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bubonickitten · 3 years

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Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: Jon and Basira make their way to Ny-Ålesund; Daisy and Martin have a long-overdue conversation.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 26: panic/anxiety symptoms; brief descriptions of Flesh-domain-typical imagery; discussion of police violence, intimidation tactics, & abuse of authority (re: Daisy’s past actions); mentions of canonical character deaths & murder; reference to a canonical instance of a character being outed (re: Jon’s coworkers gossiping about him being ace); allusions to childhood emotional neglect; a bit of internalized ableism re: ADHD symptoms; discussions of strict religious indoctrination; a physical altercation, including being restrained with a hold; swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 26: Remains To Be Seen

The journey to Tromsø is… uneventful, comparatively speaking.

Almost worryingly so, Jon observes at one point.

You’re fretting because something hasn’t gone horribly wrong? Basira asks.

Aren’t you?

The tension in Basira’s shoulders is answer enough. They’re both on tenterhooks, all too aware of the dreadful species of things that lurk in the margins of the world, any number of which could be waiting in the wings for them.

That’s not to say there are no complications at all. There’s a learning curve to navigating the world blindfolded, but the two of them settle into something of a routine: Basira guiding Jon with a hand on his arm, talking him around obstacles, across gaps, and up and down stairs. An improvised system of nudges and taps develops organically over the course of their travels, starting when Basira realizes that Jon has trouble parsing her words over the noise of a crowd. It becomes their go-to mode of communication with surprising ease.

It’s an exercise in trust oddly refreshing in its mundanity.

Jon finds the blindfold comforting, in its own way: surreal, but somehow not as surreal as the evidence of normalcy all around him. Consistent, straightforward geography is disorientating enough after so long traversing a world knitted together by nightmare logic and allegory. Even more bewildering are the people. Throngs of them go about their day-to-day routines, each preoccupied with their own affairs, taking for granted their relative anonymity against the vast backdrop of the bustling world around them, secure in the privacy of their own thoughts – and blissfully unaware of the alternative.

This is how it should be, he admonishes himself in a weary refrain. People deserve ownership over their own minds, their stories, their secrets. The Archivist in him vehemently disagrees, of course. It’s exhausting, how relentlessly Jon has to challenge that instinctual voyeurism.

Prone to sensory overload, he’s always hated crowds: the noise, the flurry of movement, the press of bodies, the constant threat of unwanted touches, the lack of freedom to move at his own pace. Becoming the Archivist made the experience infinitely worse. The combination of the blindfold and Daisy’s noise-cancelling headphones does little to stem the tide of intrusive knowledge: random scraps of disconcerting trivia, a steady stream of morbid statistics, insights into the deep-seated anxieties of passersby – and, on a few occasions, the whisper of a story to be chronicled. At least the blindfold prevents him from inadvertently locking eyes with anyone.

They try to avoid traveling during peak commuting hours, but not every crowd can be evaded. The first time he wanders into the path of a potential statement giver, Jon nearly causes a pile-up in a congested station, stopping so abruptly in his tracks that the person in the queue behind him crashes headlong into him. Basira manages to catch him before he’s knocked off his feet, keeping a firm grasp on his arm when the panicked urge to flee overtakes him and nearly sends him careening blindly in the opposite direction. When a nearby stranger snipes at him for the nuisance, Jon is surprised at how immediately Basira leaps to his defense.

Back off, she says, the hint of a threat in her tone, before steering Jon out of the crowd and off to the side, where he can lean against the wall and catch his breath. She stands firm between him and the masses, diverting traffic and warding off anyone else who might seek a confrontation, giving him the sorely-needed time to compose himself. He’s certain that she’ll be cross with him after, but… she isn’t.

Tense, certainly. Concerned even. But criticism is bafflingly, mercifully absent.

There are a few more incidents after that, but none quite so dramatic. The instant he senses the Archivist in him stirring, he chokes out a warning to Basira, who turns out to be preternaturally adept at finding (or creating) spaces for him to recoup. With both of them on guard and communicating freely, they manage to avoid being in close quarters with anyone who might have a story to tell.

Tromsø offers a temporary reprieve from all of that. There are people, of course – it’s the busiest fishing port in Norway, the Eye interposes for the fourth time this hour. Jon takes an aggravated swipe at the empty air beside him, once again momentarily forgetting that there’s no pesky swarm of Watchers tagging along for this particular journey. Not visibly, at least.

Still, the open-air piers of a busy fishing port are a far cry from a densely-packed train. There’s a cargo ship scheduled to leave for Ny-Ålesund within the next hour, and Basira is further down the docks meeting with its captain to (hopefully) arrange for passage. Apparently Jon has earned some trust over the course of their travels, because she didn’t object when he requested to stay back and take a breather.

Although the docks of Tromsø bear little resemblance to the beaches of Bournemouth, the calls of seabirds are familiar enough to be meditative. Nostalgic, albeit in an uneasy, bittersweet way. His childhood was riddled enough with nightmares and alienation that thoughts of the place where he grew up are always laced with remembered horror and punctuated by a nebulous sense of grief for what could have been. If he never caught the Spider’s eye; if he never opened the book; if he wasn’t quite so demanding and easily bored and difficult to manage; if his eccentric reading habits were just a bit less finicky, even…

Left to his own devices, Jon could drown himself in what ifs.

