior paramedic, and a loyal friend. The Chimney we have now is not the one we had originally.

Hen. She cheated on her wife originally. Their relationship in and of itself took a huge arc, through healing and learning to trust again to trying to grow their family to fostering and now looking at adopting. Through Karen almost dying and us learning where they began and how far they’ve come. Hen herself came from having to fight tooth and nail for respect and decency at the old 118 to the paramedic who takes over as Captain when the need arises, even though Chimney is technically more senior. She was the one closest to advancing career wise, as she was going to be a doctor, and while I’ll always be sad that didn’t happen, that itself was a rich and in depth arc that if she had continued on that path, would’ve taken her from us.

I could go on, but my point is that there are plenty of character arcs. We’re still going through all of them. Just because they may not involve career advancement or changes that may permanently take a character from us doesn’t discount their validity.

9-1-1 isn’t a show that will ever be a revolving door of actors and main cast and I’m happy about that. If anyone wants that, find literally any other emergency drama. 9-1-1 is a rarity in keeping most/all of its main cast. In order to keep that, unfortunately, we have to sacrifice some things. But that doesn’t leave us with a rom com. This show isn’t centered around romance, it’s centered around family and finding love (platonic and romantic) and growing personally. Romance just happens to be a part of that. I personally still find it suspenseful and love the big emergencies that they do.

You may not. Others may not. And that’s ok, we all have our preferences. I just don’t necessarily like seeing 9-1-1 written off so blatantly when it’s still a rich and developed show.

#911 abc #9-1-1 #911 spoilers #911 speculation #911 meta #tk6 answers

[havendance]

i think if i were a writer who gets to kill Joker it should be completely by accident by some absolutely nameless person. Like not even a hero or a villain but a nameless civilian who didnt even mean to do it, a stray bullet, a drunk driver, a natural disaester, faulty wiring, house fire accident, cancer etc etc. Just something so common and so accidental and so mundane that people dont even realize he died until weeks or months later noticing a suspicious lack of a certain clown but also unamusing enough that it took like a week for amateur sleuths to figure out what happened. It is because Joker considers himself as this really Big Man™ who should be taken Seriously™ to the point that killing him would prove his Point™, so him dying a commoners accidental death and become one of the statistics is what he would hated the most. (Also literally nothing changes. Gotham neither mourns nor celebrates his death. Gotham hears the news and immediately moves on with its life. Everyone dies in this city what's another one?) I want his death to mean nothing, just absolutely inconsequential and unsatisfying and sudden and without any intent

Yeah, I see where you're coming from.

Like, I for sure wouldn't want like, Batman, or one of the Bats to kill the Joker because then it's just part of the million and one games the Joker plays. So some random joe, or just a common accident? Much more preferable. I would also be down for a story where the government just straight up executes him for all of his crimes against humanity.

I do think that it would be disingenuous for his death to be completely without consequence though. He is, for better or for worse, a central character in the dc universe. If he dies, people are going to react it to it.

I'm less familiar with current comics, but I do know that there's a lot of characters out there who have these connections with him. To list off a few examples that I may or may not be getting right (most of my current comics knowledge comes from osmosis): Duke Thomas's parents were victims of a joker attack (weren't they joker gassed or something?), Jason's got his whole Anti-Joker thing going on, isn't there a Clown Hunter dude who's thing is hunting clowns or the joker or something? And also, I think that the average gothamite would have an opinion on the fact that the Joker is dead. I don't know anything about Joker War besides the fact that it is a comics event that exsists, but presumably, that affected the citizens of gotham. I'm going to stop talking about things I don't know about, but while I think Batman could be the type to just stoically move on and never mention the Joker again, I do think that other people would care.

Like, I do just spectacularly not care about the joker, but I feel like it would be more interesting to wrestle with those story threads rather than discard him. You just got to make sure that the story's about them and him.

#the joker #carthago delenda est #also have no idea about what barbara's deal is in current continuity with the joker #but post-crisis barbara gordon should be allowed to have thoughts and feelings on his death #i liked seeing her wrestle with everything in Last Laugh #one of the highlights of that event #letters to the editor #dc #bats + birds + affiliated

[greyeyedmonster-18]

i really want to ask for a snippet of tight ends because it is my whole heart but i’m scared you’re gonna get pissed

i don't think i've ever been pissed on this site barring two instances re: death threats.

so heres the deal-- i won't be posting tight ends, but i don't have a problem with snippets. but because i learned from my mistakes with NMTW, i don't really want...people to be asking why i'm not posting it because then...I'll just get annoyed and that's not fun.

but! here is a snippet for you <3

--

“I should apologize,” Remus said, swallowing as he watched Sirius lift a weight over his head, breathing out and in rhythmically.

“Fucks sake, I have 300lbs in my hands, and you’re apologizing?”

“Seemed like the only time you wouldn’t just…walk away. I can spot. Shouldn’t you have a spot? This is dangerous!”

Sirius racked the weight quickly and sat up, straddling the bench, “I should, but I don’t. You can’t spot.”

“I could try!”

“I’ll let you know when I do my cool down, hm? A nice and easy lap around the field.”

“Okay, this isn’t about me being inadequately built to play football,” Remus started again, annoyed Sirius could steal his intentions and conversations from him so quickly, and Sirius’s smirk told Remus all the information he needed to know. Sirius found it fun. Messing with Remus was a game and Remus let him win every time. “This is about me apologizing to you.”

“For...?”

“Being…in the locker room…you know.”

“No, I don’t. What are you apologizing for?” Sirius repeated, and Remus felt his face go red. The weight room was mostly empty, save Keeler along the opposite wall on a mat with a medicine ball. “Be specific, because…I could come up with a list of offenses on your behalf--the article being at the top of the list but…can’t recall anything that involves the locker room.”

“Sirius.”

“Hm? What’s that?”

Remus cleared his throat, dropping his head down to look at the ground, only to catch sight of the way Sirius’s exercise shorts had risen up, revealing the compression shorts underneath, snug around toned thighs.

Not. helping. 

He picked his head up, forcing himself to make eye contact with Sirius, “I…shouldn’t have been in the--”

“Can’t hear you, baby,” Sirius said; his own voice dropped and Remus looked over at Keeler once again, searching for any hint that he could hear what was happening. Maybe there were ear buds in? Lost in his own world?

“I shouldn’t have been in the locker room on Saturday after the game and I….shouldn’t have watched you. I…apologize it…I don’t…do things like that, and it was an invasion of privacy….sorry.”

“Oh…that?” he asked as if they were discussing a etiquette faux-pas; like Remus had shown up empty handed to a potluck or forgotten which fork was with. Inconsequential. No big deal. “Don’t apologize for that. Unless you ruined Prewetts sweatshirt, in which case…”

“Sirius.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

Sirius grinned, sitting up straighter on the bench, “Then there's nothing to be sorry for.”

“Y…you don’t mean that,” Remus said, as Sirius shifted forward to lean closer to him.

“You’re right. I tend to say things I don’t mean.”

“I just--” Remus floundered, gesturing aimlessly, “What is going on here? One second you’re pissed off every time I open my mouth, trying to get my assignment written, trying to understand the sport, get to know you--anything. The next you’re letting me stay the night in your bed, and taking my phone when I do stupid shit like keg stands, and saying its fine when you catch me masturbating to you? What is happening? Did someone put you up to this? Are you making fun of me, what is this?” Remus asked and Sirius just sat there smirking, “Stop it! I mean it! You with that stupid grin of yours, I don’t want to see it, I don’t--don’t laugh at me! Sirius.”

“I like you.”

“Why?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sirius said immediately, and Remus balked, “That was a joke.”

“You like me?”

“Of course I do. I let you sleep in my bed and jerk off to me.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Sirius grinned, “I like you, Remus. And even if I didn’t like you and your stupid lanyard that you always wear--”

“I have to! It lets me in!”

