#Janus' whole thing has me going wild and I must do it to every other character

[bee-moth-ack]

Hear me out hear me out

Spider paranoia because its web affects every part if your life...

BUT Crow Anxiety/Virgil because while yes they're an omen of death that's not all they are and wings represent freedom

And both Virgil and Thomas are more free from the grips of fear and panic

[mtraki]

Brain chemistry is messing with me... got me in the bad feels looking at dark roads... So let’s try and drag ourselves out of it through hyperfixation!  It’s time to rant about Agent 47′s brain chemistry-- specifically all the serums and antidotes that artificially change it! (It’s a rant... I won’t take up space on your dashboard scroll if you don’t want to see it, but if you do, please check out under the cut.  Spoilers for the comics and Hitman Season 2-3 are unmarked...)

The focus of the rant is thus: “Exactly what did Ether’s antidote do?” ‘That’s easy, MT,’ I hear you tell me, ‘It brought back 47′s memories that were wiped by Ort-Meyer before he escaped the lab.’ Forgive me, strawman Reader, (but as always, thank you for your faithful engagement) but I don’t think it’s that simple...  Maybe because I overthink things, or maybe because the details aren’t adding up... Let’s discuss. In the cutscene in HITMAN 2 (Hitman Season 2) ‘Long Shot’, Olivia and Lucas provide a syringe from Ether Biotech Corporation.  According to their information, Ort-Meyer’s estate and his research were granted to the corporation (through Providence) after his passing.  The syringe is supposed to be an antidote to what Ort-Meyer used to wipe 47′s memory.  Using the syringe, 47 is able to remember Janus, the first Constant of Providence, so they can go get his info on the Partners... and kill him. ‘Yes, MT,’ you say, ‘so it’s easy.  The answer is right there.’ Well, please bear with me... In the next cutscene ‘Gifts and Curses’, our leading ladies Diana and Olivia are doing the real work (tracking Janus’s coffin) while our lads are being moody.  Lucas asks 47 if he’s all right and 47 says, “It comes back in flashes.  Fear.  Anger.  But like it happened to someone else.” Later, in ‘Precautions’, Lucas and Diana talk about how Lucas has feelings about the things he’s done, and 47 does not-- a parallel is drawn between these feelings and “having a conscience”. In ‘The Ark Society’ mission, on the Isle of Sgàil, as you’re marching Arthur Edwards, the Constant you are abducting, to the harbor, he’ll fish around for information by giving some of his own.  For the purposes of my rant, there is an exchange I want to focus on: Edwards: “...Your murdered him [Janus] to get to me.” 47: “Not just that.  He had it coming.” Edwards: “Interesting.  It was my impression that you were cured of such... sentiment.  The ‘good doctor’ built his serum specifically to target the seats of your emotions.  Has Miss Burnwood’s sense of justice rubbed off on you, I wonder?” This is where I feel the need to stop and point out that there are TWO DIFFERENT SERUMS at play here, that were forced on 47 at TWO DIFFERENT TIMES in his forgotten past.  This is shown in the comic series. SERUM #1) This serum was given in 1989, after 47 and 6 failed to take over the Institute.  47 sacrificed himself so 6 could escape (though he was presumed dead) and instead of being killed like he expected, due to pressure from Janus (who spoke as Constant for the Partners of Providence) Ort-Meyer instead used a serum to stifle his and the remaining clones’ emotions.  This one was an injection to the neck (like the antidote).  Here are his exact words: “I gave you something most people lack: a true purpose.  And you cast it aside.  For some misguided dream of freedom.  Why?” “It’s that storm inside you.  All those feelings I fought so hard to lock away.  Raging, driving you.  So now I must wipe them out entirely.  A small chemical insult designed to target the amygdala, the hypothalamus, the cingulate gyrus.  The seats of emotion.  I’ve just sawed the legs off them.  Do you understand, 47?” “Your memories remain intact.  But now they’re a series of events with no significance.” The effects of this serum were devastating.  With the singular exception of 47, every other clone more or less lost the will to live.  They died of starvation, dehydration, infected bed sores... losing any and all motivation for anything.  Meanwhile, 47 became an apex predator of murder, stating that the opportunity to complete the assassinations handed down by Providence through Ort-Meyer were the reason he went through each day.  He had a hand in the deaths of a good number of clones, either via poisoning or smothering. SERUM #2) This serum was given in 1998 (that’s nine years after the first one) after Providence demands Ort-Meyer give them 47 as the only success of his very expensive perceived failure.  Ort-Meyer gives this serum, without the permission of Providence, very specifically so that 47 will not remember him to assassinate him.  This serum is given orally, and through a hose and pump apparatus.  Here are his exact words: “I only need one more day, and a moment alone.” (This is included strictly to point out that 47 must have escaped that exact same day) “I raised you as my own.  Taught you everything you needed to thrive in this fallen world.  And now I have to take it all away.  You would come after me.  It’s the only way I can be free from having to watch over my shoulder for the rest of my life.  It feels like drowning at first.  Don’t struggle.  I’m going to make you perfect.  Now you have all the potential in the world.” 47 wakes up later to the voice of Ort-Meyer over the intercom.  He implicitly trusts the voice, as he knows nothing else.  He knows about the existence of nothing outside of the room and the voice.  He starts making associations as he goes on, and points out that he understands how some things work (”The mechanics of breathing, the science that makes remotely operated restraints possible.”) and the justifications behind their existence (”Somewhere deep down, I even understand the need for them.”).  As he makes his escape, he observes that their is familiarity in the sensations of killing.  Out in the world, he continues killing on his own for about a year, claiming that his work is his only indulgence and that he doesn’t need things, friends, or stories.  He does also claim to have a few stray memories that haunt him-- elicit emotional responses in him (which we also see in Absolution with the whole “doctors” flashbacks). Edwards should not know about the mind-wiping, and his dialogue does not betray that he does.  Lucas apparently knows about both, but I’m going to attribute this to “Lucas became personally invested in learning what happened to 47 specifically after learning he was alive and working for ICA, so put the pieces together once he stole the data from Providence” because he wasn’t around for either serum.  Meanwhile, Edwards doesn’t have many reasons to worry about 47 until he starts trying to use his past as a lure for Diana.  Because his angle is to eventually reveal that it was 47 (AND 6... they were on the job together, per the comics) who killed her parents, and the fact that that juicy reveal would hurt that much more if he could reveal it as something 47 knowingly hid from her... I don’t think he’d go out of his way to discredit Janus’s reporting on the situation that only the first serum was given, and something else happened that allowed 47 to escape into the wild.  Janus is apparently Edwards’s beloved mentor, after all. ‘MT,’ I hear you say, ‘You’re rambling.  What’s the point here?’ The point is that 47, a man who does not mince words, makes the observation, when asked, that he remembers fear and anger.  These are the things that stand out to him in his memories.  The emotions.  This is in violation of the first serum’s properties as well as the second. Now, why is this happening?  Perhaps the first serum has an effective lifespan, and perhaps it’s wearing off.  Perhaps 47′s human (arguably superhuman, per some sources) brain is adapting to make necessary associations despite the “chemical insult”. Or... was this antidote supposed to also be an antidote for the first serum?  It is noteworthy that 47 starts behaving in ways that suggest more emotionally-driven motivations after the antidote is given-- at least it seems that way to me.  This seems especially the case at the very end of HITMAN 3 (Season 3), ‘Untouchable’, when 47 is confronted with his guilt, with his feelings about what he perceives Diana’s thoughts and feelings to be, and with his choice in the end concerning Edwards in the final confrontation.  No matter what he chooses, he owns his choice and all the baggage and consequences that come with it.  At the very end, in the cutscene 'New Deal', he tells Diana that he isn’t ‘Agent 47′ anymore.  That he chooses this path because he can. Perhaps I’m very much misunderstanding the themes, here, but 47 not remembering his past never struck me as something that held him back from choosing something else.  It has always been his inability to connect with others in any way outside of infiltrating their spaces and killing them... with very, very few exceptions... that has kept him from choosing a path outside of murder-for-hire (perfectly executed, of course ;) )  So I’m left at the end with the conclusion that 47 is now able to operate as his own conscience because he now has a... mostly usable independent sense of morality-- which requires a certain level of empathy. So... again: what’s the deal with the antidote?  Is it two-in-one?  This would be fine, (Okay, not really, I would then have to rant about how this only makes sense as a convenient plot device because for which person BESIDES Agent 47 would such an antidote be useful unless they also work with the first serum... and oh boy IMPLICATIONS... I know we keep crashing their stock but can we crash their production too?) except the antidote is only referenced as working to return 47′s memory... and his ‘warmer’ dialogues through the end of 2 and into 3 with his allies is simply treated as matter of course-- nobody points it out. I don’t know if this is a problem with my perspective, the writing, or what... But it seems like Lucas knows and doesn’t know about both serums at the same time (he comments specifically about 47 remembering things... but not him behaving more emotionally engaged)... Or like the games smooshed both serums together while the comics had them separate.  This isn’t like the whole “we don’t talk about Absolution though we do wink and nod that it mostly happened in canon” thing.  The comics were written as a companion for the HITMAN: World of Assassination trilogy! I know how I’m treating it for 'Monstrous’ (because if I don’t, I’ll go crazy and rage-quit the fic) but it still bothers me...  Anybody got any ideas?  Nuggets of lore I missed?  Am I the only one stressing out about this??

[lovelivingmydreams]

Paper Flowers: Assumptions

People make snap judgements all the time. About fictional characters as well as the people in their lives. It gets dangerous however when you assume your perception is the truth.

“Hello all you Fanders out there!” the voice over of DarkStarlight sounds through your speaker as the screen shows the title card of their series Fanders illustrated. The concept is simple enough. They talk about things from Thomas’ content or the fan community they liked while showing speeddraws based on it. It’s really fun to see.

“So a while ago I made this drawing based on the names we picked for the Prince’s nemesis.”

The image changes to a drawing of two versions of the character standing back to back. The dark, mischievious Marcus against a dark red background, and the awkward blushy Kevin against a lighter blue, the collors mixing to purple in the center.

“And the comments have been wild!” A blank canvas is shown as they start sketching.

“There were several theories about how these two boys could be one and the same.

The theory I want to draw today is a cute one. So CatPrincess suggested Marcus is an act Kevin puts up to help the prince. Kevin, according to her, is a staff member of the palace. And when the Prince got old enough to start looking for a princess, he needed an excuse, since he’s gay or just not really interested in romance. He never really was invested in any princesses in the vines after all. He’s had the most chemistry with males. Prince is gay confirmed.”

You chuckle. And shake your head. This fandom is wild. You just hope the characters can make a transition to youtube. It seems like Vine’s time is really coming to an end.

“Anyway, so whether the prince knows it or not CatPrincesss didn’t say, but Kevin ends up disguising himself as a villain so Prince can say he’s busy defending the realm and that he can’t pursue any Princesses until the villain is defeated. I really like the idea of Prince and Kevin having little inside jokes and grinning at each other secretly while Kevin tends to the family during dinner as they hear the king and queen complain about the villain. So. What do you think?”

And just like that the drawing is done. It’s Prince and a formally dressed Kevin glancing at each other with subtle smirks while behind them their silhouettes are crossing swords.

You like and share the video before checking in on tumblr, you still have some time to kill before dinner.

 “I don’t see why we even bother still making vines every day. We’re finished, it’s over,” Virgil muttered as he paced the floor of the common area. He really hated being the barer of bad news, but no one was coming to terms with this simple fact.

“We have sworn to entertain the fanders, and it is not over until the fat lady sings,” Roman explained calmly from his spot, draped over the couch, pretending to be more interested in his notes for the ultimate storytime tour.

The announcement had taken the internet by storm and even Virgil was excited, though he never showed that to the others. He couldn’t leave his room for five days because he couldn’t stop ‘sparkling’ as Roman had come to call his excited look. Just in his head though, he was fairly sure Virgil wouldn’t appreciate it.

“What are we going to do after!?” Virgil insisted.

“We could look for a real job?” Logan suggested though he wasn’t very hopeful.

Virgil was nodding to himself, that was an option he supposed.

“We could make more scripted youtube video’s? People have been commenting they wished they could see more of our characters than six second skits?” Patton suggested.

“Brilliant idea Padre!” Roman exclaimed as he sat up and started skribling.

“We could make a series about the dad and teacher! Liam, Fiona and Gavin might like participating… Oh, and we could make marvelous stories about the prince… Idea!!!!”

He jumped up and made a gesture towards all of them. “We could make a series about us!” he declared proudly. “The fanders want to know more about Thomas, what better way to talk about that than by showing them who we are!?”

Patton was clapping excitedly while Logan and Virgil seemed apprehensive.

“Oh, that sounds so fun!!!” the fatherly side cheered.

“I don’t know,” Virgil objected. “It feels too exposed.”

“Indeed, we are a very personal part of Thomas. We should not be shown to the world so carelessly,” Logan agreed, mostly opposed to being displayed as a source of entertainment for others.

“We don’t have to go all in right away. Thomas can start with acting like our vine counterparts and see how the fanders react and if they like the idea we slowly but surely let our real selves shine through. Little steps,” Roman suggested.

Logan cocked his head. “That was, a very well thought out solution…” he admitted. It was odd. When had this started? Roman usually just spat out ideas and took any criticism as a personal offence. When did he start taking feedback into consideration?

Roman gasped and brought a hand to his heart in offence. “Don’t sound so surprised!” he huffed.

“I don’t know…” Virgil said slowly. The fanders liked his character… But that guy wasn’t literal anxiety.

Roman sighed dramatically. “Tell you what. I draft up some ideas. And after the tour we can revisit the subject. Vine won’t disappear overnight,” he reasoned.

Logan and Patton nodded in agreement. “Fine,” Virgil relented before pulling his hoodie over his head and stalking off.

Patton frowned. “He’s never happy is he?” he muttered sadly. Roman bit back his reaction. Patton was both wrong and right. This part of Virgil couldn’t be happy. But Roman knew of other parts that could be the happiest out of all of them. Happier than even Patton could ever hope being.

“Well who’s fault is that?” A voice drawled from the door opening. Roman automatically drew his sword while Patton and Logan reflexively moved to stand a little more behind him.

“Such a warm reception, I’m so touched,” Deceit said, hand on his heart, a sarcastic sting to his voice and a roll of his eyes.

"Well," Roman huffed as he put away his sword. "Maybe if you didn't apparate in dark corners for no good reason we wouldn't assume an attack was imminent. You are lucky you just missed anxiety, he might not have been able yo hold himself back." Realy what was that snake thinking?

"Thanks for the concern Roman, but other than you three, I know how to handle him."

Roman once more bit his tongue. Keeping his promise not to reveal their bond has never been so hard. This particular side was much more likely to catch him evading and omitting.

He rolled his eyes dramatically and crossed his arms in front of him. "Is there anything you needed Deceit?" Patton asked as he stepped forward laying a soothing hand on Roman's arm.

"Just checking in. And I must say I am not impressed. Morality I had hoped you'd put in a little more effort to make Anxiety comfortable up here. At this rate I might have to take him back with me." Roman could feel Patton cringe at that. That's it. Virgil's friend or not, Roman would not let him upset his family.

“Oh drop it scaleface. Empty threats will only go so far,” he said with a hand on his hip and a roll of his eye.

“Who says they’re empty?” Deceit drawled, studying his nails. “The whole reason Anxiety came up here was to reduce his stress, but if you all just keep making him unhappy, what is the point?” Deceit wondered calmly, though Roman could see there was a vague annoyed pull at his eyes. He clearly did not like being questioned.

“If he really was as unhappy as you imply, then why hasn’t he gone back to you and Remus who supposedly know how to ‘handle him’ so much better?” There was a mild flinch in Deceit’s posture, making Roman wondered if he accidently hit a nerve somehow.

“Just say what you came here for, Deceit. We all have other things to do.” Because deceit was rarely straightforward. Virgil hadn’t told him much about living down there, but that much he’d learned.

Janus just huffed and left.

“Charming as always!” Roman huffed as he combed his fingers through his hair.. He let out a sigh and dropped his hand before looking down at Patton.

“Are you alright Padre?” he wondered.

“I… Yes actually. Thank you Roman…” Roman wanted to bid the two bespectacled sides a good day and start writing on the new series and finish of his ideas for the tour, but the he noticed Patton was biting his lip nervously and so he waited.

“Do you really think… he’s not going to take Anxiety back is he?”

Roman smiled warmly down at Patton before turning to Logan. “Logan, could Thomas ‘forget about anxiety’ at this point?” he asked.

Logan cocked his head confused. “No, denying Anxiety is a part of Thomas, the way Thomas refused to acknowledge his presence in the past, is not possible. Deceit does not have the power to force such a change. Only if the three of us were to agree to it, could something like that be accomplished. And I do not intent to participate in such endeavor,” Logan stated. Patton relaxed at that.

“And I suppose I have gotten used to our war of wits. I shan’t permit him to leave until I reign victorious! Speaking of victory! I’m off writing a script so brilliant the fanders will demand more!”

And with that he finally did make his exit.

He returned to his room and immediately started on his projects. He was not sure what Deceit was trying to accomplish, but it would not deter him from his mission.

In the commons Logan has left as well and Patton his tidying up. Trying not to let Deceit’s words get to him… Who’s fault was it? His? Roman’s? Was there another thing he was missing?

At the border of the conscious mind Janus was beyond annoyed. It didn’t really matter. The idea of failure was planted, and if he knew the lights at all it’s that they would try harder to make Virgil feel comfortable, if only to prove him wrong. Virgil would not like that Janus had gotten involved, but he was worried. How couldn’t he be? Over the past few month’s Virgil had been acting off. Sure he was being more sociable, but after every interaction he was so rained he more or less disappeared. That was the only explanation Janus had for the times he’d visited to make sure he was alright and find the room empty. He hadn’t brought it up with Virgil, since doing so would most likely end up being more about him entering Virgil’s room without permission rather than an actual explanation.