A frigid gust of wind whips his hair about. When he reaches up to smooth it down, he finds it coarse from the brine-saturated breeze. Rubbing his fingertips together and grimacing at the faint gritty residue, Jon pulls Georgie’s scarf up over his nose to fend against the nip in the air and he turns his sight to the sky. It’s a stark, pallid grey, the kind of overcast that manages to be blinding-bright despite the sun’s concealment. The sight stings his eyes, but still he does not blink.

It should be exhilarating to look up and see nothing staring back. Instead, the sight fills him with… well, it’s difficult for him to define succinctly. Some peculiar species of dread, mingled with a disquieting, ill-defined sense of longing. Perhaps he’s simply becoming adrift in time again: remembering how it felt to look up at a Watching sky and hopelessly wish for a return to the world as it was, to clouds and stars and void. But he can’t shake the suspicion that it’s at least partly a monstrous yearning for the ruined future from which he came.

He doesn’t know what that says about him. Nothing good, probably.

You miss it, a gloating, sinister little voice concurs from one of the murky, thorny corners of Jon’s mind. You don’t belong here. You Know where you–

Jon’s phone dings several times, yanking him away from that ill-fated train of thought. Grateful for the interruption, he digs it out of his pocket, instantly brightening when Naomi’s name greets him and eagerly opening their text thread.

Jon is too busy smiling to himself to notice Basira’s approach.

“What’s – oh, sorry,” she says when he starts. “Keep expecting you to just sort of… Know I’m here.”

“The Eye doesn’t seem inclined to help me out on that front, unfortunately,” Jon says with an embarrassed chuckle. “If anything, my being jumpy probably feeds it.”

Basira glances down at his phone, then back up at him. “Everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Naomi.” Jon’s grin returns. “All her texts from the last couple days just came through at once. She wants to know whether Krampus is real.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Haven’t replied just yet.”

“Oh.” Basira opens her mouth to say more, then promptly closes it.

A delighted smirk twitches into being at the corner of Jon’s mouth. “Now you want to know as well, don’t you?”

Basira rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “Later. We have a boat to catch.”

When Jon reaches into his pocket to retrieve his blindfold, Basira shakes her head.

“Best not,” she says. “The captain agreed to take us, but she was leery about the whole thing. I don’t want to give her a reason to reconsider. The less suspicious we seem, the better.”

“Still getting odd stares, then?”

“Getting used to people looking at me like I’m transporting a hostage,” she replies with a tired, beleaguered smile. It fades into a frown as she looks him up and down, taking stock of his shaking hands and the way he leans heavily on his cane. “Alright?”

“A bit sore,” Jon admits, glancing down at his leg. “Probably just been putting weight on it for too long a stretch.”

“We should be able to sit soon. Until then, try not to fall.”

“Or freeze,” Jon says distractedly, glancing warily upwards again.

“Daisy says the cold always gets to her,” Basira says, quietly enough that Jon suspects it wasn’t meant for him. “Seriously, though – you alright? You keep staring at the sky like it’s going to crack open.”

“I’m fine.” Jon shuts his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. “Just… apprehensive.”

“Sense anything?” Despite her carefully bland tone, the crux of the question is clear.

“Nothing concrete.” No statement givers, he does not say – but Basira nods, understanding his meaning. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Come on, then.” She starts off down the dock – at a brisk pace at first, but slowing when she looks back to ensure that Jon is following and observes his stiffer, more deliberate gait.

He grimaces apologetically. Up until Jane Prentiss and her worms, he was inclined towards speed walking as much as Basira is. Always in a hurry to get nowhere at all, Georgie used to say, simultaneously lamenting and teasing. Not everyone is a power walker, Jon, Martin would gripe from time to time during the apocalypse.

Maybe some of us want to slow down and take in the scenery, he grumbled on one occasion, as they traipsed through a predictably grisly Flesh domain.

The forest of pulsating meat sculptures, you mean? Jon replied primly.

Oh, you’re telling me you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to stop and take notes on the ecology of flesh spiders?

Not as much as I want to get to a place where the ground isn’t a spongy skin trampoline.

Flesh domains always had a tendency to bring out the worst (best?) of their morbid humor, Jon notes upon reflection.

In any case, Jon has always had a tendency to hurry, too impatient to reach his destination to appreciate the journey. Internally, that impulse is still there. On good days, he can almost satisfy that restlessness. Today is not a good day.

Basira stops and waits. It’s a practice that has become second nature to her ever since Daisy emerged from the Buried: learning all the unspoken signals and warning signs of a bad pain day, from barely-suppressed winces and cold sweat to waspishness and stifled, winded breaths; gauging all the fickle fluctuations in mobility in real time through careful, constant observation; and discreetly adjusting her own walking pace to accommodate without question or complaint.

“You know, I haven’t spent much time on boats,” Basira says, apropos of nothing – probably to break the silence as she waits for Jon to catch up. “I’m hoping motion sickness during long car rides isn’t correlated with seasickness. Does the Eye have any statistics handy? Seems like it would qualify as terrible knowledge.”

“Let’s just say you should keep the Dramamine at the ready,” Jon says wryly as he reaches her position.

“Wonderful,” Basira sighs, and she resumes walking, this time matching Jon’s stride.

Martin will be the first to admit that, between the two of them, Jon doesn’t have a monopoly on obsessiveness.

