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sorcerersofnyc · 3 years

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The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 6/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife’s friend and his friend’s wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Chapter 6: When he wakes up beside you, Zemo remembers the day everything changed.

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo’s wife’s name is Heike because of comics. Implied alcoholism by Zemo as a means to deal with his guilt. I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact).

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won’t say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

Grief softens, but it never truly leaves.

So when Helmut wakes beside you, he isn’t surprised to find grief there as well. Pain has been a constant companion over the years but today’s grief is nothing but a dull throb in his chest.

He had a dream about his wife again. It wasn’t a sad dream, it didn’t hurt to look upon her face, but his heart ached for her regardless.

In his dream, she was happy, happy to sit and chat in a home that wasn’t quite in Sokovia or Spain, but rather a mix of them both. You were there, too, laughing and smiling alongside her.

She was taking the time to explain something to him, something you already seemed to understand. You both laughed when he failed to get the joke.

With a sigh, Helmut sits up in his bed and turns toward the window.

It’s dawn. The rising sun baths the room in an orangy-pink glow and you sleep soundly beside him. He traces little circles unto your shoulder as he thinks about breakfast, what might he make for you. The answer is obvious, really.

He then turns his thoughts toward his mission, whether or not Sam’s associate would locate Madani soon.

He also thinks about what you may do if he kissed you awake.

He thinks about many things as you sleep beside him.

And as he listens to the steady rhythm of your breath, he thinks that he’s truly happy.

***

You never asked what happened to Vasily Zaev and Helmut didn’t offer.

News of his death never reached any headlines in Spain or any other International News Broadcast for that matter.

There were the occasional rumors of a scandal, many of which were exacerbated by social media, but nothing outside the ordinary.

His demise was attributed to liver failure and he’d given his entire inheritance to a young woman about a quarter of his age. Tragic indeed.

In the weeks that followed that night at the Opera, you took an interest in his work. There would be no more missions like the one with Vasily (none would ever be that easy and he didn’t like to see you so scared,) but there were plenty of opportunities to conduct research.

And on some nights, you’d talk about more than just mission, nights when you shared your hopes and dreams for the future, your past sorrows, and secret anxieties.

He’d sit with you while you worked on your art, bought you flowers when you completed a commissioned project, and asked plenty of questions about some of your more unorthodox means.

Sometimes you’d take breaks together and watch television or read.

It was strange, just like the day you first hugged him, Helmut felt as though the two of you had breached something.

He now knew where you were born, how you became involved in the arts, how you felt the night you met Dominik at Heike’s dinner party, (“I always thought she set us up on purpose, but she always denied that she did.”)

It was those stories, those small, stolen moments that made him see you differently.

So by the time autumn settled and painted the leaves orange, red and brown, you were no longer just a friend his wife had—you weren’t even the wife of a friend that he had.

You were a friend to him as well.

“Have you seen this?” You asked one day, sitting right beside him on the couch. You were so close, Helmut could feel the heat of your body pressed up against him.

“See what?” He asked, though he knew what you would say.

“This article.” You slid your phone closer to him, leaned forward so close that the curve of your bosom pressed against his arm for just a moment before you leaned away. For the sake of your pride, he pretended not to notice.

The articles mattered more than creating an awkward situation.

He learned that you found articles about the Avengers to be the most interesting. Each headline would often read something like: ‘Accountability: Who Pays for the Avengers’ Mistakes?’ or ‘Sokovia Six Months Later’ and ‘‘Banning Ironman? One Minister Holds Firm.’

They were engrossing.

“They say the U.N. may get involved.” You said one day. “What do you think would happen if they did?”

“Something I’d like to see.” Was his thoughtful reply. And it was true; because even with your help, even as you grew closer together, the weight of his promise still bore down upon him.

The weight of his failure still haunted his sleep.

So for every moment he spent with you, he worked ten times harder. He worked late into the night to complete his research, learned everything he could about the Avengers and the Winter Soldier to complete his plans.

He had to work; he had no choice. Because every laugh, every smile, every lingering glance, every reprieve from his grief was a betrayal to that promise he made to his family—because happiness, even for a moment, meant that he had forgotten them.

There was no other way to justify his actions. In what other way could he be happy in a world where his family was dead?

He hoped to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle, but scotch, whiskey, brandy, and vodka, couldn’t provide a balm for his soul. Not the way your smile did.

So clearly drinking was his only option, the safest option, because he couldn’t let his thoughts linger on you.

He couldn’t compromise his mission.

But then one day, in mid-November, something changed.

Helmut read the headline for an article he knew would suit your fancy, but you didn’t come down for breakfast to discuss it with him, nor did you open when he knocked on your door.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” you told him—but you never came.

You left your room around noon but you barely spoke a word.

Helmut should have been happy for the opportunity to work, the chance to focus without you stealing his gaze, but he couldn’t ignore the lump that formed in the back of his throat when his thoughts drifted to you.

Over the past 7 months, you encouraged him to talk about his feeling, to open up more—but it seemed you weren’t interested in doing the same.

You left the house a word to him.

So Helmut waited for you to return:

He conducted his research and decrypted more files.

He brewed a pot of coffee.

He prepared lunch.

Had a glass of whiskey.

He checked his phone for messages but found nothing from you.

He reorganized your spice cabinets, bringing the most used containers to the front.

He checked his phone again.

Had a glass of whiskey.

And finally, when evening arrived and you still hadn’t come home to him, Helmut went into your room without permission.

He was careful not to disturb your things, (even if he wanted nothing more than to pick your stray socks off the floor,) and looked around the space.

There were books and magazines neatly stacked across every surface, their genres ranged from art and fashion to relationships and grief.

He lingered on that last title before turning his attention to a paper on your nightstand. The page was wrinkled, spotted, and ripped in many places, but he knew what it was before he even held it in his hands.

It was the letter Dominik kept in his pocket, the one he held on to so tightly, the one he had with him when he died.

He frowned, and his eyebrows knit together in concern for you.

You were grieving, and your grief had taken you backward, back to the promise of a simpler time. The letter was filled with the musings of budding love, a love that had grown and flourished before the cruelties of life intervened.

Helmut understood the unpredictable nature of grief, how it came and went without reason or regard, how days or even months could go by before it returned in full force.

So he set the letter down with a sigh and left your room as quickly as he came. You arrived home 20 minutes later.

“Hello,” He greeted you by the door.

“Oh—hi.” You paused by the door, a bag of groceries in hand. He followed you into the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked.

“No, I’m… I got it.” You placed the bag on the counter, unloading a bag of flour, eggs, and a box of powdered cocoa.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” You said, but then pause when you opened the spice cabinet. Your movements slowed before you stilled completely.

“Helmut? Did you…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s just… I…”

Helmut didn’t know it at the time, but Dominik would organize your cabinets when he returned from duty. It was his way of telling you he was home if you weren’t there to greet him.

It was that gesture that broke you.

You placed both your hands over your mouth but even that couldn’t force back your cry. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, “I’m sorry—I’m ok,” you lied, but it only seemed to make you cry harder.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Helmut spoke softly. With a hand on your shoulder, he turned you around to face him but you only shook your head. "Let me help you.”

It took a few more moments of coaxing, but once you calmed, you told him everything.

“His… his birthday is next week.” You said, and it didn’t take a genius to know who you were speaking of. “He wanted me to bake a cake.”

You set a yearly reminder to try new recipes a week in advance, a reminder you’d gotten that morning. “Sometimes I look down at my ring and I still can’t believe it. That’s I’m a...that I’m a widow.” Your voice shook around the word and you sniffled again.

Helmut walked you over to the table, helped you sit on a chair, and poured you a glass of Chardonnay.

“… I never wanted to move to Sokovia—did he tell you that?” He did, but Helmut thought it best not to interrupt you. “I wanted to be with him but I never would have considered it before I met Heike… but I loved him, Helmut, I loved him so much and he promised I’d be happy. There are days when I wake up and-” You didn’t finish that sentence, but he thought he knew what you’d say. There were days when you’d wake up and wonder why you were saved, why your loved ones died and you survived. He didn’t know if you remembered, but you told him this before, on the day he first brought you to Spain.

“… He used to wonder if he made a mistake,” Helmut started, “If he’d done you a disservice by asking you to move when his duties kept him away.” He released a bitter laugh at the memory. “He asked me once if he were selfish.”

“What did you say?”

“That he was.” Helmut shrugged, remembering the look of resignation that crossed his friend’s face, a look you then mirrored exactly.

Helmut put his hand on your shoulder.

“He was selfish, but he didn’t make a mistake… your happiness wasn’t wasted and he’d want you to be happy again.” After all, you didn’t fail Dominik. You hadn’t given him a false sense of security, a promise of safety away from the fighting—Not like he had with his own family.

At first, you looked as though he said something outrageous, something you couldn’t quite believe. But then you nodded, releasing your emotions with a shuddering sigh.

“You’re right… he would want me to, want us both to…”

He sat beside you for the rest of the night. He’d listened to you talk and then when there was nothing left to say, he sat with you in peaceful silence, your head against his shoulder.

And on his birthday, Helmut helped you bake a cake.

You stood in the kitchen together, mixing batter and flouring pans. The sweet scent of your creation spread and the home you shared was filled with joy and warm memories.

By the time you finished, you were exhausted, so he offered to take you to the best restaurant in the city.

It was the least he could do for you.

When you arrived, Helmut told the hostess of your reservation—Zemo, a party of two—and she checked his name off a long list that he somehow managed to get ahead of. The hostess noticed your wedding bands, and as she stepped away from the podium, she said,

‘De esta manera, el señor y la señora Zemo.’ Right this way, Mister and Misses Zemo.

Your eyes growing to the size of dinner plates as you turned to him, but he kept his gaze settled on the hostess, his jaw set closed.

It was an honest mistake, one he’s sure others made before, but to hear it said aloud was baffling. He intended to correct the young lady, but she gestured for you to follow before he thought of what to say.

If he said you were friends, others would presume you were having an affair. Normally, the opinions of others wouldn’t concern him, but he didn’t want anyone to think badly of you.

“That was weird,” you said. “I forgot people must think we’re…”

“Should I have corrected her?”

“It was an honest mistake, nothing worth embarrassing her over.”

And that was that.

You both agreed to treat it as a joke, to have fun with the idea because the alternative, explaining how you came to be together, was much worse.

And besides, Helmut thought while taking in his second cocktail, it wasn’t exactly hard to feign some level of attraction to you; you looked beautiful that night. He liked the way your formal clothing fit around your curves, and the way your heels gave shape to your legs.

He felt immediately guilty for that, however, and followed that guilt with another sip of his drink.

But that night wasn’t the only time someone mistook the two of you for a couple. Like meeting someone whose face one begins to see everywhere they go, he began to notice it more and more.

When he signed for your packages the delivery person would look at his ring and never bother to ask for familial confirmation. The old woman at the bakery would smile a secret, knowing, smile when he asked for two pastries to take home with him. The list of culprits went on and on. Everywhere he went people saw his ring and they’d assume he had a wife at home—that you were his wife at home.

On a gloomy day in January, you convinced him to visit an art gala with you. You made a group of friends around the area but one fell violently ill after a trip to New Jersey. You didn’t want to go alone so he agreed to put his work on hold for the evening.

You lead him to a room of abstract paintings and his attention was torn between the open bar and dizzying array of dark shapes pressed across the underside of a canvas. He couldn’t appreciate the work the same way you did, but he tried.

As he looked for what you described as ‘the emotional turmoil conveyed by the paint strokes,’ you drifted to the next piece and a gentleman approached you.

He was tall, with neatly trimmed hair and a clean-shaven face. The man seemed to recognize you from somewhere and offered his deepest condolences for Sokovia.

“Thank you,” you nodded.

“It was a genuine tragedy, a modern-day Pompeii.” His words gave you a reason to pause, which he seemed to take as permission to wax poetic about Sokovia’s demise in some futile attempt to prove his intellectual prowess.

“Yes, well, thanks for that.” You continued on politely. He didn’t seem to notice the exasperated edge. He opened his mouth to say something else, to perhaps touch you on the shoulder, and Helmut made the immediate decision to ensure that didn’t happen.

“Драга,” Dear, he called as he approached you, placing his hand on your lower back. “I’ve brought you a drink.” Helmut offered you the cocktail from the table, one he was about to drink himself before the man made you uncomfortable. You smiled, a look of relief on your face.

The man was no genuine threat, probably just a lover of art, but something in the way he looked at you, the way his gaze drifted from your face to your wedding band and the instant look of shame that overtook his (admittedly handsome) features, gave his intentions away—and Helmut didn’t like his intentions at all.

“Хвала ти љубави,” Thank you, my love, you replied with the mischievous smile you adopted whenever someone mistook you for being his wife. It was a playful flirtation, one that meant nothing.

Helmut greeted the man with a simple nod, pretending to have been oblivious to his blatant flirting, before guiding you away.

“I never would have thought to compare the destruction of Sokovia at the hands of an Artificial Intelligence to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius near Pompeii. How truly genius.” He said in a mocking tone.

“Stop that,” you nudged him, hushed laughter in your voice.

“I hope that isn’t what passes as flirting these days.”

“Flirting? He wasn’t flirting.”

Helmut struck you with a judgemental look. You tilted your head in contemplation.

“He wasn’t flirting,” you repeat. “It was just weird, that’s not really a topic most people bring up at parties.” You finally slowed your steps and you looked at a statue in the center of the room. It was clearly meant to represent a couple, but their abstract forms created a tangle of limbs that hurt his eyes to look at.

It was then he decided he hated contemporary art.

You took a sip of your drink—his drink—and turned to him. Your eyes met briefly, and you smiled, your eyes sparkling with mischievous glee.

“Let’s see what’s in the next room, душо,” Honey. You exaggerate.

“Of course, драга, lead the way.” You hooked your arm around his and you explored the rest of the gallery.

Eventually, you reached the main lobby where you set your empty glass on a table with dozens of others. An orchestra played a mix of soft melodies and something he thought to be tunes from an action movie. The music found it’s underscore in the murmurs of the guests who indulged themselves in cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.

He watched them for a moment and a dark feeling filled his belly.

This was the life he should have been living—perhaps not at a gaudy contemporary art gallery but something just as fabulous and amazing. This was the life you deserved to live.

Had it not been for Ultron, for the Avengers and others like them, he’d be enjoying this life between missions and military tours.

He might have even retired early, lived his life in bliss.

He felt angry, distraught, and disappointed all at once. So many dangerous thoughts spun around in his head and without even thinking, he looked at you. In his moment of grief and self-pity, he looked toward you to anchor him.

Your eyes landed on the couples swaying back and forth on the polished floor of the gallery. He noticed how close you stood to him, how your arm wrapped around his, the way your hand rested on his forearm.

He took a breath and he made himself smile.

“Would you like to dance, драга?”

“I’ve seen you dance, Helmut. I don’t.”

“You wound me.” He said, pulling you toward the others anyway. “You’ve yet to see me waltz.” (Or perhaps you did, at his wedding or your own, but it wasn’t the time to bring that up.)

He unraveled his arm from your and slid into position, pulling you close.

“You remember the steps, don’t you?” He asked because you had far less practice waltzing than he did. You nodded, but your eyes proved less certain than the gesture implied. “Don’t worry, I’ll lead.”

And he did.

Helmut led you through the steps of the dance, a simple box step he mastered many years ago.

“I think people are looking at us,” you whispered.

“They can take notes,” he replied. You were the only person in his gaze.

You anchored him; your kindness, your friendship, your playful banter, and your outlandish sense of design. With you he felt like less of a failure, his grief softened and he could see a clear path forward in your eyes—an alternate path if he was strong enough to take it.

But the U.N. taking actions against the Avengers seemed all but inevitable then. Helmut knew he could use their plans to his advantage, but it also meant he was running out of time.

Still, part of him wanted to surrender to your gaze, but the other part, the part that won, held firm. He tried to look away but then somehow ended up noticing the soft curve of your mouth and the fullness of your lips.

When the orchestra stopped playing, your dance slowed to a stop. But you couldn’t stop staring at each other, both cursed with the knowledge that something between you had changed.

***

Thanks for reading! Next time we'll get to see what happens when your flirtation with Helmut is no longer a game.

Feedback is very much appreciated. Please tell me what you think! This was a fun chapter to write.

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@actuallyanita @fillechatoyante @viviace @buckyandlokicanhaveme @sapphiredreamer26 @robur-bellicum

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#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x reader #mcu zemo #this was the longest chapter yet #my goodness

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linkspooky · 4 years

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Eren and Historia

Eren and Historia have a connection to one another. No, I don’t think they are romantically connect, nor do I believe they are co-conspirators plotting to destroy the world together. However, the narrative is pushing the idea that Eren and HIstoria are somehow connected and continually pushing them next to each other. Eren kissing Historia’s ring is the trigger for his vision that commits him to the path of destroying the world. Eren uses Historia as a reason to accelerate his plan. Eren confides his plan solely in Historia. The reason this line is drawn between the two characters is that they are CHARACTER FOILS. Eren and Historia are two people who seem like opposites but they’re actually incredibly similiar to one another. Almost too similiar to ever et along. The extreme similarities between Eren and Historia, and their character foiling underneath the cut.

1. Historia’s Regression

So I’ve gotten countless asks on my opinion of Historia’s behavior in the final arc. My opinion is that we’re being shown the result of her regression to her pre-uprising arc self. Is this the best writing choice for Historia’s character? I do not know. There are two schools of literary analysis that boil down to “Is the writing good?” or “what is the author trying to say?” and I much prefer to stick to the latter. I think the text is attempting to portray Historia regressing on her character arc, and as a person to mirror Eren’s own regression.

Everybody is regressing in the final arc. Armin lets his poor self-esteem sabotage his decision making ability like he did in Trost. Mikasa is struggling to find a way to live without Eren and see herself as a person seperate from Eren because of her codependent nature, once again like Trost. Annie wants to pretend that this all has nothing to do with her, like in the female titan arc. Hange can’t make a decision without Erwin around and wants to leave it all up to him even though he’s literally dead. The characters in the final arc are written as still struggling with what we think they should have gotten over with in earlier arcs. Heck, Jean still beats up Reiner over what happened to Marco.

It’s not because after all this time the characters haven’t progressed in their character arcs at all. It’s because the story structure of Attack on Titan is chiastic. The beginning and the end are written to mirror each other.

Chiastic structure, or chiastic pattern, is a literary technique in narrative motifs and other textual passages. An example of chiastic structure would be two ideas, A and B, together with variants A' and B', being presented as A,B,B',A'.

Sometimes instead of character development being a straight journey from point A to point B, it’s instead more like a helicopter hovering around the point, continually circling it. The character has brief moments of revelation where you think they’ve had their big change only to regress later. Lemme use this example from Tokyo Ghoul to illustrate my idea.

A character seems to be progressing, and we believe they are, only to regress in the end. I think narratively there is a very strong reason for Isayama using this style of character development. Every single major character is either a child soldier right now just barely on the cusp of adulthood, or they like Levi were child soldiers at one point or another. The adults, few that they are, are all either cast as incapable of acting as strong decisive role models (Hange) or are killed off eventually (Erwin).

It’s like what Magath expresses in his final words, these children were never allowed to have a normal life because of him. If the narrative is about the evils of using child soldiers on both sides, both the Scouting Corps and Marleyans, then it would make sense that every single character is portrayed as either a child unable to grow up or an adult that has continually failed them.

What we are being shown is every major character with an arc struggling with being unable to truly grow past who they were as children. Even when given the oppurtunity to grow, they falter with it, because they are child soldiers stunted by their trauma and that’s not an easy thing to overcome. Rather than a straight line we’re shown a circular process. Gabi and Falco are the only characters being shown with fully straight line arcs, but they are also far simpler than the other characters because they are children, and not stunted adults acting like children. Armin is passive, day dreaming, indecisive like he was when he was a child. Mikasa is overly attached to Eren like she was when she was a child. Heck, even Connie’s major flawed decision this arc is wanting his mother to return. Whcih is a symbol of wanting to return to the safety of childhood that he was suddenly and abruptly cut off from.

Okay, that was a long tangent but I hope I have made my point on what I mean by regression. Eren and Historia are paralleled with each other because they more than anyone else, are regressing to their childhood selves. Where we see at least hints of progress with other characters (Armin, MIkasa, Jean) indication that they will eventually rise to the responsibility of adulthood we see only stagnation for these two characters. It’s because once again Eren and Historia are incredibly similiar as people. Heck, even the fact that they’re regressing the most is paralleled. The same chapter in which Eren declares he’s using the child Ymir’s power to destroy the world, we’re shown a flashback of Historia first and foremost.

Eren empathizes with little girl Ymir, and Historia was told as a child that she should learn to be like Ymir, always kind and always putting others first. They both see themselves in Ymir and it symbolizes why they are connected, because deep down they are both that powerless little child.

There are two big connections between Eren and Historia immediately. Number one is that the inciting incident of their trauma is the same. Yes, Historia grew up in a household where she was eteranlly bullied and belittled where Eren grew up fairly love and secured but they both suffer from the same traumatic incident.

A titan suddenly killed the person who was the symbol of unconditional love and security in their lives, for Eren it was his mother, and for Historia her older sister. In a situaiton where they were completely powerless, they watched a titan kill their security and destroy their home and are rendered homeless children after that point. They both join the titan corps as a way of survival. The reason that Eren is shown encouraging his father to pull the trigger and completely eliminate the Reiss family, is because narratively these two events are supposed to be connected. They’re narrative parallels. Eren suffered the loss of his mother which is the root of his trauma, and then has a hand in inflicting that same trauma on Historia.

They are two people connected by the nature of their worst trauma and what it did to them. Every time they try to progress as people, they instead regress because what happened then was so fundamanetally damaging it robbed them of the ability to be able to grow up. They will never feel like they have the security that children need in order to grow into adults.

Historia and Eren are mirror images even in their lives. Eren is an ordinary child given an ordinary childhood. Historia was marked as different from birth and raised as a special person. However, they ended up in relatively the same position. They both regress. The nature of Eren’s regression should be obvious because he’s trying to destroy the world. In essence Eren has remained the same character all throughout, his primary goal was to kill all the titans beyond the walls, it’s just his target that has changed.

So, let’s focus instead of how Historia has regressed. I will say before I begin though that Eren and Historia regress as opposites. Eren will always choose to be active, even if it means stealing agency from others. Historia will always choose to be passive, even if she has power over others. When they are pushed into a corner by circumstances they fall back on their worst habits and that’s why we see them regress. Externally, they have different mechanisms to handle it. Eren steals agency, Historia gives up agency. Internally, it’s practically for the same reason, because whatever security they have is continually ripped away from them leaving them unable to grow as people.

So what is Historia’s regression? Basically Historia, like Eren is lacking of a sense of self. Historia has no consistency deep down to show who she is. Even with most of the other characters as childish as they can be have this, Mikasa is overprotective and likes family, Armin is a dreamer who wants to explore the world, Annie is self centered and wants a peaceful life. Eren even comments about this in regards to himself when comparing himself to Eren. Eren centers himself around violence, war, and his hatred. Armin has something else besides fighting, in order to build himself around. Therefore, Eren considers himself lacking as a person in comparison to Armin. Who would Eren be if he wasn’t trying to destroy all the titans? That’s a difficult question to answer.

Historia is much the same way. Historia builds herself and her self of identity around the roles that other people ask her to play. The little girl Ymir is kind because she always did what others ask of her. Historia is always performing some role for the sake of everybody around her.

I wouldn’t say that Historia’s arc in Uprising ends on a triumphant note, but rather an ambiguous one. The arcs aren’t lines, they’re circular. Historia even questions herself if she’s moving for the sake of herself or others.

Here is how I see uprising. Your interpretation might differ. Historia steps out of the role of Krista. Historia, tries to be herself for a moment. At the end of the arc, rather than true liberation Historia chooses to step back into the role of queen. The only slight progress made is that she doesn’t entirely listen to Erwin’s orders. However, even her act of slaying a titan within the wall was a pre-planend action, a performance. It’s just one Historia altered slightly to give herself a more centered role.