And it didn’t really matter. Janus knew one thing with unwavering certainty.

If the lights didn’t get their act together, they might lose him.

Next: momceit

[98prilla]

Seeking Oblivion

Next

Previous

AO3

...

It was midday when Janus came thundering up the stairs, startling Virgil, who was on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, trying to get rid of the final vestiges of jitters from the unbelievable, endless, panic attack from the day before.

 “Jesus, Jan. Warn a side.” That was enough to freeze him in place, the casualness with which Virgil addressed him, using not only his name but his old nickname.

 “you… are we… what?” He stammered, not sure if he’d just wandered into the twilight zone or some alternate reality.

 “look. You… helped me out, yesterday, and I appreciated you checking in, knowing how anxious I must be. Especially… especially since nobody else did.” Virgil’s lips twisted in a small, bitter smile, as he looked away, pulling on his hoodie strings.

 “Virgil-“

 “It’s fine. Everyone… everyone else was busy with their own meltdowns, and it sounded like I wouldn’t have wanted to be there, anyway. Giant frog monster Pat? Yeah, no thanks.” Virgil shuddered, a small smile flashing across Janus’s face.

 “so. Thanks. I guess. Both for helping me, and… and protecting Thomas. You’re really… helpful, when you’re not being an arrogant ass.” Virgil mumbled, and Janus let out a small laugh, softening, accepting Virgil’s olive branch for what it was.

 “We didn’t leave things on the best of terms, so, I get it if we’re not cool. But, um, can we try? To… work together?” Virgil’s voice was a squeak, and Janus smiled, just a bit.

 “Yes. I would like that. You can start with this.” He said, sitting on the couch next to Virgil, seriousness coming back as he remembered why he came up here in the first place, passing the note to Virgil.

“What… is this from Princey?” Virgil mumbled, reading it slowly, eyes widening as he came to the end.

 “What does he mean? Janus, what does he mean ‘I’m sorry and tell Remus I know he’ll be more than I ever was?’ What…” His hands were gripping the paper hard, face paling.

 “It was left on my desk. Roman… he apologizes, for making fun of my name, for calling me the villain and his general attitude towards me, for siding against me with Patton, telling me I was right about all the self care I was preaching, that he hopes everyone takes my advice and takes some time. And he hopes,” his voice cracks for a second, his worry clogging his throat, “he hopes he gets to see everyone once again. I was hoping any of you had seen him since yesterday’s events, I’m… worried.” Virgil shook his head.

 “No, no, we haven’t, we thought… I thought, he was just in his room, cooling down, or upset, or off in the imagination, beating shit up. But that… that doesn’t sound like him. Not ok him. Patton! Lo!”

 Logan rose up first, adjusting his glasses, Patton following shortly after, though he looked slightly more disheveled than Logan, smiling weakly at Janus.

 “Has anyone seen Roman?” Virgil asked, Logan shaking his head, Patton frowning.

 “No, I thought we should give the kiddo some space.” Virgil muttered a curse under his breath, looking to Janus for permission, before passing the note to Logan. He read it with a furrowed brow, Patton peeking over his shoulder, hand flying to cover his mouth as he got to the end.

 “We should check on him. Immediately. I… the tone of this letter is extremely concerning.” Logan, voice shaking just a tad. Without further encouragement, Patton nodded, taking off down the hallway towards Roman’s room, the others not far behind.

 “Roman? Kiddo, you in there?” Patton called, knocking on the door, frowning as he heard nothing in response. “I know you might not wanna talk right now, but can you just let me know you’re ok in there?” He tried again, met once more with only silence. He took a deep breath before trying the handle, a bit relieved to find the room unlocked.

 “Roman?” Logan called hesitantly, stepping past Patton and into the room, eyes widening at the state of it.

 It should have been messy. There should have been playbills from every show they'd been in or attended framed on the walls, a myriad of posters interspersed amongst them. Light should have been shining down from the large, stained glass ceiling, notebooks and loose papers filled with sketches and ideas should have been scattered about every inch of the floor. It should be a chaotic, colorful, clashing, mess.

 Instead…

 Instead it was clean, tidy… empty. Nothing on the pale cream walls, the posters gone, presumably packed into the neat pile of boxes stacked against one wall, each one labeled. Posters, notebooks, clothes, art supplies, all packed away, as if Roman was moving.

 “what the…” Patton passed Logan, pulling the white sheet off the standing mirror, Roman's portal to the imagination, blanching instantly.

 Usually, the portal showed the other side, green fields or a distant castle, magical forests, whatever Roman had conjured. Now it reflected nothing but a light, swirling mist. Carefully, he reached out, gasping as he laid a palm flat against the glass, instead of simply passing through it. His portal was… broken?

 Virgil inhaled sharply, face paling suddenly, and Janus had to wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him steady as he stumbled.

 “Vee?” he asked.

 “It’s cracked. H-his mirror. It’s breaking. Roman's… roman's fading.”

 “No. No he can’t… he hasn’t ducked out! We would know, if he’d ducked out.” Patton answered, unable to take his eyes off the glass, seeing now the small, hairline breaks in the surface, tracing them lightly with his finger.

 “That's not the only thing that could lead to him fading. If he isn’t here, he must be in the imagination.” Janus replied.

 “And given that his portal is no longer working, that leaves us with one option. Remus!” Logan called, not flinching as he instantly popped into existence, so close to his face their noses were touching.

 “Lolo! I’m surprised you called. Finally letting loose? Time for some roleplay? I've always wanted to be the school girl. I’ve been bad professor, surely there's some way I could earn extra credit?” Remus asked in a high falsetto that was also somehow husky. Patton winced, and Logan heard Virgil's faint ‘gross', but he didn’t back away or back down.

 “Fortunately, no. We need passage through the imagination. You are the side to call, are you not?” He asked evenly, Remus backing away with a scowl. He never could get a rise out of Logan.

 “Of course. But you don’t need me for that. You’ve got goody two shoes disney prince. You don’t need me." Remus pouted sourly, pacing away, hands fidgeting wildly.

 “Remus. Look around. Where do you think we are right now?” Logan asked. Remus spun around, glaring at the plain walls, plain floors, plain ceiling, a few hours and some blood, he could make a masterpiece!

 Then his gaze drifted, and he shoved past Logan, barely noticing Patton letting out a squeak and just barely avoiding getting barreled through as his eyes flitted over the mirror.

 He let out a low growl, pressing his palm to the surface, demanding to see, demanding to be let in, demanding it show him.

 Gray. Nothing. Silence.

 He stumbled back, clutching at his chest, eyes wide as he stared at the glass, the cracks ever so slightly longer.

 “oh no no no no. That’s not right. That’s not right at all.”

 “Remus? What is it?” Patton, hesitant.

 “Nothing. It… there was nothing.” Remus gathered himself, spinning on his heel, passing Virgil and Janus as he stalked out the door. “Well? Are you coming or not?” The group glanced at each other, before following Remus back down the stairs.

 He was muttering and mumbling to himself the whole time as he walked, hand clenching and unclenching as he stalked to his own room, shoving open the door, not caring if the others had followed or not as he strode through his mirror, aiming for the border of the kingdom closest to Roman's.

 “are… are we sure about this?” Patton squeaked outside of Remus's room, more than a little intimidated by whatever would be inside his imagination.

 “Yes. If we wish to stop whatever is happening from developing further, we need to follow." Logan replied, not hesitating as he, too, vanished through the mirror.

 “It’ll be ok, Pat. He's… wild, but he’d never do any lasting damage to one of us.” Virgil reassured lowly, taking a breath before stepping through himself.

 “Patton?” Janus slipped his hand into Patton's, summoning all his sincerity as he met the moral side's eyes.

 “you can do this." Patton took a shaky breath, shooting Janus a small, lopsided smile.

 “Ok. Let's go.” Patton whispered, squeezing his hand once before squaring his shoulders and walking through the glass, hand in hand with Janus.

…

 Remus stopped in his tracks as soon as he looked up after crossing the mirror, frozen to the spot.

 This… this was wrong. This was wrong.

 It had let him out on a crag, overlooking Roman's side. Usually it was magical forests and herds of unicorns far as the eye could see, Roman's colorful story book castle rising up in the distance. Maybe a few sparkling gem colored dragons circling the air. The sun gently shining, fluffy white clouds, the perfect image of the perfect day.

 Now, all of that was gone.

 It was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that meant all life had fled, the kind of quiet that stilled the air, the entire world holding its breath.

 A light, gray mist covered the entire plain, though it didn’t smell like rain, like wet earth, like mist should. It was just… there, slowly covering everything. Huge, twisting vines covered in sharp thorns grew from the ground like trees, twisting over and across each other in arches and knots.

 And there, far in the distance, a gray spire of stone, the only thing breaking the monotony of the endless vines, a tower.

 That’s where Roman was. He could feel it. But he couldn’t feel anything else. Him and Roman were linked, to an almost telepathic level at times, and at some level he always knew vaguely what Roman was feeling, the more he concentrated, the more precise he became.

 He was using all his focus now, trying to pull at that link, trying to pull anything from Roman, only to be met again and again by that terrifying blankness of nothing.

 He was barely aware that the other sides had joined him in staring out into the distance, he felt ten degrees removed from his body as he realized what, exactly, was happening. The mist wasn’t just covering everything, it wasn’t a conscious aesthetic choice on Roman’s part, and neither were the vines. They were taking over. They were all that was left, they were slowly but surely destroying Roman’s imagination. And he was in the middle of it.  

 He heard sharp inhales and shocked gasps, dimly realizing he must have spoken aloud, cotton still filling his ears as he refused to take his eyes off the tower.

 Roman.

 He hated Roman.

 He loved Roman.

 He couldn’t live without Roman.

 “Remus.” Suddenly Janus was before him, close, and he snapped his attention to him, despair filling him as he met those gold and brown eyes. “Breathe. We will get him back.”

 “promise?” He whispered, feeling tears pricking his eyes, and god, if Roman did come back from this, he was going to murder him all over again.

 “promise. We need you to show us the way.” He shook his head.

 “I don’t know. I can still conjure over there, sure, but I can’t change the landscape, I can’t get us any closer than this! We’d have to walk it and that would take days, and by that time, the mist will have swallowed up everything, and there’ll be nothing left, including us, and then Thomas will be no better than a potato!” He yelled, arms flailing above his head as he ranted, pacing restlessly, everything in him screaming to move.

 “We have longer than you are estimating, Remus. Roman has been a central part of Thomas for nigh on three decades. It is therefore unlikely that he would fade quite so quickly, especially since he has not ducked out. He is in the imagination, where he is arguably strongest. And… he is not trying to fade, based on his letter. We have time, as much as it feels otherwise. We have time to fix this.” Logan interjected, his science tempered with his nervous tone, though his eyes, too, were fixed on the horizon.

 “We won’t fix anything just standing around here all day. Are we going, or not?” Virgil asked, glaring out at the vines, a glare nearly strong enough to make them wilt on his face, as he turned to Remus.

 “You can at least make stairs to get us down there, right?” Remus nodded, a snap of his fingers and a winding stairway was cut into the stone. Virgil gave a sharp nod in thanks, starting down the pathway, down towards the mist, down towards Roman.

 Logan gave his shoulder a squeeze as he passed, a small sign of reassurance and solidarity. Janus softly bumped his shoulder as he made his way to the stairs. And Patton… Patton slipped his hand into his, nearly making him jump at the sign of affection, from Patton, of all people.

 “come on, kiddo. Let’s go.”

[authorized-trash]

To Tie a Knot: Chapter 4: That Moment When Fate Ships You With Four Other People

Ao3

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Five

Content Warnings: Mentioned character death, vomit mention, self deprecation, panic attack, cursing, (tell me if there's more)

Chapter Summary:

That moment when you need to find yet another boyfriend to add to your collection, *sigh*.

Word Count:

2,500+

Note:

I was hit with inspiration for some reason, so here’s this chapter, and the next one will be up in a little bit, I just got to format it for tumblr. Sorry its been awhile, this story is kinda just, I update whenever my mind decides to. 

Everyone over on Ao3 has taken well to this chapter and the next chapter, so I hope you all do too!

(Incase you were wondering, i changed up the chapter titles, i got tired of trying to come up with different alliterate phrases, so im just gonna be dumb with the titles as;ldfkj)

- -

Damian hadn’t even noticed when he slumped to his knees. Tears dripped from his cheeks and landed onto his outstretched palm. Remy’s eyes widened and he quickly moved to get on Damian’s level.

“Dee? You okay there? Did you not know?” He asked, gently taking Damian’s trembling hands in his own. Damian let him, too shocked to take them back.

“N-no? What? How am I supposed to deal with four Remy, I already lost one I can’t- I can’t lose four!” Damian said, staring blankly at his hands, at the strings he was now aware of. He could feel them tug and twitch as his soulmates moved. They were all pretty close to one another, stretching in the same direction. Figures, they had probably met up by now. 

Damian was the outcast.

“You aren’t going to lose them,” Remy said, an edge to his voice, “Damian you won’t lose them, you were jus- just unlucky the first time, babes, I promise. This time will be better.”

“No Remy you don’t understand, they’re paired with me, they’ll die, I’m bad luck or something-”

“Damian Janus Lyer, don’t. Don’t say that. You’re not. I know you, this isn’t you, you’re just tired and not thinking clearly. This is a good thing. You aren’t bad luck. You aren’t, and babes, if I hear you say that one more time I’m going to throw some punches,” Remy said. Damian gave a watery chuckle, and Remy smirked.

“Listen, you are in no state to go in there right now. Why don’t we ditch for a little while and go get some food or somethin’”

Damian nodded, moving to stand. He dusted himself off. He looked down at his strings. The four colors were all lovely, red, blue, indigo, and purple. The colors were deep and ethereal in a magicky sort of way. 

Without thinking he strummed a finger across them, and startled when three out of the four tugged back. The last one, purple, started vibrating in a way that one would think meant the person on the other side was running their finger across the line.

More tears gathered in Damian’s eyes. He was connected with these people. They were his soulmates. They were there, on the other side, waiting. The thought of them being disappointed weighed heavy, but in this small moment he could only think of the opportunity that was given to him.

Remy watched this with a small smile, ruffling Damian’s hair as they began to walk off campus to his car.

Damian followed, hurriedly wiping the tears from his eyes and smoothing his hair down.

“Listen, babes, you pick where we eat, and I’ll pay.”

Damian shrugged, “Thanks.”

“What? No arguing that you’ll pay this time?”

Damian rolled his eyes, “You offered and I’m too emotionally confused to argue.” 

His voice was thick with tears and still wobbled every once in a while, but he had managed to compose himself well enough by now. He slid into the car seat next to Remy.

He made a point not to touch the strings, not wanting them to move. He didn’t want to seem needy or something. He relaxed fractionally, attempting to gaige some personality from the strings. Indigo (Or was it navy? It was rather dark, nearly black. It was decidedly not black when reflecting light), was shaking around as if someone was writing with that hand. Red was pretty still, expect for a few swoopy movements, as if the person was flailing their arms around. Purple was shaking slightly but otherwise not moving, and blue was fluttering around like crazy, and Damian was certain the person was messing with their string.

For a moment he wondered what his string looked like to them. He hoped it was yellow, maybe gold. He liked those colors. Green would also be nice, but he doubted that was the color, seeing as his last soul string was gre-

Damian’s breath hitched, and that feeling of loss hit him hard, and he clenched his hands into fists. Remy glanced over at him, but didn’t comment.

He was so caught up in this new soulmate business he had forgotten he had already had one. One he had lost. The string he had grown up with, the one he had talked about with friends in grade school. The one that appeared on his fragile little hands when he was born. The part of his soul that he grew to know.

The one he knew would shake wildly sometimes, or tug painfully at others. The one he would console with gentle strokes late at night when he would wake up to it trembling. The one that would do the same for him, that had always been a comfortable weight throughout his recovery as a kid.

He would never meet the other end. Never know who it was. 

They could have died suddenly or painfully, and here they were, forgotten by their soulmate a month later due to the reassigning. Damian was so ready to forget them, and the guilt of that was weighing on him so hard he wanted to vomit.

He pulled his knees to his chest and tried to steady his breathing, ignoring the light feeling of the dangling frayed string on his hand. 

He closed his eyes and lied to himself about how bad it hurt.

-

“It is a very lovely shade of yellow,” Roman commented from where he was laying on the couch. He was looking up towards the ceiling, his hand containing his string collection in front of his face as he examined the sun colored string as it swung with the others.

“It reminds me of a sunflower when hit by the sun juuusst right,” Patton said, curled up on Roman’s chest. He was also looking at Roman’s hand, messing with his own strings absentmindedly. 

Logan was sitting in the arm chair across the room, having stayed home. They all had decided to take the day off of responsibilities, this was a large occasion, after all. He had a notepad on his lap and was writing down everything he could about the situation. He had a knack for writing information about anything and everything down. He liked to be well documented.

Virgil was curled up on the floor, scrolling through Tumblr in the way he does when he’s thinking, and not reading a single thing. If it looked like art and was colorful, he reblogged it without thinking. He was more focused on the way the new string on his hand looked as he occasionally typed.

They all sat around in domestic silence, preparing for the long talk they were going to have to have soon. 

They all noticed it, despite no one saying it aloud. That feeling of something missing. They grew up with it, but had by now gotten so used to that feeling of wholeness. Now that it was gone, so suddenly? They didn’t know how to feel about it, really. It’s easy to lose something you didn’t get a chance to know or experience, but getting a taste of something amazing to have it disappear was near torture.

“I think it appears to resemble the yellow paint Roman likes to get all of the carpet,” Logan said, lips upturning slightly at Roman’s upfronted sound.

“Nah, it def’ looks like… I don’t know, snakey,” Virgil said.

“Snakey?” Roman asked, laughing slightly, “What about the color looks like a slithering reptile?”

“Uh, snakes equal yellow, duh? Same as seven being green,” Virgil rolled his eyes as if it were obvious.