Case in point: Jon and Basira have been gone for five days now, and – in between bouts of worrying over their safety and mounting apprehension about Peter’s inexplicable, persistent hiatus – Martin is still replaying everything he said and did in the moments leading up to Jon’s departure.

Or, more precisely, what he didn’t say.

Nearly two months have passed since Jon returned from the Buried. It’s been nice, it really has, spending time with him. He’s changed – How could he not have? – but he’s still Jon. Even more wounded and jaded than he was before – How much abuse can one person take? – but it hasn’t made him cruel or cold. Harder in some respects, to be sure – namely on himself.

Which is saying something, Martin thinks with a pang. In all the time that Martin has known him, Jon has never been kind to himself. It’s always been a struggle to convince him to take care of himself in the most basic of ways, let alone spare a thought for comfort.

But in other respects, Jon has grown softer. More open, more communicative – more trusting, somehow, despite this world and the next piling on reason after reason for him to detach and withdraw. Martin thinks about that every time the Lonely starts to whisper in his ear. The fog is still there, firmly planted in his mind, choking out his thoughts from time to time like an invasive weed. It won’t be easily uprooted. Seeing Jon alive and trying, reaching out, grasping at warmth, clinging to humanity with all his trademark stubbornness… it makes Martin want to try, too. It makes him want to hope, to look forward and see – to fight for – a future where things are better.

So, yes, Jon has changed. They both have.

I’m not the person you remember, Martin said the first time they spoke after Jon came back. I’m not the person you fell in love with.

Jon had locked eyes with him then, and Martin found that he could not look away.

Martin has spent the majority of his life walking a tightrope, striking an uneasy balance between competing instincts. The part of him that excels in flying under the radar takes comfort in being inconspicuous. There are people out there who see kindness as naivety and trust as a weakness to be exploited. The best way to avoid their notice is to avoid being seen at all, and Martin learned early on that to be unremarkable has its own advantages. All too often, to go unnoticed is to survive.

It isn’t enough to just survive, though, is it? Barely hidden underneath all the abysmal self-esteem and the carefully constructed mask of agreeability, there is a spark of indignation and outrage and want. To be seen is fundamentally terrifying; to demand acknowledgment is to welcome exposure. But Martin has always had a rebellious streak, carving out a space for itself amongst all the loneliness and fear and self-deprecation.

Look at me, it seethes. See me.

And when Jon did look at him – Saw him – an unmistakably pleased little voice jostled its way to the forefront to triumphantly declare, Finally.

Martin, I fell in love with this version of you, Jon said. With every version of you.

It was difficult to believe. Martin didn’t want to believe it. He was afraid to believe it. But he did, and he does, and he feels the same way, and he has for so, so long, and that defiant chip on his shoulder never truly let him forget it, even when isolation had him by the throat–

So why can’t you say it?

Since that day, it hasn’t come up again. Jon is affectionate, far more than Martin would have expected. Sure, Jon has always seemed more natural at expressing his feelings through actions rather than words, but Martin never imagined he would be so… well, cuddly. Jon always struck Martin as averse to touch, keeping people at arm’s length both figuratively and literally. He still is, sometimes. But more often than not, Martin gets the impression that Jon would cling like a limpet if given explicit permission. Martin doesn’t know whether that’s a new development, or whether it’s just that he now numbers among Jon’s rare exceptions.

Maybe I should ask Georgie, Martin thinks, only partly in jest.

There’s still a lingering hesitancy there, though. Yes, when Martin invites contact, Jon jumps at the opportunity to be close. Initiating, though… Jon doesn’t quite walk on eggshells per se, but he moves with a gentleness perhaps too gentle at times. Excessively tentative – but not subtle.

Martin long ago perfected the art of stealing furtive glances at Jon. It’s not difficult. Jon is prone to tunnel vision, predisposed to lose himself in his work or a book or his own mind until the rest of the world outside his narrow focus dissolves around him. If he ever noticed Martin’s eyes on him, Jon never called attention to it.

Jon’s staring doesn’t have the same finesse. His gaze is heavy. Concentrated, unwavering, penetrating – and Jon is painfully self-conscious about that. Prompt to stammer apologies whenever he’s caught watching, quick to avert his eyes. According to him, most people find the Archivist’s attention unnerving. Martin supposes it can be at times, but he’s long since become acclimated to it. Endeared to it, even. It’s grounding, despite how ruthlessly being Seen clashes with the Lonely aspects of Martin’s existence.

Maybe that disharmony is precisely why it’s grounding.

So Jon’s eyes flit to Martin whenever he thinks Martin isn’t looking, and cautious glimpses stretch into riveted, unconscious watching, and Martin graciously pretends not to notice. This has been the status quo for weeks now: faltering not-quite-touches and longing, not-so-surreptitious gazes, interspersed with understated handholding and a few sporadic sessions of what Martin can only call cuddling. All of it has been underscored by three simple words dangling in the scant expanse of empty space between them, waiting for acknowledgment.

Jon is waiting – waiting for Martin – and Jon… Jon has never been good at waiting, has he? Not like Martin. Jon’s directionless fidgeting and bitten-short declarations and absentminded stares betray his buzzing impatience despite his best efforts, but still he’s waiting, with as much valiant restraint as he can muster.

I love you. It’s a truth so obvious that speaking it aloud would hardly qualify as a confession. I love you, Martin thinks, and he feels it down to his bones, woven into the very atoms of him.

