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rocorambles · 3 years

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Mending the Cracks

Pairing: Daishou x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Choking, Spitting, DDLG, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation

Summary: Daishuo prides himself on his cool and collected facade, his ability to not let anyone see past his polite and put together appearances unless he wishes them to. But Kuroo has always had a special talent for getting under his skin and now it’s your turn to help mend the cracks the messy haired captain has accidentally created.

Roco once again turns a request that should have been just a rough jealous angry spicy PWP fic into a whole angst/fluff/comfort fic WITH rough jealous angry spice~

Your heart sinks as the referee blows the whistle signifying the end of the game, pride and disappointment swirling in a confusing mixture inside of you as you rush to your feet, already making your way out of the stands and towards the locker rooms. It had been a good game, a great game, one Nohebi should be proud of regardless of the end result, that Daishou should be proud of. Yet, you know that’s the farthest thing from what any of the boys are thinking of as they dejectedly shake hands with Nekoma, another chance of Nationals taken right from underneath their noses, Daishou’s last chance of Nationals gone, just like that.

You should be paying more attention to your surroundings, especially in such a crowded building with masses of spectators and athletes, but you’re too focused on rushing to your boyfriend as fast as you can, barely dodging the crowds and receiving more than a few dirty looks from people you accidentally bump into in your haste. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is comforting your lover, being there for him and reminding him that he’s still the most amazing person you know regardless of how one game went. And determinedly you quickly hook around the corner of the hall, only to yelp when you crash into something firm, the impact making you stagger back.

Mortification rushes through you once your body steadies itself and you fumble for words, stuttering out apologies when you realize what, or more specifically who, you’ve run into, practically diving to pick up the knee pads the other has dropped because of your carelessness. You can barely bring yourself to look up at the other person’s face, already cringing at the look of irritation you know you’ll receive (and frankly, deserve). But it’s the polite thing to do and your eyes slowly travel up and up a long, lean frame, only to blink in surprise when you see the amused smile on a handsome cat-like face as he plucks his knee pads from your hands.

He looks...familiar and you take a second to appraise him, eyes widening in shock when you recognize the Nekoma uniform and, emboldened by his lack of annoyance, you shyly smile, politely congratulate him on his team’s win and earning their ticket to Nationals.

You’re secretly glad your boyfriend is nowhere in sight, already knowing how childishly competitive he can get, especially where Nekoma is concerned. And you know he’d throw a fit if he saw you “consorting with the enemy”. But it’s the least you can do after running the poor guy over. Plus, Daishou really only has an issue with one person on the team and what are the chances that this athlete is…

“Oya? It’s not everyday someone decides to literally run me over. Nice to meet you. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.”

Crap.

You pray to anyone who’s listening that Daishou doesn’t walk in on this scene, can only imagine how bad it would look to be caught chatting with Kuroo Tetsurou of all people only minutes after Nekoma had swiped Nohebi’s chances of Nationals away from them, even before you’ve talked to your own boyfriend.

But when it rains it pours and unknown to you, narrowed eyes scowl at the both of you from down the hallway.

If Daishou’s honest, the outcome of the match isn’t surprising. Nekoma has always been a stronger team than Nohebi, as aggravating as it is to admit. But it doesn’t make the loss any easier and he knows he’s just looking for a reason to pick a fight when annoyance curls inside of him at how quietly and respectfully Kuroo shakes his hand, not a hint of the other’s usual provoking or teasing after the match is over. He knows it’s out of sportsmanship, but he can’t help but believe he sees his own self-pity reflected in those feline eyes. And he storms out before he accidentally makes a scene, mustering every last bit of his snake-like charm to plaster a smile on his face and force out some pleasantries and kind words to his team, all the while wanting nothing more than to rush into your arms and lock himself away as he comes to terms with his dreams being dashed.

So imagine the stomach sinking shock he feels as he rounds the corner in his search of you, only to stare in disbelief as you smile up at literally the only person in this entire building who he’d rather you not ever meet, the person who led the team that had just crushed his team’s hopes, seemingly in no hurry to excuse yourself.

Shock makes way for hot fiery fury fueled by jealousy and insecurity and before he can fully register what he’s doing, he’s storming towards you, startling both of you when he suddenly cuts in between, rigid and stiff with hostility and anger as he shoves his face mere inches away from Kuroo’s surprised one.

It’s startling to say the least to have his view of you suddenly replaced by a larger figure and Kuroo instinctively steps back, uncertainty filling him when he sees heavy shadows of pure unadulterated ill-intent in Daishou’s eyes.

Interactions with the Nohebi captain are always playful, even if the stinging words aren’t always exactly lighthearted and Kuroo enjoys their bantering and rivalry underscored by respect for each other that both captains would die before admitting to. But this...this is different and Kuroo can’t help but think that somehow they’ve accidentally crossed the line to a point of no return, that something terrible is on the verge of happening, jaw instinctively tightening and fists clenching in self-defense.

“Winning wasn’t enough for you, so now you’re trying to rub more salt in my wounds by hitting on my girl?”

Oh. OH.

Kuroo KNEW you looked familiar, unsure where to place you, but it all makes sense as his brain quickly puts the pieces together, frantically working under pressure as the snake in front of him rattles his tail and hisses. You’re the new girlfriend he’s seen in all of Daishou’s social media posts recently. And suddenly it’s his turn to fumble over words as he tries to calm the furious athlete in front of him, desperately trying to find a way to de escalate the situation without having to resort to anything physical, trying to reassure the other captain that it’s not what it looks like, wincing at how cliche that phrase sounds.

You’re frozen as you watch the taller man continue stammering explanations, stunned by the feral aura radiating from your boyfriend, unsure what’s the best way to approach the situation without exacerbating the issue. But when you see Daishou take a step forward, your hands fly to the back of his jersey, harshly tugging at the fabric in a bid to drag him away from Kuroo, to keep him from doing something stupid that he’d regret.

You wonder if you did the right thing as you cower when he whirls around to face you, pinning you down with a practically murderous gaze. But then you see it, underneath the blazing fires of his eyes, the vulnerable insecurities he keeps so deeply hidden within him, that he’d shared about to you in full confidence, raring back to life and tearing him up inside.

Am I not good enough?

The question is unspoken, but you hear it clear as day and you want to scream at him, touch him, anything to wipe away the torment in his gaze. No, you're more than good enough. So much more. And despite the way you feel like a tiny mouse about to be swallowed whole, you easily let him drag you away, mindlessly following him and lacing your fingers with his bone crushing grip.

It's silent as you scramble to keep up with his determined pace, clutching at his arm and pressing against his side in quiet obedient comfort, a reminder that you're with him every step of the way, out of your own desire and love for him. And although his countenance remains stony, your heart swells when he instinctively leans into your touch, the dark fog around him lightening just a bit.

Not a word is said even as he locks his bedroom door behind the two of you, even as he pulls you onto his bed, wrapping his body tightly around you not unlike the creature he's nicknamed after.

And you let him, ignoring the discomfort you feel as he constricts your body too tightly to be comforting, murmuring how amazing he was on the court, what a respected captain he is, how you know there's still so many opportunities for him in life, volleyball, anything he wants even if Nationals wasn't his fate.

But when he remains silent, you nervously take a deep breath, knowing it's time to address the elephant in the room.

"Suguru, you know I love you, right? I only have eyes for you and no one else. Kuroo-"

You squeal in surprise when you're suddenly pinned to the bed by a toned body, gasping when a hand wraps around your throat rendering you silent, whimpering at the venomous look staring down at you.

"Don't say his fucking name, especially when you're in bed with me."

But you need to explain! Need to clear the air! And you desperately claw at his hand digging into your neck, struggling to force words out, only to moan when lips crash down on yours, a tongue slithering inside of your mouth and ravishing you, fangs harshly nipping at your lips in a warning to remain silent and pliant.

You pant for breath when he finally pulls away, trying to reach up and cradle his face in your hands, keep him still as you explain everything to him. But your efforts are futile and you moan when he promptly spits in your mouth the second you try to open your mouth to speak, body instinctively grinding against his when the hand on your throat tightens once again, mind busy trying to obediently keep his saliva in your mouth while simultaneously breathing through your constricted airway.

"Not a single word from you unless it's about me and how good I'm making you feel, understood? Swallow."

Daishou trained you well and you're quick to gulp down the pooled liquid in your mouth, baring your neck in submission as his lips and teeth possessively mark the expanse of your neck, sucking and biting marks you know you'll be proudly wearing for days afterwards, traveling down and down as your clothes are pulled off and haphazardly thrown away.

The room fills with breathy moans and sighs as you let him have you, let him mark every inch of you, relishing in the slight twinges of pain you feel when teeth sink in too deep, when lips suck too hard all over your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, your rib cage. But you wail when he deems you sufficiently marked, a hot wet mouth wrapping around one of your nipples, fingers harshly twisting and pulling the other.

"DADDY!"

Pride soars inside of Daishou at the nickname, a name he knows only he’s lucky enough to hear from your lips, and he pulls away from your aroused bud just long enough to spit out a few choice words.

“That’s right, baby girl. I’m your daddy. I’m the one who takes care of you. I’m the one who makes you feel good. So why the fuck did daddy find his precious girl chatting it up with some other man like a dirty little slut? Daddy not good enough for you anymore?”

Your head swirls from the degrading words, thighs clenching at hearing his endearing terms for you, but tears pricking at your eyes when you hear the trickle of doubt that seeps into his last question. Shame floods through you as you frantically shake your head, salty droplets leaking from your eyes as you begin to sob, desperately clutching Daishou’s sides and trying to pull him closer to you.

“No, Daddy! Never! Only you! You’re my only daddy. I love you. I’m sorry! I’m your good girl. Please let me show you that I’m your good girl?”

Daishou chuckles, warm fondness beginning to take off the frostiest edges of his insecurities as he watches you flail and fight against his hold in your pursuit of making him feel good, your greedy fingers trying to drag him closer to you, your hips grinding and humping his hardening cock like a bitch in heat as you babble and beg to ride him, suck him off, help him cum.

It’s heartwarming in the most depraved way how loyal and dedicated you are to him, how easily you’ll let yourself fall into debauchery just to please him. And in his heart of hearts, he knows deep down that you’d never betray him, that you love him just as much as he loves you. But the heart and the mind aren’t always on the same page and he can’t help the way his eyes narrow and his stomach twists uncomfortably when he replays the scene of Kuroo and you in the hall, even though he knows the chance of you being swept away so easily by someone else is close to null, even though he knows Kuroo is a decent enough man to back off once he knows you’re a taken woman.

“Settle down, little one. I know you’re a desperate slut for daddy, but today you’re going to behave, okay? You’re going to lay there, let daddy thoroughly remind you who you belong to, and thank me for it, understand?”

It’s a rhetorical question and you barely have time to nod your head before Daishou’s blunt cock head is pressing against your already drenched entrance. You claw at the bedsheets when he suddenly slams in balls deep inside of you, your sopping wet folds easily making way for his cock, and your toes curl at the abrupt stretch, eyes already shamelessly rolling to the back of your head from the sensation of finally being stuffed full.

“Daddy, so good, daddy, daddy, daddy” becomes your mantra, barely discernible amidst your wanton moans as he hardly gives you time to adjust before he’s starting up a brutal pace, hips slamming into yours, balls slapping your ass with every thrust. It’s embarrassing how close to the edge you already are, how you nearly came just from his cock stretching you full, but you can’t help it when Daishou knows your body even better than you, when your pussy is practically molded just for him, trained to be his perfect cock sleeve and you wail as you fall to pieces around his cock, body convulsing and mind shattering from the overwhelming pleasure.

But he doesn’t let up, continuing his relentless onslaught, smirking down at how broken you already look, drool and tears staining your wrecked face, incoherent babbling and wails slipping past your lips as overstimulation begins to wash over you, body now shaking uncontrollably as pain and pleasure swirl inside of you.

“That’s it, baby girl. You’re doing so well. Keep on taking it. Fucking take my cock! This is what you were made for. Being daddy’s cock slave that he fucks silly. Going to use you until you can’t even think about anyone or anything else other than daddy’s cock.”

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than in between your legs and he swears he could die happy like this, cock buried deep within your tight pussy, would happily live the rest of his life bottomed out inside of you if he had the chance. But he’s only human after all and he can feel his end approaching, balls tightening and pace becoming wild and erratic when he hungrily devours the sight of your lewd state as you dopily smile, brokenly chanting “I’m daddy’s cock slave”, slurring thank yous over and over again. His hand reaches down to furiously rub your clit and all it takes is your second fall from grace, the sensation of your tight walls clamping and clenching around his cock, milking him of all his cum, to empty his balls inside of you.

It’s silent again save for both your shaky breaths as you come down from your respective highs and Daishou carefully slumps down to the side of you, pulling you to also lay on your side, wrapping you in his arms as your lower bodies remain connected, hooking his chin on top of your head and letting you burrow into his neck and cuddle up beside him.

But despite all his earlier bravado, you can feel his scales shift and skin shed as he reveals his softer, more vulnerable side, can feel him slump and his defenses crumble in the way he clings onto you, and you wriggle out of your comfortable position, ignoring the throbbing between your legs and all over you body as you determinedly reposition yourself until the two of you are face to face, forehead and noses pressed against each other.

“Suguru, I love you. I love you so much. You’ll always be more than enough for me.”

You smile at the love and hope you see reciprocated back at you in your lover’s eyes, giggling when it’s quickly replaced by panic and embarrassment as he holds you at arms length, staring in dismay at all the punishing marks he had left all over your body before frantically nearly crushing you as he pulls you tightly back towards him, apologies spilling from his mouth for being so rough, a stupid stereotypically jealous boyfriend. And you roll your eyes as he suddenly starts raving and ranting about how this is somehow all Kuroo’s fault, shutting him up with a forceful kiss of your own, a playful smirk sitting on your face.

“You told me not to mention his name and yet here you are, going on and on about him right after we’ve had sex. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a little more interested in him than two rival captains should be. Should I be the jealous one?”

You bite back a laugh at the look of pure disgust on Daishou’s face as he stares agape at you, jaw slack and open wide in disbelief at your blasphemous lies, using whatever latent talent you have as an actor to tap a finger to your lips in a parody of an inquisitive thoughtful gesture.

“I’m pretty open minded, Suguru. We can invite him for a threesome if you want. Ooh! Who do you think would top? Kuroo? You’d look so pretty on bottom for once, don’t you think? Or would you prefer to shut him up-”

You squeal in laughter and surprise when you’re suddenly being suffocated and crushed by a heavy weight on top of you, Daishou flipping the two of you over and laying his whole weight on top of you, shoving your face into his chest and grunting at you to shut up as he nuzzles his face into the top of your head and closes his eyes to rest, dragging you to an exhausted slumber with him as his breathing even outs and lulls your own heavy eyelids into shutting.

Somewhere else in Tokyo Kuroo sneezes out of the blue, curiously wondering if someone is talking about him.

#haikyuu smut #daishou x reader #daishou smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #daishou #Daishou Suguru #haikyuu x reader

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sazudot · 3 years

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From planning to posting, share your process for making creative content!

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES: When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours!

Thanks for tagging me @candicewright

I’m tagging @aikakuu and this piece

@italiansoda and this piece

I don’t have anyone else to tag on tumblr orz....

You can reblog the original Lan Zhan piece here

So the process for this started when I saw an instagram ad for these earrings. My brainrot went “oh. lan zhan” and I just decided to draw him with them.

I didn’t really have a pose in mind yet, so I just set out to search for images of Yibo I could use to kind of inspire me in that way and came across this one:

I thought this was perfect. It’s such a good closeup that will allow me to really just work on some of my favourite things in close-up portraits, and it will allow me to also showcase the earring. It’s obviously from a photoshoot for something, and the idea of earring model Lan Zhan was really delicious.

