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septembercfawkes · 4 years

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What to Do When You Want to Quit Writing

We've all had it. That dreadful thought that passes through the mind: Maybe I should quit.

It's often depressing.

And discouraging.

And to be totally honest? Completely normal!

So I wanted to do a post talking about it today. But before I get too far into this, I need to explain some things. There is a difference between "passing thoughts" and "intentional thoughts." Passing thoughts are what they sound like, thoughts that just enter your head, don't carry a lot of weight, don't really take much root, and pass right through your mind. All of us have passing thoughts. When people ask others things like, "Did you ever think of giving up?" and the person replies "No," it's a little misleading. The reality is, all of us, all of us have passing thoughts about quitting. The thought will just naturally come to mind when you are struggling. How can you really go years without it ever crossing your mind? You can't, because inside, you know it's an option. When someone says they never thought of giving up, what they really mean is, they never thought seriously about giving up. It was never an intentional thought. All of us will have passing thoughts of doubt and quitting. I know I do! Most of us will probably even have serious thoughts of quitting. And really, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Doubt and skepticism are super important parts of the human mind. They keep us safe, alive, and grounded. They help us learn to discern better and to think more critically. They even help us to grow. I mean, if you never experience doubt and skepticism, then there is a good chance that something is . . . wrong. (But, hey, I'm not a therapist or anything!) And in reality, this is sometimes more of a spectrum than an either-or situation, because there are different levels of seriousness.

Step 1: Evaluate Why

When you want to quit, one of the most important things to do (in my opinion) is to evaluate why you want to quit.

There is something that led you to feel this way.

Because if things were going great, you probably wouldn't be considering it an option.

Rather than throw in the towel, examine how you got here, emotionally.

It helps if you can be specific, rather than vague.

For example, "Writing is hard!" is a little vague. But, "I can't for the life of me find the right turning point for this scene!" is more specific.

When you are specific, it's easier to discern what's really going on, and what to do about it. Reasons for feeling this way are probably infinite, and sometimes indirect.

Some direct reasons may be:

- Writer's block, you can't figure out what to write next - An underdeveloped skill is making writing difficult (you need to learn how to write better dialogue, write better theme, write better middles, etc.) - You don't like the direction your story has taken - You realize your draft needs a lot of revision

Some reasons may be slightly more removed:

- Your work isn't getting picked up by agents or editors, so you're getting discouraged - You're getting negative reviews, and can't face one more - Few people read your work anyway, so why continue? - You don't believe in yourself as a writer

Some reasons may be more indirect

- Money is tight, and you can't afford to keep investing in a skill that hasn't made you much income - Your loved ones complain you spend too much time writing and not enough time with them - Priorities have shifted--you now need to spend more time and effort being a caretaker - You fear this will turn out to be a waste of your time on this planet.

And some may not even be negative

- You've discovered you're more interested in pursuing a different skill - You've realized you are satisfied, or "satiated," when it comes to writing - You've had an amazing opportunity come up that competes with your writing time - You want to spend more time with your family

Looking over this list, I'm sure you can glean why evaluation is important. Some of these situations require wildly different approaches.

If you don't know how you got to this point, it's going to be harder to figure out what to do about it.

Step 2: Accept Your Feelings

Some may argue this should be step one (hey, again, I'm not a therapist!), but I've made it step two because when you know why you are feeling what you are feeling, it's easier to more fully accept it.

One of the worst things you can probably do (I'd imagine), is to sit and stew and be upset with yourself as a human being--and doubly so if you don't even take time to evaluate the situation.

And often, I find, for me these days, if I stop and evaluate first, it suddenly becomes obvious why I feel the way I do. Because frankly, almost anyone would feel the same way in the same situation.

For example, last week I was struggling with an underdeveloped skill that I have. Once I realized that's why writing had become so difficult, it made complete sense why I was feeling somewhat frustrated.

Most people would probably feel the same way. Often we feel like quitting because we've hit something difficult, kept struggling with it, and began internalizing failure.

This happens to just about everyone.

But these negative feelings and struggles are often a normal sign of growth.

(Or at least, growth opportunity.) In fact, what often looks like failure, is actually the building block of success.

Just as doubt and skepticism aren't inherently bad, neither are negative feelings.

Some negative feelings can help refine our progress as human beings. Again, if you never feel negative emotions then . . . chances are, there might be something . . . wrong . . . maybe.

Let's look at some other examples.

Oh, you've submitted this manuscript a hundred times and have gotten no requests? Yup, it's totally normal to feel at least a bit sad or frustrated or doubtful. That's allowed.

Oh, you're afraid pursuing writing might turn out to be a waste of your life? Join the club. Loads of other writers feel the same way.

Oh, you want to pursue something else, like the culinary arts? Cool, that's okay.

(Though, I do feel there is a difference between moving on and quitting, but I want to acknowledge that some reasons for quitting are more positive.)

Often, it seems, we actually end up beating ourselves up if we don't just accept how we feel. If we accept it, there's no need to get angry with ourselves or others about it. Because it's allowed to exist. It's accepted.

Step 3: Consider What to Do

Once you know how you got to this point, and have accepted it, you can start looking at what to do about it.

If you don't evaluate and accept, you're more likely to make the wrong decisions (in my opinion). So do those things first.

When considering what to do, try to be specific again.

Think of it as making a plan. For example, last week, when I realized writing was extra difficult, I was tempted to just "try harder." But when I stopped and evaluated, I realized I hadn't fully developed the skill I was trying to use, that I needed to use.

So I decided to go online and read articles and buy writing books to help me develop that skill.

If I hadn't paused, evaluated, accepted, and planned, I may have just been trying harder and harder and getting more and more frustrated (losing more and more patience, and wanting to quit more and more).

If your manuscript isn't getting picked up by an agent or editor, maybe you can consider hiring a freelance editor, doing another draft, or going to conferences to pitch to someone in person.

What you can do will largely depend on what the problem is, of course. But here are some options that might come up:

- Take a break (sometimes we just need some space!) - Work on a different project - Learn what causes writer's block and how to overcome it - Take a writing workshop on a skill you need - Join a writers' group - Look into building up confidence and self-esteem - Find ways to pinch pennies - Set aside designated time for writing and designated time for family - Brainstorm how you might fit in both writing and the culinary arts - Decide to write for yourself - Try a different writing approach

Step 4: Why do You Write?

For some situations, those three steps will be enough to keep going. For others? Not so much.

Before you quit completely, take some time and consider why you started writing in the first place.

How has the writing experience changed for you? Can you pinpoint why it changed? For many, they begin writing out of pleasure--it's fun! And creative!

But as you work to become a better and better writer, or even perhaps, a more professional writer, the journey often gets more and more difficult. There is so much to learn. And so much to master. And so much time to put in! And at times, it can totally suck out all the fun. Why are you writing?

Can you replicate how things used to be?

Also, there is no sin in writing strictly for fun. And there is nothing wrong with writing for a hobby.

Consider if you'd be happier only writing for yourself. Maybe you were trying to be a professional writer when you really are more of a hobbyist. Writing as a hobby is amazing in its own way. The problem is, a lot of other people don't see it as a worthwhile hobby, often because they don't understand the benefits of it. But if writing makes you happy, then chances are you do. You don't need others' permission. It's okay to write for yourself, and it's okay to write for fun. Just as it's okay to play basketball at the local rec center, or play D&D, or go fishing, or bake pastries, or knit. You don't need to be professional. You don't even need to be a professional to enjoy the community, writing conferences, or writing groups. Do what you want and what you think is fun. That's okay. It's your life. There are a lot of other benefits of writing besides completing a great story. Writing helps you develop other skills too.

Or maybe it's not as fun anymore, because you've found something you like better. You know what? That's great. Isn't it great when we are at a place in our lives where we get to pick between two positive things?

Or has the writing experience changed because you've changed? Maybe you just don't like it anymore. That's fine. Everyone changes from time to time.

Revisiting why you started writing to begin with and where you are at now can help put things into perspective.

Step 5: Quit or Move Forward

Ultimately, whether you quit or move forward is your decision.

And really, make sure it's your decision. Not your mom's. Not your grandma's. Not Joe's (who lives down the street). Not your nibling's.

This is your decision.

Quitting is allowed.

And persevering is allowed.

And there is also something in between called "taking a break"--also allowed. (Years-long breaks? Also allowed.)

Changing your interests, priorities, or direction? Spoiler: Allowed.

Maybe after evaluating, accepting, considering options, and recalling why you wrote in the first place, you realize you'd genuinely be more satisfied in life if you quit.

It doesn't mean it was a waste--because as I said earlier, writing helps you develop others skills. And remember, it's healthy to have some fun in your life. Besides, growing as a person is more valuable than growing in a specific skill--and growing in any skill is an opportunity to grow personally.

On the other hand, if you truly want to keep writing, good news: You can! Almost every journey in life includes hardships. I find it's

worth keeping in mind that there will always be struggles in life. Some of these we choose and some choose us. When you have a choice, choose the struggles that are worth it to you. You can't escape negative feelings in this life. Life isn't about avoiding negative feelings. It's about choosing to pursue the things that are worth those negative feelings.

I like to think of perseverance as a muscle. I find the more I exercise it, the stronger it gets. And the things that used to send me spinning into lots of legitimate doubts, don't so much anymore. I believe as you practice perseverance, you'll get stronger too.

When I'm struggling with making a decision, I often ask myself these questions: Who do I want to be? And where do I want to go?

Level of difficulty isn't a direct factor.

Negative feelings are natural. Will you quit or persevere? It's up to you!

#writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writeblr #writing help #writing advice

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elyvorg · 4 years

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Imagine if the students successfully “defeated” Monokuma in trial 5, and also that Kaito incidentally had about one more day to live as of that point in time. (This is the end result of my trial 5 AU, not that any of the story in that post is particularly relevant to the AU story I’m about to present here.) An anon suggested to me that, from here, the students could demand that Monokuma owes them a life – in other words, he has to nurse Kaito back to health for them.

I had my doubts over whether it’d be the right call to actually trust Monokuma with Kaito’s health in that situation… but then again, that’s the fun part. What if they did make the mistake of entrusting Kaito’s life to Monokuma? What cruel things could he do while still technically complying with their demands?

Here’s what I thought of: Monokuma “saves Kaito’s life” by making a huge Flashback Light full of Kaito’s backstory plus all his experiences throughout the killing game itself, and all those memories get shoved into a fresh body. This would create a new person who is essentially still Kaito and is also perfectly healthy. Ta-da, Kaito gets to live!

Meanwhile, Kaito – our Kaito, the one who actually went through the killing game with his friends – well, he’s not needed any more. So, completely unbeknownst to anyone else, Monokuma just leaves him somewhere to die.

Aaaaand my thoughts on this idea escalated rather a lot, to the point that there’s kind of a whole story here.

Kaito’s death

Kaito is taken to some empty room somewhere – I dunno, maybe there’s a bed in it to at least give a vague impression that it could be some kind of hospital room, but maybe not even that – and told to just wait for the nurses to come and see to him. So he waits, his suspicion growing, and it doesn’t take long for him to get the sinking realisation that nobody’s coming, are they. He goes to open the door to try and look for Monokuma and yell at him to stop screwing around and keep his goddamn end of the bargain, only to find it locked.

With a chilling dread, it hits him that this was all a trap – a really obvious one at that, one he literally walked right into like an absolute moron. Monokuma never had any plans to cure him at all.

He’s going to die here, in this room, completely and utterly alone.

Kaito wouldn’t just give up, of course. He’d furiously try to bust down the locked door keeping him trapped there, but… his body would be so weak by now that he wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d only end up hurting himself even more, and after a while he just wouldn’t have the strength to keep trying.

And he might have more or less resigned himself and been mentally prepared for the fact that he’s not surviving this illness – though losing that glimmer of a way out he’d almost thought he had really, really kind of sucks – but, this is worse than he thought it’d be. Up until now, he'd finally begun to feel some relief in that, even if he does still end up dying, at least he'll die something of a hero, surrounded by his friends. Not like this. He never wanted to die like this – pointlessly, uselessly, alone and forgotten like he never even mattered. He doesn’t even have anything to distract himself with or to do to feel like he’s making a difference in his final hours. There’s just nothing but waiting to die, the pain getting harder and harder to bear as he feels his body slowly tear itself apart.

This is probably the absolute cruellest possible way Kaito could die from his illness, so much worse than how it happens in canon. (And, damn it, he hasn't even been to space…!)

Kaito would have no idea what's happening outside of the room he dies in, so he might be able to console himself to some extent by thinking that, once he’s gone, when Shuichi and Maki never see him again and realise they were tricked, they’ll be furious and will fight to avenge him. (Or, perhaps there’s still a chance, if they realise that something’s up soon enough, that they might be able to come for him in time and somehow save him after all…? It’s such a long shot – his death feels so close, dammit – but they’re his heroes, they’re amazing, so maybe—!)

But in reality... they wouldn't even know. They’d just obliviously leave him there to die, because Kaito would be right there with them, cured like Monokuma promised.

Kaito’s survival

That’d be the second horrible part of this – but not because this new Kaito who meets up with Shuichi and Maki all “cured” would be like some hollow imitation who isn’t truly Kaito at all. No; that’s not how it works. Flashback Lights create real people.

While I said at the beginning of this post that the one who died alone was “our” Kaito, that wasn't really quite fair of me. The other Kaito who's here now deserves to be thought of in exactly the same way. He would be our Kaito too, one hundred percent. Much like how Alter Ego Gonta was another Gonta, this is another instance of Kaito, separate from the one who died, but still him.

On the one hand, the new Kaito could have been made from a clone of the original Kaito’s body, so that he looks completely identical and nothing seems amiss at first. But on the other hand, he could be in an entirely different body – which is the version I’d rather lean towards, because that’d make things get awkward and painful a lot more quickly.

(If you want something to picture him as looking like: because it makes sense that Team Danganronpa would have picked a body that looked kind of similar and still fit his character, I’m imagining one of Kaito’s beta designs. I went for the one with poofy hair and eyebrows to rival Taka’s, specifically because he doesn’t look too similar to our Kaito, yet he nonetheless still has a very dorky Kaito energy to him. Meanwhile, his clothes would presumably be exactly the same. That and, despite the poofy hair, Kaito would totally grab some hairspray at the earliest opportunity and attempt to style his new hair into his trademark spiky upwardsness, just to try and look and feel a bit more like his usual self. The result would be, uh… something. It’d be something, all right.)

Some time after taking Kaito away to be cured, then, Monokuma presents Kaito’s miraculous recovery, brazenly handwaving the new body by claiming that extensive plastic surgery was totally necessary to save him. Maki and Shuichi would initially be all “?????? don’t mess with us, how the FUCK do you expect us to believe that this is Kaito”. Except... it is. His face and voice are completely different, but everything about how his eyes light up when he sees them, and the way he talks, and how quietly hurt he seems when they question if it's really him - it's still absolutely Kaito. And he appears to be just as genuinely confused as they are by the different body once they point it out to him and show him to a mirror.

Maybe they'd also confirm it by asking him things that only the real Kaito would know – and he knows all of it. Not just knows it, he obviously feels it, too. After asking him his favourite spaceship and seeing him visibly restrain himself from launching into a huge excited ramble about why that spaceship is so cool (exactly like he didn’t restrain himself from doing last time)… they can't deny it's really him.

The last thing Kaito remembers is being led away by Monokuma, and then he woke up like this; he must have been unconscious for whatever the hell was done to him in between. He and his friends end up concluding that Monokuma must have saved his life by… transferring his consciousness into a new body? Which seems more possible than they might have imagined considering how the Virtual World worked, now that they think about it, so maybe they'd be able to accept that.

(Is transferring a consciousness like that actually possible in this universe, though? Or does the Virtual World computer just create a virtual copy of them from their memories while the original one sleeps, and then Flashback Light their virtual self’s new memories back into their real body when they log out? That’d mean the virtual person would have to be deleted afterwards. It’d be painless and they’d never remember it, but in a sense, it’d be killing them.)

Kaito himself is pretty chill with it once he’s got over the initial shock. Sure, it’ll take some getting used to looking like this – he’s gonna have to grow himself a new goatee, to say nothing of the hair – but still, he’ll take this over dying any day. (He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to not be in pain.)

It'd still be super awkward for Shuichi and Maki, though, trying to adjust to Kaito looking and sounding completely different on the surface, constantly reminding themselves that this face and this voice is still Kaito. The two of them – especially Maki, who has a harder time trusting people instinctively – wouldn't quite be able to shake off the nagging possibility this could be some kind of impostor aligned with Monokuma who's just really really good at acting like Kaito. Of course they'd want to believe in him, because a different body is still infinitely better than losing him, but it wouldn’t quite come naturally.

Kaito, being Kaito, would very much pick up on the signs that his sidekicks are still a little subconsciously suspicious of him. It’d sting, but he wouldn't bring it up. Kaito's always fine! Now that he's healthy again, he’s got absolutely nothing to worry about! …which is to say, he doesn't want to go admitting to his new worries, not when doing so would be giving them even more reasons to feel like he's not quite Kaito and secretly not really want him around.

Kaito’s existence

But just when Shuichi and Maki have started to really get used to Kaito’s new body and things are beginning to feel somewhat normal between them again, everything would come out during the equivalent of trial 6.

As Shuichi figures out what Flashback Lights really do and Tsumugi starts trying to make everyone despair over how “fictional” they all are, Kaito, because he’s Kaito, would be having none of her bullshit. (However, I’ll keep this part brief here since I’m hopefully going to do a regular trial-6-with-Kaito AU at some point that should really be the place I expand on this properly.)

Sure, learning that they’re “characters” created from fake memories when the killing game began is kind of a lot to take in, but it doesn’t change the reality of who they are right now. The only thing that matters is what they want to believe, and they obviously want to believe that they’re real, just like they always have! Hell, their pasts being fiction is great news in Maki Roll’s case – she never really killed anyone, and she’ll never have to!

And Tsumugi’s claims that nothing matters because it was all “fiction” for entertainment are even more bullshit. Their pasts may be made up, but the entire killing game really happened. All those people really died. Every bit of the pain and suffering they and their friends went through in it was absolutely real.

But as he’s saying this part, Tsumugi turns to Kaito with a scathing grin. “How would you know? You weren’t even there.”

Before anyone can question what she means by this, she turns on another video – and this one’s not an audition tape. There were Nanokumas in the room where the original Kaito died. His final hours were recorded, as proof that Kaito is dead.

They wouldn’t watch the entire thing – he was in there for something like twenty-four hours – but she could have put together a “highlights reel”, some of the moments where Kaito couldn’t help but express exactly how lost and scared and desperate he felt. And of course it’d culminate in the moment of his death, just to hammer it home and make sure they know that it’s far too late to save him.

As Shuichi and Maki are reeling in horror from the suffering Kaito went through and the fact that they let that happen to him, Tsumugi goes for the decisive blow. She explains how the new Kaito came to be here, calling him a “fake”, an “imitation” who “tricked” them while they left the real Kaito to die.

And… Kaito kind of starts to believe it.

…See, one of the reasons this scenario really grabbed my interest (other than the prospect of Kaito dying scared and helpless and alone while also not being gone from the story afterwards) was that until now I didn’t think it was possible to give Kaito existential issues. He just has too much conviction in who he is. Under regular trial 6 circumstances, the reveals about Flashback Lights and his backstory being fake memories would barely faze him at all.

His memories are fake and all those things in his past never really happened? Okay, so he’s kind of shaken to realise his grandparents and fellow astronaut trainees don’t exist – but in that case, if none of the people in his memories are real, then the only person those memories matter to is himself. And if he feels like they were real, they might as well have been, at least in terms of the person he is now because of them. Oh, but the person he is now isn’t real, because the “real” Kaito is that murder-happy asshole in the audition video? Well, no, that dumbass was just somebody else, duh. Maybe he had the same body and possibly even the same name, but that doesn’t matter. The real Kaito, the one and only Luminary of the Stars, is right here! That's who he wants to believe he is, so it's who he is, dammit. End of discussion.

But in this situation… the real Kaito was undeniably the one who died alone in that room. Not him. His memories might feel real, but he doesn’t have the right to feel like those events happened to him, not when the memories belong to somebody else – someone who actually experienced all those things, whose friends that he experienced it all with are right here. It’s like he’s just stealing those memories, stealing that identity, stealing Kaito’s entire life. That’s not fair.

He still wants to be Kaito; he’s never gonna want to be anyone else, but… there’s no way he deserves to decide that, does he? Not when the real Kaito died, and Kaito’s sidekicks are still here and grieving for him. Knowing that, and with Maki Roll and Shuichi giving him these hurt, horrified looks that say You're not Kaito… maybe he really isn't.

(But Kaito is the only person he wants to or even knows how to be. So if he's not Kaito, then… who the hell even is he?)

Kaito’s friends

With Kaito stunned into speechlessness, and Shuichi and Maki shaken from the undeniable demonstration of how easy it is to just fake an entire person, leaving them also questioning how real they really are despite Kaito’s earlier efforts, it seems like Tsumugi’s succeeded in making everyone despair.

(at this point Keebo is supposed to barge in with his hope nonsense, but hey, how about we don’t have that clogging this up when I’m trying to tell an interesting story here)

But after a little while of none of the others having it in themselves to protest Tsumugi’s claims, Kaito (or, well, someone who once mistakenly went by that name; it doesn’t matter now) speaks up – hesitantly, because he still isn’t sure he really deserves to. “Hey, c’mon, Shuichi… This isn’t like you. You can’t just give up like this.”

(He resists the instinct to add, “You’re my sidekick,” because no, he’s not.)

It doesn’t matter about him, but Shuichi’s still absolutely real. He’s Shuichi Saihara, the Ultimate Detective who’s gonna save everyone, right? Never mind what Tsumugi says – that’s who he wants to be, who he’s always been trying so hard to be, so that’s who he is. And if that’s the case, then he can’t let something like this get him down!

“I guess this doesn’t mean much coming from me, but… I believe in you. For real.”

Shuichi stares at him in dawning realisation. This is… exactly the kind of thing Kaito would say to encourage him at a time like this. Especially the way he’s selflessly helping someone else even though he’s the one who’s got to be suffering the most right now. He… really is Kaito, isn’t he?

Kaito doesn’t meet his eye, muttering that that’s not really for him to decide. But… if Shuichi and Maki Roll want him to be Kaito, then – he glances at Shuichi hopefully – then maybe…?

Shuichi firmly tells him that no, that’s wrong. Kaito was just asserting that Shuichi and Maki and everyone else here get to decide who they want to be, so why should it be any different for him? If he wants to be Kaito, then Shuichi’s with him all the way. And Maki feels the same, right?

Maki puts in, slowly, like she’s still figuring this out as she speaks, that she’s been thinking hard about things since he pointed out that this means she never really killed anyone. It’s true that it’s a relief to know that nobody ever died because of her, but… she still feels like she killed all those people. It still hurts, because all of those memories feel real to her. So in that sense, it’s like she might as well have actually gone through all that hell.

Then… it must be the same for him, right? Even if it wasn’t really him who trained with them and supported them, he feels like it was, doesn’t he? So… he might as well be the same Kaito. If her feelings matter even if they came from fake memories, then so do his.

Hearing both their words to him, Kaito’s face gradually lights up into a huge, somewhat desperate grin. Of course he wants to be Kaito; there’s nobody else he’d rather be! And, Shuichi and Maki Roll, they… they still wanna be his sidekicks, right?

Of course they do. Shuichi and Maki were pretty shaken by the initial shock of seeing Kaito’s death and realising where the Kaito standing in front of them came from, to the point that their kneejerk reactions in that moment might have made him feel like they didn’t see him as Kaito or want him around. But having a little bit of time to process it and reflect on it, and seeing how badly Kaito was hurting from thinking this is how they feel about him… there’s no way that’d be what they settle on. They’re his friends – and they can’t bear to lose him twice.

Maybe they messed up in the sense that they let Kaito die on his end, but they also simultaneously didn't lose Kaito on their end. This person who's here for them right now is still him, and none of what happened to the other Kaito is his fault. How could they just throw away this second chance? They’re still going to need Kaito’s support – and this Kaito needs them, too, more than ever. It’s awful that they failed Kaito once, but they can at least make sure to never fail him again.

(Kaito tells them firmly that no, they didn’t fail him. There’s no way Kaito would have ever thought that, no matter how afraid he was at the end.)

Epilogue

After escaping and settling into the outside world, as the survivors put together a gravesite for the friends from their game who didn't make it, they make sure there's a grave there for Kaito as well. Kaito, Shuichi and Maki visit it from time to time. It only seems right to do so.

The other Kaito, the one who died scared and alone, would have been happy to know that this’d be how it ended, Kaito reflects: to know that he still gets to live on, in a way, and keep being there for his sidekicks. That he didn't just die useless and forgotten. He's certain of it - because he's Kaito, too.

[part 2 to this post - because I had another fun idea that branches off partway through this one - here!]

#danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v3 spoilers #kaito momota #shuichi saihara #maki harukawa #friends #training trio #v3 aus #writing #my buttons #hello my name is elyvorg and my hobbies include wrenching my own heart out #definitely not what anon signed up for when they innocently suggested their idea #but i hope they're proud for being the reason this story exists now #duplicate kaito au

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xlady-saya · 4 years

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this red is for you [fic]

Relationships: aaron/katelyn, andrew/neil

Summary: Katelyn never considered herself capable of doling out violence.

It has always been a far away thought, dampened by college courses and late night dates with her boyfriend. She lives a stereotypical life, despite everything she's been through with Aaron. Aside from her growing connection with the notoriously troublesome Foxes, nothing much about her life has changed.

Even then, she's learning she's still able to surprise herself. When Katelyn witnesses Neil defending Andrew, her own protective rage rears its head, ready to be explored.

And maybe that's a good thing.

Tags: katelyn pov, discussions of tilda/past abuse, fluff, protective neil, protective katelyn

Read on ao3!

The sound of a pipe shattering on the ground dislodges something inside Katelyn; it's unexpected, but not entirely unfamiliar. She'd felt the inklings of this...feeling during Aaron's trial, when he cried in her arms, and even back when she first heard the name Tilda.

She'd never been able to coax it fully out into the light, but she supposes it had to happen eventually. Maybe she only sees it now because she's stepped too far into the dark.

And of course, Neil is the spark to ignite the flames of realization.

The look in Neil's eyes is nothing short of menacing, like the feeling that comes from being cornered, or from realizing you're in danger a little too late to do anything about it. It stops Katelyn in an instant, her hair standing on end.

See, Katelyn is not deluded enough to think she exists in a safe world. She's especially not deluded enough to think she surrounds herself with safe people either.

That's just how it worked out, and at this point she's so deep in the fox den she couldn't fathom clawing her way out. It's cozy here anyways...warm...

But from other people's points of view, she should've never been the type to venture here. She knows it's easy to label her as naive, or in over her head. She's, by all definitions, a good girl. Good girl. Whatever that means.

It's funny—after spending such a long time around her boyfriend and his family, she's not sure the concepts of good and bad can ever be so straightforward in her mind again.

But she still gets called that when she visits home. That always made her embarrassed; it's how the people at church referred to her, how her mother's friends gushed over her.

And she took it with a smile, because well, what else was there to do? It became a broken record statement, reiterated so many times she hardly noticed. But it made her parents happy, and it had gotten her far in life.

Perfect grades, a put together family, and a cheeriness that couldn't be beaten out of her. It's a brand of resilience that's often overlooked, but she's never resented the judgement passed on her for it. She's well aware of the checklists people run through when they see her; it's second nature to cross off every box to match her up with the stereotype. Even Aaron did it, when they first met.

And that's fine.

She's never had a problem occupying those boxes in people's minds, because in her own, she always ran through an infinite plane with no walls, no end.

It's a privileged way of thinking, and a little ridiculous, but she's proud that she's never become trapped by those boxes in her own head. She's happy Aaron now sees the real her, a fully fleshed out person who defied everything Aaron expected of her.

She's proud of that, but if she's being honest, she never had any doubts when it came to the two of them.