It’s difficult to pinpoint when it began. Early on, Martin only wanted to appear qualified to his new supervisor, then to impress him, then to prove him wrong – and then, eventually, to genuinely take care of him. Jon was in need of care, and resistant to receiving it, and that was familiar, wasn’t it? Maybe some desperate, stubborn part of Martin just wanted to be useful for once. To be seen. To succeed with Jon where he had failed with his mother.

Then Prentiss happened. Martin had been certain that Jon would dismiss Martin’s story, reprimand him for his prolonged absence, and snap at him to get back to work. And then… he didn’t.

Your safety is my responsibility, Jon said curtly, showing Martin to his new, hopefully temporary lodgings. I failed you, Jon’s contrite grimace read. I won’t fail you again. Then he immediately strode off to meet with Elias, leaving Martin loitering idly in Document Storage, speechless and bemused.

Maybe that’s where it started: Jon barging unannounced and uninvited into Elias’ office with brazen, unapologetic demands for safe haven and fire extinguishers and heightened security. He even went so far as to persistently badger Elias for customizations to the building’s sprinkler system. That tenacity may have been partly driven by guilt and obligation, but Martin swore he caught glimpses of something more from time to time. Something deeper and more personal, sympathetic and kind.

It started, as so many significant shifts do, with the small things.

Martin retired to Document Storage one night that first week to find extra blankets folded neatly at the end of his cot. I thought you might be cold, Jon admitted upon questioning. It can get chilly in here at night. The pressing question of exactly how many times Jon must have slept here overnight in order to know that was promptly crowded out by a vivid mental image of Jon wrestling a heavy quilt onto the Tube during the morning commuter rush. The thought brought a smile to Martin’s face. He said as much, and Jon immediately fabricated a clumsy excuse to exit the conversation.

On another occasion, Martin opened the break room cabinet to find his favorite tea restocked. He’d been putting off shopping, too anxious to leave the relative safety of the Institute’s walls. I noticed you were running low, Jon mumbled. And I was already at the store anyway, he added almost defensively, eyes narrowing in a stern glare to discourage comment – as if drawing attention to Jon’s random acts of kindness would destroy his curmudgeonly reputation.

Those circumspect displays of consideration were touching in their awkwardness. Jon was gruff and reticent, to be sure, but he cared, in his own unpracticed, idiosyncratic way. And one day, when Martin looked at him, he thought, I’d like to kiss him, and then: Oh no. Oh, fuck.

Jon never seemed to pick up on Martin’s feelings back then. But he knows now – not Knows, just knows – and, impossible as still seems, he returns those feelings. Jon said the words in no uncertain terms, left them in Martin’s care – and now he’s waiting for Martin to make the next move.

So why haven’t you? What are you waiting for?

“Want some tea?”

Martin jumps at the sound of Daisy’s voice.

“Sorry,” she snorts. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I –” Martin clears his throat, recovering. “Tea. Right. Uh, I can get it–”

“Let me. I need to stretch my legs anyway. And I wouldn’t want to interrupt your pining.”

“Wh-what?” Martin sputters.

“You haven’t turned the page in at least twenty minutes,” Daisy informs him, nodding at the statement resting on the table in front of him. “Liable to burn yourself on the kettle while you’re spacing out, fantasizing about snogging Jon or whatever.”

“Wh– I – you – I’m – why would–”

“Don’t know why you’re being so coy about it.” Her blasé shrug is offset by the devious grin on her face. “Not like it’s a secret you’re on kissing terms.”

“We… we haven’t,” Martin blurts out, heat rising in his cheeks. Immediately, he kicks himself. Given what he knows of Daisy, there’s no avoiding an interrogation now.

“You – wait, really?” Daisy raises her eyebrows. “Why not?”

“It just hasn’t – I – it’s really none of your–” Martin huffs, flustered. “I don’t even know if he does that.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“B-because, he…”

Because Martin has a tendency to fade into the background, and people will say a lot of things when they assume no one else is in earshot.

Do you know if he and Jon ever…

No clue, and not interested! Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Like, at all?

Yeah.

Martin cringes at the memory. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He still wishes he hadn’t overheard. Jon was always so tight-lipped about his personal life back then. It felt like a violation of his privacy, knowing something that he would in all likelihood have preferred to keep to himself and share only at his own discretion. Martin tried to put it out of his head, to avoid thinking too hard on the specifics of what Jon “doesn’t” – and, conversely, what he maybe, possibly does – but, well…

Martin shakes his head to clear his thoughts before they can meander any further into the realm of imagination. In any case, he certainly isn’t about to repeat that piece of gossip to Daisy now.

“I – I just don’t want to assume,” he says instead.

Daisy tilts her head, considering. “Well, have you asked him?”

“W-well, no.”

“Why not? Sure, some people aren’t into kissing, I guess, but I doubt he’d mind you asking. Even if the answer is ‘no,’ I guarantee he wants to be close in other ways.” At Martin’s lack of response, Daisy heaves an exaggerated sigh. “He reaches for you every time you’re not looking, you know. Always fidgeting with his hands, like he wants to touch but he doesn’t know how to ask. He’s as bad as you are, pining face and all.”

“I do not have a ‘pining face,’” Martin says. “If you must know, I was worrying just now.”

“You definitely have a pining face, and it’s different from your worried face. When you’re worried, you get all scowly and you chew your lip bloody. You’re focused, intense. When you’re pining, you get this faraway look to you, like you’re not taking anything in. And you touch your fingers to your lips a lot – yeah, like that.”