Patton laughed, “Kiddo, seven is pink.”

“Seven is seven? It cannot be either pink or green, it is a number,” Logan said, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“Just let them be weird, Specs, with their weird color assigning,” Roman laughed, sitting up. Patton yelped as he slid off the couch.

“Listen, I’m just saying its snake yellow,” Virgil said, “But if you wann-”

Virgil was caught off as a particularly hard twinge came from the yellow string. He looked around at the others, and noticed they had felt it too. Up until this point the string was pretty chill, if a little shaky. Logan had suggested earlier it was due to shock.

As crazy as gaining a new string out of the blue was a wild, gaining four strings must have been insane. Virgil pitied the poor person, it probably scared the shit out of them.

Without thinking, he reached forward and ran his index finger over the string a few times, showing that he was here.

“This is so exciting! We have another soulmate to hunt down!” He waved his arms around animatedly. He looked as if the idea had just clicked for him.

There was a whole other person out there waiting for them, someone who would fit into their little dynamic. Someone with likes and dislikes and quirks and feelings, a whole human being.

Virgil felt himself smiling along with the others. Logan had gone back to scribbling on his notepad, even faster this time. Patton was chatting with Roman about the possibilities while rolling the string around in his fingers.

Virgil curled into the warmth of his hoodie, and for once, allowed himself to look forward to the unknown future.

-

By the time Damian had gotten home late that night, he was exhausted. He collapsed onto his bed in a pile of limbs, kicking his shoes off and snuggling into the covers. He didn’t bother with his shirt other than unbuttoning the top couple of buttons, and he had long since ditched his gloves. They were currently somewhere buried in his bag.

He and Remy had loitered around town for a while, talking about anything and everything. Damian had really tried to be in high spirits and give his usual sarcasm, but he just wasn’t feeling it. 

His eyes drifted shut, and the beginnings of a dream had already begun to swirl, sounds and nonsense conversations were supplied to his mind, and he let his mind wander as it drifted into resting mode.

That is, until he felt a tug on his ring finger.

 He opened his eyes a bit, glancing down at his hand, at the indigo string.

Tug.

His eyes opened, he was paying attention now.

Tug tug tug tug. Tug. Tug pull tug tug. Tug pull tug tug. Pull pull pull.

Damian moved to sit up, but found the effort to be too much. He decided, through the hazy-slow process that was thinking when half asleep, that this was a matter of importance, and therefore should happen in the morning. So he fell back asleep without paying it too much mind.

-

Logan sighed heavily as he stood from his chair, giving up on tapping out a message to their new soulmate. During their talk earlier the group had decided that it would be a good idea to try and meet this person as soon as possible, in order to diminish the time they felt incomplete.

It shouldn’t be too difficult. They could all drive, and all felt like the soulmate had to be relatively close. Reassignments normally happened to people who are near each other. The farthest recorded reassigned soulmates were four states away from each other. Almost everyone else was within the same state at least.

Logan had proposed morse code, the same way he and Patton had found each other, and the way they would occasionally send stupidly sappy quotes to one another on occasion. It must have been too late because the person wasn’t answering. He would have to try again sometimes tomorrow.

He heard a soft knock on his office door, and a few hushed whispers from somewhere farther in their shared house.

“Yes?” He called through the door, looking over as it slowly opened. It was only a little past midnight, but he still felt it to be inappropriate to talk any louder.

“Hey Lo? Me and the other two were wondering if you could join us in the kitchen to talk… again,” Patton said softly, leaning against the doorframe.

“The others and I,” Logan corrected, but nodded as he stood up, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. My sleeping schedule is probably messed up at this point anyway.”

Patton smiled fondly, and turned to lead Logan back to the kitchen. Virgil and Roman were sitting across from each other at the table, bickering about something under their voices.

They both looked up when Logan walked in,

“Okay, so, now that we’re all here,” Patton started, clasping his hands together as he sat down. Logan pulled up a chair, spinning it so it was backwards. He loathed to sit in chairs normally, both he and Virgil seemed to share that small quirk. Roman simply splayed himself out on the nearest surface, and Patton tended to sit criss-cross on the floor more often than a chair.

Logan shook his head to snap himself out of his wandering thoughts, focusing back onto Patton.

“We’ve come to a decision, Logan, and I’m sorry you weren’t here a little earlier, but we didn’t want to bother your work.” Logan nodded, not at all perturbed by being left out of the conversation. In fact, he was happy they left him to his own devices for awhile. It’s not like he was out of the loop, they were having the conversation for a reason.

“And?” He asked, quirking his head to the side.

“-And we’ve come to the conclusion-”

“Patton, please stop sounding so serious, it’s unnerving, that’s Logan’s thing,” Virgil cut in, rolling his eyes fondly.

Patton snickered, but continued, “We think it would be best if you were the one to go find our new soulmate. Like you said earlier, meeting all of us at once might be too much for them, and you’re one the… er… easier of us to handle.”

“Roman would probably serenade them the moment he saw them,” Virgil teased, elbowing said soulmate.

“Excuse you, you’d scare them off with all that,” Roman gestured to Virgil’s outfit, “Edge.”

“I see. So when should I leave? I’ll have to call off work and do extra to catch up in my classes.”

“Sometime tomorrow would be good, Lo. I’m hoping to meet them by the end of the week. I really do think they’re close, if not in town.”

“I agree,” Roman nodded, and Virgil shifted and did so as well.

“Very well. I’ll leave around noon, then. I planned on continuing with the messages until I manage to get an answer, Perhaps they’ll tell me where they are. It shouldn’t be much harder than that.”

“Yeah! That sounds awesome,” Patton smiled, then suddenly squealed and flapped his hands, “Ooh I’m just so excited to meet them, my goodness-”

“I wonder what they will be like, I don’t think I could stand another emo in the group,” Roman joked, and Virgil swatted at them.

“Listen here Princey, you like my emo. Besides, your eyeliner was a hot mess before I showed you how to properly apply it, so you better thank this emo,” Virgil snapped playfully.

Logan watched them with a soft expression, standing up and stretching.

“We should all get some rest, then. Big day tomorrow,” Logan said, walking towards their room. The others nodded and moved to stand.

Big day, indeed.

-

-

Taglist in reblog

[sanderssides-springfling]

The Frogman

For @space-mothman 

Synopsis- Analogical cryptid-hunting AU in which they search for the mysterious Frogman for a college documentary project.

Warning- Swearing + Minor wound

Note- Hiya!! I’ve had a lot of fun working with the wishes you asked for and I’m super excited to see what you think of it! I hope you’re doing well :D

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Virgil held up the two near-identical hoodies in front of the mirror, deciding which to wear when a familiar head poked through the doorway. 

“Ooh, are you getting ready for your little date?” 

Virgil walked over to kick him out when Janus joined in. 

“Leave our darling little brother alone Remus, his boyfriend will be here soon. We have to find the baby pictures before he arrives.”

“He’s not my boyfriend! The teacher paired us up. I had no say in it.” Virgil said as he tried and failed to push the pair out. “And if either of you shows him any embarrassing pictures of me, you’re both dead.”

“Wow, how scary,” mocked Remus as Janus mimed a face of fear. He then added, “If I were you I’d go for the one on the left, it makes you look less…intimidating and murdery.”

Virgil swatted at him with the hoodie before putting it on reluctantly, huffing about how he was planning to choose it anyway because it was ‘warmer’.

Just then the doorbell rang. Virgil’s eyes opened wide as he ran down the stairs to get to the door first but he was no match for Remus. He shoved Virgil out of the way and opened the door wide. 

“You must be Logan. We’ve heard so much about you. Why don’t you come in?” He invited with a wild grin on his face.

Virgil stared daggers at Remus as Logan walked in, politely telling Remus he has a lovely home. He was wearing a jean jacket over an unbuttoned plaid shirt and a graphic t-shirt depicting Mothman. His soft-looking hair fell over the rim of his glasses, the eyes behind them taking in his new surroundings.

Before Virgil could tell Logan they should leave, Janus began his, rehearsed, warnings. “You better take good care of my brother, young man. I’m expecting you to bring him home with at least three remaining limbs and having gone through a maximum of one demon possession, preferably none, or else there will be hell to pay. I’m also expecting you to keep criminal activity to a minimum along with the use of venomous vipers, they’re nasty creatures.” 

To Virgil’s surprise, Logan had taken out a notepad and started to make notes, taking his speech seriously. Janus clearly wasn’t expecting this either as his expression softened towards Logan. “It’s obvious you’ll take good care of him. I’ll let you two go because I’m sure you have plenty of ‘work’ to do.” He winked at Virgil. “Just be careful.”

“But-”

“The baby photos and home videos can wait for their second date Rem, let’s give Virge a chance to embarrass himself without our help first.”

Virgil glared at his brothers as he dragged Logan outside, only mildly thankful Janus let him off that easy. What had he done to deserve being stuck with those two morons?

“Have fun!” Remus called out as the door slammed closed. 

“Come on, I parked down the road. It’s not far.” Logan set off walking away, Virgil joining him a moment later.

“I’m super sorry about them,” Virgil said. “Ignore everything they said, they’re not worth wasting energy on.”

“It’s quite alright Virgil, it’s clear they care for you. I have always admired the dynamic between siblings.”

“You’re an only child? Lucky.” He thought back to how embarrassing his brothers were. They took every opportunity available to tease Virgil, regardless of whether they were alone or with any of his few friends. In moments like that, it was hard to remember why he loved them. He reminded himself, trying to calm down.

On his worst nights, Remus would tell him a gruesome ‘bedtime story’ while Deceit badgered him to add a happy end. They would also take him to concerts of bands he liked and try to fit into the scene even though they hated the music and fashion. Seeing Janus in a My Chemical Romance shirt trying not to curse after jabbing himself in the eye with Virgil’s eyeliner was still one of his fondest memories.

“Although,” Virgil added, “It does have its advantages.”

Logan stopped in front of an old pickup truck. Despite the carefully polished hubcaps and fresh paint job, it had visibly been through a lot.

“Here we are, our ride for the evening.” Logan took hold of the passenger door handle. “The door can be a little tricky sometimes.” He rattled the handle, banging at a spot a few inches below it. The door sprang open. “Like to most things, there’s a trick.”

He pulled the door open fully, holding it for Virgil as he clambered up. “Uh…thanks.”

Logan proceeded to join him from the driver’s side. “It may not look it but it’s a strong and reliable vehicle, I spent all last summer fixing it up.” He said proudly.

“No, no, it’s nice!” Virgil reassured him. “Does it have a name?” 

“Why would my truck have a name?” Logan asked, appearing puzzled. He put his key in the ignition. The vehicle whirred to life.

“Nevermind. Are you excited to film our project?” 

“Incredibly so! When Mr Picani said we had to make a documentary on any subject I got super excited about the idea of cryptid hunting! Thank you for going along with it!”

“Whatever gets me to pass the class dude. Plus this seems like a better way to spend time than filming ladybugs walking on leaves and doing some boring commentary.” What Virgil didn’t add was that after seeing the excitement of Logan’s face when he proposed the idea, Virgil couldn’t find it in his heart to say no. 

He shuffled in his seat. “I’m also really happy I got partnered with you. I know we haven’t talked much but you seem a lot easier to get along with than the other people in our class.” Virgil smiled in Logan’s direction and despite the dim lighting, he could have sworn he saw Logan blush.

“Oh, thank you, Virgil. You too have ‘good vibes’ if I’m using the term correctly.” Virgil grinned, telling Logan he did. 