So with this image I started sketching in clip studio paint.

I like to use the default design pencil brush for sketching, just in case anyone wants to know haha. After the sketch I set about making a colour palette. I usually colour pick from images and then adjust them so that the colour is a bit more vibrant.

Usually when I start colouring I start with the skin. I tend to render most of it. I use the following brushes usually:

Every brush apart from the last one is a default brush in the software. I use the last one when I do “lineart”, so usually anything with a harder, non-blended edge in the image.

Obviously the skin here is after I’ve already fully rendered it. The shimmery eyeshadow and the shimmer on the lips was added last, after everything else had been finished. Other than that it was fully rendered before I moved onto other things.

The next step for me is always the eyes. When I’m drawing close-up portraits I use like 5000 layers for the eyes. The first one is the sclera and the colour of the pupil

After that I usually draw the lashes. In this case the upper and lower lashes are on separate layers.

Up next is the pupil and the effects. The pupil is on a separate layer between the upper and lower lashes.

Above the pupil layer, below the upper lashes is the effects layer, it is set to Add (glow)

Usually for these effects I pick colours that match other bits in the drawing. In this case it is golden because of the golden earrings and the fact that lan zhan as amber eyes.

After this I add a layer of white lineart below the layer of upper lashes and on top of the pupil

(You can see the “eyeshadow” look below in these layers as well. This was mostly done using the emphasise texture brush and I think the default oil paint brush. )

After that come the eyebrows and hair. For eyebrows I usually draw a black caterpillar that loosely follows the shape of the eyebrow and then blend it until the colour is a translucent grey. After that I use the brush I use for lineart to draw some individual hairs

For hair I usually do flat colours first and then add some variation with either the flat marker brush or an effects brush I got when I downloaded a massive pack of hair texture brushes. For this one I think I used the flat marker and strangely enough the fingertip blender.

After this I drew the headband and the earrings. The process for all of them is simple: flat colour first with the turnip brush and then shading with the emphasising texture brush and maybe some lines with the random brush that has a korean name (see the brushes I regularly use).

There is also a separate add (glow) layer on top of these that I’ve used to add some sparkles!

There’s also a layer of white lineart that I used to make sure the earring pops out of the background a bit

After all this I went and added the sparkle on the eyelids and lips.

I think the brush I use for this is a default brush but I’m not quite sure anymore.

In any case, I use a combination of the sparkle a, b, and c brushes.

The last step is the background and the clothes. For this piece they were super simple, basically just flat colour.

And that’s it!!

#showyourprocess

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

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Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem and Wittgenstein II

Prompt: Thinks about Logan breaking his clean streak on self-harm

Thank you for the prompt, babe! I’m a massive nerd so here you go!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Self-harm, self-doubt (kinda), our boi Logan not having a good time. Please be careful guys I messed myself up writing and editing this so PLEASE PLEASE be careful

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 6908

Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem: For any consistent formal system, there will always be statements that are true, but that are unprovable within the system. The second incompleteness theorem, an extension of the first, shows that the system cannot demonstrate its own consistency.

Wittgenstein II: For a large class of cases of the employment of the word ‘meaning’—though not for all—this word can be explained in this way: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.

* * *

Despite what you think it is, it’s not a cry for help. It’s not a desperate attempt at anything. It’s not out of control.

It’s just an option.

Logan is Logic. That is his job, that is what he does, that is what the others rely on him to be. Thus, he is not an accurate facsimile of a human person. He does not experience certain things that a human does, and as such, he should not be held to the same standards and expectations as a human, as he is not one.

He is not a human. He should not be treated as such.

Logan is Logic and thus he must be. He has work to do. Anything that risks interfering with the work must be avoided at all costs. Thomas relies on him to sort through the noise and arrive at the clear, simple, clean solution. Oh, yes, those solutions might not always be as clean or clear as perhaps everyone would like, but it is Logan’s job to ensure that they are as close to that projected ideal as possible. Even if they all acknowledge that such an ideal is impossible to truly achieve, that does not render it irrelevant for use.

An unfortunate side effect of being a metaphysical humanoid is that there are certain things projected onto him that have no strong basis. It is one of the many unfortunate aspects of living in a world that is so—sometimes frustratingly—anthropocentric. The inability to extricate the human bias from any given set of observations is an issue that has plagued many disciplines for centuries, from science to philosophy. Because of the influence of sensory perception on any piece of information, there will always be things that are either assumed that should not be, or things that are taken for granted when they must be considered. There will always be things that humans cannot prove. It is impossible to prove certain things within a given set while existing within the set.

Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem.

Logan is not human, and yet he is assumed to bear more similarities to a human than he truly possesses because Thomas is human. Thomas perceives him in a specific way that is in direct opposition to the function that Logan needs to fulfill in order to be useful to Thomas.

Thomas, as a human, assumes that Logan possesses human traits such as emotion, irrationality, and the inability to behave logically separate from the two aforementioned traits.

Thomas, as a human, requires Logan to be a being of pure Logic, in order to assist in scenarios that arise from the three aforementioned traits.

Logan is what Thomas requires him to be, but he cannot exist as something that Thomas does not see.

There is a small grey area in which Logan can therefore find a solution. Thomas has an abstract awareness of the existence of Logan, but he is not directly interacting or seeing Logan when Logan is not actively working with Thomas or talking with him face to face. If Logan is not being seen at that particular moment, the bounds of his existence are allowed to modify themselves in order to be the most productive. The meaning of the word is its use in the language.

Wittgenstein II.

Logan requires himself to be a being of Logic, and thus when he is not directly seen by Thomas, he must strive as close as he can to that point in order to be the most useful. If he can perform the logic and derive the solution before Thomas sees him again, then the fact that he will once again be altered is inconsequential. All he must do is remember.

Of course, the process of getting as close to that ideal as possible is difficult. Particularly when the switch must occur directly after filming. The process is not typically one that allows for the human traits Logan bears to be kept aside. No; between Roman’s stubbornness, Patton’s exclamations, and Virgil’s interjections, the three of them combined with Thomas’s inability to keep control of them for more than approximately ten seconds ensures that Logan’s capacity to control his emotions is a moot point.

The good news is he has learned how to curtail these emotional outbursts to exclamations of excitement over Thomas’s choice to pursue something or slight judgment towards the attitude the others possess. Or sass.

Mostly sass.

And it is not as if he never allows himself to retain the more human traits when he is away from Thomas. Socializing with the others is an important aspect of his existence. If they are all to work together for Thomas’s betterment, isolation would be counterproductive. And to say that their presence was merely an obligation or necessity would be a falsehood. When he has the capacity to enjoy things, he most certainly enjoys spending time with them. And when the emotions are simpler to handle—contentment, for example, or fondness, derivatives of happiness—they are simpler to put aside when he must work.

When they are not, the process is not nearly as…clean.

Frustration. Anger. Confusion. Other derivatives of sadness. These ones are troublesome. Mainly because they do not remain static—their meanings change as often as Logan looks to see what they are. They do not always stay the same word. They switch and flip and it is quite vexing. Which, of course, only serves to exacerbate the issue. The only commonality is that they all produce and/or derive from a sense of hurt.

Therein lies the solution.

There is a—quite clever, if Logan has to admit—loophole that Logan has devised in order to get to work. Emotional pain is something that he does not—can not—understand within himself. Physical pain, on the other hand, is a survival mechanism. Processing physical pain is much simpler, more distanced, and much easier to put aside than the complicated human emotional pain.

A loophole.

One that Logan has jumped through over

and over

and over again.

Just as Logan can adjust himself based on the meaning of ‘see,’ so too can he adjust what it means to feel ‘pain.’

The loophole works, and thus it is true.

Logic.

Of course, Logan is aware that this particular loophole is not one that would be approved by many people, let alone the other Sides. They, however, can afford to retain the emotional human traits that enable them to perceive it that way.

Hurting them would be…counterproductive.

But if they do not see it…

“What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

That is not the same thing. They have no risk of feeling the same type of pain. Nor will Logan take any measure that will endanger anyone other than himself.

Not that this is endangering himself.

It is simple. Logan needs to work. This allows him to work. There is no risk posed to anyone else, including Thomas.

Therefore it is true.

And it’s not as though Logan does this often. It’s not every day, it’s not even every other day. And it’s not much. Never that much.

Just…a quick one, two, three, four, five.

Then he can go to work.

The pain fades, as it always does, and his mind is clear, ready to be filled with the logic of what needs to be done and the quiet assurance that whatever it is will be untainted by human emotion. Occasionally the loophole will not stay open as long as he requires, but that is easy enough to remedy.

The others do not notice—and if they have, though he doubts it, they have never let on—and as such he makes an effort to conceal the loophole to the furthest extent he can. After all, it would not be ideal for the loophole to close, preventing him from using it to work.

It’s always small. It’s always hidden. It’s always private.

And if it isn’t executed as…precisely as he anticipates, well.

The others have never question why he keeps the first aid kit in his room.

There is a brief moment, early on when they are figuring out the dynamic between the four of them, that there is a name put to the loophole that gives Logan pause.

Fortunately, it was not him they were paying attention to.

“Virgil,” Patton says quietly, sitting next to the shaking Virgil on the couch, “can you take a deep breath for me?”

Virgil shudders. Roman makes eye contact with Logan as he comes down the stairs and quickly moves them to the kitchen.

“Is everything alright?” Logan asks as they move past the counter.

“Yeah, Specs, I think so,” Roman mutters, glancing over his shoulder, “I think it’s just a panic attack.”

“‘Just,’” Logan murmurs, “does this—has this been happening more often?”

“I think so, but I haven’t—we—“

“We have not been around Virgil long enough to ascertain a pattern.” Logan glances over to Patton, still mumbling softly to Virgil. He catches his eyes and shakes his head minutely. “What do we do afterward? Do we need to grab some food, water, anything?”

“Can you go get his headphones?”

“Are they in his room?”

“…I would presume so.”

Logan sighs. “I don’t want to violate Virgil’s trust by entering his room while he’s not there.”

“I’ll just go stick my head in.”

Roman vanishes and Logan turns, purposely paying attention to his hands on the glass, on the tap, on the counter, not looking over to the living room. When Roman reappears with the headphones and a quiet ‘they were on the doorknob,’ he risks a glance back over his shoulder.

Virgil’s leaning fully into Patton’s arms now, Patton murmuring softly into his ear. His breathing seems to have slowed considerably. Patton glances up again and nods.

“That’s us,” Roman murmurs, taking the headphones as Logan grabs the glass of water and walking over to the couch.

“Hey, Stormcloud.” He sets the headphones on the couch behind Virgil and carefully takes his hand. “You doing a little better?”

“Mm.” Virgil rubs his cheek against Patton’s shirt. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Logan assures, setting the glass of water down on the coffee table. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Virgil shifts in Patton’s arms. “It’s annoying.”

“What is,” Logan asks, “taking care of you? Of course it isn’t.”

“Logan’s right, as usual,” Roman adds with a wink.

“You’re alright, kiddo.” Patton plants a kiss on his forehead. “And you’ll never be annoying to take care of.”

“…never?”

“Never.”

“Here,” Logan says when Virgil still looks unsure, “why don’t you name everything that you think will be annoying, and we’ll tell you how it won’t be?”

“Oh, great idea, Specs.”

“…panic attacks?”

“Not at all, kiddo.”

“Insomnia?”

“You know my sleep schedule’s as off as yours,” Roman says, “what with time in the Imagination being different.”

“Nightmares?”

“Dreams are difficult,” Logan says, “even when you are awake.”

“Self-harm?”

“Never,” Patton says, Roman not far behind. Logan, however…

Logan sits quietly for a moment. He is, of course, familiar with the term, however, it is not one he’s heard in…

A while.

He offers his assurances that of course, he would be more than happy to help Virgil with any issue he may have, including self-harm, but the conversation lingers in his mind long after Virgil giggles at Roman’s antics and falls asleep on Patton’s lap. And certainly long after everyone has bid each other goodnight and Logan has retreated to his room.

Perhaps…

No. Logan is not human, and thus he cannot be held to the same standards and definitions. If this self-h—if this loophole is required in order for him to function, then it is not the same thing.

If he thinks he hears a soft hiss in the darkness as that conclusion crosses his mind, he dismisses it quickly.

…it still may be best to…attempt to refrain from using the loophole.

The loophole has not been necessary for a long time. Whether it is because Logan has gotten adept at reaching his necessary headspace without it, or there has not been sufficient ‘pain’ for the loophole to be required, there sits a shelf in his bathroom that has remained untouched for a significant period of time.

Surprisingly enough, this is one of the only things for which Logan’s impeccable sense of time does not seem to work. Neither does the possibility cross his mind that the two could be related.

Regardless, it is something of a shock when he reaches up to grab something and his fingers find the wrong shelf.

He pulls his hand back quickly, surprised to see the dull shine of blood on his finger. He glances back up.

Ah. Yes.

Well, it is always good to be aware of one’s options.

He turns the water on and runs his finger under the tap, watching the red dilute and fade, feeling the sharp little sting as the water hits the cut. After a few moments, when the water runs clear, he removes his finger and goes to dry it off when he puts pressure on the cut again.

His fingers part and there it is again. Dull, wet, and a little shiny.

He squeezes.

The blood fills the cut again.

He runs it under the tap.

Clean.

There is something strangely satisfying, he has discovered, about watching simple repetitive things. Watching the waves go out and roll back in. Watching the soft tick, tick, tick of a metronome hand going back and forth. Watching the gentle breathing of a sleeping animal.

Squeeze. Blood. Wash. Clean. Squeeze, blood, wash, clean. Squeeze blood wash clean. Squeezebloodwashclean.

There’s a knock on his bedroom door.

“Logan? You in there?”

Logan blinks. “Yes, I’m in here.”

“You coming down for dinner?”

“Yes, I’ll be down momentarily.”

“Great.”

Virgil’s footsteps trail away as Logan washes his hands. He turns off the bathroom light and locks his door behind him.

“Oh, Logan!” Patton reaches for his hand when he passes the plate back. “You’re bleeding! What happened?”

“Simply an accident,” Logan says smoothly, brushing Patton’s concerned look aside in favor of a smile, “I reached for the wrong thing in the bathroom.”

“Oh, well, alright.” Patton gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Just be careful, alright?”

“Always.”

Janus gives him a strange look but says nothing.

Life is…good.

Thomas has been paying more attention to them recently. All of them. Virgil is talking more, Patton is explaining things, Remus is being listened to, Janus is being included, Roman is being cared for…and Logan is being seen.

It’s good. Things are…good.

And something niggles in the back of Logan’s mind, even as he smiles, talks, is with the others.

Something that tells him he has to work.

He tries. He honestly does.

He talks with the others, and they help, truly, but there are some things they cannot give him. And he cannot help them the way he needs to if he isn’t working himself.

He cannot help Patton if he is not distanced enough from the emotional turmoil.

He cannot help Virgil if he is not able to embody the logical reassurance.

He cannot help Roman if he does not offer firm, rigid guidelines.

He cannot help Remus if he is not able to critically examine his ideas.

He cannot help Janus if he can’t think.

He cannot help Thomas if he continues to be like this.

And the knowledge that he can’t help…hurts.

Well. He knows what to do.

He stands up from their dinner one evening and accepts the hug Patton gives him. Even as Patton’s arms curl around his waist, the contradictions in his head make his eyes close. It is warm but it shouldn’t be. It is safe but it shouldn’t be.

It feels good but it shouldn’t.

That’s not what Logan is for.

Roman offers him a hug too but he declines, saying he has some work to take care of. Roman pouts.

“But I haven’t had a chance to see you lately,” he says quietly, reaching out to lay a burning hand—it’s not burning, it shouldn’t feel like it’s burning, this is wrong—on Logan’s arm, “won’t you come on a walk with me? We can go to the garden you like, I’ll see if I can have the herb section all ready, too.”