If Historia is not someone moving to help others than who is she? We know she’s spunky, angry, etc. etc. but as a character she hasn’t really developed goals or wants and needs outside of that. We continually see her on the brink of that point, but never quite crossing the line.

Eren and Historia are at the center of their existence very performative people. The reason nobody quite understands Eren is that he’s always putting on an act around other people.

Eren and HIstoria even doubt the same things in chapter 68. That is to say, they doubt themselves. They doubt if they are really truly people who are capable of moving for themselves. Eren sees himself as someone who has nothing special about him, and therefore doesn’t matter. Deep down he’s always viewed himself as a weak and pathetic person. Historia doesn’t think she’s capable of making decisions for herself. It’s because they’ve been continually made to feel helpless all of their lives, that they doubt themselves to this degree.

Their response to this is to perform for everyody else around them. Eren si continually performing as this super strong, determined child ready to fight the whole world. Whereas, Historia is performing in the roles that other people give her. She is Krista Lenz. She is the queen Historia Reiss. She is, always, always, always, what other people need her to be. Whereas, Eren performs what he wants to be, which is powerful.

When Historia and Eren break down it is shown just how deeply similiar they are inside. They become what they continually are made to feel like, helpless children. Eren is constantly boasting about how he is going to kill all the titans, and yet deep down he’s always believed that he was all talk and that for him there was nothing behind those words.

It’s the same for Historia just in an opposite direction. Historia is constantly talking about helping people, but deep down she doesn’t see herself as a genuinely altruistic person. Not only does she see herself as helpless (therefore incapable of helping people because she can’t help herself) but she sees her motivations for helping people as selfish.

In the Uprising arc we even see this parallel. I mean I know many people interpret this as Historia’s big moment of independence, which is also a valid interpretation. I’m just giving you my interpretation. I also see this as Historia having a massive mental breakdown in the middle of a crisis moment. When they are pushed to their absolute limits and they can no longer pretend, Historia and Eren both break down and we see what they view themselves as. Eren sees himself as a crying and begging child insignificant, unpowerful, and helpless. Historia sees herself as a selfish child and a bad person. This is also something that reflects their upbringing. Historia was continually made to feel selfish due to being an abused bastard, for wanting even the most basic necessities a child needs like love and security. Eren had his security ripped away suddenly when his mother died and he was at the time, a helpless, crying child only able to watch.

When Eren breaks down he says the same thing always. Nothing has changed from back then. Nothing has changed from when I saw my mother died. When Historia breaks down she says she can’t live up to the expectations of other people around her.

Eren and Historia both see themselves as fundamentally unable to change from who they were as children, and that’s why we see them regressing to their most childlike selves here in this final arc.

2. What is the point of Uprising Arc, then?

I know I read uprising differently from most of the people on this site. However, I’m not saying that Historia didn’t grow in Uprising at all, or even that she doesn’t have a chance to grow. Honestly, I think Uprising does a good job at portraying the complexity of Historia’s character and why it’s really, really hard for her to grow in a straightforward manner. She’s not really the heroine of the story where she defeats the bad guy, and then overcomes her flaw in a dramatic fashion at the end of the arc.

Okay, so I’m going to try to address how Historia’s arc is still... you know, an arc, even though it doesn’t continue on in a straightforward fashion from Uprising. Uprising isn’t pointless because it shows us the great depth and complexity of HIstoria’s character, and also establishes why it is so hard for her to change. It’s not a straightforward arc, more of a dig into her psyche. Historia steps out of the role, Historia tries to be true self for a moment, Historia steps into another role at the end of the arc. It may seem pointless to read it this way, but I’m going to try to dig in from this point forward to show the complexity that this demonstrates.

So, like I said Historia is a character who lacks a sense of self. The reason that Eren perceives this of her so strongly that it’s what forges their friendship in this arc is because Eren is the same way.

Eren picks up on the fact that Historia was always striving to meet the expectations of everyone around her, because Eren is very much the same person. The kill all the titans thing is an act. Everyone around him believes it to such an extent that not a single person, even his closest childhood friends understood him enough until it was too late.

Eren also tells Historia he sees her as a normal girl, because it’s who Eren wants to be accepted as, but feels like he never can be. Before I go into uprising itself there’s the big inciting events for both of them that lead into where their characters are in the lead up to Uprising.

Eren and Historia both have a moment with their respective love interests in the prelude to this arc. Historia begs Ymir to come back with her so they can both live on as themselves. Mikasa tells Eren that he doesn’t need to be able to defeat titans, that what he did for her was showing her the small kindness of wrapping her scarf around him that day was enough for her.

It’s Mikasa and Historia who reach out, but Ymir and Eren both refuse that closeness. Eren chooses to fight, and Ymir chooses to sacrifice herself to Reiner and Bertolt.

I know a lot of people take issue with this writing choice, but sorry this post isn’t about the quality of the writing, just how it all comes together in the big picture. The point is, Historia and Eren are both offered what they have always wanted which is to live as themselves with a person who loves them for who they are only for it to get them taken away.

There’s also an interesting irony written in Ymir’s death. Historia has always idealized the path of a martyr. She always thought living a good, selfless, altruistic life is what would earn her the love of her sister.

Part of the problem is, the only source of love both Eren and Historia has was taken away so suddenly. Historia got the idea in her head, that all love was conditional and she had to act good in order to earn that love because love was never freely given to her. So Historia’s martyr act is a way to earn love. However, Ymir’s choice inflicts upon Historia the pain other people feel when she decides to martyr herself.

The path of the martyr isn’t a good one, it’s thorny, and wracked with pain. What Ymir does is a genuine act of altruism. She makes a choice out of sympathy for both Reiner and Bertolt who have suffered all their lives just like her, and also a belief her sacrifice will buy something for HIstoria in the bigger picture. It’s at least partially an altruistic decision, and Historia’s not happy about it at all, she’s downright bitter. Because, Historia isn’t the altruist deep down inside she pretends to be. Historia idealizes self sacrifice and selflessness, but when faced with the harsh reality and consequences of such behavior she realizes this is not what she wants.

Ymir’s death throws the narrative Historia has always held onto into question, because she’s now the victim of somebody else’s self sacrifice. By killing herself, Ymir has also deprived Historia of her place in the world. Which sends her into self doubt. This moment of reflection is once again where we see the real Historia.

Eren calls out the fact that Historia is actually very selfish. When she’s not performing goodness, most of her worries and actions are centered around herself. Everyone is out risking her lives, and Historia is kind of busy like “Who am I? Why won’t people love me for the real me?” These questions are selfish because they are focused and centered around the self. Historia is, egocentric in the way a child is, and the way that Eren is, because she doesn’t have a fully developed self.

Uprising is where we’re shown very clearly that rather than having a centralized sense of self, a goal to focus herself around, all of these things normal characters have Historia is someone who wildly swings between two.

Historia is indecisive on whether or not Krista or Historia constitutes the real her. There is the act that Historia portrays on the surface as someone who always worries about others, and then her history (Gosh, golly gee I wonder why her real name is Historia... obvious symbolism is obvious). The question for HIstoria is which one she should let efine her, is she defined by the trauma she accumulated by being born into this world, or the person she wants to be. Historia’s failure to reconcile herself between the two extremes is what results in her behavior, as swinging back and forth between both.

I don’t believe that the point of uprising is to show Historia finally reconciling these two, but rather to show her wildly swinging between the two. HIstoria is someone who wildly swings between great feats of selfishness and selflessness.

We are given several hints of Historia’s progress in this arc, but also several unhealthy signs of her back sliding. For exmaple there’s the scene where Levi infamously bullies Historia into calling herself the queen. One this scene fundamentally demosntrates what Historia’s problem is, she can’t make decisions or act for herself because she doesn’t really know what she wants.

And when Levi beats her up and pushes her, she decides to perform again. Now the question is if you see the final climactic scene of Uprising as her triumphantly overcoming this cycle or falling back into it. My interpretation is that it portrays the swinging between.

HIstoria, confronted with the feelings of insecurity she’s had since childhood unable to feel consistently loved or that she was even worthy of love is about to fall back on her mechanism of total and complete selflessness. Believing that her self sacrifice will at least mean she was a good person that meant something to the world, that her self sacrifice will earn her something. The reason that Eren yells I’M NOT NECESSARY is it’s because what their trauma made them feel like, and deep down what they’re afraid of hearing.

Historia first appears entirely passive and selfless, then she takes an active role and screams she’s the worst girl on earth and she’d rather let the whole world die than sacrifice one person. Her response isn’t to reconcile these two entirely divergent selves, but rather we’re being shown her flipping between them.

Historia declares one moment she doesn’t care about the rest of the world they can all die, and the next moment she says that if there’s a crying child she will always help. What we see is not a reconciliation so much but rather a flipping between, because it’s Historia’s tendency to swing back and forth between the two.

Here’s my defense of my point. Uprising ends on an ambiguous note. As I’ve said above uprising doesn’t end on Historia becoming her full realized self, but rather wondering if she’s become her full realized self.

Not only that but everything that seems like it was forward progress initially in uprising becomes undone later. Erwin is freed in Uprising, Erwin dies the next arc. Eren says he doesn’t need to become a special person to change the world, Eren is back on his bullshit by the time skip. The uprising puts the good guys in charge of the government and so now the government is no longer an obstacle to the path of saving humanity. The Jaegerists come take over in a second uprising, and the government becomes an obstacle once more. Even the decision they made to never feed Historia to a titan in order to sacrifice the world, is something the main characters go back on as they debate on whether or not to have her eat Zeke. Everything that seems like it’s forward progress becomes undone.

So why would Historia’s arc not become undone, too? This isn’t a question of quality of the writing. If you think this is a bad writing decisoin you’re completely valid I just am trying to remind you this isn’t the place to have that discussion. The deicsion to regress however, portrays the conflicts the characters are dealing with as cyclical ones. My argument is that as a whole Attack on Titan is being written as a cyclical story where characters circle.

Eren and Historia are just the two biggest contenders of this regression. Which is why we see them conspiring together in this the final arc. (Yes there is a problem with Historia being mainly offscreened) however narratively the decisions we are shown Historia making in this arc are all passive ones. Also ones meant to pacify the people around her.

Eren will always choose to be the activest character he possibly can, and to take agency even if it means stealing it from others. Historia will always choose to be passive, and will give up agency even if it means people steal things away from her.

We are kept mostly out of Historia’s head. We are also kept mostly out of Eren’s head. What we are being shown recently though is a continuation of what we witnessed in uprising. Uprising ended with the question of if Historia is Krista Lenz, or Historia Reiss unresolved.

This scene is Eren browbeating Historia into submission so she’ll go along with this plan. However, for HIstoria it’s also a confrontation with both sides of herself that she has shown to other people. Eren is basically telling HIstoria there are two wildly different hers, there is the Historia who would sacrifice herself, and the Historia who would say fuck the entire world she’s not sacrificing herself even if it makes herself the enemy of humanity.

My argument is that the story has gone to great length to portray that to some extent, both of these HIstorias are real. Historia is someone who swings between wild feats of selfness and selfishness. Historia can say both of these things and mean them, that she wants to sacrifice herself for the sake of the world, fuck the world she wants to be herself.

The same way Eren can imprison his friends, tell Mikasa she’s a slave, tell Armin he’s useless and that he’s despised both of them always, and also believes that he’s doing all of this for the love of his friends. Eren can say both and mean both, because he also does this inconsistent swinging back and forth.

The foiling between the two of them shows how utterly broken Eren and Historia are as people due to the neglect they faced as children. It’s not actually a question of whether they are good or bad people. (Though Eren, is a jerk). It’s to show how unhealthy these mechanisms are. They mechanisms they rely on to survive, do not allow them to grow or develop all the way as people so they remain stunted. Historia is still in an incredibly unhealthy and precarious position in regards to her identity. Eren’s mechanism is to take agency, Historia’s is to give it up, the result however is the same between the both of them.

We see Historia make a choice. In all fairness we don’t know what that choice is. However, we also know what she didn’t choose. She knew what Eren was going to run off and do, and what he was planning, and she didn’t stop him.

Another important part of the final arc is showing how everybody else’s decisions also led to Eren doing what he did. Armin’s choice to never confront Eren’s real self turned him into Eren’s enabler. Mikasa’s inability to try to live without Eren, made her completely unable to see this coming. The scout corps in general was unable to stop Eren, because they didn’t understand him. Historia also made a choice to enable the situation to happen in some way, because she didn’t choose to just... tell somebody else what Eren was planning, or stop it.

While yes, she may be trying to stop it all on her own. It’s still a choice she made that’s frighteningly similiar to the choices Eren has been making all along. That is the choice not to trust people, the choice not to openly communicate what she inteded, the choice to instead go off on her own and try to solve everything by herself.

That’s also the choice she always makes when backed up against a wall, and therefore it’s a sign of regression. I don’t think Historia is conspiring with Eren or even agrees with him. However, I do think she has made a similiar choice as Eren which is to try and attempt to solve everything on her own without trusting the others which is why we’re seeing her get so much foiling with Eren in this the final arc.

Historia will overcome this regression when rather than swinging between Historia Reiss, and Krista Lenz, that she is both, and always has been both. You are who you are deep down inside. You are also who you pretend to be. The choice to show Historia’s wavering between makes her arc longer, difficult, more frustrating, but it also shows how hard it is for Historia.

It shows the struggle of someone like Historia with lifelong trauma. How hard it is for her, not to be a queen, or a good girl. How fundamentally, it’s difficult for her to even juts be a normal person. And how in the end that’s what she is fighting for, to rediscover herself as a normal girl once more after being denied that by the environment around her her entire life. Historia too, can be a normal girl in the face of all that trauma.

#historia reiss #eren jaeger #aot meta #attack on titan #attack on titan meta #attack on titan theory #eren meta

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hysterialevi · 3 years

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Hjarta | Chapter 9

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Warning! This chapter is slightly nsfw ;)

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

SIX DAYS LATER

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

Eivor trudged through the glimmering waves of snow that concealed the path ahead of him and held tightly onto his cloak, shielding himself from the cold weather as he ventured underneath the deep night sky.

At the moment, the moon was hovering just above a summit of clouds and parting the sheer darkness with its piercing rays of light, casting a delicate veil over the village’s facade.

Blots of shadows gathered in the spaces that lay between the torches standing along the trail, and in the distance, Eivor could hear the faint voices of people who were still awake.

Overall, it was a rather peaceful night to end the bustling day, and the Wolf-Kissed found himself eager to get some sleep. Despite the weariness that clung onto his body however, Eivor’s mind wasn’t quite ready to rest just yet.

No matter what he did, his thoughts always seemed to drift back to the elusive prince. He hadn’t seen Sigurd ever since their last encounter in the longhouse, but even then, it had become nearly impossible for Eivor to think about anything else.

He was constantly worrying about the man. He feared for his friend’s well-being and questioned if there was any way to ease the prince’s agitated nerves, but was never able to corner him during a break.

Eivor would catch glimpses of Sigurd here and there as he bolted from place to place, but it felt as if the man hardly had any time to blink. Let alone sit down for a talk.

It concerned Eivor to see the prince always teetering on the edge of his breaking point, but with the man’s never-ending list of duties constantly occupying him, he didn’t know what else to do anymore.

Part of him even suspected that Sigurd’s absence may have been intentional. They were both fully aware of the emotions they harbored for one another, and Eivor wondered if perhaps the man felt it necessary to distance himself from the Wolf-Kissed for the sake of the wedding. They had seen how easy it was for the two of them to get attached, after all, and maybe Sigurd thought it was no longer worth the risk.

If that was the case, then Eivor just hoped it was working better for the prince than it was for himself. They may have been separated for an entire week by now, but the young man only noticed a rise in his fondness for his companion.

It was starting to become an unbearable battle as Ingrida had predicted, and the fear swelling in Eivor’s chest gripped him harder the more he realized he was losing this fight. At this point, he simply wanted to get the wedding over with. Sigurd’s mere presence alone was enough to send the young man into a frenzy, and even though Eivor wished he could’ve stuck around for a longer period of time, he knew that things would only get worse if the Raven Clan didn’t leave soon.

Perhaps it was a selfish method of coping with the sudden change in their lives, but it was the last one he had. He didn’t know how else he would get Sigurd out of his thoughts, and the stress was starting to weigh him down.

Arriving at the longhouse, Eivor felt a kiss of relief settle into his bones as he stepped into the warmth of the building, finally escaping the arctic winds whirling around outside.

There was no one occupying the main hall besides him at the moment, and the only other presence Eivor spotted was a few of the dogs that roamed their village quietly sleeping on the floor.

It was an uneventful night, contrary to what the Wolf-Kissed expected. Normally, either Arngeir or Ulfar would still be wandering around at this hour -- wrapping up any unfinished business -- but neither of them were anywhere to be found. The fires in the war room had been snuffed out, and the only light Eivor could see was the one coming from the torch that stood beside his chambers.

When he took a closer look into the shadows however, he suddenly noticed another figure standing there, waiting patiently by the doorway. They didn’t say anything upon Eivor’s arrival, and yet, they seemed to be expecting him.

...It was Sigurd.

What was he doing here? Eivor assumed that the man would’ve been fast asleep by now, but the prince was here, silently thinking to himself with his back pressed against the wall. It looked like he had been there for a while, and if Eivor hadn’t taken a few steps closer, he would’ve thought that Sigurd was asleep based on how his head drooped from his neck.

“Sigurd...?” Eivor said, approaching the man with curiosity. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you tired?”

The prince’s head perked up once he heard his name, and a certain glint twinkled in his eyes.

“...Ah, Eivor. There you are.”

Eivor smirked and crossed his arms. “Were you waiting for me?”

Sigurd nodded, attempting to hide the fatigue in his voice. “Yes, actually. There’s something important I wanted to talk to you about. I would’ve come to you sooner, but... as you may’ve guessed, my schedule didn’t allow it.” He glanced at the darkness outside. “...I hope it’s not too late.”

The younger man shook his head. “No, not at all.”

“Are you sure?” Sigurd checked. “I don’t want to disturb you. I know you must be eager to get some rest.”

Eivor waved his hand in a dismissive but comforting way. “No, I’m sure. Come on in. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

His friend smiled in relief. “Thank you, Eivor. I promise, I’ll make it as brief as possible.”

Strolling into his chambers, Eivor walked past Sigurd and headed through the doorway, beckoning the man to follow him as the torch’s flame flickered briefly in his wake. Their footsteps echoed gently within the longhouse’s walls, and upon entering the room, it felt as if they had closed off the entire world, setting aside a piece of haven just for themselves.

Eivor swiftly removed the cloak from his shoulders once he was inside and slid it off, tossing it onto a nearby table. Afterwards, he placed his weapons down just beside the accessory, and set them on the wooden surface with a gentle thud.

“So,” Eivor said, bringing his attention back to Sigurd, “what troubles you, my friend? A shadow of unease stalks your every move.”

The prince chuckled, casually pacing around the room. “Is it so obvious? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re quite gifted when it comes to reading people.”

Eivor turned around to face him. “Indeed. Which is why I hope nothing too grave has happened?”

“No, no,” Sigurd reassured. “It’s just...”

The older man came to a stop and rested his hands on his hips, letting out a conflicted sigh.

“To be honest, I don’t even know where to start. I expected this to be much simpler before you arrived, but now that I’m actually talking to you... I’m at a loss for words.”

The Wolf-Kissed leaned against the table’s edge. “Then start from the beginning.”

A light laugh fluttered from Sigurd’s lips. “...You say that like it’s so easy.”

He trailed off into silence and combed a hand through his hair, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Listen, Eivor, I’m not exactly sure how to say this, so... bear with me. But over these past two weeks, I’ve been thinking about you without pause. I know you said you didn’t want to take things further -- and I respect that -- but with the wedding just a day away from now, it’s become almost impossible for me to ignore how I feel.”

The young man tilted his head. “What about Randvi? Do you still not feel anything for her? Even after all the time you’ve spent here?”

Sigurd shook his head. “Randvi is a good woman, but she’s not meant for me. And I’m not meant for her. I can see that now. There’s nothing between the two of us. There’s no connection like the one you and I have.” He took a few steps in Eivor’s direction, steadily closing the distance between them. “The truth is, Eivor...”

His expression suddenly sank. “...I want you. I know our people are depending on this alliance, but I’d be lying if I said I was willing to go through with this marriage.” His gaze fell to the floor. “I want our people to be safe. I want to give them a world where they won’t have to live in fear anymore. But what happens after the war’s finished? What happens when Kjotve’s dead? Do Randvi and I just live out the rest of our lives as a couple, despite not being in love?”

Sigurd brought his eyes back to Eivor. “How could anyone find happiness in a life like that? Perhaps it’s selfish to think this way, but... part of me wishes I could make my own decisions. I wish I could just walk away from this wedding, and be with someone I truly love.”

The Wolf-Kissed shrugged. “It’s not selfish to desire freedom, Sigurd. I think anyone would want that.”

“True,” he conceded, “but I’m going to be a king someday. If I want to do right by my people, I’ll have to put their needs before my own. Though, of course, it’s much easier said than done.”

Sigurd let out a breath and turned away from the younger man, shifting to a more downcast demeanor.

“...I’m sorry, Eivor. I don’t know why I’m putting all this on you. You probably have enough to worry about, and I imagine you’ll have a busy day with the wedding tomorrow. I’m not even sure why I came here.” He began making his way to the room’s exit. “I should let you rest.”

“No, wait...!” Out of instinct, Eivor reached for the prince’s hand and grabbed onto his wrist, halting the older man his tracks. A stunning silence ensued after the abrupt gesture, and within a heartbeat, Eivor found himself staring back into Sigurd’s eyes.

The prince looked absolutely baffled by the response. Despite their closeness in the past, Sigurd didn’t appear to be expecting such a knee-jerk reaction from the other man. It was clear he had built a metaphorical wall between the two of them during their time apart, and was being forced to confront his fondness for Eivor now that he had broken the barrier again.

“I...” Eivor allowed his hand to linger, not willing to retreat just yet, “...Sigurd, listen to me. I battle with these emotions on a daily basis as well. I care for you too. You know this. But... we are both bound by duty. We both have people depending on us, and as much as I want to take this further, I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

Sigurd relaxed in Eivor’s hold, refusing to pull away from him. “...I know. It’s just difficult to accept, I suppose. I’ve spent all my life wandering the world without someone there to join me, and now that I’ve found you -- the gods want me to let you go. It... it feels wrong.”

The Wolf-Kissed frowned out of empathy. “...Perhaps in another life, when we are free from the restraints of this realm, can we finally be at peace with who we are. But until then...” Eivor felt his heart drop, “...we have a war to win. And we need this alliance to do it.”

Sigurd mirrored the man’s pain. “...Indeed.”

Letting his hand slip from Eivor’s grasp, the prince simply stood in the shadows without saying another word as the two of them drowned in a pool of regret, doing anything they could to break the surface.

It felt unfair to the younger man that he couldn’t be open about his affection for Sigurd, but he understood the gravity of what they were facing.

Their clans needed this marriage to work. They needed this joining to push back Kjotve’s forces, and to eradicate his cruelties from this kingdom for good.

But even then, Eivor wished desperately that he could embrace Sigurd to his heart’s content. He wished he could stick with the man the same way Ulfar did with Linnea, and part of him secretly envied the other people in his clan for being able to live without these concerns.

How different would things be if he were able to show Sigurd his true emotions? How much closer would they have become by now? He supposed he’d never find out. The burdens of this war far outweighed any desires he might’ve held, and he knew it would jeopardize the alliance to suggest anything else.

Still, it didn’t mean he wasn’t torn.

“Eivor?” Sigurd said abruptly, pulling the young man from his thoughts.