Martin yanks his fingers away from his mouth as if scalded, glowering indignantly at an increasingly smug Daisy. “What are you, a mentalist?”

“I’ve gotten used to reading people – picking up on openings, weak spots, stress signals, you know. Don’t know whether that’s a Hunt thing or a me thing. Both, maybe.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, you went from worried to pining about ten minutes ago now. And Jon, he’s even easier to read than you are. He’s so far gone for you, I can tease him mercilessly about it and never get a rise out of him. Even when I can get him to bat an eye, he never does that… that flustered denial thing he usually does when you hit a nerve. He just goes all… soft and wistful. Retreats into his own head, gets that smitten little smile – you know the one?”

“Yes.” Martin is blushing furiously now, he’s certain. Daisy flashes him another knowing, unabashedly victorious smirk.

“Point is, our lives are messed up, water is wet, and Jon Sims loves cats and Martin Blackwood, but he’s terrified of crossing some invisible line, so instead he’s just openly pining and it isn’t even fun to tease him about it because he’s too lovestruck to be properly embarrassed about it.” Daisy pauses for a breath. “So, if you want to kiss Jon, you should ask him, because I doubt he’s going to make the first move anytime soon, and it’s getting ridiculous watching the two of you tiptoe around the elephant in the room. So what are you waiting for?”

“How is any of this your business, anyway?” Martin snaps.

“Well, seeing as Jon’s my friend–”

That strikes a nerve, and Martin is reacting before he can properly evaluate the feeling.

“Okay, yeah, about that,” he says sharply. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Well, all you wanted to do before was hunt him down and hurt him.” Instantaneously, Daisy’s playful demeanor evaporates. “Even after Elias blackmailed you into working for him, you still looked at Jon like he wasn’t human. Not even a monster, either, just – just something you wanted to tear apart, just because you wanted to see him afraid. And now all of a sudden you’re friends? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Jon’s willing to overlook a murder attempt. He… he has so little respect for himself, his standards are so…” Martin captures his lower lip between his teeth and bites down until it aches. “He’s so used to being treated badly, the bar is six feet below ground.”

“Yeah,” Daisy whispers.

“But – but what I can’t figure out is what your angle is. You wanted to hurt him, you did hurt him – he still has a scar from where you held a knife to his throat. You would’ve killed him if Basira didn’t stop you.”

“I–”

“He was so afraid of disappearing without a trace, did you know that?” Martin interjects, his face growing hotter as over a year’s worth of pent-up fury boils to the surface.

Martin has read enough statements to know that even one of the encounters representative of the Institute’s collection is one traumatic experience too many. Even so, it’s only a small fraction of the horror stories that have plagued humanity throughout history – that continue to unfold in the present day. How many people suffer something horrible and don’t live long enough to tell the story? The Archive, chock-full of terror though it may be, is an ongoing study in survivorship bias.

“When Prentiss attacked the Institute,” Martin fumes, “Jon was more afraid of that – of leaving nothing behind – than he was of dying. You were going to bury him where no one would ever find him, and no one would ever know what happened to him, and now… now you say you want to be his friend, like nothing ever happened? And I’m supposed to just trust you?”

For a long minute, the only sound is Martin’s rapid, heavy breathing. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Combativeness, maybe. For Daisy to get her hackles up, to defend herself against Martin’s implications, to take offense to his accusatory tone. Instead, her entire posture wilts and her shoulders curl inward. It’s as if an invisible weight is pressing against her on all sides, crushing her into something small and taut.

“I guess we’re doing this now, then,” she mumbles.

“Guess we are,” Martin says stiffly, one foot tapping frenetically against the floor as his agitation continues creeping ever upward.

Daisy nods and releases a heavy exhale. “This isn’t just about Jon, is it?��

“I…” Martin trails off as he considers the question. “No. I guess it’s not.”

“Well.” Daisy rubs at her upper arms, eyes fixed on the floor. “Go on.”

“When you questioned all of us – when you interrogated me, you didn’t – you didn’t actually want to find out the truth. You just wanted to get to Jon, because you assumed he was guilty, and…” Martin huffs. “No, it wasn’t even about guilt, was it? You didn’t care about solving Leitner’s murder, you didn’t care about finding Sasha – she could’ve still been alive for all we knew at the time, but you didn’t care whether she was in danger, whether she could be saved. And – and even if we did have proof that she was dead, we deserved to know what happened to her. She deserved better than to be a mystery.”

“You’re right.” Daisy’s soft agreement does nothing to temper Martin’s burgeoning wrath.

“She was my friend, you know that? She was my friend, and you just – dismissed her, like she wasn’t worth remembering, like her life was some – some trivial detail. I didn’t know whether to be afraid for her or – or – or to mourn for her, and all you had to offer was, ‘Jon probably killed her, tell me where he is or else.’ You were a detective, you were supposed to help, but all you cared about was getting to Jon, and you – you – you threatened me because you thought I could tell you where to find him. That you could use me to hurt him.” Martin breathes a bitter chuckle. “I guess Jon was right not to trust the police to figure out what happened to Gertrude.”

Daisy doesn’t deny it.

“So… yeah.” Martin shrugs as his rant tapers off. “That’s where I am, I guess. I know you’ve changed – haven’t we all – but… every time I see you near Jon, there’s a part of me that panics. Maybe I’m not being fair, but I – I can’t forget. I don’t know how to feel.”