It shouldn’t feel like Roman’s smile is melting Logan. It shouldn’t feel like Roman’s hand is holding him together. It shouldn’t feel like this.

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Logan’s mouth says, “perhaps tomorrow?”

“That’s a promise.”

Roman lets him go and turns to Patton. Logan moves to leave but finds his way blocked by Virgil.

“Oh, my apologies, I didn’t mean to run into you.”

“I did that on purpose, L, don’t worry.”

“May I ask why?”

Virgil shrugs. “Wanted to talk to you.”

It shouldn’t feel like the hairs on Logan’s neck are rising. It shouldn’t feel like his chest is getting hot. It shouldn’t feel like this.

“About…?”

He shrugs again. “Haven’t had a chance to see you a lot.”

“I can assure you that I have been present,” Logan says, “and I can distinctly remember spending time with you over the last three and a half weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I just—“ Virgil scuffs his shoe along the carpet— “just feel like I haven’t seen you.”

Logan blinks. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Just—never mind.” Virgil waves him off. “Good luck with your work tonight.”

“Thank…you…”

Logan starts up the stairs. He gets to his room, unlocks the door, and steps inside.

It shouldn’t feel like a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

It shouldn’t feel like that weight resettles onto his chest.

It shouldn’t feel like his hands are tingling.

Logan bites back a curse and goes to the bathroom.

It’s gone too far. He—he can’t make it to his work headspace on his own. They’re too loud. There are too many of them. He can’t focus. He has to stop this. He has to remove himself from this set.

He can’t fail Thomas like this.

No one can see him.

He has to change what it means to feel pain.

Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem and Wittgenstien II.

Logan takes a deep, slow breath.

In.

Out.

He knows how to do this.

Get to the bathroom, close the door. Now there are more walls between him and everyone else.

Turn on the shower. It’ll be easier to clean up.

Put the blade right next to the razor. If necessary, blame the razor.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Always in the same place.

Ignore the other scars.

Pull the skin taut.

Make it precise.

Step a little more out of the water.

Remain in control.

Don’t grip the blade so hard it trembles.

Where no one can see.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In…

Out…

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

In.

Out.

Now the other side.

Reach over.

Step so the water doesn’t run over either thigh.

Ignore the blood running down the other leg.

Pull the skin taut.

Make it symmetrical.

Adjust the grip on the blade.

Don’t bite the lip until it bleeds either.

Ignore the shine on the blade.

If the lines aren’t right they will have to be fixed to match.

Don’t be sloppy.

Do this right.

In.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Logan leans his head back and closes his eyes. The blade is set down onto the smooth side of the shower. Water runs over his hair, down his back. The temperature is warm.

The water beats down over his head, his neck, his shoulders, his back. Unbidden, his shoulders relax and slump, his head bowing forward under the guidance of the water.

He cups his arms over his chest and turns. The water pools in the cavity of his arms, overflowing until it laps gently as his collarbones and down the creases of his elbows, landing with soft smacks on the shower floor. He watches it land, watches the little ripples and distortions from the falling water refract little artifacts of light onto his arms through the surface. Watches the water slowly start to run a faint red as he lets the water begin to run down his legs.

It hurts.

It stings and sticks and it isn’t clean, not by any means. It hurts and it feels and it’s the perfect loophole for Logan to jump through.

Now, if he closes his eyes, he should see—

Roman’s soft voice asking if he wants to go on a walk.

Patton’s hug, wrapping him up perfectly.

Virgil’s quiet remark that he hasn’t seen Logan recently.

No.

No, no, no!

Logan’s eyes fly open and he looks down. He—this should’ve worked. He jumped, he jumped, he used the loophole, this should be—

The blood is gone. It’s all gone. The tile isn’t stained, the water isn’t stained, everything is clean. But it—it hasn’t worked, did he—

The cuts are uneven. They’re too short on one side, too tilted on the other. They’re too faint. They’ve already stopped bleeding. They already blend in with the other scars.

No!

No, no, no, he has to—

This has to work.

He has to work.

Okay, okay he can do it—do it again. Do it properly.

Grab the blade.

Don’t worry about the grip.

One,

Two,

Three,

Four,

Five,

Six.

Okay. Now to the other side.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six.

Patton’s laugh. Roman’s touch. Virgil’s gaze.

One two three four five six seven.

No, no, no, no, why isn’t this working? This should be working, he shouldn’t be feeling this anymore, has he—has he forgotten how to do it right?

It’s been too long, he doesn’t remember, this isn’t how this is supposed to work, the loophole should’ve stayed open, he needs it to stay open, he has to—he has to work, he isn’t useful if he can’t work!

Don’t worry about the numbers.

Overload the system.

Drown it out.

Ignore the dull red shine all over the tile, the blade, the legs, the fingers.

Drown it out.

Make it stop, make everything go away.

Ignore the sting, if the feeling is still there it hasn’t worked.

Drown it out.

Ignore the knocking on the door, it’s not there.

Drown it out, drown it out.

“Logan?”

“Logan, are you in there?”

Drown it out drown it out.

“Logan! Logan!”

“Logan I swear I’m gonna break your door down!”

Drown it out drown it out

“Logan! Logan, can you hear us?”

“Damnit, Logan, answer!”

Drown it out drown it out drown it out drown it out drown it out drown it out drownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitout

drown

out

…

Logan blinks.

The shower is covered in a dull, red, wet, shine.

His thighs burn.

His hands carefully set the blade down on the tiled edge.

The water runs over him, running and running and running.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, it runs from red to pink to clear.

Logan stands and shuts off the water.

The towel is black.

He dries.

He dresses.

His clothes are black.

His hair is wet.

He puts his glasses on.

Mutterings are coming from the other side of his door when he exits the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He tilts his head.

“I don’t know what’s going on!”

“He seemed alright at dinner, what’s—“

“He was not alright at dinner, in fact I don’t know how long it’s been since he’s been alright—“

“I swear to unholy fuck I’m gonna break this fucking door down.”

“Please do not break my door down,” Logan says.

The voices stop.

“…Logan? Logan, is that you?”

“It’s me.”

“Oh thank god—“

“Are you alright?”

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“If you don’t open this fucking door—“

“Alright, alright, I’ll open the door, one moment.”

Logan opens the door and takes a step aside as the others spill into his room, Patton and Roman looking around, Virgil taking up residence on the desk. Remus walks in slowly, followed by Janus. Janus shuts the door and stares at Logan.

“Why didn’t you answer at first,” Patton asks quickly, “we were worried, did you—where were you?”

Logan indicates his wet hair. “In the shower, I’m afraid. It is both quite difficult and quite…impractical to come to the door while occupied.”

“Oh…okay.”

He adjusts his glasses. “May I ask why you were all outside my door to begin with? It has only been…a little while since I’ve last seen you.”

“A little while,” Janus muses, still staring at Logan. “How long exactly?”

Logan tilts his head, eying the clock over Janus’s shoulder. “Thirty-five minutes and forty-six seconds.”

“And why would you need to look at the clock?”

“…surely all of you are no stranger to losing track of time in the shower.”

He gets a round of vague agreements from Virgil, Patton, and Roman. Remus remains silent, prowling around the room.

“We are not,” Janus murmurs, “but you…”

Logan swallows. “You have not answered my question.”

“We,” Patton says, gesturing to himself and to Roman, “followed Virgil.”

Virgil hunkers on Logan’s desk. “I came because I heard Remus and Janus shouting.”

“…and why were you shouting?”

Janus just stares at him.

Logan’s throat begins to run dry.

“…Janus?”

“I believe you know the answer, Logan.”

He swallows. “You must be mistaken.”

“Please,” Janus says, almost too quiet for the others to hear, “don’t make me do this.”

Logan swallows heavily.

“Do what?”

Something flickers across Janus’s face as he looks at Logan.

He looks at Remus.

He nods.

No.

No, no no.

Logan was so careful.

He can’t—

Remus reels back and kicks Logan’s bathroom door open.

“Remus!”

Remus pays Patton no mind, striding in and away from Logan, even as Roman rushes after him.

Logan is frozen.

“Remus, what’re you—hey!” Roman makes an indignant noise as Remus shoves him back out through the door. “Remus!”

Logan can feel Janus’s eyes on him as he scans Remus’s hands. He’s not holding it. Did he—did he miss it? Is something—

He knows when his gaze flicks up to catch Remus’s that he’s been well and truly caught.

“You do know what my job is,” Remus hisses, “don’t you?”

Logan raises his chin. “And you know what mine is.”

“If you think that even begins to explain this—“

“Explain what?” Roman looks frantically back and forth between the three of them. “What the hell is going on here?”

No.

No, no, no, no, no, Logan was so—he was—he’s been—it can’t—why didn’t it just work? He could’ve been fine, this would’ve worked, he could’ve worked, he wasn’t—how did they see?

“Logan?”

“Logan, look at me.”

“Lo, you’re panicking—“

“Way to go, you two, look what you’ve done.”

“We’re trying to help him!”

“You’ve messed up a perfectly good Logan, that’s what you did. Look at him, he’s having a panic attack!”

“Logan,” comes a soft voice in front of him, blocking out the others into a distant murmur, “Logan, look at me.”

Logan blinks.

Remus’s face swims into view, concerned. He reaches out to cup Logan’s face in his hands.

“You’re panicking, Lolo,” he says quietly, “you gotta calm down.”

“I’m not panicking,” Logan tries to say, only his throat won’t work.

“Why are you doing this,” he tries again, but nothing’s happening.

“What’s happening to me,” he tries desperately, only for nothing, nothing to work.

It isn’t until Remus’s thumbs come away damp that he realizes he’s crying.

“Lo—a little help here!”

“Logan!”

Logan collapses into Remus, who quickly wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him into a seated position, cradling the limp form in his lap. Roman, who rushed forward when Remus cried out, pulls him closer, laying his legs across his lap, not caring that his trousers started to soak.

“Easy there, Specs,” Roman hushes, hand drawing little patterns on Logan’s damp knee, “shh, shh, you’re okay.”

Then he looks down.

Logan can pinpoint the moment Roman sees the patterns of wetness through his jeans.

Roman’s eyes widen.

“Oh, Logan…”

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Janus turn toward Patton and Virgil. He can’t move. He can’t—it hurts, it hurts—

“Oh, sweetheart,” Roman murmurs, cupping the backs of Logan’s legs, “oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck!”

“Oh my gosh—“

“Logan—“

“Oh, kiddo—“

Oh. Virgil and Patton are here now. Great. Is it great? What is—how does this—Logan hurts.

Janus crouches down by his face, gently cupping his cheek and leaning forward to rest their foreheads together.

“Come on, sweetie,” he whispers, “I know it hurts, but you have to breathe.”

Is he—has he been quiet this whole time?

“At the very least you’ve got to breathe. In an out, come on.”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

No…

That didn’t work last time…it didn’t work…it didn’t…

“…didn’t work,” Logan mumbles, “it didn’t work.”

“We’re not trying that, sweetie,” Janus says easily, “we’re trying something else. I still need you to breathe for me.”

Logan breathes.

“Shh, shh, there you go, just like that…” Someone rubs his knee gently. “Just like that.”

They’re all here. They can all see. They can—does that mean Thomas can see? IS that why Logan—is that why it’s been so hard?

“None of that now, sweetie,” Janus chides, lightly chucking Logan under the chin, “stay here, stay with me…no drifting off just yet.”

They’re all here.

Virgil frowns. Then he glances at Patton. “Pat, let’s go get L something to drink.”

“But—I—“

“It’s too much for him, Pat,” Virgil says softly, “with all of us here, he’s getting overwhelmed. Let’s go and then we’ll come back, yeah?”

“O-okay.”

As they leave, Roman shifts to let them by, and the fabric rubs right over the cuts, making Logan hiss through his teeth. Even though it’s quickly shushed by Janus, he doesn’t miss Roman’s wince.

“Yeah, denim over the fresh ones is rough, isn’t it?”

Logan goes absolutely still.

Judging by the way Remus growls and Janus turns, that’s news to them too.

Roman just looks at them all and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, please. It’s not all long sleeves and pants all summer for no reason.”

“R-Roman, you—you—?”

“Yeah, Specs,” Roman murmurs when Logan can’t find his words, “me too.”

“Oh, we are not done with this conversation,” Remus mutters, softening slightly as he turns his attention back to Logan, “but c’mon, Lolo, you gotta—you gotta believe we’re as shocked about you, too.”

“But—“ Logan stammers— “but you—Roman you—you’re—“

“What, Logan,” Roman prompts gently, “what am I?”

“You’re—you can feel, and—and—“

“I can feel, Specs, that’s true.” A rueful smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “And I’m sure that the…idea that it’s not always ideal isn’t that foreign to you, huh?”

“But you have to feel to work, I—I can’t, the loophole—“

“What loophole,” Remus asks sharply, “Logan, what are you talking about?”

“I—“

Janus cups his head again, easing himself down, mindful of Logan’s legs. “Why don’t you explain that to us, sweetie,” he says softly, “help us understand?”

“You—I—“ Logan tries to breathe. “I…I have to be useful. I have to—I have to be Logic. You—you all…Thomas needs Logic.”

“So...?”

“So I—Thomas still sees us as people, or—or at least Sides of people which means he end—endows us with certain human traits and—and qualities.”

Janus nods.

“I can’t—in order to be useful I can’t feel, I have to be Logic.” Logan swallows. “But if Thomas can see me then I have to be what he sees.”

He swallows again.

“So if I take myself out, then I can—then I can be Logic.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean you aren’t what Thomas thinks you are anymore,” Roman asks gently, “so you…aren’t you still in the…aren’t you still in?”

“The meaning of words is dependent—“ Logan swallows— “dependent on the context, so if I can change the—the context then I can take myself—myself out.”

Roman squints. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Oh, Logan,” Janus murmurs, “are you telling us that you’ve determined that this is the correct course of action through logical principles?”

“Excuse me he’s done what?”

“You cannot prove certain things about a set while using the language of the set,” Janus says softly, his gaze locked on Logan’s, “and the meaning of a word is dependent on its use within the language. Does that sound familiar?”

Logan nods. “Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem and Wittgenstein II.”

“You’re operating under the assumption that your role as Logic is the determining factor,” Janus continues, “and that in order to fulfill that role to its greatest potential, you must remove yourself from the set of emotional beings, including a re-contextualization of what it means to feel.”

He nods.

“But if the language has become re-contextualized, then attempting to operate under all the other assumptions the previous language affords is illogical, let alone the fact that it renders the act of removing oneself from the set redundant. Another language is required to derive a solution ytt it would be impossible to translate the solution into the language of the original set.”

Janus cocks his head.

“And haven’t you yourself created an assumption about the nature of the original set? The role you play within it and its very existence prevents your leaving of it in its entirety.”

And Logan’s poor, tired, illogical brain is so, so lost.

In the distance, Roman huffs. “Okay, so I’ve got no idea what the fuck we’re currently talking about.”

“Same here,” comes Remus’s voice.

Janus smiles gently. “You’ve overlooked something, sweetie,” he says, stroking Logan’s cheek, “about you and how much we care.”

“What…what did I miss?”

“You said that you need to be useful.”

Roman makes an ‘ah’ sound. “You could’ve just led with that instead of showing off.”

“I most certainly was not.”

“Yeah, you were, Janny, shut up.”

Roman shakes his head fondly and leans closer. “You don’t have to be useful, Logan, nor do you have to worry about not being exactly what you think you do.”

“B-but—“

“Shh,” Roman murmurs, gently stroking Logan’s leg, “can I talk for a minute, sweetheart?”

Logan nods.

“Thank you…you think that you’re not being you because you’re getting emotional, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay…well, have you considered that you’ve got a warped perspective of yourself because it’s being affected by your own perception?”