“We know you now, stupid, we’d let you in…” Sirius shook his head and Remus’s jaw continued to fall not believing what he was hearing, “Even if I didn’t like you…I think you’re very…” Sirius’s eyes moved slowly down Remus’s body, and the gesture alone was enough to make Remus’s flush deepen. “You’re just what I like. I’d let you stand there and look at me, all you’d like.”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Sirius shrugged, “Can I get back to my workout now? I have another set to do and then go to the mat.”

“...Can I spot?”

Sirius snorted before lying back down on the bench, grabbing the bar, “Go ahead.”

#asks #grey answers #anon only asks #on tight ends and wide receivers

[lady-eny]

TITLE: ON THE NATURE OF DUTY (12/17)

Some tags: AU - Spies & Secret Agents, Enemies to Lovers, Action, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Zekehan, Reincarnation

Summary:

Forced to team up with his enemies to save the world, Levi, Eldia’s best agent,  soon starts losing sight of his duty. 

Despite reminding himself how much he hates Hange, the marleyan star analyst, he can’t prevent his brain from scrambling at her mere presence, ever closer.

Perhaps it’s that he knows her from a long time ago…

CROSS-POSTING ON: AO3

Other Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 13 14 15 Notes: Thanks for reading! Next chap: Erwin, Eldia... etc., etc. Have a nice week✨

Chapter 12

The stillness of the forest sent calm to his heart and made him breathe in to absorb the moment. Her words came back to him, along with the visions his mind conjured.

“Maybe… we should just live here together… right, Levi?”

Such a reality was so close that he could practically touch it—the future which, deep down, he’d always longed for. The end of the fight and the subsequent peace, after giving meaning to the death of their comrades, would come soon, for better or worse. He couldn’t help but already savor its hypothetical sweetness.

Yet nothing lasts forever. They weren’t able to stay in the forest, but for the brief moment they did, it felt like the best thing that had happened to him in years, despite how much his body was hurting.

If only he could have stayed there, he’d wish later… 

Kirstein’s guesthouse is quite cozy on the inside. Aside from the miniature rooms and shared bathrooms (ick!), its environment is welcoming and the floors clean enough. Levi finds the only reception room to be troublesome, though—it’s open to the public, making the planning all the most stressful for him. Hange and Mike, on the other hand, appear to be at ease. Unreasonably at ease.

“We’ve been here before.” Mike rests his back on the cushioned sofa, lacing his fingers behind his head. “So all is well,” Mike guarantees him, observing Levi’s tense shoulders on the couch in front of him.

“Yeah. Sure.” Even if the place is secure, they could have been followed. Levi squints at the walls. Someone could be listening from the slits…

Hange frowns as if trying to decipher what’s wrong with him. Nothing is wrong with him, by the way. He’s merely worried. Levi thumbs his eyes and forces his mind to focus on whatever they’re saying, but their words are distorted sounds that he lacks enough energy to discern.

This place isn’t his main concern, nor is Tybur. What has him on the edge is the tightness of his chest, born from the torment of knowing himself strained from his people. With time between here and then, between the hours when he was still loyal to his people and the now, a reality where he practically betrayed and disregarded them, reflection has been everything he’s been doing. He can’t fool himself into thinking his actions are going to be inconsequential.

Levi.

His temples throb with the pain of recalling the past, memories in which disobedience elicits disasters and horrors are provoked by neglecting his duty, by rebelling. He just cut communication with Erwin, and the last time he did that…

Levi.

Something terrible will take place. And it will be his fault for ignoring his responsibility to eldians, for being selfish again. Nausea turns his stomach and he’s going to vomit, fiery acid raising up his throat—

“Levi!” A voice shouts, one he absently recognizes. It jolts him out of his rumination. “Is something the matter?”

He answers with a slow shake of his head. Blinks to sharpen the figure sitting diagonally from him, the shape of furrowed eyebrows with glasses upon deep, beautiful eyes. Hange. Levi surveys his surroundings but locates no one else; Mike is nowhere near. When did he leave?

“... Where’s Mike?” His voice sounds throaty to himself. Perhaps something is indeed wrong with him.

She doesn’t buy his change of subject. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” Everything. I’m not supposed to be here. I should be following my orders. I shouldn’t be having a friendly chat with you. Ever. “I made a mistake.”

“A mistake? Which one?” Her head cocks to a side, genuinely appearing to have no clue.

His shoulders curl over his chest. “I…” He sucks in a swift breath. Disclosing the truth is so, so difficult, because its articulation makes it more real, more shameful and painful. “I betrayed my people.”

Hange barks a laugh. A laugh. It halts when she notices his pinched lips. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… You didn’t betray your people. You just helped me.”

What’s even worse. “Same thing.”

“It isn’t.” She leans towards him, elbows on her knees. “Betrayal would inflict damage on your people. You aren’t harming them, rather working to keep them safe. They just don’t understand it yet.”

“This is my duty.” His hands clench on his pants to contain the guilt clambering up his chest. “I’m the one who—”

“Why is it? Your duty.” She lowers her head and grips her glasses’ frame, palms covering the sight of her eyes. “You’re always talking about it as if it was a burden that you, and only you, have to carry. But you have comrades, you have Erwin, plus millions of eldians. Aren’t they responsible for their own lives and their land, too?”

“It isn’t the same,” he says through gritted teeth, jaw aching by the force. “Bad things happen if I’m not around. Because they aren’t like me.”

“Fairly vain, don’t you think?” She drops her hands and ponders him, eyes moving all over his face for a moment, a moment in which he gains the mortifying conviction that she can see right through his skin, muscles, and skull—right deep into his soul. “I don’t want to pry, but… you said your life fell apart when peace wasn’t reached, years ago… What happened then?”

How does she know about his most undesirable memory to nudge? The one he’s been quashing this entire day, and in which he made a terrible mistake so similar to the current one that it won’t allow him to breathe?

The quashing exhausts its power and a bitter image forms behind his eyelids.

It wasn’t a cloudy afternoon, nor an entirely sunny one. The most remarkable things were his state of mind and the excitement overflowing his chest. Such an odd and unfamiliar experience. A relieved smile graced his mouth as he strolled in front of the apartments, seeking a suitable one for them. Finally, his mother would have a home of her own. Then his phone rang, and his smile got broader.

“Mom?”

“Erwin just called,” was the first thing she said, her tone as harsh as ever. “He said you resigned?”

Levi winced. “I was going to tell you. It’s just that…” He noticed families passing by on the sidewalk across the street, laughing without worries at the end of a war that seemed eternal but ultimately wasn’t. Now, it was his turn to walk with that kind of ease. “That job isn’t for me and the war is ending soon anyway. I… I’ve saved enough money now to buy us a home and your tea hous—”

“Levi, no.” His mother sighed. “You are a special child and always have been, which makes me so proud. But what makes you special also holds you accountable. You’re in this world to employ your skills to help others. And you’ve been doing so much good working there, that you can’t just leave them.”

“I don’t want to keep doing this.” Missions were getting harder and harder, his body heavier every day he had to get out of bed to steal something and spy on someone, or even, kill marleyans. Levi felt anger injecting into his veins. He knew she was talking out of love to their people, but… Weren’t his wishes also important? “I won’t,” he grunted.

“Don’t be so selfish,” she chided, an accurate blow to his stomach. He took a step back, leaning against the wall behind him. She was never going to get it; at least, not by phone. He needed to talk to her in person and explain it until she did.

“Will you work late?”

“No. I’m going home early today. But don’t chang—”

“I’m in town. Wait for me.” He rubbed his nape. He still had to attend the appointment at the real estate agency, but it shouldn’t take long. “I’ll pick you up.”

Silence filled the line until she gave in. “Alright. We’ll talk then. Take care on your way here, my child.”

In the end, it took him longer than expected. By the moment he was blocks away from the restaurant she worked in, the disaster was just about to erupt. His phone rang and Erwin’s name appeared on the screen. His finger touched the hang-up red circle, and suddenly, the air alarms went off in an insistent and deafening wail. His arms’ hair lifted.

No… It can’t be…

But of course it could, and it was. Something landed far at his right him and vibrated the ground just before an explosion sent him flying into the void.