Daisy is quiet for a long minute, fingers digging into her arms now, a pained expression lingering on her face.

“I’ve done… a lot of things I’m not proud of,” she says slowly. “Hurt a lot of people. Most more than they deserved. Many who didn’t deserve it at all. Can’t even make apologies to most of them, let alone make amends. I don’t even know if I could make amends. Some things are unforgivable.”

It doesn’t undo what I did, Jon’s voice plays in Martin’s mind. I can’t erase it.

“You should know,” Daisy says, “complete lack of self-respect aside, Jon doesn’t… he doesn’t overlook what I did.”

“What?”

“He knows what I am. What I’ve done. He doesn’t pretend I’m something I’m not, he doesn’t lie to me about what I could become, he doesn’t offer me forgiveness that I don’t deserve, but he still… he still doesn’t expect the worst from me, either. He expects me to make the right choice, even though I gave him every reason not to trust me.”

“He’s still too forgiving,” Martin mutters.

“That’s another thing. I… I don’t think he does. Forgive me, that is.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Because you’re afraid to know the answer?” Maybe that’s uncharitable, but Martin never claimed to be an easily forgiving soul. Most people wouldn’t assume it at first glance, but he’s always had a tendency to nurse a grudge.

Daisy hunches even further, her shoulders drawing in tighter.

“Because if he did forgive me, he would tell me,” she says, her throat bobbing as she struggles to swallow. “But he doesn’t. I know he doesn’t, and he shouldn’t, and I’m not going to put him in a position where he has to justify himself, or sugarcoat it, or comfort me for what I did to him.”

Martin doesn’t know what to say to that.

“And the same goes for you.” Daisy steals a quick glimpse at Martin before lowering her head again. “I won’t ask you to forgive me. Ever. But I am sorry – for how I treated you, for what I did to Jon. I’ll never stop being sorry. That doesn’t make it better, I know. But I want to do better. I’m trying to be better. Too little too late, maybe, but I won’t go back to how I was before. I can’t take it all back, but I can at least make sure I don’t hurt anyone else.”

“You sound like Jon.”

“First and second place for guiltiest conscience, us,” Daisy says with a tired chuckle. “And I don’t know which of us is in first.” She sighs. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I do see Jon as a friend. Not just because I’m sorry, or because he saved me, or because I owe him, but because he… well, he sees me as I am, and he sees me for who I want to be, and he doesn’t see those as mutually exclusive, but he also doesn’t deny the contradiction.”

“Wish he could apply the same logic to himself.”

“Yeah. He’s an absolute mess of double standards. Best we can do is call him on it at every opportunity. Maybe eventually he’ll get it through his head.”

“Yeah,” Martin scoffs. “Maybe.”

“Anyway,” she says, “I care about him, and he cares about you, so…”

“So you thought you’d appoint yourself his wingman?”

“Maybe a little.” Daisy gives him a hesitant, sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Martin sighs. The resentment is still there, but he does feel a bit lighter after getting it all out in the open. Besides, he's so emotionally drained from his outburst, he can’t quite work up the energy for mild annoyance right this moment.

“Well, in that case – if you want to kiss him, you should ask. That’s all I’m saying,” Daisy says hurriedly, holding up her palms in a placating gesture when Martin gives her a tired glare. “I’ll drop it now. I meant it when I said I wanted tea.”

Daisy winces as she rises to her feet.

“And I meant it when I said I can get it,” Martin says.

“I’ve got it.”

“Then at least let me come along and–”

“Uh, no.” Daisy gives him a quelling look. “Jon warned me about how you are with tea.”

“What?”

“Says you’re a micromanager.”

“He what?” Martin demands.

“Okay, he didn’t say it like that. Actually, I think the word he used was persnickety.”

“Oh, as if he has room to talk,” Martin mutters. “He’s just miffed that I caught him microwaving tea once and I refuse to let him live it down.”

“What’s wrong with microwaving tea?” Martin recoils, affronted – and then Daisy snorts. “Settle down. I’m just messing with you.” She starts to leave, pausing only briefly to glance over her shoulder. “I won’t be long. Yell if Peter decides to finally show his face.”

“Will do,” Martin groans, reluctantly returning to the statement in front of him. Yet another alleged Extinction sighting, courtesy of Peter, for Martin to dutifully pretend to research.

Stringing Peter along is the best way Martin knows to keep in check. In that sense, it’s an important job – one only Martin can do. Nonetheless, it’s reminiscent of how it felt to be left behind when the others went to stop the Unknowing. Distracting Elias was important, sure, and dangerous in its own way, but it wasn’t exactly on the same level as storming the Circus to stop the apocalypse. Comparatively, Martin felt useless.

Now, with Basira and Jon off on their mission, Martin is beset by a similar sense of futility. There’s certainly enough work to keep him busy, given that Peter delegates most of his job responsibilities to Martin. (Martin is fairly certain that, fraudulent CV or not, he’s more qualified to run the Institute at this point than Peter is.) Performing routine administrative duties can be a boring and demoralizing enough endeavor in the context of a mundane underpaid office job; doing so in service to an unfathomable cosmic evil is, to put it mildly, soul-destroying. Perhaps in a literal sense, as far as Martin knows.

That’s not to mention the customary gloom that comes with reading account after dreadful account of senseless, indiscriminate suffering.