The truth is she's always done whatever she wanted, and she's never allowed herself to be ruled by expectations. She walks her own path, and she'll continue to do so, it's just...

For a long time, everything she wanted just so happened to fall in line with what everyone else wanted, so no one ever thought to notice how headstrong and stubborn she could truly be. How brave she could be in the face of a world she now knows can be hideous.

Get good grades, make friends, pick a successful field of study. No problem. Katelyn loves being a cheerleader, and she's dreamed of being a physician since middle school. She likes being nice, and positive. She doesn't care that she can't shut up.

It had all fallen into place, it had all equaled good girl.

Until Aaron, until everything that came with him.

And see, for a lot of people that's an issue, it doesn't compute. Someone like Katelyn, who in their eyes has followed all the rules, is not supposed to be with someone like Aaron, with their perception of him.

Because he follows no rules; there's blood on his hands and bruises on his skin which will never fade. There's dulled track marks and a broken family, barely mended. He is not what anyone wanted for her.

But Katelyn...she wouldn't trade this life with him for anything. That feeling, that love, singes so deep Katelyn sometimes thinks her autopsy will show third degree burns on every part of her, charred into the bone and marrow.

And honestly, (and not to be rude), fuck those people. At the end of the day she knows Aaron, not them. It had not been an accident, an unfortunate case of 'can't help who you love,' and she hates when it's seen that way.

She'd embraced everything, because he'd done the same for her. And not just Aaron, but the Foxes accepted her too.

For the entire summer leading up to her freshman year and all the way through her schooling, she's heard the rumors, the whispers. The Foxes are notorious for their roughness, their almost animalistic drive to fight through blood and bone to survive. They have records, and a penchant for violence. They've lived through so much.

Unspeakable, brutal horrors. They still keep Katelyn up at night sometimes, holding Aaron so close to her he wakes up with a start. That's the real naive part of her, the part Andrew might scoff or glare at her for.

She doesn't care; no one deserves the things the Foxes went through. Anyone who tries to disagree with her goes immediately on her shit list.

Because even Andrew, with his initial hatred of her, sees what others do not. The Foxes protect their own, and they accept those who lend a hand to do the same. They'd welcomed her because of her love for Aaron, and eventually because of her love for his family. For all of them.

So again, Katelyn knows she doesn't run with a safe crowd.

But they make her feel safe, and accepted, and that's always what has mattered most to her.

That being said, as much as she's part of them, she's not one of them. She never believed she had that edge, that ruthlessness and impulsivity which could make her snap in the blink of an eye.

She was naive about that too, it seems.

The end of the pipe breaks off the moment Neil strikes it against the nearest railing, and before Katelyn can so much as blink, he has it against the football player's throat.

The rusted piece of metal is sharp and ribbed at the edge now, at the part closest to the vulnerable expanse of the player's neck. Katelyn is good at anatomy, better than Aaron. She knows exactly where the jugular is, and she's sure Neil does too. He can't be that precise on accident.

Katelyn's limbs lock up, not out of fear or concern, but out of pure shock. They're behind the gym, no one else around due to the late hour. The forgotten pieces of the school's construction project are strewn around the back entrance, and well...that explains where Neil got the pipe.

Katelyn hadn't even noticed, hadn't even comprehended Neil's sharp movements until the pipe was already in his hand. Neil's fast, but this isn't the normal agility, the sprints he employs on the Exy court.

This was unadulterated instinct, and the look in his eyes...

Television doesn't do it justice, but it's there. It's murder, packaged prettily in pools of blue. The football player doesn't dare to move his hands even in surrender— they're pinned at his side and locked up so hard, Katelyn's own muscles ache. He's trembling up at Neil, whose cleat is pressed firmly into his sternum. "H-hey man, calm down, I didn't mean--"

He wheezes next, and Katelyn realizes Neil must be pressing harder with each breath.

She doesn't move, doesn't even think to. At some point she dropped her gym bag, and shivers at the mood shift. Just a few minutes ago, Neil was laughing in that reserved way of his, trying to mimic Katelyn's cheer moves while she snapped pictures.

Because Andrew would appreciate them, deep down, she thought.

She wonders if Andrew would appreciate this Neil too, the one who is now devoid of any emotion. His face is a blank slate, ire bleeding through the edges.

Katelyn has no idea what the football player said as he passed them, and she's glad she didn't. All she heard was the clipped mumble, Andrew's name.

And then Neil was no longer next to her.

She can only guess how ugly the statement was, and that's the first thing that scares her about herself. She has no desire to stop Neil, and she knows deep down she won't.

It's the first crack in her delusion.

"You didn't mean it?" Neil states, barely questioning. His voice walks the line of a whisper, and his head tilt reminds Katelyn more of a rabid dog than a fox for a moment. Like Neil is gauging what angle is best to go for the throat. "Are you saying that because I could kill you right now, or do you always have changes of heart at such convenient times?"

The football player pales, but even he doesn't truly know. Despite all of Neil's history coming out to the general public, he can't possibly know how serious Neil is.

But Katelyn does, and she wraps her arms around herself from the chill. Still, she does nothing.

It's more fascinating than anything to her; Neil's impulsive arguments are always loud, full of sass, snarky...

This is not that.

Neil presses the pipe securely into the man's flesh, and doesn't look surprised when that's the moment the pleading starts. "Wait, ple--"

That, Neil flinches at. "Shut up," he says, quietly, but it's loud in the narrow space. Katelyn even steps back from the force of it. And oh, she gets it, and sadness unfurls in her chest. "Just shut up."

Then, it happens.

Now, Katelyn has never actually seen Neil do this. She's only heard stories from Aaron. To her, Neil's smile is a reserved, rare thing, but sweet nonetheless. It's always a win when she can cause one—even if it’s the wry, sardonic kind. They make her feel accomplished, happy.

Neil's smile now is one Katelyn hopes to never see again. It's so slow, it almost reminds her of a mask; the jagged teeth don't quite fit together. She's heard the rumors of the Butcher's Smile, and she's seen Neil cringe every time.

But in her mind, that's all bullshit; this is all Neil's rage, cold and cutting. It could never belong to anyone else.

Neil takes his leg off the player's chest, dropping down so they're eye level. He takes the pipe away, and the football player doesn't move, doesn't do anything. It's arrogant, in a way; Neil is very clearly saying he can hinder this man with this look alone, this single threat.

Neil's smile grows. "Now listen, okay? You can trade insults with me all day, I don't give half a shit. But don't you ever fucking talk to me about Andrew again. Do you understand me?"

Katelyn winces at the same moment the football player jumps away from Neil. Well, if he doesn't understand from that, there's no getting through to him.

He stumbles as he runs away, kicking over some stray pipes in the process as he calls back over his shoulder. "Freak!"

Neil snorts as he stands, throwing the pipe with disinterest to the side. "How original."

And just like that, a switch is flipped. Neil turns back to her, hands in his hoodie, and the traces of the forbidden smile are wiped away as he drags a hand over his face to correct the muscles there. Then it's back to his neutral facade, with a dash of wariness mixed in as he approaches her.

She hasn't moved.

"Katelyn." Neil snaps his fingers in front of her face, and Katelyn glares as she bats his hand away.

Her other hand flies to her chest, trying to tamper down the beating of her heart. She knows Neil is protective, that Andrew is too. It's obvious, given how they are, but that...that was—

"How...you—" she begins, but can't find the words. She huffs, and watches as Neil picks up her duffel and shoves it into her arms without care.

He's never been particularly gentle, and Katelyn's always appreciated it. Neil's not a liar anymore, though he's a damn good one. He'll give her his genuine reactions, no matter how callous they are.

"Yes," he agrees, which makes her glare harder. The only thing that gives her some satisfaction is the light blush on his face. Interesting. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

"But...why?" she tries, dropping her bag again. Neil tracks it, in that infuriating way he always does. In retaliation, Katelyn snaps right in his face until he's staring at her again, just as done as he looks when she talks about The Bachelor. "If you can protect yourself like that, why...?"

Why does everyone talk about Neil like he can barely throw a punch? In fact, Katelyn's pretty sure everyone thinks he's got an addiction to starting fights with no way of winning them.

That’s quite obviously not the case.

But Neil just shrugs, shouldering Katelyn's bag for her. Neil fidgets then, shifting his weight, and his blush grows. "I like when Andrew protects me," he whispers, staring at his shoes. It's such a sweet, innocent confession, Katelyn nearly can't believe it.

But in reality, and just from seeing Neil's soft smile as he thinks of Andrew, she totally can.

This piece of work...

Katelyn huffs, throwing her hands up. "That's a lot of faith to put in someone."

It gets her the rise she wants. Neil glares at her, pouting. "Andrew might not have every fighting skill in the book but he's strong," he says, head held high. They're the same height, so it barely works. "And he's powered by pure force of will. It doesn't matter who he's fighting, or how bad he's hurt, Andrew will do significant damage."

Katelyn waves him off, taking her bag back. She doesn't doubt it; she was almost on the receiving end of such damage, and Neil was a witness.

She thinks that's the end of it when Neil turns around to grab his own bag, but something uneasy and restless still churns inside her. She's not sure why it's such a catalyst, but she feels the seams of something splitting open.

Neil hadn't even hesitated to go on the offensive for Andrew, something he usually avoids. A situation he'd normally attack verbally collided with the urge for bloodshed, the protective instinct spiking in him until it overflowed.

Like there was no choice, no other decision to make.

Can the need to protect really be so strong, the consequences of murder don't even matter?

Oh, no, no. She throws that thought out right away, admonishing herself for her own stupidity. The answer is yes—a deafening, resounding yes. She thinks of a car crash, a bloody exy racquet.

In her mind, in the smallest, darkest corners...she always regarded those moments as essential.

The churning in her stomach gets worse; it feels wrong, and ugly, to say certain people deserve to die. She's always been taught that wishing that level of ill on someone was a sin itself, but here she is, thinking it anyways.

Because they did deserve to die. She shudders, the guilt immense, because she doesn't feel bad but she knows she should.

And then it becomes so clear what her hang up is.

Would she ever do that? Could she spill blood for Aaron, and wipe her hands afterwards? Would she be alright, just knowing she'd kept him safe?

The answer is yelling, clawing to break through, but she stuffs it down. She's a coward sometimes; she doesn't know how to handle the reality of that answer.

Neil's voice snaps her out of it, but in typical Neil fashion, he rips the problem open all the way so she can see it. So she can't escape it.

"Andrew doesn't ever protect himself against words. Boundaries, lines...he knows how to handle those. But he doesn't care what people say, no matter how putrid the shit out of their mouths is," Neil says when he turns back to her, half shrouded. There's a tremble in his voice, one only rage can produce. There's not an ounce of doubt in his face. "So I will."

'I will fight the world for this person.'

Katelyn knows the feeling well. Too well, even. It terrifies her, how much she understands. Her hand clenches around her heart, and she thinks of how that feeling surged whenever Aaron cried in her arms after the trial. Whenever she heard the rumors, the whispers...

She would just see red, splashed on walls in flashes, painted in thick stripes. And she clamped that feeling down, tamed it into something nicer and prettier. She applied it in other ways, in sharp glares and acts of affection. Giving Aaron what he deserves: unconditional love, instead of heavy hands and insults.

She disguised the wild dog inside her, too. Good girl.

But when Neil smirks at her, the lingering ghost of that smile hidden beneath, it lets the beast loose.

"I know what everyone thinks of Andrew, and they're right. He can be dangerous when it's required," Neil hums, fond and icy all at once. "But believe me, when it comes down to it, I'm the scary one."

Even if no one else realizes it, Katelyn will never doubt that again. She feels the ring of thorns around her throat, pressing tighter as she forces out the question. She needs to know, or she needs to hear it.

"You'd kill?" Katelyn asks, small and childish. It's not even a complete question, but Neil's eyes darken enough for her to know he get its. You'd kill for him? For the person you love...

Neil gives her that expression—not judging, but slightly amused. "Wouldn't you?"

It knocks the air out of her, and well...she has no response to that yet. Not one she's willing to speak aloud. But there's no use now; her mind is latched onto it.

Neil doesn't give her a chance to respond before he starts walking away, trusting her to either catch up or be left behind. But then he stops, shoulders tense. It's enough to snap Katelyn out of her crisis momentarily, especially when Neil turns around with an almost sheepish look on his face. The flush is back, painting his scarred cheeks with a different red than the one behind Katelyn's eyes.

"Uh, Katelyn, do you think you could maybe keep this to yourself?" Neil says, looking behind him as if another person will materialize out of nowhere. "Like...don't tell Andrew."

Katelyn's mouth opens and closes too many times for her to count, before she settles on a majestic: "Huh?"

Neil winces, kicking the gravel at his feet. She was always under the impression that Neil and Andrew don't keep anything from each other. Neil seems to know this, and he deflates even more. "It's just...it's not that big of a secret, okay? It's embarrassing is all!"

And Katelyn can't help it: she laughs, long and borderline hysterical. It's probably mixed with relief after seeing Neil nearly kill a man, but whatever, it's a release nonetheless.

She slides up to Neil, pausing to give him time to move away, but he simply nods. She throws her arms around his shoulders, dragging him forward. She has a lot to think about, but for now...their boyfriends are probably waiting. "Don't worry, I got you."

Neil's smile is rueful. "I owe you one."

Katelyn tenses up, and is already shaking her head. No, no. She and Andrew might not be best friends yet, but she knows enough to know Neil shouldn't have to owe her anything if she wants to escape the blond's wrath. "Uh, no, Neil, really it's--"

"Believe me, Katelyn," Neil interrupts, hip checking her gently. "It's not something I give out often. Take it. Trust me."

So Katelyn doesn't question it. She's sure it'll come in handy, one of these days.

She laughs again, her charm bracelet jingling against her wrist. It reminds her of what's important. Her crisis could be worse, and there's at least one thing she knows for sure.

It's founded in love.

She'll figure it out, because the beast running free gives her no choice. Even knowing that, she sleeps peacefully later that night, bundled into Aaron's side, and the red behind her eyes waits for a new day to paint with vengeance.

However, she comes to find that such a passionate color doesn't wash out so easily. It's always there, whether as a sheen or in all its vibrance.

She's lying naked in her bed with Aaron staring at the smooth expanse of her abdomen; there's a satisfied ache deep and heavy in her bones, and when she stretches her joints pop loud enough to make Aaron smirk. She can vaguely remember a time where she wasn't able to feel so comfortable being completely bare in front of him. There was a pressure to be desirable, to angle herself a certain way and be covered quickly after. It was shared, mutual, their hyperawareness of one another. That time gets murkier and murkier with each passing day, and she smiles at the ticklish feeling of Aaron's fingers grazing her skin. Her roommates are out for the weekend, and she's doing that thing where she hogs all the blankets but only covers her legs. She runs hot, go figure, but the blanket is too cozy to not use. It's one of those fancy, overhyped crochet quilts—a gift from Nicky for her birthday.

It's a deep burgundy color, and she might scoff if it weren't for the thoughts in her head. This feeling here, she knows, is the purest definition of contentment. Despite her sweaty skin and dry hands, the heaviness to her limbs...

She can't imagine being without it, or having it stripped away. She wouldn't let that happen.

She suppresses the huff that threatens to escape her. Closing her eyes briefly, she turns over; her back protests, and Aaron lazily wipes the frizzy hair from her forehead. He's not even looking at her when she opens her eyes, face tired and staring into the void that is the mole on her hip. He just...he knows where she is, where her face is; Aaron touches her because he loves to, and there's no ulterior motive. Katelyn smiles brighter, because she doubts he's even aware he did it.

But the gentle touch is so familiar, nurturing in ways Aaron never received himself. But he learned them, and he gives his 110% into applying them.

And oh, Katelyn's hands fist into the deep red fabric; sometimes a feeling is so overwhelming she can't help but feel her eyes get watery, and she doesn't even know why. She's not sure it's safe to touch Aaron when she's this full of anger, choked up with wariness for the world around them.

She doesn't want to be like her, but when she finally works up the courage to brush her hand through Aaron's hair, the touch is featherlight. Soft.

Safe here, in her arms.

Her lower lip trembles, and she scolds herself for it. She's not good at holding back tears, at holding back anything. Her fingers graze the scar on Aaron's scalp, almost undetectable with his blond hair. She's memorized the feel of it though, the groove where something hit him too hard.

She pulls her hand away with a shaky breath, and Aaron's eyes finally snap up to meet her. They bore into her, his brow furrowing before widening in panic once he sees the tears in her eyes.

It's the last straw for her, he cares so much it shreds her composure. Aaron, you didn't deserve what happened. I wish I had been there, I wish I could've--

'There's no deserve, there just is.'

Andrew's words had been something she brushed off on a particularly awkward double date, back when their care ride was nothing but an impossible fantasy.

But again, she has to disagree.

What is she supposed to do about this?

For the first time, she falls into a box. She's a good girl, right? She's not supposed to think about blood and flesh, of bashing in the faces of people who hurt Aaron. Past, present, future. Doesn't matter, they'd all deserve it.

"Kate, what is it?" Aaron asks, sitting up to drape himself over her. His eyes flit over her, moving the blanket aside. She's not sure why, but it's always Aaron's first instinct to look for signs of violence. No, scratch that. She knows why. She swallows down the lump in her throat with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, and tilts Aaron's chin until he's staring right at her again. Gold eyes, flecks of green...

"I'm just...happy you're here with me," she whispers, pressing her nose to his cheek. It's stupid, but she tries to press the feeling into him. She means it. She's never meant anything so strongly. He lets her, falling back into bed and opening his arms so she can move closer. The medical ID bracelet she gifted him slides down his wrist; it had been a gag gift at first, a play on their majors and the fact Katelyn wanted them to have matching jewelry. It was a hint, a push so he'd buy something subtle instead, a ring or chain maybe...

Aaron never liked to stand out, to be flashy. But he had rolled with the gift completely, and from the moment he clipped it on, she'd only seen him remove it for Exy.

She sniffles again, grabbing his wrist and keeping her hand there, feeling his pulse. Alive, breathing.

"Aaron..." she says, before she can take the urge and bottle it back up. She looks right at him, trying to communicate as much of the heat as she can. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you, I swear."

It comes out more pathetic than she intended; it's worse than the randomness. What is she supposed to do in the face of a threat? She's never had to deal with one. She's a short college student who has never had to throw a punch, has never thought about it before. But still...but still, she'd do whatever she could; she'd bite and thrash until she couldn't anymore.

Because Aaron would do the same for her, because maybe that feeling is...normal, when it comes to loving someone. And she loves, she loves so much it apparently still has the ability to turn her world upside down.

Aaron's eyes widen, but thankfully he doesn't ask. She likes to think it's because she said it confidently enough he wouldn't dream of questioning it, but she smiles wider from the truth. Sometimes Aaron doesn't get it and doesn't know where to start; she would giggle, if she wasn't so close to sobbing. Aaron can be slow, can take a few days to catch up. But he will, and hopefully by then she can better explain it.

She's past questioning why the feeling exists at all. She's proud of it.

So instead of asking, Aaron nods, slow and sure. He trusts her, he believes her, and Katelyn lets a few tears wet Aaron's shoulder when he pulls her in tight. "Come here," he says when she hesitates, like she wants to make sure it's alright, and he accepts all of her. She melts against him, pouring every unspoken promise into the embrace. Katelyn knows Aaron can't read her mind, but it doesn't stop him from kissing her forehead, from whispering: "I know that, I know."

And Katelyn truly hopes he does.

The first time she and Aaron fought, it was something insignificant.

Katelyn can barely remember it now, something trivial like class schedules or a project. It seems so far away, and it’s ridiculous to care about something so silly, but they're only human. Frustrations had been high, and it had felt almost like a rite of passage.

'You aren't in a real relationship if you don't argue,' her father had told her once. She now knows that's mostly bullshit people tell themselves so they can justify their screaming matches.

Disagreements yes, bickering, disgruntlement...

Normal; so, in a way, it was a milestone, but not in the way her parents would’ve thought. The fight revealed more things to learn about each other, to make sure and be considerate of.

I don't like when you do this.

I appreciated this.

Please be more aware of this other thing.

I know this was unavoidable, but it still bothered me.

In hindsight, that's what all those little quarrels got her: experience, patience.

But in the moment, she'd just been annoyed. Aaron mumbled something under his breath when she turned away, and she'd been too petty to let it go.

Their 'fight' had been normal, until it wasn't.

Katelyn heard the clipped tone and turned around sharply, jaw clenched, and took a deliberate step toward him to tell him exactly how rude he was being.

And Aaron flinched.

Full body, he moved back a step, expecting a strike. They'd both frozen once they realized; it had been an instinctual movement, and guilt clouded Aaron's eyes a second later. But Katelyn had seen it; there had been this brief flash of terror there, but not surprise.

Like being slapped across the face would've been completely acceptable. The old normal.

Even if it had just been a second, Aaron had been afraid. Of her. Or some remnant of a ghost always lurking in the corner of Aaron's life.

She's not sure, but it didn't matter.

Katelyn remembers the irritation flooding right out of her, her body deflating as Aaron tried to offer up some kind of apology. By that point in time, Katelyn knew enough about Tilda. They'd been at the stage where confiding in each other was easy, but up until that point her rage over it had been quite shallow. It was in the past, Tilda was gone. Why linger on something painful?

She hadn't seen the effects, but here they were, staring her down.

That day, Katelyn decided she'd never despised someone more in her entire life, and probably never would again. Respect for the dead and all that...something she'd believed in before that no longer applied.

Whatever Aaron was trying to apologize for, she didn't care. She swept him up in her arms until all his weight collapsed onto her, and she let him sob into her shoulder. They were both sorry for different things, maybe things they shouldn't have been. The fight from moments before became inconsequential, and they both owned up to their faults in it.

They'd even laughed through their tears, nonsense about how they'd both just retake the class, or how the professor sucked anyways. Katelyn cried through the night, and probably looked unrecognizable in the morning with her puffy eyes and gnawed lip.

Aaron had helped put spoons in the freezer to help the swelling go down, probably the sloppiest pre-med care he'd ever done, because they had no ice packs.

And naturally, they'd talked about the rest. They exhausted the topic until Katelyn made sure Aaron knew...

"I would never hurt you," she whispered, partly to herself. A promise, an oath.

"I know you wouldn't."

Her eyes were ablaze when she looked at him again. "You never deserved to be hurt."

That one hadn't gotten her a response, but she kept repeating it. She'd keep repeating it.

The night had passed, fading into the background of anniversaries, finals, and sports.

But she never forgot. It had lurked in her, adding to the beast which she'd been confronting the past few days.

It's actually Andrew who calls it back to the forefront of her mind.

They're in the dorm, the four of them, and she's gone through at least two boxes of Raisinets (which Andrew had called a sin) and a liter of soda. The television is blaring with sounds of gunfire and distorted radio effects, which none of the boys seem to mind.

She's watched Aaron play (and fail) at this game so many times over the past few years, that it no longer bothers her. Her eyes drift over the room, fondly lingering over where Aaron is trying to not pull his hair out while he’s teaching Neil how to play.

Neil is holding the controller wrong, but she's pretty sure he's doing it on purpose, and she stifles a giggle into her soda cup.

And then...there's Andrew. He's sitting against the far wall, a watchful eye to the end. He tilts his head every now and again as Neil smirks and scowls, and Katelyn doesn't try to parse those thoughts. She's pretty sure either too much goes on in Andrew's head or nothing at all, but either way Neil ends up being a point of clarity.

He's not doing anything attention-grabbing, but Andrew rarely is. But the memory guided Katelyn's attention to him, to the curl of his hands. It's not that she's afraid to approach him for the old reasons; she does it on occasion, though she's better with the rules now. It's only necessary to talk to Andrew when she has something to say, something that matters.

This...definitely mattered.

And the thing is, she's sure he'll agree. He'll at least lift his head. He had nodded at her when she walked into their dorm, a more common occurrence now that still makes Aaron falter each time. It still feels like a beginning, but it feels nice all the same.

Andrew gets up, footsteps loud as he walks past where Neil is sitting in one of the beanbag chairs. His hand grazes the back of Neil's neck while the other opens the soda next to him, pushing it into Neil's hands in place of the controller. It's such a familiar dance that neither of them linger on it. Neil's glare at Aaron doesn't falter even as Andrew walks out of the room for a smoke break.

Katelyn stares after him, lingering on Andrew's back as he leans against the outside railing. It's been awhile since she's seen Andrew truly tense; he looks how he feels for once. Calm, in the moment. Katelyn wonders if it's a feeling he takes for granted, or one he refuses to acknowledge. Either way, it just makes her more hesitant to approach him.

She doesn't want to break this peace they both have, here with their people on a cool summer night.

But if she doesn't say it...no. She's not sure it's avoidable at this point. It pushes on her vocal chords and claws at her pressed lips, prying them apart. Katelyn thinks of Aaron next to her in bed, or in her arms, safe and sound. She realizes she's wanted to say this for a long time.

Katelyn stands quietly, though she doesn't have to. Aaron and Neil are glued to the game, and any sound she makes is drowned out by explosions and gunfire.

"Josten, you can't be this much of an idiot," Aaron says, more agonized than annoyed at this point. He jabs his fingers over his own controller, like he can take it out on the plastic instead of Neil's brain.

"Oh yeah? Bet," Neil answers, because at least he's self-aware. "And what the hell? I did the combo right that time."

"No you didn't! You just keep smashing the buttons in a random order!" Aaron mimics it, and in true form, is killed on screen. "Shit. You're destroying my rankings."

"Don't blame me because you suck at this."

Neil is correct. Aaron has never successfully beaten either Andrew or Nicky. Once, while drunk, he cried about it.

"I do not," Aaron grumbles, and he starts the next round. "Here. Watch."

Katelyn doesn't wait to hear Neil's snippy response; her smile fades as she steps out onto the balcony, the cool air hitting her flushed cheeks. She laughs at herself, nothing more than a light huff; to think part of her is actually fired up over this, a little proud. Like it's about time.

She's sure she should feel ashamed of that, ugly. But she doesn't.

The sound makes Andrew whip his head around, the softness stripped away to reveal sharp edges, pulling her apart. The hand holding Andrew's cigarette pauses in mid-air, and he waits, because why would Andrew speak first?

Katelyn smiles wryly before she hardens, grip so tight on the door column that the old paint chips. She's learned there's no reason to lead in with anything when it comes to Andrew; he doesn't care about niceties, or fronts.

She only has one thing to say, and she's going to say it regardless of whether or not she gets a response. She turns to check on Aaron one last time, and he's oblivious. As he should be, for this.

That's Katelyn's only source of guilt. But she knows, maybe as well as Andrew, that Aaron is not ready to hear this. He probably never will be.

Katelyn takes one step forward, right where Andrew's boundary ends, and makes sure there's zero room for him to doubt her.

"I'm glad you killed her."

It comes out a lot more serious than she thought; it was what she was going for, but she expected some quiver to her tone, a weakness.

There is none. Her voice is devoid of any regret, any sympathy, and that's everything she ever wanted. That's what Tilda deserved, at the bare minimum.

And if it's all Katelyn can give, she'll do it. She'll thank the person who did whatever he could.

She clasps a hand over her mouth when she realizes she's smiling, an inkling of that coldness bleeding through, but it's too late.

Andrew saw.

She guesses that's fair though; she tries to wipe the smile away but it sticks, it pulls open her lips like rusted gates, releasing those words she craved. Andrew lowers his cigarette as he takes this in, and Katelyn's not sure what he finds.

She hopes it's something good.

Katelyn doesn't wait for Andrew to respond before she walks back into the dorm, nothing more to say. She feels Andrew's gaze on her back, and she trusts it. When had that happened?

When had she stopped expecting a threat? When had she realized there was no need to flinch?

The warmth fills her to the brim. She climbs into Aaron's chair as he mopes over his loss, nuzzling his cheek. His hand finds hers like a moth to the flame before he stands up to switch the game to Mario Party so they can all play. Her smile from before morphs into something full and colorful. Bright.