“How about some music?” Logan asked before turning on the radio. Pop music crackled out of it, gently playing for the rest of their journey.

~~~~

A cold wind blew through the dense, gloomy woods. In the clearing before it, stood a teenager speaking to a camera, visible in the dying light of the sun.

“There are many legends about the Sanders Wilds, however, most revolve around the same being. A creature said to lurk in the depths of these woods, waiting for unsuspecting victims. 

He has been described as a slimy beast with incredible jumping abilities, his hind muscular legs able to propel him forward metres at a time. He most often appears by the many bodies of water found in this forest.

Although no-one has ever disappeared in the woods, most locals swear they’ve met one of the unfortunate souls chased by the being whose very existence is in question.

He goes by many names. The Shadow, the Beast of the Sanders Wilds and recently he’s been referred to as ‘Scary Todd’ by a youngster from a neighbouring Elementary school.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows from behind the camera when he heard ‘youngster’ but Logan brushed it off and continued.

“The most common name of the cryptid we will be investigating today, inspired by its many characteristics, is” Logan stopped for dramatic effect. “The Frogman.“

“That’s quite the speech you prepared there” Virgil called out as he put down the video camera and rubbed his forearm. His arms had begun to stiffen during Logan’s monologue 

“Are you ready to go in?” Logan asked.

Virgil froze. There was only one problem, something he hadn’t told Logan- He was scared. 

Virgil knew that technically there wasn’t anything to be scared of. The frogman was nothing more than an urban legend, mere shadows and reflections mistaken for something, however, it was the what if’s that plagued Virgil’s mind. What if the frogman was real? What if he appeared? Worst of all… what if he caught them? Virgil wasn’t sure if he was willing to risk his life to pass a college class he didn’t even like that much.

“Virgil?” Logan looked concerned. “Are you alright?”

Great, Virgil scolded himself. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to tell Logan in the first place. More than anything he didn’t want Logan to think he was a nervous wreck, scared of a fake monster. Now he’d have to tell his handsome partner he was a chicken and he would totally think less of Virgil. Oh why does Logan have to be so handsome, Virgil thought to himself as he looked towards his cryptid hunting companion. 

He was tall, with a sturdy frame that was perfect for giving supportive hugs and his hair was unruly in all the right ways, looking good for running your fingers through. It was very difficult to focus on anything else, Virgil had to admit. Good looking people never failed to make things more difficult.

“I- I’m just… a little scared.” Virgil mumbled reluctantly. “As controversial as it is, I’m not too keen on the whole getting captured by a forest monster thing.”

“Oh.” Logan looked disappointed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not too late to change the project. I can drive us to the library and we can get started in something different. All that matters is that you feel comfortable.”

Virgil felt touched. Logan was willing to give up something he wanted to do for his well being? It wasn’t often that happened. That’s why he was determined to go in anyway. “No way. We’re going in there and finding that frogman. Just… promise to protect me from any monsters?” Virgil managed a smile as he held out his pinky, holding the camcorder in his other hand.

“Pinky promise,” Logan answered solemnly, hooking his finger around Virgil’s. Then, he smiled wide. “Now, let’s go say hi to The Beast. And…” He paused apprehensively as if he was trying to pick out the right words. “If you’re alright carrying the camcorder with one hand, maybe I could hold your hand? So you feel safe?”

Virgil laughed, slipping his hand into Logan’s. It felt warm compared to the cool evening. “As long as you’re okay with shaky footage.” He joked.

Logan led them into the forest, pulling out a flashlight from his pocket while Virgil switched the camera back on. There was an eerie quiet only broken by the crackling of leaves and snapping of branches under their feet. 

“Hey, Logan, you know you can talk, right? We can edit everything out of the footage later.” There was still no response. 

Virgil glanced towards Logan, seeing him staring intensely at a spot in the direction they were walking. “Make sure you get this.” He murmured before rushing up, tugging Virgil with him. He crouched down next to an animal print in the muddy ground. Virgil let go of his hand so he could step back and get a better angle. 

“This right here is an animal footprint however it belongs to no regular being. While it seems to belong to an amphibian creature as is indicated by the pattern and the indentation from webbing, it is bigger than any regular amphibians could produce.” Logan splayed his hand above the mark to demonstrate. They were around the same size. “This must be the footprint of the Frogman.”

Yay, Virgil thought to himself. Evidence of a creature that might kill them. How wonderful. 

He walked to Logan and helped him up, keeping hold of Logan’s hand afterwards because there was no way he was going to risk getting separated from him now. He also enjoyed the feeling of Logan’s hand in his, it made him a feeling of joy that he couldn’t quite place.

They continued when there was a sudden rustling a few metres in front of them. Instinctively Virgil squeezed Logan’s hand harder, holding onto him for safety. They both froze. Logan’s torch turned to the source of the sound, a bush. A moment later a squirrel scampered out of the said bush, disappearing into the darkness as quickly as it appeared. Both Logan and Virgil sighed in relief.

“That sure was one terrifying squirrel,” Virgil said as they continued to walk deeper into the woods. 

Virgil attempted to strike up small talk again, not wanting things to become awkward. “I like your Mothman shirt.”

“Oh, thank you, Virgil.” Logan beamed, the way he only did when he was speaking about something he was passionate about. “I had a really big cryptid phase as a child, so big my parents decided to take us to Point Pleasant for the summer break one year. That’s the hometown of Mothman, they have a statue of him and everything. It was incredible. That’s when I got the shirt! It’s been a good luck charm. Not that I believe in luck but it never hurts something else on your side”

“You got it as a kid and it still fits? You must’ve been a tall kid.”

“It was the middle of their tourist season so they were sold out of all the youth sizes. According to my mother, it made a very fashionable dress.”

Virgil held back giggles as the thought of a smaller Logan wearing that shirt going down to his knees with a pair of fashionable red heels crossed his mind. For whatever reason, if Logan were to wear a dress, Virgil believed he’d wear it with stunning red heels. He seemed the type.

“Did you spot The Mothman?” he asked, only half kidding.

“Unfortunately not, although it was probably for the best as I was going to ask him for an autograph. I doubt that would have gone down well with Him.“

The idea of a smaller Logan wearing an oversized Mothman merchandise shirt going down to his knees and a pair of fashionable red heels walking up to the Lord of the Shadows himself, at least double his height, and asking him to sign his autograph book was so funny to Virgil that he stopped in his tracks wheezing, his eyes brimming with tears. 

Seeing Logan’s bewildered expression, he tried to calm himself. After a few moments catching his breath trying to keep a straight he was able to regain his composure. “Sorry Lo, I’m fine now.”

“Can I ask-”

“No” Virgil interrupted him. “It’s really for the best you don’t.”

“Alright Virgil, I’ll trust you on this one.” He hummed a song Virgil wasn’t familiar with for a few moments. Then, he said, “I had an idea for while we’re either walking towards the Frogman or further into the depth of woods we might get lost in.” Virgil wasn’t sure if Logan was kidding and frankly he didn’t want to know. 

“Yeah L, what is it?” Virgil’s mind started to race when he realized he had called Logan a nickname. While only a shortening of his name, it still seemed very personal and friendly. What if it bothers him? What if he thinks it’s weird? 

“Well Vee,” Logan paused to see Virgil’s reaction, looking smug. Virgil stuck his tongue out at him. He wouldn’t admit it but his heart would flutter whenever he got that self-righteous expression on his face, seen often when he corrected the teacher or had got full marks on a test. It was cute. Very annoying, but cute.

“We could directly target your fear of the Frogman. You would have to trust me though.”

“I trust you,” Virgil answered with no hesitation. He squeezed Logan’s hand in his.

“Oh…um…” Logan appeared flustered. “This is going to seem scary but there’s a very low possibility of a negative outcome. Now…repeat after me.”

Logan took a deep breath before yelling “Fuck you Frogman!”

Virgil startled, not expected Logan to be so brazen. Yelling was a common occurrence for Logan however such vulgarities? Directed at a possibly supernatural creature who was reported as dangerous? He shook his head in disbelief.

Logan looked at him pointedly. “Oh no Logan, there is no way-” He stopped realizing there would be no convincing Logan. “Fine.” He grumbled.

“Frick you Frogman.” The words sounded uncertain. 

“That was a good first attempt, Virgil. If you want to try again, you should really try to metaphorically shake off any inhibitions and really go for it. I did promise to protect you, the Frogman won’t hurt you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

They had come to a stop next to a running stream of water. Virgil slipped his camcorder into his hoodie pocket and let go of Logan’s hand, freeing both his arms. After running his fingers through his hair trying to build up enough confidence and jumping where he stood for a moment getting into an energetic mood, he felt ready. Or as ready as he could be. 

Angling his head to the sky he screamed at the top of his lungs “Fuck you Frogman!”

He laughed in exhilaration, adrenaline running through his veins. Virgil felt invincible. “And fuck your Frogmother too!” He raised his hand for a high five.

“Yes!” Logan exclaimed. As he stepped towards Virgil, he must have been too excited to look where he walked because his foot caught on a tree branch. 

Instinctively Virgil went to grab Logan’s hand to keep him up, however, Virgil started hurtling towards the creek as well, knocked off balance. He gasped as he hit the cold water, a moment later crashing into Logan.

The stream had been quite shallow, a foot deep at most. Virgil, quite luckily, didn’t experience the brute of the fall, having fallen on top of Logan. He rolled off and tried to stand. He would definitely have a couple nasty bruises later, he thought to himself. 

“Hey Lo, are you okay?” Virgil looked for the torch that fell out of Logan’s hand during his fall. It wasn’t far and within seconds he was shining it directly at Logan’s face. Logan didn’t appreciate it.

“I’m fine, I assure you but please get that out of my face. The light is blinding.” Virgil muttered a few apologies while helping Logan to his feet. Overall, whilst cold and mildly pained, Logan appeared to be okay overall.

The two were both standing up in the middle of the creek. Although their feet were still submerged in the freezing cold water neither seemed to notice nor care. Instead, they were both looking directly at each other. 

They inched closer and Logan began softly “Virgil, I’ve been meaning to tell you-” however he didn’t get to finish that sentence.

There was a raucous splashing sound from further upstream. Then there was another, this time louder. Whatever was making the noise was approaching. 

Virgil shared a look of terror with Logan. He grabbed the camera and started recording as a shadowy figure started to form. Its form was unclear, however, it moved forward the way a frog might, leaping up and forward. Virgil was sure, it was The Frogman. 

“What are you waiting for, Vee? Run.” Logan urged him to come however Virgil was frozen in fear. This was the end for him. He’d never see Janus and Remus again. He’d never tell Logan how he feels. 

Logan snatched the torch from Virgil and took his now-free hand into his. Glancing back to the shadowy figure a final time, he muttered a few profanities, irked, then started to run, dragging Virgil with him. This was enough to snap Virgil out of his state, as he started running alongside Logan as fast as he could. The sound of the Frogman thudding behind them, hot on their trail, motivated them to keep going.

Virgil would never consider himself particularly athletic, which paired with the fact his legs were quite short created a challenge as he attempted to keep up with Logan, however, Adrenaline paired with the fact Logan wouldn’t have let him fall behind if he wanted to keep him as far from the Frogman as possible.

The journey out the forest was a blur. Virgil remembered stumbling however he got back up immediately. Logan shined the torch in front of them so they didn’t run into any trees. As a few minutes passed the sound of the Frogman following them faded away but neither would risk stopping. They continued forward and by some miracle, they had returned to the clearing where they had started, Logan’s pickup truck only a few yards away.

Logan slowed down to a stop outside it. “It’s alright, he won’t follow us out here.”

“That’s… really… great… Lo.” Virgil panted. He could feel his heart pounding in his head as he breathed so heavily he thought he might cough his lungs out. “How…are you…back to normal…so fast?”

“Oh, I did track in high school. Now you stay there while I get something.”

Virgil leaned against the truck as Logan rummaged around in his glove compartment. He pulled out an emergency foil blanket. He wrapped it over Virgil’s shoulders. “I only have one so you better keep that on. That water was freezing and I don’t want you getting hypothermic. You’re still soaking wet after all. Are you injured anywhere?” 

Unsure, Virgil checked. Sure enough, he had a cut on his shin. Damn, it must’ve happened when I tripped, he thought to himself. Only as the energy from the run wore off, he started to feel it sting.

“Is it okay if I clean that cut for you? I have a first aid kit in the truck’s cargo bed.” 

“Thanks, dude, I would really appreciate that. You better get under this blanket right after though, you’re not allowed to get hypothermic either.”

Logan smiled then pulled out a first aid kit from the back of the truck. “You can have a seat on the grass.” Once Virgil did, Logan joined him. “How are you feeling?”

“Still in shock and denial. It’ll probably only sink in later tonight that we got chased by the actual Frogman. How about you?” 

“Honestly…I feel incredible. We saw the Frogman! The Frogman is real” Logan grinned. “Also, this might hurt a bit” he warned Virgil as he disinfected the cut. He was right. Virgil’s eyes pricked with tears.

“It’s a good thing my jeans were already so ripped, that way people won’t even question this one.” he joked. 

“Did your camera survive that? I hope it’s not water damaged.”

“Nah don’t worry, it’s been through a lot. A little fall and water aren’t going to be the thing to break it.” He inspected the camera. “Unfortunately…I can’t say the same for the footage. The memory card looks completely fried.”

Logan’s smile fell. “That’s a shame, although maybe it’s for the best. The Frogman can continue living his best life in the forest with no scientists looking for him since there’s still no evidence.”

“Really?” Virgil asked incredulously. “You. The smartest person I know. Is against scientists?”

“Well… I’m not against scientists but having watched E.T. as a kid, I wouldn’t trust them with any rare or unusual beings.” He put a plaster on the cleaned injury then looked at his handiwork proudly.

Virgil was bemused by this. “You do know that’s a fictional movie, right?” After Logan did not answer he decided it was best to change tact. 

“C’mon, join me under this blanket so you can warm up before we drive away. I’m thinking we go to mine? I can make us some hot chocolate and we can decide what to do with the assignment. I can also lend you some dry clothes if you don’t mind being dressed Emo.” 

Logan moved so he was sat next to Virgil, their shoulders touching as the blanket covered them. “Sounds great Vee.”

“It’s a shame we wasted the evening though.” Virgil moped, but then Logan turned to face him. Their faces were mere inches away.

“Actually, I wouldn’t call it a wasted evening. I had a lot of fun spending the evening with you. “ 

Virgil was more taken aback by that than he was by him cursing at the Frogman. “I enjoyed spending the evening with you too. You’re really kind and surprisingly easy to talk to. I hope we could maybe spend some time together after this assignment is over if that’s something you’d like?” 

Virgil felt the tips of his ears burning as his face flushed completely. He knew he was being obvious now but it seemed worth it. Putting himself out there didn’t seem as scary with Logan.

Logan spoke as gently as he had when they were standing in the creek together.

“About that. I wanted to tell you something before we were rudely interrupted earlier.”

“Mhm?” Virgil murmured, not trusting himself to say any proper words.

“I believe I have romantic feelings for you, Virgil. I highly enjoy speaking with you and when you’re around my heart begins to beat faster. If you were to feel the same way I would love to take you on a date perhaps? With fewer cryptids, I assure you. If not-”

“Me too,” Virgil said, in disbelief, cutting him off. He didn’t want to hear the ’If not’ because he liked Logan back. A lot. He took hold of Logan’s hand. 

“If it’s okay with you Logan, can I kiss you?” He was surprised by his own confidence, but it felt right. Everything felt right.

Logan answered not with words but by closing the gap between the two of them. It was short and sweet. According to Virgil, it was perfect. Perhaps the evening wasn’t a waste after all.

[missfay49]

So... Thoughts on the new episode? :)

Nonnie, I could write an essay on this episode.  And i just might.

There I was, just “supes caszhj” as Griffin McElroy would say, watching Patton sincerely trying to be less strict, pleasantly surprised that everyone was not at each other’s throats...  

C!Thomas busting in all hotheaded was a bit of a misdirect, but it let us know he was actually really upset about it, so the rest of the characters could be more measured.

Then Logan pops in, trying to be “less distracting” and failing completely because, honestly, were any of us anywhere able to read any of those speech bubbles without pausing?  Roman knew it, he couldn’t even keep up while narrating.  It was extremely distracting!

I was not quite getting the theme yet, but I could see that they kept dead-ending at each example.  It was like (and turned out to be) Patton wasn’t addressing the problems that were being presented.  I actually got pretty frustrated, because it felt like they were stuck in a loop (you can say that again).  

He kept pushing the complicated problems aside for more clear cut problems, and trying to extrapolate from there.  But it never worked, the answer was never satisfying.  Because some problems just can’t be simplified.

The Trolley Problem was really the sign, for me, that things were getting out of control.  The most accepted answer (I think) is that you should pull the lever, because 5 lives are more important than 1 life, and choosing to not act is still a choice.  They never even got to that conclusion.  And that’s because solving the Trolley Problem didn’t actually matter.  What mattered was seeing the extremes to which Patton would go to put others first, because he couldn’t let go of his black and white view of the world.  His views literally (in game) knock C!Thomas out.  His views were symbolically self-defeating.

And I, a fool, foolishly thought it was wild enough when LilyPadton’s video game attack K.O.’d video game C!Thomas.  But Then!  THEN!  Deceit puts all his cards on the table.  In a throwback to the courtroom scene, he raises his right (human) hand and speaks the truth.  His name.  

(Yes I thought there was something written on his hand and yes I thought he said Janice, I am only human, so sushi.)

If you recall, Janus never really swore to tell the truth back then.  He says “I know I do,” but he himself had not put a hand on a book to swear by.  (Fun side note: neither does Virgil.  He never touches the book offered and just says “whatever.”)  So, symbolically, this moment is the first time we see him make a conscious effort to be honest.

I. Died.

Or at least I would have, if Roman had not immediately pushed the scene forward again.  (seriously, could someone make a video edit where, instead of being mocked, there’s just silence, and pictures of random movie scenes where ppl are smiling and saluting?)  And while the words that followed were unanimously heartbreaking, the timing of their responses was more important to the video.  

The constant pushing, rushing, struggling that all the characters were going through was so true to form for emotional turmoil.  You’re trying so hard to figure it out, but each possible solution comes up short and you just keep leaping to the next option, looking for the answers.  All these thoughts keep popping in unannounced (Logan), and your mind is a mess.

That’s not necessarily a bad approach, because without going through so many examples, they may never have reached their realization. The reason why nothing was working: It was because they were trying to fit complicated problems into simple boxes.  But you have to stop and step back eventually.  It took the shock of Roman and Janus’ exchange to make everyone realize how far off track they’d gotten, and really take a look at the whole approach instead of just the individual problems.

Patton did suddenly side with Janus, but it wasn’t out of nowhere.  Patton has known for weeks that he’s missing the mark.  Months, if you count his smaller interactions with Virgil.  Upon Janus appearing in the Megaman sequence, he continued his normal behavior of arguing against whatever Janus stated, up until he saw he had hurt C!Thomas himself.  

This is the climax of the show.  Not anyone’s individual arc, but the entire series.  C!Thomas’ moral backbone, a thing which is arguably our first and most strongly instilled cultural support, was shaken.  Patton could not waste time.  He saw he had hurt C!Thomas so he immediately changed.  He saw in that moment that Janus was protecting C!Thomas, and changed how he spoke to Janus.