When he woke up, presumably hours later, everything was motionless, his nostrils infested with a scorching reek. It was murky, it was suffocating, it was quiet. A buzz pierced his ears and he felt as if his head was a bubble about to burst, yet he got to his feet. He stumbled to the restaurant, which was no longer, now reduced to a pile of rubbish. He stopped at what used to be its entrance, cold sweat freezing his body. Surveyed the area with desperation, his heart racing with the fear of what he didn't want to spot but spotted anyway. Among the pieces of furniture and ashes, a pale body stuck out from the debris. He tripped to her side and held her.

“Mom…” Minutes went by in which his throat grew raw, and his pleas for help fell on deaf ears. His legs, exceptional as they were, wouldn’t push him up. His trembling hand couldn’t stand still.

Her wheezy voice muttered, “Levi… please…”

His arms enveloped her, meeting her loving eyes. “Mom, hold on. I’ll get help.” But before he finished the sentence, her cold body went lax between his arms.

You aren’t there. You aren’t there. You aren’t there.

You’re here. With Hange.

Levi clutches his chest, shutting his eyes. The long-time buried and tightly secured hoard of misery in the depths of his heart threatens to break open.

“I… My mother died that day.” He swallows around the knot in his throat. “It was my fault. She was there because I told her to wait for me, and I was late, and I should have been with her, and… I was the only person she had left, everyone else had died in the war, and…” He trails off, the knot in his throat expanding and making it impossible for him to go on.

The heels of Hange’s palms press lightly against his shoulders. He doesn’t know when she got closer, but her sorrowful eyes are right on his face.

“I’m sorry,” she gurgles, gaze locked on his. “But it wasn’t your fault, Levi. It wasn’t.”

Every emotion he’s been holding back for years crashes in one massive flood.

Copious tears roll down his cheeks. “It was!” He chokes. “I was going to quit, and then she died. It wouldn’t have happened if I only had taken my duty seriously enough…” He breaks down on her, violent sobs shaking him. That truth has been haunting him daily. Before this, he hadn’t said it out loud, never shared it with anyone, and thus it’s been rotting more and more inside of him. “I wish I could turn the clock back to that day, and…”

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t send those bombs or do anything wrong. You did your best. You have very little real control over how the world behaves. In fact, you can only control your intentions, the actions you take, and how you respond to events. Nothing more. Everything else is out of your hands, and thus not your responsibility. Like this.”

She strokes his hair, cradling him against her chest until his shoulders sag and his crying decreases. Even so, Levi doesn’t back off. Her steady presence under him brings him peace, and her hands holding him a tender sensation he hasn’t felt in a lifetime. No one ever holds him, as it’s always been the other way around. Even as a child, his family problems hardened him and made him want to support his mother from a young age. Hange’s words sound sincere, yet he can’t fully absorb them. He feels small, so small, yet safe at the same time, along with a whole bunch of emotions he never allowed himself to feel hitherto.

Hange separates from him. Levi reaches out for her, refusing to lose the warmth. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder and keeps backing off.

“Wait a sec.” Hange crawls on the floor, holding her side. How much did it hurt her to come to him that fast? She acts so lively that he keeps forgetting she’s injured. She grabs her bag and crawls back. When she reaches him, she pulls out her teddy bear. “He always manages to reassure me.” She hesitates, looking at Mr. Sonny as if it was her most valuable possession. She exhales and offers it to him.

Levi doesn’t know what else to do, so he accepts the bear and clutches it against his chest. A tiny smile forms on Hange’s mouth and his chest swells with something smooth and pleasant. He can’t help it. He leans in and wraps his arms around her, holding her closer while Mr. Sonny is crushed between them.

Mr. Sonny does help, truly.

“Mike will come in at any second,” she mumbles on the crook of his neck, yet doesn’t move. In lieu, she hugs him tighter and lets out a ragged breath.  

As if on cue, Mike comes in. His sudden coughs shatter the silence and spring them apart. Mike opens his mouth but shares a meaningful look with Hange, and afterward, doesn’t comment on what he just witnessed.

Levi places Mr. Sonny on his side and presses his palms over his eyes, making sure no more tears will come out. Takes a deep breath in. He feels… better. Lighter. As if a massive weight had been lifted from his system. As if letting everything out made it no longer his, no longer his primary source of pain. As if by putting it out there, his wound was finally expelling its pus, getting ready to mend. One step closer to healing.

Hange retakes her seat and plays with the strap of her bag. She tucks one of her bangs behind her ear, only for it to return to its usual position instantly. She angles her legs to Mike, who sat in the opposite armchair. “What did Frieda say?”

Back to business. Levi forces his mind to concentrate, this time for real.

“Bad news.” Mike deflates and scrubs a hand over his face. “Have you been on the Internet lately?” Both Hange and Levi shake their heads. Without a phone, Levi feels detached from the world. Something is missing in his pants pocket whenever his hand ventures in search of the familiar solid frame. “Right.” Mike scrolls in his phone, pauses, and shows them a post. “The WCO, along with many governments, had to publish a statement under public pressure. They declared they wouldn’t be supporting any investigation on the explosions, as people’s safety always comes first for them.”

“Is the mission canceled?” Levi’s brows bump together in a scowl. There are so many wrong things with that.

“Officially… it is.” Mike snatches a muffin from the coffee table and bites it.

Hange taps a finger on her chin. “Do we have to report back right now?”

“Frieda left it to our discretion.” Mike smiles, bread crumbs scattered on his lips. Now Levi comprehends why Hange and he are such good friends.

She mirrors Mike’s smile. “Meaning, we are allowed to keep going.”

“Technically. We don’t have official support, and are prohibited from uttering the WCO name. In the event of getting caught, they won’t stand behind us.”

Levi chuckles. “We’re disowned.” Everything seems so funny at this point.

“Well, it’s a complication, but there’s nothing to do about it.” Hange stands up, patting her thighs. “We have to move on. I’ll… I’ll talk to Tybur now.” She takes Mike’s phone and withdraws to a corner.

Mike sniffs at Levi’s cup—which is now cold on the coffee table—and wrinkles his nose. “What the hell is this thing?”

“The best beverage in the world: tea.” Levi takes a sip, the tea’s flavor filling his tongue with delicious sourness, despite its temperature. He raises to collect his bag from the corner he left it. No matter how many times they tell him this place is safe, he prefers to be prepared, just in case.

“The worst beverage in the world, better said. I’m allergic.” Mike shudders. At Levi’s incredulous look, he adds, “Really! I get hives and throw up. Not pretty.”

With his bag hanging from his forearm, Levi places a hand on Mike’s back. “What an unfortunate existence yours must be.”

“Bah.” Mike waves a hand. “By the way, I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I wasn’t angry with you, but with myself for not having been there. I felt I had almost lost someone else, and… Sorry, man.” Mike pinches his chin, scrutinizing Levi as he makes his way back to his seat. “But are you okay? Your eyes are all red.”

“I am,” Levi replies, tasting the truth within his words. The reason escapes him, but he’s legitimately better. He sits back and takes another sip of his tea. “Are you allergic to all kinds of tea?”

“No idea. Needless to say, I didn’t fancy trying them all.”

Levi shrugs and traces a finger along the cup’s rim. He wants to reciprocate his apology, say he accepts it, and convey that he isn’t nourishing hard feelings, but words are tricky entities who loathe him. He only archives to say, “Err… I make good coffee too.”

And for once, it was the right thing to say.

“I like coffee,” Mike replies, cheerful.

The flow between both restores its usual harmony, and Levi relaxes in it.

Hange reappears and collapses next to Levi, massaging her temples.

“That was quick,” Mike spouts and outstretches for another muffin, this one of chocolate. “What did he say?”

“He accepted. He wanted to reunite in his company b—”

Levi slams his teacup on the table, leaving it vibrating by the force. “Absolutely no. We’d never get you out of that damn place!”

“But,” Hange emphasizes, “I said I’d prefer it to be somewhere else.” She sets her hand on Levi’s knee. He blinks rapidly in a daze, a sensation much like bliss coming to him on tides from that very spot. What were they talking about? “We’ll meet in a restaurant Tybur himself selected.”