She claps excitedly, rummaging through the tangled basket below the entertainment system for her controller. She's already challenging and throwing jabs at Neil, who is her biggest rival in this game. The twins always lose.

She's vaguely aware of Neil calling Andrew back into the room, but then there's Andrew's hand in front of her face, untangling the chord for her. She gasps as he frees the pink controller from its confines, dangling it in front of her.

She reaches for it on instinct, but hesitates when she glances up at him. She's...in his bubble. It's only for a moment, but it closes up her throat.

"Well?" He says when she freezes, unmoving for too long. Katelyn notices, with no shortage of joy, that Andrew's shoulders are still relaxed. He's comfortable. Accepting.

She blinks away the shock behind her eyes and grips the controller, smiling up at him. The moment ends in an instant, Andrew's bored expression already focused elsewhere. He turns away from her as he plops down by Neil, and she avoids the smug smile Neil sends her.

Whether it's due to the game or his own weird intuition, Katelyn doesn't know.

All she knows in that moment is that she's going to smoke them all.

Katelyn jumps up, and the lightness in her heart threatens to steer her into the ceiling. She takes her place beside Aaron and lets the shit talking begin.

Granted, there parts of Katelyn that are still naive. It comes with the territory, with pretty cookie cutter houses and neighborhood watch meetings.

See, as much as she was ready to acknowledge her protectiveness, she never thought she'd have to resort to actual violence...ever. She assumed those times were behind them, that life would be boring and wonderful from here on out.

Most things should seem boring anyways, after everything they’ve been through.

You've always have to be the optimist.

What she didn't know was just how prepared her mind was for reality, lying in wait behind the scope of her conscious thought. And come to think of it, that was naive of her too, to think feelings take a vacation just because you accept them.

Her pom-poms hit the floor with a clatter as she jumps up, high as she can. She's cheering, trying to be heard over the rest of her squad while her coach tries to calm them down. It never works.

Katelyn is taking off from the cheer section despite the teasing from the other girls, but they should be used to this by now.

She has a flair for the dramatic, and she's on the court soon after the final buzzer rings. The score is in the Foxes' favor tonight, promising an excessive party later on. She wonders if she can convince the girls to give her the room for a few hours...

The crowd roars behind her as she and the rest of the cheerleaders rush onto the court, but her excitement is her own and twice as powerful.

It's tradition now for her to seek Aaron out, to leap into his arms after every game won. Sue her, she's cheesy like that. And after being deprived of it for so long...she's gotten greedy. Andrew barely bats an eye anymore, comically side stepping them.

She's confused though, because normally they meet halfway. She runs to center court and can't see Aaron anywhere, and her confusion only doubles when she sees a mass of people forming up ahead.

There's a sizable crowd around where the Foxes' huddle should be, a mix of referees and substitute players, and she pushes through them to get a better look. She doesn't realize her body is already buzzing, alive with nervous energy and dread. It knows something she hasn't quite figured out yet.

That's why she's not just nudging people out of the way, she's shoving them, elbowing them as the yelling gets louder. It's normally her personality that bulldozes, but today it's every last inch of her.

Her blood feels like it ignites. Her body is thrown into fight or flight mode, and fight is definitely preferred.

It happens fast.

Aaron has never let his height deter him, and as neutral as he can be in most situations, he's got a short fuse at times and a fighting spirit to match. His anger is explosive. It happens in short bursts, but can raze fields in its wake. It gets him into a lot of trouble; he can say things he doesn't mean or things he absolutely means, which are typically worse. Today it's the latter.

Aaron is face to face with a player from the other team, and the words roar in Katelyn's ears. They're murky and muddled, like her brain has deemed the meaning and context irrelevant. All she needs to know is they're unkind, provoking. The backliner towers over Aaron, trading his own insults. 'Murderer' and 'inbred' and a slew of other original things hit Aaron point blank, but he's heard it all before. Whatever Aaron says in return must be cutting, and while Katelyn can't differentiate the words from curses, she knows they land.

Her heart jumps to her throat and the crowd gets louder around her; it's static in nature, too much at once, and everything in her stands on end. Poised to strike.

She doesn't care what they're arguing about, or who she's with, or what she's doing. She just sees the backliner's fist fly back, half the size of Aaron's head, and she simply reacts. She almost wants to blame the beast, that dark corner of her mind, for what happens next.

But it's all her, and it's always been all her.

Andrew moves out of the corner of her eye, sensing the same violent outcome. Their deal might be over, but the promise isn't. Andrew's instinct to protect his own will always be there.

But for once, Katelyn is faster.

Nicky is standing nearby, or maybe she ran to him...she's not sure, and it doesn't matter. Her blood is rushing into her ears and her heartbeat has drowned out the crowd. She wrenches the racquet from Nicky's hands before he even sees her.

There's no chance of her comprehending it, of stopping, so she doesn't. She brings the racquet back in the fiercest swing she can manage given her noodle arms, and punches the air out of the bastard's lungs with it. It hits him right in the stomach, and Katelyn makes sure not to break anything.

Again, she's good at anatomy.

It's a painful, underhanded hit, and she hopes it leaves a bruise. Nicky's racquet creaks a bit from the force of it, but it did its job well. Katelyn watches with a wicked satisfaction as the guy goes down with a groan, clutching his gut.

There's still anger in his eyes, a bitterness, but it pales in comparison to her own.

And it's in that moment she thinks she understands Neil best. 'I'm the scary one.'

Yes, yes, Katelyn thinks that's more than appropriate. She didn't understand then that it was simply an observation based on a feeling. It's the same feeling she's feeling now, and she supposes she has changed quite a lot from even that initial conversation.

Because she doesn't dwell on the feeling, or worry about what ugly things it says about her. It just is, and it's in the name of the emotion she loves so much. The person she loves so much.

So, her arm goes back with less force this time, less power, but it still goes back. Ready to deal another blow, ready to fight as much as she needs to if it means protecting Aaron.

It's not quite bloodlust, but it would get her the same result to call it that, so oh well.

She doesn't get the chance to find out how far she's willing to go; she's barely begun to swing forward when someone grabs the handle of the racquet, stopping her cold. She gasps then, realizing what's she doing, and again there's no regret. There is concern for the witnesses, though.

Heat rushes to her face as her eyes dart around, waiting for the vilification that's sure to come. But no. Everyone's eyes are glued to the groaning mess on the floor. Baby.

Katelyn takes a moment to catch her breath and get her shit together, because she can't believe she was that ready to maim someone in the middle of their stadium, and then turns to see the person who did notice.

Of course it's Neil. Of course.

His face is trying very hard to remain the default, completely blank, but Katelyn catches the edge of amusement playing at his lips. He'd know better than anyone, right? How close she'd come to going full apeshit, and she's sure she'll never hear the end of it. As she realizes that, Neil's smile blooms, and she tenses. Oh, shut up. Neil huffs a laugh, yanking the racquet from her hands. "I'll take that, thanks."

Katelyn tries to glare, but she can't help but smile all the same.

"Katelyn..." a voice says off to her side, and she turns to find Aaron paused midstep, worry battling with something else entirely on his face. She reaches for his hand, curling tight, and the blush on his face intensifies until it's wrapped around his ears and choking him by the neck. "Uh...you...wow."

Katelyn smirks.

Ah. Interesting. She could definitely get used to this.

"Ha," Andrew deadpans from behind Aaron, and wow, Katelyn doesn't think she's ever seen him jump so high.

"Y-you just shut up."

Katelyn's giggle is interrupted by another groan a few feet away, and the backliner glares at her with what's supposed to be pure contempt. Somehow, she's not fazed. Maybe it's the fact he's tried to get up twice now to no avail. Aaron scowls down at him, hand tight in Katelyn's, and she's never felt safer.

"Fucking bit--"

Neil leans down to his eye level in an instant, oddly reminiscent of the first time. The ire in his blue eyes is extinguished though, replaced with lazy satisfaction. Katelyn's pride in herself swells. "Hey, want me to pick up where she left off?" Neil asks, spinning the racquet in his hand. "I hit a lot harder than she does."

Katelyn really laughs then, when the backliner's face pales and Aaron smirks. Wymack starts saying something about 'restraint' and 'discipline' in Neil's face, but it hardly makes a difference.

She would've kept going. That's on her, and she's better for it. She knows she won't hesitate, that what lies dormant in her is the same as what thrashes daily inside most of the Foxes. That's enough for her, and she returns all their smiles as they pat her on the back.

It's a backwards congratulations, but the Foxes have never looked down on a protective impulse, no matter how small or rare. Even Wymack gives her a long look before shaking his head. '"These kids...I swear."

She will never be like the rest of them, not in full, but what drives her is the same. She knows that deep down, and doesn't let it scare her. Instead she leans into Aaron, kissing his cheek to congratulate him on his good game, his skin still hot as the school blacktop.

The coaches and referees clear the field, and Katelyn wishes she could bottle this lightness, this certainty.

Andrew nods at her as she passes, imperceptible, and Neil is beaming next to him. Neil shares a look of understanding with her, smugness palpable. 'Told ya so.'

Katelyn only gets a little satisfaction at the way Neil avoids Andrew's gaze a second later. Their dance is amusing, natural. Neil sidesteps to hide his face, and Andrew blocks his path, corralling him effectively.

Neil huffs in Andrew's face, all too used to it.

The words come back to the front of Katelyn's mind from that day. Her own voice echoes: you'd kill?

"Neil," she calls after him, a touch too cheerful, and he turns lazily. Like he expects it. She'll never say she understands Neil. It's frankly not possible to know how much he's aware of and how much goes completely over his head. In this case, she knows he'll hear and comprehend everything.

"I would," she says, and ignores the confused look the twins exchange. Neil's smile sharpens, a mirror of her own, before he's dragging Andrew to the locker room. Hmm. Katelyn wonders if Neil would have a good cackle. She'll have to ask.

"I'm not ever going to know what that was about, am I?" Aaron asks, but he's less pouty about it than normal. He's accepted their weird friendships, the uniquely cultivated bonds between each of them. Mostly.

He smiles at her as she leans down, stealing a kiss. "Definitely not."

She giggles when he dips her, indulging her dramatic side, and the sound bounces off the stadium walls.

++bonus

Neil assumes this is his punishment, though Andrew doesn't explicitly say it is.

The mall is slow on the following Tuesday afternoon, which is specifically why they always schedule their mall excursions (Andrew refuses to call them dates) during the week.

He's glad, because most of the time it means there’s not a lot of people shopping, which means more stolen kisses for him. It's also good for times like this, so people don't have to see his suffering.

Neil watches with dread as Andrew opens the blue and white Cinnabon box, revealing the gooey, overly iced monstrosity inside. Neil feels his taste buds protest already as he watches Andrew cut off a particularly big chunk.

Neil should've known something was off when Andrew didn't even complain once about ordering Neil a large smoothie.

Betrayed.

Gently, too gently for how awful this punishment is, Andrew cups Neil's chin with his hand, pressing down just enough to make his cheeks puff up. His face is a blank void, out of the ordinary these days when it's just the two of them, and Neil sighs internally. There really is no getting out of this. Andrew quirks a brow, holding the nauseating dessert up to Neil's mouth. "Say ‘ah.’"

Neil glares, but does so begrudgingly. If it's something Andrew knows he truly hates, he wouldn't even offer it, but Neil's never actually had one of these things before. The overabundance of cinnamon leaves him grimacing as he chews, and Andrew's expression still gives nothing away. Not even the signature 'you're so dramatic' tilt of his head. Neil knows the taste is enough to stain for at least twenty minutes, and the urge to wash it down with his strawberry smoothie is fierce.

But he waits, because he doubts it's over.

Andrew watches him swallow pitifully before turning back to the rest of the cinnamon roll, cutting himself a piece and then dousing it in the extra icing he paid for.

Neil's feelings are unconditional, truly.

When he's done consuming the sinful piece of overly fluffy sugar, Neil tracks the leftover icing on Andrew's lips. He's weak, he'll admit, but he knows kissing Andrew would be twice as sweet as the dessert itself.

And ah, that's when it all makes sense.

Andrew sets his fork and knife down very deliberately before spinning to face Neil, tilting his head in the closest thing to innocent Andrew can manage. "Kiss me?"

Neil nearly whimpers. It's incredibly unfair. Andrew rarely asks for kisses anymore—neither of them do. So now it's just endearing as hell, and Andrew never phrases it like that.

And well, Neil always wants to kiss Andrew, no matter how sugary the consequences. He nods excitedly, scooting forward on the bench. It gets him a crack in the mask finally, as Andrew's gaze softens, warm and...wow.

"Stop it," Andrew mumbles, and then his lips are on Neil's. Neil sighs into it, latching onto Andrew's sleeves when he feels him start to pull away. He typically understands short kisses when they're in public, but today it feels especially petty, so he swipes his tongue to catch some of the icing at the corner of Andrew's mouth.

But when Andrew is set on something, he's set. He pulls away, and Neil huffs, grabbing his smoothie with impressive petulancy.

"None of that, rabbit," Andrew says, digging back in. Even with his particular methods of cutting up his food, he'll most likely demolish the dessert in the next two minutes. "You know what you did."

And at that, Neil can't help but smirk. He feigns innocence as best he can as he sips on his smoothie, chewing on the straw to suppress the joy. He gets the memory of wind whistling through racquet strings, the image of the backliner on his ass and the feral look in Katelyn's eyes.

He's proud, but really, how is any of that his fault?

"I haven't done anything," he replies as Andrew chucks the box into the nearest trash can. "If my life were a factory, it would say at least fifty days have passed since the last accident."

Andrew pauses midstep, unamused.

Neil holds out his hand expectantly, ready to be led through the mall wherever Andrew sees fit. They have a system, though Andrew refuses to admit it.

They start off with Neil's stores simply because Andrew wants to get them over with, but he doesn't rush Neil as he browses the two athletic stores and rants about the minuscule differences in sneakers. Then they stop for sushi, and Andrew will attempt in vain to teach Neil to use chopsticks.

Neil might mess up more on purpose, just so Andrew has to touch his hands more.

Andrew's stores are more for dressing up Neil than Andrew buying anything for himself, though he'll occasionally indulge in buying a new watch or jacket. Especially if Neil picks them out and tells him how good they'd look.

It's a skill Neil has picked up happily, and participates in often. It's not like they're lies, because Andrew always looks good to him.

Mostly, though, he watches his boyfriend browse racks of clothes, holding up shirts and accessories to Neil's body until he's narrowed it down.

It's not hard for Neil to coax him into the dressing room with him after that.

After both forms of dessert, the last stop is the one that perplexes Neil to this day. Despite the confusion, he follows Andrew hand in hand to the overly glitzed up monstrosity that is Claire's.

It's an experience.

It's usually empty apart from one poor soul getting their ears pierced and a few teenagers picking out matching necklaces, but no one is ever phased when Andrew and Neil walk in. They look the opposite of people who should and would shop here, but Claire's is a lawless place with no rules and no judgement.

Neil once joked about Andrew writing a paper on it, since he's fairly certain time is a construct in this place. According to Andrew, however, they have the widest selection of the kind of earrings Andrew likes on Neil: the dangly ones. Perfect for Eden's. They're so cheap Andrew doesn't let him wear them any other time, or for more than a few weekends, but it just means they have to come back often to get new ones.

They should have a membership, but that's the line Andrew won't cross.

Today, Andrew is eyeing a pair with fake gems, and he holds it up to Neil's ear, squeezing his earlobe as he debates. Meanwhile, Neil's eyes float over the nearby costume merchandise and mood-themed jewelry.

There's a pair of chokers that have 'best friends' charms hanging from them, and Neil squints. It's something so cheery and colorful, he's sure Katelyn would be all over it. Probably Matt too.

But the reminder of Katelyn has Neil wincing before he can stop himself.

Andrew follows his gaze to the necklaces, throwing them in the basket a moment later without saying anything. Neil thinks that's the end of it when Andrew moves them to the next display of earrings, but of course it's not.

Andrew doesn't give up digging for answers when it comes to Neil, not that Neil fights him much anymore. It's just...with this...

Ugh.

Andrew's words tell him they're on the same page.

"You're a terrible influence," Andrew voices, throwing in a few more pairs. There's a sale today.

Neil shrugs. He has to play it cool, but it's almost funny how they've come to this discussion. Andrew isn't aware of Neil's moment behind the gym, pipe pressed to some asshole's throat, but he can still read through Neil enough to know he must've done something.

So, Neil sighs, and doesn't bother denying it.

"I'm not responsible for what other people do," he reiterates, holding up a pair of black rings. It's unusual for anything in this place to match Andrew's aesthetic, so Neil can't pass it up. He tosses it into the basket.

"Oh, captain who goes down with the ship," Andrew chides, tilting Neil's chin just so. There's a warmth in Andrew's eyes regardless of his words, and Neil stuffs his hands in his hoodie to keep from leaning forward. "Your penchant for leadership means people follow you anyways, even if your decisions are stupid."

Andrew lets go of him to assess his haul, but Neil's not done making his case.

"I'm not Katelyn's leader." Far from it. He knows Katelyn and Andrew generally get along better now, but Andrew can still be under the impression that Katelyn isn’t a force in her own way. No...Neil didn't inspire shit. If anything, Katelyn had...an awakening of sorts.

Neil brings a hand up to cover his smug smile. Ah, it's always so satisfying when people get what they deserve. He can only hope Katelyn doesn’t get addicted to the feeling.

He doubts it, though. Her goals are only ever to protect Aaron. Outside of that she's harmless, unless you count the gossip she hoards.

So what? He made Katelyn realize going for the throat is all too necessary when it comes to the people they hold dear. He stopped her before it could go further, and that should've been her lesson to not lose herself in the future.

Past that, Neil isn't responsible.

"Do you have fun, missing the point all the time?" Andrew asks, backing Neil against one of the columns in the store. Neil is quite familiar with this spot, because it means kisses, and he's a simple man nowadays.

He smirks, reaching over to grab one of the headbands hanging from the metal hooks. This one has animal ears on it, and he plops it on, catching the way Andrew's face twitches.

"If it gets you to talk to me like that, a little."

Andrew rips off the ears so fast Neil gasps, and an employee glares at the projectile when it lands in the far corner. Neil snorts, pulling Andrew completely behind the column with him. It's his favorite part of the store, because it faces an empty wall. They're hidden.

"You're insufferable," Andrew chides, but doesn't move away. Neil's content, knowing his warmth and weight has become a comfort.

That's why...that's why he really doesn't feel bad. He'd protect Andrew with everything he had, and Andrew would do the same for him. Through blood and any measure of brutality.

Neil is not naive. His life is a lot different now, and he'll try as hard as he can to make sure things are more peaceful from here on. It's unrealistic in some cases; both of them will always be plagued by nightmares, a mix of paranoia and too many boundaries. But...but the past is so much easier to navigate when the present is peaceful.

Life is not set in stone, and neither is this peace. It's possible there will be more fights, more war. And they'll both be ready, because there's no other choice where one another is concerned.

Even if Andrew won't say it, Neil knows it with bone deep certainty.

And now Katelyn will be prepared too. Neil can't possibly feel an inch of regret for causing that.

Neil sighs when Andrew's hand grips the back of his neck, grazing Neil's ear on the way there, the ghost of a touch.

Come to think of it, that employee sees them here every week...she most certainly knows what they're doing behind this column. Neil sighs a laugh, drowsy all of a sudden. He wants to nap when they get home, Andrew pressed against him. Safe.

"Yes, that's true, I'm pretty bad," Neil whispers, hand resting on Andrew's shoulder. "Don't act like you're not relieved, though."

Andrew tilts his head, pausing just before stealing a kiss.

"Elaborate."

"You've been demoted," Neil says with a smirk, chasing Andrew's lips when he moves back. It's the one direction he runs to consistently now. "Aaron has someone else to protect him."

There's a moment Andrew pauses, letting the words wash over him. It would not have been possible, Neil thinks, even a year ago. But Katelyn isn't just a fixture Andrew ignores now, she's permanent, present.

Andrew's tiny laugh sends a shiver down Neil's spine. "Was that the plan all along, then?"

Neil squints, confused, and Andrew's smile is small but there, something that's becoming increasingly common.

Andrew shrugs, a mocking mirror of Neil's default response. Despite this, he finally crowds Neil in, and he can feel the light press of Andrew's lips sticking to his. Andrew drops the basket when Neil hums in question, the moment private and sealed up just for them. "Now I can put all my efforts towards you," Andrew breathes into Neil's mouth, like a binding spell before the kiss seals them, and it wasn't the plan but...

Neil will gladly take it.

#aftg #all for the game #andreil #kateaaron

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lilolilyr · 3 years

Text

Fics I Wanted To Write This Year But Didn't, Part 2: Star Trek AU

For @spookyvoidangelskeleton for this ask

Now I suppose these would have been several fics, but in a series or a collection as they're all about the same main storyline: The collapsing of a (or several) universe(s).

If you've known me for a while, you know that I am very into Multiverse Theory, both real life and fictional, and Star Trek with the Mirror Universe is of course one of the first fandoms that comes to mind for me to write my batshit ideas in xD

Basically, in my personal little (fictional, bc I know and understand 0 about real life physics or whatever would be relevant for this) multiverse theory, there are an infinite number of universes, evenly spread around the multiverse, and a new universe comes into existence when a timeline/universe (same thing) can go into 2 seperate ways naturally, or when there is timetravel involved to manually change a timeline: The original timeline won't be affected, you can't change what's already there, but a new changed timeline will be created.

Now, in some cases that works out well, with the timetraveller ending up in the new timeline and never knowing that their original universe is still out there- in other ways of time travelling, not so much. If the person trying to make a change manages to do just that but never notices, because they or a version of them is stuck in the orginal timeline, what do they do?

Try again, with the same result, many many times.

And that's where it gets problematic, because the multiverse gets unbalanced, and whether you see it as a sentient entity connected to the Qs in Star Trek or just as something that Works That Way automatically: the multiverse doesn't want to be out of balance, so the new universes start to collapse in on each other, creating a Splitter-verse and leaving its inhabitants to a fate arguably worse than death (in this fictional world): they completely stop to exist. This doesn't just affect the new universes but the surroundings ones, which would have split earlier and are already more different from each other, too, to make sure the one that was the cause for it all falls, too.

Now (of course, because I can't help myself) this would be part of @thelucyverse , with there being Central people trained in spotting such time anomalies before it is too late, but with there also being time-bombs (yeah hahah) created in inter-universal wars to create smaller, controlled splitter-verses (I say small and controlled here but like. We're still talking about entire universes), and with Central having back-up plans to get people out of the 'verses, in order as follows: anyone visibly IDing as Central (the organisation is still largely volunteer-based, shit's got to have some perks), then everyone whose energy indicates recent travel in-between universes, as these are also most likely to a) be Central and b) be okay in a new 'verse, after that, if there is still time and anyone willing to go back into the falling universe, children as they are also more likely to adapt in a new world. If there is enough warning, they also get out whoever people Central members want to have saved, but usually it just turns into whoever stands close enough to grab and get the hell out of there.

Whether taking people out of a universe against their will is a good thing or nah is ...debatable and still being debated amongst those who do it and those who think that taking someone away from the possibility of dying death in their own universe is vile (as amongst most religions, it is thought that you can only reach the same afterlife as those who died in the same umiverse- but again most also think that there probably won't even Be an afterlife in a splitter-verse).

Sometimes, people are also pushed out of the universe by the explosion itself, but they then tend to die upon impact as they seldomly end up exactly at the coordinates where they left, which leaves them either suffocating in hard matter or in space.

If you want to use these ideas for your own fanfic feel free, just give me credit and link this post as inspired by/ link to my ao3 or @ my tumblr!

Anyhow! To Star Trek... and I suppose this is now SPOILERS not rly for any Star Trek canon but for these fanfics, if I do end up writing them!

I tend to forget which characters are canon and which are complete OCs because I spend Way more hours on tumblr and ao3 + thinking about my own headcanons than I spend consuming the original media, but I am fairly certain a canon Joana McCoy, daughter of Leonard 'Bones' McCoy exists? If no and I stole the idea from sb else's fanfic I am sincerely sorry. Gotta look that up.

In one universe close to what would be the centre of the splitterverse, Joana- as a young child nicknamed 'Jojo', but now as a young teen trying to get rid of the childish nickname- has a younger part-vulcan girl as a friend, and this girl, nicknamed Aka, has, through having sticky fingers and connections to Central, a device that allows you to jump between universes. She's used it before and gotten into a lot of trouble for it, but to her it had always been great fun- until reality is starting to collapse around them while she is visiting Joana, and Joana is the only person she can reach in time and take with her to the next universe.

Distraught, the children are left in a new world, debating what to do, waiting for Central to contact them, hoping that they saved their families- but of course, Central has quite some different problems right now and won't contact them any time soon, and even if they did it wouldn't be with news of their parents: the adult families of non-Central members who only happened to have jumped between universes before themselves are really not the top priority, and the universe is collapsing too quickly to even get down the prio list to 'children',

Aka wants to leave the universe again and look for Central elsewhere, hoping that her moving around will attract their attention. Joana has enough from universe jumps for a lifetime. Thus, they part ways.

While Aka at some point does run into a group of Central troubeshooters who more or less adopt her as one of their own and teach her how to work their equipment and use magic and weapons and starships (not what a child her age should be learning. But then, none of the adults there ever signed up to be a parent, so who's to blame them), Joana goes looking for her family in this world.

Now I could write entire novels about Akas adventures and how it may or may not be healthy to not have a home at all and decide to not rely on anybody instead of either finding new versions of her original parents or letting someone new into her life properly (spoileralert: it isn't healthy at all), and how meeting a girl from one of the original splitter-verses (the not bombed ones) telling her not to make the same mistakes she made finally makes her think about her choices and and and, but this post is already going to be Long so I won't. That would all be a seperate fanfic anyways.

Joana finds a girl her age who looks just like her and acts almost exactly like her, too- the only difference seems to be that there's no Aka around, which made this version of her less used to adventure but also less wary of it.

The version of Joana from this universe- she decides to call herself Joan when they are alone, while the Joana we already know goes with 'Jojo'- her once loathed childhood nickname now a connection to her past- is thrilled to meet her and begs her to stay, I mean what is cooler than suddenly having a twin, and won't it be fun there is so much they can do! As their parents are seperated, they manage to spend their time mostly at one of their homes, either together when the parent is too busy to notice that there are two kids around, or one at each place, guessing correctly that if the parents were to talk about it, they wouldn't even think of the possibility of there being two children and instead just get mad at each other.

This goes on for a few months during the summer, with Jojo feeling vaguely guilty both to her original dead parents and these new ones who think that she is their real daughter, and the girls are just deciding about what to do when school starts again when-

Reality breaks apart around them.

Jojo clings to Joan in fear, and- as Jojo is now on the list of people who have travelled between universes in the past, she is saved by Central, and Joan with her. They are placed into a universe further away this time, a safe distance to the only slowly contained Splitters.

Meanwhile, in the same universe, two people were currently out on a space-walk: Michael Burnham and Philippa Georgiou.

They are thrown out of the universe in the explosion, and as they are wearing their suits, they survive as they end up somewhere in space again, but- they don't end up in the same universe. Michael ends up about 20-30 years earlier in a universe further away, and she doesn't even end up in what would've been federation space in her old 'verse. Philippa is only thrown one universe to the left and picked up by Central. As Central likes to name their acquaintances in some way that makes it easier to identify just which version of a person you are talking to without having to add the long universe number (even harder when the universe was destroyed and there isn't a known number), they ask Philippa to pick a new name. She is way too rattled and desperate to go looking for Michael as quickly as possible to care about what name she is supposed to have, so she goes with the first option given to those who don't have their own nickname ideas: lastname for firstname, making her Georgiana, short Gia.