As shown clearly in SVS, Patton will do just about anything to get his way, including bribary.  He is not lawful in his approach to morality.  He is an “ends justify the means” type of person, just like Janus.  The difference was just in what ends they want to accomplish.  But, seeing the video game results of his means, he realizes that the ending wasn’t going to be a good one if he kept going that route.  He has now decided that in order to “win” the game, his means must change, and he aligns himself with Janus because Janus was visibly in the position of C!Thomas winning.

In conclusion!

We have the Stated Theme: It is not wrong to prioritize your mental health, even when it means putting yourself before others.

But we also have the Unstated Theme: Trying and Failing and Why that’s Okay

Every. Single. Side. In. This. Episode. Fails.

Logan fails to be either convincing, inconspicuous, or detached.  His arguments sway no one, he’s very noticeable, and he gets upset at the end.

Patton fails to be more flexible.  His strict viewpoint gives him an actual breakdown. 

Roman fails to be the ‘hero’.  Although the rest might still happily give him that title, his actions did not match up to the role.  He mocks a part of C!Thomas in a moment of vulnerability, and believes they would openly, knowingly lie to him.  He does not act with faith in himself or others.  

And Janus.  That sweet baby.  He fails to tell the truth.  And it’s not because he wasn’t telling the truth in this episode.  I firmly believe his nod was meant to encourage Roman and indicate that C!Thomas meant what he said.  But Janus failed to take into account the effects of his past actions.  They are suffering now for his past mistakes and, careful planner though he is, he didn’t see that coming.  You can’t just Start being honest one day and expect everyone to go along.  

But it’s okay.  

It’s okay because a person cannot undergo drastic, necessary change without first falling apart.  And please understand that this is all in a metaphorical sense.  A person doesn’t need to have an actual mental breakdown to change, but the structure, that is, the strict mental guidelines that we have erected for ourselves and are desparately clinging to cannot stay standing if change is to take place.

Patton, Roman, and C!Thomas experience a complete change in their worldview in this episode.  They each react to that change in their own way:

Roman is angry.  He’s mad at the time spent trying to follow a path that was eventually determined to be wrong.  He doesn’t yet see the value in the time spent.  He’s a man of action, after all.  He’s focused on the past.

Patton is sad.  He already misses the times when things were simpler.  He’s nostalgic for the past even as he tries to make things right, right now.  He’s focused on the present.

And C!Thomas?  He is all of us after the dust settles.  Tired, yet hopeful.  Resigned to face another day, another sunrise, after a much deserved break.  

He’s focused on the future.

[thelogicalroman]

Mysterious husbands

It’s is kinda a fic but it’s not in fic form. More like, idea form(?). Hope you like it.

Pairing: LAMP, Janus/Remus

Characters: Roman, Remus, Logan, Virgil, Janus, Patton, Emile, Remy, Nate, 

Warnings: Implied murder, Police, Maffiamention, Mysterious Disappearances, Dead body, Loads of weird stuff happening, Police Investigation. Implied husband murdering his husband (not the case). Implied affairs (not the case). (tell me if you find anything else I should put here)

...

Lamp relationship, where they hide they are polyam bc of sucky society. Logan and Roman are married on paper, Patton and Virgil are married on paper, but they all view eachother as husbands. They also married very early (high school sweethearts, married right after turning 18).

Then they move out of town, and in the new town they get become very respected,

Logan is a proffesor at the local university, teaching and researching the climate. (Ft him being pissed about people not believeing in global warming)

Virgil is the nice and surprisingly fun History teacher at the local high school. The kids love him, and he raised a lot of kids grades by learning in a way that benefitted each students personal way of learning.

Roman is a writer/musician/actor who has published two popular books and an album, as well as plays in the local theatre where he is known for being very friendly and overly dramatic.

Patton being a therapist, and helping a lot of the locals with dealing with their mental health. He (and his collegue Emile Picani) is very liked along the locals who have gone to them. He is known by everyone for being kind and loving, as well as a great person to talk to because he just gets you, no matter what.

(Also, Mayor Janus Deceit becomes great friends with them all, and eventually somehow becomes best friends and housemates with Roman's brother Remus, who somehow managed to really make a good impression by being highly inappropriate on a public event.)

And then,

Suddenly Patton is not showing up at work, and Emile calls to the husband squad being all worried, and they are like:

:O

Because he is not at home either, so suddenly there is a state wide search for the man, but there is no sign of him.

Obviously the police (Nate and Remy) goes to their home, being very suspicious of especially Virgil, because it's always the husband, isn't it?

They notice strange tension between the three, and Nate comes to the conclusion that obviously Patton has a thing with everyone, and the more interviews they do, the more sure he is. Virgil is kinda on edge att all times, and is mostly closed off (bc he is scared for one of his Husbands), but Nate and Remy takes this as a weird tension for all of them.

They make a whole theory that Virgil must've realized that his husband cheated on him, and so decided to get rid of him. But no body = no case, and they had no proof that Patton has been killed, just that his shoes and bag was gone, but that wasn't that weird as he had gone to work.

Anyway, a few months go by and suddenly Roman disappears too. Which is a bit bigger news, bc he is decidedly more World Wide famous, thanks to his books and album.

The police is once again back to their household, Virgil and Logan are all cuddled up, so the case seems obvious. They must've killed their husbands bc they were caught in an affair, so now Nate and Remy are actively searching for the bodies. Going through the house several times, using all sorts of means to find any blood or proof of struggle. Nothing is found. The two just seem to have gone.

They interview Picani, Janus and Remus again, trying to learn anything they can without giving too much away. Because they can't just go out openly accusing two very much liked people without proof.

Virgil and Logan are less nervous this time around too, and the police seems to notice. Their husbands, and best friends/roomates suddenly disappear and they don't seem to care.

But they can't prove anything, Logan and Virgil both have clear alibis, both being at their jobs, with several students having seen them there, as both disappearings took place.

And then suddenly, out of nowhere, Remy gets a letter which says "This is the truth" and is a picture of what seems to be the missing two, in sunglasses, standing and talking with a strange man on the street somewhere.

And holyshit this turns everything around. Remy shows Nate, and they do more interviews with the friends and family of the missing, trying to ask questions without admitting to knowing the question.

Nothing new comes out of it, but suddenly Logan is breaking his usual schedule, and Virgil seems to visit Picani a whole lot more. Remus and Janus isn't seen much, but that really isn't too unusual.

Remy and Nate does what they can trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Until one day, they just admit to having the photo, showing it to the two husbands. Virgil take a look on it and breaks the story the group have this far held onto,

He tells them Roman had gone on a trip to Europe to gain inspiration for a story. 

The others doesn't change theirs, still stating they just disappeared. But now, now they have something to go off.

After a while, Roman and Patton is located to Paris, and then later London and Rome.

More photos of them surface, always wearing new sunglasses and clothes, sometimes alongside people who still are unknown, and no one seems to know them at all.

So obviously the locals are like, suspicious, like... Are all these respected and well liked people... In the maffia or something?

But nothing seems to prove that, except for them being a bit sketchy. Virgil eventually quits his job, shocking everyone. Then Logan does too, and everyone is in shock by the news.

Nate and Remy isn't even able to stop them before suddenly they have both left. All their belongings disappearing from their house overnight, proving this must have been planned. But the house wasn't sold, and as the four had owned it and not rented, it stands abandoned. Nate and Remy checks up on it all the time, making sure to know every person who goes there, but no one does.

Remus and Janus doesn't reveal anything, and Picani is ruled to simply not knowing anything at all.

Janus is still a good mayor for several years, and the people want to reelect him, but he doesn't run again. But he and Remus does not move from there either.

They are still seen around town, but no one knows what either do except shop groceries and going on a walk every now and then.

Remy and Nate is absolutely pulling their hair out because, this is weird, but not weird enough to arrest them or even question them. And the missing case had been put down a long time ago, with no new proof.

Then out of Nowhere. Suddenly the four moves back to town.

Logan goes back to the university, who does hire him again after a few months. Patton opens his own bakery. Virgil opens a bookshop, and Roman simply stays at home. No one really sees him, only proof of him being alive is the neighbours seeing him in the garden.

And then... Then weird stuff happens.

Because a body is found. Behind some trees in the park. And it is immediately identified as being Roman, but as those news go out, and Remy and Nate goes to the husbands house, the person who greets them is Roman.

So they think it must be Remus, but Remus arrives to the house before they can even leave. The twins beside each other, and a dead body looking like them.

And that's when a mystery is going wild, because no one knows how to take these news.

Roman and Remus tells them that there is infact no other siblings, and a quick look at their files can prove that.

So now it is up to Remy and Nate to solve what the heck happened, and how The Husband squad is connected to it all.

[dumbledearme]

chapter twenty-nine—your indecision

read Child of Land and Sea here

Act IV — To Stop The Tide

Part IV — Though there's no one there to guide you, no one to take your hand, but with faith and understanding you will journey from boy to man.

Luke knelt on a Persian rug in front of the golden sarcophagus of Kronos. "Our spies report success, my lord," he was saying. "Camp Half-Blood is sending a quest, as you predicted. Our side of the bargain is almost complete."

"Excellent," the voice of Kronos was freezing with cruelty. "Once we have the means to navigate, I will lead the vanguard through myself."

"My lord, perhaps it is too soon. Perhaps Krios or Hyperion should lead-"

"No," the voice was quiet but absolutely firm. "I will lead. One more heart shall join our cause, and that will be sufficient. At last I shall rise fully from Tartarus."

"But the form, my lord..." Luke's voice shook.

"Show me your sword, Luke Castellan." Luke drew his sword. "You pledged yourself to me," Kronos reminded him. "You took this sword as proof of your oath."

"Yes, my lord. I just-"

"You wanted power," the titan continued. "I gave you that. You are now beyond harm. Soon you will rule the world of gods and mortals. Do you not wish to avenge yourself? To see Olympus destroyed?"

Luke shivered. "Yes."

"Then make ready the strike force. As soon as the bargain is done, we shall move forward. First, Camp Half-Blood will be reduced to ashes. Once those bothersome heroes are eliminated, we will march on Olympus."

There was a knock on the door. Luke rose. "Come in."

Two dracaenae slithered in followed by Kelli, the empousa. "Hello, Luke," she smiled.

"What is it, demon?" his voice was cold. "I told you not to disturb me."

Kelli pouted. "That's not very nice. You look tense. How about a nice massage?"

Luke stepped back. "If you have something to report, say it. Otherwise begone!"

"I don't know why you're so huffy these days. You used to be fun to hang around." She shrugged. "The advance team is ready, as you requested. We can leave-" she frowned.

"What is it?" Luke asked.

"A presence," she said. "Your senses are getting dull, Luke. We're being watched." Kelli's eyes found Andy and she lunged.

Andy fell off the bed, her body shaking. As she tried to easy her breathing, she noticed that same strange light coming from the fountain. Desperately, she looked for a drachma everywhere until she found one and threw it into the mist.

Nico appeared, but he wasn't in the Underworld this time. He was in a graveyard instead, under a starry sky, watching some gravediggers at work. "Is it deep enough yet?" he asked, irritated.

"Nearly, my lord," it was the same ghost from before. "But this is unnecessary. You already have me for advice."

"I want a second opinion." Nico snapped his fingers, and the digging stopped. Two skeletons climbed out of the hole. "You are dismissed. Thank you." The skeletons collapsed into piles of bones.

"You might as well thank the shovels," the ghost complained. "They have as much sense."

Nico ignored him. He reached into a large Wal-Mart bag next to his feet and pulled out a twelve-pack of Coke. He popped open a can and poured it into the grave. "Let the dead taste again," he murmured. "Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember."

"In my day; we used animal blood," the ghost mumbled. "They can't taste the difference."

"Be quiet," Nico ordered and began chanting in Ancient Greek. The grave started to bubble. The fog thickened. Dozens of figures began to appear among the gravestones.

"There are too many," the ghost said nervously. "You don't know your own powers."

"I've got it under control," Nico said. He drew his sword – a short blade made of solid black metal. The shades retreated. "One at a time," Nico commanded. A single figure floated forward and knelt before him. "Who are you?"

"I am Theseus." Andy stared at the ghost-man. He was young – younger than she would'd thought – with curly hair and green eyes like hers.

"How can I retrieve my sister?" Nico asked.

"Do not try it. It is madness," Theseus warned him.

"Tell me!"

"My stepfather died," Theseus remembered. "He threw himself into the sea because he thought I was dead in the Labyrinth. I wanted to bring him back, but I could not."

Nico's ghost hissed, "Ask him about the soul exchange!"

Theseus scowled. "I know that voice."

"Answer the lord's questions and nothing more," said the ghost.

"I know you," Theseus insisted.

"I want to know about my sister," Nico said. "Will this quest into the Labyrinth help me win her back?"

Theseus's emotionless voice said, "The Labyrinth is treacherous. There is only one thing that saw me through: the love of a mortal girl. The string was only part of the answer. It was the princess who guided me."

"We don't need any of that," complained the ghost. "I will guide you, my lord. Ask him if it is true about an exchange of souls. He will tell you."

"A soul for a soul," Nico asked. "Is it true?"

"Yes. But the specter-" The other ghosts stirred nervously. "He is coming," Theseus said fearfully. "He has sensed your summons. He comes."

"Who?"

"He comes to find the source of this power," Theseus said. "You must release us!"

The fountain began to crack; the whole cabin was shaking. Andy realized the ghosts were trying to escape right out of the fountain. She uncapped Riptide and slashed at the fountain, cleaving it in two. Salt water spilled everywhere.

Andy sank on the ground, shivering. Tyson found her there in the morning, still staring at the pieces of what had once been a fountain.

Juniper was holding Grover as if they were one. Chiron, Quintus and Mrs O'Leary stood with the other campers who'd come to wish them well. Anthony was doing one last check on his supply pack. When Tyson and Andy came over, he frowned. "Andy, you look terrible."

"She killed the water fountain last night," Tyson confided.

"What?"

Before Andy could explain, Chiron trotted over. "Well, it appears you are ready!" Andy glanced at the crack between the boulders. "Take care and good hunting."

"Well," said Grover nervously. "Goodbye sunshine."

And together, the four of them descended into darkness.

They made it a hundred feet before they were hopelessly lost. The tunnel looked nothing like the one they had stumbled into before. Now it was round like a sewer with iron-barred portholes every ten feet.

Anthony tried his best to guide them. "If we keep one hand on the left wall and follow it," he said, "we should be able to find our way out again by reversing course." As soon as he said that, the left wall disappeared. They were in the middle of a circular chamber with eight tunnels leading out. Anthony swept his flashlight beam over the archways. "That way," he said.

"How do you know?" Andy asked.

"Deductive reasoning."

"So you're guessing."

"Just come on," he said.

The tunnel he'd chosen narrowed quickly. Grover's hyperventilating was the loudest noise in the maze. "I can't stand it anymore," he whispered. "Are we there yet? I mean, why would Pan be down here? This is the opposite of the wild!"

Suddenly the tunnel opened into a huge room covered in mosaic tiles showing the gods at a feast. "What is this place?" Andy asked. "It looks-"

"Roman," Anthony finished. "About two thousand years old."

"How can they be Roman?"

"The Labyrinth is a patchwork," he said. "I told you, it's always expanding, adding pieces. It's the only work of architecture that grows by itself."

"You make it sound like it's alive."

They heard a moan from the tunnel ahead. "Let's move," Anthony said.

Every few feet the tunnels twisted and turned and branched off. After several hours, they found their first skeleton. He was dressed in white; a wooden crate of glass bottles sat next to him. "A milkman," Anthony said.

"What?"

"He used to deliver milk."

"Yeah, man, I know what a milkman is," she rolled her eyes. "But what is he doing here?"

"Some people wonder by mistake, I suppose. Some come exploring on purpose and never make it back." Without another word, Anthony led them to the right, then the left, through a corridor of stainless steel. Then they arrived back in the Roman tile room. But this time, they weren't alone.

He had two faces. They jutted out from either side of his head, staring over his shoulders, so his head was much wider than it should've been. "Anthony," his left face said. "Hurry up!"

"Don't mind him," said the right face. "He's terribly rude. Right this way!"

Tyson frowned. "The funny man has two faces."

"The funny man has ears!" the left face scolded. "Now come along, Anthony."

"No, no," the right face said. "This way, Anthony. Talk to me, please."

The two-faced man regarded Anthony, waiting for him to choose. Behind him were two exits.

"Where do they lead?" Anthony asked, his voice was barely a whisper.

"One probably leads the way you wish to go," the right face said encouragingly. "The other leads to certain death."

"Come one," said the left face. "Choose, Anthony. We don't have all day."

The right face smiled. "You're in charge now, Anthony. All the decisions are on your shoulders. All the responsibility. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"I-"

"We know you, Anthony Chase," the left face said. "We know what you wrestle with every day. We know your indecision. You will have to make your choice sooner or later. And the choice may kill you. Or... someone who matters the most?" he suggested.

The color drained out of Anthony's face. "I don't-"

Andy stepped forward. "Okay, guys. Enough of this bullshit. Who are you again? I'm not good with faces, if you know what I mean."

"Well, I'm your best friend," the right face said.

"I'm your worst enemy," said the left.

"I'm Janus," they said in harmony. "God of Doorways. Beginnings. Endings. Choices."

"I'll see you soon enough, Andromeda," said the right face. "But for now, it is Anthony's turn."

"One bad choice can ruin your whole life," said the left face. "It can kill you and all your friends. But no pressure, Anthony. Choose!"

A brilliant light flooded the room and a woman appeared. She was tall and graceful and extremely blonde, like a barbie doll. "Janus," she said, "are we causing trouble again?"

"N-no, milady!" Janus' right face stammered.

"Yes!" the left face said.

"You know very well your visit is premature," the woman said. "The boy's time has not yet come. So I give you a choice: leave these heroes to me, or I shall turn you into a door and break you down."

Janus bowed and disappeared.

The woman turned toward the others and smiled. "Sit with me," she invited them. "Let's talk." She waved her hand and a picnic towel appeared on the ground with lots of platters sandwiches and pitchers of lemonade.

Andy sighed. "Alright. Who are you now?"

She raised her blonde head. "I am Hera. Queen of Heaven." She sat down, served them sandwiches and poured lemonade. "Grover, dear, use your napkin. Don't eat it."

"Yes, ma'am," Grover said.

"Tyson, you're wasting away. Would you like another peanut butter sandwich?"

Tyson stifled a belch. "Yes, nice lady."

"Queen Hera," Anthony said. "What are you doing here?"

Hera smiled. "I came to see you, naturally."

"I didn't think you liked heroes."

"Because of that little spat I had with Hercules? Honestly, I got so much bad press because of one disagreement."

"Didn't you try to kill him in, like, several different occasions?" Anthony asked.

Hera waved her hand dismissively. "Water under the bridge. Besides, he was one of my loving husband's children by another woman. My patience wore thin, I'll admit it. But Zeus and I have had some excellent marriage counseling sessions since then. We've aired our feelings and come to an understanding – especially after the last little incident."

"You mean Thalia?" Andy guessed.

Hera's eyes turned toward her frostily. "Andy Jackson, is it? One of Poseidon's... children. As I recall, I voted to let you live at the winter solstice. I hope I voted correctly." She turned back to Anthony. "At any rate, I certainly bear you no ill will, boy. I appreciate the difficulty of your quest. Especially when you have troublemakers like Janus to deal with."