Eivor brought his focus back to the prince, suddenly realizing how the man was gazing out the window and into the night’s darkness. A newfound boldness had latched onto the warrior’s troubled visage, and merely just by watching him, Eivor could tell something was on his mind.

“...Yes?” He asked. “What is it?”

Sigurd’s brow crinkled with doubt, and he looked directly into the Wolf-Kissed’s eyes.

“Forgive me for being forward, but... would you be willing to lay with me tonight, Eivor?”

Eivor practically froze on the spot, taken aback by the blunt question. He wasn’t necessarily opposed to accepting the offer, but he found himself in shock nonetheless.

“What-- now?”

Sigurd caught onto his hesitation. “I realize this is sudden, but I have only until daybreak before I’m officially wed to Randvi. After that... my clan is returning to Fornburg to gather our forces. We’ll finally meet Kjotve on the battlefield alongside your people, and once that happens, I’m not certain I’ll ever get the chance to see you again. I... I want to cherish these last few hours with you.”

The younger man stumbled over his thoughts. “But what about the wedding, Sigurd? You’ll be a husband soon.”

The prince lowered his head in guilt. “I know. I’m not blind to the dishonor of my proposal, but as I said, I wish to share one last moment with you. Before I’m forced to leave you behind. Of course though, that’s only if you’re willing to do it. If not, then I’ll leave. No questions asked.”

Eivor’s words clumped together in his throat, and he gazed down at Sigurd’s hands, feeling the urge to reach for them once again. A fraction of his mind twisted at the idea of even considering the man’s offer, but the rest of him wanted nothing more than to leap into his arms.

He had been dreaming of an opportunity like this ever since he first grew attached to Sigurd. He spent day and night wondering what it would be like to welcome his touch, and now that it was finally presenting itself, he didn’t know whether he should’ve refused it... or embraced it.

What if someone found out? What if they couldn’t keep it a secret? Ulfar had already expressed some skepticism of their relationship in the past, and Eivor dreaded the possibility of anyone else discovering their furtive meeting. It would mean the end of this alliance if their secret was exposed. The Raven Clan would no doubt classify it as a betrayal, and Eivor didn’t even want to think about what his own people would do.

Still... he longed for Sigurd’s affection. His heart hammered at the thought of feeling his warmth, and the temptation of accepting his offer was growing more and more irresistible by the second.

Surely, it couldn’t cause that much harm, could it? It would only be for one night, and they wouldn’t see each other again after the marriage was set in place. No one would ever know about their encounter, and they could carry on with their lives as usual. Plain and simple.

Deep down, though -- Eivor knew it was wrong. He knew the potential risks of what he was walking into, and he knew it could cause great harm if things didn’t go according to plan.

At the moment however, he found it difficult to care.

“...Just for tonight, right?” Eivor whispered, stepping closer to Sigurd until they were mere inches apart.

The prince brought a hand up to the other man’s cheek and gently caressed it, holding Eivor in place.

“Just for tonight.” He assured. “Just you... and me.”

Eivor took a deep breath and closed his eyes in contentment, finally deciding to accept the proposal.

“...Okay, then.” He agreed. “I trust you.”

Craning his neck downward, Sigurd pulled the younger man further into his embrace and planted a soft kiss on his lips, instantly tightening his grip once they touched.

It felt as if a flame had just been ignited in his chest. Sparks of intimacy traveled across the top of his skin, and a newborn fire now burst throughout his veins, prompting him to bring Eivor even closer.

He deepened the kiss and slid his hands down the sides of the Wolf-Kissed’s waist, latching onto every muscle he felt beneath his fingertips. He held the man firmly in his grasp and pushed him back towards the table, only breaking their kiss to lift his companion.

In one swift motion, Sigurd pressed his arms under the crook of Eivor’s legs and brought him into the air, afterwards setting him down on the table’s surface. He drifted away from the man’s lips and began pecking kisses along the length of his neck, still delicately caressing Eivor’s cheek in his palm.

Meanwhile, Eivor wrapped his arms around Sigurd’s neck and rested his head on the prince’s shoulders, allowing bliss to overtake him as he felt the man’s kisses roaming further down his body. He felt a pair of hands tugging at the laces on his shirt once the kisses reached his clavicle, and within seconds, his collar had been peeled apart, revealing the skin underneath. But it didn’t stop there.

Sigurd continued to undo the rest of Eivor’s clothes and pulled them off one-by-one, discarding them until the man sat half-bare before him. By now, the only thing concealing Eivor’s body was a pair of trousers that rested very loosely below his hips, and even that didn’t stay in place for long.

Bringing the kisses to a temporary halt, Sigurd peered into his companion’s eyes with a gaze smothered by lust and shrugged off his cloak, taking a moment to remove his own clothing. To his pleasant surprise, Eivor decided to help too and began fidgeting with the buckles on his armor, hastily unstrapping them in order to reach the flesh beneath.

Within a heartbeat, Sigurd’s tunic was sliding off his shoulders and onto the floor, leaving his torso completely exposed. Numerous scars of different sizes dusted the pale complexion of his skin, and thanks to the flickering candlelight, the ridges of his muscles became sharpened by the shadows that threaten to envelop him.

But the prince didn’t give Eivor much time to marvel at the view. As soon as his tunic hit the floor, Sigurd lifted the man once again and returned to his barrage of kisses, carrying him over to the bed.

He tossed Eivor onto the cushion and instantly crawled over him, pinning his wrists down while tackling the laces on his trousers. His breathing had become more ragged at this point, and a faint red tint now stained the color on his cheeks.

Just before he could pull the laces loose however, a mischievous smirk spread across Eivor’s face and the man quickly switched their positions, pushing the prince so that he was now underneath him. He grabbed both of Sigurd’s wrists with a playful sense of agility, and locked the man in place before showering him with his own array of kisses.

He could feel the prince smiling as their lips met once again, and in addition to the excitement that now fueled his every move, Eivor also detected a warm rush of passion blossoming in the depths of his heart. His mind was screaming at him to stop what he was doing, but in the heat of the moment, he felt nothing except for pure bliss.

This was what he wanted. This was what he always dreamt about. It may have been wrong, and it may have been foolish, but by Freya -- Eivor would’ve been lying if he said it didn’t feel good. It was the one thing he never allowed himself to indulge in, and now, it felt incredible.

So, for the time-being, he simply shoved aside all worrisome thoughts and focused entirely on the man in front of him, eager to spend the rest of the night with his temporary lover.

He imagined he would be bathed in regret upon waking up from this mess, but right now, he didn’t care. At the moment, all he wanted was Sigurd. All he wanted was to be with him. He had spend so much time enforcing the barrier that stood between the two of them, and now, he was finally done with it.