Through Central, she finds out that the universal explosion left her and Michael connected- but it won't be much help in the search, basically just a way to say 'alright this verse is closer to it than that one', it's still trial and error... (I could also involve some body switching here, idk I already wrote a long fanfic with that trope in the Andromaquynh fandom, but I happen to Like that trope so yeah maybe I'll recycle some parts of In Your Stead if I ever do manage to write this Milippa story. Which, btw, if not already obvious, would again be a seperate fic from the Joana universal-sister story. On the other hand, Aka runs into Georgiana a lot, even calling her 'auntie Gia').

Meanwhile, Michael doesn't have to jump through universes but make her way through just the one universe to get to federarion space. Except what she find's isn't the federation at all... you guessed it, the 'verse she ended up in is more similar to a mirrorverse than to Prime. However, the Georgiou of this world isn't the emperor yet, she's young and Michael is able to influence her enough over the years so that she turns her back to the Empire.

Yes, it takes years for Michael and Gia to find their way back to each other, maybe decades... they also wouldn't have spent exactly the same amount of time apart as they aren't in the same 'verse. In fact, Cleo of Central carefully tells Gia that Michael might have died by now, but of course Georgiana doesn't want to hear this.

Michael and that universe's Georgiou also get quite close, though Michael doesn't want to cheat on her Philippa... of course, after years of this, she might think that she will never see Philippa again... (We are approaching ot3 territory here lol, and I don't even want to think about the potential of ot7 with the two canon mirror and prime versions adsfghjkl because if I finish this story here, I would 100% write a lil fix it where Central! Gia Mikay and Phil go fish Mirror! Michael and Georgiou out of a splitter-verse into the next prime verse in which Michael already knows that Georgiou... and ad they're already at it they also get half dead! Prime Philippa away from the Klingons... heheh sounds like the kind of poly chaos I would enjoy writing, but sadly I have to make it through all the Plot first)

Anyway! Back to Jojo and Joan: they decide that while they maybe should have told Joan's family about Jojo's existence soon if they had stayed in that 'verse, the initial idea of staying with one's universals wasn't so bad, so they go looking for this universe's Joana McCoy. The girl- (nicknamed Anna, which makes Joan decide to change hers from Joan to June because she doesn't want to be half Jojo and half Anna), is happy enough to meet them, but often feels left out from the other two as they act as if they've known each other forever even though of course it's only been a few months... In turn, Jojo and June aren't sure whether Anna really wants them around, whether she might think they're trying to steal her life and family from her...

Lots of potential for conflict! Yay! XD would of course come to a happy ending, with at least Bones accepting his three daughters, dunno yet whether they'd tell the mom... also Aka ends up in the same universe at some point, together with a version of her vulcan birthmother who she had never known the original version of but now gets along with alright... oh and if I do write aforementioned Milippa ot7 bullshitery, this would also be the Prime!verse for that, so all stories in the series or collection interconnect again!

this got... long... and I could obviously go on but I need to go back to writing my Bachelor thesis :(

@whoever read through all of this, do let me know whether you like these ideas and which you would like to read proper fanfic for! Might influence future writing decisions.

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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How Ted Lasso Sneakily Crafted its Empire Strikes Back Season

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This article contains Ted Lasso spoilers through season 2 episode 8.

Perhaps you’ve heard, but Apple TV+ series Ted Lasso was the subject of some dreaded Discourse recently.

Since the Internet is infinite and we privileged few in the media have nothing but time, a handful of features came out weeks ago essentially questioning what Ted Lasso season 2 was even all about. Many of these features were well-written, well-argued, and fair, but when filtered through Twitter’s anti-nuance machine (i.e. Twitter itself), every feature boiled down to the same reductive take: Ted Lasso season 2 doesn’t have a conflict.

In some respects, this take was the inevitable reaction to the metanarrative surrounding Ted Lasso in the first place. Despite drawing its inspiration from a series of somewhat cynical NBC Sports Premier League commercials, the first season of Ted Lasso was all about the transformative power of kindness.

Or at least that’s what we critics declared it to be. And I don’t blame us. Awash in a flood of screeners about antiheroes, dystopias, and the end of the world, the simple kindness of Ted Lasso seemed revolutionary. They made a TV show about a guy who is…nice? They can do that? But the inherent goodness of its lead character was always Ted Lasso’s elevator pitch, not its thesis.

There’s been a darkness at the center of Ted Lasso since its very first moment, when an American man got on a flight to London in a doomed attempt to save his marriage. And, as season 2’s brilliant eighth episode rolls around, it’s become clear that that darkness is what the show has really been “about” this whole time.

Season 2 episode 8 “Man City” (the title is referring to AFC Richmond’s FA Cup match against opponent Manchester City but also stealthily reveals that this installment will be all about men and their respective traumas) is quite simply the best episode of Ted Lasso yet. It also might be the best episode of television this year. Near the episode’s end, right before AFC Richmond plays a crucial FA Cup match against the mighty Manchester City, coach Ted Lasso (Jason Sudeikis) finally comes clean with his coaching staff. He’s been suffering from panic attacks of late. His assistant coaches hear him, accept him, and then head off to the pitch where Man City absolutely obliterates their team.

Man City destroys AFC Richmond. They annihilate them. Embarrass them. Stuff them into a locker and steal their lunch money. The final score is 4-0 but it might as well be 400-0. The coaching staff is rattled but the players are hit even harder. Richmond’s star striker and former Man City player Jamie Tartt (Phil Dunster) is forced to endure watching his scumbag father cheer for his hometown team from the Wembley Stadium stands at the expense of his son.

After the game, Jamie’s father, James (Kieran O’Brien), enters the locker room where he drunkenly accosts him for being a loser and demands that Jamie grant access to the Wembley Stadium pitch for him and his scumbag friends to run around on. When Jamie refuses, his father pushes him, so Jamie reflexively punches him right in the face. James is dragged out of the locker room by Coach Beard (Brendan Hunt), leading a stunned and traumatized Jamie Tartt standing in the middle of the room, as if in a spotlight of pure pain, surrounded by teammates too afraid to even approach him. And then something amazing happens…

Here’s the dirty secret about television: there’s a lot of it. Due to the sheer number of TV shows released each year, even the best of them are destined to become little more than memories long-term. Sometimes all you can ask from multiple episodes and seasons of television is to provide you with one moment, one line, or one warm feeling to carry with you into the future. I don’t know how much I’ll remember from Ted Lasso 30-40 years from now when I’m immobile and reclined in my floating entertainment unit, Wall-E style. But I know I’ll at least remember the moment that Roy hugs Jamie.

The great Roy Kent (Brett Goldstein) – a character so disconnected from his own emotions that some fans are convinced he’s CGI – embraces the one person in the world he is least likely to embrace. As Roy and Jamie wordlessly hug, it’s hard to tell which man is more shocked by the moment. Ultimately, however, it might be Ted Lasso himself who is hit hardest. Shortly after seeing Roy play father to the younger Jamie, Ted quickly exits the locker room and calls sports psychologist Dr. Sharon Fieldstone (Sarah Niles) on his Apple TV+-apporved iPhone.

“My father killed himself when I was 16. That happened. To me and to my mom,” Ted says, weeping.

And that, my friends, is what Ted Lasso is all about. Pain. And dads. But mostly pain.

None of us can say that Ted Lasso didn’t warn us it was coming. To go back to the discourse of it all real quick – I don’t blame anyone for not picking up on the direction that this show was so clearly heading in. Ted Lasso is, first and foremost, a sitcom. The beauty of sitcoms is that you welcome them into your home to watch at your own pace and your own terms. If having Ted Lasso on in the background so you can occasionally see the handsome mustache man who smiles while you fold your laundry is the way you’ve chosen to engage with the show, then great! Just know that season 2 has been operating on a deeper level this whole time as well.

Let’s take things all the way back to the beginning – back to before season 2 even began. You’ve likely heard the old philosophical thought experiment “if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” Well Jason Sudeikis’s interviews leading up the season 2 premiere beg an equally as interesting hypothetical “how many times can one man mention The Empire Strikes Back before someone notices??”

Sudeikis referred to Ted Lasso season 2 as the show’s “Empire Strikes Back” multiple times before the premiere including in his local Kansas City Star and his technically local USA Today. The show even explicitly mentions the second Star Wars film in this season’s first episode when Richmond general manager Higgins (Jeremy Swyft) tells Ted that his kids are watching the trilogy for the first time. Sudeikis (who co-created and produces the show) and showrunner Bill Lawrence clearly want us to take the idea that Ted Lasso season 2 is The Empire Strikes Back seriously. And why would that be?

Think of how ESB differs from its two Star Wars siblings in the original trilogy. This is the story that features arguably the series most iconic moment when Luke Skywalker discovers his dad is a dick on a literal universal level. It also has the only unambiguously downer ending of any original trilogy Star Wars film. Luke is thoroughly defeated in this installment. Having one’s hand chopped off by their father and barely escaping with their life is definitely the Star Wars version of a 4-0 defeat.

The Empire Strikes Back can safely be boiled down into two concepts:

Dads are complicated.

Everything sucks.

When viewed through those two conceptual prisms, so much of Ted Lasso season 2 begins to make more sense.

Episode 1 opens with the death of a dog and then leads into a classic Ted Lasso speech that could serve as this season’s mission statemetn. After recounting the story of how he cared for his sick neighbor’s dog, Ted concludes with: “It’s funny to think about the things in your life that can make you cry knowing that they existed then become the same thing that can make you cry knowing that they’re now gone. Those things come into our lives to help us get from one place to a better one.”

Things like…a father who you didn’t have nearly enough time with? Following episode 1 (and following just about every episode this season), Bill Lawrence took to Twitter to assuage viewers’ fears about a lack of central conflict this season. He had this to say about Ted’s big speech.

Look, Merrill. It was thought out, but the speech he gives after (Written by Jason himself – I loved it) is the core of the season, but we knew some people might bum out.

— Bill Lawrence (@VDOOZER) July 27, 2021

Sorry, truly. Ted’s speech after (which I love, but am obviously biased) is a big part of the season. But it sounds like you had a crappy thing happen recently.

— Bill Lawrence (@VDOOZER) July 28, 2021

It’s not. But Ted’s speech has big relevance. Stick around!

— Bill Lawrence (@VDOOZER) July 26, 2021

He also had this to say about dads.

Effin Dads, man. Love mine so, but he’s struggling a bit.

— Bill Lawrence (@VDOOZER) July 27, 2021

“Effin dads” and our complicated relationships with them are all over Ted Lasso season 2. In the very next episode, Sam Obisanya (Toheeb Jimoh) tells Ted “You know, my father says that every time you’re on TV, he’s very happy that I’m here. That I’m in safe hands with you.”

Ted smiles at this bit of info but not as warmly as you might expect. Because to Ted, a dad isn’t a reassuring presence but rather someone you love who will just leave when you need him the most. That’s why he’s been trying to be the perfect father figure this whole time. That’s why he did something as extreme as leaving his family behind in Kansas while he heads off to London. If giving his wife space was the only way to preserve the family and remain a good dad, then he was going to give her a whole ocean of space.

Moreover, Ted hasn’t just been trying to serve as a father figure to his son this whole time but to everyone else as well. Sam’s comment to Ted reminds him that not everyone has a good dad, which encourages him to bring Jamie into the fold in the first place.

As time goes on, however, the stress of being the consummate father to everyone in his orbit begins to wear on Ted. Throughout the entirety of this season, Ted Lasso appears to be trying to be Ted Lasso just a bit too hard. His energy levels are too high. His jokes go on too long. The same life lessons that worked last year aren’t working this year. AFC Richmond opens with an embarrassing streak of draws before Jamie’s immense talents set things straight.

It all culminates in this season’s sixth episode when Ted has his second panic attack in as many years. This time it’s in public during an important game. The experience sends Ted running through the concourse of the stadium until he somehow ends up in the dark on Dr. Fieldstone’s couch, instinctively, like a wounded animal.

It’s certainly no coincidence that this panic attack occurs on the same day that Ted received a call from his son’s school asking him to pick him up, not realizing that he’s an ocean away. In that moment, Ted can’t help but remember what it’s like to be left behind by his own father and subconsciously wonder if he’s doing the same.

Though the shallow waters of Ted Lasso season 2 may have appeared consequence free for half its run, beneath the surface was a tidal wave of conflict. Just because the conflict wasn’t taking place between a happy-go-lucky football coach and a villainous owner doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Game of Thrones author George R.R. Martin is terrible at meeting deadlines but great at writing. According to him (and William Faulkner, from whom he borrows the quote), the only conflict worth writing about is that of the human heart with itself. That’s something that The Empire Strikes Back understood. And it’s something that Ted Lasso season 2 does as well.

The post How Ted Lasso Sneakily Crafted its Empire Strikes Back Season appeared first on Den of Geek.

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cobradoesmcyt · 4 years

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Infinite

POWER

Cub could feel the moment that the Power stone entered someone's hands, felt its power buzzing passively in the air.

He shakily sat down, hand twitching as it felt the power twirl around it. It longged to feel the power coursing through it once more, but he buried that deep down. As someone who’d once held the Stones, he knew the pull of their power, a power they’d just use against you if given the chance.

He hoped that whoever had the stone didn’t get anymore, or that anymore came to be. Because he feared Hermitcraft would never be the same if all six came to be.

Purple

When Grian had noticed that the Button had six colors he couldn’t help himself. He got a gauntlet specially made, made to be a mix between the one Iron Man used and the one Thanos used (shape of IM’s and style of Thanos’). He then used some Watcher magic to turn the concrete block into a purple stone, and he added a mild strength effect to it too.

You know, to make it more realistic!

TIME

When he felt the second stone, Time, if the subtle feeling of time stopping for a second or so was anything to go by. He really hoped it was someone else.

He hasn't yet figured out who has the Power stone, but he’ll figure it out eventually. And if he doesn't figure it out himself then he’ll just ask someone else. Easy as that!

Green

As soon as he got the green concrete block he did the same thing he did with the purple one. He blinked in surprise when he noticed that the air around him seemed to still, the heat still there but not trickling all over his skin like a hot breath like usual.

He looked down at where he’d just placed the green stone in, a feeling deep inside him telling him it was the stone that was doing this. So he focused in on it, silently asking it to turn time back to normal, and to his disbelief it did as it was told.

Surely it couldn’t actually be the Infinity stones, right?

...Right?

SPACE

By the time he felt the presence of the Space stone he knew it was Grian that had the Stones. He’d been trying to set up a meeting with the dirty blonde, but they’d both been so busy that it hadn’t been able to happen.

So he went to Scar, hoping that he could tell him the moment Grian became free.

The wizard agreed, but asked that he (Cub) come to his base and explain everything in person. Which Cub agreed to.

Blue

Grian had realized that the stones on his hands were more than just simple mineral crystals. Because no normal stone should open a portal to the nether at will, and most definitely not a frameless one.

When he discovered this new ability two clashing emotions filled him. On one hand he wanted nothing more than to rip the stones off and crush them under his foot before throwing them into the void. But on the other something pulled him to keep them, and to also use and master them. But most importantly it also whispered non verbal encouragements to get the last three, to finish the sextet of stones.

And he listened to the call of the Stones.

MIND

Cub didn’t know Grian had the Mind stone until he saw the other. It had just been a quick look, the two seeing each other when Grian had been flying by when Cub stood in a portal, but the new, glistening, yellow, stone was very prominently radiating power for the short moments Cub saw it. The stone had subtly used its power passively to make Cub look at it's current wielder, as if to say “do you see what you're missing now? Look at all you could have had, look at all of what you denied”.

It made him furious. Not at Grian, no, but with himself and the stones. If he’d been trying harder then there would be no way everything would turn to this, to the stones getting powerful enough to hide their presence from him. And if the stones had never even come into existence then things would be perfectly fine, and Grian wouldn’t be in danger of corruption.

Oh god, Grian was in danger of corruption.

Yellow

Grian sat giggling at the top of his base, the voice in his head telling him of all the pranks he once abandoned and then expelling how to make them work with their powers. He didn’t ask who “they” were, mind being too wrapped up and enthralled by the prospect of finally being able to do many of the pranks he once left behind.

He was doing exactly what the Stones wanted, he was letting them in.

SOUL /̸̧̧̳̮̑̂̀̃̈́̔̌̎̈́́̎͒̇ö̷͔͉̱̯̱̟̯͍̬͈̣͑͗̈́͋͋̎̊͘r̶̨̡̨̤̯̪̞̙̙̭̭̼̦͊̎͐̈́́ȁ̶͓͙̹̥̬̙̜̣́̎̀̆ͅn̴̢͇͔̜̦̟̱͇̼̬̻̫̪̜̊̒̊̊̏̍̇́͌̕̕͠g̴̡̡͉̗̪̘͓͖͓̞̝͊͌̓͆͠͝ͅë̶̢̨̠̝̲̤̹͔͇̗͔́͜

When Grian got the Soul stone everyone in the Nether, and Cub of course, felt it. It was like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over their soul, it was suffocating and chilling. But to Grian it felt like a warm breeze had gently blown around him, it was comforting and sweet, like coming home to a loved one's embrace.

But all it was all nothing more than the Stones reconnecting, their powers melding together and holding each other once again. ‘Just one more now, one more and we can have all the fun in the world’ The Stones whispered to Grian, caressing their powers around him, to enthrall him into them even more.

“Just one more.” He echoed, and as he watched his reflection in the glass of the green team lounge he could see dark vein like symbols crawling up to his face. And looking up he could see his eyes quickly flash the color of all the stones he already held, and looking even further up the barely visible sight of a crown like thing over his head made out of the five stones he already had, with an obvious missing spot for the last one.

Just one left until the gauntlet would be filled up.

REALITY

The button was red. The button was finally on red!

Grian gleefully bounced up the redstone build and pressed its stone button, smiling widely as the bar filled up once more before dispensing the red concrete block. As soon as the block hit his hands it turned into the red stone he’d been told of, the last one to the six piece puzzle on his hand. He held out his right hand before bringing the Reality stone to its resting place in the middle of the gauntlet.

As soon as the stone was in place he felt a power shock-wave make its way through his arm and up his body, almost like his veins were acting like cables to pump the Stones powers through his body.

‘Summon a mirror, wouldn’t you like to see yourself?’ Grian did want to see himself, so with quick instructions from the stones he summoned a mirror out of thin air. The face that met him was not the one from the start of the season. No, this face was lined with black veins that traveled down his body, his eyes changed color depending on from which angel he looked, and above his head now a full crown of only floating gems sat, all fully visible and pulsing with stored power. ‘Look at you Wielder, so powerful, so much more powerful than that Vex coward’

“Vex? Do you mean Cub or Scar?” Grian asked, eyes looking down at the stones as he let the mirror fade back into hot air. ‘Both, though Cub was the main man of the operation’ The stone hummed, though there was an underlying feeling of amusement to the words. ‘Tell me Wielder, how do you feel about showing him, and all the others, the power of us?’

“Let’s do it!” Grian grinned. And with just three little words the Grian of Hermitcraft was gone, instead replaced by Grian of the Stones. Same person, ones just free and the other trapped by the power of the Stones mind manipulation.

INFINITY

Xisuma was just about to ask someone to go get Grian, seeing as how the dirty blond was late for a server meeting, when said Hermit walked through. The admin was about to greet him joyfully, but he then noticed how Grian looked and he was instantly on edge, sword drawn and held at the ready. Many others could see that something was wrong too, and they were one step ahead of their admin.

Grian paid them little mind, crazed eyes instead focusing on Cub. “Cub! Just the man I was looking for!” Jevin stepped in front of Cub, sword held out protectively in front of them both. This made the builder chuckle darkly. “I’m afraid that won’t work, but A for a good attempt.”

His eyes then flashes blue before the pharaoh robed man was in front of him, in an instead Cub can easily see both the changes to his friends, and the final stone on the gauntlet. “No.”

Following his line of sight Grin grinned. “I’m afraid so.” He then held up the hand, making a show of flashing the stones in the others face. “Wonderful, right? I can’t see why ever denied something like this, Cub, it’s amazing! It feels like I hold the power of a hundred universes in my hand.”

“Grian, you have to get them off!” Scar cried, eyes wide as he finally noticed the stones over the builders head. “You can’t hold them!”

“Clearly I can!” Grian called, rolling his eyes at the wizard. “Plus, it’s not my fault you two were too cowardly to use them!”

Cub shook his head. “That’s not it! The stones are too powerful to be held by just one person alone, it’ll corrupt someone's mind!”

“Corrupt someone? Sure I got some new marks along with a crown, but how the hell is that me being corrupted?” Grian sneered, eyes flashing purple as he looked down at Cub.

Before anyone could answer him he shook his head. “No matter, whatever you’ll say nothing will change.” ‘Well said Wielder. Now, show them what we have!’

Cub, seeing Grian’s eyes flash to red and stay red, barely managed to avoid the solid stone that now was where he’d just been. Grian growled before swiping at the bearded man with a fist and purple eyes, it was blocked and the sword which blocked his attack cracked slightly under the power of the impact. In a ditch effort to halt any major movements from Grian, Cub swung his axe at the dirty blonds legs, which the shorter didn’t manage to dodge. So with a cry he stumbled back, but not before firing a stone spear at his attacker.

He was about to swing again, but an arrow, which was then followed by two more, hit him and made him back up. Looking up with a snarl he saw the Hermits, all fully geared up and ready for battle, approche.

“So this is how you want to play, huh? Fine let’s play.” Grian charged towards the group, and everytime he took a step one more of him apparead, until he reached them and over twenty of them surrounded the group.

Cub looked at the copies, trying to find the real one, when something touched his head. It took him a few seconds to realize it was Grian’s gauntlet that was touching him. He tried to whirl around and attack, but he was stopped by an unseen force.

“Now, now Cub-dear, no need for violence.” Grian cooed. Only, it wasn’t Grian, but instead the stones. “I’m just showing you what you missed out on so long ago.”

“Let him go.” Cub hissed, struggling in the stones mental grip. “Your beef is with me, not him! He’s innocent!”

“Not really. His past is as tainted as us, if not more!” The stones laughed, their grip on his hand tightening. “But that’s besides the point, he came to us, so we’re using that to our advantage. Pretty neat, huh?”

Cub caught Scar’s eyes, and subtly sent a silent message of “help” to him. After a nod answered him he focused back on his captor. “Neat is the last word I’d use, especially for this.” He glanced back over towards the fighting Hermits and noticed that Scar was not amongst them. And if the shifting of the earth under him he had a good feeling about it. “Now, please let me go.”

“Let you go? I’m afraid we can’t do thAAAAA!” The Stones screamed as a large plant slapped them away from Cub. Said Hermit brushed himself off before saying, “Should have let me go when I asked nicely.”

“You know, if I hadn’t stepped in you’d probably be a goner by now.” Scar commented as he walked up to his friends, keeping an eye on Stone-possessed-Grian.

Cub had no chance to retort before their opponent was standing once again. The stones growled loudly before charging at the two, just as he swiped at them, he disappeared. Neither knew what had happened until they checked their communicators.

Grian has been banned

Everyone looked to where Xisuma was standing, unshed tears in his eyes as he held his admin screens up with shaking hands. “I’m so sorry.” He cracked out, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“But you did!” Scar argued. “We could have gotten the stones off! We could have saved him! But now he’s left to rot with the Stones slowly taking him over more and more!”

Their argument was broken up by the sky turning a deep purple, and soon a familiar, yet also so not, laugh echoed around them. “How cute! You thought you could banish us! Well guess what, you can’t!”

“NO!” Cub growled, his eyes glowing blue for the first time in such a long time, the air crawling with yell. “I will not allow you six to take him away from us! From me!”

The stones cooed at him, forming back at where they stood mid charge. “Aww, has the little bear finally figured out his feelings? How cute.”

“I have. You know what else I’ve figured out?” He asked, eyes narrowed as he looked at the controlled form of Grian.

“What?” The dirty blond asked, eyebrow raised at the taller man.

A sharp smirk spread along Cub’s face as an evil glint entered his eyes. “You can’t sense invisible people.”

It took the stones one second to many to realize what he meant, and the gauntlet on their hand was soon destroyed by Scar’s magic. The wizard winced, seeing as destroying the gauntlet meant crushing the arm, which meant crushing Grian’s arm. Thankfully he knew that it would just be severely broken and with minimal scarring after it had fully healed.

As soon as the gauntlet no longer had a thing to keep a connection through to Grian they lost their control over him, and due to the big amount of magical energie used the dirty blond fell unconscious. Cub rushed to the smaller Hermits side as Scar got one shulker for each of the stones.

“You're safe now.” Cub whispered, hand caresing Grian’s soft hair gently. “The stones are gone.” Xisuma came up to him and asked to look at Grian to make sure he was okay and rid of the stones, which he was on both accounts, if you ignore the broken arm and all of that.

“But what about the markings? Shouldn’t they be gone?” Zedaph asked, seeing as he, along with all the other Hermits, were now gathered around their unconscious friend.

“It’s ancient magic.” Scar sighed, having put away the six stones safely. “They’ll fade like scars, but just like scar’s they’ll still be there.”

“Well who cares about a few markings?” Tango butted in, hands on his hips. “Marking or no markings, previously tried to attack us or nor, he’s still our friend! And we’ll help him as such!”

“I’m almost offended you think we wouldn’t help him.” Cleo said drilly. “Though I’m sure Cub over there will help him as more than that.” She added with a grin.

The pharaoh dressed man flushed, but didn’t deny her words. Which got him some teasing from the others, but they were mostly just happy and relieved that the stones no longer held a hold on their friend.

INFINITESIMAL

It was a long road of recovery for Grian, possession of any kind is never any fun, especially not when it involved hurting your friends. But with the help of everyone around him, Cub more so than others, he was doing okay. He was by no means good, god knows this was something that he’d never forget, but he was better. And as time went on, he was sure to get better and better until he was good again. And he’d do this with the support and help of those around him. Their Hermits after all, help and support is something they're all good at.

So yeah, Grian wasn’t good. But he was getting better, and that’s the important thing.

#hermitship #hermitshipping #grian #cubfan135 #grub #grian x cub #magical stones that talk are dangerous people #don't be like grian #don't trust them

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rokutouxei · 3 years

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the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 5 OF 22

It’s not on purpose.

Theo isn’t intentionally testing her determination or anything of that sort. He just can’t wrap his head around her persistence.

He doesn’t purposefully make himself hard to contact to shrug her off. It’s just that he’s not as fond of social media as the next person. Sure, he does have accounts for the biggest names in the industry—Instagram, Facebook, the works—but he doesn’t use them regularly, or posts on them at all. The easiest and more surefire way to contact him, really, is through the usual, plain old messaging app on the phone, or maybe through a call.

(And he’s not so sure about giving her his number so suddenly.)

He doesn’t give the most roundabout answers to Arthur’s questions to keep her hanging. He just doesn’t want Arthur sticking his nose in business that isn’t his to begin with. He doesn’t find any reason to tell his coworker anything about their book exchange, even if—after Arthur’s admission—this entire friendship began with his orchestration.

He’s not doing it on purpose.

He knows how easily this could lead to understandable frustration. Maybe even the vague feeling that maybe he’s only attending their little book exchange sessions at the Grove because she gets Vincent to tell him. Maybe she won’t have the patience for him. Maybe she’ll just drop it.

But she doesn’t.

And that makes it even more confusing.

“Why are you taking this so seriously?” Theo asks one day, after they’ve handed the next week’s books to one another. He’s looking at her with a stern gaze, as if calculating every minuscule twitch on her face.

She only shrugs her shoulders and looks up at him innocently. “I’m having fun, aren’t you?”

As if the extra steps he’s making her take are not wasted time. As if she sees that she’s already slowly melting ice. It’s not that Theo is shunning her—but it’s safer like this, keeping her at a distance. Theo has his own priorities, and all arrows point to Vincent. The least he can do is make sure the books he lends are good; make sure he has the appropriate insight to bring with him. And she, in turn, sends every pass-the-message text (to Arthur, to Vincent), leaves all the notes in between lent and borrowed books, shows up to every meeting with that unbeatable smile on her face.

And in truth, Theo isn’t sure where this is going. Theo isn’t sure what she’s going to do to him, why they’re doing all this. But for now, he’ll just let her keep on doing this. For now.