Her hand remains on his knee. Her delicate fingers spread over it; the pinkie a bit inclined on its outer side, the thumb on the inner edge… Levi can’t take his eyes away from it.

Mike finishes sniffing the muffin and bites it. “Which one?” He inquires between chews.

Hange’s fingers make their way to Levi’s thigh. Her index rubs slow circles, and heat spreads from it in widening ripples.

Her mouth morphs into a quite scary smirk. “Carla’s.”

Mike gulps and his face turns equally weird.

Levi jiggles out of his mind. What are they saying? His gaze bounces from Hange to Mike. Did they just say the meeting will take place in a restaurant, and named one of the most famous ones as if that solved everything?

“What? Carla’s?” As in Carla’s, where the wealthiest people in the world gather? Why would that place be something to smile for? If anything, going there would be to Tybur’s benefit, as he must be already familiar with it.

Hange squeezes his thigh. “We know the owner.”

Mike nods once. “I expect he’ll be delighted to help, but we should call him before planning.”

“True,” Hange says. “You do it.”

“What? No! You!”

“Please!” Her voice is permeated by tension. “He’ll like hearing about you.”

Reluctantly, Mike taps his phone and sets it on his ear. After a few seconds, he speaks. “Hello? It’s Mike. How have you been? … Great… Thanks. We all miss her. And… Yeah. Listen. I have to ask you a favor.” A pause. “No, no. You’re right, she’s here... Oh. Sure.” Mike hands the phone to Hange. “He said that if you want a favor, you should ask him yourself.”

A queer shadow clouds her expression. Who is this guy? Is it Levi or does she look somewhat distressed?

Hange’s face is completely pallid. “Uhh… I just… I don’t want to ask him for something on this scale. Actually, I could call Tybur and arrange another location. This could go awfully, and… I’d be shoving danger to his front door. What if he—?” She groans in frustration. “No, never mind. Give it to me.”

She stomps gripping the phone in her hand.

“Who is him?”

Mike glances at Levi in surprise. “Shadis.”

Levi lifts a single eyebrow. “Is that supposed to ring a bell?”

“I thought you’d know. Shadis is Hange’s… father? Well, adopted father. Guardian. When her parents died, she went to live with Nana’s family… Swiftly afterward, she moved with him. He was a family friend.”

“Why wouldn’t she want to talk to him?”

“It’s not that. Shadis gets mad because Hange never calls or visits. You must have noticed, but she tends to keep a certain distance from people, so most of the days she’s overworking herself and never getting in touch with anyone. Nana… Nana and I were an exception, and even we struggled to see her.”

He hadn’t noticed. Didn’t Moblit mention it once, though? That they were friends, yes, but the closer one can be with her, which wasn’t much. It’s never been like that for him. She’s always felt close—overly close—and too open…

Hange reenters the kitchen, brows climbing to her hairline. “He’ll help.” She accommodates beside Levi.

“How are you?” He mutters to her ear, the lowest he can.

“Good.” She doesn’t seem to want to talk about the phone call. “Guys… I have to tell you something.” She bites her lip. “I believe The Orions are implicated in this.”

Mike mouths the name. “The organization that tried to kill Pieck when she just got into the throne?”

Was I the only one unaware of their existence?

“Yes. Their modus operandi is rawly the same, and strangely, all information on them got erased after we eradicated them. Or thought we did.” Her body droops. “It’s my fault, I should have been more careful with them at that time, and now…”

“There’s nothing to do. I’m sure you did it amazingly,” Levi says before mulling it over. His skin burns with awkwardness a second later. It fades when her face splits into a grin at his words.

“I agree,” Mike chimes in, sliding his quizzical eyes from him to Hange in a way that makes Levi stir. “You couldn’t have known that instead of disintegrating, they were preparing for bigger prey.”

“I don’t have confirmation,” Hange continues, “but I have my team secretly looking for the deleted files on them. Optimistically, they’ll shed some light on this. We can further discuss this later.” She claps once. “On the plan!”

She lays a map of the city in which the restaurant resides on the coffee table, smoothing the rolling edges. “We’ll be here,” she grasps a paper sheet and a pencil to draw a square. “Everyone knows Carla’s—every snob at least—hence Tybur won’t suspect. It’s ideal; he’ll feel in his element and guarded by his own people, who will probably be placed all around—on the roofs, the parking spaces, even other tables.” She points to some tiny squares on the map, the ones circling the restaurant building.

“That drawing is disgusting,” interrupts a foreign voice.

“Jean-boy!” Mike ruffles the newcomer’s long hair, which weirdly enough, is gray, even though he must be in his twenties at the most. “Good to see you again!”

Jean makes a face at the nickname and combs his hair with a hand. He sits cross-legged on the floor and snatches Hange’s pencil. “You should at least work with better visuals.” Mike and Hange switch looks and contain laughs as Jean works.

Mike tilts his head to a side. “Jean-boy. How’s your mother?”

Hange shakes her head to Mike but it’s too late. Jean shoots a glare at Mike and continues drawing.

“Done.” Jean drew a rendition of the aerial view of Carla’s building, far better than Hange’s plain square. He stands with a satisfied expression and dusts off his pants.

Hange takes her pencil back. “Thanks, Jean. I’ll tell Pieck you send greetings.”

Jean’s cheeks acquire a deep reddish hue before he hurries out of the room.

Levi is baffled by the whole interaction. “Is he acquainted with your Queen?”

Hange scratches her arm with the pencil. “Mmmm… I guess you can say so. We used to come here before the queen thing. They’re sort of friends. Don’t say her name here, though—it’s a delicate topic. He can’t leave this place, as his mother is rather… ill.”

“Ah.” Levi isn’t the slightest bit interested in the marleyan queen’s private life. Although it could be useful information… He looks at the map. “What’s the plan?” Levi can’t spot a way around the numerous squares encircling the building; all the more, Tybur isn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t go if he didn’t have the upper hand.

Hange rolls and unrolls the map’s tip with her fingers “Okay, so this is what we’ll do...”  She speaks long, until the early morning falls on them and she starts nodding off. Her head drops on Levi’s shoulder and he stays immobile, holding his breath. He doesn’t want to disturb her, as she needs the rest, and if she wakes up now she’ll continue working.

And he used to think he was a workaholic…

Mike hovers above them like a storm, his gaze cutting to Levi.

“Be good,” he mutters and retires upstairs.

Jean walks in, and Levi gets the feeling someone has called him horse face at some time, someday…. He yawns while Jean removes the cups and the plate of muffins. “If you stay here, don’t step on the couch. Guests always do that and mom hates it.”

Levi stiffens. How many people have sat on this same couch, slept here, left their… dead cells all over its fabric?

“Calm down,” Hange splutters against his neck, sleepy. “It’s clean.”

“If you’re awake, go sleep on your bed.”

She mumbles as a response. Hange snuggles up next to him, her nose bumping into the curve of his shoulder. His heart twinges inside his chest. She nuzzles up to his neck, her breathing tingling his skin, making him shiver. Levi feels drowsiness, as if he was engulfed in cotton. Warm and sweet cotton that tastes like home.

He should jolt her off his shoulder and go to his room, but he’s so positively giddy that he doubts he could. He’s just too… comfortable. This doesn’t mean he likes her, or something preposterous like that. He merely enjoys her presence. That’s all.

With the quietness around, he recalls the mirages from the beach. Hange was sad, then happy… The images bring sorrow, but also a sense of longing. Nevertheless, in a back layer, all of them also bear the faintest hint of joy—entangled so intricately between them, that there’s no possible way to de-interlace it.

Levi inhales her earthy, heady scent. Those images recover forgotten memories, lost moments from dreams. Barely flashes, but familiar ones. Every so often, Erwin appears, along with some kids and even Mike. Regardless, those that last the longest and crumble his heart are the ones with her mark all throughout.

He wonders what they could signify. Aren’t dreams mere reinterpretations of reality, projections of the hidden inner mind? They may mean nothing.

However, if they’re meaningful, perhaps he’ll never find out.