He was breaking free from the shackles that this alliance had put on him, and he was no longer willing to stop.

~~~~~~~~~~

THE NEXT MORNING

A choir of birds whistled in harmony, bringing life to the stillness of the new day. Ribbons of golden light could be seen dancing across the quiet village, and in addition to the chatter that was now rising from the wildlife, the faint melody of music could also be heard ringing in the distance.

There were quite a few people wandering around, despite the early hour. Most of them were helping with preparations for the upcoming wedding, and the rest were simply just there to take in the morning view.

It was the start of a joyous day as far as the villagers were concerned. The alliance they had been planning for so long would finally be forged, and their days of living under Kjotve’s iron fist would come to an end.

As for Eivor, the young man was still trapped in his bed’s embrace, completely motionless in his slumber. His head remained buried in the warmth of his pillow, and he could feel a soft draft tickling the parts of his body that were exposed.

His mind was entirely clear of any worries for once. Not a single thought of war or death interrupted his dreams, and his soul remained unperturbed.

In spite of the comfort that now encompassed him however, there was one thing that was missing. He no longer felt the sensation of someone’s arm on his hip, and the space behind him seemed to be lacking a familiar weight.

“...Sigurd...?” Eivor mumbled softly, rolling onto his side.

There was no one there.

The spot beside him was cold with absence, and all of the prince’s clothes had been retrieved from the floor.

Sigurd was already gone, and Eivor was left with nothing but the company of his own regret.

“...Oh, you fool...” the young man muttered to himself, dragging a hand down his face. “...What were you thinking...?”

Freya willing, no one would ever learn about their forbidden escapade. There were already enough problems occupying the people of Bjornheimr, and Eivor’s mind went into a state of panic at the idea of anyone uncovering their affair, regardless of how temporary it may’ve been.

He supposed he would just have to carry on as if nothing had happened. He would have to attend the wedding with a fake smile on his face, and pretend that everything was fine.

But deep inside, Eivor knew he’d carry this encounter with him for many days to come. He longed for Sigurd’s love even more now, and instead of the felicity he should’ve felt for his sister’s marriage, he experienced only loneliness, and the desire to be with the prince again.

He was trapped in a hole he had dug with his own two hands, and now, he prayed that there’d be some way to climb out. He didn’t want the tragedies of Ingrida’s prediction to come true, but after everything that just occurred, he had a feeling it’d be impossible to stop it.

The Nornir were forcing him down this path they created, and he had already reached the point of no return.

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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uponrightful · 3 years

Note

Hi! I’ve just finished Welcome Company-it was so good, your writing is amazing! I have a question about one of the last scenes if that’s OK? Partly about Pups point of view, because a lot of what happened to her post Order 66 is clearly in her mind, but seems to read differently emotionally later if that makes sense? I’d also like to know why you decided to include the scene of Pup having to fight one last time. -RebelMedic99

“Wolffe! Please!” She sobbed through the pain and fear, whimpering when the kid pulled her own arm around her throat, locking in a chokehold she was unable to break from. He laughed dryly in her ear, yanking on her broken wrist to elicit another scream.

“He’s not coming back you little slut.” He fell into another fit of laughter, “And even if he did you’ll be so used he won’t even want to look at you.” His evil words cut right through her. She was already broken, and yet another piece was about to be taken, and smashed on the floor right in front of her. She felt the pain of his remarks, feeling just as useless as he’d appraised.

She wanted to fight anyways.

The pain in her wrist didn’t subside, but it wasn’t going to stop until she got his filthy hands off her. And without that blaster, she really didn’t have a chance at getting off the ship, or keeping the ship safe until Wolffe got back. She struggled to keep her breath even, fighting to pull her broken wrist out of his grasp so she could get free.

Think fast…

Get him off guard…

“You really want me?” She choked out, wincing from the abrasive words cutting at her tongue. If he was that young, there was a chance he’d fall for it and drop the -hopefully- act long enough for her to grab the upper hand.

“You’re a fucking slut! Already turning towards the closest man you can get in your pants!” He snarled, yanking her wrist again. The girl held back her cry, again repeating the question for him, praying it would make a bigger impact this time.

“I’ll behave. I promise.” She faked convincingly enough through her tears. The kid’s grip faltered just for a second before retaining its unflinching need to inflict pain again. Yet, by miracle, he released her wrist and stepped back with the blaster dropped down at his side. Miraculously, his anger suddenly disappeared, and a look of disbelief came over him.

“Pick me.” He ordered harshly, as she turned to face him.

Everything moved so quickly.

Commentary Track for Welcome Company

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I’ll give my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character’s- when I wrote it!

*send one in here*

This one is challenging, but we'll see if I can explain it without sounding like a complete dumbass... 😅

***

We'll start with addressing her emotional shift towards Order 66 first, and that will help set up the reasoning why she had this "last stand" at the end. (This won't be from her POV, it'll make things a little simpler.)

Pup's true knowledge of what Order 66 is comes in small bits and pieces after she flees Coruscant. It's obvious right away that something changed, but it's not for a really long time that she finds out that there might be something "unwilling" about the whole situation. In this time frame -of a couple years- she's actually left to her own devices and thought-process to make sense of it all. And a couple of years can really take a toll on someone's perception of what is really going on.

There is talk of manipulation, and how 'robotic' the clones are. All of it culminating in a bunch of half-assed theories as to why they suddenly have this unbending will for the Empire when they fought for the Republic for so long. (The bar fight Wolffe was in, is where I tried to explore this a little bit with the Cerean.) But Pup only hears rumors, and those weak excuses aren't enough to dissuade her fear of seeing troopers again. Because ultimatley, there are hundreds of them who'd been to her home, and in her mind, it's possible that they could come after her and punish her for that. It's not a realistic fear, but if you combine it with her last experience with a clone, it's one that would easily create a serious emotional trigger.

I meant for it to be a tad bit confusing when reading her emotions. Pup wants to love the clones -and she still does- but seeing one of them in real life would be fucking terrifying. Their sweet memories are always there, and she does her best to only think of those. However it's easy to be reminded of why she can't still see them, when she's living on a backwater planet to try and reassure herself that she'll never have to risk seeing a clone again. Because all of the love that they'd given her -in her mind- is completely gone the second she's shot by one.

And her entire being is damaged assuming that Wolffe is no different than the rest of them. Pup knows all the clones are acting this way, and Wolffe is really no exception. So even though she loves him dearly it's really scary when she sees him for the first time after all these years. Is he safe? Is there something still wrong with him? Does he want to take her with him, back to the Empire? These are all questions she has, because she's never seen a clone after Order 66 without a functioning chip.

The reason her change of heart is so sudden, is because Pup didn't let go of the good memories she had of her troopers. That integral part of her character is to forgive and be patient -even if she's been damaged by something or someone. Yes, she keeps it bottled up. But that was because she couldn't get rid of her base traits. You can't wholly change your personality very easily, and Pup never really wanted to in the first place. She was just forced to create this harder persona so she could survive. Then after Wolffe comes back, and he's painstakingly careful in trying to prove that he's not under influence any longer, it makes that desire to care for him -like she's always had- come back much smoother.

(It's a continuity error that I never gave a proper scene dedication to it; But I did have a draft that included an Order 66 conversation with Rex and Pup during that scene in Chapter 14.)

I chose not to include it because I wanted someone to focus on Pup's traumas faced during the transition period of planet-hopping. It might sound cruel of me to not include his struggles, but they've been covered so many times in other fics, that I gave the assumption my "Initial Implementation" scene and "Chip Removal Scene" would be emotionally sympathetic and exploratory enough of how Wolffe felt during and after, without needing to express it to you directly. Not to mention, after Pup and Wolffe are reunited, she's not stupid enough to not infer that it was against his will. She quite frequently notes throughout that his guilty looks and hesitancy to make physical contact with her are very noticeable and telling of how he feels about his time with the Empire.

All of this said, now her fight scene:

Right before they leave the cabin, she's feeling a little loss of home. But really, Pup never had too much of an attachment to her house on Takodana in the first place. What's really getting her emotional at this point is the realization that she finally has Wolffe back. It's security she's wanted this whole time, and although the boys aren't letting her help with the bounty, she's willing to do whatever they want because she understands that they've got the experience here. Plus, she's really not physically able to do a whole lot after her slight hypothermia exposure.

I wanted her weak for this: Emotionally, physically, mentally. It had to be that way for a reason.

Until this point, Pup hasn't ever shown a real motivation to fight for anything, other than making the trip to the outpost to save her friend. BUT. That's risking herself to save someone else. Pup has never done anything for her own benefit, without it being equally helpful for someone else. Even when she got Wolf, it wasn't just for herself. Iahcen was getting something out of it as well.

I know it's cliche, but her last moments alone on that ship waiting was where her character development needed to reach and end. Because I made the overarching plot of fighting for love, but I needed that same lesson to be learned in-story, as well to round it out. It had to be Pup, because she's been running this whole time. Wolffe can't learn it, because he's been fighting the entire time.

The kid is a symbol of kindness not being returned. This is key, because Pup has always been nice -even when she didn't need to be. And he attacks her for that. He comes in as the tool to show her that being kind doesn't always work; And sometimes you have to stand against something, instead of running or letting someone run over her. I also made certain to have the kid attack Wolffe's character. This was essential, because Pup has nothing else she wants to fight for. Wolffe has always been her one essential thing, and he was what made her realize that being a little selfish and desiring something isn't a bad thing. This kid is a product of her sympathetic nature, and he's willingly insulting and threatening her chance at having the one thing Pup has always wanted.

Pup needed fight or flight, and the only time her 'fight mode' kicks in, is when she realizes there's something she wants. On Coruscant, she had nothing, so she ran. Pup wanted to live for Wolffe, in the hopes that he might still be alive, and that was the first time her fight response kicked in. Then her friend was in danger of dying, that was the second time she chose to fight.

Her love and security in Wolffe was being threatened, and that was Pup's final character development, and why she needed this fight scene without Wolffe -or anyone else's assistance- in the matter.

***

I hope this wasn't garbage 😅 and I explained it decently... If not, please let me know. I'll do anything I can to answer your questions!

Much Love, Rightful 🤍

#commentary track #welcome company #commander wolffe #Pup #uponrightful #uponrightfulwrites

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scripttorture · 3 years

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Regarding ICURE, I have a character who is familiar with the process and a deep understanding of most of the mindsets and mental states involved in torture, interrogation, and captivity. Would that make resistance to the techniques easier? How would a willingness to engage and empathize with captors, combined with an awareness of their goals and methods and a greater than average degree of self-awareness and self confidence interact?

I’m mostly working without studies here extrapolating based on what I know.

The only bit of this I can definitively answer is that knowledge of what torture does wouldn’t effect the high innate resistance we have to it. Resistance to torture is bound up in so many fundamental systems, like how our nerves physically register pain, that conscious knowledge wouldn’t make much difference to the outcome.

It might make the character feel better or more confident though: ‘There’s no way you can force this information out of me’. It might also make the recovery process a little easier if the character is tortured. Knowledge about mental illness and how they’re treated can help people identify what they’re going through and process it more quickly. It can also make it easier to seek help.

For those who are new to the blog ICURE is a combination of techniques that can be used to change someone’s beliefs over time. As with everything there is not a 100% success rate but unlike torture consistently applied ICURE can lead to a controlled change in the target’s belief system.

It stands for Isolate, Control information, create Uncertainty, Repetition and Emotional responses.

A group of characters attempting to use ICURE would isolate the target from other characters, ensure that the information/news the target gets lines up with what the group believes. They’d then attempt to create uncertainty about previously held core beliefs and respond in an overblown emotional fashion if the target attempts to challenge their own beliefs. Repetition of this, consistently over a prolonged period (months or years) can (but does not always) lead to change in core beliefs.

For an example let’s imagine a story applying this to Bucky Barnes from the Marvel series.

A group holding him might try to create uncertainty by underlining how long he’s been held and how his friends haven’t attempted to rescue him. They might give him news that his best friend has another group of heroes he works with now. Bucky has been abandoned, forgotten. And so forth.

An emotive response in this scenario could be something like the primary care giver of the group (the person who most regularly interacts with Bucky, giving him food and trying to interact positively) flying off the handle when Bucky mentions his old friends. How can he be so ungrateful? Doesn’t he realise what the caregiver has risked and sacrificed to keep Bucky safe? Does he think persuading the group to ‘help’ Bucky and keep him alive was easy?

You get the idea.

My instinct is that knowledge of these techniques would make them less effective. These things are never 100% successful and I think consciously acknowledging the manipulative nature of ICURE would make it harder for the captors to achieve total success.

However a lot of the reason these techniques work is because humans are social animals. We need interaction with other members of the species in order to remain healthy. And as a result we often change and adapt in order to fit in with new groups. We are geared to compromise in order to gain or maintain positive social contact.

I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist but I do know that there a lot of research papers which suggest personal opinions can gradually change over time when we’re surrounded by people with differing views in non-coercive settings.

This does not necessarily mean full conversion to another set of ideals. The impression I get is that it mostly looks like a series of small and subtle changes.

For the sake of avoiding internet insanity let’s make up an issue. Let’s make up a character who grew up in an area where no one wears red and the colour has a lot of negative associations.

This character moves to a different area where the colour has different connotations and wearing red is a neutral act. Over a period of years the character’s attitudes towards the colour might mellow. They might never wear red themselves. They might not decorate with the colour. But they’ve met a fair few people who occasionally wear red now and they’re decent people. They don’t judge people who wear red the way they did when they first moved in to the area.

What I’m trying to illustrate here is that it’s normal for people’s views to shift over time. Obviously this does not always happen. People can hold extreme or vastly differing views when compared to their community.

From a certain point of view my views are extreme. Most cultures in our global society accept and legitimise violence to differing degrees. Pacifism is the absolute rejection of violence*. If you take a moment to think about how often violence permeates all aspects of our lives (from child care to religion to politics) you’ll see what I mean.

What I’m trying to illustrate here is that while we do adjust and change to fit in with the people surrounding us we can also cling to things that are very much against the norm. And that makes it difficult to answer any of these questions with certainty. There is a lot of individual variation.

A lot of the techniques to resist effective interrogation are essentially a refusal to interact. But the longer someone’s held outside their community the less viable that is as an option. We can choose to do things that are harmful to us (including avoiding needed social contact) but it’s hard. Because it’s unhealthy.

I think the way I’d approach this as a writer is to start by identifying the core values of this character, the things that are most important to them. Try to think of things the character absolutely could not compromise without becoming a different character.

Circling back to the example of Bucky Barnes, a core value might be his relationship with Steve Rogers, his oldest friend.

Once you have an idea of the core values think of the next most important value. And keep going.

I tend to do this pretty instinctively. For me it’s a part of my messy, sprawling character creation. If you need to take a more visual or organised approach to figuring things out then a list (with the most important values at the top) or a circle (with the most important values in the middle) might be helpful.

Next think through the same process for the group that has captured the character. Since it’s a group rather then an individual it should be simpler. (Because a group is unlikely to be as nuanced and complicated as an individual.)

See if there’s any overlap which might be grounds for grudging mutual respect. Values like loyalty to your own group and taking care of the people on your side are good things to use for this.

I would then look at the more peripheral values the character has and shift some of them a little over time.

Keeping Bucky as our example I might put something like ‘American cultural values’ as a more peripheral value. Bucky seems to prize the culture he was raised in and consider it the norm. But it’s not something he bases his personality on or something that motivates him through the stories. So shifting that, having him not see it as the ‘norm’ any more, or adopting things his captors did would be a good way to show that he has been influenced.

Obviously the right choice, the right value to shift, depends on the characters and the story you want to tell. The degree to which you want to shift the character’s values is also up to you.

Bigger shifts, or more obvious shifts, could serve to cause conflict later in the story. This could lead the character to feel rejected, like their loyalty is being questioned after everything they went through.

Bigger shifts could also serve a practical purpose in the story though. If this character has gained a greater understanding for the group they’re opposed to that could make them a much more effective interrogator. They might know how to establish rapport more quickly and earn the trust of captured prisoners. Which could in turn lead to more accurate information.

Greater understanding of the group they’re opposed to could also help with strategic thinking/planning.

Smaller shifts add less elements to the story. But that could be a good thing too depending on your story. If you don’t have a lot of time or space to explore new conflicts or skills then this approach would save you narrative space while still showing the character has been effected.

It would also work if the point here is to show the character as mostly unmoved, unchanged, despite coercive external pressure.

I hope that helps :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*In case anyone’s interested I personally define violence as harmful acts done without consent.

#pinctada1798 #writing advice #tw torture #manipulation #ICURE #effective interrogation #isolation #social pressure #social interaction #shifting views #prison #interrogation #character development

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maine-writes · 3 years

Text

Vonvon's Space Adventure, Part 3

"You're not serious." Vonvon said.

Spinel had brought the child to White Diamond, who was checking on the progress of Vonvon's room. The pair were standing at the base of a titanic, crystalline ziggurat. At the very top of it was a room with four massive glass doors that led to balconies that allowed for a full, unobstructed view of the surrounding area.

They took a floating platform up to the top of the structure where White Diamond was supervising a team of Gems. In fact, Vonvon recognized these Gems as the small army gifted to them for Christmas.

"Oh, Vonvon!" said the former galactic ruler, "You'll be happy to know that your room is nearly ready."

One thing Vonvon noticed is that the room was too small for White Diamond to enter. At least they knew that she wouldn't be barging in.

"Spinel, be a dear and show them the interior."

Inside, a grand bed sat in the middle of the room. The bedposts were made of pink crystal, alien branches wrapped around them, leading to a veiled canopy. The veil itself was mostly transparent, save for mildly opaque decorations that depicted what appeared to be different kinds of Gems. At the foot of the bed was a pink crystalline computer console.

"What's this for?" Vonvon asked as they examined the console.

"Oh! This is the coolest part of the room!"

Spinel tapped on the screen of the console, illuminating a white button that generated a gentle tone. The overhead lights dimmed and several circular beams of light shone from the floor near the wall opposite of the console.

From these lights appears several outfits on Pearl-shaped mannequins. To Vonvon, these seemed like holographic versions of Yellow and Blue Pearl.

"This computer controls everything in the room." Spinel explained. "Temperature, lights, storage, room service, and entertainment!"

"And the clothes?"

"White Diamond thought you'd like to try out some Gem fashion."

The giant woman peeked in through one of the large windows, visibly eager to hear the child's opinion on the selection of clothes. If she was trying to be inconspicuous, her brilliant, star-white glow made it difficult.

Each article of clothing was unique, some had a grand and futuristic feel, others were elegant and flowing, and a couple appeared rigid and uncompromisingly utilitarian.

But then there were two that stood out. One had an antiquated feel to it, a decorated, two-colored tunic, the other was a modern hoodie with flowing lines of light.

"That one is popular with the guys from the old Zoo. A modern take on a classic outfit." Spinel explained, donning a monocle for some reason. "The other is a design by our Lapis Lazuli. She calls it, Hoo-man Chic."

"I think they'd look grand in my third design." White Diamond suggested, only her mouth visible from the window.

The design in question was predominantly silvery white in color. The pants flared at the ankles, seemingly sparkling with the light of stars. The top half was a black shirt that featured subtle streaks of indigo and blue, and over that was a glowing white blazer with silver, metallic trim.

"If I may suggest." Blue Diamond added, appearing in the window opposite of White Diamond. "My second outfit might be more to their liking."

Blue Diamond's suggested outfit was a pair of baggy, indigo pants, the colors gradually growing darker closer to the ankle, a white button-up shirt with a blue gem on the collar, an indigo vest with gold trim, and a large, dark, hooded cloak with billowing sleeves, and a lighter blue interior.

"Blue, your outfit is too much." Yellow Diamond interjected as she approached the structure. "Spinel, would you show them my first creation?"

Yellow Diamond's outfit was a pair of plain yellow slacks, a black roll-neck shirt, and a yellow overshirt with padded, black shoulders. On the left breast, there were black gem glyphs that apparently spelled "Vonvon Maheswaran-Universe". The child noted that the outfit felt more like a sci-fi military uniform.

"Y-You know, I think I'll keep my normal clothes for now." Vonvon said, much to the Diamond's disappointment. However, they did like the look of the hoodie.

The child then noticed Yellow Pearl standing next to Yellow Diamond, holding a plate with a crystalline cloche over it.

"I guess you guys caught the chickens?" They said as the Pearl entered the room.

"Correct." said Yellow Pearl. "After quite a lengthy, and somewhat destructive, struggle, my Diamond's forces were able to quell their rebellion."

But when the Pearl removed the cloche, Vonvon was surprised to find that instead of the chicken salad sandwich they were expecting, there were chicken nuggets in the shape of Yellow Pearl's face.

"Um." The child muttered.

"My apologies." Yellow Diamond explained, ashamed of her failure. "I couldn't get the bread necessary for a sandwich right. However, Pearl informed me of a much simpler dish that is apparently popular with small humans. She recommended that the pieces be prepared in a shape that is both cute and familiar."

"So you chose her face?"

"Is her face not cute and familiar?"

Vonvon was starting to notice that the Diamonds, despite being giant alien crystals, were a lot more human than they give themselves credit for. It was rather endearing, actually.

But as they prepared to take a bite of a Pearl-shaped nugget, Vonvon glanced up at the unblinking eyes of the Diamonds, who were seemingly content with watching them eat.

In some ways, they were not entirely human.

Then they remembered a story their father told them.

"Uh, guys?" They began. "You aren't going to watch me sleep all weekend, are you?"

"Oh." Said White Diamond. "Would you rather we didn't?"

Vonvon was somewhat disturbed by the fact that they were going to, and wondered if the large windows were there not for giving them a great view of Homeworld, but so that the Diamonds could watch them. They now understood why Mayor Hammie, their old pet hamster, ran away. It was probably because they kept watching the poor thing eat and sleep. On the other hand, Amethyst might've actually eaten him as she claimed.

"It's, uh, just that you guys are a bit obvious?" The child tried to explain in the least hurtful way.

"We understand." Blue Diamond said with a bow. "We wouldn't want to interrupt your sleep."

Unfortunately, Vonvon couldn't sleep a wink that night. Although the many plush pillows and silky sheets were comfortable, Spinel was loudly snoring, her rubbery arms wrapped around the child, a Green Pearl stood beside the bed, watching them closely, two Quartz soldier guards stood at the foot of the bed, a small army stood guard right outside, and Vonvon could still see the Diamonds peering over the edge of the ziggurat.

"Is there anything you need?" Inquired the attending Pearl as she noticed the child's open, bloodshot eyes.

"No." Vonvon flatly stated. "Nothing at all."

Meanwhile, outside of the room, the Diamonds whispered amongst themselves whilst discreetly watching the child, unaware of the fact White Diamond's star-like glow made it impossible for them to be even remotely discreet. In fact, it was as if someone was shining a flashlight directly into Vonvon's room.

"They must be nervous." Blue worried. "It must be hard for them to be separated from their parents."

"What should we do?" Yellow wondered. "What can we do? It's not like we had parents ourselves."

"Steven warned us about this." White Diamond said. "But he chose to trust us with his child. We're Diamonds, we ruled entire planets, we cannot fail."

The platform the Diamonds stood on then began to descend. It was confusing to them that establishing and ruling colonies was easy compared to taking care of a child. As the platform reached the crystalline path at the base of the ziggurat, White Diamond was struck with inspiration.

"Yellow. Blue." She began, adamant that her idea will work. "Prepare your vessels."

@artsycooky13

#Vonvon's Space Adventure #steven universe #steven universe au #just what does White Diamond have planned?#anyone else have a bad feeling about this?

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inventors-fair · 3 years

Text

Tri, Tri, Tri Again

What makes a common? Usually the little black and/or white symbol on the card, but that’s not the point right now. What makes a common different than an uncommon? The thing is, we know the difference between a common and a rare, even when sometimes those lines are a little weird on older cards like Scion of the Wild and Sinkhole in their own ways. The line is there these days, and we’re designing for the modern era whether we like it or not. I’d hope that after over twenty years of tinkering we’re at a place where we do like it, so there’s that.

What stops a common from being an uncommon, though, is a little harder to quantify. We have to talk about recursion, multiples, finishing, the role in the draft, the complexity for new players, etc. There are so many factors that can make pushing commons hard in ways that we don’t touch that often. I wanted to do this contest because it’s both a restriction and a challenge. Making a common card isn’t easy unless you know your slot. Making a common with the three lines of text, well, that’s something else entirely. And for the most part, I think people did amazing work. There are a couple obvious cases where I feel people should have looked at prior examples, but in terms of general work, we’re on the ball here.

We’re only doing two bullet points this week: “Things I like” and “Where to improve.” I feel that that’s the most constructive, yes? Gimmicks can be fun, but let’s be real, we are here to get as much positive feedback as we can and to improve what we like to do, which is making custom cards. Easy enough. Let’s pick some cards and some brains.

@deg99 — Emberwild Inferno

Things I like: On its surface, this is mechanically just fine. It’s a three-mana bolt, but with a distinct upside, and you know, nobody’s going to be upset when playing this in a draft. Red removal is perfectly fine and anti-prevention, while a corner case most days… Well, kind of. There are actually ten current standard cards that prevent damage, which is kind of surprising to me! Still, ten ain’t as much as it could be for relevance, BUT, it’s still perfectly reasonable to see that it would be in this set.

Where to improve: Firstly, “Emberwild” is spelled with an “e” at the end in every iteration of MTG cards printed thus far, and it’s kind of throwing me off. Also, it’s a term from Dominaria; what city is doing the blessing? What city are they in? There needs to be a comma after damage, “cannot” should be “can’t,” and I feel that we have to tell at least one person almost every contest: Damage needs a source. “Emberwild Inferno deals 3 damage to any target.” No spells after 1999 use that kind of wording. Please, please proofread your cards.

@dim3trodon — Reassembling Sentinel

Things I like: Totally fine to be using Ward here, and I like where it’s going. This is an interesting cost-to-PT ratio, definitely more aggressive, and I don’t hate it. Flying and first strike later in the game are also totally valid. I’m personally not the biggest fan of ability counters, but in this instance, there’s absolutely nothing wrong here. Permanent additions like this are important for modern Magic.

Where to improve: But why add the ability counters only if they don’t have them? Is there some ruling corner case that I’m missing? Why not just four mana for a flying counter, three for a first strike counter? It doesn’t feel intuitive to me. Yes, multiple counters are waylaid on cards like Crystalline Giant, but that’s because it wants as many as possible. Here, where you can choose, I feel you could have just had it add the counters. Regarding flavor, I don’t see how this card is “reassembling” anything. Assembling, yes, but REassembling? Not clicking for me.

@dimestoretajic — Mob Beast

Things I like: Gruul rules! Well, there’s no ruling, but—anyway, this card works in interesting ways and I think it’s pretty serviceable. Raging Kronch comes to mind, and the beasts of Ravnica are definitely up there. It’s an interesting name for sure, and it’s making me think more than it is making me feel critical. Is this beast part of the mob, or belonging to the mob, like it’s being wrangled? It could be either, and that’s fair. This card would make a good finisher.