Janus turns to Roman. “My, my, Roman, discussing the limits of sensory perception?”

“I do listen to my dear darling nerd,” Roman hums, lightly showing Janus’s shoulder, “but anyway, Logan, you have to realize then, that means that you can’t objectively say you do or you don’t have these traits because you’re being affected by them.”

“Gödel,” comes Janus’s voice.

“Yeah,” Remus says, “and also that just because you think you’re only wanted because you’re useful doesn’t mean that we think that.”

“And there’s Wittgenstein II.”

Oh.

“Isn’t that what you told us,” Remus continues, “that you can’t logic your way out of everything? You’re no exception to that, Lolo.”

“Logic can be used in a lot of ways to justify all sort of things,” Janus agrees, lightly tapping Logan’s cheek, “and just because something may be logically valid doesn’t make it true.”

“That’s why we have you.”

Logan balks at Roman’s words. “M-me?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Roman smiles, “you. You with your feelings and your care and your you-ness. You’re a part of this set and you’re not going anywhere.”

“And we don’t want you to.”

Logan’s thighs burn.

“Shh, shh, sweetie,” Janus hushes as tears start to well up in Logan’s eyes again, “it’s okay, we’ll help you—oh, sweetie, it hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Will you let us help you clean them?”

Unbidden, Logan’s face flares bright red.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweetie…”

Roman gently nudges Remus’s arm. “Let me. You two go check on Patton and Virgil.”

“What?”

“Roman—“

“Come on,” Roman coaxes, “it’s not like I don’t have the practice.”

“We are so not done with this conversation,” Remus mutters as he squeezes Logan’s waist, “but is that okay, Lolo?”

Logan nods. Better just one than all.

“We’ll be back,” Janus promises, giving his cheek one last pat as he leaves.

“Easy does it,” Roman murmurs as he starts to lean Logan back against the wall, “do you have a long shirt?”

Logan motions wordlessly toward the closet. Roman finds the softest shirt Logan owns—how Roman knows is beyond him—and lays it gently in Logan’s lap.

“Change,” he says softly, letting their foreheads rest together for a moment, “I won’t look.”

The cuts have dried to the jeans and they burn, Logan biting his lip to keep from crying out as he gets them off. He’s panting by the time he’s done. Roman turns back with the first aid kit in his hands and kneels down. Logan stares at a spot on the floor, far away.

“Alright,” he says, pulling out the wipes and bandages, “Logan?”

“Mm?”

“You tell me to stop, I stop dead,” Roman promises, “but you must tell me, alright?”

“I will.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. This may sting a bit.”

It does, but Roman is careful and thorough and far too good at this.

“How do you think it was for us,” Roman whispers when Logan voices that last part, “when we realized?”

“My apologies.”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant. I just meant that you’re so important to us, Logan, you, that this…this hurts. And I don’t ever want you to think that this is necessary for us to love you.”

Love.

The word stutters in Logan’s throat.

“Too much?” Oh. Roman must think it’s his legs. “Here…”

Roman reaches out and gently rests Logan’s hands on his shoulders.

“There…Keep your hands on my shoulders. Then if something hurts too much, you give me a squeeze and let me know, hmmm?”

“…okay.”

Love…

One of the larger cuts stings horribly as Roman begins to clean it and Logan tenses, his hands gripping Roman’s shoulders.

“Hurt?”

“A little.”

“Here…” Roman leans down and blows a stream of cool air over the cut. “…better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m almost done.” He carefully applies the bandages, smoothing his hand across them as he finishes. “There…all better.”

He packs away the first aid kit, only to pause and look up when Logan’s still staring at the same spot on the floor. He stops, setting the kit aside and taking a seat near his hips, reaching and twisting to cup Logan’s face in his hands.

“Hey,” he calls gently, “talk to me, sweetheart.”

Logan wets his suddenly-dry lips. “I don’t think I’ve…processed this yet.”

“That’s okay, Lo, it’s not gonna be a quick thing.” Roman glances back. “And certainly not if it’s been happening for a long time. Though, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think any of us have fully processed it either.”

“I…”

Logan gets interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

“Can we let them in, sweetheart?” Logan nods. “Come in.”

Patton appears first, holding a glass of water out to him. Virgil comes in next, holding a massive pile of blankets, helped by Janus. He can hear Remus take the kit and put it away.

“Hey, there, kiddo,” Patton whispers as Logan starts to drink, “there you go…thank you.”

“How’re you doing, L?” Virgil tilts his head a little. “All things considered?”

All things considered…

Logan takes a deep breath and turns, trying to look at his legs.

Before he can, Remus has his hands over his eyes.

“Ah!”

“Sorry, Lolo,” Remus mutters, “but even I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“…if I don’t look, it—I…”

Did it happen? Did I—did it work, did I not—did I do it wrong? It has to be done right, I need to—dull, red, wet, shine, one, two, three, four—

“…alright,” Remus whispers, removing his hands.

The bandages cover most of it.

His hands tremble.

It hurts.

“H-help me.”

“I’m here,” Roman says instantly, rushing forward to pull Logan into a tender hug, “I’m right here, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

He tries to hug him back but his arms are shaking too much so he can’t.

And this, more than anything, is what makes him finally start to fall apart.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Roman adjusts his grip, settling Logan’s arms over his shoulders. He cradles Logan like he’s something precious, something true.

“Can we help,” comes Patton’s strangled whisper, “can we help too, Logan?”

“Please?”

Patton is behind him in an instant. Remus clings onto him from the side. Virgil wraps them all in one of the weighted blankets as Janus pulls Logan’s legs into his lap.

“Don’t worry about figuring anything out right now,” Patton murmurs, “or jumping through any loopholes. Just…just be for a little bit, yeah?”

Logic disappears in a soft puff as Logan buries his head in Roman’s shoulder and cries.

Set complete.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @private-snippers @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @theaceofcrows @such-a-dumbass

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#self harm #tw: self harm #tw self harm #dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #logan angst

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i-am-bitterly-jittery · 3 years

Text

My Best Friend’s Brother (Virgil/Remus/Janus/Patton fic part 2/2)

Part 1

Word count: 2193

Rating: teen

Pairings: Virgil/Remus/Janus/Patton (intrumoxeit?), logince

Warnings: minor swearing, suggestive language (mostly from Remus), minor contortion

~~~START~~~

“WAKE UP, THOT!” Roman startles awake as his door hits the wall with a loud bang. Remus stands in the doorway grinning at him.

“Remus, what the fuck?” Roman groans. He wants to pull the covers over his head and just ignore his brother, but if he does that, he won’t have the slight advantage of being able to see whatever Remus is about to do. So he settles for just glaring.

“We’re going out to breakfast with all of our boyfriends!” Remus declares. “You’re going to be nice to my boyfriends, and I won’t make unsolicited comments about your boyfriend’s ass, dick, or mouth!”

“I hate you,” Roman groans.

“Love you too, Roro!” Remus clutches a hand over his heart before turning to leave. “Get dressed or I’ll drag you there in your pjs!” He calls behind him.

Roman throws his pillow through the open door, but Remus is already gone. Instead of chasing his brother down, Roman gets dressed because Remus will drag him out in his pajamas otherwise.

There’s two texts on his phone when he pulls it off the charger.

From Crofters Slut @ 6:15am: Virgil Knight is a student in our year. He won that art competition last year that Remus was in. I’m surprised you don’t know who he is.

Even with the hint, Roman has no idea who Virgil is. He vaguely remembers the art competition, but mostly, he remembers being salty that his piece hadn’t even qualified for it, and then being salty again when Remus didn’t win. There is absolutely nothing in his memory about who won, what they looked like, or what piece they’d entered.

The second text is:

From Padre Puffball @ 7:54am: Hi Roman! I hope you slept well. I was hoping that you’d be willing to get breakfast today? You, me, Logan, Remus, Janus, and Virgil? Please? I know you don’t like Janus and Virgil, and you’re not happy that I’m dating your brother, but I really like them, and I think you would too if you’d just give them a chance (maybe not as much as I like them, but enough to be friends?) I’ll text the others too, but I do hope you come! Love Patton 💖🐶

And honestly, even if Remus wasn’t going to forcefully drag him to this breakfast, there’s no way Roman could ever say ‘no’ to Patton. So when Remus comes back, Roman is fully dressed, and in the process of applying his eyeliner.

“C’mon, princess, let’s go!” Remus insists, but he does resist the urge to pull on Roman’s arm and ruin his makeup and possibly cause Roman to stab the pencil into his eye.

“I have to finish this first! Logan’s going to be there and a prince has got to slay!” Roman replies.

Remus rolls his eyes. “You just got back from spending two months sharing a room with him! He’s definitely seen you without makeup before.”

“Noooo, I woke up earlier than him specifically so he’d never see me without my makeup!”

“Roro, you are the most pathetic thot I’ve ever met. And I’m including myself. How early did you have to wake up to be up before him?”

“...four-thirty am,” Roman admits slowly, refusing to meet his brother’s eyes in the mirror.

“Excuse me while I go barf!” Remus giggles. “You woke up, at ass o’clock in the morning, so that Nerdy Wolverine wouldn’t see you without your makeup?”

“Yeah, well I’ll bet you showered daily while I was gone!” Roman shoots back. “In fact, you’re smelling pretty fresh over there. Did you perhaps shower already this morning?”

“I’ll admit to nothing!” Remus screeches. “Hurry up, we have to pick up Jan.”

“I have to be in a car with that freak!?”

“If you ever call any of my boyfriends ‘freaks’ again, I’ll rip off your nipples and shove them so far up your nose they��ll lodge inside your brain!” Remus yells, angrier than Roman’s ever seen him. “Assuming you even have a brain.”

“Why you-!”

They pull up to Janus’ house forty-five minutes late.

“I don’t know why I trusted you to pick me up on time,” Janus comments as he slides into the backseat. “You’re always so punctual.”

“Hi JJ!” Remus greets chipperly, completely ignoring Janus’ annoyance. “I told Roman to sit in the back but he refused.”

“I was here first!” Roman insists stubbornly.

“He also called you freak,” Remus tattles.

“I didn’t mean-!” Roman turns to Janus quickly while he tries to explain himself, but Janus just smirks.

“Well I suppose being able to do this makes me a little bit of a freak.”

Remus doesn’t even have to look to know that Jan dislocated his shoulder and twisted his arm around his head unnaturally, Roman scream tells him everything he needs to know. Remus has to pull off to the side of the road because he’s laughing so hard.

It takes them almost fifteen minutes to get to the cafe, which is longer than it should take to get there from Janus’ house, but Remus had needed time to calm down from his laughing fit. Roman hadn’t spoken the entire drive over, and Jan was looking pretty satisfied with himself.

So, coming into the cafe over an hour late, it’s not that hard to find his boyfriends and the Dork (hehe, whale penis). They’re in one of the semi-circle booths with Patton sitting between Virgil and Logan. It looks like Virgil and Logan are in the middle of a conversation, which is good, until, ya know, Roman has to go and ruin it.

“EMO NIGHTMARE!?” Roman screeches at the top of his lungs. It causes the whole cafe to come to a screeching halt as everyone stops to stare at them. Virgil stiffens, shoulders coming up to his ears and he quickly throws his hood over his head. Logan sends Roman an unimpressed look.

“Wonderful. Excellent. Thank you, Roman,” Janus mutters, already making his way over to the others.

“Indoor voices, Roro.” Remus nudges his brother as he passes.

“You’re dating Emo Nightmare!?” Roman hisses, quietly enough that Remus is the only one who can hear him. “Actually, back up. You know Emo Nightmare? Emo Nightmare has friends?”

“His name is Virgil, Roman,” Remus says, not bothering to dignify Roman’s questions with an answer. “And you promised to be nice.”

“I was startled,” Roman answers petulantly.

Remus doesn’t dignify that with an answer either, instead he ignores Roman and goes to join his boyfriends at the table. Janus has already reached the table, and has his arm wrapped protectively around Virgil’s shoulders. Remus slides into the booth next to Janus, leaving the space next to Logan open for Roman.

“You’re late,” Logan informs them once Roman’s taken his seat.

“Only by like an hour,” Remus replies cheerfully, grabbing a menu and perusing the breakfast options.

“We already ordered,” Patton informs him gently. “You’re getting the breakfast sausage platter, Janus is getting a veggie omelet, and Roman’s getting pancakes with a side of eggs.”

“The sausages look like dicks!” Remus said, quietly enough that only the table next to them send him weird glances.

Virgil snorts from under his hood, so Remus counts it as a win.

“Charming,” Logan says, years of being friends with Roman have rendered Remus’s antics to little more than background noise.

“So, Nerdy Wolverine, why Roman?” Remus asks, after all, that’s what this breakfast is for, right? Grilling Logan on why he has such bad taste in men? “He’s sooooooo… ugly.”

“WE HAVE THE SAME FACE!”

“BUT I WEAR IT SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU!”

“Stop yelling!” Virgil hisses, finally leaving the safety of his hood. “We’re in public!”

“Besides,” Patton chimes in. “That’s mean! You’re both very handsome!”

“At least I don’t have a fuzzy caterpillar on my face,” Roman mutters petulantly, but any further argument is thankfully cut off by the waiter bringing out their food.

“Thank you!” Patton calls as the waiter leaves

“Well,” Logan sighs. “After that little display I have no idea why I like Roman.”

“What!? No! Logan!” Roman whines. Logan just rolls his eyes and kisses Roman on the cheek, effectively placating him.

“I am more surprised by you, Patton,” Logan continues, raising an eyebrow at his friend. “When we left, you were still afraid to be within thirty yards of Janus. I’m surprised you got over your fear so completely in such a short amount of time.”

“Logan!” Patton yelps, hiding his blush in Virgil’s shoulders. It doesn’t work out too well since Virgil’s shoulders are shaking from laughter.

“Patton, I’m so insulted that you’d be afraid of me,” Janus drawls. “I was trying so hard to seem nice and approachable.”

“I’m so sorry Janus!” Patton apologizes from his place hiding in Virgil’s shoulder.

“Don't apologize, Pat,” Virgil assures him, patting the side of his head awkwardly. “He wants people to be afraid of him. He was so happy when he realized he got a scar from flgmmn!”

Janus clamps a gloved-hand over Virgil’s mouth quickly, pulling his head against his chest to stop his struggling.

“Nothing!” Janus hisses quickly. “Absolutely nothing. Nothing to see here!”

Virgil bats his hands at Janus’ head, but the angle makes it hard to land any solid hit.

Remus laughs, and Patton just grabs one of Virgil’s hands and kisses it apologetically, neither of them try to help him.

“Janus won’t let Virgil tell anyone how he got his scar,” Remus explains between giggles.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Janus says dismissively as Virgil goes limp. “Are you trying to bite my hand?”

“Kinky!”

The rest of breakfast continues… somewhat normally, of course Janus has Virgil pinned the entire time, and as a result, neither of them end up finishing their food. Roman’s determination to pout lasts all of twenty minutes, but then Janus started quoting Shakespeare and well… maybe Janus isn’t so bad after all.

“Romeo and Juliet isn't a love story,” Janus argues, he’s still covering Virgil’s mouth even though it’s been half an hour, and Virgil has long since stopped struggling. “It’s about two stupid kids that make dumb decisions and get the people around them killed.”

“You take that back!” Roman gasps, clutching his chest as though he’s been stabbed. “Romeo and Juliet is a story about star-crossed lovers and overcoming life’s obstacles!”

“What obstacles did they overcome Roman? They both died in the end.”

“Sorry to interrupt, kiddos,” Patton butts in before their argument can get any more heated. “But Jan, do you think you can let Virgil go now? He hasn’t eaten yet.”

Janus glances down at Virgil consideringly and the emo just gives him his most innocent expression. “Fine.”

Janus releases Virgil but continues to watch him suspiciously. In turn, Virgil just starts shoveling omelet into his mouth. After a moment, Janus seems satisfied and returns to his argument.

“And their own deaths could have been avoided if Romeo had just-”

“JANUS FELL OFF HIS BIKE!” Virgil blurts out suddenly.

“TRAITOR!”

This starts a scuffle between the two that has Remus cackling like a madman.

They get kicked out of the restaurant.

Well… Janus, Virgil, and Remus get kicked out of the restaurant, Patton, Roman, and Logan get told that they can stay if they don’t cause anymore scenes.

In the end they only stay long enough for Roman to pay for everyone’s food (because he’s a gentleman… and because he’s rich, but mostly because he’s a gentleman), and Patton to get the rest of Virgil and Janus’ omelets in a to-go box.

Remus and Janus are clearly having some sort of argument when Roman and the others make it outside, but the only part Roman manages to catch is Remus saying “calm down Peewee Herman!”

“Patton is officially my favorite boyfriend,” Janus pouts, maneuvering himself so that Patton is in between him and their other two boyfriends. Patton doesn't seem to mind, planting a kiss on Janus cheek that majorly undermines his edgy facade. “You two are dead to me.”

“Only on the inside,” Virgil responds sagely.

“You love us Janny!” Remus crows, outmaneuvering Janus’ human wall by pulling both Patton and Janus into a bone-crushing hug.

A funny feeling develops in Roman’s stomach as he watches the four of them interact. They all clearly like each other, and Patton seems so genuinely happy trapped between Remus and Janus. Maybe Roman overreacted last night.

“Well?” Logan asks quietly, slipping his hand easily into Roman’s.

“I was wrong,” Roman answers, finally dragging his gaze away from his brother, his best friend, and their boyfriends to look Logan in the eye. Logan is giving him that soft smile that makes Roman’s heart thud. “They’re cute together.”

“Patton seems happy,” Logan agrees. “Though I do believe that, objectively, we’re the cuter couple.”

“Yeah,” Roman agrees as Janus lets out an indignant squawk.

Turning around, Roman finds the Virgil had obviously tried to join the group hug and ended up toppling them over, leaving Janus on the ground with Virgil sprawled over his back, Remus and Patton lying in a heap next to them, all of them laughing.

“Objectively.”