"Why was he here?"

"To drive you crazy, no doubt," Hera said. "You must understand, the minor gods like Janus have always been frustrated by the small parts they play in the universe. Some, I fear, have little love for Olympus, and could easily be swayed to support the rise of my father. We must watch the minor gods. Janus. Hecate. Morpheus."

"Isn't that what Dionysus is doing?" Andy asked. "Checking on them?"

"Indeed," Hera said. "You see, in times of trouble, even gods can lose faith. They start putting their trust in the wrong things, petty things. They stop looking at the big picture and start being selfish. But I am the goddess of marriage, you see. I am used to perseverance. You have to rise above the squabbling and chaos, and keep believing. You have to always keep your goals in mind."

"What are your goals?" Anthony asked her.

"To keep my family, the Olympians, together. At the moment, the best way I can do that is by helping you. Zeus does not allow me to interfere much, I'm afraid. But once every century or so, for a quest I care deeply about, he allows me to grant a wish."

"A wish?"

"Before you ask it, let me give you some advice, which I can do for free. I know you seek Daedalus. His Labyrinth is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. But if you want to know his fate, I would visit my son Hephaestus at his forge. Daedalus was a great inventor. There has never been a mortal Hephaestus admired more. If anyone would have kept up with Daedalus and could tell you his fate, it is Hephaestus."

"But how do we get there?" Anthony asked. "That is my wish. I want a way to navigate the Labyrinth."

Hera looked disappointed. "So be it. You wish for something, however, that you have already been given."

"I don't understand."

"The means is already within your grasp." Hera looked at Andy. "Andromeda knows the answer."

"I do?"

"You'll have to be more specific," Anthony told her.

Hera shook her head. "Getting something and having the wits to use it... those are two different things. I'm sure your mother Athena would agree." The room rumbled. Hera stood. "That would be my cue. Zeus grows impatient. Think of what I have said, young hero. Seek out Hephaestus. You will have to pass through the ranch, I imagine. But keep going. And use all the means at your disposal, however common they may seem. And one more thing, Anthony. I have postponed your day of choice, not prevented it. Soon, as Janus said, you will have to make a decision. Farewell." She waved a hand and turned into white smoke.

"What sort of help was that?" Andy complained. "Here, have a sandwich. Make a wish. Oops, I can't help you. Poof!"

"Poof," Tyson agreed.

"Well, she said you know the answer," Grover said.

"You think that if I knew the answer for this, I would be keeping it to myself?"

Anthony sighed. "We keep going."

"Which way?" she asked.

Grover and Tyson both tensed and stood up together. "Left," they both said.

Anthony frowned. "How can you be sure?"

"Because something is coming from the right!" Grover said.

"Something big," Tyson added. "In a hurry."

"Left it is!" Andy decided and together they plunged into the dark corridor.

[ofsort]

Peter Wessel Zapffe - The Last Messiah

The first English version of a classic essay by Peter Wessel Zapffe, originally published in Janus #9, 1933. Translated from the Norwegian by Gisle R. Tangenes. I One night in long bygone times, man awoke and saw himself. 

He saw that he was naked under cosmos, homeless in his own body. All things dissolved before his testing thought, wonder above wonder, horror above horror unfolded in his mind. 

Then woman too awoke and said it was time to go and slay. And he fetched his bow and arrow, a fruit of the marriage of spirit and hand, and went outside beneath the stars. But as the beasts arrived at their waterholes where he expected them of habit, he felt no more the tiger’s bound in his blood, but a great psalm about the brotherhood of suffering between everything alive. 

That day he did not return with prey, and when they found him by the next new moon, he was sitting dead by the waterhole. 

  II

Whatever happened? A breach in the very unity of life, a biological paradox, an abomination, an absurdity, an exaggeration of disastrous nature. Life had overshot its target, blowing itself apart. A species had been armed too heavily – by spirit made almighty without, but equally a menace to its own well-being. Its weapon was like a sword without hilt or plate, a two-edged blade cleaving everything; but he who is to wield it must grasp the blade and turn the one edge toward himself. 

Despite his new eyes, man was still rooted in matter, his soul spun into it and subordinated to its blind laws. And yet he could see matter as a stranger, compare himself to all phenomena, see through and locate his vital processes. He comes to nature as an unbidden guest, in vain extending his arms to beg conciliation with his maker: Nature answers no more, it performed a miracle with man, but later did not know him. He has lost his right of residence in the universe, has eaten from the Tree of Knowledge and been expelled from Paradise. He is mighty in the near world, but curses his might as purchased with his harmony of soul, his innocence, his inner peace in life’s embrace.

So there he stands with his visions, betrayed by the universe, in wonder and fear. The beast knew fear as well, in thunderstorms and on the lion’s claw. But man became fearful of life itself – indeed, of his very being. Life – that was for the beast to feel the play of power, it was heat and games and strife and hunger, and then at last to bow before the law of course. In the beast, suffering is self-confined, in man, it knocks holes into a fear of the world and a despair of life. Even as the child sets out on the river of life, the roars from the waterfall of death rise highly above the vale, ever closer, and tearing, tearing at its joy. Man beholds the earth, and it is breathing like a great lung; whenever it exhales, delightful life swarms from all its pores and reaches out toward the sun, but when it inhales, a moan of rupture passes through the multitude, and corpses whip the ground like bouts of hail. Not merely his own day could he see, the graveyards wrung themselves before his gaze, the laments of sunken millennia wailed against him from the ghastly decaying shapes, the earth-turned dreams of mothers. Future’s curtain unravelled itself to reveal a nightmare of endless repetition, a senseless squander of organic material. The suffering of human billions makes its entrance into him through the gateway of compassion, from all that happen arises a laughter to mock the demand for justice, his profoundest ordering principle. He sees himself emerge in his mother’s womb, he holds up his hand in the air and it has five branches; whence this devilish number five, and what has it to do with my soul? He is no longer obvious to himself – he touches his body in utter horror; this is you and so far do you extend and no farther. He carries a meal within him, yesterday it was a beast that could itself dash around, now I suck it up and make it part of me, and where do I begin and end? All things chain together in causes and effects, and everything he wants to grasp dissolves before the testing thought. Soon he sees mechanics even in the so-far whole and dear, in the smile of his beloved – there are other smiles as well, a torn boot with toes. Eventually, the features of things are features only of himself. Nothing exists without himself, every line points back at him, the world is but a ghostly echo of his voice – he leaps up loudly screaming and wants to disgorge himself onto the earth along with his impure meal, he feels the looming of madness and wants to find death before losing even such ability.

But as he stands before imminent death, he grasps its nature also, and the cosmic import of the step to come. His creative imagination constructs new, fearful prospects behind the curtain of death, and he sees that even there is no sanctuary found. And now he can discern the outline of his biologicocosmic terms: He is the universe’s helpless captive, kept to fall into nameless possibilities.

From this moment on, he is in a state of relentless panic.

Such a ‘feeling of cosmic panic’ is pivotal to every human mind. Indeed, the race appears destined to perish in so far as any effective preservation and continuation of life is ruled out when all of the individual’s attention and energy goes to endure, or relay, the catastrophic high tension within.

The tragedy of a species becoming unfit for life by overevolving one ability is not confined to humankind. Thus it is thought, for instance, that certain deer in paleontological times succumbed as they acquired overly-heavy horns. The mutations must be considered blind, they work, are thrown forth, without any contact of interest with their environment.

In depressive states, the mind may be seen in the image of such an antler, in all its fantastic splendour pinning its bearer to the ground. III

Why, then, has mankind not long ago gone extinct during great epidemics of madness? Why do only a fairly minor number of individuals perish because they fail to endure the strain of living – because cognition gives them more than they can carry?

Cultural history, as well as observation of ourselves and others, allow the following answer: Most people learn to save themselves by artificially limiting the content of consciousness.

If the giant deer, at suitable intervals, had broken off the outer spears of its antlers, it might have kept going for some while longer. Yet in fever and constant pain, indeed, in betrayal of its central idea, the core of its peculiarity, for it was vocated by creation’s hand to be the horn bearer of wild animals. What it gained in continuance, it would lose in significance, in grandness of life, in other words a continuance without hope, a march not up to affirmation, but forth across its ever recreated ruins, a self-destructive race against the sacred will of blood.

The identity of purpose and perishment is, for giant deer and man alike, the tragic paradox of life. In devoted Bejahung, the last Cervis Giganticus bore the badge of its lineage to its end. The human being saves itself and carries on. It performs, to extend a settled phrase, a more or less self-conscious repression of its damaging surplus of consciousness. This process is virtually constant during our waking and active hours, and is a requirement of social adaptability and of everything commonly referred to as healthy and normal living.

Psychiatry even works on the assumption that the ‘healthy’ and viable is at one with the highest in personal terms. Depression, ‘fear of life,’ refusal of nourishment and so on are invariably taken as signs of a pathological state and treated thereafter. Often, however, such phenomena are messages from a deeper, more immediate sense of life, bitter fruits of a geniality of thought or feeling at the root of antibiological tendencies. It is not the soul being sick, but its protection failing, or else being rejected because it is experienced – correctly – as a betrayal of ego’s highest potential.

The whole of living that we see before our eyes today is from inmost to outmost enmeshed in repressional mechanisms, social and individual; they can be traced right into the tritest formulas of everyday life. Though they take a vast and multifarious variety of forms, it seems legitimate to at least identify four major kinds, naturally occuring in every possible combination: isolation, anchoring, distraction and sublimation.

By isolation I here mean a fully arbitrary dismissal from consciousness of all disturbing and destructive thought and feeling. (Engström: “One should not think, it is just confusing.”) A perfect and almost brutalising variant is found among certain physicians, who for self-protection will only see the technical aspect of their profession. It can also decay to pure hooliganism, as among petty thugs and medical students, where any sensitivity to the tragic side of life is eradicated by violent means (football played with cadaver heads, and so on.)

The mechanism of anchoring also serves from early childhood; parents, home, the street become matters of course to the child and give it a sense of assurance. This sphere of experience is the first, and perhaps the happiest, protection against the cosmos that we ever get to know in life, a fact that doubtless also explains the much debated ‘infantile bonding;’ the question of whether that is sexually tainted too is unimportant here. When the child later discovers that those fixed points are as ‘arbitrary’ and ‘ephemeral’ as any others, it has a crisis of confusion and anxiety and promptly looks around for another anchoring. “In Autumn, I will attend middle school.” If the substitution somehow fails, then the crisis may take a fatal course, or else what I will call an anchoring spasm occurs: One clings to the dead values, concealing as well as possible from oneself and others the fact that they are unworkable, that one is spiritually insolvent. The result is lasting insecurity, ‘feelings of inferiority,’ over-compensation, restlessness. Insofar as this state falls into certain categories, it is made subject to psychoanalytic treatment, which aims to complete the transition to new anchorings.

Anchoring might be characterised as a fixation of points within, or construction of walls around, the liquid fray of consciousness. Though typically unconscious, it may also be fully conscious (one ‘adopts a goal’.) Publicly useful anchorings are met with sympathy, he who ‘sacrifices himself totally’ for his anchoring (the firm, the cause) is idolised. He has established a mighty bulwark against the dissolution of life, and others are by suggestion gaining from his strength. In a brutalised form, as deliberate action, it is found among ‘decadent’ playboys (“one should get married in time, and then the constraints will come of themselves.”) Thus one establishes a necessity in one’s life, exposing oneself to an obvious evil from one’s point of view, but a soothing of the nerves, a high-walled container for a sensibility to life that has been growing increasingly crude. Ibsen presents, in Hjalmar Ekdal and Molvik, two flowering cases (‘living lies’); there is no difference between their anchoring and that of the pillars of society except for the practico-economic unproductiveness of the former.

Any culture is a great, rounded system of anchorings, built on foundational firmaments, the basic cultural ideas. The average person makes do with the collective firmaments, the personality is building for himself, the person of character has finished his construction, more or less grounded on the inherited, collective main firmaments (God, the Church, the State, morality, fate, the law of life, the people, the future). The closer to main firmaments a certain carrying element is, the more perilous it is to touch. Here a direct protection is normally established by means of penal codes and threats of prosecution (inquisition, censorship, the Conservative approach to life).

The carrying capacity of each segment either depends on its fictitious nature having not been seen through yet, or else on its being recognised as necessary anyway. Hence the religious education in schools, which even atheists support because they know no other way to bring children into social ways of response.

Whenever people realise the fictitiousness or redundancy of the segments, they will strive to replace them with new ones (‘the limited duration of Truths’) – and whence flows all the spiritual and cultural strife which, along with economic competition, forms the dynamic content of world history.

The craving for material goods (power) is not so much due to the direct pleasures of wealth, as none can be seated on more than one chair or eat himself more than sated. Rather, the value of a fortune to life consists in the rich opportunities for anchoring and distraction offered to the owner.

Both for collective and individual anchorings it holds that when a segment breaks, there is a crisis that is graver the closer that segment to main firmaments. Within the inner circles, sheltered by the outer ramparts, such crises are daily and fairly painfree occurrences (‘disappointments’); even a playing with anchoring values is here seen (wittiness, jargon, alcohol). But during such play one may accidentally rip a hole right to the bottom, and the scene is instantly transformed from euphoric to macabre. The dread of being stares us in the eye, and in a deadly gush we perceive how the minds are dangling in threads of their own spinning, and that a hell is lurking underneath.

The very foundational firmaments are rarely replaced without great social spasms and a risk of complete dissolution (reformation, revolution). During such times, individuals are increasingly left to their own devices for anchoring, and the number of failures tends to rise. Depressions, excesses, and suicides result (German officers after the war, Chinese students after the revolution).

Another flaw of the system is the fact that various danger fronts often require very different firmaments. As a logical superstructure is built upon each, there follow clashes of incommensurable modes of feeling and thought. Then despair can enter through the rifts. In such cases, a person may be obsessed with destructive joy, dislodging the whole artificial apparatus of his life and starting with rapturous horror to make a clean sweep of it. The horror stems from the loss of all sheltering values, the rapture from his by now ruthless identification and harmony with our nature’s deepest secret, the biological unsoundness, the enduring disposition for doom.

We love the anchorings for saving us, but also hate them for limiting our sense of freedom. Whenever we feel strong enough, we thus take pleasure in going together to bury an expired value in style. Material objects take on a symbolic import here (the Radical approach to life).

When a human being has eliminated those of his anchorings that are visible to himself, only the unconscious ones staying put, then he will call himself a liberated personality.

A very popular mode of protection is distraction. One limits attention to the critical bounds by constantly enthralling it with impressions. This is typical even in childhood; without distraction, the child is also insufferable to itself. “Mom, what am I to do.” A little English girl visiting her Norwegian aunts came inside from her room, saying: “What happens now?” The nurses attain virtuosity: Look, a doggie! Watch, they are painting the palace! The phenomenon is too familiar to require any further demonstration. Distraction is, for example, the ‘high society’s’ tactic for living. It can be likened to a flying machine – made of heavy material, but embodying a principle that keeps it airborne whenever applying. It must always be in motion, as air only carries it fleetingly. The pilot may grow drowsy and comfortable out of habit, but the crisis is acute as soon as the engine flunks.

The tactic is often fully conscious. Despair may dwell right underneath and break through in gushes, in a sudden sobbing. When all distractive options are expended, spleen sets in, ranging from mild indifference to fatal depression. Women, in general less cognition-prone and hence more secure in their living than men, preferably use distraction.

A considerable evil of imprisonment is the denial of most distractive options. And as terms for deliverance by other means are poor as well, the prisoner will tend to stay in the close vicinity of despair. The acts he then commits to deflect the final stage have a warrant in the principle of vitality itself. In such a moment he is experiencing his soul within the universe, and has no other motive than the utter inendurability of that condition.

Pure examples of life-panic are presumably rare, as the protective mechanisms are refined and automatic and to some extent unremitting. But even the adjacent terrain bears the mark of death, life is here barely sustainable and by great efforts. Death always appears as an escape, one ignores the possibilities of the hereafter, and as the way death is experienced is partly dependent on feeling and perspective, it might be quite an acceptable solution. If one in statu mortis could manage a pose (a poem, a gesture, to ‘die standing up’), i.e. a final anchoring, or a final distraction (Aases’ death), then such a fate is not the worst one at all. The press, for once serving the concealment mechanism, never fails to find reasons that cause no alarm – “it is believed that the latest fall in the price of wheat...”

When a human being takes his life in depression, this is a natural death of spiritual causes. The modern barbarity of ‘saving’ the suicidal is based on a hairraising misapprehension of the nature of existence.

Only a limited part of humanity can make do with mere ‘changes’, whether in work, social life, or entertainment. The cultured person demands connections, lines, a progression in the changes. Nothing finite satisfies at length, one is ever proceeding, gathering knowledge, making a career. The phenomenon is known as ‘yearning’ or ‘transcendental tendency.’ Whenever a goal is reached, the yearning moves on; hence its object is not the goal, but the very attainment of it – the gradient, not the absolute height, of the curve representing one’s life. The promotion from private to corporal may give a more valuable experience than the one from colonel to general. Any grounds of ‘progressive optimism’ are removed by this major psychological law.

The human yearning is not merely marked by a ‘striving toward’, but equally by an ‘escape from.’ And if we use the word in a religious sense, only the latter description fits. For here, none has yet been clear about what he is longing for, but one has always a heartfelt awareness of what one is longing away from, namely the earthly vale of tears, one’s own inendurable condition. If awareness of this predicament is the deepest stratum of the soul, as argued above, then it is also understandable why the religious yearning is felt and experienced as fundamental. By contrast, the hope that it forms a divine criterion, which harbours a promise of its own fulfilment, is placed in a truly melancholy light by these considerations.

The fourth remedy against panic, sublimation, is a matter of transformation rather than repression. Through stylistic or artistic gifts can the very pain of living at times be converted into valuable experiences. Positive impulses engage the evil and put it to their own ends, fastening onto its pictorial, dramatic, heroic, lyric or even comic aspects.