  ***

  D-3

What follows knocking on Carla’s back door was unforeseen, to say the least. That is, the tall, bald, and raw-boned man with the biggest eye-bags Levi’s ever seen who welcomes them. The man stands firm, arms crossed and lips tight—clutching a menacing knife that, strangely, is pointing directly at Levi.

Levi doesn’t expect what follows, either.

“Who are you?” The man interrogates, raucous.

Levi looks at Mike, but it’s clear that the question is aimed at him. “L—Hange calls me Levi.”

The man scrutinizes him. He echoes, puzzled. “Levi… So it’s him?”

Mike passes Levi and gets into the restaurant. “It’s him.”

What am I?! Disconcerted, Levi sways from foot to foot. Should he follow Mike or…? The man eyes him from head to toe with a disapproving expression.

Mike’s head peeks out from inside. “We should take this conversation inside,” he suggests. “We never know who could be watching around.”

Levi crosses the threshold and finds himself in a busy kitchen. People dressed in black hurry from one side to the other carrying casseroles; among them, several white androids with black caps rush around, lifting the heaviest boxes, washing dishes, and opening cans. He’d never seen the intern mechanisms of this kind of place before, as in the restaurant his mother worked in, there were only humans doing the chores, and the kitchen was half as spacious. Of course, it wasn’t as renowned as Carla’s, so it makes sense.

Next to Levi, the man observes, “You’re too short.”

Levi’s forehead puckers. “And you are…?”

“Shadis, the owner.”

“Who also likes calling himself ‘Hange’s father’” Mike chips in, sniffing a saucepan on the fire.

“She is my daughter. I raised her since she was”—Shadis puts his hand perpendicularly to the height of his waist— “this short, and talked about raccoons nonstop.”

“Raccoons?” Levi’s head combusts in utmost confusion. What the hell is this entire exchange?

“She had a phase,” Shadis laments, and places his hands on his slender hips. “What’s your profession?”

It takes Levi a moment to grasp that, again, he’s the subject of Shadis’ inquiries. Levi stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Hm. Classified.”

A harsh squint on Shadis’s face makes Levi step back. Just once.

Mike chuckles. “Let’s keep moving; we’re interfering with the work standing here.”

Shadis leads them to an office with dark furniture and blue walls, where banks of windows look out onto a cloudy street. An entire wall is lined with dozens of potted plants, the second most natural greenness Levi’s seen together in his life. There’s a desk at one end, and a small table with comfortable-looking chairs around it at the other. First thing inside, Shadis mashes Levi on a sofa and sits to the fore of him, on a wingback chair that looks too much like a throne.

“So. How much is your income?” Shadis questions from his seat, rising above Levi like a general.

Mike freezes mid-motion, and instead of sitting down next to Levi as he was going to, he retreats to the door they just entered. Levi scratches his cheek; wasn’t he supposed to come, prepare everything for later, maybe eat something, and wait? Obviously, things won’t go on as planned.

Why is the old man doing this? After this mission, he likely won’t see him ever again—nor Hange. Does he interrogate each person who comes, that happens to be his daughter’s acquaintance?

Fucking Mike. Why did he leave him alone with such a stranger?

A bead of sweat slides down Levi’s forehead at Shadis’ penetrating stare. Why does he feel like a criminal apprehended in a cell, who’s being demanded a confession of his worst crimes? It’s highly ridiculous—he’s done nothing wrong. Nonetheless, what’s more ridiculous is how compelled to answer properly he is.

“Err…” Levi’s mouth gets completely dry. How much does his eldian salary equal on this currency? Numbers dance and slip away from his head without control. “Enough to live comfortably,” Levi resolves into, mind too tangled to muster a more adequate reply.

Shadis grabs a notepad from a side table and flips it open. He scribbles something down. “What do you think of my daughter?”

Mike was coming back in, chewing a slice of bread and holding a plate with more of them. The moment he hears that question, though, he quietly backs up to the kitchen, putting his phone to his ear.

Levi scoots to the edge of his seat, desiring nothing but to escape with him. “Ahh… errr… She’s extremely smart.” Why is that relevant to anything?

“Certainly. Hobbies?”

“I think she likes—”

“Yours.”

“Oh. Cleaning, Tea…” Shadis wrinkles his nose. Levi scraps a hand through his hair. “Watching… TV?”

The man crosses something on the paper, which makes Levi straighten. “What do you watch?”

“Err—Movies, TV shows like… Joan… the slayer.”

The eyebags from Shadi’s face hop with his laugh. “That’s an amazing show! Did you watch the last episode, where Joan had to destroy that aquatic monster?”

And then Levi gets snared talking about every little detail of his favorite TV show, which wouldn’t have been that bad, if only someone had warned him of Shadis’s baleful stance beforehand. He’s done with the unexpected on this day.

“Hi!”

The voice catches Levi’s heartbeats. Hange rushes into the room, quite out of breath. She’s wearing all black, hair sticking out of her ponytail in every direction. She slouches on the sofa next to him, within arm’s reach.

“What are you doing here?” Levi gasps. Her presence here is definitely not part of the plan. Under the possibility of Tybur watching this place, they concluded she shouldn’t be seen anywhere nearby before the meeting’s time.

She takes a candy from a bowl on a side table and pops it into her mouth. “Just… because. I was cautious, don’t worry.” She pats his knee, earning him a glare from Shadis. Levi steels himself, trying not to cower under it.

A toothy smile surfaces on Shadis’ lips, yet his features hide a tint of anger below. “My dear Hange, why didn’t you come last month as promised?”

Her chin dips to her chest. “I’m sorry… Work got in the way.” Hange squirms. “How have you been? How are my babies?” She ventures to the potted plans, caressing some of their leaves. “Hello, Albert!” She tells a long plant with yellow flowers.

“We’re fine,” Shadis says looking quite content, which is a contrasting—and disturbing—view from his previous behavior. “I was chatting with your friend here. He is…” Shadis balances his index and middle fingers on his chin. “Reserved.”

“He is. He won’t even tell me his real name, and the day I met him—”

Levi jumps to his feet. If Hange narrates that particular anecdote, he doesn’t want to be anywhere near Shadis. “I should get a drink. Want some?”

Hange is watering the plants with a hand sprayer. “Tea is okay.”

“Coffee,” Shadis dismisses.

Levi all but sprints to the exit. He lets out a long exhalation the second he closes the door behind him. Something about that man’s eyes makes him incredibly nervous. By the time he returns from the kitchen, Shadis’ posture is relaxed, and Hange is back on the sofa, her demeanor less agitated.

“Levi,” Shadis calls him stridently, leaning back on his chair with his arms folded over his chest.

Levi stumbles over a nonexistent crack in the floor. He swallows. “Yes?”

“I never expected the infamous Ackerman to be… well, like you.”

Did she inform him who he was? For some reason, it doesn’t bother him that much, as at least now the man is aware of what he does, and that he does it greatly. Not because he wants to impress Shadis or anything like that—it’s only nice to make known he isn’t someone useless, and neither easy to intimidate. Most of the time.

A soft clink of the three cups being placed on the center table, and Levi takes a seat. “I wouldn’t be able to work anonymously if I was as expected.”

Hange dedicates a smile to him, which also makes him smile, although he doesn’t ponder on why.

Shadis raps a finger on his temple. “I guess you are right. And you like Joan The Slayer...”

“This is so good,” Hange exclaims after tasting her tea. “Another original recipe?”

Levi nods, heat creeping to his face. Having nailed the flavor makes him a little proud. “I thought you’d like it. It’s the sweetest one I’ve done.”

“The coffee is good too.” Shadis seems to be perceiving him in a new light, manifesting intimidation to a smaller extent. “Why don’t you work on this? It would be safer for you and your future family.”

Ehhh… future what? “I can’t.”

“Why not? I used to want my own restaurant ever since I was a teenager, but always believed I was overly insignificant for that, nothing special. But then Carla appeared and taught me we can make anything we want, if…” Shadis’ eyes are unfocused with memories. Levi, for his part, is trying to count the panels on the ceiling.