~~~END~~~

Whoo! Finally finished the second part, I’ll probs post this on AO3 tomorrow

There will be more in this universe (currently working on a Virgil!centric one that deals a little bit more with them getting together

Taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @the-sunshine-dims @taylorxoxo22 @oatmealoatmealoatmealoatmealoatm @captain-otis-dante @007ardra @fandomfan315 @sophiexteresa @smolemopotato @contemplativespectrum @theyluna-womoon @queer-chair @your-gay-enby-highness @sanderssides-angst @idont-freaking-know @marshymoop @imlovethomassanders @sourshadowling @frogsandcookies @aricana8 @cute-and-angsty-princess

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

Prompt #36/129

#36: I don’t know who I am without you / #129. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you.

It isn’t the first time Aaron comes to see her with flowers in hand, and it doesn’t make visiting her grave any easier, or any less painful.

Flowers became a thing early on, starting with their first date several months before. Aaron had been anxious in the hours leading up to it - distracted all day, letting his eyes linger on her a few seconds too long here and there. It’s clear something was up. He assumed Dave must have overheard him confirming with Jessica about picking Jack up from his playdate, and that he’ll pick him up from her place around nine. All day he’d dodged the carefully timed stares, a few subtle winks whenever Emily’s back was turned.

“Got a date?” Dave asked casually on their way out, much later that afternoon, keeping his eyes forward as the elevator doors closed. But he’d smiled, which suggests he definitely overheard, and has all but figured out why Aaron is leaving so uncharacteristically early.

Aaron plays dumb, scrambling for an excuse for his early departure, and manages something out about a friend being in town. Dave had simply laughed. “Emily likes flowers,” he’d said as Aaron held his briefcase with a slightly sweaty hand. “I hope you picked some out.”

The quirk of an eyebrow, and the amusement hidden in the subtle contours of Aaron’s face all but give him away, the exact reason now known. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dave.” It’s an attempt in vain.

“But you do, and before you even ask how, just know I have my ways.”

Aaron had never been happier to see elevator doors open. What he doesn’t tell Dave is that he’s had flowers figured out already, for a few days now.

He remembers that night - their first date - like it was yesterday; it’s never fully dissipated from his mind. She’d been wearing blue - cerulean, to be specific - and she blushed ever so slightly when he handed her the bouquet of Dahlias and told her she looked beautiful.

Their reservation (at a Tapas bar close to the National Mall) had mysteriously gotten deleted, leaving them without a table only after they arrived at the restaurant. Emily had laughed despite Aaron’s visible frustration, taking the whole thing in stride as she tucked her hand in his arm. Instead, they ended up walking around the Monuments and eating street tacos from a food truck wrapped in heavy coats. Despite the cold, it was light, fun, and as he dropped her off in front of her building, he’d kissed her - brief, but full, his lips on hers a promise of a second date sooner rather than later.

There was indeed a second date; this one to an antique bookstore in Alexandria followed by coffee on a chilly Sunday morning. The threat of snow later that afternoon hadn’t deterred them. Aaron brings her flowers again - lilies - and she’d held them to her nose for the briefest of seconds as the blush rose to her cheeks once more. The second date was three weeks after the first, thanks to a barrage of cases that seemed to multiply, one right after the other, at a relentless rate with little time for anything else, let alone any semblance of a personal life. And yet, they picked up right where they left off, the same easy banter and familiarity that comes with years of knowing someone as well as they do. He kisses her again, this time bringing a hand to her hair and another around her back, pulling her in close. It’s not even a question if there will be a third date when they pull away, breathless.

Their third date was Valentine’s Day, and she’d come to his place for the first time in over a year, since the days after Foyet threatened to rip his family apart. Aaron bought roses - two dozen red ones - as cliché as it was, handing them to her when she’d arrived. She’d beamed as she shook the light dusting of snowflakes off her shoulders, apologizing for her lateness, murmuring that the flowers were beautiful. He’d planned on making her dinner but instead he’d taken her to bed, leaving their clothes scattered across the living room floor. Emily was beautiful beneath him; her long legs wrapped around his waist as he’d learned her, taking his time finding all the places that made her moan. Her fingers tangled in his hair when he’d kissed his way down the flat planes of her stomach and between her legs, her hands gripped his shoulders as he thrusted into her, she’d lowered herself down to press her chest against his, his arms wrapped around her as she rode him to completion with his own finish coming in the seconds after her own.

Aaron also ruined their dinner during their preoccupation - overcooked the steak and burnt the potatoes to a blackened crisp, rendering it all inedible. With a sheet wrapped around her chest, Emily had reached for her phone and ordered pizza, which they ate in bed straight out of the box. “The best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had,” she’d whispered in his ear much later, her lips smoothing down his jaw as she pushed him onto his back, a devious grin on her face. Hours later, he repeated her words right back to her, pressing kisses to her lips.

It all fell apart shortly after that.

Date number four was cruelly ripped right out of their hands as Emily slipped away, literally and figuratively, the threat of Ian Doyle becoming a reality. She’d withdrawn, becoming distant and even secretive, slipping into briefings late and sneaking clandestine glances at her phone throughout the day. Aaron had been oblivious to the truth (she hid that from all of them), but he knew something was direly wrong.

Two weeks after she cancelled their fourth date with a heaviness in her voice that culminated over the last few weeks, he heard the name Lauren Reynolds for the first time. And about ten days after that, he signed the paperwork that essentially rendered Emily Prentiss dead.

So now, Aaron always brings her flowers. It feels wrong not to, because he always has. This time he brings Irises; Emily likes those. She told him that once, back when he hung on every word she said, his brain absorbing every last detail of her to commit to memory. Now those memories come back and haunt him like a curse. The car door slams but he doesn’t hear it, and he adjusts the hood of his jacket and tucks his keys into his pocket. He keeps his head down, grateful for the soft rain that falls in the summer wind like a whisper as he maneuvers through the gate, stepping over the neat landscaping. Every step he takes brings him closer to her yet she’s never been further away from him, and he finally releases the breath he’s been holding when he sits down next to her headstone.

“Hi,” Aaron says softly, fumbling with the stems in his hands as he sets them down beside the ones he’d brought the other day, brushing his fingers over the cold marble headstone. “I miss you, you know. I’m sorry it’s been a few days. It was a hell of a week.” Being here is a familiar ritual, one that brings him an unexplainable bit of comfort and yet a profound sense of grief. It’s been four months since they buried an empty casket into the ground as she convalesced in the hospital. Four months since he explained to Jack with as much patience as he could muster that Emily had to go away for awhile, possibly forever, and calmly answered his son’s questions even as his own heart was shattering into pieces.

Aaron supposes it feels mildly silly, talking to someone who isn’t even there, spiritually or whatever, because what most don’t know is she’s not even dead.

She may as well be. Those were her words, not his. It’s what she said in the days after Boston, still too weak to travel but awake and fully cognizant, the impending reality looming in the distance. Aaron had sat at her side, as close as he could get without physically climbing into the bed with her, his hand a fixture in hers for the better part of the two weeks she’d spent there.

“These nurses are like drill sergeants,” Emily had groaned one afternoon after she’d taken a few laps around the floor, pushing a walker with Aaron hovering at her side, a protective hand on her back. It took nearly all of her energy; her eyelids had fluttered within minutes of returning to her bed.

“They’re supposed to help you get better, you know.” And while he can’t help but feel proud of her for how far she’s come, her returning strength is a reminder that soon enough she’ll vanish from their lives, unceremoniously, as if she never existed at all.

Her grave is the only place he feels close to her, as if she, wherever she is, might be there in some way too. It’s where Aaron talks to her, tells her the mundane things about life - the life that has seemingly paused since she left- anecdotes about Jack’s soccer team, Dave’s new car, every now and then he’ll mention a case. Sometimes it’s a haze of confusion, asking the questions he most likely will never get answers to, his voice breaking at the most simple, yet complicated of them all. Why? How?

Other days, it’s grief that courses through his veins and clouds his heart, like a vice grip around his windpipe that makes every intake of breath more painful than the last. They all feel her absence; a numbness has enveloped them all in the last couple of weeks especially. But he bears the pain of knowing the truth and being responsible for the secret they’ve held to keep her safe. Today is one of those days.

“I wish I could be angry with you,” he says, never taking his eyes off the headstone. “For what you put us through.” He’s tried that. Anger never lasts long, because Aaron sees her face in his mind, full of poorly concealed fear as he and JJ had passed over the dossier of new identities into her hands, signifying the beginning of the end.

“Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you,” Aaron chokes through the mounting thickness in his throat. “It’s not the same without you. Nothing is.” His face is wet, and it’s not because of the rain. Most of his visits end this way, and he takes the long way back home to pull himself together. “We miss you. I miss you.”

It’s getting harder to breathe, harder to conceal the sobs that are coming like the stormcloud in the distance, and he buries his face in his hands to cry because there’s nothing left he can do. “I don’t know who I am without you, Emily.”

There’s a rustling in the trees behind him sometime later. If he closes his eyes he can almost hear her footsteps behind him, sure and steady. Aaron can’t bring himself to turn around because she won’t be there - she’s already gone.

“I love you,” he whispers, knowing he should have said it a long time ago.

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #this is an angsty one #prompts #I made myself sad but really it was the wine talking

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fannishcodex · 3 years

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So I love @revasnaslan 's Where One Fell Verse, a SPOP AU. :D (Will add a link to the fic series in a comment or reblog below after remembering that tumblr sometimes has issues with embedded links, I think.)

Like, I really love it a lot, it borders on self-conscious "am I being too much, will this for some reason bother the fic writer??" And really, I’ve realized, no way, it won’t, especially since I write fic too and know I would be delighted if my fic got that reaction; but I think this may be more part of my self-consciousness and shyness. In any case, my affection for these fics is on hyperfixation level. I'm in the WOF Verse fandom. It's a thing I've been thinking about in some way since I found it late last year via @cirusthecitrus, it's one of the things that cheers me up these days. I struggle to articulate my pleasure with this fic, but I want to try to do it more.

This fic is a wonderfully character-driven story.

Fic spoilers under the cut, so recommend reading Where One Fell (fic 1) and Everything But A Door (fic 2) before this--and also, just, this fic has my deepest rec and everyone should check it out:

But, another different note first, even more self-conscious on my part: me writing about this fic more feels long overdue, but I really do struggle to sometimes articulate even my positive feelings about a thing because I want to get it across well--but I'm trying to more just spill it out now instead of trying to refine it more; and just also other things have been...a lot, there's been a lot (good and less good) that's pulled my attention in other directions too. So, long overdue, I wish I could've done more earlier, but I still just want to...gush about the fic; but I get self-conscious and worry about, like, "I don't want to end up pestering/pressuring and asking for immediate gratification for a new chapter/I don't want to guilt-trip for an update especially since I feel like I understand because I write fic too and I write slow and it's hard"...but I still want to gush about WOF verse, especially since it's like any other story I enjoy. I like gushing about the stories I enjoy.

So, again, this fic is wonderfully character-driven, which I love.

I'll bring up some canon for obvious reasons, but mostly in terms of contrast. One of the ways WOF Verse felt refreshing and drew me in was that after SPOP canon--well, in some ways SPOP canon feels like a wasted ensemble show; like many other things SPOP doesn't pull off, it doesn't pull off an ensemble show (especially when it ends up sidelining a bunch of characters that should've been prioritized more instead of a very mishandled character), and it kinda feels like it ends up having too many characters/like it starts feeling like too many characters if some are sort of just there and not really used (and I have my thoughts on who should've been prioritized, but that's another post; though granted I think my interest in this fic really indicates some of the characters I would've prioritized more).

So, I enjoyed how WOF Verse focuses on a smaller cast, giving them more attention and exploring them more. The general summary of the fic immediately drew me in, because I'm a sucker for family themes and dysfunctional families and familial love getting messy and complicated in fiction, and I hadn't realized I needed clone Hordak and his genetic template/progenitor Horde Prime shifted to them being literally brothers, plus the added twist of having Horde Prime actually care for his brother, but Prime's become thoroughly twisted in how he shows that affection and protectiveness--didn't know I needed that until I found this fic. And oh do I enjoy how this fic opened up the original '80s She-Ra/MOTU up to me more, because I just thought "wow, Hec-Tor Kur is a good made-up alt name/'real-ish' name with a last name for Hordak in this AU, and Anillis Kur just sounds cool and it just feels like it fits as an alt name/real name for Horde Prime when he's not always using that title," and I thought making them literally blood brothers was just a neat twist on them being clone and genetic template/progenitor. But nope, apparently Hec-Tor Kur and Anillis Kur are their real alt names from the original '80s canon which also heavily implies they're brothers, and that's really cool. (And I think it would've been really interesting if spop/the latest reboot had actually just explored that more, explored them more as brothers and siblings.)

Again, WOF is very character-driven, and I love that. And I enjoy how this feels like it also fits the story and world of the fic, which involves Anillis Kur/Horde Prime going into Extremely Overprotective Brother Mode and confining his sickly younger brother Hec-Tor (Hordak) to the Velvet Glove because he's that paranoid about anything happening to his brother due to a lot of family trauma that happened before Hec-Tor was even born/when he was just a baby (and baby Hec-Tor himself almost succumbing to illness and dying did not help with Anillis's issues), not to mention that controlling; so much of the fic so far is in a closed world, it adds to the hyper focus on the characters in that closed world. I appreciate how at times the fic really does have this claustrophobic feeling. I like how it sometimes makes me think of like a one-setting/limited setting play on a multi-chapter scale.

