#character reflection

Aventurine’s latest gamble was one he hadn't anticipated: fatherhood. And while he was known for his cunning and calm in the face of danger, he had no strategy for this—no game to play. His child was his greatest unknown, and they had a way of defying expectations.

Suddenly, from across the room, the unmistakable sound of small feet scurrying broke the silence. Before he could register the moment fully, there they were—his little one, gleefully running toward him. But, alas, the floor was slippery beneath their tiny shoes.

Aventurine’s heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, he pushed himself from the table, his expression an unreadable mask, though his body tensed as he tracked their trajectory. His child, still oblivious to the danger, began to stumble—hands reaching forward for balance, their tiny body tipping perilously.

His movements were lightning-quick. Without hesitation, he swept in and caught them mid-air, lifting them up just before they could crash into the floor. His arms cradled them with the same calculated precision he applied to business deals.

They giggled, unaware of the near disaster, while Aventurine couldn’t suppress a small, wistful smile. The adrenaline rush of the moment lingered for only a second, but it made him realize that, in this chaotic game of life, he’d finally found something worth playing for.

"Careful there," he said, his voice light and playful, masking the fleeting unease he felt inside. "You’ve got to pace yourself in this game."

The room was bathed in the soft glow of early evening, a tranquil calm that was almost otherworldly. Sunday stood by the window, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon as he reflected on his recent decisions. His mind, always occupied by existential ponderings, occasionally sought refuge in the simple joy of watching his child play.

They were playing by the couch, their little fingers gripping the soft carpet beneath them as they tried to stand, tottering on wobbly legs. Sunday smiled softly, his eyes flickering with pride. A part of him couldn’t help but admire the resilience they displayed—a quality he himself had struggled to find in his own past.

As they took another step, Sunday’s serene focus shifted into mild alarm when they lost their balance. Their body tipped forward, heading toward the edge of the coffee table.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sunday’s wings fluttered slightly—a subconscious reaction—and he moved forward, his tall figure flowing across the room in a series of graceful strides. He reached out just in time, his hands effortlessly catching them before they could collide with the table.

The little one blinked up at him, eyes wide in surprise, and he simply smiled softly, cradling them close to his chest. It was the kind of simple moment that his idealistic heart cherished—a moment that needed no words, just the soft comfort of protection.

“You’ve got to learn to balance in life,” he murmured gently, his voice like a soft breeze. “But don’t worry, I’m here to help you.”

For a brief moment, he felt the conflicting pull of his old idealism—his desire to shield them from harm, even if it meant navigating the murky waters of his own internal struggles. But for now, he let that quiet turmoil fade into the background, focusing only on the warmth of the child in his arms.

The laboratory-like atmosphere of Ratio’s home was filled with the soft hum of mechanical devices and the constant presence of books and research papers, creating an environment that was always abuzz with activity and intellect. Despite his usual air of self-assurance, today was different. Today, he had been tasked with looking after his child while he took a break from his intellectual pursuits.

Ratio was sitting at his desk, absently fiddling with his latest experiment, when a sudden shriek broke his concentration. Looking up, he saw his child—still too young to understand the consequences of their actions—leaning precariously over the edge of the nearby chair, trying to grab at something just out of reach.

Ratio’s heart rate quickened, but only for a moment. He had no time for hesitation. A flash of motion, and before the child could tumble from their position, he was there. His hand shot out, fingers grasping the back of their tiny shirt as he yanked them back into his arms.

"Impressive," he muttered under his breath, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he straightened them up in his arms. "Calculated risk taken... or perhaps not. Should’ve known better than to allow you to wander too close to danger."

The child, seemingly unperturbed by the near-miss, giggled and reached for his glasses, earning a soft chuckle from him. His reaction was a blend of calculated precision and the rare warmth he afforded only to those few who had earned it. He placed them back on the floor gently, adjusting his posture as he turned back to his work.

"Always be careful when testing boundaries," he murmured, his tone both pedagogical and affectionate. "Though, you’ll likely break a few rules before you understand the full implications."

The quiet flicker of pride—almost imperceptible in his usual cool demeanor—was enough to remind him that perhaps, just maybe, there was more to life than pure intellect and unrelenting pursuit of knowledge.