Unless the worst sting of suffering is blunted by other means, or denied control of the mind, such utilisation is unlikely, however. (Image: The mountaineer does not enjoy his view of the abyss while choking with vertigo; only when this feeling is more or less overcome does he enjoy it – anchored.) To write a tragedy, one must to some extent free oneself from – betray – the very feeling of tragedy and regard it from an outer, e.g. aesthetic, point of view. Here is, by the way, an opportunity for the wildest round-dancing through ever higher ironic levels, into a most embarrassing circulus vitiosus. Here one can chase one’s ego across numerous habitats, enjoying the capacity of the various layers of consciousness to dispel one another.

The present essay is a typical attempt at sublimation. The author does not suffer, he is filling pages and is going to be published in a journal.

The ‘martyrdom’ of lonely ladies also shows a kind of sublimation – they gain in significance thereby.

Nevertheless, sublimation appears to be the rarest of the protective means mentioned here.

IV

Is it possible for ‘primitive natures’ to renounce these cramps and cavorts and live in harmony with themselves in the serene bliss of labour and love? Insofar as they may be considered human at all, I think the answer must be no. The strongest claim to be made about the so-called peoples of nature is that they are somewhat closer to the wonderful biological ideal than we unnatural people. And when even we have so far been able to save a majority through every storm, we have been assisted by the sides of our nature that are just modestly or moderately developed. This positive basis (as protection alone cannot create life, only hinder its faltering) must be sought in the naturally adapted deployment of the energy in the body and the biologically helpful parts of the soul1, subject to such hardships as are precisely due to sensory limitations, bodily frailty, and the need to do work for life and love.

And just in this finite land of bliss within the fronts do the progressing civilisation, technology and standardisation have such a debasing influence. For as an ever growing fraction of the cognitive faculties retire from the game against the environment, there is a rising spiritual unemployment. The value of a technical advance to the whole undertaking of life must be judged by its contribution to the human opportunity for spiritual occupation. Though boundaries are blurry, perhaps the first tools for cutting might be mentioned as a case of a positive invention.

Other technical inventions enrich only the life of the inventor himself; they represent a gross and ruthless theft from humankind’s common reserve of experiences and should invoke the harshest punishment if made public against the veto of censorship. One such crime among numerous others is the use of flying machines to explore uncharted land. In a single vandalistic glob, one thus destroys lush opportunities for experience that could benefit many if each, by effort, obtained his fair share.2

The current phase of life’s chronic fever is particularly tainted by this circumstance. The absence of naturally (biologically) based spiritual activity shows up, for example, in the pervasive recourse to distraction (entertainment, sport, radio – ‘the rhythm of the times’). Terms for anchoring are not as favourable – all the inherited, collective systems of anchorings are punctured by criticism, and anxiety, disgust, confusion, despair leak in through the rifts (‘corpses in the cargo.’) Communism and psychoanalysis, however incommensurable otherwise, both attempt (as Communism has also a spiritual reflection) by novel means to vary the old escape anew; applying, respectively, violence and guile to make humans biologically fit by ensnaring their critical surplus of cognition. The idea, in either case, is uncannily logical. But again, it cannot yield a final solution. Though a deliberate degeneration to a more viable nadir may certainly save the species in the short run, it will by its nature be unable to find peace in such resignation, or indeed find any peace at all.

V

If we continue these considerations to the bitter end, then the conclusion is not in doubt. As long as humankind recklessly proceeds in the fateful delusion of being biologically fated for triumph, nothing essential will change. As its numbers mount and the spiritual atmosphere thickens, the techniques of protection must assume an increasingly brutal character.

And humans will persist in dreaming of salvation and affirmation and a new Messiah. Yet when many saviours have been nailed to trees and stoned on the city squares, then the last Messiah shall come.

Then will appear the man who, as the first of all, has dared strip his soul naked and submit it alive to the outmost thought of the lineage, the very idea of doom. A man who has fathomed life and its cosmic ground, and whose pain is the Earth’s collective pain. With what furious screams shall not mobs of all nations cry out for his thousandfold death, when like a cloth his voice encloses the globe, and the strange message has resounded for the first and last time:

“– The life of the worlds is a roaring river, but Earth’s is a pond and a backwater.

– The sign of doom is written on your brows – how long will ye kick against the pin-pricks?

– But there is one conquest and one crown, one redemption and one solution.

– Know yourselves – be infertile and let the earth be silent after ye.”

And when he has spoken, they will pour themselves over him, led by the pacifier makers and the midwives, and bury him in their fingernails.

He is the last Messiah. As son from father, he stems from the archer by the waterhole.

Peter Wessel Zapffe, 1933

Notes:

1 A distinction for clarity. 2 I emphasize that this is not about fantastic reform proposals, but rather a psychological view of principle

[remedialmassage]

Meet Your Next Teacher: Carrie Owerko

While the lineage of Iyengar has a reputation for being strict and methodical, Carrie Owerko is driven by a love of exploration and chooses to focus on the playful experimental side of the practice.

I remember being intrigued with the idea of yoga in the late ’80s and early ’90s, when I was working in movement theater. In our rehearsals, we explored human movement in many forms, including deep and unusual experiments with body, breath, movement, and meaning—which were in part inspired by the work of Polish theater director Jerzy Grotowski, whose work was influenced by yogic practices. This piqued my curiosity, and I began exploring various forms of yoga.

Based on a recommendation from a trusted yoga teacher, I ended up in an intermediate-level Iyengar class on the West Side of Manhattan. It happened to be one of those six-belt, six-blanket, very sophisticated Iyengar classes.

See also Iyengar Yoga 101: King Pigeon 3 Ways

I couldn’t buckle the special Pune belts properly, and forget folding all the blankets the right way. Even though I had done yoga and spent years studying movement, I felt out of my depth. The teacher was strict—but kind enough to take pity on me and help me as I struggled with the poses and props. We used the belts to apply various types of traction to our backs and limbs, and I felt great during and after class. This prompted me to go to beginner classes, where I learned the Iyengar approach more progressively. I felt like I had found previously unrealized space within myself. The spaciousness was palpable, not only in my joints and spinal column, but also in my mind. Maybe, I thought, there was something worthwhile here. My whole outlook on life had shifted in some way.

Over time, I started to understand the surprisingly creative, playful, and experimental aspects of Iyengar Yoga. I was attending a class taught by B.K.S. Iyengar’s daughter Geeta, in Pune, India, and we were practicing revolved seated forward extensions such as Parivrtta Janu Sirsasana (Revolved Head-to-Knee Pose) and Parivrtta Paschimottanasana (Revolved Seated Forward Bend). She had us rocking and rolling, moving with controlled abandon. It felt like we were playing jazz music with our bodies, which makes sense: I think of B.K.S. Iyengar, the founder of this practice, as a musician of the body, and he was totally absorbed in both the art and the science of his yogic inquiry. 

He was also involved in the philosophy of yoga; he sought meaning through his practice and tried to help all of his students practice (and live) fully and meaningfully. He would try almost anything in his attempt to help deepen his students’ understanding of yoga. He was even a bit wild, like a mad scientist—experimental and, at times, playful. For me, the occasional element of play was one of the most effective aspects of his approach (and that of his children) to yoga practice and teaching. Play balances and enhances the work of deliberate practice. It puts people at ease, and it’s as inseparable from who we are as a species as the stories we tell that help give meaning to our lives.

See also Iyengar 101: A Stability-Building Countdown to Handstand

Most of my time studying with the Iyengar family has been spent with Geeta and her brother, Prashant, at the Ramamani Iyengar Memorial Yoga Institute in Pune. For the past 18 years, I have traveled at least every two years to study there. Guruji, as we called Iyengar, formally retired in 1984, but he did not stop teaching. During Geeta’s classes, he would often jump up and take over. These moments were electric. He had a way of speaking directly to my cells, somehow piercing and bypassing any resistance or hesitation within me as I attempted the asana. He had a way of making me feel as if my eyes were connected to the backs of my knees as I dropped back from Tadasana (Mountain Pose) to Urdhva Dhanurasana (Upward Bow Pose). He taught us to feel the presence of both fire and water elements within our bodies as we practiced poses like Parivrtta Trikonasana (Revolved Triangle Pose). His teaching presence was, in many ways, beyond words. 

It was something to be experienced, and I am so grateful that I did.

Once, while in India, I shared a memorable moment with Guruji on the front steps of the Institute. I was with a friend, and we had just arrived in Pune. I had experienced a difficult year due to my father’s illness and had lost a few pounds—maybe three, but no more than that. Guruji smiled sweetly and said quietly, “A little bit thin?” My friend thought that seemed odd, because to her I looked the same. But it was true, I was a little bit thinner and was experiencing a sadness. Iyengar noticed these things. He noticed how we were doing—on the outside and on the inside. And though his comment could have been interpreted as having referred to my outer appearance, it did not feel like a judgment. It felt as if he were acknowledging that I’d gone through something difficult. It was his way of communicating that he noticed and cared. I appreciated that.

See also Iyengar Yoga 101: Stomach-Turning Pose (aka Can't-Fail Core Work)

For some, B.K.S. Iyengar’s teaching style may not have appeared to reflect this deeper caring. Sometimes he was quite harsh. I neither condone, nor choose to emulate, that aspect of his teaching. I experienced Iyengar as someone who was extremely human, like everyone else. At the end of the day, he genuinely wanted his students to grow and thrive. Because of this and many other reasons, B.K.S. Iyengar has been a huge inspiration to me. His passion, enthusiasm, and endless energy for art and inquiry were infectious. I hold these as his most significant gifts to me as a student—and as someone who loves learning, exploring, and sharing. Iyengar never stopped being fully engaged, open, and curious, and he wanted to share the art of yoga with others. To me, these qualities are as valuable as gold, and they are elemental to what Iyengar Yoga means to me.

I think students of yoga in this century must keep exploring, practicing, and asking the types of questions that Iyengar asked—questions that will keep yogic practices and inquiry alive. We must question and contemplate our values and consciously choose what is most meaningful to us. We must choose how best to help ourselves (and each other) find stability, ease, and freedom in this life. And though yoga is considered timeless and eternal, we must realize that for all practical purposes, yoga lives only in the now. It lives in the present moment through each one of us—in how we treat ourselves and one another.

See also Interview with B.K.S. Iyengar 

from Yoga Journal http://ift.tt/2uXlN0c

[98prilla]

Seeking Oblivion

Next

Previous

AO3

...

None of them knew what to expect, when the dragon finally reached the large window that led into the tower, claws digging into the stone, tail wrapped around the tower to keep steady as he extended his wing, allowing them to disembark. Virgil practically fell off the wing into the tower, face so pale Patton was afraid he was going to pass out.

 “Are you alright, Virgil? Logan asked, kneeling on the ground beside the slightly sweating side.

 “Just… god, that’s worse than the whole rising up thing.” He moaned, taking a few deep breaths, color coming back to his face, as he accepted Logan’s hand to help pull him to his feet.

 “Thank you.” Patton said to the dragon, giving it another gentle kiss on its nose, laughing slightly as he felt the dragon gently bump his chest, telling him to go and fix this, already. Then the dragon took off, soaring back into the sky.

 “oh, Roman.” Janus whispered, eyes wide as he looked down at the deathly still side. His chest rose and fell in deep, too slow breaths, too much time between each one, like something in hibernation. One arm was across his chest, the other limp across the bed, just barely hanging off the edge. All the color was gone from him, his entire outfit that same, drab, empty, misty gray, even his skin seemed paler. He reached out, smoothing back Roman’s hair, breath catching at how cold he felt, if it weren’t for the slow, steady breaths rising and falling he would think Roman was well and truly dead.

 “Fuck. Fuck, fuck FUCK!” Remus screamed, making everyone jump, all eyes turning to him as he stared, breathing heavily, at the spinning wheel in the center of the room. With a wordless, furious screech, he drew his morning star, and started pounding, swinging, beating the wood until it was nothing but splinters, until his arms were shaking and the weapon fell from his hands as he sunk to the floor, clutching and ripping at his hair. “Of course he would, of course that melodramatic, Disney fanatic, idiotic BITCH WOULD!”

 “Remus, you need to breathe.” He was hyperventilating, but he didn’t care, he didn’t care, he’d seen Roman, he’d seen the spindle, he’d beat it to hell, and he’d beat Roman to hell if they ever managed to wake him up, for doing this to him.

 “Sleeping curse, it’s a sleeping curse, he did a sleeping curse ON HIMSELF!” He rants, shoving away from Logan, attempting to calm him, frantically pacing, a choked sob escaping him every time his eyes flicked to Roman.

 “So how do we break it?” Patton asked, and he shook his head, still pulling at his hair.

“I believe in most films it is true love’s kiss, is it not? However, Roman does not have a ‘true love’ per se, amongst us.” Logan answered, watching Remus with concern.

 “Point to Pointdexter! Usually, it is.”

 “But-“ Virgil prompted.

 “But I don’t know the rules of this one. He could have done anything! It could be permanent, it could be he only wakes under a certain set of circumstances, it could be we need to make a potion, it could be anything, literally anything! All I know, is the longer it takes for us to figure it out, the harder it’ll be to wake him up, even if we’re doing the correct thing.” He hissed as Patton grabbed his hands, trying to back away, but Patton’s grip was firm, and he couldn’t fight those wide, worried eyes anymore as he slumped into Patton’s embrace, letting loose the silent tears building to bursting as he buried his head against Patton’s shoulder.

 “I know, baby. I know.” Patton murmured, holding him tight and gently swaying back and forth.

 “I need him. I n-need him or I c-can’t…” Patton held him tighter, shushing him gently as he felt Remus hug him back.

 “Well, it wouldn’t be random. He wrote Janus a letter, he clearly planned this out, thought about what he was doing before acting. The phrasing of the letter shows that it is a set of circumstances that would be conceivable to achieve, some criteria that Roman currently believes he does not meet, however erroneous that belief is.” Logan stated, agitatedly running a hand through his hair, as he began to pace.

 “Ok, well, Remus already said that he thought everyone didn’t love him anymore, so could it be, I don’t know, he needs to feel loved?” Virgil asked, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, tracking Logan’s pacing back and forth.

 “no. he’s… he’s felt unloved before, and he’s never done this.” Remus replied softly, finally pulling away from Patton, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, carefully taking Roman’s hand in his, squeezing his eyes shut against the traitorous tears still falling.

 “What if… if it isn’t love? What if it’s being… needed?” Patton asked, voice small. Janus stopped his stroking of Roman’s hair in surprise, glancing at the moral side, turning it over.

 “That… could be right. He learned yesterday that much of what he’s been doing to help Thomas had been hurting him, that his black and white thinking was critically flawed and I… I as good as called him the same as Remus. Which he translated to… replaceable.” Janus swallowed hard, looking back down at Roman’s still as stone face.

 “I pushed him too far, too. I… I didn’t realize I was doing it, but I was. I made him feel like nothing he did was ever… good enough. Pure, enough.”

 “So how do we wake him, if need is indeed the trigger?” Logan asked, looking between Patton and Janus.

 “that’s easy. We tell him how much he’s needed. We make him believe it, even if we have to pound it into him, until he wakes up so I can strangle him.” Remus answered, words belied by the tight grip he had on Roman’s hand, how his lip trembled ever so slightly, and Patton walked over, wrapping him in another hug from behind, steadying the wild side.

 “You’re right. It is easy. Because we do, we really, really do, need him so, so, so much.”

…

 “I need him. I n-need him or I c-can’t-"

 The words sparked something.

 Not awareness. Not much of anything.

 But it wasn’t nothing.

 Faintly, a tug. A tug at something that might have been a soul, a twinge of familiarity.

 “Roman, kiddo, please… please.” Choked, sad, dimly, he knew he didn’t like that voice to be sad.

 Gray. When had he gotten in this deep, graying black? His mind felt hazy, barely aware, and he felt trapped in his own body, unable to move even if he wanted to.

 He didn’t. He wanted to brush off the strange voices and sink back into the gray.

 It was nice there. Quiet, endless, empty. Nothing to be, no mask to wear, it was simpler to just sink.

 “Roman. Without you we cannot function as a group. Please… wake up.” He could feel something. Someone holding his hand, rubbing circles over his knuckles. Someone stroking his hair.

 He didn’t understand. He wasn’t supposed to be dreaming. He reached for the nothing, but it slipped out of his grasp at another voice.

 “Princey, I cannot manage this train wreck alone. I… need you.” He was so close, to placing that voice. He could feel himself hovering, on the edge of waking, on the edge of sleep, toeing between the two, unsure which way he wanted to fall.

 “roman. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, like this. I’m supposed to protect you, and I failed miserably. I let my own pride and ego and hurt get in the way. It’s time to wake up.” That voice was soft and gentle, and remorseful, and suddenly everything came flooding back, the fog retreated, burning away, leaving him to gasp as his eyes fluttered open, inhaling deeply as he tried to get his bearings.

 “Roman?” He blinked, trying to clear his vision, trying to force his throat into functioning.

 “How… how long, has it been?” He asked, voice dry and cracked, weakly trying to sit. Instantly, Patton was there, helping support him into a sitting position, an arm wrapped around his shoulders. He looked around at the group, a small frown quirking his lips. “I figured you’d all age with Thomas. A little gray hair would look good on you guys. Specially you, Specs.” Everyone was silent, looking a bit stricken, then Janus came into view, kneeling beside the bed.

 “Roman. How long do you think it's been?” He shrugged, looking away.

 “oh, I don’t know. Maybe ten, twenty, years?” That was evidently the wrong thing to say, as he suddenly had a very angry emo in his face, looming over him.

 “Virgil, stuck with the eyeshadow, huh? Thought you would’ve found a darker shade by now.”

 “Shut up, Princey. Just… just shut up. You really… how could you think…” He was surprised when Virgil fell into his lap, nearly in tears. Instantly, he hugged him gently.

 “Easy there, doom and gloom.” He murmured, looking up, Remus staring back at him, eyes wide and fists clenched, trembling. Logan looked no better, a strange, hurt expression on his face.

 “roman… it has been roughly three days.” His barely awake mind short circuited. Three days? Not… years, not decades, just… days?

 “no, no, that… that can’t be right… that doesn’t make any sense, I…”

 “Roman. Why doesn’t it make sense?” Janus asked, and he realized the scaled side was still stroking his knuckles. He sucked in a breath, and looked away.

 “I must have done the spell wrong, is all. That… that must be it.” He mumbled.

 “Why do you think that?” Janus asked again, voice gentle, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

 “because I was only to wake if I was ever truly needed. And… and I am not.” Virgil barely managed to roll out of Roman's lap as a blur of green barreled into him, Remus clinging to him tightly.

 “Shut your stupid whore mouth you asshat. That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard leave that shiny mouth of yours.”

 “Remus-"

 “You were gonna leave? You were gonna leave me in charge? I’m a walking dumpster fire, and you thought I could handle running Thomas’s channel?” Remus asked incredulously.

 “I thought… that’s what you wanted.” He whispered, Remus pulling back from his tight embrace, glaring at him through glassy eyes.

 “No! I… I wanted to do it with you, moron! I wanted to fight and bicker and argue and make up and be your goddamn brother!” Remus snapped, tears slipping down his face. He didn’t say anything, simply stared, a bit dumbfounded, majorly confused.

 “why… I don’t… I don’t understand. I make a mess, of everything. I… never learn… I keep making the same mistakes… I don’t… I just keep hurting all of you. I just keep hurting Thomas."