Where to improve: I’m worried about multiples in draft for sure. I mean, chances are you aren’t going to get too many of them, but having a bunch of hasty finishers can be a bit of a pickle especially when you can also slot these into other multicolor strategies. Maybe it’d need to be tested to be believed, but, y’know, how many one-mana 3/3s are there, right? For the flavor text, emdash your quoter and put them on a separate line. If it’s too cramped, time to revise.

@dumbellsndragons — Fledgling Nightblade

Things I like: Renown is fantastic here. I don’t necessarily know how renowned an assassin wants to be, but in their own circles, heck yes. It encourages blocking in its own way, and it’s certainly powerful on that front with the deathtouch. I think for me the flavor is one of the stronger points here, and I want to see a little bit more of a “professionally getting better in all colors and competing” world, so thumbs-up there.

Where to improve: The last time we saw deathtouch and menace at common was Kederekt Creeper from Alara, and, well, I don’t think that’s precedent; deathtouch and menace is strong. Really strong. Like, at common, I think it might be a bit too strong. It shows up printed so little because of that, even at higher rarities. Honestly, a 3-mana 1/2 or 2/1 might be better, but that’s also my worrywart tendencies. I’d have to play. This design as it stands would be fine in a Modern Horizons power level set more than a standard one.

@gollumni — Sovereign’s Duty

Things I like: I’m a big fan of “can block any number of creatures” for someone who isn’t super defensive when playing the game. I think it’s neat, and represents cool stuff, and I like this card a lot! The name is generic, but I don’t mean that as an insult. I could see this in a core set, on Dominaria, on Theros, on Eldraine, any number of planes, and for a common, that’s a good thing. That’s some success right there.

Where to improve: That last ability made me worried about layers until I checked with some rules people. It’s not the layers so much as it is the wording. “As long as enchanted creature’s toughness is 5 or greater, it can block any number of creatures.” Continuous effects. Argh, that really threw me for a second! It was also kind of frustrating because there wasn’t any great precedent, but you know, nothing wrong with new territory.

@hiygamer — Guider of Souls

Things I like: Exploit would make a very cool mechanic in Orzhov, and I think that if we ever do a “mechanic/faction mixup” contest then you get precedent on that front. Totally flavorful and totally awesome. I think that Orzhov tokens was one of my favorite draft archetypes from RNA and this card continuing that tradition with death triggers is definitely up there in terms of capturing that feeling.

Where to improve: This card feels busy for some reason. Unfortunately, for this contest, you had to have the three lines, but were this printed, I don’t think it would have vigilance. Two flying bodies would be enough. If you wanted to keep vigilance, I’d definitely knock it down to one body. Two fliers… I feel that that’s too much. But, what do I know. Also why aren’t they white and black like the other Spirits? Regardless, that flavor text is also pretty dry. Not bad, but dry. What if it was the guider talking to the spirits instead? “Come, let me lead you to the light of Orzhova.” Little simpler, shorter, more personal.

@hyenagirldick — Poisoned Gookeeper

Things I like: I think despite this being kind of a placeholder, everyone liked this card’s name. I’m up there. This one, wow, this is giving me a lot of whiplash. The typeline is making me think Simic, but the “horror” is making me think Innistrad, but the Scavenge is making me think Ravnica again, but—and so on and so forth. I want context! Mechanically, using “scavenge onto” as a verb here is interesting and I don’t hate it. A good twist on this mechanic.

Where to improve: Despite that drive for context, I think ultimately the mashup is making me more confused than intrigued. It’s just over the line, to be fair, but it needs consolidation of ideas. You’re asking a lot of us here, to interpret the world, a new use for the mechanic (that seems considerably cheaper than the average common scavenge-r), to have a deathtouch blocker like this with the high toughness, etc. It’s not bad! But it’s a lot.

@hypexion — Blade of the Blessed

Things I like: I feel that the trend of having cool explorations of auras and equipment is 100% the right way to go and this card feels like it slots right in. Let’s talk about flavor, because without flavor text, this card still tells an amazing story. As long as you’re able, pick up the sword and fight. But, if you’re blessed by XYZ deity, then the blade becomes easier to wield. Fantastic. That much I like.

Where to improve: I believe that the last ability is too complex for common. It’s not that it doesn’t make sense or that it’s too powerful, but I believe that it’s asking stuff from players that they wouldn’t necessarily understand at common; it’s not immediately grokable. I like the space and I like what it’s doing. I think if you drop the cost to 1W it would be a fine uncommon. And you know what, I think I’m in the minority. I think that there will be disagreement, and I understand where that’s coming from.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes — Mummification

Things I like: I’m always a fan of cycling abilities for sure. Can’t be countered, instant-speed, powerful effects, heck yeah. I’m also a fan of finisher abilities like this. Black’s triggers for life-loss were definitely fun with those big enchantments. There aren’t a heck of a lot of common noncreature non-aura enchantments out there as precedent, but regardless, they exist.

Where to improve: Looking up precedents for this effect, I’m definitely skeptical about this at common. For one, it’s any player. For two, it’s whenever a spell is cast. For three, it’s harder to remove. All that together combined with a potential common cycling shell where you can draft a bunch of these and then make all black spells have extort? Actually, this card is almost strictly better than a two-mana enchantment with “Black spells you cast have extort.” Almost. I think this might have had to go back to the drawing board. As for the flavor, I don’t grok what the name, text, and abilities have to do with one another.

@koth-of-the-hammerpants — Coffin Devourer

Things I like: I just read the flavor text, and, uh. I love it but wow. That’s some nasty, funny, funky stuff. So! Let’s talk about the card. Perfectly serviceable in terms of getting things out of graveyards then making creatures big. There aren’t too many cards with tap abilities and vigilance at common, but they’re definitely there, so that’s okay. Man, I can’t get over that name and flavor combo. That’s really something special.

Where to improve: This card doesn’t really fit the prompt, and I think next time I’d have to reach out about something like this. Vigilance and trample go on the same line; yes, even in standard-legal sets where sometimes abilities don’t go together, because that’s mostly for starters and core sets and the like. Technically it fits the prompt, but for all practical purposes it’s a workaround that shouldn’t have been submitted as-is. Now, that’s Fair meta. The card’s totally fine on every other front, I think. You’re gonna have to decide, though, if you wanna stick with the sort of Scavenging Ooze wording or the Tome Shredder wording. I think you should go with the second, with the exile as a cost.

@mardu-lesbian — Rifleman Trio (JUDGE PICK)

Things I like: Huh, another card with vigilance and a tap ability. Well there we go! This card’s also got a lot going on, but it doesn’t feel like anything is at odds with itself, and is also on the upper side of being pushed without going into strictly uncommon territory. It’s got reach (“Stay on the defense, fellas!”) for blocking as it comes down, it’s got conditional vigilance (“Learn from those organized chaps!”) which encourages multicolor play but doesn’t force it, and it’s got that cool damage that is both a finisher, a pinger, and teaches a little about the combat advantage (“FIRE!”). So yeah!

Where to improve: I guess the only question would be where the rifles come from. Is this Ixalan-ian? I don’t think it super matters. This is a great commendable card.

@masternexeon — Bloodstarved Beast

Things I like: “Vampire beast” is one heck of a typeline. I like that part a lot, and honesty, I like weird echo costs a lot to. I’m surprised this isn’t a name already, actually! This card feels like its basis is in a lot of neat love letters to old-school Magic and high fantasy, even outside of the choice to submit with old-border.

Where to improve: The complexity of this one is definitely up there and past. Doing weird things with established mechanics that aren’t immediately grokable probably don’t belong at common. What happens when you blink it after previously paying an echo cost, a player might ask? Paying a cost for a continuous effect feels...weird, and I actually don’t know if that works within the rules. Nothing wrong with that specific echo cost, so that’s fine, but the second ability isn’t something I’d personally want at common. For the last ability, it should be “you draw a card and you lose 1 life,” see Phyrexian Rager.

@misterstingyjack — Flames of Anarchy

Things I like: Removal and cycling is perfectly serviceable. The cost suggests that the set has a stronger monocolor theme if the removal is costed like this, although it might just be for the slightly more powerful effect (sort of) and the ability to cycle if you don’t have the RR already. Name’s pretty darn awesome, too.

Where to improve: I know that you tried to balance it by making it only his creatures or planeswalkers, but this is still a recursive damage spell that’s asking weird things of you. What sort of set would have a sorcery-matters theme at common? What’s the as-fan? I think you had a cool idea that is indeed cool, but what you’re asking of your set and your rarity is too much than what can be provided. I don’t think this kind of recursion is what you want at common. In the shell that it’s intended to be in, I think it’s too powerful.

@morbidlyqueerious — Proven Sword (JUDGE PICK)

Things I like: Like I said earlier, new things with equipment and auras are totally awesome, and I fully support this kind of cost. Equipping to certain creature types for cheap makes sense to me because nine times out of ten it’s not something that’s going to be radically changing; either the creature is there or it’s not, and it’s either a Warrior or not. And that’s cool! First strike can be really powerful with that boost that you’re giving it, and if you have any other warrior or equipment strategies, then you better believe things are gonna get nasty on the field. I think this is a one-of in your pool, but it’s a fantastic one-of. Equipment can be undervalued at times!

Where to improve: I’m not 100% down with the flavor text. The blacksmith doesn’t “make” the metal, do they? They make the blade. I think that you had a good concept but it’s not exactly there yet.

@naban-dean-of-irritation — Physical Fluctuation

Things I like: Well, the art’s a big plus, and the flavor’s funny, so that’s pretty great. I think that common combat tricks in the GW sphere have always been a little funky, especially with Ravnica’s weird return to that again and again. There was even that green one, but searching for things that have multiple instances of “target creature” on Scryfall is such a pain.

Where to improve: Seeds of Strength is weird, but they’re all +1/+1 so at least that much makes sense, same buffing all around. Martial Glory is a little harder to grok sometimes, but it’s only up to two creatures, so that’s not the worst that can happen. If you have three creatures, then this card has a number of options that is legitimately making me worried about my ability to do simple math and statistics. The variance here in P/T distribution is off the charts. Yeah, it would make sense in-game, but just on principle, I don’t want that much at common. It’s—you know what, I’m gonna do some math. … There are at least 27 different variations if you have three creatures. I don’t think that that’s what people need at common.

@narkis24 — Unbound Devil

Things I like: Pushed P/T with drawback is totally valid. I like the fact that the “unbound” in the name refers to the fact that you can’t control it, literally, without someone holding the leash. That could make for some fun flavor things. If you’re on-curve, then you got some big beats that you can get in early.

Where to improve: I honestly wonder if it’s too much, actually. Yeah, it has to attack every time, but if you can get a one-drop then this then any removal on-curve and/or more Devils, then you’re in one crazy good spot. I think in terms of power level, this is uncommon for sure. In terms of abilities, I did a little searching, and there isn’t any precedent for non-temporary control switching at common. That’s for a good reason, IMO. Again, this is a great card, but definitely uncommon. And a good draft uncommon, too!

@nicolbolas96 — Lost to Memory (JUDGE PICK)

Things I like: This is a really funky pauper card that also happens to have great draft function. The destruction is conditional, but on-curve you’re going to be fine with it. If there are no good targets, you can at least get a card out of their hand and deck. I think that the versatility there is awesome and that this card is definitely up there in terms of playability. And, well, it’s not that powerful. That’s a good thing! It stays at the common line while having great effects and not pushing anywhere it doesn’t need to be. Yeah, maybe the Pauper-rack meta doesn’t want it at sorcery speed, but heck, I think it’s great. Good with Chittering Rats

Where to improve: The flavor text lacks something for me. I know sometimes he asks questions, but unless they’re directed at someone specific, they tend to be either contextual to another statement or answered. I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel as...suave as Bolas usually is. It seems small but it’s a hangup for me. Feel free to up his grandiosity.

@partlycloudy-partlyfuckoff — Idyllic Falchion

Things I like: Heh, back to equipment. You know how I feel about that. Interesting sacrifice trigger. I think that that’s the strongest part of the card in terms of—well, maybe not power, but in terms of the “cool” factor and “push” factor. It’s fine for common, and it’s strong, and you need the color to cast it, so that’s awesome. And bonus points for making me look up the word “falchion” too; it helped to envision the weapon and scenario you had in mind.

Where to improve: The second ability doesn’t work. The equipment would need to be on the battlefield for the equip cost to be activated. Instead, it would read: “{cost}: Return ~ from your graveyard to the battlefield attached to target creature. Activate only as a sorcery.” And that would honestly be kick-ass for like...six mana? Get that in your archives, ‘cause I like the idea a lot. As it stands, doesn’t work rules-wise.

@rasputin-gold — Copse Fiend

Things I like: “Copse” got me, and I like the vocab check there, very nice. I think that your typing and the general mood is really fantastic, and holy crap, look: that flavor text literally gave me a touch of ASMR. It’s not the next great American novel, but it fits so well, and it feels great and creepy, and it tells me so much, and that, that’s awesome.

Where to improve: Let’s take all that mood and make a different card with it, because there’s...a lot going on. A four-mana 4/3 with wither would be totally fine by itself at common. GG activation for a lure? Okay, makes sense, but combined with the wither, that’s something that’s far too powerful at common, assuming a set with the mana alignment to make that happen. The assumption that you have a Forest (capital F!) to give it first strike (tertiary in black and NOT in green) and potential recursion is way too far gone. If this card were presented without rarity I would assume it was rare. So, yeah, this is one of those times where it’s not a bad card but for this contest it’s just too much. Keep it appropriate for rarity.

@reaperfromtheabyss — Dwarf Forge Scrapheap (JUDGE PICK)

Things I like: Well, I already talked about the clues from the winners’ post, so I’ll go out on a limb and say that yes, I like this one too. A combination of the “shifting animated pile of knobs and gears and junk that when animated can come to life and hit you in the face” with “forget this I’m gonna make mana” is pretty funny to me, in that dry card way, and this card in general is pretty cool. In terms of gameplay, yeah, you can have a beater on turn four if you really need the boost, or late in the game as a colorless source, but it’s also mana-fixing, a three-mana buttwall, and just a cool card all around. I think that this is one of those that could have great art flavored on a cool world, and the name could be changed to fit just about anything.

Where to improve: “Add ONE mana of any color.” ONE. I’m unreasonably curmudgeonly about that error, somewhat jokingly, a little rib-nudgingly. Easy oversight, but don’t let it happen again! (Kidding, kidding, I know I need to up my editing skills too.)

@snugz — Sidestep

Things I like: this card. I like this card, dangit. I don’t care that it wouldn’t be very playable in a whole lot of decks or archetypes as a weird combat trick, but I like it. It’s simple and funny and plays into the “I’m gonna right myself while tripping you up” gag and that’s great. The simplicity speaks to some Rookie Mistake vibes that I’m down with.

Where to improve: Again, I don’t think it’s playable. I could see them printing this card and having it be basically draft chaff, but maybe not, maybe it’s something in a combat-trick heavy set with some radical payoff. Maybe it’s a pauper Heroic card that could make the deck tier-1. But it’s so simple that it’s hard to talk about! I’m sorry I can’t give more feedback than that, honestly. The card’s too well-made. So, with that in mind, you need to season this steak. Any flavor text for any context would be awesome.

@starch255 — Scab-Clan Brawler

Things I like: 100%, this feels Gruul. It’s a big fighter that’s on-curve with some brutal flavor despite no flavor-text. The notion of the Gruul tribespeople fighting among themselves comes across here fantastically, and having a 3/3 trampler is definitely something that a RG drafter will want on turn three.

Where to improve: [Foreword: This is a lot of text and I swear it’s mostly not criticism; you made me think.] Brawl needs work. A lot of work. As it stands, either you lose a small creature, you lose this one and put a +1/+1 counter on your bigger creature, or you happen to have a 2/4 that can survive. I am… I’m working this out as I’m writing, and I want to like it, and I want to improve it, but the more I think about it, the more I think that the mechanic isn’t the problem. I think it’s actually surprisingly complex, almost more complex than a Gruul player would want immediately. The choice of payoffs is so hard to think about—and at this point, I’m not so much criticizing as I am ruminating. I really want to play with this mechanic just to see if my knee-jerk “fighting your own creatures is bad, ugh” is lizard brain and if there’s galaxy brain behind it. You’ve put me in a conundrum here. Hold onto this one.

@thedirtside — River Delta

Things I like: Great name, makes sense. I can picture the landscape where you would want this place to appear. Nonbasic lands are pretty interesting to design at common, and breaking away from the Guildgate/Life-gain lands was an ambitious move.

Where to improve: I know fetchlands are weird on the scale, but in terms of probability, the ability to (1) get your colorless mana if need be OR (2) tutor for the land you need while thinning your deck and furthermore (3) getting a 3/3 body once you’ve sacrificed it later in the game… This is borderline rare and might even be pushed for an uncommon. Yes, it’s basic, but in limited that’s a non-issue and in constructed there’s nothing wrong with getting your basic lands just to make this card work for you. The part about it being tapped really isn’t that much of a massive drawback. I like this card a lot. It’s not common power level. Small notes: “shuffle your library” can just be “shuffle” IIRC, and your comma between the 3UG and Exile seems wonky.

@wilsonosgoodmcman — Ruthless Vigilante

Things I like: Gotta love a vampire rogue. This particular card doesn’t seem to have a home, but it doesn’t seem to be sending any mixed-messages either. Ixalan doesn’t really want the roguishness, Dominaria could have it but where’s the vigilantism, Innistrad has different colors, Ravnica has different flavors, etc. etc. So does it belong? Yes! But “were” is yet to be determined. That’s totally okay.

Where to improve: IMO, your abilities are too strong together. Vigilance and deathtouch is a pretty powerful combo once you get yourself in a position where you can attack, because, well, then you still have a murderous blocker. There’s a reason it hasn’t appeared at common yet. The lifelink feels a bit odd, honestly, and the toughness boosting feels out of place. Why is an aggressive vigilante boosting its toughness? Actually, why does a rogue have vigilance? There’s no precedent or flavor connection there. I’m just not feeling what this card is offering me. It might play, like, fine, but it doesn’t feel good and it doesn’t feel like it has a place that couldn’t be replaced by a more cohesive card.

@wolkemesser — Dry Sands Summoning

Things I like: We haven’t had a real good desert world since the Abzan from KTK, and I miss that. Having a sandy feel and aesthetic could be really cool here, and I think that what you were going for what the flavor of turning the desert into, like, part of the warrior tribe. That much I like a lot.

Where to improve: I find myself a little frustrated trying to write commentary, because there’s a lot to go on here and I don’t want to be too harsh. I’m going to address the individual parts, but in general, please, please run these cards by people before submitting.

The hybrid cost is fine but that’s pushing it a little. Eventide was an exception I personally liked, but the color weight doesn’t always play well with others. That part is honestly fine.

Enchanting cards in graveyards should never currently appear at common. Spellweaver Volute is a rules nightmare/abomination.

It would be “Enchant land or land card in a graveyard.” “Warrior” needs to be capitalized. “Enchanted land is a 3/1 Sand Warrior creature with haste. It’s still a land.”

What is the purpose of having a land also be a creature in your graveyard? At common? I can’t envision any scenario in which that would be a reasonable theme. It can’t attack from your graveyard, it would be weird for type-changing in the graveyard with Conspiracy, and it wouldn’t move it to the battlefield either.

The retrace is a decision that’s almost designed to cause confusion. So it could enchant a card in a graveyard, but not be in a graveyard, until it’s in your graveyard, whereupon you can discard a land to cast it from your graveyard, but not target a land discarded this way.

@yourrightfulking — Mutilated Faerie

Things I like: This name and the intention of the flavor text is almost grimdark; I’m not averse to that. I actually really like the fact that it can’t block, because it lets you have deathtouch with a little more aggression. The fact that it’s an assassin almost makes me wonder about the story of this individual character, and you know what, that means that flavorfully you’re doing something really right.

Where to improve: The “human sacrificing” part feels important to your implied set, and I don’t know how to feel about that. You get a 2/1 deathtouch body and potentially take out another faction? I mean, if this was Eldraine, this card would probably be actually sought in drafts with the human as-fan. Might be a little too powerful on that front depending on the environment. But, uh, the flavor and name? I want to like it but it’s more confusing than not. “Pixie plucking” seems like either a poaching crime or a children's game, and the reason WHY pixies are plucked could be better specified. The second sentence is a fragment. Your story implies that a plucked pixie will 100% die, but then, how did this one get mutilated? To kill the culprit, the pixie would have had to escape mutilation, and this mutilated one apparently survived a 100% kill rate? Not sure where you’re going with this. Sort it out and you’ll be fine.

And there we have it. Again, I wanna stress, I’m using my best judgement and opinions here, but people are absolutely free to disagree. I hope that the constructive portion, even if it’s something you disagree with, helps see another perspective. Lots of cards here help me see other perspectives as well, and thank you for that. Tune in for something tomorrow. What will it be? The world may never know. Or maybe it will. Or will it?

— @abelzumi

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom magic card #commentary #entries #three ability common #inventor's fair

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thecomfywriter · 3 years

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Writing Manipulative Characters

Okay, so I’ve been AWOL for a bit. Sorry! But it’s your girl -- @thecomfywriter -- back with another post. So, today I want to try and describe my take on how to write manipulative characters, because they are some of my favourite characters to write. Here are my socials:

Insta: @tovwriter

Wattpad: GKM075

Pinterest: gurleenkmultani (i’ve been giving yall the wrong one this entire time LOL)

tumblr: @thecomfywriter

Also, this may be a sensitive topic for some so TW about manipulation. And without further ado, lets get into it!

So manipulative characters are some of my favourites for one very specific reason: the bastards are masterminds. They’re intelligent. Clever. Geniuses with how they find loopholes and play with language and make you feel like an idiot for ever doubting them.

Seriously. I can hate a manipulative character as much as I want but I will always end up commending them or admiring the sheer brilliance of their tactics. If a character is written well, no matter how horrible a person they are, there will still be that sense of awe on wow how are they so good at being bad?

But to begin, I want to state something very important. Manipulation has a negative connotation and is used commonly to state bad manipulation, but manipulation itself is not evil. Good manipulation is called persuasion, and it is very commonly used actually. Think of trying to persuade someone into doing something they’re maybe reluctant to do, or how a religion persuades people to believe in their faith. Manipulation isn’t inherently evil. Emotional manipulation is used in media all the time to make you feel for the characters you’re watching. It is the intention of manipulation that dictate its morality. So that’s actually the first thing I want to go on.

1) What are your character’s intentions?

People aren’t manipulative for the sake of being manipulative. Not often at least. Most of the time, your oc will want something, and the means to getting that something is using manipulation. They have intention, and intention allows them to plan their manipulation accordingly. Not all manipulation is the same, nor is it equal. Figuring out your oc’s intentions will let you get inside their heads to understand question #2...

2) What type of manipulation will they use?

There are different types, often used in conjunction of each other. I’ll make a mini list, and there are probably more, but here’s what I can think of on the top of my head:

Gaslighting: a common type where the manipulator convinces the victim that what they are saying is outlandish/stupid and twists their words to make them feel insane the bad guys. It makes the victim doubt themselves and their own words, essentially vilifying themselves in their own eyes. Gaslighting will make victims question their own sanity.

Emotional Manipulation: preying on the victims emotions to make themselves appear more vulnerable or to garner sympathy and excuse the abuse. Using emotions and twisting them to cause deep pain within the victims while also charging blame off themselves (huge guilt-trippers)

Psychological Manipulation: using lies to make the victim question reality and/or their sanity. It is essentially the umbrella term for the types of manipulation states above

Persuasion: taking a logical/emotional argument and pitching it to convince another person of sharing the same mindset/do something

Depending on the context of the intention, the manipulator will use a certain type of manipulation to get what they want. If they are trying to cover up the fact that they’re cheating? Gaslighting. Trying to excuse their toxic/abusive behaviour? Emotional Manipulation. Trying to get someone to do the dirty work for them? A mix of emotional manipulation and persuasion.

Now here comes the hard part...

3) What makes them so persuasive?

If you’ve taken a debate class, or gotten into a heated argument with another person, you’ll know persuasion is a very difficult skill to master. This is a subtle marker of your oc’s intelligence when it comes to manipulation. Here are some characteristics + tips to persuasion:

Confidence: this is key because if your audience can suspect a shred of doubt in your belief in your own argument, there is no way you’ll convince them. Confidence gives the illusion of certainty, and when it comes to persuasion or changing someone’s perception of reality, establishing certainty in your own narrative (especially if its a false narrative) is imperative

Logic: everyone admires and respects facts. Its another way to back the validity of an argument and create a (false sense?) of certainty. Using facts in persuasive. Twisting facts in your favour is manipulative.

Here are some parts of arguments that I learned in english lol

logos (logic) includes stats, factual evidence, reasoning, analogy and comparison

challenging assumptions is attacking a counterbelief

hypotheticals are WEAK forms of argument about an imaginary situation

ethnos (credibility/origin) is a way to establish credibility of the author or speaker to build an argument using experience, education, etc

humour is related to storytelling and can be used to evoke emotions to gain attention and connect to the audience (makes them like you better + increases credibility); failed jokes an alienate you from the audience

with manipulation, laughing while someone else presents their argument makes them feel like a fool and is powermove in gaslighting.

pathos is emotion and involves diction (word choice), syntax (sentence structure), concession (agreeing to an opponents point; makes person seem unbiased) and recession (explaining why opponents points are invalid), anecdotes (descriptive stories), rhetorical questions (questions with obvious answers)

appeal to identity is using informal language to create a sense of belonging with readers

logical fallacies which is flawed logic to look out for//might be used by manipulators on purpose: slippery slope (hyperboles or spiralling assumptions), strawman (misrep’d argument/biased evidence), bandwagon (acceptable due to mass action), circular reasoning (stating obvious and not explaining), either/or (presenting situation with only 2 POV’s)

Emotion: preying on people’s emotions is probably one of the easiest ways to gain allyship. Humans are naturally emotional people and empathy is encouraged in our society, making it an easy way to persuade and manipulate people. Appealing to a person’s emotions is a guaranteed way to make them listen to what you have to say. Whether this is mentioning an anecdote that creates a sense of intimacy between the speaker and the audience, or bringing up an issue that you know your audience is passionate about; by appealing to a person’s emotion, controlling the narrative is much easier because more often than not, people listen to their emotions more than their logic

Knowing your Audience: this is building on the emotion thing. Knowing your audience is an IMPERATIVE part to creating an argument. Your language changes with your audience. If you’re speaking to kids, you’re not going to use big fancy words. You’re going to use simpler language that is easier to understand. Shorter sentence structure. Asking questions more often to ensure comprehension and promote engagement. Speaking to someone older might require more formal, respectable language. Vise versa. But to add on this idea, knowing the background of your audience and their beliefs, their values is a really strong advantage to persuasion and manipulation. For example, if you’re speaking to someone religious, knowing their religious values and using it to support your own argument is a steady way to gaining both their trust and their support quicker.

4) Research + Presentation

Getting background info on the victim is something your oc might do in order to find easier methods of manipulating them. Noticing and taking note of small behaviours they do or things they value is another thing. You want your oc to be observant, because that’s something a lot of manipulators use to their advantage. Also, how they present themselves and conduct themselves is huge.

Apart from just their language, how do they speak? Take this example. Person #1: the person who keeps interrupting you and yelling in your face (this is a type of manipulation, but it is difficult to write and very very abusive. If repeated long enough, the victim might stop trying to speak in general because they feel their words are falling on deaf ears and have no value). Now Person #2: calm, collected, cool. they present everything in a earnest way. Their body language makes your feel warm and welcomed, even if their words are slightly cold, but its because they’re analytical. They’re problem solvers! They’re trying to help you! It makes sense what they’re saying. Maybe you’re just the idiot who can’t understand. Look how calmly they’re explaining it. Look how patient they are. They aren’t even arguing. They’re not even yelling or anything. They’re listening. They’re explaining. They can’t be wrong. They made so many points. No, I must be the idiot. Sure, their words hurt a little, but they don’t mean to be so harsh. They’re just blunt. They’re just trying to help me .