They just both have a good feeling about it.

There is a certain art of choosing books to recommend to people. There is, of course, the matter of having a certain level of being well-read, as choosing from a hundred books allows more elbow room than choosing from ten.

But she knows better; there is more to it than just that.

If there’s one thing she is absolutely sure about the world, it’s that books—fiction, nonfiction, poetry, name it—all have the ability to bring people elsewhere. It’s magic she wishes she could have in real life. Sneak in between the pages and find yourself transported to an entirely separate timeline of the universe where these things happened. Slip a hand at the center-point and find yourself in a different world, where things are different.

Wouldn’t that be amazing?

But it’s not just about the bringing into, but also the bringing with—what do the books carry with them that will be useful to the reader? Which of its commendable qualities will match the receiver? Is it its storytelling, the way it weaves each character through their growth and journey? Is it the message, the core of it which it carries throughout the text through every plot point that happens? Is it the imagery, the space between the real and the imagined, where the infinite possibilities exist?

This is the tender part. This is the part that feels the most raw.

Romance has never been at the top of her priority list. She’s no newbie to it, but it’s just never been the most important thing in her life. It’s never been on the list at all. Getting into a relationship, the dating scene, being romantically attached to people—she understands the joy of it, she’s definitely dipped her toes into the water, but it isn’t what she wants right now.

She figures choosing books for people is the closest she can get to that feeling for now.

It’s not only Theo, of course—sometimes Arthur asks her for some recommendations too, and sometimes Dazai does, as well. To her it’s nothing more than a way of showing her affection, a little, “I had you in my thoughts,” as she matches a book to its recipient. It becomes more than just another title, not just another author.

She clutches the book Theo’s lent her for the week close to her chest as she crouches in front of her bookshelf to browse her own collection. She thinks, matching their theme to her heart: which book would best suit Theo’s needs? Which things might he benefit from hearing?

Pulls a book out from the shelf and wonders—which one would grace his life with a little bit of stardust?

That week, Theo asked her to “lend me the book you wish everyone would read at least once”—and when she answered with “no, that’s impossible, I can’t lend you 39 books at once?”—he clarified, “the one you’re still coming to terms with.” And that’s a really odd way to describe a book you’d want everyone else to read—Theo himself knew that—but somehow it made perfect sense to her, and the week later she hands him the small bound book.

She had passed onto him Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.

An interesting choice, really, for that book to have fit under the said category, but Theo’s stopped trying to make sense of the surprises she brings up for him at this point. The book isn’t really lengthy—this particular volume is less than a hundred pages long, and it only took Theo a good hour to go through the contents, even while relishing every word of it. (She does the opposite, speed-running every book as fast as possible, because she “can’t be patient about what happens next”, a concept he cannot understand—“The book is not leaving, why don’t you enjoy what is written?” “I can’t wait! I need to know!”)

It’s not a complicated book.

But it sure has complicated feelings.

So he kind of understands why she had chosen that one.

Theo has a complicated relationship with love. Not that he’s had any sort of traumatizing past relationship or a lingering resentment for an ex, but there was just something about the concept of romance that doesn’t sit…right with him.

It’s not that he doesn’t know what it is, he does. There are books he loves—books he is very thankful for having found in this lifetime. There are food he loves, food that fills his stomach with warmth and makes his heart flutter and makes him feel like maybe world peace is achievable, and it’s in a spoonful of this creamy sugary pancake after all. And most importantly, he loves his brother very much; would like to see Vincent do great things in the future, or, if not that, then at least be happy, and live the life he wants to live—that’s what love is, isn’t it? To enjoy something wholly for what it is, and what it does to you. To want the best for a person.

His problem with love is he doesn’t know what to do with it.

In the same way that he still loves his parents even if they don’t understand why he’d go through such lengths for Vincent. In the same way that he still loves the people who’ve left him behind in the past, friends, old lovers, even when his heart was still pouring. And isn’t that what love is? To love something wholly for what it is, what it does to you, to forgive it of its mistakes and shortcomings?

Even when the cost is yours to bear?

What to do with a love that can live in his heart when the other no longer wants it?

Theo reads Neruda’s poetry book once. And then reads it again. And then reads some of his other books for good measure.

It’s pretty common to find Arthur walking around the campus with his hands in his pockets and the many eyes of adoring (or maybe loathing) girls on him—for all the understandable reasons. Today was a little different though, because he is outside the Arts Building in the late afternoon, reading some sort of a flyer.

“Arthur!”

He hastily keeps the flyer into his bag as she jogs up to him. “Hello, little miss. Nice to see you around.”

“What’re you doing here?” she asks, trying to peep into his bag.

Arthur, instead, pushes himself off the wall that he’d been leaning on, smoothly slipping his arm around hers. Months of friendship had gotten her used to him being touchy; she lets him. “Labor of love. Walk me back to the bookshop?”

She’s not surprised, but she asks anyway. “Are you on your shift?”

“It was an important errand to run, no need to be so incensed,” he says, half-laughing. “Let’s go back before your boyfriend has more than words for me.”

Pinching Arthur’s arm, she quips back: “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Why, that’s exactly what he told me! You know you don’t need to keep it a secret from me.”

“You’re the absolute worst, Arthur.” The two of them fall into an even pace walking down the sidewalk. She relies on the silence to get them there, but there is something about the biting intrigue that snags her. “…What did Theo say?”

Arthur smirks. Openly. “Curious suddenly?”

“He doesn’t exactly talk to me about things like this,” she huffs. “It’s just books and literature with him.”

“That just means you haven’t cracked him.”

She pouts. “You’re not supposed to need to crack people.” She tugs at Arthur’s sleeve, insistent. “C’mon, tell me. He has to have told you something, right?”

Confidently, Arthur says, “Theo tells me everything.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I suppose my information is subpar, then, so why should I—”

“Arthur!”

“Yes, yes, okay,” he says, finally relenting. “He won’t say it to your face, but he really enjoys spending time with you, little bird.”

Her face lights up like a little sun. “Really?”

“Oh, dear. Whatever will he feel, ratting him out like this—”

“Please, we all know you do not care because we are your source of entertainment,” she says, elbowing him. “…I was doubting it, honestly, but that’s a relief.”

“He never stops talking about your book club, actually.”

“No way.”

“Always masked in a complaint, but always about it all the time,” Arthur says, watching the smile grow on her face. “You’re a good influence on him, at least he’s not brooding away in a corner all day long. The customers have enjoyed his new, refreshed presence. All the lovely girls coming in now, what a joy.”

She squeezes his arm as they round the corner. “Why do I feel like this is going exactly according to your plan?” Arthur does not attempt denial.

Theo does not stop asking for poetry books.

Only because he knows that even if she doesn’t voice it out loud, she’d want to lend him poetry books anyway. She, on the other hand, changes genres every week. Poetry, nonfiction, YA fiction, children’s fiction. She jumps from Ariel to A Little Life to The Girl Who drank the Moon to On Earth we Were Briefly Gorgeous. She has so much to say and so much to ask.

It’s just about driven Theo insane.

(It’s a good thing he enjoys her company.)

He won’t admit it, of course, but he shows up anyway. He frowns at every text she sends Vincent but he’s there. Every single Saturday. Reads every stray fast-food receipt note she slips in between the pages of the books she returns. Spends time on the books she lends him.

Ah, what did he get himself into?

Whatever.

Today, he’s brought with him Kerouac’s On the Road because she asked for a book that made him want to go away.

“Why am I not surprised that you brought me a Kerouac?” she asks while taking the book into her hands. She always holds them so gently. “His style is so interesting, though. Is it a shame to admit I’ve only read his poetry?”

“Only a little,” Theo says, but he’s joking because the corner of his lip is curled up ever so gently.

She flips the book to read the summary at the back. “Beat Generation, huh.”

“They wrote about liberation,” Theo says, sounding somehow defensive of his choice of a book. “Gritty and maybe even sloppy writing, but they wrote about freedom. Breaking the norm, finding yourself, facing the reality… doesn’t that fit your criteria of making one want to go away?”

She turns to him curiously. “Have you ever wanted to go away, Theo?”

He doesn’t turn to her. “I’m more the kind of person that stays.”

“Well, being a househusband isn’t bad work,” she comments, to which Theo snorts. “You know, I’ve really found that you have some sort of… classical, helpless romantic kind of aura on you.”

That makes him turn towards her. “What.”

“I mean, the books you’ve lent me—they all have some sort of romantic quality to them, you know? No matter how serious they get. I’m still recovering from A Little Life, you know.” She laughs. “Plus, all you’ve been asking me to lend you is poetry. Have you perhaps changed your mind about poetry?”

He narrows his eyes. “I don’t see how that makes me a romantic.” He sighs. “I didn’t think lowly of poetry, it just wasn’t my priority,” Theo clarifies. “We agreed to let the borrower decide the genre of the book but you’re so insistent on poetry that I’d rather take what you have instead of asking for something else. You’re pretty annoying when you’re insistent.”

She doesn’t deny the fact that she’s always saying about how she already has a poetry book to lend him every week. “I’m not annoying,” she says, pouting. “Geez, Theo, all you need to do is be honest and say you love poetry now and it’s because of me.”

“Is this a cause of yours? Getting people into poetry?”

But then, the banter stops. She falls silent for a moment that feels too long. Theo feels like he has to take back what he says, when, “Yes, something like that,” she says, softly. “They’re like love letters to the universe, I think they’re great.”

“That’s an interesting take.”

She frowns. “Do you not like love letters?”

Theo shrugs. “They’re classical.”

“That’s a non-answer,” she huffs. Holding her palm upward to the sky in a gesture, she says, “I just think they’re neat. It’s like a different experience in every book, every collection. You ever get a feeling that some poems find you, instead of the other way around? Like you were meant to find it at that exact moment?” Theo lightly shakes his head. “Really? Maybe you’ll experience it with some of the stuff I give you.”

He doesn’t know what’s hiding behind that serious expression, that other reason she’s so attached to poetry that she isn’t quite ready to say yet. He can feel it though. He doesn’t have the right to ask yet.

Instead, he raises his eyebrow and says, “You seem awfully confident.”

“I’m planning to make you read hundreds and hundreds of them, so it’s just a matter of numbers,” she says with a grin. “C’mon. Have any of the books I’ve given to you at least had a poem that resonated with you?”

And Theo pauses. Resonated, that’s a heavy word, it carries a lot with it. One could wish what they create would resonate with a lot of its consumers, whether that’s paintings or poetry or philosophies, but it’s not an exact art, and sometimes it’s all just a question of luck. Theo hesitantly shakes his head. “Not that I can think of,” he says. Thinks of the lines he’d copied out of the books to be remembered later. They were good lines, but hardly ones that resonated.

She hums, not sounding too put down by his answer. “Well, that just means we have to keep looking, right? I hope today’s at least gets some emotion in your face, Mister-Statue-Face-With-No-Feelings.”

“Hondje… What did you just call me?”

That day, he gives her his phone number.

She doesn’t know why everyone keeps asking her about it.

Sure, she had a crush on him, but it was really only entirely out of aesthetics. There was no denying he was hot, but he’s rather rough on the edges and has a rather sharp personality to be someone would want a boyfriend out of. Really, at this point, all she wants is to hang out with him and maybe reads some of the books he reads. Again—she doesn’t have space for distractions right now.

But everyone keeps asking her about it. Non-stop.

When she goes to the bookshop and Theo is at the back, Arthur comes up to her and asks her how The Friendship is going—as if it were something more special than just your regular old friendship. Most of the time she doesn’t know what to tell him, because somehow all he ever says to her after hearing about it is a small hmm like the answer didn’t quite fill in what he wanted to hear. Well, Arthur, sucks to be you, but you’re not hearing what you want to hear, she says to herself. Arthur’s a secret sucker for romance, the playboy that he is, and she’s not giving him a show.

But it’s not just Arthur. Vincent, too, asks her regularly. And considering she spends a good amount of time in the café he works at, the questions aren’t exactly that avoidable. She’ll order her drink and a pastry and Vincent will go, “is Theo being nice to you?” or any other variation of that sentence. (Somehow that feels like Vincent knows Theo is just mean in general, and that’s a kind of relief she doesn’t know how to explain. If his brother thinks he’s regularly mean, maybe that’s really just who he is, and also kind of forgivable.) Of course, she can’t exactly tell Vincent that Theo isn’t being nice to her, but oppositely, Theo isn’t really being mean to her either. He’s tolerating her every attempt to annoy him—or really, not annoy him, just hang out with him—and he hasn’t pushed her away exactly, so it must be going alright, right?

Of course, Dazai is curious as well, despite his earlier misgivings with Theo. (Dazai’s had bad experiences with business majors and romance in the past.) He’s not as persistent as Vincent and Arthur, but every chance he gets—say, an offhanded remark about a book or the bookshop, any little topic he feels he can reasonably steer towards the direction of Theo—he does ask. He asks in the way a friend would be curious of a new relationship—it is one, just not romantic, she insists—all full of worries for said friend. She appreciates this in many ways, because she knows Dazai can give her advice that will be very valuable to her. Still—the attention the thing pulls is kind of ridiculous, to her.

It doesn’t end with Dazai though, and at this point, it’s just going to be a long laundry list of people who are looking for gossip between her and Theo when—there really isn’t any. Despite being a literature major, she’s actually part of the campus’ local astronomy club, because why not? Stars are neat and she can’t quite catch up with the rest of the astrophysics majors that is actually with her, but the stargazing with the telescopes definitely makes it worth it. It’s just that Dazai is friends with their club head for a reason or another—a graduate student in astrophysics, Isaac Newton, and when Dazai knows there really isn’t any much harm, he runs his mouth, so—Isaac’s asked her at least once about Theo as well. Luckily Isaac is more on the awkward side—and they really aren’t that close quite yet, club aside—so he asks once, sees her reaction of despair and exhaustion, and never asks again.

She wonders if Theo gets the same barrage of questions as she does. From Arthur, for sure, but—Theo doesn’t exactly talk about other friends of his. Maybe they just haven’t gotten close enough for him to bring them up. Besides, whether or not people ask him about them or not, he’s sure that he already knows about the little crush—he’s just playing at it. Playing for what, she doesn’t know, and somehow, she’s fine with that.

That was all it was ever meant to be, anyway—a passing crush, a nice face, a sight for sore eyes, something to fall back on to refresh herself after long days of pushing her mind to the limit, working herself to exhaustion.

He was meant to be a breather, not a distraction.

To be friends is more than enough.

She screams into a pillow and grins.

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

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omegangrins · 4 years

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A Treatise On the Doctor

I don't know how to start this. Because I think of Peter Capaldi's words when he said that the only thing required to be a Doctor Who fan, is kindness.

I like 13 and think Chibnall is doing his best job writing the show.

So I struggle to write this because I am engaging against that very unkindness in the Doctor Who fandom, and trying very hard not to be angry back. "Allways try to be nice but never fail to be kind." But I've begun to wonder more and more if those who speak so loudly against the show really know what the show itself is about.

Enough of talking about other people though, cause frankly they're only important as set-up for this conversation. And again, I'm working kind.

So here's what you're gonna learn from this lifelong fan (and the best Tl;dr you're gonna get):

1. The Doctor sucks. From the very beginning. People complain about character traits now that have been around as long as the show.

2. Due to the Doctor's suckage, they tend to do more harm than good. (And because of this, most of the Doctor's "friends" along the way have been, well, let's leave it at the air quotes for now cause it's a damn big list of "BOOOO!!!".)

3. All of the showrunners and writers and actors and editors and everyone else has allways knows this and has played it this way.

4. And last but not least, since this is a time travel show. If you wanna know what and why stuff is happening now, look it up. Everything that happened before is allways in play.

5. None of this is bad, and in fact, it makes the show morally grayer. It's about kindness at all costs. Even your own.

A. First things first, the hard thing. The Doctor is not grrrreat. I mean, sure they try, but they fail a lot more often. In Extremis, a majority of those fatality index counts come from people the Doctor failed to save. That's why it's worded so specifically as "cause of death". All the death's caused by the Doctor's very interaction with time and lack of saving those around them. And part of it's not their fault, but more often than not, the Doctor says I can save you, and can't, won't, or chooses not to.

And that would be alright, but it took them over 1000 years to realize they should start letting their companions lead lives outside of theirs so THEY DON'T DIE. A bit too long as someone who claims to be better.

Not to mention how many times the Doctor is dismissive of their companions and the people around them only to use them for their help and just bug off again. If they truly cared and wanted to help, they would stay and listen in between adventures. Their lifespan is near infinite anyway. What's a few extra Earth hours with some friends you made along the way. You know, maybe fix some of the psychological and emotional damage created by encountering things behind a human's original scope of reasoning. But nope, we gotta go adventure more, byyyyeee!!

So when people talk about these qualities in 13 in a negative aspect I have to laugh because I'm not sure if they understand the joke. Cause we're talking about an alien that grew up around a species calling themselves Time Lords. I try not to blame them too much for it. 1 had to learn how to be hospitable to humans and it's been a bit of a slow learning curve ever since.

B. After the Doctor survived the horrors of the Time War and happened upon a human companion they felt worth connecting to, what did they do? They took Rose to watch her planet burn in front of her eyes. Great, first date, amirite?

And that's a little bit of companion damage. Do you know that the Doctor is responsible for the almost complete genocide of the Silurian race across multiple occasions. I am legitimately surprised there are any left after all of the ones the Doctor has killed. Like before, they cause destruction either purposefully or accidentally or simply by force of being there.

Remember before how I said that the Doctor just flies away. Yeah, they leave a lot of problems behind when they do (something that I can see Chibnall is planting the seeds of). If you had a time and space machine and practically unlimited capabilities and you choose to just leave after a situation and not check up on them from time to or see if there are any other underlying crises to be solved. But oh no, "gotta follow that rule of time and keep going even though I stopped in the first place because of how interested I was.". This is why 9 has a great arc about this. He thought he killed all the Daleks. They came back. He thought he'd gotten rid of the Slitheen. They came back. He thought he saved Satellite 5 from aliens. But opsies, they came back. And look! They're Daleks. Which he "finally" got rid of.

The Doctor just bounces around all carefree and without an ounce of care for themselves, their companions or consequences unless there's consequences for themselves or their companions. Then they get indignant.

Is that really kind of the person you want flying around fixing things in time and space? Who knows. But at least they are trying. Most of the time the T.A.R.D.I.S. lands somewhere and the authority figures are the most pretentious bull-headed pigs you can find. To me, I laugh cause it seems like both sides end up getting a taste of their own medicine. Usually with the bull charging to death in a sad glory while the Doctor wiles on metaphorically about not being as good as them.

But again, as a "superior" alien with "advanced" technology and "culture" you'd think they'd just know better already. But that's all part of the character. The Doctor may be in flux, but true change is difficult. The real hero of every story is the other people BESIDES the Doctor.

Cause the title is Doctor *Who* . The Who being half of the title, despite having less letters. It's the constant question of "What and why and who is that crazy person that's trying to help?" Why do you think they keep flying back to Earth? (Besides set construction reasons.) They've grown as attached to us as we have to them. And at this point, a lot of their saving us is guilt and embarrassment at having a hand in our timeline.

This is also the same reason the Doctor dumps companions in a fluff. Baggage. Every time a companion gets too heavy to carry the memories of... off they fly.

Except for 13. She's stayed. To this end, we can see how the Doctor changes. Not on our smaller, human timelines, but on the timeline of a god with way too much power.

D. With that in mind, we go Classic. It's the Who you need to consult if you wish to make any critique on what's happening now. Because how can you know how a part operates inside of a whole without seeing the whole part?

Cause I don't know if you've watched it but it can be rough, and I don't mean in the sense of production value (which admittedly they do a fairly decent job of using what money they had. A problem the BBC plagues to Doctor Who to this day.). The 3rd Doctor shits on every one they call friends constantly and then turns around expecting help. 4 did the same. Then 5 masked that contempt with a plucky face and a cheeky word. But it was still there, bubbling out of 6 and 7 as the inability to suffer fools gladly and using their own righteousness to enact change in their companions. A trait that kept going til an entire war and regeneration was used solving the question of "Doctor Who?" Only for them to try and forget twice more by putting on their pretty grinning faces and running away from it.

And I'm only talking from a companion perspective. Each of the Doctors has enacted their own form of genocide on countless species. Sure, it's to "save humans" but at the end of the day you'd have to ask yourself if we're really worth that blood. And this is all in the Doctor's history. As much as they claim better, they're hands are still gushing red.

The Doctor left Jo because she fell in love. They drove Adric to put their life on the line in order to feel adequate. The entirety of the Silurian race has been wiped out fivefold under their watch, with one time by their hand itself. Same for several other singular and unique species you won't be able to find elsewhere in the universe. 7 used time travel to enact a personality change in Ace while simultaneously using her as a pawn in an interdimensional war. The Time War itself. Sure it got erased but the Doctor still did those things ("War" Doctor or whatever nonsense titles they feel necessary to delude themselves). The entirety of Amy's childhood was destroyed by their presence, and Rory got erased. Twice! Sarah Kingdom. We know the list. Hell, the Doctor whisked Barbara and Ian away because they wanted to teach the snobby humans some lessons.

They may have a time machine, but we have the bill of their actions. This is where 13 excels. Because they're trying to be better than themselves. They've learnt the lessons of all those years traveling and the failures they wish they could reverse but don't as a way of keeping a scoreboard of pain. It's not perfect by any means, but look at 12 needing cue cards to understand and react to human grief under duress. They've come a helluva long way. After 50 years, I'm inclined to believe better. After all, it's what the Doctor would want.

E. You know how people like the ASOIAF series because it offers up morally complex characters existing in a morally complex world where black and white are harder to define than grey? Have you ever thought of Doctor Who as the same? Strip past the fairytale and adventure and "wibbly wobbly timey wimeyness and it's just people reacting to situations. We're just harder on the Doctor because they're hard on us. You could go round and round on who's the bigger killer, but at the end of the day Time Lords and humans fight and feel about the same things. It's allways been a joke to pretend otherwise.

That's why I love the Timeless Child. Not for making the Doctor anymore special but for saying that even despite having all of their specialness ripped away and repurposed to create a lie of a society then having the memory wiped of said event, the Doctor broke out of their mold, stole a TARDIS and told the Time Lords to fuck off. That's not a Captain America/Superman hero. That's Batman in space with a society of Lex Luthor's. Gotham and Gallifrey. The Doctor saw what they were a part of and broke free, without even knowing the more horrifying truth. Cause it's the thing I see many fans missing because they're so preocuppied with the Doctor being special. The thing that made the Doctor different was their ability to know the difference and walk away to find better. Now, the Doctor has a reason to go back and find out why they never stopped running.

The Time Lords might be the greatest monsters in the universe. It is in the name. "Lords". Those who would lord over us and impose their will with a banthium fist.

And this is a children's show.

C the thing is, the people who made and make this show all collectively rail against one thing: Hate. Kindness is the way of Doctor's. Even if they're sawing off your leg, it's to do the kindness of saving your life. This is because the people who make this (United Kingdomers) have seen centuries of war and conflict and oppression enacted by their own country in the name of progress. And they want to see it no more. Look no further than any of the Doctor's adventures with UNIT. Allways advocating for peace and being ignored for the comfortable war-cry. It's why it's hard to blame the Doctor when we do very similar and often worse (though we don't have time travel.... yet). The creators of this show know better, see better, and wrote better, to know that the powers that be nipped would nip their creations and sanitize them. So they wrote their messages so strong that you can feel them from the future. They're powerfull enough that even across eras they have all collectively moved me to write this.

That's another point I have to laugh at people saying Doctor Who has never been in your face about progressive politics. The Green Death. Survival. Trial of a Timelord (Yes, all of it. Sit down and power through.) The Happiness Patrol is one of my all time favorite episodes for going there in this regard. People may poo poo but history has its' eyes on you. Doctor Who loves taking potshots at the issues of the day. As long as you don't make the aliens black of course. Make them all the colors of the rainbow but never make them black. That'd be too on the nose (That's something they used to say back in the day! Crazy how far we've come).

So bravoa to Chibnall for continuing the legacy of Doctor Who. From where I'm standing, he's not doing anything different than any other showrunner before him. Cause if you want to argue canon, you at least have to know what created it. This show owes what it is to those Classic eras. And if you think Chibnall is shitting on those years and your childhood.... well, then why did you read this whole thing?

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higuchimon · 4 years

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[fanfic] Meaning of Choices: Chapter 2

Ken floated somewhere. He wasn’t certain of where, but he knew that it wasn’t a place he wanted to be. He wanted to be with Daisuke and Wormmon. But here he floated all alone, and wherever Daisuke and Wormmon were, it wasn’t with him.

They should have been. He wasn’t sure why they weren’t. Had someone taken them away? Or – he thought this made more sense - he was the one who'd been taken. He didn’t know why anyone would want him.

Well, there was one reason he could think of. It wasn’t a reason he especially enjoyed considering, but it was a reason all the same. If someone decided that he should pay for his crimes as the Kaiser – well, he couldn’t blame them. He tried so hard to move on, to not blame himself for his action in those days, to eternally strive for a future that at times seemed as if it would never arrive.

But not all of the Digimon wanted to believe that he’d changed. More than once he’d seen a young Digimon, a Child level or younger, spy him somewhere and whimper, refusing to go near him. Usually Daisuke or Wormmon or V-mon or any of the others could help, explaining how he’d changed since then. Sometimes the Digimon would calm down and listen and let him help if there was anything that he could do.

Sometimes the Digimon simply left, refusing to have anything to do with him. Ken never blamed them. There were moments when he didn’t want to have anything to do with himself either. Daisuke kept on telling him that he didn’t need to feel that way.

If only it were that easy. All the good intentions in the world didn’t help in the dark of the night when he woke from the most vivid of dreams, of ideas he’d had and never brought to fruition,, of plans that hadn’t panned out and ways that they still could.

Sometimes he would call Daisuke and let his partner calm him down. Sometimes he just stayed there in the dark and waited for the morning light – especially when the dreams had involved Daisuke himself. He didn’t need to hear Daisuke’s voice then, not when it called to a deeper, darker part of himself that whispered how Daisuke belonged to him, how Daisuke existed to be a possession, a toy, a plaything, and for him to be all of those things to Ken.

On those nights he wrapped his arms around Wormmon and told himself over and over that the Kaiser was no more, that he fought now to save the Digital World and to protect it. He refused to listen to that honey-sweet voice in the back of his mind, so like and yet so unlike the Kaiser.

But I’m not the Kaiser. I’m you. Only better.

If Ken had seen his reflection, he might well have turned as pale as a ghost just then. The voice rang clear as crystal and he wished that he had Wormmon to hold right now.

“Who are you?” He wasn’t ever going to believe that voice was his. No matter ho much like him it sounded like.

I told you. I’m you – and yet I’m not you. I’m the part of you that you don’t want to admit exists.

Ken wasn’t sure of where he was but he knew enough to guess that he shouldn’t have heard booted footsteps coming towards him. In between one breath and the next, he found himself in an endless plain of shades of blue and violet. In front of him there stood an image, one that he’d seen in mirrors and in nightmares.

The other stood his exact height and had his same build. There were tiny differences, however – his eyes weren’t violet, but scarlet, and instead of one of his school uniforms or his preferred casual clothes, he wore a strange outfit of black and blue. On his back there hung twin swords, and his lips were twisted into a cold sneer.

“Who are you?” Ken demanded again, and his dark reflection laughed, the sound terrifying.

“Don’t you know? Didn’t they tell you?” He licked his lips, staring at Ken hungrily.

“Kaiser…” Ken murmured, but the doppelganger shook his head.

“No. The Kaiser is a weak copy of me – the least of what I am capable of.” He raised his head up, and Ken could see a king’s pride in this person's every line. “I am Akogimon – the son of Piemon.” His lips curved for a single breath. “As are you.”

Ken shook his head without hesitation. “No!” He remembered now – he remembered quite vividly how Koushiro-san explained it all to them. He’d not wanted to listen but he had no choice.