 “Roman. We all make mistakes. We are all struggling to grow and adjust. It is ok, to be confused, to be angry, to be hurt. But you must, must remember that no matter what, we love you Roman. We will always, always, need you.” Logan, voice trembling uncharacteristically, and his breath caught, letting out a low, gasping, sob.

 “Oh honey. Oh Roman, baby, we love you, we need you, I love you.” Patton murmured, hugging him and Remus, who was still holding tight to him. In a moment, he felt Logan’s arms around him, the logical side shaking as he held him tight.

 “You… make us better, Princey. You make me better.” Virgil mumbled, an echo of his own long ago words, and he stifled another sob.

 “It’s ok, Roman. Let it out, dearie. None of us are going anywhere.” Janus, squeezing his hand gently, that tender action breaking his last reserve of fortitude as he broke down, sobbing and blubbering fat, rolling tears, burying his face into the crook of Remus's shoulder.

 He could feel the others, hugging him, rubbing his back, running circles over his knuckles, squeezing his arm, murmuring a thousand kind, reassuring words, each touch setting his skin ablaze because they were there and holding him and honestly, honestly? He hadn’t really ever expected to see them again.

 After a long, long time, his sobs died down into quiet sniffles, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away from the warmth of the group hug he was now the center of, didn’t want any of them to ever let go, but he was exhausted. If he were more aware, he might almost laugh, who knew a sleeping curse would make you more tired once you woke up? But he was, he was exhausted, and felt weak and shaky, a little off kilter, not entirely awake, somehow.

 “I’m sorry. I-"

 “shh, we know, Ro. We know. You don’t need to apologize. This… this is on us. This is our fault, for making you feel… making you think…” Patton murmured against him, trailing off with his own small sob. “you wanna go home, now?” Patton asked instead, and he nodded weakly, flicking his wrist, a shimmering portal appearing in the center of the tower, reflecting the living room.

 Slowly, everyone disentangled themselves from around him, managing with minimal cursing, making him smile, just a tad, though he still felt empty and overwhelmed.

 He was surprised when a gloved hand came into view, looking up to see Janus, eyes warm and crinkled with concern, something almost hesitant in his gaze. With a huff, he accepted the outstretched hand, let Janus support him on his shaky legs, feeling like a newborn fawn trying to stand for the first time.

 “I am sorry, Roman. I was cruel, in my words.” Janus murmured in his ear, as they walked towards the portal. He looked up at the scaled side for a moment, before his eyes flicked away.

 “I started it. It’s… it’s my fault.” He mumbled, feeling Janus stop, tip his chin up so they were eye to eye once more.

 “No. It isn’t, dearie. You were hurting, so you lashed out. I took it too far. Not everything is on you, Roman.” He swallowed hard, giving a sharp, small nod. Janus could tell he didn’t really believe him, but he’d at least heard him.

 “ok.” He whispered, letting the others squeeze his shoulder, Patton holding his hand, as they passed him through the portal, him and Janus following after.

 …

 As soon as he made it into the living room, his legs buckled under him, vision swimming as exhaustion swept over him, the portal snapping shut as he lost hold of his power, drained and empty, dimly glad the others had come through first.

 “-man! Roman!” someone’s voice cut through the cotton in his ears, and he blinked hazily, trying to get colors to stop blurring, trying to get the world to stop spinning.

 “-Ill from being cut off for so long-“

 “was only a few days!”

 “-Roman.” He looked up, barely able to move even that much, limbs weighed down by gravity, a pull so strong he could barely keep his eyes open, but he recognized Logan before him.  

 “teach?” He rasped out, double vision blurring him into two hazy forms. He heard Logan let out a low breath, something close to relief flickering across his face.

 “yes. Very good. We’re going to get you settled, alright? You’ve come down with a fever, likely from your prolonged stasis exposure cutting you off from both Thomas and the imagination. We’re going to take you back to your room and-“

 “No! no, out here… please. Don’t… don’t wanna be alone.” He whispered, tears pricking his eyes, he couldn’t stand to be alone, he couldn’t stand to wake up alone, right now, because he was half terrified that if he fell asleep he’d sink back into the gray, into the nothing, and he didn’t want that anymore, he didn’t want this all to be a delusion, or a dream.

 “Hey, we’re not going anywhere, princey. God knows I’m never leaving you alone again, you clueless moron.” Virgil said, making him chuckle weakly at the lack of venom behind the insult, feeling the concern the anxious side was trying to mask.

 “L-love you, all.” He stuttered out, before darkness took him completely.

[dumbledearme]

chapter forty-nine—eternal mess

read Child of Land and Sea here

Act V — Walking On Water

Part XII — To be a true hero, kid, is a dying art. Like painting a masterpiece, it's a work of heart.

Hermes kissed his son's forehead and murmured a blessing in ancient Greek. Then the Three Fates themselves took the bodies of Luke and Ethan away.

Andy asked Zeus to light up the top of the Empire State Building with blue colors and the god nodded. He didn't seem to care if it was a weird request or not; he just did it.

The Stoll brothers were fine. Mrs O'Leary had dug Chiron out successfully. Katie Gardner reported that she'd seen Rachel run out of the Empire State Building at the end of the battle. Nico di Angelo came into Olympus to a hero's welcome and so did his father. Clarisse marched in and the god of war proclaimed her the best warrior he'd ever seen. Hera seemed pretty upset Anthony had saved Olympus and murmured something about not being able to destroy him now. Dionysus thanked Andy for keeping his son alive.

The army of Poseidon, the ones who had defeated Typhon, marched into the throne room. Tyson saw Andy and smashed her in a Cyclops hug. Poseidon walked in and even forgave her for sitting on his throne. And for the first time in her life, her father embraced her. He was warm like a regular human and smelled like sea breeze. Andy felt like this huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She hadn't realized how much she was needing a hug. "Dad-" she cried softly.

"Shh," Poseidon said. "No hero is above fear, Andy. And you have risen above every hero. Not even Hercules-"

"POSEIDON!" a voice roared. Zeus had taken his throne. "Are you too proud to join us in council, my brother?"

"I would be honored, Lord Zeus." He strode over to his throne and the Council convened.

Zeus started this long speech about the bravery of the gods that seemed to last forever. While he spoke, Andy went to join Anthony who was still sitting in the same place where he had held Luke's body. He hadn't moved a muscle, not even when the Fates took Luke from his hands. Andy knelt beside him, took his hand and kissed it, but he didn't even seem to register her presence.

"As for my brothers," Zeus said, "we are very thankful... erm, thankful for the aid of Hades."

The lord of the dead nodded. He had a smug look on his face as he patted Nico on the shoulders.

"And of course," Zeus continued, "we must... thank Poseidon."

"I'm sorry," Poseidon said. "What was that?"

"There is no way I will be saying it again," Zeus grumbled. "Which leaves us the matter of thanking our young demigod heroes, who defended Olympus so well – even though there are a few dents in my throne." He called Thalia forward and promised his help in filling the Hunters's ranks.

Artemis spoke up. "You have done well, my lieutenant. You have made me proud, and all those Hunters who perished in my service will never be forgotten. They will achieve Elysium, I'm sure," she said glaring pointedly at Hades.

He shrugged. "Probably." Artemis glared at him some more. "Oh, all right," he grumbled.

Thalia beamed with pride. "Thank you." She bowed to the Olympians and limped back.

"Tyson, son of Poseidon," Zeus called. "Doesn't miss many meals, does he? Well, Tyson, for your bravery in the war, and for leading the Cyclopes, you are appointed a general in the armies of Olympus. You shall henceforth lead your brethren into war whenever required by the gods. And you shall have a new... um... what kind of weapon would you like? A sword? An axe?"

"A stick!" Tyson said.

"Very well," Zeus looked disappointed. "The best stick that may be found."

All the Cyclopes cheered.

"Grover Underwood of the satyrs," Dionysus called. "Oh, stop chewing your shirt. Honestly, I'm not going to blast you. For your bravery and sacrificed, and blah blah blah, and since we have an unfortunate vacancy, the gods have seen fit to name you a member of the Council of Cloven Elders."

Grover collapsed on the spot.

"Oh, wonderful," Dionysus sighed. "Well, when he wakes up, tell him that he will no longer be an outcast, and that all satyrs, naiads, and other spirits of nature will henceforth treat him as a lord of the Wild, with all rights, privileges, and honors. Now drag him off before he starts groveling."

Athena called Anthony and he took a long time to move. He stood before the gods, but he seemed to be a miles away. Athena approached him, touched his chin and made him look at her. "You have exceeded all expectations," she told him. "You have used your wits, your strength, and your courage to defend this city, and our seat of power. As it was once said, 'It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but even more to stand up to your friends.'"

Anthony winced like that was the last thing he wanted to hear.

Athena didn't let go of him. "Now, it has come to our attention that Olympus is... well, trashed. The Titan lord did much damage that will have to be repaired. We could rebuild it by magic, of course, and make it just as it was. But the gods feel that the city could be improved. We will take this as an opportunity. And you, my son, will design these improvements."

That got his attention alright. Anthony blinked and stared at his mother, stunned. "Me?"

Athena smiled. "You are an architect, are you not? You have studied the techniques of Daedalus himself. Who better to redesign Olympus and make it a monument that will last for another eon?"

"I... I can design whatever I want?"

"As your heart desires," the goddess said. "Make us a city for the ages."

"As long as you have no statues of Andy Jackson," Dionysus commented, "or I might never return here."

"Make plenty of statues of me instead," Apollo suggested.

"And me," Aphrodite agreed.

"Hey, and me!" Ares added.

"All right," Athena snapped. "He gets the point. Statues. Behold Anthony Chase," she said, "official architect of Olympus."

If Anthony had been miles away before, now he was a whole world away. Andy could see his mind working furiously as he walked back to the stones steps to sit down.

"Andy Jackson!" Poseidon called startling her.

She went to stand before them.

"There she is," Zeus said, "Olympus most disliked demigod."

Ares and Dionysus chuckled.

Andy felt herself blushing. "Okay," she said knowing they wouldn't be kind to her. "Bring it on. Give me all of your hate. But I saved your divine asses and I won't bow to you."

"We can certainly make you bow," Ares threatened.

"A great heroine must be rewarded," Poseidon ignored them. "Is there anyone here who would deny that my daughter is deserving?"

Zeus sighed. "The Council agrees that this unfortunate little brat will have one gift from the gods."

Andy stared at him. "Any thing I want?"

Zeus nodded grimly. "I know what you will ask. The greatest gift of all. Yes, if you want it, it shall be yours. The gods have not bestowed this gift on a mortal hero in many centuries but... Andromeda Jackson – if you wish it – you shall be made a goddess. Immortal. Undying. You shall serve as your father's lieutenant for all time."

Andy blinked. "A... goddess?" the word sounded completely alien in her mouth.

Zeus rolled his eyes. "A dimwitted goddess, apparently. But yes. With the consensus of the entire Council, I can make you immortal. Then I will have to put up with you forever."

"That means I can smash her to a pulp as often as I want, and she'll just keep coming back for more," Ares mused. "I like this idea."

"I approve as well," Athena said, though she was watching Anthony.

The entire idea was so ridiculous Andy started to laugh. Her laughter echoed on the stone walls and the Olympians watched her frowning. She held her stomach and laughed some more, until she heard someone say, "I think she lost it."

Andy looked up at them again. "I can't believe you just offered me this," she gasped. The Council was silent. "A goddess. Ha ha! Have you met me?" she asked them. "I'm like... I'm a... I'm a mess! You want to make me an eternal mess? No!"

"No?" Zeus said. "You are... turning down our generous gift?"

"No, thank you?" Andy smiled. "I'm sorry. I'm honored and everything, I just... don't think that was your brightest idea."

The throne room shook. "What did you say to me?"

"Don't get me wrong," she rushed. "I meant with all respect in the world. It's just... I want to... I want to live. And I want to die. When... you know, time comes." She gave Hades a weary look. The gods glared at her. It was the second time Andy refused immortality. She cleared her throat nervously. "But... um... if your offer still stands, there is something I do want."

Zeus took a deep breath. "If it's within our power."

"It is," she said. "But I need your word. Swear on the River Styx."

"What?" Dionysus cried. "You don't trust us?"

"Someone once told me, you should always get a solemn oath."

Hades smiled. "Guilty."

"Very well," Zeus growled. "In the name of the Council, we swear by the River Styx to grant your reasonable request as long as it is within our power." The other gods muttered assent. Thunder boomed. The deal was made.

"Well, then, here is what I want. From now on, you will recognize the children of the gods," she said. "All the children... of all the gods."

The Olympians shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't you see? All this war... all this death... brother fighting brother... and what for? Demigods who felt abandoned by their parents. They felt angry, resentful, and unloved, and they were not wrong."

Zeus's nostrils flared. "You dare accuse-"

"You dare deny it?" she cut him. "Will you look down on me and say that it is fair to put your children in the world and not once show them that you care? I say no more undetermined children. Claim them. Claim us. Don't leave us out on our own at the mercy of monsters. Protect us. Give us shelter. Bring us to camp so we can be trained right, so we can survive."

"Wait a sec-" said Apollo, but Andy ignored him.

"And the minor gods," she added. "Nemesis, Hecate, Morpheus, Janus, Hebe... they all deserve a general amnesty and a place at Camp Half-Blood. Their children shouldn't be ignored. You couldn't fight this war without us, which tells me that we matter. Calypso and the other peaceful Titan-kind should be pardoned. They did nothing wrong and it's not fair what has happened to them. And Hades-"

"Are you calling me a minor god?" Hades bellowed.

"No," she smiled. "But your children will not be left out. They should have a cabin too. Nico has proven that. No unclaimed demigods will be crammed into the Hermes cabin anymore, wondering who their parents are. They'll have their own cabins, for all the gods. We all matter and we are all welcome at camp. Because we're family."

Ares opened his mouth to speak, but Andy didn't let him.

"You need to stop trying to get rid of powerful demigods. We're going to train them and accept them instead." Finally, she stopped and glanced around the room expecting them to argue. But no one seemed to have the words.

Zeus snorted. "Oh, are you done?"

"Andy," Poseidon started carefully, "you ask too much. You presume too much."

"I presume nothing. I've watched my friends die," she reminded them. "The light left their eyes. And you know, all they wanted was to be loved, to be respected. By you. How is that much?"

That's when Aphrodite gave her a standing ovation. She walked up to Andy. "Ah, Andy Jackson," she said with a bright smile and tears in her eyes. "Such a beautiful surprise. You're so much better than the other Andromeda. All this love you have... I thought it was just for the boy, but you have enough for them all, don't you? The last time I saw someone love this deeply... Helen," she said dreamily. "But Helen was different from you. She was selfish. She'd let world burn as long as she had Paris, because her love was exclusive to him. But you kept the city safe, your family, your friends, and us."

"Okay, I think you're going to far kissing her ass-" Ares started to say.

"No," Aphrodite stopped him. "I've seen loss too. My daughter..." her voice faltered. "But even in the darkest hours, something brings me hope. The rest of you might not understand it. But Andy..." she focused her eyes on Andy. "Andy sees it too. The loudest love is that which is said in silence. Whatever it is you desire, Andy Jackson, shall be yours." Aphrodite reach out her hand.

Andy felt a chill when she touched the goddess. "You flatter me," she said thankfully. "I'm only human."

"Doesn't that just make you outstanding?" Aphrodite whispered.

"She is correct," Athena said, suddenly, surprising everyone. "We have been unwise to ignore our children. It proved a strategic weakness in this war and almost caused our destruction. Andy Jackson, I had my doubts about you, but perhaps" – she glanced at Anthony – "perhaps I was mistaken. I vote that we accept the girl's plan."

"I don't like you," Zeus felt the need to tell Andy. "Not one bit. You are presumptuous. You are rude. You don't know your place and you raise your voice to those more powerful than you." He let out a painful sigh. "But I suppose..."

"All in favor?" Hermes said and all the gods raised their hands.

Andy smiled at them. "You won't regret it. We will make you proud."

"Honor guard!" Poseidon called. The Cyclopes came forward and made two lines from the thrones to the door – an aisle for her to walk through. "All hail, Andromeda Jackson," her father said, "savior of Olympus."

Hermes met her at the door. "Turning down immortality," he said looking at her curiously. "You mortals... Always full of surprises. You know, it was decided Typhon was a freak series of storms and nothing else."

"How bad is the city?"

Hermes shrugged. "Not too bad. The mortals are shaken, of course. But it's New York. I'll help them get back to normal."

Andy nodded. "I owe you an apology," she said looking at her own feet.

"And why is that?" he asked bitterly.

"I thought you were a bad father," she admitted still avoiding his eyes. "I blamed you. Like he did. I thought you knew about his future, but didn't care enough to change it."

"I did know."

"But you knew more than that." Andy raised her eyes and faced the god. "You knew everything. You understood what needed to happen. You trusted he would make the right choice when the time came... and he did. I'm just sorry that you never got to tell him... how much faith you had in him."

"No one can temper with fate," Hermes said miserably. "Not even a god. If I had warned him what was to come, or tried to influence his choices, I would've made things even worse. Staying silent, staying away from him... that was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"I know," Andy said. "But he found his path. He saved us all."

Hermes sighed. "I shouldn't have blamed the boy," he said. "Anthony... when Luke visited him... I knew he was the only one who could get to him, who could reach out and find him in there." He shook his head. "Kronos isn't dead, you know? You can't kill a Titan."

"Then-"

"I don't know," Hermes grumbled. "None of us do. Blown to dust. Scattered to the wind. With luck, he's spread so thin that he'll never be able to form a consciousness again, much less a body. But do not mistake him for dead, Andy. He is not. My son's the one who died. Believing I didn't care about him."

Andy grabbed the god's hand. He stared at her surprised by the physical contact. "Weren't you listening to me in there?" she said. "I told you. Us, your children, we just want a little of your attention. Exactly because we love you. If we didn't, it wouldn't hurt so much when you don't answer. And Luke hurt the most. I think it's pretty obvious that he loved the most too."

A tear streamed down his face and he squeezed her hand.

"You have other children," Andy told him. "I expect you won't make the same mistake."

Hermes's shoulders sagged. "We'll try, Andy. We'll all try to keep our promise. And maybe for a while things will be better. But we gods have never been good at keeping oaths. You were born because of a broken promise, weren't you? Eventually we'll become forgetful. We always do."

"You can change."

Hermes laughed. "After three thousand years, you think the gods can change their nature?"

"If there is one thing I've learned from this war, is that Hope won't leave us unless we tell it to. There is always time for changing. Luke did. And you can too."

Hermes seemed surprised. "You think he really loved me? After all that happened?"

"I'm sure of it."

Hermes nodded. "I'll give you a list of my children. Will you see that they get to camp?"

"I promised," Andy said. "And I don't forget my promises."

"Andy Jackson," Hermes shook his head. "You might just teach us a thing or two."

The goddess of wisdom was also waiting to talk to Andy. It was proving a hard task to leave Olympus without calling attention. Athena's gray eyes blazed when she faced Andy. "You will stay a mortal," she said accusingly like it was a horrible thing.

"Yes."

"You gave us pretty good reasons," she sneered, "but I'm no fool, Andy Jackson. Aphrodite isn't the only one who can see right through you."

Andy hesitated. "I don't-"

"My son." Athena stepped forward and Andy had to fight the urge to run away.

"I love him." She held the goddess's stare with difficulty. She had never said it like that, so raw, so true.

Athena made a face. "I once warned you, Andy Jackson, that to save a friend you would destroy the world. I was mistaken. Like Aphrodite said, you saved both your friends and the world."

"Anthony did. And Luke. And Clarisse, and Silena, and Thalia, and Grover. I didn't do anything alone. A lot of people gave their lives so the gods could remain."

"True," Athena said. "I acknowledge it. That is why my warning will be brief: think very carefully about how you proceed from here. I have given you the benefit of the doubt. Don't mess up."

"I won't."

Athena shook her head. "I might let you have him," she said, "but I will never understand what he sees in you."

"Finally," Andy smiled at the goddess. "Finally something we have in common."