And of course, I like the specific characters getting this sort of hyper focus, and WOF makes me enjoy them even more. I love Hordak, his character, his voice, his design, etc. Horde Prime also has such a cool design and again that same cool voice, I adore Keston John's voice acting and his range in it. Canon S5 doesn't give him enough internal depth or character though, and ultimately makes him too much of just an obstacle and symbol/too much of a plot device in the show and a wasted opportunity for a more interesting character. That becomes even more apparent in contrast to WOF Verse, because Anillis Kur/Horde Prime is so much more interesting!!! Like Anillis/WOF!Prime is so much more interesting, it makes me realize how canon Prime is lacking in character/interest.

Ohman, this Prime. Prime has a great design and a great voice, and WOF has an interesting personality to match those elements in quality. There's so much fascinating contrast with him in WOF, and it makes him feel like a more unsettling villain. We've seen him care, and so it feels more frightening when he turns more aggressive and ruthless and cold. WOF's opening scene really effectively sets that contrast with him; it starts with him exhausted but having a really sweet moment with a very young Hec-Tor, and then not long after that when Hec-Tor's asleep in his arms it's a very unsettling mood whiplash with how Anillis coldly treats the clone attendant; it's even very effectively distilled and crystalized even further with the image of Anillis holding a sleeping Hec-Tor in his arms while glaring daggers at the clone attendant, that contrast of love and threat. Like, definitely a character that can do Both and I love that. And contrast adds layers to Anillis, it renders him in even more emotional dimensions, he can be multiple things at once.

And I rather love that he's far less...touchy, with everyone; it more finally struck me that he's rarely negatively touched anyone until a pivotal scene, and it being a rarity made the scene pack more of a punch, and then I looked back and realized he just doesn't do that often, there's another earlier scene that also feels shocking because it's another rare use of explicit touch, his touch is more targeted--he doesn't need to constantly do it to feel threatening at all, and is in fact much more threatening and unsettling without it. (I literally had to pause some instances because I was nervous about what Anillis would do next.) It's so fascinating to watch Anillis steadily grow worse and to watch Hec-Tor gradually have the dawning realization of what Anillis is really doing and the truth of his situation. It's interesting to see Hec-Tor gradually realizing that what he's lived with his whole life and what has felt normal isn't a good thing, it's not acceptable.

And I really do like that familial love is such a motivating factor for Anillis, and that it's something that feeds into a lot of his ruthlessness and villainy; and it feels like something I still don't see enough in fiction. And it just feels more believable, more consistent. Anillis acts horribly, is abusive, but it still feels like what he does is out of love for his brother and he really is blind to what he's actually doing to his brother, that it's the opposite of what he wants, it's not protecting him like he believes. I like that level of character believability/consistency, and part of that also involves how it's overall framed, and it's still framed as pretty terrifying; Anillis cares about his brother, but his methods are twisted.

And my gut feeling does...well, feel connections between canon and this AU--and that may be obvious as source material and fic based on it, but I mean--it's as if canon were the very rough first sketch/draft, and WOF is the fully realized version of the character, plus the change of shifting his brotherly status into a brother that actually does care but goes about it in a horribly twisted way. WOF takes parts and pieces and little details from canon and fleshes them out into something more fully dimensional and more interesting. Like the trace of canon Prime's collection with plants/other things and even arguably the imagery at the end with his ship the Velvet Glove becoming a tree feel connected to a more fleshed out version in WOF where Anillis keeps a garden. And there's so much meaning that can be pulled from his garden--it's another reflection of his controlling behavior with the way he controls/manages the garden; on the flip side, it feels like it further reflects the contrast/dichotomy in his character, as gardens can still have positive connotations too--it can reflect the potential Anillis had (may still have?) for genuine good/for genuinely nurturing care. And it also does more explicitly point to Anillis's affection for family since his late father had kept a garden too and Anillis's own garden on the Velvet Glove still has his father's plants. There's so much done with Anillis's garden.

And with his backstory and the contrast in his character, just his...everything, I also want to know more about Anillis, I'm curious for even more of his backstory, even going more into "why are you like this?" Like this is a genuinely fascinating, charismatic, threatening, multi-faceted antagonist right here.

And I can go on about Anillis, but I love Hec-Tor/Hordak in this too. I love Hordak, and I enjoy how this still feels so much like Hordak, but with a different life; I feel like there are commonalities that remain from canon within him combined with differences based on the AU he's in and the different experiences he's lived with. Like, there's such an interesting detail with Hec-Tor's growing anger issues that remind me of Hordak--it's there, but different because of their different lives, Hec-Tor's developing because of his isolation but still quieter, simmering, because his brother only has his best interests at heart, he shouldn't act like this... And then it’s so nice to see Hec-Tor be even more talkative about SCIENCE because he does have more space to be a bit more open about his passions in this AU/different life situation. And it's all like another AU I didn't realize I wanted until I saw it--I really dig seeing Hordak/Hec-Tor as a baby, as a little kid, getting to have a childhood and get to have more typical developmental stages and to have more familial experiences, albeit twisted ones. And I love how the story has shifted to Hec-Tor more, love his POV and following him on his journey.

And the clones! The clones are great in WOF and give me feels too. I love how more of them are focused on as individuals, and that we get to see more of their characters and glimpse their differing views. And when Etherian characters join in, they're as well written and interesting too (the Entrapdak is so good). I just like WOF's cast, and the line-up plucked from canon and how they adjust to the AU; this ensemble just feels better, and it's utilized and treated better than canon.

And the worldbuilding with Anillis & Hec-Tor’s race and the clones and their world is so good and seamlessly interwoven with story and character, enhancing the whole thing even more and making things even more interesting.

I just...really love these characters and this story. They have a lot of heart and intrigue.

(Disclaimer: I definitely ended up having trouble figuring out tags for this. Especially since I think only the first five tags actually show up at first? And I think last I checked tumblr freaks out over dashes within a tag so while “hec-tor kur” probably fits better, I don’t think tumblr can handle that for some reason so just going with “hordak,” which also really still just fits.)

#fic rec #spop #anillis kur #hordak #horde prime #not a reblog #where one fell

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dweemeister · 3 years

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The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953)

Theodore Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss, remains best-known for his children’s books. The Cat in the Hat; Green Eggs and Ham; and Oh, the Places You’ll Go! are household names in English-language literature. Seuss’ bibliography overshadows his work in films, beginning with the adapted screenplay of his own book, The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins (1943) – directed by George Pal as part of the Puppetoons series. During WWII, Seuss was heavily involved in propaganda films and the Private Snafu (1943-1946) military training films. After the war’s end, Seuss returned to writing children’s books, but also continued to write for movies. The Academy Award-winning animated short film Gerald McBoing-Boing (1950) benefitted from Seuss’ story work, and Seuss’ success there inspired him to write a screenplay for a live-action fantasy film. That screenplay – the unwieldy rough draft coming in at over 1,200 pages – was The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T. The eventual movie, produced by Stanley Kramer (1960’s Inherit the Wind, 1961’s Judgment at Nuremberg) and directed by Roy Rowland (1945’s Our Vines Have Tender Grapes, 1956’s Meet Me in Las Vegas) for Columbia Pictures, would be Seuss’ only involvement in a non-documentary feature film.

Like many who speak English as their first language, Dr. Seuss’ books graced my early childhood. So integral to numerous children’s youth is Seuss that his whimsy, wordplay, and authorial stamps are easily recognizable. In that spirit, the cinematic record of live-action Seuss adaptations consists of the scatological Jim Carrey in How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000) and the visual nightmare that is Mike Myers as The Cat in the Hat (2003). Compared to the original works, both films are ungainly, casually cruel, and overcomplicated. Not promising company for Dr. T. But even taking into account the three animated feature adaptations of Seuss – Horton Hears a Who! (2008), The Lorax (2012), and The Grinch (2018) – and the fact that Columbia forced wholesale deletions from the rough draft script of Dr. T to achieve a feasible runtime, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is arguably the most faithful feature adaptation to Dr. Seuss’ authorial intent and signature aesthetic.

In other words, this is one of the strangest films you may ever encounter. No synopsis I could write in one paragraph will ever capture the film’s bizarreries.

Little Bart Collins (Tommy Rettig) is asleep during piano practice and his teacher, Dr. Terwilliker (Hans Conried), is furious. His overworked, widowed mother Heloise (Mary Healey) intuits Terwilliker’s unrealistic expectations (Terwilliker wants to teach the next Paderewski) towards Bart’s piano skills and inability to concentrate. Heloise also appears to be quietly eyeing the plumber August Zabladowski (Peter Lind Hayes) and his wrench. With the lesson done for the day, Bart falls asleep again. This time, he dreams that Terwilliker is now the leader of the Terwilliker Institute, a pianist supremacy mini-state which is built upon five hundred young pianist slave boys (hence, 5,000 fingers) forcibly playing Terwilliker’s latest compositions. His mother is Terwilliker’s unwilling, hypnotized assistant and plumber August Zabladowski (Hayes is essentially playing the same character, but in a different world) is Bart’s only ally around. Together, Bart and Mr. Zabladowski must evade the Institute’s guards as they attempt to undermine Terwilliker’s plans for his next concert.

In its final form, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is a muddled mess of a story. The analogues between Bart’s reality and his dreams are inconsistent, several would-be subplots never resolve (or at the very least develop beyond a basic idea), and the film’s initial lightness is subject to rapid mood swings that make this picture feel disjointed. Indeed, Seuss’ sprawling social commentary in his first draft – including allegories and themes of post-WWII totalitarianism, anti-communism, and atomic annihilation – is in tatters in this final product. The viewer will witness brief fragments of those ideas, remaining in this movie as the barest of hints of the contents of the original screenplay’s rough draft. Even now, Dr. T inspires psychiatric analyses and accusations that Bart’s relationship with his mother reveals signs of an Oedipal complex (to yours truly, the latter is too much of a reach). The grim nature of Terwilliker Institute renders Dr. T unsuitable for the youngest children. For older children and adults, try going into this movie without expectations of narrative logic and embrace the grotesque aspects that only Seuss could imagine.

If my attempts to describe this movie’s preposterousness through its narrative and screenwriting approach have failed, perhaps I can capture that for you by writing on its technical features.

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For its sheer narrative inventiveness – inconsistencies, abrupt tonal shifts, nonsense, and Rowland’s uninspired direction aside – The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is nevertheless an ambitious film, and Columbia bequeathed a hefty budget to match that ambition. Much of that budget went to the film’s visuals. This is an extravagantly-staged motion picture, as nothing could do Dr. Seuss’ illustrations justice without fully committing to his geometric impossibilities: skyward ladders and improbable connections between rooms, an eschewal of right angles and straight lines, and architecture bound to raise the ire of physics teachers. One could compare this to German Expressionism, but Dr. T’s sets tend not to dictate the film’s mood nor are they subject to high-contrast lighting. Seuss went uncredited as the concept artist on Dr. T, and it was up to Clem Beauchamp (1935’s The Lives of a Bengal Lancer, 1952’s High Noon) and the uncredited matte artists to commit those visuals to the real world. Outside of animated film, Beauchamp and the matte artists succeed in creating twisted sets that seem to leap off the pages of Seuss’ most artistically interesting books. Some of the sets appear too stagebound, but the production design accomplishes its need to resemble a world borne from a fever dream (or, at least, a young pianist’s nightmare).

This movie’s outrageous costume design (other than Jean Louis’ gowns for Mary Healey, the costume designer/s for this film are uncredited) comprises absurd uniforms and two of the most ludicrous hats – the “happy fingers” cap (see photo at the top of this write-up) and whatever the hell Terwilliker dons in the film’s climax – one might ever see in a film. Most of the costumes are laughably impractical and ridiculous to even those without fashion sense. In what might be the tamest example, while working under Terwilliker, Bart’s mother wears a suit that is all business formal on the left-hand side and bare-shouldered, sleeveless, and nightclub-y on the right. The delineation of real life – which barely features in the film’s eighty-nine minutes – and this world of Bart’s dreams could not be any more unambiguous thanks to the combination of the production and costume design work.

The disappointing musical score by Fredrich Hollaender (1930’s The Blue Angel, 1948’s A Foreign Affair) and song lyrics by Seuss rarely connects to the larger narrative unfolding. Seven songs make the final print, with nine (yikes!) Hollaender-Seuss songs ending up on the cutting room floor. Seuss’ wordplay is evident, as are Hollaender’s melodic flourishes. Columbia, a studio not known for its musicals, assembled a 98-piece orchestra – the largest musical ensemble to work on a Columbia film at the time – for The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T alone. That lush sound is apparent throughout for the numerous nonsense songs that color the score in addition to the incidental score. It is unusual to listen to a collection of novelty songs orchestrated so fully. Listen to “Dressing Song: Do-Mi-Do Duds” and its complicated, seeming unsingable lines:

Come on and dress me, dress me, dress me In my peek-a-boo blouse With the lovely inner lining made of Chesapeake mouse! I want my polka-dotted dickie with the crinoline fringe For I'm going doe-me-doe-ing on a doe-me-doe binge!

The rich orchestration seems to hail from a more lavish film. But too many of these songs are scene-specific, and rarely does Hollaender utilize musical quotations from these songs into his score. “Get Together Weather” is delightful, but it seems so isolated from the rest of the film; elsewhere, “The Dungeon Song” exemplifies a macabre side to Seuss seldom appearing in his books. Nevertheless, Hollaender is able to demonstrate his playfulness across the entire film, none moreso during any scene with the bearded, roller-skating twins and the “Dungeon Ballet”, in which the music complements stunning choreography and fascinating props that recall the jingtinglers, floofloovers, tartookas, whohoopers, slooslunkas, and whowonkas from the Christmas television special How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1966). Yet, Hollaender’s film score and the soundtrack with Seuss seems to demand something – anything – to tie the entire compositional effort together. Perhaps a song or some cue like that was cut from the film, which is ultimately to its detriment.

Hans Conried (who starred as Captain Hook in Disney’s Peter Pan several months prior to Dr. T’s release) stands out from a decidedly average Peter Lind Hayes and Mary Healey – Hayes and Healey, in a sort of in-joke, were married. Conried’s performance as the sadistic, torture- and imprisonment-happy music teacher can be considered camp, but this is anything but “bad” camp. He throws himself completely into this cartoonish role, sans shame, complete with mid-Atlantic accent, and topped off with exaggerated facial and physical acting that fits this fantasy. As Bart, child actor Tommy Rettig (best known as Jeff Miller on the CBS television series Lassie) seems more assured in his performance than most child performers his age during the 1950s. His fourth wall-breaking asides seem more appropriate in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, but Rettig makes it work, and inhabits Bart’s flaws wonderfully.

Columbia demanded numerous reworkings of Seuss’ script, leading to several reshoots – most notably the opening scene (Seuss opposed the conceit of Bart’s dream framing the film) – and a ballooning budget. Upon its release in the summer of 1953, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T bombed at the box office and was assailed by critics. A crestfallen Seuss, who could not stand the production difficulties that beset the film from the start of shooting, would never work in feature films again. He would dedicate himself almost entirely to writing and illustrating children’s books, with many of his most popular titles (including The Cat in the Hat, One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish, and Green Eggs and Ham) published within a decade of Dr. T’s critical and commercial failure. His hesitance to participate in filmmaking informed his reluctance to allow Chuck Jones to adapt How the Grinch Stole Christmas! thirteen years later. Animation suited his books, Seuss thought, and he would never again pay any consideration to live-action filmmaking.