The night had settled over the Xianzhou Luofu, its vast corridors bathed in soft moonlight as Jing Yuan sat on the large velvet sofa in the living room. The quiet hum of his surroundings was a welcome change from the bustle of his duties as General. Tonight, however, was not about politics or strategy. It was time with his child.

They were seated on the plush carpet, playing with colorful blocks, the room filled with the gentle sound of their laughter. Jing Yuan's eyes flickered from his quiet reflection to the playful movements of the child, their small hands stacking the blocks with surprising focus.

Just as he was about to indulge in a rare moment of relaxation, the child, a little too eager in their exploration, began to stand, wobbling unsteadily as they took a tiny step forward. Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed slightly, tracking every movement as they teetered dangerously close to the edge of a low table.

In an instant, his reflexes kicked in. He rose from his seat, his tall figure moving with an elegance that belied his usual languid demeanor. Without a sound, his hands shot out and caught the child just before they tumbled forward. The child, now cradled safely in his arms, blinked up at him, startled by the sudden movement.

"Careful," Jing Yuan said softly, his voice filled with a calm, knowing affection as he gently set them back on their feet. "It's easy to forget your balance, but it’s important to always be mindful of where you’re going."

The child giggled and reached for his arm, as though offering their own small form of reassurance. Jing Yuan smiled, his eyes softening in that rare moment of warmth, the fleeting sensation of peace that he had worked so hard to cultivate within the Xianzhou now extending to the quiet sanctuary of his home.

The dim light of Blade's home flickered, casting long shadows across the room where Blade sat, his arms folded across his chest. His usually cold, calculating demeanor was softened for the moment—he was at home, a place where the sharp edges of his mission seemed to dull just a little. His child, their presence almost a contradiction to his tortured past, was moving around the room, their tiny steps full of excitement and exploration.

His eyes followed them with a trace of something unspoken in his gaze. For all his power, his immortality, and his resolve to bring an end to his suffering, this—this quiet domestic moment with the child—was a reminder that there were things beyond his tragic existence.

But it didn’t last.

With a sudden, clumsy movement, the child, still unsteady on their feet, lost balance and began to fall towards the sharp edge of a table. Blade’s instincts kicked in—no hesitation, no thought of consequences. His hand shot out and, with uncanny precision, he caught the child in mid-air, their small form colliding gently against his chest. For a moment, the stillness was overwhelming. Blade’s heart didn’t beat, but in the silence, he felt something stir—a fleeting warmth that felt both foreign and familiar.

"Watch your step," Blade murmured, his voice low but laced with a tenderness he couldn’t quite hide. His gaze softened as the child looked up at him, a wide grin on their face as if nothing had happened.

The child wriggled out of his grasp, reaching for the toy they had been playing with earlier, completely unaware of how close they had come to danger. Blade stood for a moment, his gaze lingering on them, before a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—an expression he rarely wore, but one that seemed to fit in this quiet, domestic world that somehow had found its way into his immortal existence.

"Even the smallest steps can be dangerous," he murmured, almost to himself. "But I’ll always be here to catch you."

And with that, Blade returned to his silent watch, torn between the eternal path he had chosen and the fragile peace that, for now, seemed to be the only thing worth holding onto.

First, let's get the personal bias stuff out of the way. Why do I like her? What parts of her do I identify with? First of all, feeling overwhelmed and alone in a world that's far too big and often hostile. She goes on the Expedition expecting to be a hero who saves Lumiere, and her wake-up call is brutal and swift. I get that. I was thrown "in the deep end", so to speak; forced to learn to tread water while being battered by harsh reality. And I admire and attempt to mimic the grit and determination she shows, despite her fear. Secondly, her family issues - while I'm of the strong opinion that her family loves her and each other dearly, I know very well that no parent is perfect. In her grief, Aline neglected Alicia; that's not an easy thing for either to move past. It takes a lot of strength from both parties to overcome that gap.