How some of them – seven of the twelve original Chosen – carried Digimon blood to some extent or other. The first four knew themselves, knew what they could do. It took time spent in the Digital World before one of those of crossed blood could awaken to their power, and it grew closer to their time. So Koushiro decided to tell them.

“You can deny it all you want. That just makes it easier for me to take over, eventually.” Akogimon strolled around Ken. “You could ask Anbumon – Ishida – about that if you like. If you ever wake up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought it would be obvious. Perhaps not.” Akogimon shrugged. “But right now, you’re not very connected to your body. This is your soul, your essence. I am the other half of you – the part of you that is a true Virus Digimon. Either one of us could go back. I think it’s going to be me.”

Ice clamped around Ken’s heart and spine. He refused to take a step back. He wasn’t going to give ground here.

“No. This is my body and my life and you can’t have it..”

“It’s mine too. I just haven’t had the chance to live it yet.” Akogimon kept on circling Ken. “But I do want to. There’s so much that I long to taste. Those Rings and Spirals were a decent idea but I can do so much better – I should rule the Digital World by right, not because someone forces everyone to bow down to me.”

Ken thought if he shook his head any harder, then it might well fall off of his neck. Akogimon lost not a drop of his amusement.

“Do you think you can stop me?” With a flick of one hand, he drew one of his blades. “I might not be as skilled as Anbumon, but you can’t even do as much as I can.” he held the blade horizontally before meeting Ken’s gaze with his own. “But I won’t kill you. We’re too connected. To kill one is to kill both of us.”

“Then what do you think you’re going to do?” Ken snapped. He didn’t want Wormmon to be here – he didn’t want Daisuke here either. If this monstrosity was a part of him, which wasn’t something Ken felt ready to admit either, then he needed to be the one to contain him.

“You’re going to stay here, out of the way. You won’t see or hear anything. I’ll put you to sleep.” Akogimon’s smile glinted like diamonds. “It’s better that way. There will always be those who refuse to forgive. You’ll never see them again. Never have to worry about them. Never wake up to realize the help you could give, they don’t want. You’ll never have another nightmare, either. You’ll sleep dreamlessly. You wont’ even get a hint of what I’m doing.”

Ken pressed his lip together, clenching his fists. He didn’t want to admit how tempting that was. To just go to sleep and never have to worry about any of this ever again. So very tempting – and that was the problem in and of itself. He’d seen temptation before and he knew to avoid it.

“And what are you going to be doing?” He wanted more than what Akogimon told him. He wanted what this twisted image of himself refused to say.

“Oh, nothing that you’ll want. After all, you don’t want him kneeling at your feet, do you?” Akogimon smiled a slow and lazy smile. “You don’t the Digital World held firmly in your grip. You don’t want those things – but I do.”

He didn’t have to say who he talked about. Ken knew. There was only one person that it could be.

“You’re not going to hurt Daisuke. Or anyone else.” Ken drew himself up and his nails dug into his palms. Here in this inner world of visions, it shouldn’t have hurt. It did regardless. “I won’t allow it.”

Akogimon tilted his head. “Really. And how do you think you won’t allow it? You’re far too weak to resist me.”

Ken drew a breath that he didn’t need and wasn't sure existed in the first place. He flexed his hands and in the space of time it took to think, a familiar weight rested there. He didn’t look down. He thought Akogimon would know what he had there regardless.

“I can do what I need to do to keep you away from my friends.” Ken set himself. “So if you want a fight, bring it on!” And he drew his right hand back, a long silken whip trailing on the ground.

There had to be an answer. Something that would get Sorcerimon to come help Ken. If only Daisuke could figure out what it was!

But he couldn’t think o it. Sorcerimon’s resistance didn’t so much as waver. He’d made his statement – that if Ken were truly Piemon’s son, then he wouldn’t die, and if he weren’t, then he should die anyway.

Daisuke pressed his lips together as Sorcerimon regarded him with infinite icy calm. The mage Digimon hadn’t exactly expressed trust in him either. A tiny part of him wasn’t very happy about that. He’d never done anything to him. He was being mistrusted because of what he was – something that he hadn’t even known for a solid week yet.

“Ken deserves to live,” he said at last, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why are you so set on making sure that he doesn’t?”

“You know nothing of Piemon and what he did to this world,” Sorcerimon told him. “Nor do you know of your own creator.”

“I don’t care.” Daisuke snapped. “I’m not him. I don’t know about him and I don’t want to know. Whatever I do, it’s because I want to do it and because I can do it, not because of anything else.”

Sorcerimon looked as if he were about to say something else, but now Wormmon moved forward.

“It’s the same thing for Ken-chan. He’s not Piemon. He’ll never be Piemon – and if he dies, then I die too.” Wormmon ducked his head low. “Is that what you want?”

Sorcerimon shrugged. “You Digimon who are bound to the Chosen – that is your fate. What I want or don’t want has no meaning here. Though if I could shatter that bond, I would.”

“Don’t you dare!” Wormmon raised himself up onto his back pods. “I’ll always be Ken-chan's partner! No matter what!”

“Of course you will.” Sorcerimon’s lips couldn’t be seen but Daisuke got the impression they curled in contempt regardless. “That is what you partner Digimon are like. If he chose to once again conquer the Digital World, then you’d stand by his side.”

Wormmon shook his head. “He won’t do that.”

“Wormmon tried to stop him,” Daisuke pointed out, “and he wasn’t the only one. But he’s not going to do that.”

“And what makes you so certain of that? The blood of one of the most powerful virus Digimon runs in his veins. It is his nature to desire rule over others – as it is your nature to destroy and ruin, Akigaramon.”

Again hearing that name sent shards of dulled fury racing through Daisuke – though not quite as dulled as it had been once before. Tiny sparks of energy coursed through him, sparking thoughts that Daisuke knew he’d never thought before.

If Sorcerimon wanted to blame him for destruction that hadn’t even happened yet, then why shouldn’t it happen? He could destroy everything. It wouldn’t even be that hard. What had Oushimon – Koushiro – said? He was a Perfect level by nature, but with the potential for evolution. Daisuke wasn’t sure how he knew that, but it felt right.

I could destroy Sorcerimon right now. It really wouldn’t be that hard. The Digimon was only an Adult level. It would hardly even be a fight.

So easy. So easy.

“Daisuke’s not like that!” Wormmon stood before him now, in between him and Sorcerimon. Daisuke shook his head, trying to clear it from the miasma of rage that danced along his skin and flowed through his veins. Part of it felt as if it didn’t belong there at all. Another part that ran far, far deeper purred in pleasure and knew that it was as much a part of him as his skin or his hair or his eyes.

Of course I am. He wasn’t thinking. It was a voice, a voice like his own – no one that was his own, but with a different edge to it. A sound that he’d never heard before. Get out of my way. He wants to kill what’s mine. Or let it die.

Ken. That voice, whoever it was, meant Ken. Daisuke shook his head again.

“No,” he murmured. “No, I won’t let you.” He knew what the other wanted. All those thoughts of destroying Sorcerimon made it clear.

I wasn’t asking. You want him to be safe, don’t you? If this idiot won’t do it, then Akogimon will have to do it himself. A sense of pride, a sense of desire that bubbled up under his skin, and choked in Daisuke’s throat.

Sorcerimon regarded him, ignoring Wormmon. “Were you warned? Those who carry viral Digimon blood have two sides to their heart – one side of sanity and sense, another side of cruelty and power. Given the correct impetuous those two sides can speak to one another.”

Daisuke’s breath sped up. The voice he’d heard chuckled. He’s right. I’m you – your other half. Apocalymon’s spawn, his creation. You can call me Akigaramon.

“I don’t care,” Daisuke strained to get each word out, feeling as if he fought for control of his own vocal cords. “I don’t care. You’re not going to hurt Ken.”

Truth to tell, he didn’t know if he were talking to Akigaramon or to Sorcerimon. Perhaps it didn’t matter. One enemy within, one enemy without. And he didn’t know how to fight either of them.

To Be Continued

Notes: And here we go again! Once again, weekly updates until it’s done.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #digimon adventure 02 #motomiya daisuke #ichijouji ken #ken x daisuke #daisuke x ken #au: breeds #chapters: meaning of choices

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jesterlady · 4 years

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Rise of Skywalker review

After Watching Episode IX for the second time, I feel like it’s finally time to make my feelings known regarding the sequel trilogy and to vent some of the negativity by getting it down in somewhat rational fashion.

If any one recalls the 6k I wrote on Avengers Endgame, you’ll know what to expect.

Now it’s been a while since I saw either Ep VII or VIII, so my memory is likely rusty on details.

My feelings on this trilogy in general have been extremely negative. It’s interesting, but after I saw Force Awakens, I actually had a very positive reaction at first. It felt like a Star Wars movie (following the New Hope formula). But after a while, even before Last Jedi came, I realized that I actually was disappointed, not necessarily in the movie as a movie or the new characters, but the direction the whole trilogy was likely to go.

I must confess a great deal of this feeling probably arose from watching Clone Wars and Rebels in the meantime and becoming very caught up in those time periods and what they represent for Star Wars. And that’s just it…the sequel trilogy takes what came before, what those people bled and died for, and basically said it didn’t matter. They didn’t actually save the galaxy. The victory at Endor has become incredibly cheapened by the First Order’s existence…and it doesn’t even matter that apparently it was Palpatine all along so it’s suddenly very connected in a haphazard fashion.

They could have told a much more interesting story about the struggles of rebuilding a galaxy. They could have had the same characters, they could have had the same arcs (terrible ones mostly), and the galaxy could still be in danger. But starting off with a brand new evil empire like destroying the old one didn’t even matter, not even letting Han and Leia stay together…like, that’s just creating drama for the sake of drama. We have to destroy everything that was built before, because we’re really unoriginal and don’t know how to create new stories or build on top of a good foundation.

Say what you like about the prequels (I am a fan in general) they had a very cohesive story, building toward a single point. The sequels…did not.

Now, we must all acknowledge the elephant in the room. That of the atrocious planning and divided directional control that went into making these movies. I don’t know what Disney was thinking! The MCU for all its faults is a cohesive whole. With a franchise infinitely more popular and lucrative and with a fraction less of the movies, you couldn’t pull off having a story that makes sense?

And I’ll just say that even if JJ didn’t like what Rian did with TLJ, basically completely doing a 180 and trying to go the other direction, was selfish. It destroyed further rather than fixed the problem. I don’t have anything else to say, other than the lack of unity is probably the ultimate problem after the initial direction in the first place. I didn’t really approve of TLJ. The Rey/Ben parts…sure, but the slowest chase scene known to man and completely superfluous side ventures to a gambling planet were utter drivel. So it’s not that I’m a Rian vs JJ person. I think the lack of unity and that they both screwed with each other’s narratives is the problem.

Anyway, we’re here to talk about TROS. (And how about that, coming up with a title that is super confusing since we already have Revenge of the Sith. I guess that’s ROTS…but come on!

So…this will be fairly chronological but as I get deeper into character arcs and plot points, it will delve all over the place.

The intro of a Star Wars movie is usually fairly jarring. We’re dropped into the middle of a situation and all we know is three paragraphs long, to tell us what’s going on and what happened. But this felt even more jarring than usual.

Suddenly knowing Palps is alive in the credit titles is so off course. Knowing he was alive at the end of TLJ would have been preferable, leaving us time to stew over how he was still alive and giving them time to come up with something more coherent than the absolute zero explanation we were given. The return of an essential character/villain like that deserves way more gravitas and planning than the shock value we were presented with. The idea of him being alive is not so shocking to those familiar with the EU, but that was explained and explained well, whereas how long he’s been planning this, Snoke, the ships, how…it’s all completely ignored and I guess we can come up with explanations on our own. So…is Snoke his clone? Or a part of him? How many Snokes were there? There are so many questions regarding their relationship…how it relates to Kylo/Ben, how it relates to Rey, how it relates to their bond, but I’ll get more into that later. And more on those ships.

Pretty sure a blow no one can be faulted with is Carrie’s death. If she had been alive, I have to believe so many things would have been better. She uttered the only sensible line in the movie…never underestimate a droid. Something everyone else went on to ignore even though droids made the whole movie possible. Ugh. I do think it’s funny that since TFA we’ve all been told to call her the General now…no more princess cause princesses are apparently weak, but she was suddenly a princess again this movie.

The Jedi texts, I’d like to know more about that. Very plot device-y really, if you think about it. All this info about new and improved powers and places and things and considering how much lore we know as an audience who actually have been exposed to when the Jedi were still around, opposed to Luke onward…it’s just an excuse for story. Same thing with the Sith wayfinders and that dagger. I guess you could make the argument for Palps having them made after ROTJ, but…that makes no sense. But it’s the only thing that makes sense since how could anyone make a dagger the exact shape of a crashed Death Star before it crashed? But the Jedi texts…super old texts…reference the wayfinders. And it was already in the vault of the crashed DS. All I’m saying is that doesn’t make a lot of logical sense and someone needs to explain it to me. And to stop making mysterious keys and clues to things. It makes sense the Sith loyalist would have it since he needed to go back to Exegol to deliver Rey, (though he had clearly already left Jakku and killed her parents, so was he just going back to say, oops, I messed up? Palps clearly got the message somehow) but maybe it would have been better for them to keep all the Oracle stuff in and explained all this stuff properly. Like I’m confused about Palpatine’s plan and he’s usually the master of strategy.

Okay…Poe is so unlikable in this movie. And he really doesn’t have an arc. Maybe a little one, struggling with the burden of leadership. But he mostly seems to be there to argue with people and be rude to Threepio. This is a waste of a good character. He was barely in TFA, he was a total mess in TLJ, and here he’s just a jerk. I got nothing good to say for him. Which is a shame because he could have been awesome.

We will talk about Rose and her complete lack of presence. Up front, I never cared for Rose in TLJ…didn’t see the point of her. She brought nothing to the story in my opinion and whether she was supposed to be a love interest for Finn or to symbolize hope or just be representative of WOC, I don’t know. But her being shifted to the sidelines of this story is a blatant statement of disrespect. The actress has been very publicly discriminated against online and instead of taking care of her, the director and studio pretty much stated they agreed with that by what they did with her character. Aside from that…makes zero sense for someone who was so built up and had such a big part in TLJ to be so downplayed and have her story just stop in the middle. It’s bad storytelling. Especially while you’re bringing in a troop of new female characters to do…what? Basically things Rose could have accomplished and would have made more sense doing.

Along the lines of pointless things…what is the point of the Knights of Ren? They were so built up…such an ooh, scary prospect and they play zero role in this. They have no point. They have no purpose. We know nothing about them unless we hunt for backstory in comics and things like that. But you shouldn’t have to do that to understand the point of someone in a movie. I’d also just like to point out, if they’re really Force sensitives who were Jedis in training…maybe? Then they should be a lot harder to defeat and why don’t they have light sabers? And…why are they the Knights of Ren if there isn’t at least a discussion about what their leader is doing when he comes to Exegol. Like they’re just trying to kill him from the second he enters. I’d be like…hi, boss, so why aren’t we killing the girl…or something like that. And if they’re the Knights of Ren, his…family for lack of a better term, people who trained with him since boys, I’d like to think he at least would have some compunction of striking them down…would try to reason with them first. They might still be brainwashed like he was, but he would know that better than anyone. I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s my knee jerk reaction. A waste of possibilities.

Want to talk about another waste? Hux! Never liked him and his Hitler youth attitude, but really he was not important in this trilogy, like at all. DG is too good an actor to not have his talents used better. He, Phasma, and Kylo were built up as this villain trilogy to stand against the Rey, Poe, Finn good guy trilogy, and basically none of them got any kind of development other than Kylo. I knew Hux was the spy and I believe it is funny that he is the spy solely because he hates Kylo so much, but other than that…he was a waste of space. Better to have him finally rise and become the commander he’d always wanted to be instead of Pryde suddenly being there and being all evil and competent for some reason. Having him be significant for having followed Palpatine before would only actually be significant if we had seen him serve Palpatine before. It’s just another instance of this brand new character suddenly taking the place of an established one for no reason.

We can talk about Finn now. Finn, who also suffered from lack of actual character arc and purpose in the movie other than running after everyone and being worried about them. The whole Force sensitive thing is old news…we all knew about it a long time ago. And this way of revealing it…such poor methods! As far as I know the only reason you’d start thrashing around and declaring you never told someone something is because it is going to be a declaration of love or like a super big confession of guilt. I mean, that’s what they wanted us to think by keeping it in suspense for so much of the movie and it’s just…not that big of a deal. Like it’s not a surprise, it’s not a death confession topic. It was just stupid.

As for the idea that he only left the First Order because of the Force, well, that just implies that only Force sensitive people know right from wrong and can make moral decisions…it’s just not a good message. Now whether Jannah’s whole platoon is Force sensitive is not clear, but it’s strongly implied. And the fact that it’s what he wants to have told Rey is also not clear. Like you have to figure that out (possibly with online help), it’s not inherent in the narrative. Also…could have been told to Rose, Jannah not needed. In fact, this whole storyline would have actually made much more sense and been better if it’s something Finn had been dealing with in TLJ and perhaps came with an army of defectors or been out convincing people this whole time. Potential storyline wasted. Plus…for someone who’s an ex Stormtrooper, watching Finn run down hallways and strike down troopers is pretty insensitive and OOC if you ask me. Just a super bad way to take the character. And he really didn’t do that much else other than be the main person who does the thing that destroys the thing so everyone else can do the main thing they’re there to do.

Wow, and can we talk about Threepio’s treatment in general and in this trilogy in particular? I will be the first to admit that Han and Leia especially weren’t all that great to him all the time. But it was how they would have treated anyone, I think. Poe particularly just laid into him all the time for no reason, even after he sacrificed himself for them. Like…just really made me mad at Poe and really mad at everyone the whole movie. It appears that Threepio, one of the two original droids of the whole franchise, gets the least respect out of any of them. With all the fanservice going on, you’d think he’d be treated better. I love the HISHE part where he talks about taking a last look at his friends and it certainly ain’t none of this trio! You want to talk about underestimating a droid! I know he’s not everybody’s favorite and I’m probably biased, but if we’re ranking droids in the SW universe, which we all do, Threepio’s not at the top for me either. That spot belongs to Chopper. But I’m still going to accord Threepio the respect and dignity he deserves for seniority if nothing else. Because he tries so hard and no one ever thanks him for it. I like BB8 and all, but he goes under Threepio and R2 both in ranking! And let’s not forget if not for a droid’s knowledge of Exegeol (so convenient) and the way to get there, you resistance jerks are all toast, so respect!

Zorii, Zorii, Zorii, frankly another superfluous new character. But I liked her best out of all of them. I can see that little something something with her and Poe and I think it would be cool for it to flourish now that the war’s over and they can put the really convenient past and betrayal behind them. Poe being a spice runner isn’t bad but isn’t good either. It’s just convenient, because they suddenly needed black market stuff. Also…like how’d she survive? Really. Because it’s such a big deal for her to have gotten that thingamajig and it’s not like people have warning when the bad guys blow up your planet. There is no evacuation time.

I’ve mentioned her a bit so Jannah, again, other than it’s cool there are more women in the galaxy, just took up screen time for other characters to develop. Were they trying to insinuate she could be Lando’s daughter, because that makes zero sense! And why all of a sudden he’s champion of finding the lost families of the galaxy is super weird. Also, it was cool to see him flying the Falcon and all, but did he really add anything other than gravitas from the original trilogy? I’m usually a huge fan of fanservice, but I didn’t really feel like a fan being serviced. I felt like someone constantly having nice things thrown at me so I won’t notice the murder being done in the other room. A nice shot of Wedge, too.

So many extra resistance people always there. Like I love Dom, but why was he there?

But talking of other people really who the heck is Maz? I mean she just shows up out of nowhere and knows everything about the Force and the Jedi and people’s pasts and what their decisions are and we don’t have a clue why. Like who is she? How does she know these things? Where does she even come from? Like why does she talk about Leia trying to reach Ben and why does she smile when Leia dies, what does she know that we don’t and why?

I guess now for the really hard stuff. Rey and Ben.

They were the only ones who really got developed and even then, I think Ben got robbed out of his ending.

So Rey’s heritage. Being a Palpatine, very disappointing. If there’s one good thing I liked about TLJ it was the idea that you didn’t have to be part of some great bloodline to be special in the Force. The Force doesn’t care who your parents are. Most of the great Force users we know have literally nothing to do with who their parents are. If anything, it has more to do with their lineage of training. So JJ basically saying screw that idea and forcing Rey into that was very disappointing. And apparently electricity is very genetic…Dooku aside, of course! It also implies the Dark side in her is because of the Palpatine heritage. But the Dark Side of the Force exists for a reason, for balance, and provides something important to the galaxy. It’s already proven even the Lightest of users and bloodlines have that pull.

Rey has been alone and searching for family this whole time. Having someone to belong to was important to her. But…the message of her finding a family and joining one, I think is a lot more important than her finding out her past and heritage. Just being Rey at the end instead of having to say she was Rey Skywalker or Rey Solo would have made more sense! Of course…I also think Solo makes more sense for her anyway given her connection with Han, her training with Leia, and her bond with Ben. She did train under Luke as well, granted, but she had more Solo connection than Skywalker. They just wanted the cool name. But also doesn’t make sense since Palps calls Ben the last Skywalker in the movie as well. But whatever, I don’t really care.

Let’s talk about this whole dyad in the Force thing and the grand plan. Because I can’t logically reason it out myself.

So Palps apparently has a plan to bring Rey to him as a girl so he can have her kill him and his spirit can go into her body and he can reign through her because his old body is like super fried and the clone thing ain’t working so hot. Doesn’t happen, but he’s also working on his other plans to corrupt Ben and bring him to the Dark side, under the influence of Snoke, to do what? Like what is his plan there apart from just general evil and revenge and nasty stuff? But all along there’s apparently been this Dark prophecy against Ben (and we all know Palps is the manipulator of the Dark). Luke said Leia gave up her Jedi training because she sensed that at the end of that journey was her son’s death. You’d think then they’d honor that sacrifice by not killing him, but whatever.

Palps created or controlled or was at the back of Snoke (however he was at the back of Snoke) and so he’s pulling the strings during TLJ. He knows everything Snoke knows. So if Snoke created the bond between Rey and Ben, then he’d be very aware of that. So how does the whole dyad thing work? Because it’s made very clear Palps doesn’t know about the dyad, otherwise he likely wouldn’t have tried to do the dark ritual/strike me down plan first when it would have been so much easier to get them both together to drain them.

So…have they always been a dyad from birth? Was the dyad created separate from the bond when Snoke created the bond? A Light balance to the Dark bond? Regardless of how, clearly they are one soul and connected more powerfully than anyone else in generations.

But Palps and his plan…he tells Ben to kill Rey. What was he actually trying to do since it’s clear he didn’t want Rey dead?

My only thought is that he thought Rey would actually kill Ben and thus give in to her Dark side and be more ready to be Empress…

But Leia’s sacrifice and all of that still confuses me. Palps said that Leia interfered with his plans.

Now in that fight Rey was the instigator, was the one trying to wreak damage (freaked out by her vision and revelations, I’m sure) and Ben was the one winning that fight. Like he was going to win until Leia stopped him. But was he going to kill her? Because I think it’s pretty clear that Ben has never wanted to kill Rey even if he was trying at first before the bond really started. Either way, Leia stops him from doing something and Rey stabs him instead. Then Leia dies and snaps Rey out of it. Was it the reaching out to Ben or the death that Palps was talking about interfering with his plans? Because again…he didn’t want Rey dead at that point.

I don’t know. Having a fleet full of ships hidden for how long, when did those weapons go into place, who’s manning the ships? Because apparently there’s the regular First Order fleet still out there conveniently being taken down by the rest of the galaxy after this fleet burns, so have these recruits just been sitting out there, chilling at Exegol for years, waiting for this order and attack? Total side tangent and question really, but it all makes no sense.

Leia’s death…so much speculation on why her body didn’t vanish until Ben died. There has to be something significant there and I’d really love to know if it’s a future plan or if it was part of the original end of the movie since clearly it was changed. Maz smiles, remember. Also…is she somehow giving her life for Ben’s to bring him back? She’s clearly a Force Ghost at the end of the movie.

Okay…so Han memory. I did like that and I did like that Ben could get absolution from his dad and have that be the final thing that turns him from Kylo to Ben. I wasn’t sure I could forgive Ben ever after TFA. I cried so much and I was so mad. That’s Han Solo, y’all. HAN FRIKKING SOLO. I mean how do you even kill Han Solo?

Granted, I think we were all robbed of a story where Han and Leia are a united front raising their kid and trying to protect him from danger, but that’s just me. I mean we could have had The Mummy 2 in space, guys. ROBBED! Someone write that AU, please.

And can we just talk about Adam Driver’s acting for a moment? I mean, the boy is phenomenal. He goes from being one person to being a completely different one effortlessly. From the moment he throws the light saber in the sea, his mannerisms and physicality is so different. It’s amazing. Kudos to him. Absolutely. Oscar worthy! He does it without having any lines whatsoever apart from ‘ow.’ And I like Ben Solo and I’m sad we didn’t get to see more of him. He’s so Han’s boy, so Han’s boy. Love that! He’s an awesome character in his good boy sweater. (Love the sweater and while we’re on the subject, could him and Chris Evans have a sweater off with the good boy sweater and the white knit sweater please?)

Hey, Luke got to raise a X Wing finally. That’s the kind of fan service I’m talking about.

One of my favorite parts of the movie actually was the whole Jedi from the past bit. Mostly because I saw my boy Kanan getting his recognition and rightful spot as one of the great Jedi, up there with Obi Wan and Anakin and Ahsoka! I also loved Ahsoka being there and the other Clone Wars greats. Really cool. I do kind of wish they had included Ezra, too, but that’s just me loving on my Space Blueberry! And wishing James Arnold Taylor who put so much into Obi Wan could have at least done Plo Koon since Ewan took his place as Obi Wan. Either way, that was the only homage and respect paid to the other two trilogies and the Star Wars legend in general. The only acknowledgement of how much sacrifice and history went into this franchise before now.

Now…can Rey kill Palps now and not have his spirit go into her because he’d already made himself revitalized with their dyad energy or was it because no ritual had been done? Just wondering. Or was it a loophole since all she did was defend herself and his own lightning killed him?

There’s a lot about energy and healing and the Force in this and so you can speculate all over the place about what the rules are. (You’d think in the Clone Wars healing each other would have been a thing!) And since we’ve never deal with a dyad before, we don’t know how it works. But it really kind of feels like even with how drained both of them were after Palps took their bond…it either should have been returned to them when he died or their combined energy should have been able to keep both of them alive. Or something. Two in one means connection and honestly, I feel like both of them should have died or both of them should have lived.

I know a lot of people think it was the perfect end for Ben because he redeemed himself (like Anakin) and there would have been no place for him in the galaxy after all the evil Kylo had done. (Much less if you read the comics!) But I’m a sucker for a redemption story and I think the hardest punishment always is to face your past and work through what you’ve done instead of taking the easy way out of death (not having to actually atone). I think it’s a beautiful potential for forgiveness and grace and realizing none of us can really save ourselves.

And whatever you think of Kylo/Ben or his ending, it’s clear something was changed at the last minute. There’s a whole lot of editing done on that last scene when he revives her and they kiss and on Tattoine. There are apparently screen tests people swear they saw where he didn’t die. I won’t go into the scene analysis some Reylos have, but jaw moving and talking on Rey shots that were cut, it looking more natural for her to have been pulling him back up rather than him falling down, it looks like his hand is the one in the burying lightsaber scene… He was obviously supposed to live at some point and why they changed their minds, I don’t know. He is one of the most popular characters and they lost a cash cow when they killed him off. Silly idiots.

As far as Rey goes, I also think that’s terribly unfair, to give her the connection she’s been yearning for her whole life and instead of giving her a future, you stick her back on a sand infested planet, sliding down in a parallel to TFA, and burying the past sabers, and being alone. I know she’s still got friends and stuff but I think she won’t know her new place in all of this and she’s going to feel very lonely.