The reevaluation of The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T has seen a rehabilitation of the film’s image in recent decades. Home media releases and television showings have introduced the film to viewers not influenced by the hyperbolic negativity of the film critics working in 1953. This is not a sterling example of Old Hollywood fantasy filmmaking, due to a heavily gutted screenplay, scattershot thematic development, and incongruent musical score. Yet, the movie’s surrealistic charms and Seussian chaos know no peers, even in the present day.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T #The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T.#Dr. Seuss #Roy Rowland #Peter Lind Hayes #Mary Healy #Hans Conried #Tommy Rettig #Allan Scott #Stanley Kramer #Frederick Hollander #Rudolph Sternad #Cary Odell #William Kiernan #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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big-oof-bi-goof · 4 years

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So there’s this meme going around with TMA fans, the whole “hello Jon” thing, but it kind of disappoints me. We, as a fandom, are capable of more. We can do better than this. We just need to Hello Jon. Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

I hope you’ll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious.

Why does a man seek to destroy the world?

It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my god. The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness, to place yourself beyond pain and death and fear.

It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, Jon, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.

I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die.

I believe there are far more people in this world that would take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.

Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When Smirke first gathered our little band – Lukas, Scott, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesize on the nature of the things he had learned from Rayner, I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear.

But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. Smirke was so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of our patrons.

I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world.

At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race.

Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?

I convinced Smirke to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked.

It. Took. Years, for the dread of the prisoners to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man before I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the center of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet.

It was… flawed, of course, as all Smirke’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it.

But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to.

It was a dizzying power, and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organization I had founded to assist in my research down to London, and the Institute as you know it was born.

I’ll not bore you with details of my bodies and failures through those intervening years. Suffice to say I kept busy, both planning my own next attempt, and doing my best to stymie those others who tried versions of their own.

Surely my interpretation of the Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.

It was not until I met Gertrude Robinson that things began to really come into focus.

You see, the role of Archivist has been part of the Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers; most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings.

But Gertrude was unlike any other Archivist. She simply did not care about compiling experiences or collecting the fears of others. She was driven to stop those who served the Powers.

More than once I thought she must secretly be of the Hunt – but there was never that sick joy in her, that thrill of predator and prey. She had simply decided that this was her position in life, and went about it with a practicality that even I found disconcerting at times.

I once asked her what drove her, what had started her down that path. She told me the Desolation had killed her cat.

I don’t know if she was joking, and, to be honest, I could never bring myself to look into her mind and find out for sure.

In any case, Gertrude’s ruthless efficiency in derailing and collapsing rituals threw into stark relief a question that had been bothering me for almost a hundred and fifty years: In the whole span of humanity, why had nobody ever succeeded?

Perhaps there were a long line of Gertrude Robinsons throughout history, but I found that hard to credit. Could it be, then, that there was something in the very concept of the rituals that meant they couldn’t succeed?

She was clearly having similar thoughts in that last year, all of which culminated with the People’s Church.

When I saw that she was making no preparations whatsoever to stop it, I realized she was putting into practice a theory, and one she couldn’t afford to be wrong. She was going to wait, and see if the unopposed ritual succeeded, or if it collapsed under its own strain as mine had all hose years ago.

Knowing Gertrude, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated – but she had not. The ritual failed. And all at once, I realized what had to be done.

You see, the thing about the Fears is that they can never be truly separated from each other. When does the fear of sudden violence transition into the fear of hunted prey? When does the mask of the Stranger become the deception of the Spiral?

Even those that seem to exist in direct opposition rely on each other for their definition as much as up relies on down.

To try and create a world with only the Buried makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only down.

Every ritual tied itself so closely to a single power as to render itself impossible. They could bring their patron close, but never sever it from the others, and eventually it would be violently pulled back into the place next to reality where they dwell.

The solution, then, is simple: A new ritual must be devised which will bring through all the Powers at once. All fourteen, as I had hoped I could complete it before any new powers such as Extinction were able to fully emerge. All under the Eye’s auspices, of course. We mustn’t forget our roots.

And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s ill-timed retirement plans.

Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer.

It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive.

Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, Jon. You are a record of fear, both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you.

You are a living chronicle of terror.

Perhaps, then, if I could find an Archivist and have each Power mark them, have them confront each one and each in turn instill in them a powerful and acute fear for their life, they could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom.

Do you see where I’m going, Jon?

It does tickle me, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck.

I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but My God, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was.

Of course, I had to bide my time, get a measure of you before I began to push, learn how you worked – So I decided I would wait until something came for you, and see how you reacted. Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during Gertrude’s tenure, and, while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be.

I reasoned if you couldn’t survive a single encounter, you were unlikely to make it through all fourteen. So, when Jane Prentiss attacked, I watched eagerly, one hand on the gas release from the start.

You acquitted yourself well enough, so I decided to see how far you would get, though I waited until the worms were in you before I pulled the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones.

The discovery that one of the Stranger’s minions had infiltrated the Institute in the aftermath was certainly a pleasant bonus. Even if that sliver of paranoia, that vague wrongness you couldn’t quite place wouldn’t count as a mark, it was only a matter of time before it confronted you in a far more direct and affecting matter.

Admittedly, given the advent of the Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered. But what’s the old saying about hindsight?

More important to me was Sasha’s encounter with the Distortion. If it had taken an interest, then I very much wanted it to cross your path.

So I found one of its current victims and convinced her to make a statement.

Poor Helen. I actually had to put her in a taxi myself, she was getting so lost in those narrow London side streets.

It worked, though.

Between the stabbing and at least two desperate flights into its doors – you’re marked very deeply by the Spiral.

Jurgen Leitner was a surprise, of course, and I was forced to improvise. I had no idea how much Gertrude would have told him, and he could very easily have derailed everything if you learned too much too fast.

I… justified it to myself saying I was going to have to send you out into the world anyway, if you were to encounter more of the Powers, but I can’t honestly pretend it wasn’t a… rather rash move.

Still. I’d requested Detective Tonner be assigned to the case when they found Gertrude’s body in the hope that having a Hunter in the mix would eventually lead to a confrontation, and setting you up as a killer certainly hastened that.

Then it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a few Avatars I thought were likely to harm you – but probably would stop short of actually killing you.

Jude served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr Crew, marking you for the Desolation and the Vast.

Honestly, I had – nothing to do with Melanie and her Slaughter adventure, but when I saw the situation, I made sure to trap her here, so when her rage bubbled over you would be right there, a ready target.

I didn’t foresee the mark coming from surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise.

The Unknowing was a distraction, but not an unwelcome one. For this to work, you needed more than just the marks; you needed power. And that was something the Unknowing served to test, though it posed no actual danger in the grand scheme of things.

And it did serve another purpose, of course. It inadvertently pushed you to confront death, a mark I had been very worried about trying to orchestrate. If I tried too early, you’d just die. Too late, and you might be powerful enough to see the attempt coming, and maybe even understand why.

As it was, it was just right, and once again, you came through with flying colors.

By this point, your abilities were coming along in leaps and bounds, and I was concerned that meeting face-to-face might end up with you Knowing something you shouldn’t.

I had initially planned to go into hiding, but when your colleagues surprised me with the police, well. It was simple enough to cut a deal.

All that remained, then, were the Dark, the Flesh, the Buried, and the Lonely.

I was a little put out when that idiot Jared Hopworth misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then – Ho, you should have see my face when you voluntarily went to him.

I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.

I suspected the coffin might turn up again, and once it did, it was simply a matter of getting any, uh… restraining factors you might have had flying off on a wild goose chase, and waiting.

Honestly, Detective Tonner has been proving invaluable through this process. I’d been racking my brains for months about what I could use to lure you in.

And, of course, I knew the Dark Sun was just sitting there waiting. So when it came time, I just whipped up another apocalypse and sent you on your merry way.

Then all that remained was the Lonely.

Poor Peter. He really should have left well enough alone. Or just done what I’d asked in the first place.

Ah well. He knew what I was attempting, and was very unwilling to cooperate until I made him a little wager about Martin.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that, in addition to setting you up for the final mark, he was giving you all the tools you needed to escape from it.

How is Martin, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that.

And there, I think, we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but past here lies only impatience.

You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here.

Don’t worry, Jon. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.

Now. Repeat after me.

You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right.

Come to us in your wholeness.

Come to us in your perfection.

Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and leads and dies!

Come to us.

I – OPEN – THE DOOR!

#tma #the magnus archives #jonah magnus

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zedecksiew · 4 years

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“Exotic Warrior”

(Am writing this because it’s been bubbling over in my mind. This post is an exorcism of bad vibes over bad ideas that have held me hostage, the past few days.)

There is now criticism on Twitter arguing that the “Exotic Warrior”, one of Troika!’s d66 Backgrounds, is racist because it is coded as Orientalist / Asian.

I would like to respectfully disagree.

(There are other arguments in the initial complaint. I am commenting the “Exotic Warrior” specifically. Because by being actually East Asian -- part of the diaspora, living in Southeast Asia -- I feel I have some standing to comment.)

When I encountered “Exotic Warrior” in the book it stood out as a neat background and helped sell me on Troika!.

As I read it, the Background is a deft piece of work: it references the “adventurer from a foreign land” thing, but occludes said trope’s usual Orientalism -- an attempt at deconstruction.

A foreigner, in Troika!, can be anybody. This isn’t just a platitude; it’s supported by the book’s implied science-fantasy setting -- is essentially Spelljammer, but on more acid.

It is similar to Electric Bastionland / Planescape / etc in that it features a melting-pot, nobody’s-local “city at the centre of creation”-type deal. (I have Thoughts about RPG setttings that focus on metropoles, but that’s a separate post.)

Here’s the “Exotic Warrior” ’s text, in full:

24 EXOTIC WARRIOR No one has heard of your homeland. Your habits are peculiar, your clothes are outrageous, and in a land jaded to the outlandish and new you still somehow manage to stand out.

POSSESSIONS - A WEIRD & WONDERFUL WEAPON. - STRANGE CLOTHES. - EXCITING ACCENT. - A TEA SET or 3 POCKET GODS or ASTROLOGICAL EQUIPMENT.

ADVANCED SKILLS 6 Language - Exotic Language 3 Fighting in your Weird Weapon 2 Language - Local Language 2 Spell - Random 1 Astrology 1 Etiquette

Honestly? None of the above reads as particularly problematic. It’s a legit, characterful beginning point for a player-character.

Sure, my Western-media-battered brain jumps to Samurai Warrior --

But immediately also to Sufi Missionary or Varangian Guard. And indeed comes to rest at Indeterminately White Gentleperson Naturalist -- the kind of exotic visitor Southeast Asia got, a lot, those scouts of European imperialism.

These readings are possible because of the illustration the entry is paired with. Here they are together:

Setting aside the surrealist stylisations:

The shape of the costume, the belt, the “skirt” -- these look like Europeanisms, to me. And the figure’s laughing abandon opposes the standard Orientalist tropes of wise inscrutability or red-faced savagery.

The choice to run “Exotic Warrior” with a decidedly non-Orientalist-coded illustration isn’t an unintentional piece of art direction.

(PS: any critique of an illustrated text that only focuses on the words is incomplete. Image is half the text of an illustrated text.)

The nondescript-ness of the entry plus its accompanying image is an open door. Opening this door isn’t without risk: whatever assumptions you make about your particular “Exotic Warrior” are drawn from your own biases.

Regarding “Etiquette” and “Astrology” and “Tea Set”?

With my biases: I don’t read these things as uniquely East-Asian. (When I first encountered “tea set” in Troika! I genuinely thought: “English tea service”, instead of: “temae”.)

The one that I did read as real-world Eastern was “Pocket Gods” -- but many human cultures had this, pocket gods are a part of Troika!’s wider fantasy setting, and “Exotic Warrior” isn’t the only Background to start with them.

A note on “exotification”:

The criticism of “Exotic Warrior” fundamentally seems to be: “Playing a character from the Other / that is Other-ed = BAD”.

I fundamentally disagree with this notion.

I have no lived experience of a society where being other-ed (in terms of culture, race, class, gender expression, etc) isn't an ever-present thread in the fabric of one's life -- and therefore a crucial and profound source of conflict and insight into the human condition.

(The ethnic fault-lines in Malaysian society have become so unbridgeable today primarily because it was official policy to sweep all that other-ing under the rug of “Malaysia Truly Asia”, as opposed to working through our ugly whispered prejudices towards understanding.)

We are not all the same. Cultural, geographic, and material differences exist. The mismatch in knowledge and understanding this creates? It matters.

In fact: To insist on universal cultural-knowledge parity; To push for “nobody’s born here, everybody belongs” melting-pots as the default framing; To nudge questions of difference and arrival into ghettos (to paraphrase one of the tweets I saw: “you can only explore issues surrounding the Other in a game specifically designed to do so”);

All that comes off to me as a very neo-liberal position, designed to safeguard and disguise the privileges of “mainstream” metropolitan melting-pots.

I read it as:

“Post-modern cosmopolitan societies want to be inclusive but don’t want to pay the admission price of history and discomfort, so they generally opt for erasure instead.”

+++

Throughout this post I have been careful to speak from my particular context. Because context matters.

More context:

I like Troika!. Like, a lot. I think its creator, UK-based Daniel Sell, strives and succeeds at making thoughtful work. I consider him a friend, whom I’ve had personal (albeit Internet-bound) interactions now and again.

I have BJ Recio to thank for the following insight. Talking to him about “Exotic Warrior”, BJ brought up a crucial point that I’ll paraphrase here:

Roleplaying the outsider can be bad, especially when it is used as an excuse by the West to do fucked-up shit. But it is not default bad. Assuming it is default bad centres the discussion on “Will White people fuck this up? (Yes.)”

Essentially, the argument against “Playing a character from the Other / that is Other-ed = BAD" assumes two things:

(a) Western participants as default; (b) harm (because of ignorance or bad faith) as default.

If your context -- your Background, hah! -- prompts you to experience Troika! with those assumptions; and therefore read “Exotic Warrior” as necessarily Orientalist, and racially-charged?

Your context is your context; I’m not going to invalidate it.

If you are located in a society where the binary of White / non-White overpowers everything, I certainly understand the whys and hows of your position.

Your context matters.

So does mine.

+++

I think I’m reacting badly to this because I personally feel turned away by this RPG Discourse Around Representation (tm), supposedly done in the name of my East-Asian ass.

I resent the idea that “Playing a character from the Other / that is Other-ed = BAD”. It threatens to render verboten the entirety of my RPG work.

I am a SEA creator trying to explore and be true to my context. If there is one constant throughout SEAsian experience, it is difference.

Our peoples have ever encountered and glamourised and hated each other, all of us simultaneously Us and the Other:

Japanese and Malay enclaves in Ayutthaya; Mongol invaders in Java, who never left; Luzones mercenaries, employed by both the Sultan of Melaka and his Portuguese enemies; The reputation of the Ilanun / Bajak Laut; White conquistadors (aforementioned above); The entire history of diaspora Chinese identities (my identity!) in SEA, generally;

Foreigners from foreign lands -- feared, not fully understood, not fully understanding, simultaneously conquering and settling and finding modes of belonging, becoming a part of the land.

Always arriving.

That the background music of my geography, discordant though it may be, is somehow so harmful it may only be meaningfully depicted in the hermetic context of a “game specifically designed to explore that”?

This feels bad, and extremely unwelcoming. It feels like a shut gate instead of an open door.

I refuse to be turned away.

+++

(Hopefully I can finally stop thinking about this shit.)

#rants #rpgs #southeastasia #troika #representation #dramarama #exorcisms

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listless-brainrot · 3 years

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Avatar: The Last Airbender DS Game Review

no one asked for this but i don’t ever see anyone talk about the atla videogames, which is a true tragedy, and i know that this may be because the video games aren’t technically canon, but i think they’re still worth talking about!

i finished this game in about three days, and i’m going to be talking about its gameplay, graphics, and story, all in that order.

spoilers below, as i’ll be talking about the entire game in depth.