He doesn’t want to get a tea shop; that idea has been long destroyed within his heart. Dreaming of the impossible is beyond futile, and fueling the fire of cravings that once burned inside him but which nowadays are mere ashes, too much to handle on a day when his mind should be everywhere but in nonsense.

As if sensing his discomfort, Hange interrupts, “I think it’s time to get to work.” She puts Carla’s building plans on the table and blinks at them. Takes off her glasses.

Levi snatches them and wipes the lenses on his shirt. “There. They should be clearer now.”

She mumbles a ‘thanks’ before returning her attention to the plans. Levi shifts his gaze to Shadis. The man’s glower makes him feel naked and under inspection. He hastens to avert his face and concentrate on Hange’s explanation.

Soon, Shadis is—fortunately—required in the kitchen, whereupon Mike arrives with plates overflowing with food of eccentric names. Hange’s entire face illuminates at the sight of them and quickly devours a steak.

“Before I forget, here.” She hands him a phone when she finishes her first plate and is eyeing a second one. “You seemed to miss yours.”

Bordering on reverence, he takes the phone and instant relief washes over him. It’s reassuring, feeling those hard angles on his hand, his connection to the world. Mike and Hange get into a loud discussion while he explores the gadgets of his new treasure.

“Or what do you think, Levi?” Hange turns to him. “Do you consider dogs are treated well and should continue to live with humans without supervision of their owners?”

Levi’s mind goes blank for a second. In the end, he says nonchalantly, “Well, my mother had a dog when I was a child. I spilled spot remover on it and then it was gone.”

The room is silent for a minute before Hange guffaws without control. Mike looks from one to the other, clearly bewildered.

“You’re joking, right?” Mike looks genuinely perplexed. Levi’s face remains unperturbed while Hange gasps for air. “What’s so damn funny about this?!”

When Hange composes herself, she says, “That proves my point, at least. Supervision is required…”

Levi returns to his phone, somewhat satisfied with his contribution. He made her laugh, and the overall interaction made him feel as if he was their friend. Which is impossible, naturally, but still… Not a bad sensation.

“I was Nana’s best friend,” is the next noisy thing that tears Levi out of his absorption.

Hange leaps to her feet and slams her hands on the table. “No. I was Nana’s best friend.”

“She was going to marry me,” Mike argues.

How can they talk that freely about Nanaba when she’s been gone for so little? They’re weird, but Levi guesses people deal with their grief in contrasting ways. Odd ones. He discovers that observing them is amusing. While Mike is leisurely leaning back on Shadis’ chair, smirking, Hange is worked up; her cheeks are colored red and her fists clenched.

“Only because you have a penis!”

“I’ve been by her side daily. You used to return her calls once a month!” Mike lifts a finger. “If lucky.”

She primes her lips and doesn’t retort. Then pivots to face Levi. He’s transfixed by being the sudden center of attention.

“Levi. You’re more my friend than his, right?”

“Um…”

“Levi, my friend. I brought you dinner!” Mike points at Levi’s half-eaten dish. “You prefer me over the glasses, don’t you?”

“I’ve known you longer!” Hange exclaims.

Mike waves a dismissive hand. “Mere hours.”

“We’ve gone through much more together.”

“For a day. And we share a meaningful connection, yes?”

“No!” Hange slams her fist on the table. “We do. Right?”

“Ahh…” Levi inspects his cup, then those of the others. They’re empty—yes! He asks Hange, “Do you want more tea…?”

“Uff.” Mike deflates in the chair. “That’s betrayal, man.”

Hange flashes a smile that encompasses her entire face. “I’d love some. You chose wisely.”

“I haven’t chos—” Levi exhales. Whatever. He turns to Mike. “You want a coffee, don’t you?”

The satisfied smile on Mike’s mouth overshadows hers, which fades to a scowl. “Double, please.”

When he comes back with the beverages, they’ve all forgotten their argument and are deep down in the planning. Hange is unsurprisingly good at logistics, and Mike is surprisingly capable of organizing, so it’s decided that Levi will be close in case a fight is necessary, while Mike will be in charge of coordinating them from a distance. Not much different than what they did at Tybur, really, just with divergent results (hopefully).

The clock is grinding slowly toward seven pm, the hour of the meeting. Even when Levi dreads it, he’s eager for it to arrive. He can’t stand yet another hour like this. More so as Shadis comes back to the room and picks up on everything Levi does and says—disapproving of it at the same time.

By and by, Hange glances at the clock and gulps. “It’s time.”

Levi’s stomach performs pirouettes. “We’ll fail,” he croaks.

Mike rubs his sparse goatee. “Mmm, this could actually work.”

Hange thrusts a fist up. “This will be a piece of cake!”

Either way, their opportunity to uncover this has come.

The sun has dipped low in the sky and the stars blinked on. The restaurant is brimming with people, the murmurs from the multiple conversations around, remaining diffuse yet stable.

“Ready?” Mike’s voice rings from the earphone in Levi’s ear, static pervading it.

Levi adjusts the lapels of his waiter uniform and rearranges his black do-rag, hoping it will make his wound imperceptible. He’s coiled in a corner of the kitchen—a real waiter almost ran him up on his way out, so better to stay secluded. “The sooner we finish this, the better. Do you see her?”

“Clear. She’s walking to the table. Do you?”

“Not from here.” A screen on the wall shows men wearing tailored suits and sunglasses getting into the restaurant. Levi lowers his voice. “They are here.”

Shadis crops up at Levi’s back, wearing a chef hat. “How is it going?”

“Fine. You just have to stay in the kitchen.”

“Don’t let anything happen to her,” Shadis whispers to his ear. It sounds more like a warning than a request.

Hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt to breathe better, Levi nods. No pressure.

He takes a food tray and exits the kitchen, getting into the cloud of food odors and indistinguishable speech. Heading to a station next to Hange, the squeak of a nearby chair sliding on the wooden floor bounces to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he notes a regal man sitting in front of Hange. Levi settles into a corner, where there’s a cart from which he must deliver cups and cutlery. Habitually, this is done by an android, but tonight Carla’s staff will claim technical problems.

“Miss Bean,” a plummy voice greets. Willy Tybur is displaying the same long blond hair and proud stance as at his birthday party. “A pleasure to meet you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mister Tybur.”

“I told you, call me Willy.” Levi makes a face while rubbing a plate with a napkin. “And perhaps I should address you as Miss Zoe instead. It was a remarkable job, deceiving me the first time. I never suspected you were from Marley—and the brilliant Zoe, most importantly.” He raises his empty wine glass to her, and in the split of a second, a man rushes over and fills it.

“Apologies for that. It was necessary, you see.” She raises her already full wine glass, lips barely curled. “For saving the world and all.”

Their two glasses clink with a chink.

Tybur tilts his head to a side, appearing curious. “Saving the world? Don’t you believe it will turn into a better one, following this?”

“Can someone who’s killed thousands, among which were some of the smartest people, make a better world out of this one? Someone willing to strike and harm again?” She lifts an eyebrow.

“The smartest people?” There’s an almost imperceptible trim on Tybur’s tone.

“According to the records, at least.” Hange smirks. “You didn’t know? This person must not trust you that much, after all.”

Levi almost smiles. A loaded pause descends on the table.

“Hey, you! I need some spoons,” a waiter shouts at Levi, whose attention was on everything but the cutlery. He takes a bunch of spoons and unceremoniously shoves them to the waiter’s chest. The brusque action attracts the scrutiny of Tybur’s bodyguards. Levi’s muscles harden and he focuses on his fake job, gathering the cutlery in sets. He won’t glance at Hange and Tybur again, in case they suspect something. He’ll have to exercise his listening skills.

“Very well, Miss Zoe. You proposed an interchange. Disclose your information and I’ll give you mine.”

Levi hears paper rustling against wood—she must be sliding something to him.

“Here. All the codes necessary to get into Marley’s system. They work; I made them myself. Now, spill the beans.”

“Are you willing to betray your land for this?”

Levi had the same question. Fortunately, he received an honest answer. ‘These aren’t the complete codes,’ she made clear when Levi was memorizing them earlier.

“I’m not betraying them,” Hange explains this time. “Besides, isn’t the whole world far more important? Innocent people are in danger.”