Finally, the idea of Maelle as a trans metaphor has been brought up before by others, and while I don't ascribe to that particular headcanon of her character (though I find it interesting as an AU possibility), her reluctance to return to her "broken body" speaks to me in particular. Not just as someone who struggles with both physical and mental illness. I struggle with feelings that my body is the "wrong shape" in a way I can't describe easily. If I could escape to a Canvas where I could shape my body, my life to my liking, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

So yes, I empathize and relate to Maelle/Alicia, and while this does help me in writing from her POV (I hope), it also means I can be blind to her flaws and keen to side with her struggles over others'. So let's talk about those flaws.

As much as I value her agency in choosing her life (because anyone deserves that, regardless of age), that desire is tempered by the knowledge that she's depriving her family of another child. Her decision is well-meaning (for Lumiere's sake), but is also motivated by fear (refusal to return to a world that can hurt her) and self-loathing (belief that her family hates her for her mistake). In her stubbornness, she deprives Verso of his agency. And finally, while I don't think she's some kind of all-controlling goddess in her ending, it's still a world where she can likely remove most hardships with a literal flick of her wrist. A safe space to heal, perhaps, in moderation, but a life lived there is a life that won't grow and change much. It's why, despite defending both endings for their narrative purposes, I still lean more towards Verso's. (Even though in her position, I'd probably be as unwilling to leave as she is. "We're all hypocrites," huh.)

Of course, that's talking the endings at face value and assuming that Maelle never works up the courage to leave, or that Alicia doesn't dive headfirst into a Canvas of her own making. Kind of an unfortunate limitation of an "ending" - real people don't have narrative arcs that just stop, and the endings feel almost too simple for the complexity of the characters.

In conclusion. Yes, I relate to her, and I think it's a good thing in moderation and self-awareness - we can discover more about ourselves in the reflection of a character. I can be as blind to her weaknesses as I am to others' good points. Working on that; exploring her in writing definitely helps. (Trying not to go back and rewrite older works lol) In both ways, I suppose I'm no different from most other people in fandom. This isn't even the in-depth analysis of her that I hope to someday write, just a brief(ish) musing on why I like her and the flaws I need to be more aware of. A think piece to get my thoughts in order.

Batman needs a Robin. He does. Tim has done the calculations over and over and over again.

Batman can not exist by himself. He can not work alone. He specifically needs a Robin.

Cases solved increase, victim casualties decrease, injuries sustained decrease, Bruce's mood overall increases, and crime rate is drastically lowered. Tim's done the math. The math points to this deduction.

Batman needs a Robin.

Even through the changes in who wore which cape, the calculations still pointed to this fact:

Batman needs a Robin.

It's vital to Batman to have a Robin. It's vital to Gotham to have Batman.

It's easy for Tim to support that cause.

So, Tim gave all he could to Bruce. He helped him when he fell back into bad habits again and again and again and again and again.

It doesn't matter that Bruce hurts Tim sometimes. The man never means it maliciously. 

Tim even feels sorry for Bruce and his tendency to always lash out and hurt those he loves. He feels bad that the man needs Tim to help him and that no one else could or would.

This is why Tim became Robin. It's why he rarely directly confronts Bruce for the risk of Bruce not allowing that help. It's why he doesn't argue with the man in order to keep the peace. Tim just maneuvers behind Bruce's back.

It doesn't matter that Tim finds himself resorting to methods that make him uncomfortable or that he’s becoming shaped in Bruce's own ill-fitting shadow. As long as Batman is needed, Tim will be needed.

No matter the way it scrapes at Tim's need for independency.

Before he threw on a cape, Tim had friends. It wasn't easy to maintain friends, but he didn't lie to them. He didn't have to hide injuries, ditch plans, and spend most of their hangouts worrying about whether Bruce would be alive by the time Tim returned. 

With the stress and the tragedies and the way that Robin seemed to consume Timothy Drake, he looked up one day to realize he lost all of his friends. Robin had friends, important and deeply cherished ones, but Timothy Drake didn't. Between all of the death and Tim's distance, he lost everyone dear to just Tim. His only connections were through a mask.

Tim only realized that after the fact.

Bruce needs Tim, even if the man had plenty of other people to rely on.

He does.

And Tim? He's not Robin anymore. It has always been a temporary gig. No one has been an adult and Robin. Children grow up.

Still, Tim became Robin for Batman. He became the Dark Knight’s pillar, his light. He sacrificed so much because Batman needs a Robin.

And he still needs Tim.