Also, where did the yellow saber come from? Did she cleanse Ben’s saber? Did she find a new kyber crystal of her own? Come on now…don’t be mysterious and weird. Normally I can take mysteries being unsolved if great care is taken to resolve relationships and characters and this trilogy and story did neither, so no love from me.

As for shipping them. I didn’t really through the first two movies. I was curious to see what would happen, but I could have gone either way. I did ship them after this one. I do love two broken people finding solace in each other. And I think there is such potential there for these characters and as a relationship that could have been done so much better and wasn’t and that’s what is the saddest thing of all.

I really have an urge to write an AU…Luke Skywalkers’ Academy for Sensitive Younglings (title patent pending) and rewrite the whole stupid thing. I fear I have neither the time nor inspiration for that. But I would dearly love to see awkward teenage versions of these characters growing up and learning and being stupid and given a chance to become the best versions of themselves. My vision of the future.

Probably in another 30 years there will be a fully formed, all ready to go evil Empire that no one has done anything to stop anyway…

So there we go. I probably have more to say but that’s all I got and that’s with taking notes!

#star wars #spoilers #text post

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notafeeling · 5 years

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Infinitesimal (Part I)

A/N Infinitesimal (originally titled in a haze as “LOGAN IS BARRY BLUEJEANS”) is a Sanders Sides AU set in the world of The Adventure Zone: Balance, a DnD podcast made by the McElroy brothers. If you have not started The Stolen Century arc and don’t want spoilers, do not read.

Pairing: eventual logince (Logan/Roman)

Genre: scifi; slowburn

Warnings: temporary character death; TAZ-canon-typical violence

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary:

Logan had always thought that being a human meant he had to work harder and faster than everyone else to truly make a difference in the world. When his home is consumed by an intergalactic force known as The Hunger and he’s forced to go on the run through space with six others for a century, he realises that that’s not exactly true.

Or, Logan accepts an offer to join the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration and to travel around the mysterious planes that control his planet for a few months, but ends up hopping realities and dying a whole bunch alongside his mismatched crew members, learning how to love somewhere along the way.

Logan knows that, as a human, he has certain limitations in this world. For one thing, his 80-year expected lifespan is nothing compared to the centuries-old elves and dwarves who are considered teenagers. For another, it means he can’t rely on magic. He doesn’t have enough time to spend it mastering something he was never meant to have.

He turns to science at a young age.

The stars call him from outside his dirty, cracked window, and he dreams of the day he can fly among them. He wants to touch, he wants to grow, he wants to be something more.

Even at 8, he knows that his world doesn’t have the technology for that, and won’t for a very long time. It doesn’t stop him from yearning, though.

His parents send him to an academy at 15, only because he managed to get a scholarship. He graduates at 17 at the top of his class.

It’s still not enough.

He devotes the next five years of his life to mapping the stars and their constellations. Nothing that hasn’t been done before, but Logan’s determined to do this on his own.

If he won’t be able to live among them, then he’ll commit them to memory. Maybe he’ll travel along the constellation Pneuma Cascade in his dreams.

Having two suns is a fact everyone on Phaethon has long since accepted. The early civilisations made entire mythos surrounding those two stars alone, and children of his world are told stories of two lovers who chase each other endlessly. The second is dimmer because of his eternal pining, but he will follow the other to the end of times. When parents are asked why, they reply “because they’re in love,” and that’s all there is to that story.

Logan’s long-since moved on from folklore and the notion of love. Instead, he wants to know how. How can these two massive celestial objects coexist without succumbing to one another's’ gravitational pull? How does his planet, as small as it is, only orbit around the two without being sucked in?

Those questions give Logan purpose.

At 30, Logan finally has something to show for all his research.

The problem with examining two suns is that first of all, you shouldn’t look directly at them, and secondly, they’re too far away to properly study.

He devises a tool. It’s mostly cylindrical, and the otherwise hollow interior contains several panes of glass. Originally it was designed to filter out the sunlight, but Logan quickly figures out how to magnify the image he’s seeing.

(It’s kind of embarrassing that it took someone with corrective lenses for his short-sightedness to figure that one out, but all that matters is that it works.)

It takes him a few more years to have a perfected prototype. And he sees something no one else has.

He can see the suns in shocking clarity, but he doesn’t care about them (too much) anymore. Instead, he focuses on the slight rift between them. It’s not exactly a rift, more like… a divide. A shift.

Logan spends countless hours studying this, almost forgetting to breathe at times. This is what it’s all been leading to. There’s more! He can be more, do more!

It doesn’t take him much longer to figure out that the second sun is a double of the first. No, not exactly a double.

The second sun comes from the Ethereal Plane. The existence behind theirs, to put it simply. So it’s not a double, more like… the same one, but ever so slightly behind.

And the divide? It’s a weakened point between his plane - the Material Plane - and the other. Which means-

Holy shit. If there are other weakened points to other planes, then they could travel. He could explore! Not just magic-users who pop into the Ethereal Plane for brief moments, nor necromancers trying to break into the Astral Plane, no. Everyone.

Notes and ideas spill furiously from Logan’s mind, down through his arm and onto a thick, leather-bound journal. He lives off of caffeine and adrenaline as he completes his paper on Interplanar Travel, and not long after, he’s contacted by Thomas Sanders, the leader of the newly established Institute of Planer Research and Exploration (IPRE, for short).

Thomas offers him a position on the team of explorers that will be tasked with travelling across planes and, hopefully, beyond that at some point. He explains that although not too long ago, their world certainly didn’t have the technology, ever since the Light of Creation fell there’s been massive leaps in scientific advancement.

(Logan must have been holed up in his study during that time, as he has to pretend he knows exactly what his future boss is referencing.)

It’s everything Logan’s ever wanted, so of course, he accepts.

YEAR 0.

10 months later, and he meets his teammates. He’s already known and worked closely with Thomas (soon to be Captain Sanders) for the past few months, and he’s certainly earned Logan’s respect, but the rest of the team has some… shortcomings.

For one thing, he isn’t sure why they need two wizards who also double as cooks (Roman and Virgil) though he supposes the fact that they’re twins who seem to have done everything together makes them a package deal.

And, okay, he gets why they might need a cleric, but surely Patton could also double as the journalist (a young tiefling named Kalumnia), or vice-versa!

Also, if they have a ship that can withstand the heat of passing between two suns and the extremities of space, then why can’t they add a few weapons? Why do they need a security officer? Can’t the twins do magic?

He doesn’t have much time to convince Thomas to hire more fitting members (why not a maintenance crew?) because he meets all these people right before they’re given matching red robes with IPRE emblazoned on them and are told to walk onstage in front of the largest gathering of humans, elves, orcs, tieflings, dragonborns, etc. that Logan’s ever seen in his life.

He’s more than happy to let his Captain manage the questions from various reporters while he sits back and attempts to get to know his crewmates. After all, he’ll be living with them for a few months, possibly longer if the mission is a success. Might as well get comfortable.

“So,” Logan murmurs to the person he’s seated next to (Roman? Or maybe Virgil?), “why did you sign up for this?”

The high-elf casts a cursory glance in his direction as his twin whispers something in his ear, making him snort. They’re definitely laughing at Logan, which. Okay. He can deal with childish behaviour.

“Look! His ears are going red. You embarrassed him, Ro,” the furthest one says.

“I did not! You’re the one who made me laugh!” Roman retorts.

It’s a relief when Thomas calls him up to the podium.

“Salutations. My name is Logan and I’m the Science Officer of IPRE.” His voice rings out all around him and reporters call his name. He chooses one at random - a young human woman with wild hair.

“Hi, Linda from Phaethon Press here. I read your report on Interplanar Travel and I’ve been blown away with the progress you’ve made since!”

“Thank you.”

“Anyway, could you explain what you’re hoping to find or learn from your journey?”

Logan’s struck once more by how much he has to explore and a wide smile spreads over his features. “Well, not much is known about the other planes. The Ethereal Plane is usually only used for short periods of travel because of its ever-changing nature. To stay there too long would leave you clueless about how to get back to the Material Plane. And we all know about the Astral Plane, where the departed souls from our plane go. While we don’t have any concrete goals because of our limited knowledge, we do aim to explore the other 9 planes. We don’t know what we’ll find - maybe new life forms or energy or-”

Roman fakes a cough as he exclaims, none-too-quietly, “Nerd alert!”

Logan clears his throat. “Uh, so, we basically aim to explore and research the planes.”

“You don’t say,” he hears Virgil mutter.

God, he can’t imagine living with these people for the next few months.

The night before they leave is spent drinking onboard the newly-christened “Starblaster”. Logan makes a face every time he hears the name, but it was suggested by a drunk, giggly Roman and backed up by the equally intoxicated members of his team.

He wants to put as much distance as possible between himself and the twins, so he joins Patton and Kalumnia, who spends half the conversation listening and the other half writing down everything that’s happening. Logan has to admire her penmanship.

“Goodness, I wonder what other planes there are?” Patton wonders aloud.

Logan’s interest is piqued immediately. “Oh! I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot. We know there’s some sort of Celestial Plane because that’s where clerics draw their power from- though I suppose you already know that.”

“I do, but I don’t mind!” Patton smiles.

This guy is infinitely better than the twins, Logan decides. “So that, the Ethereal and the Astral are the planes that have the most impact on ours, so they must be closer or at least, larger and more prominent than the other planes. Therefore, the other planes aren’t likely to bear any sort of intelligent life, but the magic there could be completely different.” Magic that he might possess.

“That’s so cool!”

Kalumnia nods. Her bright, golden eyes watch Logan as he continues to talk, pointed ears perked. Patton asks questions and his own brilliant blue eyes widen whenever Logan mentions something he previously hadn’t known. Even Missy, the security officer Logan has avoided due to the scowl she wears, wanders over and joins the discussion.

For the first time in his life, Logan’s listened to. He could get used to this.

It turns out he could and should get used to it because as they leave Phaethon, a thick, suffocating darkness descends on it. They catch a glimpse of 11 other planes before black tendrils shoot out of their plane and pierce the others, and slowly drag it into its massive, incomprehensible form.

“Head for the rift!” Logan yells as his Captain maneuvers them through space.

Columns shoot out at them but the Starblaster dodges them with ease. Alarms blast, ringing sharp and shrill as they rocket towards the two suns, picking up speed each nanosecond.

He, Kalumnia, Thomas and the twins are huddled at the front, staring straight forward into the divide.

Patton and Missy are the only ones brave enough to watch as everything they’ve ever known, everyone they’ve ever loved, is consumed.

They just have to get to the rift. If they do that, they can break through to another plane. They can survive, they can run. They just have to get through, and they’re almost there, so close-

“Right!” Logan cries. Whatever’s attacking comes through the rift, barrelling straight for them.

Thomas jerks his controls to the right, tilting the ship so far that Logan crashes into the side.

His crewmates scream as they collide with something, sending them spiralling through space. Hungry black surrounds them, reaching out, trying to ensnare them and pull them in, but it only ends up flinging them in another direction.

“Change of plans!” Thomas yells, lifting his controls high, trying to break free.

The monster makes one last desperate grab, colliding with the bottom of their ship with a loud clang!

They’re flipped end over end, further and further from the rift. Further from the other planes. Logan’s head bounces off of hard metal, his body thrown around like a sack of bricks. There’s a snap, and then burning pain shoots through his right arm. His vision fades as the pain magnifies, becoming so intense it's unbearable. The panicked yells of his teammates seem so distant, but he manages to pick out a scream of “Roman!” and Patton making one last, desperate effort to heal them.

Black greets him soon after.

YEAR 1.

Pure, white light surrounds him. Threads of light stitch him together, restoring his body, and it’s not long before it unravels and reveals the rest of the IPRE members. Logan watches as its wisps are drawn away and disappear from sight, fading into the night sky. Except… he’s on the Starblaster’s deck. So it’s not the sky, it’s… It’s space.

There’s not a single scratch on any of them - apart from the battlescars Missy shows off proudly, but they had always been there. Nothing shows that they had just survived an attack on their home planet, unless… Unless they didn’t survive? Or Logan dreamt it? Or…

A sob breaks the stunned silence surrounding them. Virgil pushes past Logan as he runs toward Roman, tackling him to the floor.

“You died!” He screams. “You died. You were dead. I saw it; I saw your body in front of me, Ro. How are you- how could you-”

Roman pries his arms out from under Virgil and wraps them around his brother. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m here,” he murmurs, stroking Virgil’s purple hair. His eyebrows are knitted together, trying to remember what happened.

Logan does the same.

“Are we- did we die?” Patton whispers. “Where are we? Where’s Thomas?”

At that, Logan realises that there are only six of them. He bolts towards the cockpit. The rest of the team, barring the twins who seem content to fuss over each other, follow in hot pursuit.

The door slams open as the four of them charge through. There, at the controls, is their Captain.

He bolts out of his chair and spins around, hands raised as he readies a spell. When he sees his crew, his whole body relaxes and he goes limp. Missy rushes forward to steady him.

“You’re- you all disappeared,” Thomas breathes out as he’s lowered to the floor. “You all were taken by this- by this light, and then I was surrounded too! I came to back in this chair and you were all gone. I thought- I thought I was alone.” His voice drops to a whisper at the end there and even Logan has to inhale deeply to stop the panic that rises when he imagines being forever alone in space.

Patton grabs Logan’s wrist, pulling him towards Thomas and Missy, and Logan doesn’t fight it when he’s scooped into a hug.

Patton’s arms may not be able to reach around all of them, but they’re warm and comfy and remind him of his parents. At least they didn’t die at the hands of that… thing.

Logan’s the first to pull away. “We need to take stock of what we know and what we have. Our first priority is to figure out what that being was and if it’s going to attack us again. Then…” His gaze catches sight of a plane. And another. And another! Excitement stirs inside him. “Then we explore.”

It takes them around ten minutes to realise that the twelve planes they’re flying around are completely different from theirs. It takes Logan two days to draw the conclusion that by not jumping through the rift and being thrown off course, they somehow managed to enter a new… planar system? Reality? He couldn’t say.

Basically, there’s no going back home - if their world even still exists.

Roman and Virgil are the only ones who don’t seem to care at all.

Logan doesn’t know much about them (other than the fact that they delight in tormenting him) so he doesn’t want to judge, but their carefree attitude is somewhat rude to Patton, Missy and Thomas who are in mourning.

On the third day, they decide to test their luck on this new Material Plane. As Thomas eases the Starblaster into it, they’re greeted with luscious green forests and wide, stretching savannahs and grasslands and mountains-

The likelihood of that is astounding, and Logan spends quite some time with Kalumnia chronicling the biomes of this planet.

But that’s about where the similarities end. There are no oceans, though there are lakes and rivers, so water isn’t a problem. However, the fauna is even more interesting.

The population of this strange place is mostly made up of giant creatures that are up to ten, twenty, thirty times their tiny, Phaethonian frames.

“Now I’m not the only dwarf,” Patton jokes when they first hover above the planet, trying to find a safe place to land. Logan lets out a stunned laugh, but it's more from the joy of a new discovery than anything else.

That night, Logan lays on the deck of the Starblaster, admiring the countless new constellations and planes, all his to explore!

It’s so clear, up here on a mountain in an undeveloped world, far from artificial light sources. It’s serene, it’s beautiful, it’s-

“Ro, let him be a nerd in peace.” Virgil’s furious whisper cuts through the pristine air and immediately, Logan has a sour taste in his mouth.

“Hush, brother.”

Logan resolutely keeps gazing up at the stars, ignoring as Roman’s boots clack against the metal. He ignores it when they stop by his head, and he continues to pretend Roman doesn’t exist even when he plonks himself down beside him.

“You’re missing out on a glorious feast, you know,” Roman says at last.

Logan tries to detect the sarcasm or the hidden meaning, but he either needs to brush up on his social skills or there isn’t any. Which, coming from Roman, is impossible.

He slides his eyes to his left. In the starlight, Roman’s usual vibrant red robe and equally crimson hair are paler, softer. Instead of his constant smirk and perfect death stare, he seems almost wistful as he too stares into the sky. Logan tears his gaze away and clears his throat.

“I’m fine with freeze-dried cubes of nutrition.”

Roman laughs, and that too is gentle compared to the harsh delight Logan had committed to memory after only a few days. It’s hard not to memorise it when it’s being directed at you more often than not. “Weren’t you the one talking about rationing? C’mon, Lo, me and Virge went through all that effort to take down one of those beasts! Aren’t you going to at least try it?”

Maybe Roman just has a really annoying whiny-voice or maybe he’s hungrier than he thinks because Logan actually considers it. Then he remembers that they don’t know if the meat on this planet is even edible, let alone feast-worthy. “Who said you could call me Lo?” he replies instead. It comes out harsher than he intends.

Roman scoffs and jumps up on his feet. Logan frowns and looks up at him, only to find a scowl as Roman avoids his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Sorry for trying to include you, I guess.” The clacking of his shoes is considerably louder as Roman stomps back to his twin, who murmurs a quiet “I told you so.”

Logan’s insides squirm uncomfortably. Something in him urges him to apologise, but he fights back the feeling. He didn’t do anything wrong. He just wanted to ensure the food wasn’t going to kill him. What’s so wrong with trying to survive?

(Later that night, he sneaks into the kitchen and finds a plate with a slab of meat and a couple of roots. He throws away the note that reads “You’re welcome -R” and braces himself for the first forkful of his new diet. Instead of the strange, bland flavour Logan expected, when he bites into the mouth-wateringly tender meat, he’s met with an explosion of tastes. He can see why Thomas insisted on tasking both Roman and Virgil with cooking now.)

The Light of Creation falls early the next day. Logan misses it (again), but when he wakes up, it’s to Thomas flying the Starblaster at breakneck speed towards where it fell.

“Why has it come here?” Patton asks. No one has an answer.

They find it a few hours later, and already, the surrounding fauna looks… smarter?

There’s a cacophony of sound as a mixture of bleets, honks and moos turn into something singular, cohesive. It’s the sound of language.

“After only this much time?” Logan questions.

“Yeah, well. That’s kind of what happened in our- in Phaethon,” Thomas explains. “When it fell, it didn’t take long for people to start inventing things. You invented your little, uh, cylinder thing-”

“Telescope.”

“Yeah, telescope, when it fell.”

“It was a work in progress!”

“But you only perfected it after the Light, right?”

Logan can’t say for sure, so he stays silent. It’s not like it’s a bad thing to make scientific advancements, it’s just… He wanted it to happen from his own merit. Not because some mythical light suddenly gave him the ability to.

“So,” Virgil pipes up from where he’s leaning against the wall, “should we take it?”

“I really want to steal it,” Roman says.

Logan sighs. “Can we at least see what these animals do with it first?”

“No! I mean, yes, but we shouldn’t steal it,” Patton says, wide-eyed.

“It’s not stealing,” Virgil replies. “It’s not theirs.”

“But it’s not ours either!”

“Not until we take it.” Roman pats Thomas’ shoulder. “C’mon, Cap, let’s get this thing.”

They wait a week and then bring the Light onboard.

In the following months, Virgil and Roman rope Patton into learning the new animal language and over dinner, they talk in a series of grunts and honks that make Logan infuriated. He pretends he isn’t trying to figure it out by delving into the food (still as delicious as the first time, if not more) but at some point, Virgil and Roman confront him.

“Want us to teach you?” Roman asks, and Logan, pride be damned, nods.

Missy starts building herself a home. She gets Logan to make a saw and then she chops down a tree (and she only needs the one). After a month, she has a nice home that she and Kalumnia often stay in.

Patton studies the flora while Logan studies the fauna, and together they help Kalumnia with her chronicling of this world. Dwarves must have some connection with a nature god because the plants lean into Patton’s gentle touch. Flowers spring up underneath his fingers and he thrives out in the jungle.

Thomas remains on the ship, but he’s never alone. They meet up for dinner every night (Missy loves climbing a mountain every day, for some weird reason) and they talk about the progress they’re making in this world.

Logan can speak the language too now, and even though he hated it before, more often than not he, Roman, Virgil and Patton are communicating in it.

It’s a nice rhythm they’ve settled into. Logan thinks he could get used to this.

Another month passes. Everything goes to shit.

Patton notices it first. The grass is dull; the wind quiet. The sky is darker and the lakes are no longer a clear crystal blue. He tells the others about this and Logan wonders if it’s because of their ship, or their presence, or maybe the Light.

He’s answered a few hours later when the 13th plane arrives.

Its form is bigger this time. Darker. More violent. Shadows pierce down from the sky and form humanoid shapes - some short and stocky, some with pointed ears, some who look human - and Logan’s struck with a terrifying realisation that these shadows are people from Phaethon. Or, he should say, were.

Logan and Patton aren’t far from the ship, and the twins, although they like to explore, have been sticking close by recently. Kalumnia had already been in her study onboard, and Thomas is at the controls when Logan enters. Missy, however…

As Thomas brings the ship up into the sky, the rest of them search desperately for Missy. They know they can’t stay too long. This thing, this beast, it’s stronger. Smarter. They need to escape before one of the shimmering black columns pierces their ship and they’re bound to this plane.

“There!” Virgil cries, his elven eyes picking up Missy’s struggling form.

She’s fighting valiantly, taking out multiple shadows with just one swing of her axe. The animals around her stomp and charge, but it’s not enough.

“I can’t get close enough!” Thomas says, weaving the ship through the black.

“Fine!” Roman shouts, and then he runs out of the cockpit and onto the deck, then flings himself overboard.

Virgil rushes to the edge. “Bro, what the fuck?!” He calls, before he too leaps over the railing.

They see the twins float downwards, blasting off spells as they go, and it’s not long before they’re down there fighting with Missy.

Roman’s body becomes a force of fire, burning bright as he flings massive fireballs into the fray. Virgil summons a massive bolt of lightning and the resulting thunderclap is so loud it hurts Logan’s ears.

“We have to go,” Thomas murmurs. Logan and Patton’s heads whip to him. “We have to go, now!” He says more forcefully this time, and Patton starts arguing with him.

“We can’t leave them behind!”

“If we don’t leave then that’s just more carnage, more bodies for that thing to consume. We’re leaving.”

Logan has never, ever, heard such a cold voice coming from Thomas. But he understands.

“Look, Patton,” he begins, “when we left Phaethon, I died. And so did Roman. But we came back. I don’t know how, and I don’t know if it will keep happening, but we need to leave. Or else there’s no hope for them.”

Patton tries to argue, but Thomas is already flying them away, out of the Plane, then out of the Planar System. He doesn’t react when Patton pulls at his arms, trying to get him to turn around. He’s not cold, he’s calculating. Thomas- Captain Sanders is making an executive decision and Logan knows he can’t change it.

The black follows them, and he sees it withdrawing from the planet in favour of pursuit. The cogs in his head turn as the white threads from a year ago weaves around them again, and Logan manages to cry out “It wants the Light!” before he’s wrapped up entirely.

YEAR 2.

Logan wakes up on the deck of the Starblaster, Virgil behind him. Like last time.

He furrows his brows and races back to the cockpit, and sure enough, his captain is there.

When everyone piles in, Logan’s in the middle of theorising.

“Every time we leave a planar system, we’re brought back to our original positions,” Logan says, mostly to himself but Kalumnia starts to transcribe what he’s saying in her journal. “That thing-”

“The Hunger!” Roman supplies.

“Not your most creative name.”

“Got a better one, Virge?”

“Fine, the Hunger wants the Light of Creation. When we left with the Light, it left the planes alone and tried to follow us. When did the Light fall on Phaethon?”

“About a year before the Hunger came,” Kalumnia murmurs.

“And it was about a year after the Light that the Hunger found us on that plane, too!” Logan clasps his hands together and straightens up. “Is there a blackboard on this ship?”

Kalumnia nods and leads them to her study, then wordlessly hands Logan a piece of chalk.

It’s the first time Logan has been in here, and he’s blown away by the countless journals and books from their home planet that remain on the sturdy oak bookshelves. There are also sketches pinned to a corkboard, mostly depicting the strange life they had encountered on the other planet. They’re only sketches, but the extraordinary amount of detail blows him away. How had Kalumnia kept this to herself all this time?

He shakes his head and gets to work. “So, what do we know?” He asks, then divides the board in two. He labels one column “Already Know” and the other “Need to Know”, then scribbles some notes in the former.

“The Hunger’s shadows looked like Phaethonians,” Missy says.

“Yeah, but they could change their form at will. I would blast one with fire and the black would disperse before coming together as a new Phaethonian.”

“It was stronger this time,” Virgil adds, shaking ever so slightly. Roman wraps an arm around him.

Logan nods and continues scrawling. “That means that when it consumes a plane, it adds it to its… collection. Its army.”

“We just left a plane full of massive creatures! How are we supposed to fight that?!” Roman exclaims.

“Well, no. As I said previously, when we left, it followed us. It started to withdraw from the Plane.”

Patton turns to Logan. “You mentioned the Light before we- we reformed. Why would it want that?”

He shrugs. “That’s why we have a Need to Know column,” he answers, then adds that exact question to the board.

“A better question,” Virgil steps forward and takes the chalk from Logan, “is how are we reforming?” He looks around expectantly.

“There’s this light that surrounds us - almost like thread.”

“I think I know what that is,” Captain Sanders says at the same time Kalumnia adds, “It’s the Bond Engine.”

Seeing their blank looks, both of them shake their head.

“We’ve been living on this ship for a year. How do you not know what the Bond Engine is?” Kalumnia has a rare smile on her face as she and the Captain launch into an explanation.

“The Bond Engine doesn’t use any fuel, it runs on bonds.”

“Bonds are what tie us to the Planar System. They’re the experiences and the connections we have to the planes, and it allows us to travel between them without the risk of ending up in a black hole.”

“How come we were able to leave both Phaethon’s System and the other one?” Patton asks.

Kalumnia and Thomas shrug, but Logan’s quick to reply. “It must be the Hunger. We haven’t been able to leave any Planar System until it comes. It must… cut our bonds with the planes. That would mean we don’t have ties to the Astral Plane, so if we die, we don’t go there. Instead, the Bond Engine brings us back onto the ship, in our original positions.”

“So what I’m hearing is,” Roman begins with a grin that he shares with Virgil, “we’re basically immortal, right?”

“No, because we do still die, we just come back-”

“Technicalities, technicalities,” Roman dismisses. “Anyway, this year I’m going to do some wild shit!”

“If you die on me, I’m going to be so fucking pissed,” Virgil threatens, but he also seems excited to be able to do whatever without consequences.

The Light falls into an ocean. They’re unable to retrieve it when the Hunger comes and instead, fly away as soon as they see its black pillars descend. Call them cowards, but at least there wasn’t much life on this planet to begin with. If there was any, it’s all gone now.

YEAR 5.

Logan hadn’t meant to become friends with the twins. It’s more like that they decided they were going to hang out with him, and he hasn’t been able to shake them since.

He finds he doesn’t mind, which is a feat in and of itself, considering he hasn’t had friends for the roughly four decades he had been alive for.

One night, they’re stargazing. Well, Logan is.

Roman and Virgil are wrestling each other next to him and surprisingly, Virgil wins.

“How are you so strong?” Roman whines, flexing his arms to show off his quite impressive muscles.

Virgil shrugs. “I chug my bone juice,” he replies, and Logan decides not to question what he means by that. “Do you give up yet?”

Roman laughs and charges Virgil. His momentum carries him forward and he crashes into his twin, then he swipes his leg out from under him and pins Virgil to the ground. “Take that!”

“Oof, my bones,” he deadpans, and Roman helps him up.

“Are you two done?” Logan asks.

Instead of insulting him, like they would’ve done five years ago, they nod and sit beside him. Logan’s chest flutters when Roman leans into him easily, knee gently bumping his own every now and again.

“So,” Virge begins, and judging by the glint in both his and Roman’s eyes, Logan has a right to be worried.

“We were thinking,” Roman continues, “that we don’t know much about you.”

“And we know everything about each other!”

“So why not tell us about yourself?”