One is very in your face. The other is very subtle. There are many in the middle, but it depends on who the manipulator is talking to that their method of argument will change. They might use touch more, or seduction, or a softer or louder voice. They might use formal language or informal. Speak slowly (gaslighting does this a lot to make the victim feel like a child or stupid for not understanding. Also annunciating more), or speak so quickly you can’t even comprehend most of their words except for the key words. Or they interrupt and speak quickly so you don’t have time to respond or counterargue.

Anyways... I feel like this post makes me seem like a manipulator LOL. Imma stop it right there, but if you have things to add on or questions or anything, comment it down below. Reblog and like if you enjoyed it and PLEASE don’t use these tactics in real life. Most of these are incredibly abusive so please don’t.

Happy Writing! :)

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alittlewhump · 3 years

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Unbidden - Act 5, chapter 3

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: fantasy religion, death mention

Morgan's golem eventually warned him of people approaching. He didn't need to look to guess it would be Blaise and Icharion. It had not been an especially dignified departure. Blaise would have questions, and would have dragged him along with her to satisfy the sentry. Morgan took a steadying breath and raised his head. This conversation might as well happen now. He made a cursory effort to wipe the tears from his cheeks, not that it would make it any less obvious that he'd been weeping.

Icharion was the first to speak once they had rounded the corner and spotted him. "It was cruel of Master Ordan to lie to you as he did," he said stiffly. That didn't sound right at all. Morgan hadn't known Icharion especially well, but he hadn't been one for that sort of reflection. It was the sort of sentiment he would expect from Blaise, though. He glanced over and saw her watching him intently.

"We both know that cruelty was not the Master's intention," he said, addressing Icharion. "And we both know he was in the right."

Icharion exhaled. "I told you," he said to Blaise. She elbowed him.

"There's nothing right about what he did. Don't sell yourself short," she said to Morgan. "You've gotten so much stronger since we met. Just look at everything we've done together."

"That has nothing to do with it," Morgan replied.

"I told her, she wouldn't listen-" Icharion was silenced by another elbow to the ribs.

"Explain it to me, then," Blaise said, crouching in front of Morgan to look him in the face. "Because it sounds like this Ordan just sent you out to die without even telling you what you did to deserve it, and I really don't understand how the two of you seem to think that's justified."

"You know we don't perceive death the same way you do," Morgan reminded her. She nodded grudgingly. "Master Ordan's primary concern is the maintenance of our Order. Our numbers are few enough, but even a small tree can benefit from pruning its weakest branches." That had been one of the master's favourite metaphors. He'd usually used it in the context of seeking out weakness within oneself, but it seemed apt enough here too.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what he said, but you aren't weak." Her voice was rising, the frustration clear on her face.

"I am weak in the ways that matter to the Order," Morgan explained. The heat of shame prickled at his neck. He had no desire to enumerate his failings to her here, in front of someone who could verify the precise degree of his inadequacy. But Blaise was a force to be reckoned with, and he couldn't let her focus her anger on the Order. They were important, even if he was not, so he tried to explain. He started reluctantly with the most fundamental issue, the lowest bar he'd failed to surpass.

"In order to uphold the Balance, we must be objective in our judgment. And we cannot do that if we are beholden to emotions. It's some of our most basic and essential training, and I have never been able to master it properly." He could hear the bitterness creeping into his voice, feel the familiar weight curling in his gut. Even now he was failing.

"So, let me get this straight. You have feelings, like a regular person, and for some reason you think that's so bad you deserve to die for it." Blaise cocked an eyebrow at him. "It's not like that's something you can just turn off."

"I should be able to. It's one of our central tenets. We must be able to separate ourselves from our emotions so we can remain clear-headed. I truly thought I had myself under control when I set out, but... oh." He trailed off as the pieces finally clicked into place, tracing an unmistakable pattern back to its origin. It had felt like it had finally started getting easier by the time he'd left on his quest. The doubt he'd had in himself had been erased by the Master's assurance that he was ready. And he had found it to be possible, if not exactly easy, right up to a very specific point.

Proper control had been impossible ever since the fight against Andariel. Whose venom had caused a lasting change in his sense of pain, lingering even after all physical traces of the wound were gone. Permanent, Jamella had said. And Cain had also mentioned that Andariel could cause emotional sensitivity. So this, too, would be permanent. A heavy feeling settled over Morgan, coming to rest behind his ribs. The rest of his shortcomings were insignificant in comparison to this. There was no hope of redemption. It would take years more dedicated training to overcome this weakness, if it was even possible. And he had nowhere to train, no mentor to correct him when he inevitably strayed. He couldn't return to the Order, not after the story Ordan had woven. Icharion's reaction would be amplified a hundredfold. Why had he-

"Speak, Morgan. You're inside your own head." Icharion's voice was not unkind, but Blaise shot him a dirty look.

"I was clearly mistaken. I just don't understand why Master Ordan lied about the request," Morgan said, voice so low it was nearly a whisper. "He only had to ask. I would have gone willingly." If the goal had simply been to remove him, that could have easily been accomplished in a number of simpler ways. Everything else made sense. Morgan looked up at Icharion, half hoping to find an answer, half dreading what it might be.

"Politics, most likely. Any expulsion from within the Necropolis must be approved by the council, and Jostan is too troubled by our numbers to let anyone go, no matter the reason. No one would have believed you decided to go of your own volition, and Ordan has too many eyes on him to stage a convincing accident."

"Ah." Morgan looked back down. That explanation made sense enough, he supposed. He had simply been so intolerable, so far from adequate that it had forced the Master's hand. The man was fiercely loyal to the brotherhood, if rather unyielding in his views. His decisions were unswayable, and clearly he'd decided - he'd seen - that there could be no place for someone as weak as Morgan in the priesthood, no matter how earnest his devotion.

"Hang on," Blaise said, "when you talk about 'going', do you actually mean-"

"Dying, yes," Icharion interrupted. "It is an honour to lay down one's life in service to the Order." It was an honour he would never know, Morgan realized suddenly. That twisted like a knife.

"You're really not convincing me that any of this is okay," Blaise said.

"You don't need to believe the truth," Icharion replied. "It will be true all the same, with or without your approval."

"Blaise," Morgan said quickly, "wait." She looked ready to explode, glaring murderously at Icharion. Morgan tried to find the right words, ones she might take heed of. "Master Ordan was right. I cannot serve the Order of Rathma. I am not capable of meeting their standards. He saw that and acted in their best interest because that is his duty. The only fault here is mine. I should have seen it too." Should have recognized the truth and gone long ago, saved them all the trouble.

"That's stupid. The whole time I've known you, everything you've done has been in the name of the Balance. I've watched you work yourself nearly to death for it, and you're telling me that's not good enough? Bullshit."

"I've no doubt his intentions are pure," Icharion said with surprising gentleness, "but effort alone cannot overcome inability. Not all people are capable of all things. Few are suited to our work, fewer still are able to carry it out."

"Bullshit," Blaise repeated, but it was quieter this time. "That's not fair."

"It is important work," Morgan said. "It cannot be entrusted to those unfit to do it."

"And you really believe that includes you? Even after all the shit you've been through for it? After how hard you've worked?"

"I do." Morgan closed his eyes against the surge of emotions that swelled up at the finality of that admission. He had no choice but to accept the truth. It was nothing new, after all. Hardly the first time his best efforts had proven to be insufficient. That didn't do much to soften the blow. At least his ineptitude was likely to have prevented him from doing any real damage to anything in his efforts, he thought dully.

"I could witness your departure," Icharion offered after a time, breaking the silence. "We are far from home. The rules would allow it." It was an unexpected gesture, permitted but not necessary by the laws of the Order. Morgan studied his face for a moment. He found nothing; of course Icharion could make himself unreadable, like a priest ought to be able to do. There was an undeniable thread of kindness in the offer, though. At least it could be done properly. That would be a small comfort.

"I would appreciate that very much," Morgan said, getting to his feet. Blaise sprang up as well as Icharion drew his sword.

"Whoa, whoa, hang on a second here. Somebody tell me what's happening. I'm not going to let-"

"It's not that kind of departure," Icharion interrupted her. "Sit back down." Blaise bristled.

"It's just a ceremony," Morgan reassured her. "An oath. Nobody dies." She seemed slightly mollified but did not sit down, instead crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. She would let them proceed, then.

Morgan fished out a vial of oil from his chest pocket. Uncorking it, he pinched the tip of Icharion's proffered blade with his thumb and forefinger and squeezed several drops of blood in to mingle with the oil. Then he poured out the contents in a rough circle around himself. The circle glowed faintly as he imbued it with intent. He had never seen this particular ceremony, but the steps were as familiar as all the others he'd ever committed to memory.

"On my heart's blood I swear I shall never again interfere in the Order of Rathma, nor in the affairs of the dead." The words left a heavy feeling in his chest, but it was a little better than the jagged hurt that already sat there.

"On your heart's blood it is witnessed," Icharion replied, "and so are you bound." He traced a line under the circle with the bloodied tip of his blade. It drew in the light from the circle, which faded to nothing as he dismissed the magic with his free hand. Morgan wiped his fingers on the hem of his shirt.

"Thank you for that," he said quietly. Icharion nodded an acknowledgement as Morgan handed over the rest of his ceremonial oils. He no longer had a use for them. A thick, protective numbness was starting to settle in, blunting the world's edges.

"So that's it? You're just... done?" Blaise hadn't moved, still regarding them suspiciously.

"It is a very straightforward oath," Icharion pointed out as he wiped his blade clean and returned it to its sheath.

"Oh, fuck off."

"I will continue to do my part in the effort against Baal," Morgan clarified, the words feeling far away and hazy. "But on my own behalf, now. I think I'd like to join you in battle tomorrow." He could still work toward a purpose, still make himself useful. He needed that. To hold him together.

Blaise slung an arm around his shoulders. "I'll be glad to have you by my side." Morgan leaned into her gratefully. "And I think the barbarians are going to like your golems. If you're still..." she broke off, glancing over at the one still standing watch.

"He cannot raise the dead, but the earth is still fair game," Icharion confirmed. "Now if you're quite finished, I'm going back inside." He turned and left without further comment.

"You should go back with him," Morgan said. He pulled away from Blaise, but her hand lingered on his shoulder.

"Hey," she said softly, "are you... okay? I mean, fuck, obviously not, this is... I know the Order is important to you. Can I help? Somehow?" Once again, she was looking at him with earnest concern. He should have felt something about that, probably, but the numbness was there instead.

"I don't know," Morgan replied. "I'm going to finish checking the wall for damage," he found himself saying, "and then I think I'm going to meditate." Being fully rested would be a good idea. He'd been getting so much sleep recently, he didn't need any more and he certainly didn't want to risk the nightmares. But he found he didn't want to be conscious either. Though the specific techniques had been developed by the Order, the act of meditation was hardly exclusive to them. It wouldn't interfere with anything. He could still have that little peace, at least.

Blaise squeezed him gently. "Think about eating something too." That was probably also a good idea, but less appealing. He nodded anyway. "I'll leave you to it, then," she said, then followed Icharion's path back toward the gates.

There was still more to do, Morgan reminded himself as he walked slowly around the wall. Tyrael had bidden them to slay Baal. He still had a purpose, for now. Between that and the numbness, it was enough to propel him through the rest of the day's actions. His body patched a few more damaged spots in the wall, and put some food into itself, and found a bed to lay itself in, and then it rested as his mind drifted in meditation, carefully focused on absolutely nothing at all.

#my writing #story: unbidden #fantasy religion tw #emotional whump #death mention tw

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biaswreckermagnet · 3 years

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Fate: The Winx Saga - My Thoughts and Critique - Part 1: Characters

Be warned: The following post will be quite long as I have a lot to say. Please note that this is all my personal opinion and this is just the thoughts and critique of someone that has watched the original Winx Club several time and I have watched the new Winx Saga, and this is in no way a blind hatred based on only word of mouth and seeing half a trailer. Enjoy

I will be comparing this new series to the original 4Kids version, as this is the version I hold close to my heart and grew up watching. So if there are any plot differences I describe from the animation, it is probably due to the slight changes made in the Nick Dub, which some people will know best (example, in 4Kids dub, Aisha’s name is Layla, and Sparks is known as Domino in the Nick dub)

CHARACTERS

Well, I have a lot to say about the characters, just like anyone else. I’ll break down, the casting, compare the character to the animation, and their personality in the Netflix series.

Bloom

The actress chosen in my opinion was a good choice. The problem I have, is her personality. They got the determination and hot-head traits right, of course. But in the animation, Bloom is warm, friendly and bubbly. Easy-going and popular among her peers. I don’t know if they were trying to appeal to the oh-so-angsty teenagers that don’t want to go outside and have few friends. The typical “I’m not like other girls” trope. Tropes are popular, and as someone who has written stories in the past, I have used that trope once, but usually it’s a trope I like when it’s to show the character’s beauty compared to others who may be catty and selfish; not so beautiful on the inside. Here, to me, Bloom is just unlikable. She may be angsty and a rebellious teen, blah blah blah, but she was so rude to people like her Earth mother, and inconsiderate of her own actions and how it could affect those around her. Even if Aisha told her “That is a bad idea, you’re going to regret it” she runs along and does it anyway, and then she gets into a bad situation which also affects everyone, Even if she helps clean up the mess, damage is still done.

In Fate, Bloom’s relationship with her parents is not amazing. Yes, she’s an angsty, rebellious teen who almost kills them because she lost control of her power, but I found this cold, rude relationship so unnecessary. As a teen, sometimes it may seem like no one is listening nor can understand, parents just seem nosy and overbearing, but communication is key. That’s what I find so many shows are missing now: communication.

Looking at Bloom’s relationship with her parents in the animation, it’s not only simpler for them to know from the start that she has powers, but it makes the communication between both parties better. This strong relationship Bloom and her parents have is always present, but we see the beauty of it in Season 1, episode 13, “Meant to Be” when Mike and Vanessa sit her down and talk to her about how they realised she had magic before that fateful meeting with Stella.

There is none of that warmth and love now. Bloom curses at her mother, gives her attitude and is overall just a brat. Bloom may feel remorse towards herself for burning her mother, but then, why is the attitude towards her so ugly? I really don’t like it.

Aisha/Layla

Next is Aisha, who is the only character that was not whitewashed from the original. The only reason I think she wasn’t is because the creators of Winx Saga knew there would be a true uproar if they dared to replace her with someone non-black.

She is the general voice of reason in the group, and the babysitter of Bloom and company. She will support and be the shoulder for Bloom to lean on in a few cases, but generally she’s the only one calling Bloom out for being rash and insensible, but then she gets ignored or sneered at for it, despite rbeing the only one with awareness for consequences.

There isn’t much to compare to with her animated version except for her being athletic; made very obvious in episode one where she says “I swim twice a day, every day”. (Even though that is the only episode we see her following said routine.) Other than that, her backstory is not expanded upon like the animation, obviously due to the lack of screen time and actual length of the Netflix series, therefore for me, I didn’t really bond with her character like in the original.

Stella

The actress is pretty. Not too hard to cast a pretty blonde in a series. Moving on.

In the original Winx, I adore Stella. She’s bubbly, she’s fun, she’s bright. Literally the sunshine of the group. Yes, she has her snooty privileged princess moments, but she is a likable snooty, privileged princess. Why? She showed that she really does care for her friends. Stella can be self-centered and insecure, but she’s never afraid to say that she’s wrong when she realises her mistakes. This is shown several times, but right now I can speak of two instances: Season 1, Episode 8 “Spelled”. Technically, she was under a spell that made her moody and rude, but she still knew she had to set things right after upsetting Musa. Another memorable moment for me when she showed her caring side was during the girls’ stay at the no-magic resort in Season 2, episode 21 ““Trouble in Paradise”. She went after Aisha/ Layla to check if she was all right, they connected and Stella earned her Charmix. Overall, Stella in the animation has her flaws, but she is loved by all and she herself loves the people she’s close to.

However, Stella in Winx Saga, I detest. I was really disappointed with what they did to her character. Honestly, it would have made more sense if she was Diaspro (Sky’s ex-fiance from season 1 and 3) and not Stella. She’s a snob, rude and dismissive of others’ feelings. They did try to toss a sympathy card at our faces later when they eplained the reason why Winx Saga Stella is so - her toxic, overbearing and abusive mother - but honestly, maybe it was because it happened so fast because of the limited time, butI was not feeling any sympathy towards her. I felt like I should have, but I couldn’t. I hope her character changes in Season 2, if I even bother watching it, because I was enormously disappointed with Stella’s new persona for this first season. The Solaria ring was nice enough though.

Musa

Well, here we go. One of the infamous whitewashing cases. To tell the truth, I'm not surprised but disappointed that it acueallyhappened. You mean to tell me they couldn't find any capable Asian actresses for Musa? Yes, small production and low budget, but still. If you are going to make a live action for a cast that is well loved, respected and recognised for the diversity, you should keep it. It just feels like they do it on purpose at this point.

Winx Club Musa I like a lot. I love all the girls, but she's just so laid-back and cool, but she's not afraid to call someone out for being unfair or on their attitude (namely Stella most times). She cares for her friends and she cares for Riven. She's family oriented and she's so passionate about music.

In Winx Saga, she's a mind fairy who used to be a dancer and listens to music with headphones to block out the emotions of people around her when she gets overwhelmed. Interesting new concept and it comes in handy for the new show material. I wouldn't say she was completely unlikable in the WS series but there wasn't anything much besides her ability and that she and Sam (Terra's brother) had somehting more than a fling going on. They were a nice couple. Good chemistry in kisses. I don't know why they decided to not make Riven her man - who knows what the plan is. Riven was not hers in the beginning of the animation either, but we saw a great bond form later on. Their relationship had problems unlike the other Winx couples, but they still are a fan favourite. Let's see how this new match goes I guess?

Flora/Terra

Terra We all know she's supposed to be Flora, no matter how they try to spin it. Before anyone says she's a different character so it's not whitewashing, I have seen a video on Youtube where a girl explains that in actuality, it was supposed to be Flora because there are (now deleted) clips of characters talking to Flora, not Terra. And the adresses portfolio said she was to play Flora. They seemed to change it to avoid heating up the hot water they had already landed themselves into.

Therefore, I will be comparing Terra and Flora. I was extremely disappointed when I saw the trailer and realised Flora was clearly not there. I am not usually one to care whether or not someone looks like me in a show, but I do relate to Flora. I may not always be one that likes to get close to nature honestly, but everything else about her I relate to. I love pink a lot, I am a mixed race person so her looks are what I identify with the most, and our personalities are quite similar.

Terra, on the other hand, is obviously white. The love of plants is there and her sweet and gentle personality is there. Though, it doesn’t get much time to shine because whenever she speaks, she’s either cut off or ignored, unless she’s spouting information the others want to hear at the moment. They did make her quite chatty, and at times even I was a bit annoyed, not because she was chatty, but because that trait just seemed to be a gateway for the scriptwriters to hit you with details about Alfea and its history, and information about fairies without making much effort. Terra didn’t have much screen time, but whenever she was on screen, she was always the butt of a joke and treated poorly. When the situation became dire, she did have some moments of strength, but then the other characters still treated her the same so it seems meaningless.

One main reason Terra stands out to the audience is the fact that she’s the only plus-sized character. I’m all for representation, but I don’t like where they went with Terra. She’s shown to be insecure about her body (shown when she avoids her roommates to change alone). Yes, she’s supposed to be a teen who has heard non-directed comments about weight by other characters, but why couldn’t they make her a confident plus-sized girl? I have plenty of friends that are plus-sized and confident about themselves, older or younger. In media, it’s rare enough to see a plus-sized person, but also one that has confidence. This show is directed to teens, and those who may look and feel the same as Terra won’t have a good example set for themselves to be more confident. If you’re going to include a certain figure in your story, yes, everyone has insecurities and all, but if you have the power to shine light and empower, do it right!

Sky

One reason why I bothered watching the show. Danny Griffin. The man playing Sky. Iin the original Winx, I did not really care for Sky as I’m not really into the long blonde hair, I prefer shorter hair. So I was quite pleased to see this casting as it fits more into my personal type.

Anyways, let’s continue.

I found that the casting was done well for Sky. A hot blonde warrior that can wield weapons well? They nailed it. However, that’s kind of where it ended for me. Due to the plot, his character was pretty much ruined for me. Winx Saga Sky was sadly unremarkable personality-wise. The story didn’t allow for much expansion for him besides having the hots for Bloom and the whole boo-hoo story about his father. There was something of a nice relationship with his mentor, but I’ll get to that later.

Danny Griffin’s performance was quite good. My only issue was one part of his first appearance where his first few lines. . .sounded like lines. Not so much the result of bad acting, but it just was another case of sounding like lines written for a script than natural conversation. But I only really saw that in the first episode, and since everyone would have been getting into character at that time I can let it pass. Otherwise, he performed well as an actor.

Riven

Winx Club Riven does not have the best first impression. According to Musa, he’s “a little rough around the edges, but that’s kind of his charm”. He’s a troubled, moody guy who falls for the wrong girl. He has a very competitive side, especially with Sky, who always manages to beat him in combat. He is indeed often arrogant of his abilities, but he proved himself to not be just all talk during his escape from imprisonment in Cloud Tower during Season 1, and even Sky admitted to being impressed with his knowledge of survival and strategies, even going so far as to say he always thought Riven was the “Red Fountain Slacker”. Animated Riven also has a sweet side that was displayed in season 2 when he comforted Musa during the girls’ first mission to Shadowhaunt, and much more so after they started dating. He expressed how much he cared for Musa in shy but blunt ways. Flawed, but a character that developed throughout the series.

Winx Saga completely threw that out of the window. Riven is now just a clown that does bad boy things. He’s clearly still being portrayed as the “edgy” character with troubles and insecurities, but the rest of the show is so aggressively dark and edgy that he really has no way to stand out anymore. I don’t know what they’re planning to do with his characterr later on, but I really dislike what they did to him. The only thing done right is his competitive nature towards Sky. Side note, this is also my personal preference, but I must add that I am not feeling the minimal facial hair. I’d prefer a clean shaven face. The little spikes just looks messy. But then, facial hair always looks messy to me.

Faragonda

Faragonda. Or as she is known now, Farah Dowling. I’m not sure what to say for her. The actress did well, I can say that. The problem always lies with the characters themselves.

Faragonda is a beloved headmistress that always has an eye out for her students, whether she watches them through her magic mirror in her office or just personally. She gives them enough guidance so they can grow on their own and helps them when she sees the need to. However, she is also strict when needed and will not condone disobedience; this was seen in season 1 when the Winx were punished for breaking into Cloud Tower to get Stella’s ring from the Trix. She is a brave, just and kind woman, well suited for a principal position.

Farah Dowling does not have much besides her position. She’s very secretive and those secrets seem to be there to cause drama when it could have ben avoided. It could be an irrational thought process that humans have, but I’d expect that from someone who hasn’t experienced much in life. The type of past Farah has, she should know better than to keep secrets if she knows it can put the whole school in danger. Her lack of disciplinary action was evident, whether it was the scene of a villain making their move or Bloom blatantly disobeying orders and making choices that moved the plot forward a bit. It was odd to see that even if she knew this person went dilly-dallying in her office or broke a rule, ut wasn’t met with discipline unless something really bad happened. Whereas, we all know that in a school setting, small rule breaking is also punished. I did like the part in the last episode when she and Bloom finally had a warm interaction, I found it very sweet and it was nice to finally have her interact with Bloom without having to expect some impending doom to arise in the next scene.

Beatrix

We did not get the stylish trio we know and love for Winx Saga, but I must say, I was not disappointed by Sadie Soverall. She portrayed the character really well.

She’s a blending of the famous Trix. She’s cunning and does not let anyone get in her way, much like Icy. Seductive like Darcy and I’d say she has Stormy’s malicious nature. (I mean the Trix are all malicious but Stormy generally could let her viciousness rule her judgement). As well as the fact that her power kind of looks like electric bolts, like Stormy’s.

A manipulator that was being manipulated. She’s icy cold, cunning and she knows who she should attach herself to in order to reach her goals. Just a sub-villain I say, but I enjoyed the character. Minus the odd little plots her character was mixed into, which I will discuss later.

Rosalind

A new character who so far seems like the puppet master of all the characters - both good and evil sides. A master manipulator and charismatic. Very enjoyable to watch despite her short screen time. She was the one person that actually had me excited to know what was going to happen next. Very well performed in my opinion.

Mike

The only time I saw this actor truly in character was in the last episode when he was wearing this blue shirt. He really looked like Mike. It may always be necessary to dress a character exactly like the original, but some things are just subtle and yet iconic. Imagine Shaggy from Scooby-Doo without his green shirt and brown pants combo. It wouldn’t feel like him. Otherwise he’s quite a basic looking man so not too hard to cast. I do think this actor really matched Mike though - looks wise, at least.

With Mike, there are less interactions with Bloom besides having very basic “How are you doing?”conversations. There’s a lame joke here and there but nothing really worth commenting over.here now The focus when it came to mentioning the parents in Winx Saga was mostly to Vanessa.

Vanessa

Vanessa in the original series is warm, loving and a good mother. She and Bloom have a strong relationship and have great communication between them, and Bloom not only respects her but also goes to Vanessa when she needs advice and support. The ideal mother-daughter bond.

Date’s Vanessa is more. . .trying to be a good mother but not quite nailing it. As I mentioned during Bloom’s analysis, she’s met with hostility or downright rudeness if she even mentions going out and making friends to her daughter. There were a few moments when it could have been touching to see thieir interactions, but apart from the scene when Bloom was feeling homesick, it felt a bit rushed. Perhaps it was the acting, perhaps it was that the awkward interactions overruled the positive ones, but the Winx Saga relationship between Bloom and Vanessa didn’t feel as connected.

In conclusion, mot of the acting was well done. The issues I have were mostly due to the writing of the characters, not the ability of the actors.

Other minor characters will be analysed during the plot discussion.

#winx club #winx saga #fate winx club #bloom #sky #musa #flora #terra #aisha #layla #riven #4kids dub #netflix #2021 #winx alfea

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homeformyheart · 3 years

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maybe the world could be ours - simon montjoy x mc (avsp)

author’s note: i am reposting this due to blog access issues. this story takes place in the middle of chapter 13 of a very scandalous proposal. there aren’t any real plot or story spoilers in this fic, but if you want to be extra cautious not to be exposed to any part of avsp before you read it, then i recommend you ignore this. originally planned as a multi-part fic but we’ll see.

**i also recommend you listen to the song “rewrite the stars” (even better if you watch the scene from the movie - link included below - or have seen the movie) to better get into the emotional mindset of the story.

copyright: all characters are owned by pixelberry studios. song/lyrics are from “the greatest showman” soundtrack, performed by zac efron and zendaya. i do not own any of the above. series/pairing: a very scandalous proposal - simon montjoy x mc (sophie macdonald) rating/warnings: 13+; no warnings word count: 2.1k w/lyrics and 1.8k without based on/prompt: “rewrite the stars” from the greatest showman, performed by zac efron and zendaya summary: sophie needs a break from all the stress, drama, criticism, and investigating and turns to her first love and passion, music and songwriting.

maybe the world could be ours

sophie knew she was supposed to go to the blythe suite and search around for clues but at the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to open the door. she clenched and unclenched her fists, stretching her fingers out, hoping to release some of the tension she was feeling. sophie could feel an itch she hadn’t felt since coming to London, and knew she needed to let off some steam soon. i wonder if anyone will be near the ballroom, she wondered, biting her lower lip in thought. considering simon was still talking to his grandparents in the downstairs parlor, sophie decided to take a chance and walk back towards the kitchens that connected to the ballroom.