Tybur snorts. “Fair enough. On my part, I have the leader’s name for you. He’s called… The Commander. Does that sound familiar?” He laughs.

The loud crash of glass breaking reaches Levi’s ears. Afterward, there’s only silence from Hange. Levi forces himself not to steal a glimpse at them.

“What are they saying?” Mike’s voice buzzes in his ear. “Hange looks ill.”

“Shh.” The Commander… Levi has never heard that name before. Has she?

“He will—” Hange clears her throat. “He’ll be mad if he knows you betrayed him.”

“Betray?” Tybur mocks. “You won’t get alive out of this place, Miss Zoe. You’re surrounded. These codes? I already have them.” The ripping noise of tearing paper. “I have access to almost every place in this world. You can’t escape me. Us.”

“Why are you here, then?” Hange demands, voice full of tension.

“Bait? You underestimate my involvement in this. I won’t let you go—and The Commander knows you’re here, too.”

Levi’s heart races. A spoon slips from his hands and clatters to the floor. He stares at the scattered cutlery, seeing through them as his mind rolls. Tybur being prepared to eliminate Hange here… not a good thing. How many people must be around?

“I think you also underestimated me. Now!”

Levi looks up in time to see her raising, her chair falling back with a thud due to the abruptness.

The signal.

“Now!” He yells at Mike. A boom shatters the whole room, and panic wails boost. The air saturates with a thick black layer and the sound of people coughing.

“What’s that?” Someone screams between gasps.

“I can’t see!”

“Where’s the exit?!”

He dashes in Hange’s direction, hands outstretched to avoid bumping onto something or someone. “Hange?!”

“Here.” A hand closes on his arm. She drags him to the right, where she crouches. Opens a hatch on the floor, leaking blinding and suffocating black gas in. Levi covers his nose with his shirt while Hange lands in the tight space. He follows her and closes the hatch behind him.

They’re trapped in a narrow space. In the darkness, every part of her body is pressed against him; her chest goes up and down in fast succession, her heat seeping into his skin, her burning respiration on his face.

The sound of his thundering palpitations in his ears drowns out the screams above them.

“It worked?” He finally asks to the nothingness, voice hoarse. Although unable to see her, he does feel her, and all around. Her solid presence, her softness and her hardness. Smells her overwhelming fragrance. Her audible rapid breathing flutters sensations across his skin, making it overly sensitive. His fingers ache to touch her… He flexes those traitors and slides to a side, successfully getting away from her and to the chilly air of the tunnel.

He feels somewhat empty.  

Hange snaps out of her stupor. “They’ll look for us as soon as the air clears. Hurry up!”

She seizes his sweaty hand and hauls him through the corridor. After a few seconds, she lets go of it, and he reaches at her without success.

“Where are you?!” He shouts, pulse skittering. He moves his palms around, striking nothing solid, perceiving nothing. Levi never considered himself claustrophobic until this very moment. There’s something in knowing himself under so many concrete layers… His limbs get numb, and he can’t breathe as human beings are supposed to, air entering the lungs with an open track. Instead, he gasps in kind of a panic. Something walks down his spine, and he desperately tries to reach it to no avail.

All of a sudden, he makes out a little light, and above it, Hange’s shining features, her glasses glowing. She lit a flashlight. “Are you okay? We have to keep going.” She furls his hand again and tugs him through the complex tunnel structure.

Steps resound over their heads from the surface. And then, a violent explosion. Everything rumbles, stunning them and knocking them to the ground. Dust rains from the ceiling, coating them and tingling Levi’s throat.

“What was that?” He struggles to his feet. The building wouldn’t collapse on them, right?

“I think something exploded upstairs.” She bites her lip, eyes exuding worry. “We’ll find out when we get out.”

Hange turns left, right, then right again, without a pause. Levi’s fitness is exceptional, but the low ground height, the blackness, and the run have him panting.

“How do you know the way?” He agonizes.

The flashlight beam snakes along the walls as she searches for something. “I used to play here when I was a child. Shadis let me go wherever I wanted, so I spent most of my time exploring down here.”

“Chasing raccoons?”

“What?”

The light stops at a door. Hange pushes it open and fresh air flows to their bodies. The moonlight guides them up long stairs that lead them to a street. On the sidewalk at last, Levi supports his hands on his knees to recover his breathing. His arms are dusty and dripping with cold sweat. Absolutely disgusting.

They are on the other side of the restaurant’s street, which isn’t visible from here. Even so, smoke floats over the entire block—as likely as it is, he doesn’t want to make assumptions and say it comes from Carla’s, but... It doesn’t look good. They can’t return and check, only run away to a yet-to-establish location, as they didn’t figure out their next destination in their planning session, expecting Tybur to provide them with an answer. Talking about Tybur… “You know who The Commander is?”

Hange redoes her ponytail, her breathing steadier than his. Her eyes are idle on the smoke in the sky.  “No.”

He levels a frustrated look at her, acid boiling in his arms. She recognized the name—he’s sure. Which means she’s lying to him. “What do you mean with ‘no’?”

She tears her eyes from the smoke and, stomping ahead, she deepens her pitch, “I said no. I don’t.”

“You ar—”

In his ear, Mike blurts, “Guys, where are you?!” It startles Levi; the signal must have been shitty when they were underground, because he got used to the quietness from the line.

“Mike’s looking for us.” Levi dashes to the meeting point, striding past her and her lying ass. Mike should be already waiting for them with the car, ready to drive them who knows where, and—

“I don’t think I’ll make it,” Mike discloses, gloomy. Levi stops on his track.

Hange draws up a distance behind. “What? What’s he saying?”

“Good news is, I didn’t make it to the meeting point, so the car should be safe and ready for you,” Mike hisses. “Bads are, I’m encircled. They’ll get me at any second.”

Levi puts his hand on his ear as if all of this solely originated from not hearing him well. “Where are you?”

“Wait, what? Tell me what’s happening!” Hange demands, tone tainted with emotion and edging on desperation.

“You can’t come,” Mike affirms. “Just leave, and don’t let her die. Don’t die, too.”

Mike turns his microphone off—or that’s what Levi chooses to believe, hearing bleak silence and not even a trace of static.

Just pure, dead silence.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #levi x hange #levi x hanji #levi ackerman #hange zoe #aot #snk #aot fanfiction #enemies to lovers #reincarnation au #OTNOD #mine #myfics #multichapter

[ruiniel]

Oooo 1, 4, 12, 18, 25 for the ask?? (Also shush about your lukewarm views, I love your takes!)

Aww Hi, thank you 🖤for helping me procrastinate from writing/drawing which I want to do but also don't! And it wasn't self-deprecation on my end, I'm really okay with lukewarm! I have a mild temper and extremes tire me out generally! OK lemme see...

1)the character everyone gets wrong

HMMMM I'm an adept of 'it's canon if it works for me' so I shrug at this usually. If a take's not to my liking, I'll ignore it and move on. Everyone's valid in having an opinion.

That said.

I generally don't vibe with the 'merchant-mindset-that's-his-best-asset-and-that's who he is' HC often stamped onto Caranthir during his time in Thargelion just because "... to journey into Beleriand all the traffic of the dwarf-mines passed first through the hands of Caranthir, and thus great riches came to him." I just don't see that as being his main trait.

4)was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

I block so liberally, bc I treat this as a safe space and will use all tools at my disposal to try and keep it that way. But if you're being overly confrontational over fictional characters in meta or uppity/rude on points such as 'people can ship who they want but they'll get a lesson in this and that if they don't ship X the way i ship it,' I'll be so tired I might miss the Block button the first time. I like peace and quiet. Nothing personal.

12)the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

Not sure if this means 'unpopular - usually hated for what they did in canon' or 'unpopular - not-seen-very-often-in the fandom limelight'?

I'll go with the latter. This might've changed in the meantime, not sure, I don't check the tags for safety reasons lmao. Gwindor - a dramatic flawed character with their own dramatic choices/another Angband survivor, nuff said.

18) it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

"but Morwen remained in Doriath with Niënor as guests of Thingol and Melian, and were treated with honour."