Martin wishes there was something practical he could do, is his point. Patient though he may be, indefinite waiting is less tolerable when what he’s waiting for is the other shoe to drop, so to speak. He has no desire to interact with Peter in any capacity, but the longer he remains scarce, the more Martin’s trepidation soars.

There’s no way Peter has conceded his bet with Jonah, but there’s no telling whether he’s simply biding his time and observing how events unfold, actively plotting his next moves, or already enacting an revised scheme from the shadows. Regardless, he’s a clear and present danger for as long as he’s around. He may not be hasty, but he’s still a wildcard. Jon told Martin about the last time: how Peter released the NotThem to rampage through the Institute, solely for the sake of causing a distraction. As long as he has The Seven Lamps of Architecture in his possession, he–

Oh.

Martin smiles to himself. Maybe there is something more he can do.

The warehouse is, unsurprisingly, dark. Even with the door propped open, the daylight filtering through illuminates a radius of only a few yards before it’s swallowed by unnatural gloom. As Jon and Basira move further into the cavernous space, the beams of their torches barely penetrate the velvety murk.

“Any idea where she is?” Basira whispers from Jon’s left.

“Waiting in ambush, I assume. I can’t See much of anything.”

“See or See?”

“Either. Both.”

“And you’re certain that applies to Elias as well? He won’t be able to See us here?”

“Positive,” Jon says. “The Dark has–”

An enraged bellow sounds out from behind them. Basira’s torch clatters to the concrete floor, its light promptly extinguished as the casing cracks and the batteries come loose. In a flash, Basira is on the ground, locked in a furious scuffle with–

“Manuela Dominguez!” Jon says. Manuela looks up reflexively, surprised to hear her name. It’s all the opening Basira needs to gain the upper hand, grappling Manuela into a prone position on the floor and pinning her in place with a wristlock. Manuela cries out in pain, but her wild thrashing continues unabated.

“Jon,” Basira grunts, increasingly winded as Manuela attempts to break the hold. “A little help?”

“Manuela, listen, we – we’re just here to talk–”

Manuela briefly pauses in her struggling to spit at Jon’s feet. Funny, how some details remain the same. A second later, she’s resisting again, now attempting to twist around and bite at whatever exposed skin she can find.

“Stop.”

The command crackles up Jon’s throat and sparks off the tip of his tongue like a static shock, hundreds of iterations of the word coinciding. The air itself seems to quake with the force of it, and Jon is left shivering in its wake.

So, it seems, is Manuela: her voice shudders out of her when she speaks.

“Who are you?” she hisses. “What do you want?”

“To make a deal,” Jon says, the words slightly slurred.

“Why would I deal with you?” In the flickering glow of his torchlight, Jon can see the baleful glint in Manuela’s eyes. “You’re of the Eye, aren’t you? What could you even possibly want? You’ve already taken everything – you lot and your Archivist. Where is she, anyway?” Manuela makes a show of scanning the room as best she can, pinioned as she is. “Too much of a coward to witness the wreckage she’s wrought?”

“Gertrude is dead,” Basira says.

“Stopping us took everything she had, then.” Manuela smirks. “Serves her right.”

“You wish,” Basira scoffs. “She was murdered. Completely unrelated.”

“That’s –” Manuela’s smug expression vanishes. “Who–?”

“Elias,” Jon says. “She was too much of a thorn in his side. Too much of a force to be reckoned with.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you,” Jon says. “We want to make a deal. A temporary alliance.”

“An alliance?” Manuela repeats. What starts as a weak, dismissive laugh dissolves into a wheeze.

“We have a mutual enemy.” Manuela’s eyes narrow in something more like curiosity now. “I take it I’ve piqued your interest. Will you hear us out?”

Manuela deliberates for a protracted moment, torn between rebellion and intrigue. “Let me up.”

“What, so you can throw more punches?” Basira says.

“It’s fine, Basira,” Jon says. Manuela is still seething with defiance. The more powerless she feels, the less open she’ll be to negotiation. Better to make a few concessions and let her feel some control over the situation.

Judging from her furrowed brow, Basira is running through the same calculations. She hesitates a moment longer before sighing, releasing her hold, and standing. Manuela staggers to her feet and backs away several steps, brushing herself off and panting shallowly as she catches her breath.

“Did you come here alone?” she asks, massaging her abused wrist as her suspicious gaze flits back and forth between Basira and Jon. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Jon answers. Basira shakes her head with an impatient tsk – which Jon interprets as something like stop volunteering free information to every Avatar you parley with, Jon. “Like I said, we’re just here to talk. And to offer you the opportunity for revenge.”

“What revenge? Gertrude is dead,” Manuela spits out. “Who else is there? Her replacement?”

“I’m her replacement.”

With that, Manuela lunges in Jon’s direction. Basira swiftly moves to intercept her, but Manuela stops in her tracks before Basira can grab her. A tension-filled standoff ensues, the two of them eyeing each other warily. After nearly a full minute, Basira seems satisfied enough that the situation has been defused to take her eyes off Manuela and treat Jon to an exasperated glare.

“Do you have to antagonize every single person who wants to kill you?” she scolds.

Jon ignores her grievance in favor of addressing Manuela directly: “You wouldn’t have any luck killing me.”

Basira dips her head down and plants the heel of her hand on her forehead, grumbling under her breath. It’s mostly unintelligible, but Jon thinks he can make out the words fuck’s sake somewhere in there.