she took a deep breath and pushed open the first set of large double doors, closing them as quietly as possible behind her. she quickly checked that all the other doors, including those for the balcony were closed before seating herself at the grand piano in the far corner of the room. it’s been too long since i’ve played… i should’ve brought my guitar with me, she thought wistfully as her fingers hovered over the ivory keys, slightly twitching of their own accord. sophie closed her eyes as her fingers finally pressed down, a melodic note echoing softly in the empty ballroom.

eyes still closed, sophie ran a few chords on the perfectly tuned piano and a small smile began to tug at her lips. her passion for writing wasn’t always solely focused on journalism or nonfiction; as much as she loved pursuing the truth and telling stories as objectively as any human being possibly could, music was her first love. when the truth seemed out of reach or when her emotions threatened to overflow, music helped her process it all and she found she was calmer and more objective on the other side. she knew exactly which song would help her channel her feelings and found the composition on her phone and began playing the opening chords.

sophie could feel the prickling of tears behind her closed eyelids, hear the voices from the engagement party and the gala, see the accusatory and judging stares that she tried so hard to ignore all come flooding back. thoughts of “you’ll never be enough for them, for him,” “you don’t belong in his world and you never will,” and “you have nothing to offer him” kept running rampant in her mind as the pre-recorded male vocals on her phone started singing.

you know i want you it’s not a secret i try to hide i know you want me so don’t keep saying our hands are tied you claim it’s not in the cards but fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me but you’re here in my heart so who can stop me if I decide that you’re my destiny?

simon knocked on the door to the blythe suite, running his hand through his hair. he was beyond tired, emotionally rather than physically, and wanted to see sophie. if he were being honest with himself, which he was a little afraid to be, it was more of a need to see her than want. there was something about her that made him feel safe and at peace, a feeling he almost didn’t recognize, since the last time he felt this safe was with his parents. he knocked again and pressed his ear closer to the door. “darling, are you in there?” the term of endearment rolled off his tongue effortlessly and he almost started wondering to himself if he wanted it to be true and real.

the tears started to spill, one by one as sophie continued to play the piano melody in time with her phone. this was a song she wrote with her high school boyfriend; ironically, the situation had been reversed at the time – he was from the “wrong” side of town and her parents made it clear that she didn’t belong with him. it didn’t stop them from dating and writing songs together anyway, until sophie went off to college. but now, she was of the “wrong sort” and it wouldn’t matter if she was starting to have real feelings for simon – he would become a duke and inherit the estate and their arrangement would be over. sophie would go back to new york once the book was published and never see him again.

what if we rewrite the stars? say you were made to be mine nothing could keep us apart you’d be the one i was meant to find it’s up to you, and it’s up to me no one can say what we get to be so why don’t we rewrite the stars? maybe the world could be ours tonight

where could she have gone? simon wondered, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. he went back downstairs toward the dining room; noting it was empty, he crossed through the room quickly toward the kitchens when he heard it. is that… music? it had been decades since he heard piano music outside of a ball or a party and there was only one grand piano that could be heard from the kitchens. as the approached the ballroom, he could make out that someone was singing and harmonizing with the beautiful melody. he quietly opened the doors just wide enough to glance down the large room at the singer playing the piano in the corner.

sophie took a breath, trying to will the tears to stop so her voice wouldn’t tremble as she prepared to join in on the second verse. she couldn’t help thinking about the gala and all the hurtful glares and remarks, even if she wasn’t a social climber, she was guilty of using simon’s position to further her career. in some way, all of her critics were right.

you think it’s easy you think i don’t want to run to you but there are mountains and there are doors that we can’t walk through i know you’re wondering why because we’re able to be just you and me within these walls but when we go outside you’re going to wake up and see that it was hopeless after all

sophie? she was angled in a way that he could barely see her profile, but he knew it was her. what he didn’t know was what a hauntingly beautiful singing voice she had. he couldn’t help but open the door a little wider so he could take her in. her eyes were closed but the passion on her face was as obvious as daylight as was whatever pain she was feeling in the moment. she is radiant, he thought warmly. he closed his eyes as well so he could listen closely to the lyrics.

when it was just the two of them, it was easy to forget the rules of the aristocracy and the judgments that came part and parcel with titles and secrets. if only they could live in the hopeful peace they felt the day they shared at the children’s center. she would do anything to see that version of simon all the time. the realization that she was falling hard for simon, and fast, was starting to feel suffocating. sophie took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut to keep her tears at bay, with the prickling pain hitting the back of her eyes over and over again.

no one can rewrite the stars how can you say you’ll be mine? everything keeps us apart and i'm not the one you were meant to find it’s not up to you it’s not up to me when everyone tells us what we can be how can we rewrite the stars? say that the world can be ours tonight

the male vocals started up again from her phone and sophie harmonized effortlessly, making simon feel as though he truly was observing a duet. he stepped further into the ballroom, making sure the door closed quietly behind him. in her mind, she was dancing and swaying while singing with her friends around a bonfire at the beach. back when things were a little simpler and she wasn’t falling in love with someone who was from a world that felt impossible to wrap her head around.

all i want is to fly with you all i want is to fall with you so just give me all of you

it feels impossible (it's not impossible) is it impossible? say that it’s possible

sophie stopped singing and stared incredulously at the blue-eyed brit standing ten feet away from her. no, please no, anyone but him, she thought desperately, taking in the sight of someone who was simultaneously the last as well as the only person she wanted to see. she wasn’t ready to share this part of her with him… outside of her family, nigel was the only one who had some knowledge of her passions (and it was limited to the fact that she could sing). muscle memory found her fingers continuing to play as she swallowed hard. the male vocals from her phone sang the last rendition of the chorus but she barely heard a word. she couldn’t tear her eyes away from simon’s ocean blue eyes that were looking at her with a softness she wasn’t expecting.

simon opened his eyes when he realized sophie had stopped singing and was staring at him, with a look of shock and anguish on her face. he felt a little guilty that he snuck into what seemed like a private moment, but he couldn’t help himself. there was so much he didn’t know about sophie, and he wanted to learn all he could. simon took a breath and tried to convey his support in his eyes, all he wanted was to hear her sing again.

how do we rewrite the stars? say you were made to be mine? nothing can keep us apart ‘cause you are the one i was meant to find it’s up to you and it’s up to me no one can say what we get to be and why don’t we rewrite the stars? changing the world to be ours

sophie blinked to make sure she wasn’t seeing things - simon was looking at her in a way that she could only describe as adoringly, and she felt a blush rising on her cheeks. she wanted to pretend simon wasn’t there so she could comfortably finish the song, humming along with the end of the chorus as her fingers continued to expertly dance across the piano keys, slowing as the melody wound down. she felt calmer, as though she had finally spent the emotional energy that had been tormenting her over the last few weeks, clouding her judgment. her heart didn’t feel as clouded and heavy and she looked up from her hands at simon as she sang the last verse, trying to convey her feelings through the lyrics.

you know i want you it’s not a secret i try to hide but i can’t have you we’re bound to break and my hands are tied

as the song ended, simon took a hesitant step toward the piano, his eyes never leaving sophie’s face. sophie felt her heart race and tore her gaze away. she could feel herself start to panic at the thought of having to explain her music or her feelings to simon. she started fiddling with her phone, scrolling through the compositions she saved for other songs as simon slowly approached the piano.

“that was beautiful, sophie. i didn’t know you played,” simon said softly.

sophie took a deep breath and brought her gaze up to his. “there’s a lot that you don’t know about me. and this is something i don’t like to share with anyone.”

simon drummed his fingers on top of the piano, looking thoughtfully. “you don’t have to explain yourself to me and i’m sorry if i intruded. your voice was so captivating, i couldn’t help myself. i hope one day you’ll trust me enough to share more with me. and i do want to learn more about you, it’s just things have been a bit…” he trailed off, trying to find the right words.

“hectic? crazy? awkward?” sophie chimed in, the corner of her lips hinting at a smile.

simon laughed. “all of the above. but hopefully soon, when this dies down, we can…” he trailed off again as he looked at her smile and hazel eyes that were still twinkling from laughter. his gaze softened as he continued, “share more with each other.”

sophie blushed and looked shyly down at the hands in her lap. “i’d like that,” she replied.

#choices fic writers creations #choices vip #a very scandalous proposal #my writing #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfiction #choices fanfics #simon montjoy #simon montjoy x mc #choices #playchoices #pb choices #not twc #reposting for new blog #my choices fics

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raendown · 4 years

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First entry for @madatobiweek this year! Today’s story is for the prompts magic au and de-aged.

Companion art for this story found here!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 10,519 Rated: T+ Summary: All the magic he could possibly want at his fingertips and yet he can't stop one big brother from meddling. Forced in to revealing both his heart and his deepest secret, in the end Tobirama is happy - and happily plotting revenge.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Small Problems

“What do you mean you don’t know how this happened?”

“I’m not sure how else to say that so you can understand it.” Tobirama was aware of the dryness in his tone, aware that was one thing that never failed to rile this man up, but in a situation like this he simply could not be bothered to modulate himself.

Not when the brother who should have been two years older than him sat across the room with rounded baby cheeks, chubby little toddler legs, and a face he hadn’t seen since he himself was about five years old. What on earth his brother had been doing to land himself in such a predicament was uncertain but the two remaining adults both understood one thing without having to voice it.

They needed to right this wrong before Mito returned from visiting the Uzushio Temples or there would be hell to pay.

“Haven’t you memorized basically every damn book in the entire library here?” Madara demanded. “Take a look around! You could say which ones here have spells in them that could do this!”

“I have read many of them, not all. I would need another hundred years at the very least to merely skim the entire collection.” Not that he hadn’t been giving his best shot at doing so. Almost every spare moment not spent bored in council meetings or crafting charms for gullible tourists to buy was spent with his nose in whatever books he could get his hands on. If not for Hashirama occasionally dragging him out of his study he might not eat some days.

“Ugh. What even is the use of you?” His companion crossed both arms and turned his head away, dark hair swaying forward until it almost concealed the way his eyes traced back over to watch Hashirama very intently pluck at a loose thread on the cushion underneath him.

To be fair he did make for an adorable sight. Despite reverting to an age when he had once sported an abominable bowl cut his brown locks remained as long and smooth as ever, long enough to give the effect of a permanent cape draped over tiny shoulders. His fingers were clumsy, tongue sticking out one corner of his mouth in concentration, and the look in his eyes was about as vapidly thoughtless as any seven year old had ever been. Whatever nonsense he’d been fiddling with had well and truly brought him back to childhood.

“Anija?” Tobirama kept his voice soft since he’d already discovered that speaking sharply led to even easier tears than normal. “You said you can’t remember what you were, ah, playing with. Do you remember anything at all?”

“I remember Tobi! Up! Up!” It was disgustingly hard to resist the cuteness of a tiny Hashirama holding out both arms with a beaming smile.

Madara stared at him when he inevitably capitulated, snagging the miniaturized man under both arms and hauling him up to rest on one hip. “I never took you for a softy, Senju. You like kids or something?”

The tone was clearly meant to be a mocking one but the sneering laughter cut off at a calm nod from the one he was trying to poke fun at. Even as a child himself Tobirama had adored taking care of other younglings. Children were uncomplicated, innocent, and they never judged unless they were taught to do so by an adult. None of their endless questions had ill intentions. Sometimes he very seriously considered taking his brother’s frequent suggestions to get out of the house and take up a second job as a teacher of some sort but the thought of not having an out for the times when he just couldn’t concentrate around his latest obsession always brought him back down to reality.

When Hashirama began to babble he listened at first, hoping his question was actually being answered, but it only took half a sentence for him to recognize the usual nonsense and tune it out. He looked to Madara instead with a contemplative expression.

“How do you feel about children yourself?” he asked, unsurprised when the man narrowed both eyes suspiciously.

“Don’t hate ‘em, I guess, why?”

“If you want me to figure out what part of this mess caused my older brother to become my younger brother then I’ll need some time to dig through it all. Can you watch him? I won’t get anything done if I have to constantly pull balls of paper out of his mouth and drag him away from things that could hurt him in this state.”

Watching those dark eyes widen and fill with horror was one of the simpler pleasures in life. “Me? Watch tiny kid Hashirama? Have you lost your entire mind!?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be his best friend?” Tobirama snorted. “One would think you knew him well enough to keep him entertained for a day or two. Or is childcare too much of a challenge for one such as yourself?”

That had exactly the effect he suspected it would. Madara spluttered and grumbled about how he was perfectly capable of watching one child for a few hours, how hard could it be, and other such nonsense. Amusing as that was, Tobirama did his best not to laugh. He truly wouldn’t get anything done with Hashirama underfoot and being obvious about his amusement would only send the very sexy bane of his existence storming away with no offers of help.

Honestly if the man weren’t so attractive both in mind and body Tobirama would have drowned him in a water sphere years ago. As long as he drew all the moisture out of the room afterwards it would be the perfect murder. No way to trace it back to him. But of course he had never lowered himself to fantasize about shutting that infuriating mouth up before - murderously, amorously, or otherwise. Wanting anything from someone he argued with so frequently would be a futile exercise and Tobirama was nothing if not a practical man. His time was better spent buried in books as he had been for the past two centuries.

If he learned enough about the world sometimes he wondered if it would make it all feel less lonely.

“Does he even know who I am?” Madara’s capitulation was as easy as that, although he made a point of not verbally agreeing, which was just like him. It was a good point, though. Tobirama hefted the child on his hip and cleared his throat.

“Anija? Do you remember who this is?” he asked.

“Maddy!”

“Yes. That’s exactly who this is.” Tobirama’s lips spread in a shameless smile. “Maddy.”

The sounds of spluttering from across the room were music to his ears, doubly so when the teasing hadn’t even really come from him so he couldn’t be blamed for it. Just for that he resolved to be a little less angry when everything was back to how it should be. Only a little though.

“You’re going to go play with Madara for a while, alright? Be good for him. And use your manners.”

“We’re not going to play,” Madara groused. He seemed to regret it immediately when Hashirama began tearing up. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, but the tears had extra impact when spilling out over chubby cheeks, big brown eyes even wider than normal when set in such a tiny face.

“B-but I wanna!” he cried, chin wobbling dangerously.

Madara backtracked wildly even as Tobirama stepped across the room to hand over the man-child. “No no! Of course we can play! I have lots of board games at home and a pack of tarot cards you can read and I think I still have some kid-friendly runes in one of the cupboards. Kagami likes to play with those. That’s good, right? Please stop crying.”

The way he took Hashirama’s small body in both hands like a sack of potatoes spoke to a certain inexperience with kids and yet once Hashirama finally quit producing tears and giggled at his best friend’s high pitched tone Madara looked much more comfortable, enough that when he set Hashirama on one hip the motion was as smooth and thoughtless as any full time parent. It did ridiculous things to Tobirama’s insides. Attractive, intelligent, and apparently decent with children. If it weren’t for the fact that he just couldn’t see it happening he might have been tempted to pursue something that would definitely end up terrifying everyone around them.

Unfortunately he had many times gotten the impression that Madara did not find displays of intelligence as arousing as he did - usually seemed more annoyed by it than anything else - so the thought was set aside just as it had been every other time it showed up again. While the other two whispered together about how they would fill their time for the rest of the day Tobirama looked around the room and tried to decide where he would start first. He’d initially found his brother buried under the small mountain of scrolls and tomes in the eastern corner of the room but it was all too possible that he’d simply knocked some things over in his struggle to understand this new body. Still, it was the only lead he had and it wasn’t any better or worse than starting somewhere else.

“Right.” Cracking both wrists in preparation, he turned to lift one eyebrow at the co-conspirators giggling away by the door. “I should get started if we want him back to normal before the next meeting of the Magic High Council.”

“We’ll get out of your way,” Madara took the hint, thankfully.

“Don’t forget to feed him. No sugar though, he was a demon whenever he ate sugar at that age.”

“Got it.”

Hashirama whined but Madara was already turning to leave with a little extra bounce in his step to distract the tiny body on his hip.

Although he did his best not to be obvious about it Tobirama watched them until the door closed behind his favorite pair of mischief makers. Only after their voices began to fade down the hallway did he turn and cast a weather eye over the messy study. How his brother got anything done in here was beyond him. Every inch of him itched to clean up, mourning briefly that he hadn’t been born with an affinity for air magic. With air he could have simply waved his hand and called the spirits to help him tidy the room without so much as moving from this spot, could have spent his hours in the library calling books to him without getting up, but alas he had been born with a connection to water instead.

The pile where he started took more than an hour to sift through and at the end he found nothing but the tear stains left by a confused young-again toddler. It probably wouldn’t have taken him half that long just to look at all the book titles and determine whether they were a likely culprit but his instincts demanded that he organize as he went, sorting the books in to categories by subject and gathering the papers that seemed to go together in separate piles as well. Several of the scrolls were unmarked and those he set aside for later. Messing with unknown, possibly magical artefacts was a mistake he’d made several times before. Now was not the time for a repeat. If the rest of the chaos around him yielded nothing he would look in to the unmarked items with due caution and only after advising someone else to come check that he wasn’t dead afterwards.

From there Tobirama began to move around the perimeter of the room, going through each new spot of chaos with a fine toothed comb, leaving order in his wake when he moved on. It saddened him to know that all this effort would probably be ruined in less than a week after his brother was free in here once more.

Beneath one pile of debris he discovered a couch and under a different one he found a table. In one pile after several hours of labor he found some books that he had loaned to his sibling and never gotten back, told they were mysteriously lost somewhere. From now on anything he loaned this idiot would be tethered to a tracking rune and carefully monitored; then the first time Hashirama tried to say something was lost he was going to go dig it up out of this trash heap of a room and commit violence with it.

Maybe he would even let Madara watch. The man did always seem like he could use a good laugh.

Over half the room had been torn apart and rebuilt in to piles of satisfying organization before Tobirama finally unearthed a clue as to what his brother had been messing with. Bundled under a few tomes about interdimensional flora trades he found one that he himself hadn’t read yet, though he remembered mentally noting it for a future subject of interest. Age manipulation was one of the few subsections of time magic he had yet to turn his attention to. His last experiments in those areas had led to tears from several of their neighbors and angered Kawarama so badly his youngest sibling had refused to speak to him for a whole year. Not truly such a large portion of their extended life spans but he’d felt the loss all the same and no matter what others thought he was capable of learning from his mistakes. Even if the mistake he interpreted was not being sneaky enough with his research.

There were probably at least a dozen other ways that Hashirama might have landed himself in the state that he did but finding materials specifically to do with age regression magic in his possession was fairly damning evidence for that possibility. Just in case, Tobirama took a moment to pause and look around the rest of the room. One corner that he hadn’t yet gotten to was an area he very rarely saw his brother digging in to and had thus left it to be dealt with last. Now he looked a little closer and noticed that several piles of nonsense had all been very carefully arranged to give the appearance of being the same old stacks of garbage while concealing a cleared area in the very center, a suspicious little set up if he’d ever seen one. Tobirama set down the thick Treatise on Age Manipulation: Techniques of the Elemental Nations and padded his way across the carpet on silent feet as though if he made too much noise he might startle away whatever lay in the hidey hole before him.

As soon as he poked his head around one tall stack of paper he was frowning deeply, more suspicious than ever. In the very center of the mess, hidden from sight at any other angle but the one he was looking from, a small area had been cleared out to set up an obvious workspace. He remembered when they were little and Hashirama had been so fond of building himself little forts or secret hideaways where he could practice with the natural magics in his blood, making games out of pretending to be some Master Enchanter conducting secret experiments.

Fun as it was to think back to such innocent times from two centuries before, not even the nostalgia of childhood was going to save Hashirama from his wrath if it turned out the idiot had done all this on purpose. With a deep scowl scoring lines in his forehead to match the tattoos on his cheeks, Tobirama slid carefully in to the cleared out space and hunkered down, pulling several open notebooks towards himself to read through his brother’s familiar handwriting.

His fears were proven disgustingly true in but a few pages. Judging by the typically scatter-brained notes, it seemed that not only was this not an accident but that Hashirama had actively sought out this brand of magic for the specific purpose of regressing himself to a toddler. Why he wanted to be seven years old again was not mentioned in the initial notes and so Tobirama read on with a headache already forming from clenching his jaw too tightly.

Two more notebooks of terribly organized outlines and vague descriptions of eighteen different experiments granted Tobirama no more clarity on the situation, although he did pick up enough crumbs of information to piece together a decent knowledge of the subject matter. His temper was barely contained by the time he worked his way down to the final notebook. Fascinating as he had always found it comparing the theories of one spell to another, he needed to figure out which one had actually been used that morning in order to properly reverse it. Truly a regrettable restriction.

Well, regrettable from Hashirama’s point of view, probably. He was the one who would suffer the wrath of an angry water mage until Tobirama had worked out the frustration of this moment.

The last notebook left unread sat open to a random page that Tobirama smacked his hand down on in a temper. Dragging it towards him across the worksurface made the distinct sound of crumpling paper as he did so. Instantly mired with an instinctual scholar’s guilt, he very carefully lifted the book to peer underneath and assess whatever damage he’d just done.

A lone sheet of parchment fluttered back in to place where he easily identified it as a letter. The frown that already might as well be permanently etched in to his face deepend at the sight of his own name at the top. Why in the many interdimensional worlds would his brother need to write to him? They lived right next door to each other! Setting the notebooks aside, he used both hands to smooth out the rest of the letter and held the edges down so he could skim the contents. The moment he reached the bottom his eyes snapped back to the top for a more careful read through since clearly he must have hallucinated what he thought he’d just read.

Nothing changed. Tobirama’s hands were shaking with rage as he read through his brother’s words for a third time like they might somehow change in to something less stupid.

Dear Tobi

If you’re finding this then my plans are in motion! You will be very proud of me, I’m sure, for how carefully I conducted my experiments and research. Just like you!

Watching you and Madara dance around each other the way you have been for half a century is starting to get ridiculous. I really hate seeing both of you so lonely but you both refuse to do anything about it so I decided to do that myself. You’ll thank me, I promise!

The spell I’ll be using will bring my body and mind back to when I was a child - but I guess you’ll already know that when you find this. Don’t worry for me, I still have all my memories. But there is only one way to break the spell and bring me back to normal. All you have to do is say a few simple words. Easy, right? I hope so because the words I chose for my release incantation are words you should have said a long time ago.

You have to ask Madara on a date! Isn’t that fun? I told you that you would thank me later! You can’t just say any old words, though, you have to say it exactly like this: “Madara, it would make me very happy if you would take me on a date tomorrow.” You deserve to be pampered. He should be the one taking you out and treating you nice!

I can’t wait to see how happy you’ll be when I’m back to normal!

Love, Hashirama (the best big brother in the world)

The sound of crumpling parchment filled the air around him, fingers clenching in to the letter with white-knuckled rage. Happy was not even close to any of the feelings chasing red hot through his blood. After he managed to get this idiot back to his usual height Tobirma was going to punch the man right back down to the ground. Stagnant thought it may be, his love life was his own damn business.

His first instinct, of course, was to tear his way through the final notebook in search of which exact spell his brother had ended up using. Almost every curse and rune and incantation that had ever been crafted could be broken or cancelled out by something if a man was desperate enough to do something stupid - and Tobirama was fairly desperate not to get backed in to such a ridiculous corner. Of all the hills he’d been prepared to die on over the years this probably ranked among the pettiest and yet that knowledge did nothing to stop him from slapping the notebook back down in a rush of fury when he discovered what he had most feared.

For a very stupid man Hashirama did have his moments of evil genius. All the notes appeared to be there just as they had been for the rest but here the letters were blurred with some sort of privacy seal, visible only to Hashirama’s eyes. The only thing keeping Tobirama from whipping the entire thing across the room was knowing he would feel compelled to go clean up whatever mess his little hissy fit might cause.

Dragging both hands down his face, he leaned back in what small space was available and tilted his head back to look up blankly at the ceiling, wracking his brain for a way to get around this. He knew dozens of counter-enchantments that could be attuned to different spells but of course Hashirama had known those would be his answer. Without knowing how to attune them he could end up hurting the idiot before he had a chance to murder him properly and that was far from what he wanted. Revenge would be sweet - but deliberate.

It couldn’t hurt anything to go home and do a little research of his own to see if there was some solution that might not be occurring to him in the panic. He had salvaged dozens of seemingly hopeless experiments over the years long after something appeared to be impossible, he wouldn’t know until he tried. With any luck he might stumble upon some hidden nugget of information to save the day and prevent him from making such an utter fool of himself in front of Madara by asking questions he was fairly sure he already knew the answer to. No need to expose himself like that. He’d been lucky in his experiments before, there was no reason to think he might not be lucky again.

Except for perhaps the fact that fate was often a bitch like that, abandoning him when he needed her most.

There was nothing really to pack up since none of the materials around him would be very useful so it only took a moment to squeeze his way back out of the little fort before he could head for the exit. Concentrated as he had been on the task of figuring out what the fuck was going on, his brain had rather easily filtered out the muted sounds drifting over from the other end of Hashirama’s ridiculously oversized home. Thanks to some rather clever seal work designed by Mito the inside of the house was nearly three times as large as the outside, new rooms and wings added on whenever Hashirama took a fancy to some new hobby or another. Until he was intercepted halfway to the front door Tobirama hadn’t realized one of the newest additions was a nursery.

“Play!” Hashirama’s tiny voice demanded with childish imperialism. “Tobi play!”

“Get back here you miniaturized tree! How the hell do you move so fast- oh.” Madara froze in the doorway, arms outstretched where he had clearly been attempting to capture his runaway charge.

“Having fun, are we?” Tobirama murmured. He tilted his head down to see two wide brow eyes staring back at him as though he’d hung the very stars in the sky. It’d been years since any of his brothers looked at him like that. Some small corner of his heart melted instantly, fingers twitching with the need to pull this tiny figure up on to his hip for a good cuddle.

Madara straightened up and cleared his throat. “You don’t need to check up on us, you know.”

“Up!”

“Not now, Anija.” Absently patting the man-child’s hair, Tobirama lifted one eyebrow. “I was on my way to look a bit deeper in to our options for this rather unorthodox situation. My own laboratory is much better equipped for such research so if the two of you would excuse me. Anija, please let go now.”

Hashirama’s bottom lip wobbled dangerously. “No. Tobi has to play!”