Gameplay:

the bulk of the gameplay consists of controlling your party of four, which consists of aang, sokka, katara, and haru. you can swap between any member of your party at any time using the touchscreen. you can run around with the d-pad, and you can also walk by holding down the b button. but onto the combat- each member has a specific set of attacks they can use, with two kinds of attacks and defenses, primaries and specials, with attacks assigned to the y and x buttons, and defenses assigned to the b and a buttons respectively. the game is jrpg-esque, in the sense that it has (somewhat) random encounters and a multi-person party, each with strengths and weaknesses. the random encounters aren’t fully random, as the enemies (which range from animals to machines) can be easily spotted and avoided in the overworld, but they do chase the party down. there is no in-game option to run from any random encounter, as you have to purchase smoke balls to run away from a fight. each random encounter will either drop a healing item or an unspecified amount of gold, which can be used in shops.

the game works in “chapters”, similar to the actual show’s structure, which has episodes, each of which start you and your party in/near a village, according to whatever setting the plot deems necessary. in each village, there is a variety of shops, which include an herbalist, medicine man, and fruit seller. the herbalist will mix together any random herbs you find (for a fee) in the overworld, creating single use status-buffing items that have varying effects based on the kinds of herbs used. the medicine man (unsure if that’s what he’s actually called) will sell incense and smoke bombs, with the latter used to control the rest of the party, with different kinds of incense used to dictate their behavior in battle. for example, defense incense will make the rest of your party use more defensive moves, rather than offensive. the fruit seller sells various healing items, which range between single and party-healing. as the game progresses, these items grow more and more costly, requiring increasing amounts of gold. there are also hidden item boxes, though these are found in both the villages and world itself. items can be held in a sizeable inventory, but items must manually be moved up into a six-slot hotbar for use during combat.

though the bulk of the gameplay is exploration and fighting, there are also some smaller parts within the game that switch it up a bit. there are minigames, such as four nations force, which can be found in villages and is a pai-sho-esque game with similar tiles, as well as opportunities to train certain members of the party, namely haru (at least in my experience). there is a segment in which you can control momo, and have him solve a puzzle to open a door, and in that same segment, there is a mission where you have to utilize the b-button to silently walk past guards. there are a few of fetch-quests, though they aren’t too difficult, and drive the plot forward.

the gameplay isn’t anything groundbreaking or spectacular, but it serves its purpose well, and can make for some really fun strategy-driven moments where you have to constantly swap between characters to see if there’s advantages to using one over the other, and rationing out health items carefully to see if they’ll last you before a boss fight. there’s definitely a lot of combat, and, while the game doesn’t force you to, there is the inherent expectation of level-grinding, which can make certain segments of the game a whole lot easier, especially with unlocked specials and higher power. there is also the fact that, should you lose a random encounter fight with no smoke bombs, you are basically stuck in the fight until you win or quit, which are the only two options. furthermore, should you quit, you’ll be sent back to your last save, and you must manually save, as is standard for most games of this era, as it only prompts you to save at the very conclusion of a chapter. there is a bit of mercy, however- should your entire party die and you continue, your party’s health will be restored to at least a third, and all items used in the previous battle will return in your inventory, ready to be used again.

Graphics:

as is expected with ds games of this era, the characters are rendered in charming little pixel sprites, which each sprite being beautifully animated and full of personality. in cutscenes, each character emotes with their own set of sprites, and their mouths are animated when they talk. sometimes, their sprites are used for comedic effect- there are rarely moments where characters are just standing and spewing dialogue. there are also pixel-rendered portraits of each character in the party on the touchscreen, allowing you to see their health, moves, and level.

what’s interesting about this game, however, is that, while the characters are 2d sprites, their surroundings are 3d, and you can change the viewpoint of the camera at any time in the overworld with the l and r bumpers, allowing you to really see the entirety of the map. this makes exploring all the more interesting, as you can spin the camera around to see hidden loot boxes or other items you may have missed. in villages, there is a lot of new personality and depth given to each setting, especially familiar sights from the show such as omashu and the northern air temple. the aesthetic of the overall show is kept intact well, as even the npcs in new towns all appear to fit by design, and there is a sense of visual cohesion that makes it feel true to its roots. there are little nods to canon beyond just the main characters, such as one of the healing items in the game being a custard tart, and town designs expanding on already established settings.

each segment of the game carries with it a unique feel, making each chapter easily distinguishable from the last. the game has so much charm, with its bright visual styles and faithfulness to its canon inspiration, and each setting is unique and fun to explore. the only thing that may bog it down in terms of both gameplay and graphics is that a majority of the surrounding buildings in villages and cities can’t be entered nor explored- they’re just props. this gives a slightly empty vibe to the environment when you notice that the background props are just props. it would be much more fun to explore the given environment if there was more to do, rather than just the same three to five things. furthermore, while the camera function is very useful, it can also be really confusing in terms of navigation. there’s a map and a compass, sure, but sometimes you’ll be stuck spinning the camera until you’re absolutely sure you’re headed in the right direction. the map, at least, does give you an indicator on where you’re supposed to go next to advance the plot, and there is a similar kind on the compass as well, which helps immensely.

Story:

unlike other games (namely burning earth and into the inferno), this game’s plot is mostly standalone, and doesn’t follow the canon timeline very closely. there is less “a game about playing through the show’s events”, and more of “a game that uses canon elements to create a story of its own”. the story, which doesn’t fully fit within the bounds of canon, is still an interesting story to present nonetheless.

spoilers for the entire story begin here!

the story opens with aang, katara, and sokka in the north pole, where master pakku has been mysteriously replaced with a character named master wei, who tells the gaang that one of their waterbenders, named hiryu, has vanished. upon further investigation, a waterskin and a weird piece of metal is discovered where the waterbender was seen last- however, these investigations are quickly halted by the arrival of zuko and the fire nation, who kidnap katara as bait for aang. sokka and aang track her down to a fire nation prison, where they have to dress up as fire nation soldiers in order to sneak in and get info on her whereabouts in order to save her. while saving katara, they also discover another prisoner named lian, who is presumably being forced to work for the fire nation. after a brief battle with the warden, they find that lian has escaped on her own, and left a note behind, pointing them in the direction of an earth kingdom village.

after katara has been saved and the gaang follows the note, they find the village being terrorized by mysterious machines with the ability to bend/use singular elements, though they are being fended off by two earthbenders. upon further investigation, the earthbenders turn out to be tyro and haru, who were saving villages when this one was attacked by machines. after defeating the machines, the gaang learns from tyro that another bender has been kidnapped- an earthbender named yuan, who was one of haru’s closest friends. because of this, tyro encourages haru to join the gaang’s quest to find out where the machines are coming from, and points them towards the forest for clues, as a wise spirit resides there. the party then encounters a bear-like creature, which attacks them, though upon defeat, reveals itself to be the forest spirit, who gives them very cryptic answers when asked about the origins of the machines, saying something related to the heart of the earth kingdom.

somehow, this prompts the gaang (now joined by haru) to go to omashu, as it’s in the heart of the earth kingdom. aang decides to ask his friend king bumi to help them figure out where they need to go to find the origins of the machines, and the king, while happy to see his friends again, is forbidden from helping the group discover secrets, due to his royal counsul, who refuses to let them go to where they need to go. nevertheless, bumi directs them towards the earth kingdom royal library, where a scroll is found showing a series of bending techniques, as well as some kind of map. upon bringing their findings to king bumi, he points them in the direction of four paws island- an unmarked island off the coast of the earth kingdom. however, as the gaang prepares to leave, the fire nation attacks once more, forcing them to find an alternate route out of the city, where they are challenged by the royal counsul, who is revealed to be conspiring with someone relating to the machines. haru, enraged by the counsul’s traitorous actions, takes him on one on one, and, upon defeat, allows the gaang to escape to four paws island.

now on four paws island, the party finds more mysteries than they bargained for, as there are more machines terrorizing the people of four paws, as well as more benders going missing. unsure where to start, they begin to search the island for a statue they recognized from the royal library, soon discovering a hidden passageway underneath it that leads them to a model of the island itself, which holds a mysterious blue rock. the rock, covered in old writing, is then brought to the elder of the village, who reveals that it holds the entire history of four paws, and also serves as a key to a secret passageway. the passageway, which is discovered in the side of a cliff west of the village, is revealed to be a sprawling, underground lair, crawling with machines. at the end of it, a large machine sits in wait as a familiar face operates on it. the person reveals themselves to be lian, who has been building the machines in hopes of restoring peace to the world. the machines, she hopes, will wipe out and replace benders, thus evening the playing field, as the very existence of benders creates divide between people and nations. she worked with the fire nation solely to gain resources for her machines, as well as the omashu royal counsul, and she tries to persuade aang to join her, stating that he will never be ready to fight ozai. aang refuses, along with the rest of the gaang, and, in a fit of rage, she states that she will cut off his connection to the avatar state and unleashes her prototype bending machine on them, which uses three of the four elements to attack. upon defeat of the machine, the gaang rushes to catch lian before she can escape again.

the group now lands at an earth kingdom village that borders the air temples, and aang decides to take appa head off on his own towards the northern air temple, knowing that lian will most likely head there and destroy the avatar statues, mistakenly believing that this action will sever his ties to the spirit world. the story then alternates between aang at the air temple, and katara, sokka, and haru back at the village. while aang fights off machines and tries to protect the air temple from destruction, the rest of the group fights off machines in the forest, where the people from the village were trying to rebuild. after defeating the machines, however, a mysterious large machine appears, and katara, sokka, and haru are taken. when aang arrives back at the village after successfully protecting the temple, he is attacked by a drill-like machine, and has to destroy it on his own. upon defeating the machine, he discovers a large hole/tunnel in the ground, and decides to follow it, hoping it’ll lead him to his friends.

the tunnel leads aang to another village, where a large temple resides in the northwest that villagers refuse to enter, due to benders mysteriously disappearing around there. aang, after battling his way through the surrounding forest, enters the temple and discovers his friends imprisoned there by lian, and he is forced to save each of them separately. sokka is found trapped in a strung up cage, and he discovers a tool left behind by lian, which he uses to open locked doors within the temple. katara is inexplicably found on the other side of a large lava pit, and aang must fly across it to save her. haru is found in a metal prison below the temple, and, after being feed by sokka, tells the rest of the gaang where lian is headed. now fully reunited, the group heads towards the heart of the temple, which is blocked by a series of large rocks that haru makes quick work of, and they prepare to stop lian.

before stopping lian, however, the group discovers zuko, who lays injured on a bridge. aang, who runs to help him, asks if he needs help and assumes he was captured by lian as well, but zuko refuses to accept his help, instead berating the fire nation for trusting lian and her nefarious machines. the gaang reassures zuko that they will do something about the machines, but are forced to leave him behind, unable to do anything to save him at the time, despite aang’s protests. the group then falls for a trap, which unleashes an even stronger version of the prototype bending machine from before, which now has the ability to freeze water, and is forced to destroy it before they can continue. after the ensuing battle, aang, sokka, katara, and haru finally prepare to confront lian for the final time.

lian, standing in front of a powerful machine with the ability to use all four of the elements, is found alongside two other benders- hiryu and yuan, who are revealed to be working with and for lian, teaching her machines their bending techniques, as they support and believe in their cause, rather than held against their will, as originally believed. this upsets haru, who tries to convince yuan to join their group, to no avail. lian repeats her speech on division between the four nations and elements, stating that she would rather have thinkers in charge of the world, rather than magicians. she gives the group one more chance to join her side, lest they be eliminated by her ‘avatar’ machine, stating that benders such as yuan that side with her cause will be spared, and that benders such as zuko who refuse will suffer the consequences. aang, who firmly believes that zuko didn’t make the wrong choice, states that being the avatar is something that can’t be replaced by machines, and he and the rest of the party ultimately challenge and prepare to destroy her ‘avatar’ machine.

midway through the fight, however, a fireball is shot at aang, which none of the group sees except for katara, and she throws herself in front of it, taking the hit for aang. while the rest of the group rushes to her aid, lian mocks the group for being weak, showing that this is proof that her machine is stronger than all benders. enraged, aang enters the avatar state, facing the machine alone and destroying it quickly, soon passing out from exhausion once the fight ends. unlike in other iterations of this same game, lian survives and is helped by hiryu and yuan, who realize the consequences of their mistakes and elect to help lian and improve themselves. escaping as sokka and haru care for aang and katara.

aang eventually reawakens in katara’s arms, and sokka gets angry with katara putting her life on the line for aang, but katara says that she had to do something, as aang is important to not only the world, but her as well. aang learns that this message is applicable to his role as the avatar, realizing that he has a responsibility to help when no one else can, and he must accept his role in the world. soon, the group escapes the fortress over to appa and momo, and begin heading back to haru’s village, bringing him home before starting back off on aang’s quest to learn all four elements. zuko is also revealed to have escaped the fortress, and is upset that he missed his opportunity to capture the avatar.

spoilers for the entire story end here!

the story is extremely simple, yet chaming and full of twists. it’s definitely not something one would expect from atla’s usual fare, especially considering the technology and themes, but it still fits pretty well. lian is an interesting and dynamic villain, and her motivations are presented in a believable manner, and she makes for a pretty sizeable threat over the course of the story. the dialogue and cutscenes are generally entertaining, and the story is fun to watch unravel. the only things i personally took issue with were the pacing and some character inconsistencies. there’s a segment in omashu that’s a bunch of fetch quests that lead up to a joke, and, while the joke is pretty funny, bogs the pacing down a lot. there’s also no sidequests whatsoever (barring the singular one in the north), and there is no way to go back to a previous chapter, so you have to accomplish every single thing you want to accomplish before moving forward. the story is extremely linear, which works well, but i found myself wanting more, especially in the character department. surprisingly, haru works extremely well as a member of the gaang, and i found his interactions with them to be entertaining and fun to watch. it’s cool to have an atla piece of media that not only remembers him, but makes him an actual character. however, there’s not much for character on character interactions, even with all the cutscenes. i wanted to see more of this new gaang being friends, since it presented an entirely different dynamic from the show. there’s also the issue of some interactions feeling pretty flat, such as haru being imprisoned again and having no reaction to it, or sokka not being given much depth outside of being the butt of many jokes (outside of the one scene with the kid and the boomerang), but these are minor gripes in the face of the characters and story it presented. overall, i think the only big thing i have to complain about is the ending, which was changed from the original ending, where lian ambiguously dies and haru and yuan reconcile. it feels like a last ditch attempt to redeem lian and yuan, which i understand to some extend, but it feels extremely out of place and put in at the last moment. this also downplays haru and yuan, which is sad considering that yuan getting captured is what leads haru to join the adventure in the first place.

In Summary:

7.5/10. it’s a fun game with some difficulty spikes and a genuinely enjoyable story. i know that most tv show videogames don’t have a great reputation, so i think this was pretty good compared to what i’ve played before. the main things that keep it from being a 10/10 for me was the realization that the game wanted me to grind, lack of extra content that would’ve heightened the experience, some story and character snags, and rather repetitive boss fights. i took off an entire .5 for the fight with the spirit bear, which was a really infuriating experience (that was largely my own fault as i walked in unprepared), but other than that, i would genuinely recommend this game to anyone who wants a fun time with well-made spinoff videogame.

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les-mooserables · 3 years

Text

Hello, John

[AS SOON AS HE BEGINS SPEAKING, A WHIZZING STATIC KICKS IN FROM THE BACKGROUND.]

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. (slightly strained) I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

[THE ARCHIVIST MAKES A PAINED COUPLE OF SOUNDS OUT-OF-STATEMENT-CHARACTER, AS IF HE’S TRYING TO TEAR HIMSELF AWAY FROM THE STATEMENT AND PHYSICALLY CANNOT.][WHEN HE PICKS THE STATEMENT BACK UP, THE WORDS SOUND LIKE THEY’RE BEING TORN FROM HIS LIPS.]ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

[A SLAP ON THE TABLE – OR A CRACK? SPOOKY.]

Why does a man seek to destroy the world?

It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, John, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.