Logan sighs. “What do you want to know?”

Virgil considers this, then asks, “Do you have a last name?”

“No.”

“Cool,” Roman says, “It’s Bluejeans now.”

“What?” Logan splutters. “You can’t just give people last names! And these jeans are comfortable and practical!”

“Whatever you say, Mr Bluejeans, sir,” Virgil mock salutes.

Logan tries to argue with them, but it’s clear he’s getting nowhere. “Fine! Have it your way, Virgil… Purplehoodie.”

Virgil laughs, and okay, it wasn’t his best work, but it’s not like Bluejeans is any better. “So what? Roman and I are twins. Does that make him Roman Purplehoodie? I don’t see a fucking hoodie, nor anything purple. That doesn’t make sense, Lo.”

Logan doesn’t react to the nickname. Instead, he exclaims, “Neither does Bluejeans!”

“You wear blue jeans!” Roman protests.

“And your brother wears a purple hoodie!”

“Not all the time!”

“Almost all the time!”

“Oi, keep it down!” Missy shouts from somewhere inside the ship. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Don’t worry, we’re just playing card games in here!” Patton tells them.

“They ain’t need to know that!”

Even though Missy was bluffing, they stop arguing.

“Do I get to ask a question now?”

“Fine, shoot Mr Bluejeans.”

“I’m never going to get rid of that name, am I?” Both Virgil and Roman shake their heads. “Alright. Can I ask a question now?”

The twins glance at each other and shrug. “Seems fair.”

Logan ponders for a moment. He doesn’t really have any burning questions, but he supposes there had been one thing he was always curious about. “Are you two identical?”

Virgil’s gaze flashes to Roman, then back at Logan. The movement is so quick he almost misses it.

Roman leans back on his palms and puts on an easy smile. Logan knows that he’s only pretending, but he doesn’t get the chance to backpedal before Roman answers him. “Nope,” he pops the p.

Logan waits a moment, then opens his mouth when no explanation follows, but Roman must have changed his mind about how much he wants to share.

“I’m trans,” he blurts. Logan watches as Virgil’s arm snakes around his brother and studies Logan for his reaction.

He doesn’t miss a beat as he says, “Oh, but you look too alike to not be identical.” It’s awkward and kind of clumsy, but he genuinely means it in an “I thought you were identical twins” way and not a “How can you possibly look so masculine?” way. Virgil and Roman seem to pick up on it, at least.

“Genetics, dumbass,” Virgil replies, and the three of them laugh. “Honestly, the scientist should know this!”

“I’m an astrophysicist, not a biologist.”

“Those words? Fake.”

“You can’t call words fake.”

“All words are fake!” Roman and Virgil retort at the same time.

Logan goes to argue. Then he considers it. And okay, maybe they have a point. Especially their words. He’s not sure if they’ll find another Planar System that speaks Common - or any of Phaethon’s languages, in fact. It doesn’t stop him from wanting to learn the others’ languages though, so he gathers up the courage to ask a second question.

“Would you two mind teaching me Elven?”

YEAR 12.

It’s a good thing he’s fluent in Elven now, because this new place is entirely elves. It’s literally called Elfington.

He and the twins have no problem fitting in, and to their surprise, neither does Kalumnia.

She shrugs and with an abashed smile she admits, “I know all of Phaethon’s languages.”

Roman and Virgil share a wide-eyed look. “That’s how you always knew about our pranks!”

“We thought you were a mindreader or something!” Roman adds.

Kalumnia laughs. “I do know that spell, but I wouldn’t invade your privacy like that.”

That year, he and the twins almost exclusively talk to each other. Kalumnia joins in on their exploits around town, and Logan notes that she’s much less reclusive than at the beginning of their journey. He supposes over a decade of selective company would result in that.

Wait. Holy shit. Had they really been doing this for a decade?

Logan catches a glimpse of himself in a store window. At fifty, he expects wrinkles around his eyes like the ones Patton’s had since day one, but no. There aren’t creases in his forehead, no grey hairs, nothing. For all intents and purposes, he hasn’t changed one bit.

Maybe Roman and Virgil weren’t too far off when they joked about immortality.

“And they call me vain!” Roman huffs as he comes to stand beside him. Despite his comment, he leans in to fix his hair in the reflection, running his slender fingers through newly-dyed red. It’s like this at the beginning of every cycle, and for the past week they’ve been on Elfington, all Roman has talked about were the hairdressers and the possibility of dye.

Logan’s friend is always excited when they begin a new year just because he gets the colour back in his hair. He suspects Virgil shares the same enthusiasm, but at least he doesn’t talk his ear off about how he should be able to invent dye when it starts to fade. For starters, he’s an astrophysicist, and secondly, he’s busy, thank you very much.

He wants to study the Light. Considering it has such a big impact on both the Starblaster crew and whatever plane it falls on, they need to learn more about it. Maybe one of these cycles, they can find a way to fight off the Hunger.

Logan doesn’t know how that would work, but this new world that’s positively teeming with life renews his motivation. He doesn’t want to see them get destroyed. He doesn’t want them to fall to the Hunger.

They’ve already recovered it so he wastes no time in setting up experiments.

Around the second month, Roman starts popping into the Starblaster to “make sure he isn’t nerding too hard” (his words, not Logan’s). At first, it’s only for a few minutes. Roman asks a few questions about what he’s doing, Logan responds with questions about what he and Virge have been up to, and then Roman goes back to Elfington.

As time passes, Roman grows more and more keen to help. It gets to the point where Roman and Logan do their experiments together. Kalumnia records for them, keeping track of what they’ve found (the Light of Creation emits waves of some form of energy) and what they need to know (what the fuck is that energy). Missy mostly makes sure that the pair eat and drink when necessary, occasionally throwing them over her shoulder and dragging them to bed.

Even Captain Sanders checks in on their progress (and with the two of them working together, it’s truly remarkable)!

The only one who keeps his distance is Virgil.

Logan finds out the reason for this on their tenth month.

It’s a typical afternoon. Logan had visited Elfington for last-minute supplies, and he had been carrying armfuls of metal parts and spell components when he heard low voices around the corner, where his newly-appointed lab was.

He pauses. He quickly figures that one must be Roman (he had told him to go ahead, but he must have wanted to wait) and therefore the other is Virgil. He considers making his presence known, but it sounds like they’re arguing. And the twins never do that.

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, honestly.

“I know why you’re doing this,” Virgil hisses. “You want to stay here.”

“I do not! And even if I did, what’s wrong with that? We haven’t had a home since we were fucking twelve, why can’t you just settle down?”

“This isn’t about that and you know it.” When Virgil continues to speak, his voice loses the anger and instead takes on a much softer tone. “Roman, we have the Light. There’s nothing else we can do for them.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do! In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been doing this thing for over a decade. We either get the Light and some people die, or we don’t and everything gets consumed by the Hunger. We’ve tried fighting it, we’ve died, and honestly, I don’t give a shit about the planes anymore!”

“How can you say that?” Roman murmurs. Logan’s equally surprised by that revelation.

“Look,” Virgil sighs. “We’ve been to like, four planets with life on it. And each time, we decide it’s a grand idea to make friends! Why not build our bonds? But at the end of the year, it’s the same thing. We fly away and we watch those people get torn apart into nothing. They’re dust. We’ve only had each other for so long, and you and the other five people on this ship are the only people I can count on. Everyone else? They’re dust, Roman. If we see them as anything else, we only get our hearts broken. And I can’t take that. Not for however long we’re stuck on this ship, going through the motions.”

Roman’s silent for a long time. Eventually, though, he says, “You’re lying.”

“What?”

“You’re lying,” he repeats, more forcefully. “You can try and pretend like you don’t care, but I’ve seen you with those kids. I know you care about them as much as I do. And I know you’ll fight for them at the end of the year.”

“Because they’re us, Ro!” Virgil’s outburst shocks Logan. He knows he definitely shouldn’t be listening at this point, but he’s frozen in place. “I mean, seriously? Two elven siblings, living on the road? When I see them, all I see is me and you as preteens forcing ourselves to entertain sickos by streetfighting just so we can eat. All I see is you giving me your one jumper because you know I hate the cold even though you were freezing just as much. All I see is us fighting over who should have the last scrap of food, not because we wanted it, but because we wanted the other to eat. So, of course, I’m going to fight for them. But at the end of the day, if it comes to saving you or saving those children, there’s no choice.”

Logan hears Virgil stomp the opposite way and when he’s sure Roman’s alone, he steps into the corridor.

Roman’s back is to him. Logan takes another cautious step forward, then another, and as he gets closer, he can see how he’s shaking. Roman’s fists are clenched at his sides, head hanging low.

“Roman?”

Roman straightens his back and raises one hand to his face. Logan can’t see what he’s doing, but when the hand comes back wet and Roman turns around with red eyes and a watery smile, he can hazard a guess.

“Hey, Lo!” he greets, far too cheery. “Let’s get to work!”

He doesn’t have time to ask what’s wrong because Roman grabs his arm and pulls him into the lab. All day, he interrupts Logan when he goes to offer comfort, and his smile is too wide, too forced. Logan doesn’t understand why he feels sad too.

At the end of the year, Roman pulls all-nighters alongside Logan. He and Virgil have long since made up, but his brother still steers clear of the lab. Logan doesn’t blame him - he’s never heard the pair fight before, and he’s sure it’s something they want to avoid.

Roman’s project that he had Logan helping him with is almost complete. It radiates a golden hue and its form almost replicates the Light exactly. It’s far from perfect, but it might just work. At this point, that’s all they can really hope for.

When the Hunger comes, they’re ready. Roman and Logan order Thomas to bring the ship over a mostly empty country (some mountains bordering an ocean) and they fling the fake Light down, watching as it splashes in the water. Immediately, the black smog that was chasing them dives down.

The Starblaster uses this chance to dart away, hurtling through the skies at breakneck speeds and it's not long until they breach Elfington’s atmosphere. The Hunger chases them, having figured out what they’ve done, and it seems angrier, more determined.

Little darts of black break free of its form and head for the ship, determined to bring them down. Thomas banks right, then left, before dipping down low. The other IPRE members have long since learnt their lesson about seatbelts, but they do rub at their necks during this process.

Roman and Logan share a smile. Most of Elfington was saved. Not just some, most.

Maybe they can win.

A/N That was the first part of Infinitesimal! If you enjoyed it, feel free to ask questions/scream to me about it because this is possibly one of my favourite concepts and I will take any opportunity to talk about it.

I hope I was clear with the whole Planary System stuff. If not, there’s more of an explanation coming in the following parts as well as some romance and maybe a touch of necromancy! Who knows? ;)

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hvmanbeing · 5 years

Text

Neopian Gothic III

you are nine when you make your first neopet, and you are fifty six when the Earth is abandoned.

a husk, consumed, now the third desolate rock in a chain of desolate rocks orbiting a star; one, that in of itself, was so tainted by human tampering that staying within the solar system was hazardous.

yet, you quantify your terrestrial lifespan by the age of your digital pets. some would consider that odd, but nowadays you seek nostalgic comfort in anything from Earth.

it’s remarkable that anyone bothered to back up Neopets to the cultural archive servers. you sometimes wonder about the cultural items deemed less worthy than a petsite abandoned in 2040. who’s life work was lost because a website where you can eat literal shit was prioritized?

dwelling on it fills you with some emotion you cant quite name.

you pay it no mind. as you sit at the console in your narrow living space, you access the backup servers and try to log in. passwords are trickier now, it’s hard to get into the mindset you were at when you last joined. the you who lived thirty some odd years ago evidently thought the account’s security was so vital that you changed the it from the password you’ve used your whole life. frustrating.

maybe it was hacked. whatever.

after a few attempts you call it quits. you make a fresh account because, frankly, what else are you going to do in your free time? stare into space? actually work? fat chance.

immediately you look up your old account. everyone is still there. still wearing what they last wore. it’s like looking at a snapshot of your young adult life. sleek, clean CSS on your lookup, marred by the occasional broken image, chunks of corrupted text, but otherwise intact.

your pets are hungry. you wish you could feed them.

you look up the accounts of a few of your old friends. everything is still the same there too, at least for the unfrozen few. you let out a breathy sigh at some of these old usernames. you wonder if they made it off the planet.

clicking away, you are disquieted by the unchanging nature of the site. so much has changed for you, do your pets even experience time?

you chuckle quietly at that last question. Neopets never chased the AI train when it eventually reached the virtual pet market. after the shitshow that was the flash conversion, they never bothered to do any overhauls more complex than a code copy-paste. as you do your dailies, the flashing of webpages loading and unloading between win states wears on your eyes. you look away from the site. the night lighting has been turned on. how long have you been here? clearly your pets don’t experience time any better than you do, you think.

looking back at the console, you linger for a few seconds, before you log off and climb into your bunk.

your pets are hungry. this slips from your mind as you slip from conciousness.

the years crawl on, the emptiness of space makes time stretch relative to the human mind. it’s a lot harder to feel like days have passed when you don’t have a sun, or a moon, or a sky to remind you that time even is a thing.

it has been many years since you’ve thought of your Neopets. you logged on once in a while to check on your new account, play some games, and chat with the few remaining players on the colony’s ships. those days are long gone.

but now, as you’re laying in the medic bay, feeling increasingly weak, a rather unusual thought crosses your mind.

your Neopets are going to outlive you.

for some reason, this thought makes your skin crawl.

but on some basal level, something tells you that you’re not wrong.

days later, when the light leaves your eyes, and the recycled air leaves your lungs, the statement gains truth.

your pets are hungry. you can no longer feed them.

the idea that — after leaving the Earth — a new home planet could be secured used to be something constant, reassuring. years of pop culture and layman science lead everyone to believe it was a simple eventuality.

but it has been 130 years since humanity left Earth, and no planet has been satisfactory.

the population of the colony has sharply declined, those raised in space do not wish to inflict the same strife upon children of their own.

and as time stretches into nothingness, that decline reached it’s natural resting point at absolute zero. there is nobody left aboard the ships. they remain piloted by the on-board AI, who was never programmed to deal with the total collapse of the colony.

they were built to practically run without any humans, after all, so they didn’t even notice when the virtual manifest read as empty.

so they carry on, into the empty vastness of space.

the only evidence that thousands of years are passing by is the ever decaying behaviors of the AI. they feedback on themselves, winding down an endless repeating logic loop. but even when the AI eventually fail, the few ships caught in the larange points of distant stars collect enough energy to remain online.

your pets are hungry. there is no one to feed them.

and so as entropy becomes more violent, and the stars slowly start to blink out of the night sky, there is no one to witness it. except for your pets.

locked in a hibernal state, unable to affect their environment but at it’s total mercy. the eternally undying “dying”. perhaps, were there anyone left, they would observe this truly wretched state. your pets are cursed, purgatorian resident remnants of a civilization dead for millennia.

and yet, they stand stalwart, paragons of eternity. unchanging. despite their fellow sites slowly fading off of the serverbanks as their AI turn cannibalistic, they remain. conceivably, one could argue it was TNT’s refusal to update that ultimately saved them. if they adopted a hokey AI system, maybe they would’ve been released long ago.

the suns they orbit begin to rot. some ships manage to break free as the star’s gravitational pull fluctuates, barely escaping as they self destruct and are reborn as dwarfs.

set adrift in an ever darker space, the distant explosions of star systems offering the only change of scenery, they still persist. gnawing, ever present hunger does nothing to their digital bodies.

when the ships lose power, and become no more than space debris, the pets remain in their serverbanks.

even trillions upon trillions of years later, when the ships remain fetid fixtures in the vaccum of a cold universe, the servers survive. they were built with the intention to last forever, hypothetically, in the hopes that our accomplishments would outlast us in a worst case scenario.

how naive it was, to believe there was anything out there other than us, even more naive to believe that, had they existed, they’d take any interest in what we had to offer.

the pull of black holes begin to draw what remains of the universe into their infinitely dense maws.

the ships and dislodged servers are not immune.

at the end of everything, your pet is still hungry.

they bare witness to the heat death of the universe, the final act of consumption.

someone might find that ironic, if there was anyone left alive. someone else might find it completely inconsequential. they would probably fight about the metaphysical meaning of this event.

as the serverbanks tumble inward, parts being rend from parts, the final physical form of your pets is destroyed, flattened into a molecule thin sheet of raw matter. they don’t even get to see the event horizon.

as the black holes consume one another, there is nothing left. only the most base elements remain; just particles of light, nothing that could be seen as matter.

but.

data, at it’s raw level, is never lost. although what encased it may be gone, the points that made it up still exist within the abstract arbitration of the universe. finite particles coming into existence randomly arrange themselves in a pattern that resembles the binary code of your pets, before casting themselves out of existance once again. for the briefest of femtoseconds, it is as though your pet still lives. this happens, sporadically and increasingly rarely, as the universe cools to a consistent temperature.

then finally. after an inconceivable time since your death;

the universe is empty. and your pets are hungry.

#neopian gothic #neolodge #neopets #ask to tag!#sorry this one is also very long #all of them are long from here on out because im an idiot jackass who cant shut their goddamn mouth

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myfriendpokey · 5 years

Text

GARBAGE DAY!

a bunch of scrappy shorter pieces to clean out my drafts folder for the new year!

***

A videogame will tend towards exhausting every possible variation of a design space whether anyone wants it to or not.

Videogames and duration - if something is good it should continue being good however long you extend it. You don't really encounter the idea that something can be good for a little while and then be evil.

***

Works of art are "in conversation" with their audience, with materials, with history, with each other. The aim of an artwork is to start, or add to, "the conversation". "Conversation" sort of edges out the older tic whereby art "examines" or "explores" something, which always made me think of a big magnifying glass being propped up for the benefit of some eerily calm 1950s scientist. But now that sounds too chilly, and perhaps sort of sketchy in the power dynamics it implies. "Conversation" is much warmer, informal and more fluid - "conversation" is the assurance that any given power dynamic can be dissolved away in the warm glow of basic, mutual humanity. Let's talk it through! My door is always open! Whenever there's a complaint over labour conditions or harassment it's nearly de rigueur to also quote the wounded-sounding HR lackey, upset that people didn't talk to them about it before going public. Why would anybody deny the friendly, outstretched hand of the respected opponent and their entirely in-good-faith quibbling about word meanings, personality and tone? Why don't we have an honest conversation about the "honest conversation", that numbing discourse cloud sprayed out like formic acid to neutralize a threat, to melt any unsettling edges or contraries back into the familiar gloop of the private and the personal.

***

One of the pleasures of videogames is that of an infinitely repeatable, always identical procedure. Pressing the button makes something happen, and by pressing it again it will happen again in the same way. So there's a kind of abundance or excess built into the system - like partaking of a fruit which will never be depleted, and in the process taking on in your own actions something of that same infinity. You can temporarily identify with the self-identical, eternally reproducing action that you are performing. I think one of the difficulties of videogames is that as you get (slightly!) older, that immortal quality becomes more visibly alien, harder to align to your sense of self. That these mechanics act like black holes, able to absorb any amount of your life without ever being satiated, becomes a terrible curse rather than an unexpected gift. That endlessness now seems eerie and artificial, a horrible parody of life rather than the highest version of it.

The dadification of vgames has gone much remarked. But as well as a demographic shift I think this reflects a certain anxiety about the centrality of these immortal entities, these endless loops, within the culture. As reward for your fealty to the Mario brand you get even more Mario games, which by now you may not have time or energy to actually play. The VG dad (or even the buff, single pseudo-dads of the superhero movies) is eternally exhausted with the genre that he’s trapped in. We hear him groan and complain as he painfully slogs through the motions. The gratuitous loop is redeemed by the finite human suffering of the dad, as he manfully does what it takes to keep these things going forwards to the next generation, so that the next set of children may be able to actually take pleasure in them again. But the attempt to symbolically re-integrate these things into human life by casting them as a family drama never quite works: their ultimate indifference to that life shines through. A blind, eerie deathlessness is both their charm and their authority.

***

That saying that when all you have is a hammer everything else looks like a nail - similarly, when all you have is willpower, everything looks like an obstacle to be pounded into submission by that same willpower.

Laziness is a good thing in that it means stepping back from this idiot insatiability of the will. If you're lazy you have to pay more attention, because you're more aware of both your own limits and the limits of your material.

I think there can be value in suspending a formal problem rather than building an exhaustive system to solve it forever. That way it's still something you have to think about, something that still throws off and reroutes the normal workings of your awful private fantasy machine. Dropping text strings into the game as elements to spatially encounter is not ideal technically but does force you to be more responsive and exploratory with how you use that text. Robust systems can be cool, but can also really homogenize everything - now "text" is just the miscellaneous stuff within the all-purpose "textbox" at the bottom of the screen, cementing its role as filler content.

The funny thing about really systemic, open-world type games is that their very robustness tends to suffocate exprience before it happens. We know nothing will happen which will significantly impact this camera POV, this dialogue system.. anything can happen except for anything which would require a fundamental change to the underlying inventory system. But maybe the whole pleasure of the open world game is just being able to hold those experiences in suspense.

***

Mostly the characters voicing my own opinions in my videogames are explicitly malign and sinister - which is a corny device for me to vent without worrying as much about browbeating people with my opinions. But it's also a way of having those opinions without allowing them to overdetermine the rest of the game, or be fully in control over the more ambivalent and drifting work of "putting together different pieces on a screen to make interesting spaces". So in that sense my own ideas really are the enemies, and any plot role they serve in the game is a dramatisation of the effort to create a space where they lack controlling power.

***

RPG Maker is a collage machine, you get a set of pictures and start placing them around until they start to form some kind of charged and interesting space.

I think the collage aspect is a lot of what I enjoy about making these things, which is why games with more polished or consistent art styles frequently leave me cold. For me the greater the discrepancy between different objects on screen means a greater effect when they're combined.

How does gameplay etc tie in? For me gameplay can divert the interest but never truly capture it. For decades games have had the problem of effectively being able to train you to do something, but having no idea what that thing should be or why it would matter. They effectively move your attention around without being able to settle it because their inner logic is basically always the same ahistorical, mechanistic void. But this can be a good thing - the permanently restless and unsettled nature of videogame attention can't illuminate itself, but can do so to other things in passing.

Distraction becomes a way to examine surfaces, rather than being sucked into depths or settled to one fixed meaning. And the drift of unsettled consciousness is ultimately what animates game collages, the spaces that shift and react as attention plays across them, revealing or withholding. And so from this perspective, the answer to why I make videogames is: because I don't trust myself to look after an aquarium.

***

Design is managerial aesthetics - a mode of expertise framed as meta-expertise specifically because it scales up so well to systems of mass organisation and production. It's a universal discipline insofar as the task of removing any obstacles to the frictionless flow of attention and of capital is now also a universal chore. In this context a designer is like the MBA who can be dropped into any business to improve it, without ever having to know just what product they make – because the ultimate goal is always the same, the same tools can always be used.

The cutesy books about the design of everyday life and so forth exist in the same vein as the ones that tell us there's nothing wrong with marketing because ultimately isn't all human discourse and activity some form of marketing? Isn't everything "design"? The strange top-heaviness with which these things outgrow their host categories parallels the unstoppable expansion of executive salaries within the businesses themselves. The task of managing other people's labour becomes ever more grandoise, ineffable, cosmic and well-paid as that labour in turn is framed as a kind of undifferentiated slop which exists for the sake of being shaped by creatives.

***

tragedy / comedy:

Generalizing hugely I feel like tragedy is about an event or experience so powerful it changes everything - for the characters involved, for the people in that world, for the audience watching - while conversely comedy is the idea that no event or experience can change anything. Oedipus dies and there's a big announcement and everyone has to sit through the awkward two-minute silence before getting back to work, while trying not to fart or itch too noticeably, and the next day somebody's selling Oedipus commemorative pens which run out of ink five minutes after opening, and the pen cap gets lost and the cat starts playing with it.

In comedy the tragic can still happen, it’s just never strong enough to escape the constraints of the inert material universe which we find ourselves in – all that which remains so stubbornly intractable towards the higher instincts. I can talk about the dignity of man but there's still a risk that my pants will fall down or that someone will hit me with a ladder, causing my head to get stuck inside a bucket of paint, etc. Or my voice might be ridiculous or I might have a stutter (old comedy standbys!), or someone might hear part of my words out of context and assign them a different and unintended meaning. Comedy is consciousness imprisoned within a cumbersome matter which it can't completely do anything with, but also can't exist without.

Taken as a worldview, this sort of risks congealing into the kneejerk reactionary things-can-never-change, whatever-moment-of-human-history-i-was-reared-in-is-eternal-and-inviolate radio DJ / South Park mindset. And of course somebody's view of what constitutes a tragic, life-changing event depends greatly on whether it's happening to them or someone else. But as exaggeration, in its neurotic overemphasis of the inescapable material, i think this approach still has interest and use. Many of my favourite writers have a kind of comic understanding of consciousness: consciousness becomes a churning material process with its own independent momentum which has to be examined and accounted for as part of any real reckoning with the world. In this light comedy becomes a way to think about opacity and limitation, both in physical matter and in our own selves.

I think many people have made the point that vgames are generally comic, intentionally or unintentionally. The rhetoric around them still tends towards the tragic: make the choice which changes everything! Deal with the consequences, accept your fate! But in practice those moments feel less visible than the clumsy material layer of GUIs, inputs, mechanics and representations that contain and constrain them. The opacity of the black box is one inhibition: was that meant to happen? Was it scripted or a glitch? Maybe I should reload my save and try again. Another is the inertia of the various game systems and loops themselves - [x] character may have died but you still need to collect those chocobo racing feathers if you want the Gold Sword. The numbers in a videogame "want" to keep going up, whatever happens: there's an affordance there which exists independently to any merely human wants and needs, and so tends to act as a gravity well for distracted consciousness as it wanders around. When people talk about tragedy in videogames it's usually with the implicit rider that it's within a game, or set of game conventions, which have become naturalised enough to become invisible. Which also tends to mean the naturalisation of a form, of inputs, of technology, of distribution mechanisms and assumptions, which however arty we can get are still inherently tied to the tech industry. Every art game is to some extent an invitation to spend more time internalising the vocab of your windows computer.

I've mentioned that the materialism of comedy can tend towards unthinking reaction. But the insistence on certain limits inherent to the human body – requirements like clean water and clean air, food and shelter, actual bathroom breaks and not piss jugs and also not having to live six feet beneath a rising sea level - can be helpful at a point when all these things are regarded as negotiable impediments to the pursuit of future profit. Maybe it’s a good thing that some materials can still be so insistent about refusing to be absorbed into the will.

***

I think what I most enjoy about art is the sense of a game with moveable stakes: where you never quite know the value of what you're playing for, which now appears absolutely trivial, and now appears to stand in judgement of the whole world, etc. I think this is also the Adorno idea of the aesthetic as really the extra-aesthetic, that which can step outside or threaten to step outside the limits of the merely aesthetic. It's why "just make a good game / pop song / comic / etc" never quite works, in rhetoric or in practice: the really good pop song is never that which just gives the enjoyable three minutes of listening we might consciously assign to be its remit, it's what overflows or undercuts that category, that which however briefly seems at risk of stepping outside it and into the realm of everyday life.

I grew up on pop culture so I don't have to feel positively towards it. Who am I meant to be defending it from? The handful of surviving WASPs reared on Brahms who get the ostentatiously-fussy-culture-review posts at print newspapers looking to pick up a slightly higher quality of margarine advertisement? The best thing pop culture ever gave me was its own critique: that of containing artists and moments which couldn't be squared with what the rest of it was saying, which seemed to call the whole enterprise into question and in doing so broadened the sense of what was possible. Pop culture was never quite identified with itself, the value it has is in containing elements which make that self-identification impossible. So it always throws me off to see people celebrating "pop culture", like it's a self-produced totality, when that totality was only ever good for kicking.

Pop culture survives through a negativity it can never properly acknowledge.

[images: Tower of Druaga, Detana!! TwinBee, True Golf Classics: Wicked 18, Microsurgeon, Dark Edge]

#gamechat #criticism #vgames #garbage day

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