Difficult to tell at the best of times, it was even harder to figure out if his emotions were real or put upon with such an earnest and tiny face. He hadn’t lost his memories, after all, only his emotional and mental maturity. Which wasn’t all that great to begin with but Tobirama had been given enough lectures on the subject not to mention that anymore - at least not where sensitive ears might carry his words to a vengeful Mito.

“I can’t stay and play, Anija, I need to work on getting you back to normal.” And planning his revenge, of course, though he refused to give any hints of that. Surprises were supposed to be fun, or so he’d been told.

“But Toooobiiiiii!” Hashirama’s pudgy fingers curled around his leg in a stubborn embrace. “I already said how! I wroted you a letter! Play!”

“The correct word is ‘wrote’,” Tobirama corrected him out of sheer habit. He may not have accepted any of the teaching positions offered to him over the years but there would always be an educator buried somewhere in his heart.

Nodding furiously, the limpet clinging to him faithfully repeated his correction. “Wrote! Now come give me piggyback rides? Madara’s really good at them but his hair is all slippy and I keep sliding off!”

Listening to the strange mesh of adult language and the childish need to bastardize grammar was bound to give him a headache in less than five minutes. Hashirama’s pronunciation was perfect, it was clear he was aware of every mistake in his sentences, so Tobirama was left to conclude that it was all very deliberate. The undersized nuisance was acting as childish as he could to play it up. He had to be. Nothing else could explain how he remembered writing that letter but ‘didn’t remember’ how to properly communicate as such.

Even worse, it was working. Tobirama could feel his resolve weakening with every tug as Hashirama pulled insistently at his fingers. In his current state he had next to no strength and barely a fraction of his usual body weight, there was really no reason he should be able to pull a fully grown man around, and yet Tobirama found himself shuffling forward in half steps anyway. As an instinctual defense against his own stupidly soft heart he made sure to roll his eyes heavenward in an expression of great suffering. From the quiet snort that Madara let out he could guess that his efforts were wasted. So much for all-consuming rage.

As he allowed himself to get pulled in to what looked like the aftermath of a tornado Tobirama quickly revised his plans. He would allow himself to be distracted for ten minutes or so, just enough time to appease Hashirama, then he would head home as planned and see if there was anything helpful to be gleaned from his personal library.

“Maddy helpeded me build a tower!” Hashirama scurried over to show him the wobbly structure made out of wooden rune blocks, imitations of the stones and charms Tobirama himself often peddled for money. Not exactly work to be proud of but it was fairly easy income and quick fingers meant he could produce them fast enough to give himself lots of time for the research he was truly interested in. Pride was all well and good until it got in the way of his experiments.

“It’s a very...tower.” Try as he might Tobirama couldn’t bring himself to compliment that architectural monstrosity.

“He worked very hard on that,” Madara pointed out.

Tobirama turned to level him with a flat stare. “I have my own hard work to be doing right now.”

“Awww but you haven’t even given me a piggyback ride yet!” Abandoning his tower, Hashirama toddled over to strike an admittedly very cute pose. “Stop trying to run away, little brother!”

“Which one of us is little right now?” he snapped back.

Madara didn’t even bother to stifle the bark of laughter that jerked his entire frame, although he did turn his face away to let out a long bout of snickering. Being mocked by him was nothing new, that was pretty much the basis for most of their interactions, but it still wasn’t pleasant to realize he was acting so childishly in front of the man he had such unfortunate feelings for. Tobirama just barely stopped himself from crossing his arms; that would have really driven the nails down in his coffin.

Instead he appeased himself with a pointed glare down at the little body dancing from side to side near his feet. He’d sort of forgotten just how fidgety his brother had been at this age. Of course, the years hadn’t really dulled the habit all that much, just enough that he was able to pass for a semi-respectable adult for short spurts at a time.

“One ride,” Tobirama offered stiffly. “I will take you once around the room and then you will let me leave. Do we have a deal?”

“No! You have to play with both of us!”

“What on earth led you to believe you have any sort of bargaining power here?”

Daring to produce a sunny smile, Hashirama giggled in his face, clearly unaware of the massive hole he was digging for himself by the minute. Vengeance would be sweet once he was returned to a mental state that would understand the sort of tortures Tobirama had in mind.

“If you don’t play with me I’ll tell Maddy what I wrote in the letter!”

Tobirama had never snatched a child off the ground so fast in all his life. Doing his best to ignore the curious and increasingly irritated questions from Madara, he settled his brother across both shoulders and began trotting about the room. When Hashirama demanded it he even gave a very flat neigh. If they had been alone, if this were any other child on his back, he would have had so much more enthusiasm for play. Normally he loved kids. With Madara doubled over in the corner and both hands wrapped around his stomach to contain the mirth it was a little harder than usual to lose himself in the joy of youthful innocence.

Once around the room was deemed far from enough when he tried to stop. All it took was one glance over at Madara for him to set off again with barely a grumble. Mortifying as this was, making the other man laugh was preferable to letting him catch his breath enough for curiosity to set in again. He must have heard something about the letter. Or maybe he hadn’t and the spirits had for once decided to have mercy and allow Tobirama to escape this room without embarrassing himself with the one thing he would never recover from - his feelings.

For perhaps a whole five minutes he was allowed to have hope. Hashirama directed him like a little general on several laps around the nursery before dragging him over to the blocks and demanding he help make an ‘even betterer’ tower. With his guidance the results were at least structurally sound, if not entirely practical. He wasn’t so sure how necessary it was to have so many rooftops. After playing with the rune blocks Hashirama cheerfully announced that he wanted to play dress up and that, unsurprisingly, was where Tobirama drew the line. There were many things he would do to save himself from the fate his brother had chosen to be his doom but putting on a fashion show for a toddler and a man with the power to burn memories in to his own mind was not one of those things. Just the thought of whatever monstrosities might be hiding in this home, waiting for his tortured form to be stuffed in to them, was enough to turn his stomach. His brother was not known for any sort of fashion sense.

“Alright, that is enough,” he declared, standing up to brush imaginary lint from his pants. “You asked that I play with you and I have. Now I will be going-”

“But you didn’t play with Maddy at all!” Hashirama’s tiny legs fluttered him across the room to hang off his best friend’s sleeve.

“I don’t think he’s all that heart broken about it,” Tobirama pointed out flatly.

To his horror, Madara chose that moment to feel a little mischievous. “How would you know? Maybe I’m just torn apart inside with despair that you could possibly think to leave me out of the fun. Come now, Senju, stay and play with me too!”

“Oh! We could have a sleepover!” Clapping both hands to either side of his face, Hashirama’s eyes practically glittered at the very thought.

He wilted sadly when Tobirama shot him down with a short, “No.”

“Whyyyyy!?”

“Because I have work to do.”

“No you don’t!” Hashirama stuck his tongue out. “You just want to go and read a bunch of books a-’cause you’re trying not to ask Maddy-”

“FINE!”

Both of them stared at him with wide eyes for such an unexpected outburst. Madara’s eyes quickly narrowed again in thought, a dangerous expression. The man may have been famous for his manipulation of fire magics but only because there were so few people who had witnessed just what those dangerous eyes could do and lived to tell the tale. And as much as Tobirama knew that should have sobered him with fear he could only mentally sigh at the warm burst of intrigue that bloomed in his chest.

Clearing his throat, he did his best to smooth away the panic from his expression and coached his voice to more normal, less panicked tones.

“If you absolutely must then you may have your...sleepover.” The word came out through gritted teeth.

“Why do I keep picking up hints that there’s something you don’t want me to know?” Madara asked.

“Because there is something I don’t want you to know.”

The offended squawk was amusing, at least. Madara always had this way of bristling like an angry hedgehog whenever they traded their usual insults and that, Tobirama realized now, was probably the origin of his downfall. He couldn’t help it if his poor taste thought it was cute to see an already wild man made even wilder as his hair spiked up and his cheeks puffed out with indignation.

Before his thoughts could run too far away and bring any sort of damning color to his face Tobirama followed tiredly along with his little-older brother’s instructions to set up the room for a good old camp out. In a magically expanded mansion like this one there were a dozen or so futons to choose from. Hashirama picked out the ones he declared the cushiest and conducted his two temporary slaves to drag them through the halls, hemming and hawing with all his seven-year old eye for decorating, demanding they rearrange things four times before it was perfect. If he were honest it looked completely the same to Tobirama in each iteration but he knew better than to say so. He wasn’t looking for a three hour lecture on home decor from someone whose voice had reversed to prepubescence.

When all was about as perfect as he wanted it to be Hashirama threw his tiny body in to the very middle of the mess and began squirming around with all four limbs flailing. Irritating as the situation might be, that was still an adorable sight that forced Tobirama to hide a smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to wait at least until the little idiot fell asleep before he slipped away to hit the books. He just hoped that whatever spell had shrunk his brother would not have any adverse effects with lengthy exposure; it would be just his luck to finally have everyone back to their correct age only to discover that he had accidentally saddled himself with a man forever stuck in the mind of a child.

Not to mention that Mito would have his head for that.

He wasn’t the only one who seemed suspiciously okay with the proceedings. As unselfconsciously as though he were entirely alone, Madara straightened to pull off his outer robes and reached back to sweep the great mass of his long hair behind him. While he listened to Hashirama chatter excitedly about the bedtime stories they should tell he separated his hair in to three sections and began to braid the lot of it in to a thick rope. It was entirely unfair how much more approachable he looked without all that snarled black wire bristling around his head.

Tobirama looked away before anyone could catch him staring. He occupied himself instead with fussing at some of the blankets, turning the edges down and pulling them in to place a little better. Presumably Hashirama would be sleeping in the center and even at his full size he somehow managed not to hold on to any body heat during the night. All the blankets around them might feel excessive but they were probably necessary.

In an effort to relax himself he allowed his body to flop down over the mess of bedding, grateful when his head landed at least somewhat over a pillow. There would be no escape until little eyes had fallen asleep so he might as well get comfortable for now and since he had no long hair to braid or extraneous outer layers to remove there was nothing to do but consciously loosen the muscles in his body until he felt himself all but melting down in to the futon. Someday when this nursery was occupied by actual children he was pleased to note that they would undoubtedly be quite comfortable with soft beds, tasteful decor carefully chosen for a soothing atmosphere, and so many spells layered together for climate control he didn’t think it was even possible for one to grow cold in this room - unless you were Hashirama. A good place to raise children.

Crude as it was, his plan of waiting until Hashirama fell asleep to make his escape sounded perfectly fine right up until the tiny traitor passed out sprawled over his lap in the middle of a story he used to recite for their younger brothers. As soon as Tobirama realized what had happened he fell silent with a baleful glare.

“What’s he done now?” Madara asked with a snicker. “I thought the whole point of telling him stories was to make him fall asleep so what’s with that look?”

“I didn’t mean for him to do so on top of me.”

“Guess you’re trapped here with us, then.” Strangely enough, he didn’t look all that upset about it for a man who’d never seemed particularly enamoured with his best friend’s little brother.

Heaving a deep sigh of resignation, Tobirama closed his eyes and prayed to the spirits of water for patience. This was exactly the sort of situation he did not want to be in. He’d been stupid enough to admit that he was keeping something from Madara specifically and now here he was trapped in place at the other’s mercy. If he wanted to move he would risk waking Hashirama who was even more likely to simply blurt out his secrets than he was to reveal them on purpose. With despair he noted that it seemed Hashirama’s plan would be coming to fruition after all, the bastard. There didn’t seem like a way out of this now. If he woke Hashirama and left his Anija would simply tattle on him but if he stayed here Madara’s relentless personality would not stop until he had the answers he knew were being kept from him.

Staring back at the expectant grin watching him like a hawk, Tobirama could already taste defeat heavy on his tongue. He wasn’t going to get out of this without making a fool of himself. At least, he consoled himself, it wouldn’t be all that hard to avoid the man for a decade or so and by then either his feelings would hopefully have faded or Madara’s memories would have.

“Anything you want to fess up to while we’re stuck together?”

“You,” Tobirama snarled, “are not stuck anywhere. He’s not even a little on top of you.”

“I forgot how cute he used to be - in a dorky sort of way. The lack of bowl cut is a definite improvement.” Already sitting with his legs crossed, Madara folded himself a little tighter so he could lean down and inspect the small sleeping face between them.

Tobirama did his best not to track the movements of that thick braid or think about how much he wanted to unravel it loop by loop with his own fingers. It took a sizable chunk of self control but he managed to meet the other’s gaze once Madara finally sat upright again. “After a prank like this one I am tempted to recreate the bowl cut while he sleeps. He deserves to be laughed out of town.”

“Oh come on, he’s just trying to get you to open your mouth as far as I can tell. So why don’t you just make your confessions and then everything will be fine, ne?”

“Go to hell.”

“Been there, done that, won the throne.”

“Ugh.”

Even that was enough to spawn some very interesting pictures in his mind, images of this man in dark robes lounging on the throne of hell, which made Tobirama glad that he had more self control than most. Otherwise having his brother spread across his lap would have suddenly become twice as awkward.

“Go on then, putting us both out of our miseries now would save a lot of time and badgering,” Madara said.

“And yet I still find myself reluctant to say anything,” Tobirama shot back.

“It must be extra embarrassing then; I’ve got to know!”

With a scowl he turned his head away and declared, “No, you don’t.”

“The more you protest the more curious I become,” Madara laughed. The truth of the statement brought one of Tobirama’s hands up to drag tiredly down his face.

“Right. I should have expected that. Would the reason why we’re in this situation satisfy you? That sounds like a decent compromise to me - and brother is always whining at the two of us to compromise more.” It wasn’t as though they didn’t get along at all but they were both possessed of cantankerous personalities that led to bickering more often than not. Hashirama hated it but Tobirama was often grateful for the way his feature naturally affected a scowl, neatly hiding the fact that he actually enjoyed their verbal spars.

“Sounds entertaining, at least!”

“Hmph.”

Entertaining the other was the last thing he was after, no matter how deviously attractive Madara looked when he was bent over with laughter at someone making a fool of themselves. Right now his biggest concern was mitigating the damage. With that in mind he shored up what little courage he had left the matter and cleared his throat.

“In a stroke of brilliance that I was unaware he possessed - and will happily beat out of him later - Anija located a spell that requires an incantation to break. He chose a certain phrase that he would like me to say, something he has made the decision on my behalf that desperately needs to be said out loud no matter my personal feelings on the matter.” Tobirama took a deep breath in an effort not to get himself riled up. “In short, I am under duress to make confessions I would rather not. Does that satisfy you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Madara declared with a grin.

“You cannot be serious!”

His companion fell back in to the bedding with a bark of laughter. “If anything I’m even more curious. So he won’t turn back in to an adult unless you say whatever he set as the decantation?”

“Mn.”

“Would just be easier to get it over with, wouldn't it?”

“Not really.” Tobirama studied a spot on the wall without actually seeing it. “One doesn’t just say things like this without expecting the consequences to be remembered. You do, after all, have quite the long memory when it comes to mocking others. Not so much when it comes to important dates.”

“I forgot his birthday one time! One time!”

For a moment he breathed a subtle sigh of relief. Madara seemed content to be distracted by going off on a rant about how it should be completely forgivable that in several hundred years he had only missed one of Hashirama’s birthdays, too deep in his studies to see the way time marched on around him. It was a state that Tobirama could more than sympathize with, although that did nothing to stop him from throwing it in the man’s face whenever he needed a good distraction.

To his poor luck, however, today his foolproof distraction failed him at last. Madara’s rant ended after only a handful of minutes when he snapped his jaw shut with a suddenness that clacked his teeth together. A curl of his top lip slowly blossomed in to something downright evil looking.

“Something you don’t want to say to me but Hashirama thinks that you should.” He cackled softly under his breath. “Oh this promises to be so embarrassing. Perfect! I have to know!”

“No, you don’t,” Tobirama said again.

“I really, really do.”

A growl slipped out between his teeth as he gnashed them together. “What would it take to convince you to just drop it?”

“More than you could ever afford,” Madara answered promptly.

“Would begging help?” Tobirama’s voice carried a note of mounting desperation.

Yet still Madara shook his head, expression filled with malicious delight. His toes were practically wriggling with it. If it weren’t for the visual comparison spread across his own lap Tobirama might have been tempted to call the man a child for looking so pleased over something so cruel.

Why, in the name of all things holy, did he find that so attractive? Clearly there was something wrong with him.

“I’m afraid you just talked yourself in to a corner by piquing my interest even more. Which means that you have two options.” Madara held up his fingers in a V shape. “One, you tell me whatever this gift wrapped blackmail is yourself. Two, I wake Hashirama up and we hear it from his mouth instead.”

Tobirama stared at him with his heart sinking in his chest because the man was right. He had only two options and of those two he knew which one would feel worse. Saying the words himself was going to end in pain - for more than just himself if his plans for revenge had anything to say about it - but cowering in the corner like a shy child ashamed of his own feelings while someone else exposed his vulnerabilities? Just the thought of standing back and letting that happen made him shudder. It took several tries drawing breath deep in to his lungs but eventually he was able to force his chin up, shoulders square. He held Madara’s gaze for all of three second before his eyes skittered away of their own accord to stare at the wall instead.

“Madara,” he breathed, “it would make me very happy if you would take me on a date tomorrow.”

“W-what?”

“AH!” The booming baritone of Hashirama’s voice was startling after an afternoon of listening to his seven year old squeaking, almost more of a distraction than the way his body returned abruptly to its usual size with a rending crack that echoed off the walls. When he sat up he did so with the clumsy movement of a new faun learning its own legs. “Did I fall asleep? How did the story end? Why does my voi- oh! Oh brother! You must have asked him! I’m so proud of you, I can’t wait to hear how your first date goes!”

Shoving his giant lump of a brother off, Tobirama ignored the indignant whine as he surged upwards to his feet and stormed towards the door. “Don’t hold your breath. The answer is no.”

“You said no!?” Hashirama exclaimed, turning to his best friend who sat very still with a poleaxed expression.

“I didn’t say anything…”

“He never said anything, Tobi. How do you know what his answer is if you don’t let him speak?”

“Easy.” When he paused at the door to look over one shoulder he could meet neither of their eyes. “There was never a chance he would say yes.”

Without waiting to hear a response from either of them he turned back to the door and left, down the hall and through the many twisting corridors of his brother’s stupidly large home. Drafting seals in his mind to cancel out the magic expanding the inside of Hashirama’s house was so much easier to think about than the fact that he would probably have to avoid Madara for the next couple of decades. The man did have a long memory. There was really no guarantee he would ever forget but hopefully the shine of mocking Tobirama for his feelings would have faded away by the time he allowed them to talk again.

His nose wrinkled against the cold when he finally managed to find his way outside to the cobblestone streets of the capital city. Council meetings; he’d forgotten that all three of them sat together on the Magic High Council. That would make it infinitely harder for him to avoid conversing with either of those morons but he was sure he could find a way. Maybe he could design a rune that would remove his voice for a while.

No, that would make it difficult to sell his wares when he needed money. Not to mention that many of the spells he spent his time researching required incantations. He would have to think of something else.

It wasn’t exactly a long journey to his own modest home next door, although with his head lost in the swirl of dark thoughts it felt like it took forever to get there. Stepping in to the ring of fae-fire light illuminating his front step brought with it the familiar shiver of wards scanning him for ill intent and he was glad to have his attention pulled back to reality. Thinking about Madara wouldn’t do him any good. It never had before. Tomorrow he could lock himself away with several notebooks and brainstorm some underhanded method or another to minimize the contact between them until he could meet the other man’s eyes again but for now the best thing would be to just get some sleep.

The house was dark and Tobirama didn’t bother to turn on any lights, familiar enough with his own layout not to need them. Living by himself as he had for so long meant that he really felt no desire to expand the inside as his brother had. What need did he have of more space? He already had more rooms than he knew what to do with, filling most of them with books and the results of failed experiments, so the thought of adding more felt ridiculous.

Even without light enough to see it Tobirama could feel the comfort of his living room the moment he stepped inside. Well worn carpet buoyed his steps on his way to collapse down over the threadbare couch. Not many things in his house had been replaced in the past couple of centuries. Impressing the rare guests who entered was far less important to him than the precious memories attached to every item here that had been with him through discoveries, achievements, and heartbreaks. He gave the cushions underneath him a chance now to help him through one more of the latter as he stretched out on his back to stare up at the shadows on the ceiling. Would that he could turn his mind off. To not think any thoughts for several hours would be a wonderful boon at the moment but sleep felt as far away as the ocean.

A good thing, as it turned out. The spirits of water only knew what sort of reaction he might have had to being awakened by the sound of booted feet storming in to the room and a violent hand smacking the light switch without looking. Despite knowing exactly who had invaded his home - he knew those footsteps, would always know the pattern of that confident stride - Tobirama pulled himself in to a sitting position where he could glare down his unwanted guest.

“I have never understood,” he growled, “how you always bypass my wards.”

“Don’t need to. They let me in just fine.”

“They shouldn’t!”

“Why the hell not?”

Shifting forward to the edge of his seat, Tobirama pointed back down the hall. “Get out. I have better things to spend my night doing than being mocked by you - like figuring out what loophole you’ve found that keeps letting you in here.”

“They’re intent based, aren’t they? I get in because I have no intent to harm you in any way.” In deliberate ignorance of being asked to leave Madara stepped further in to the room. Somehow he managed to look both his usual confident self and oddly hesitant, arms folded closely to his chest.

“Like hell you don’t. It’s not just physical harm they’re supposed to guard me against. Just leave. I don’t want to listen to whatever-”

“Just let me talk!”

Sitting down while the other hovered menacingly over him felt like weakness, like offering himself as bait, so Tobirama stood to fold his own arms with a frown. “I’m sure I don’t want to hear whatever it is you came here to say.”

Whether that be mockery or some kind of apology for not returning his feelings he really didn’t want to listen. Both options would hurt equally as bad. It was something he had observed long before falling prey to the same thing himself; beings like themselves with lives extended by the magic in their veins tended to harbor their pains much deeper and much longer than the humans with more natural lifespans. He’d been in love with Madara for so long it was hard to remember when he first decided to push it all down and simply forge ahead. Learning to let these feelings go was going to be even harder than learning to ignore them had been.

“I think you do. But first I need to know; did he make you ask me that because…”

“Don’t make me say it,” Tobirama said quietly, looking away.

“So you do... Then you meant what you said to Hashirama? You really think there’s no chance at all that I could ever say yes to you?” Madara took another step forward only to pause when Tobirama took a step back in answer.

A glare probably wasn’t enough answer so he forced himself to say, “Obviously.”

“W-What do you mean ‘obviously’? That’s not- Like hell!”

“Either make sense or leave. Actually, just leave. Now.” Tobirama took a step back with the intention of turning and walking away. His bedroom was much more heavily warded than the rest of the house, he would be safe in there from whatever the hell was going on.

He froze when Madara blurted out, “I would have said yes!”

“I...beg your pardon?”

The particular shade of red currently spreading across Madara’s face was one Tobirama had long ago learned to associate with an impending explosion, generally one of words and almost always directed at himself. Some part of him braced for impact out of sheer habit even as the rest of his body hung loose with shock and his thoughts ground to a stuttering halt. He watched Madara fidget and held his breath.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. You like me, I’m allowed to like you back!”

“Since when!?” Tobirama demanded. Then, because that didn’t feel like enough, he also spluttered his way through, “How? What? Me?”

“Of course you! It’s always been you! You’re the only one who knows how to properly yell back at me, you’re so smart already and you still spend every day lost in your studies, you’re more attractive than I know what to do with; who the hell wouldn’t say yes to all that?” With a toss of his head Madara scoffed and tried to stand casually as though he weren’t blushing redder than his own family crest.

Tobirama could only stare. “I don’t...what?”

By the determined expression on the other’s face Tobirama figured he should probably turn tail and run when Madara began marching across the room towards him. As luck had it, he was still too deep in shock to do anything but stand there like an idiot until his collar was bunched up in a pair of fists.

“Fuck it,” Madara snarled. “Neither of us was ever any good at words anyway.”

Despite all the clues laid out so neatly in a row for him Tobirama’s first thought when he was yanked forward was that he was about to be headbutted, a ridiculously mundane attack considering how much magical power they both wielded. Nothing could have possibly surprised him more than Madara’s lips crushing against his own in a kiss that began as brutally as their clashes ever had only to soften, taking and taking and then suddenly asking, exploring, reaching out with a question he could finally understand. It took several heartbeats for him to respond through the shock but when he did-

Oh, when he did. Centuries of yearning coalesced inside him and faded away to dust as he slid his fingers in to midnight hair and tilted his head for a better angle, a deeper kiss. Madara sighed in to the affection like he too had been waiting much too long for this moment. The feeling of that strong body pressed against his own was like finding the other half of himself and finally finally coming back together again. Tobirama held tight and prayed that none of this would disappear when he woke the next morning.

“Was that clear enough?” Madara asked him in breathless words, quiet as though he didn’t want to disturb the moment.

“I will have a lot of questions,” Tobirama warned him. “Later. Just- again.” He was grateful that his incoherency made sense to the other, pulled in for another kiss that felt like learning how to breathe for the first time.

They could have made their way to the bedroom, to the couch he was still right next to, up against the wall or anywhere really. It was late and the day had been filled with more emotions than either of them were accustomed to dealing with in such a short time span. Still they remained where they were. Even when the kisses began to fade and the desperation in their movements settled in to the confounding knowledge that this was truly happening they stood where they were, wound together with their eyes closed and their cheeks pressed against each other in silence. Tobirama breathed in the scent of smoke and ash, closed his eyes, and smiled.

Maybe he wouldn’t kill his brother after all. It was possible - unlikely as it sounded - that Hashirama had been right in the end. And as much as Tobirama protested the methods used to force his words in to the light he was self-aware enough to know that he would never have said them otherwise, too wrapped up in his own interpretations to see the truth.

Another deep breath and Tobirama admitted to himself that he should probably thank his brother. Without interference he might have never had the opportunity to feel the beat of Madara’s heart against his own, the way their chests pressed together with every synchronized breath in. His eyes cracked open but it was only to crinkle at the edges with a smirk as evil as he had ever been accused of being. Thanking Hashirama could come after the revenge he was equally owed. A few smiles, a day or two of playing nice, and he was sure he could weasel out of the man which spell he had used to reverse his age. Tobirama was patient. Locking his brother in that limited body for a week or so would be so much sweeter after Mito came home and he could leave the idiot to her lack of mercy. Only after apologies had been given on bended knee would he relent.

“You’re thinking something evil,” Madara’s voice rumbled in his ear. “Your fingers always twitch when you do.”

“Sorry-”

“I like it. You’ve always been a mean son of a bitch and that’s part of what I like about you. Share whatever evil thoughts you have in your head?”

Tobirama bit his lower lip to keep himself from laughing, curling tighter around the body in his arms as he whispered, “Stay.”

“Always,” Madara whispered back. “I always meant to stay.”

It seemed like it should be impossible to have everything he wanted handed to him as easily as that but Tobirama was hardly going to question it. He questioned enough in his research. All thoughts of giving thanks or revenge could wait until after he’d spent at least a few good hours memorizing the way it felt to finally hold this man in his arms.

Pressing their lips together again was more of a rush than any magical discovery had ever given him, dusting his cheeks with a pleasant warmth, and Tobirama decided that he was happy to stand here for the rest of time if it meant he never had to do anything but trade gentle kisses just like this. It felt like the events of tonight had gone by so fast he wasn’t entirely sure how any of this had happened but that was alright.

“Always. I like the sound of that.”

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