What went on during that time?

25)common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

Can't think of any right now that caused an eyeroll. But as an honorable mention: the whole Elwing/kidnap family debate... won't touch that with a ten foot pole, everyone else can get their kicks.

On the Castlevania front: Gameverse fans gatekeeping and being obnoxious about the series. Relax, the series is its own thing, nothing was taken away. A reason why I also don't check and rarely use the Castlevania tag.

~~

And bit of a PS, bc lately I noticed tumblr at large still needs the reminder:

opinion: the ideas that a person or a group of people have about something or someone, which are based mainly on their feelings and beliefs, or a single idea of this type. - dictionary.cambridge.org

someone having a different opinion/disliking or being 'meh' about something you love does not invalidate your existence, doesn't mean they dislike you as a person etc. We can still love each other and have our differences, it's okay.

there's an ongoing war neighboring my country, recently we had several earthquakes where my home wobbled with me in it, and this is why getting down and personal/oh so serious about fictional worlds on the internet is something I simply find… inconsequential/don't have the energy for, because of all the you know, actual important sh- happening? What's this, Ruiniel? Perspective.

#tumblr games

[rainbowsky]

Haiii... Why some turtles are worked up on DD new post?.. I saw some turtles worrying about dd blurred bone necklase and posting on 18:24.. Why are they talking about their possible break up.. I don't get it, its just a DD posting on dragon boat festival? I mean if we started thing about that there is no actual evidence that they are together.. Why did some turtles have small faith in GG and DD??

Yeah, it happens a lot, often with incredibly inconsequential things. I talked a bit about it in a recent post.

Fake, fan fiction, CPN.

A lot of it is just simple doubt and insecurity (and, IMHO, focusing on the wrong things), but also I think fans should try to be conscious of how some of this stuff gets framed by antis and solos to try to sow doubt and discord among BXG. Newer turtles are more vulnerable to that because they're less experienced with figuring out which sources are credible and which are antis, and also less experienced with GG and DD in general.

As for the photo, I've seen some things being said that I just don't agree with. For example, a lot of people are saying that the line on his neck can't be the bone necklace because it's not positioned where it would sit on his neck.

That's just not true, particularly with this necklace which has a thin, fine chain. If you look at photos of him wearing it and other jewelry you'll see that it's pretty much exactly where the necklace would sit on his neck. Especially with the shoulder muscle pulling it into that position.

As for why it looks like there might have been an attempt to edit the photo, it's hard to say. It's hard to even be sure the image has been edited. If it was, it might have nothing to do with the necklace. As others have pointed out, it could be an attempt to remove neck creases. Vanity is always a simpler explanation for anything to do with photos.

I'll say this: if the idea was to edit out the necklace, why would the necklace have been so conspicuously left in the photo? It's there plain as day. And if they'd broken up, why would he be wearing the necklace in the first place?

This is the type of silliness I sometimes lose patience with, to be honest. 😅

#significant jewelry #puppy has his 🦴 #the mysteries of yizhan #ask

[thedinanshiral]

Dragon Age and side media.

Yes, this is about the Netflix animated series and why I think it'll be worth it.

Dragon Age lore is in large measure about patterns. I've explored this many, many times. So this is no different. And Dragon Age has plenty material to work with.

Often times people see side media (comics, books and anything not officially aligned with the main story) to be its own separate thing and not, well, canon. But that's not always the case with Dragon Age.

While not strictly necessary to follow through, DA's side media is not entirely inconsequential. Far from it, the novels, comics and series either give insight into known characters and conflicts, or introduces future companions and relevant NPCs, simultaneously setting the stage for future developments.

With the exception of DAO as it was the first installment of the series, the following games always had side media in between to prepare us for what was coming next. Let's see (mild spoilers ahead)

DAO got two prequel novels, The Stolen Throne and The Calling, with the former exploring Maric and Loghain's past and the latter introducing Duncan and, in a way, Alistair.

A bit after DA2 we got the Alistair comics (with Isabella and Varric as King Alistair's companions on a quest to find the truth about King Maric's fate), and Dragon Age Redemption, a sort of officially approved fanmade? low budget web series, with Felicia Day playing as Tallis, a character that would later appear in the DA2 Mark of the Assassin's DLC.

Then in preparation for DAI we got Asunder, The Masked Empire, Last Flight (novels) and Dawn of The Seeker (the Cassandra cgi movie i haven't seen yet). These novels introduced just about everything: new companions (Cole, Cassandra), relevant NPCs and bosses (Michel de Chevin, Gaspar, Briala, Felassan, Imshael and even Fen'Harel), and conflicts we'd have to deal with in DAI (the Orlesian civil war, the fall of the Seekers, demons). Curiously enough, the only pre-DAI side media that had no repercussion in the game was Last Flight, arguably one of the best DA novels (shh, I'm biased); it takes place in the Anders at the Grey Wardens HQ, and jumps between the past during the Fourth Blight and the present shortly after the Mage Rebellion. Is in Last Flight where we learn what happened to the griffons, and there's a revelation that i think will play out in DAD. The DA4 trailer and BTS video with concept art gave me some hopes for this as some of the scenery was clearly set in the Anders and Weishaupt.

So far DAD has had 5 comics to prepare us all: Mage Killer, Knight Errant, Deception, Blue Wraith and Dark Fortress, introducing new and recurring characters with strong in-game companions potential, and setting the quest for the red lyrium idol and the hunt for Solas. There's also the amazing Tevinter Nights anthology introducing new characters, taking us on a tour around the yet unexplored regions of Thedas like Tevinter, Nevarra and Antiva. Some of these new characters would later be appearing in several short stories published on the BW site, and also have tons of companion potential.

And now, we have Absolution. Or will have, soon enough. A Netflix animated series. The trailer tells me this is where some of the DA4 concept art ended up in. Now I've seen and heard enough about this: that it's generic Netflix anime, that it has nothing that says "Dragon Age" and oh what's that? Me taking you to the optometrist for new glasses. Granted, the general public won't be pausing on every frame, but I have issues so i kinda did.

From what I gather we'll be following an elven rogue and their friends/associates on a quest to stop an (drumroll please)...evil Tevinter mage set on unleashing something terrible using magic and a mysterious magical artifact.

What are their personal motivations, their sad backstories? What will be at stake? I mean, Solas is about to set the world on fire, what could be worse than that? This new artifact looks like a bracelet with two serpents eating each other's tail, and is that red detail something like a ruby...or is it red lyrium? If this is Tevinter, there's dragons and serpents everywhere, Old Gods stuff, and two serpents made one reminds me of the twins Falon'din and Dirthamen... Is the evil mage summoning something terrible or restraining it with a barrier?

What cities will we be seeing for the first time?

And most importantly, what's my new wife's name?

Yes, it seems the Netflix series writers are not the DAD writers. But neither are the 5 comics' and nobody's questioning the canonical value or lack thereof of, say, Blue Wraith.

I think Absolution is part of the side media meant to prepare the terrain for DAD, and not some random executive's whim, so even if Weekes themselves aren't holding the pen, it'll be fine. I imagine Absolution has at least two goals: 1) to gather new fans of the series and hype for the next game, and 2) to add something (companions, lore, foreshadowing) to the next game.

Redemption is a fine example of why not to underestimate side media, no matter how low budget and lore unfriendly it seems because this is the side media that introduced the Mask of Fen'Harel, an artifact that is activated via blood magic and used to open portals into the Veil to cross over to the Fade. Yeah, as simple and unofficial as it may look Redemption foretold Fen'Harel's relation to the Veil and it's manipulation. It wouldn't be until DAI (and for many, until Trespasser) that Fen'Harel would be revealed as the creator of the Veil and the dots began connecting that he's the OG rift mage for that reason.

So yeah, I'm excited, and I'll watch it and dissect it. I'm equal parts starved and excited for DA lore/content, it's been A VERY LONG TIME.

A VERY LONG TIME

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age: Dreadwolf #Dreadwolf #DAD #Dragon Age Absolution #DAA #this post has been brought to you by my twitter drafts at 2am