“I could try,” Manuela snarls. Her hands ball into tighter fists, trembling with rage at her sides, but she continues to stand her ground.

“You could,” Jon says mildly. “And you would fail.”

“You’ll just compel me, you mean.”

“I could.” He would rather avoid it if possible, but Manuela doesn’t need to know that. He can only hope she can’t tell just how much he’s only pretending at nerve. “Or, you can listen to what we have to say. Gertrude is dead, and lashing out at me isn’t going to satisfy your thirst for revenge. We can offer up a more satisfying target.”

“Unless you have a way for me to unmake the Power your Archivist served.” When Jon doesn’t deny it, Manuela lets out another harsh, scornful laugh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Well – arguably, Gertrude didn’t serve the Eye. She followed her own path.” Manuela breathes a derisive huff. “Like her or not, she did. Formidable as she was, none of that was due to the Beholding’s favor. That was all her. She never embraced the power it promised – not like most Archivists do. Striking a blow against the Eye wouldn’t be an insult to Gertrude’s memory. If anything, it would do her proud.”

“Killing it with the sales pitch,” Basira carps.

“But the head of the Institute does serve the Eye,” Jon presses on, “and he’s the one responsible for appointing Gertrude the Archivist in the first place. Hurt the Eye, and you hurt him.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Manuela says, bristling. “Your patron may pale in comparison to my god, but I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I would stand a chance of vanquishing it.”

“We can’t vanquish it, no. But we could destroy the Institute that serves it. Same as happened to the Dark’s faithful.”

“An eye for an eye,” Basira adds.

“Well, you’ve wasted your time coming all this way.” Manuela’s disparaging chuckle gets caught in her throat. “I’m the only one here. An abandoned disciple, guarding a lost cause. There’s nothing left of our former power.”

“The Dark Sun,” Basira says.

Manuela tenses. Then her shoulders slump, weighed down by dawning, solemn resignation.

“Of course,” she says bitterly. “It isn’t enough to decimate our numbers. You need to steal the only remnant of our crusade.”

“We’re giving you the opportunity to reclaim its purpose,” Jon says. “Or would you rather it rot away here, diminishing until it collapses in on itself?”

Manuela is silent for a long minute, a shrewd look in her eye. “Why would you want to betray your god?”

“The Beholding isn’t my god,” Jon says. “I’m not a willing convert. I was drafted into someone else’s crusade without my consent – and you know what that’s like, don’t you?”

Manuela just scowls.

“I Know your story.” Jon’s voice turns sibilant with power as the Archive rears its head. “Indoctrinated into a faith that never spoke to you –”

“– brought up to believe in the light of God, his radiant, illuminating presence –”

“Shut up,” Manuela says in a low growl.

“– deep down they were vicious, spiteful people who used their faith to hurt others, and I fondly imagined them discovering themselves in an afterlife other than the one they had assumed was their destination – I broke with them as soon as I could –”

“Jon,” Basira interrupts. The firm squeeze of her hand on his shoulder is enough to snap him out of his shallow trance. She jerks her head at Manuela, who looks about ready to charge him again. “Maybe not the time?”

“S-sorry,” he gasps. He shakes his head to clear the residual static clouding his thoughts before looking back to Manuela with genuine contrition. “Didn’t mean to do that, I swear. I only meant to say that I – I read the statement you gave to Gertrude. I know that your parents were zealots. They envisioned a perfect world that seemed to you like hell on earth, and you did everything you could to rebel against their arrogance. To spite the god they worshiped. We have some common ground there, you and I.”

Granted, Jon didn’t grow up in a religious household. His grandmother was content to let him explore – and he did.

Even as a child, he had an inclination for research. A topic would catch his attention and he would voraciously seek out as much information as he could. His grandmother didn’t take much interest in the content of those fixations, but she did encourage them as a general principle. Not with overt praise, necessarily, but by facilitating his endeavors: procuring reading material on the obsession of the month, escorting him to the library every so often and allowing him to max out his card. He suspects now that she was simply grateful for some way to occupy his attention. If his nose was in a book, he was keeping out of trouble.

He never told her how wrong she turned out to be.

In any case, one of his many early “phases,” as she liked to call them, was comparative religion. Part of it was simple curiosity. Part of it was a genuine desire to find something to believe: some conception of the afterlife that would resonate with him, some straightforward framework for understanding the world, some sort of certainty to assuage his fear of the unknown. His grandmother never seemed to care whether he found what he was looking for. She never really asked.

It was for the best. He never liked admitting defeat. Not back then.

They returned all the books to the library on the day they were due, and Jon brought home a new haul, this one centered around the field of oceanography. The seas were brimming with mystery, but at least there was a very real possibility of turning those unknowns into knowns. New discoveries were being made every day, newer and newer technology being developed to push the boundaries of that knowledge. There were sure answers, and they could be grasped, so long as humanity could invent the right tools for the job.

Still, Jon found himself envying people of faith from time to time. Sometimes he wished he had someone to point him in some sort of direction, like many other children seemed to have. But hearing of Manuela’s upbringing… well, if Jon was forced to choose between extremes, he has to admit that he prefers the complete lack of guidance he received as opposed to strict proselytization. His grandmother may not have shown interest in his opinions, but at least she gave him the freedom to come to his own conclusions. She may not have had reassurances to offer, but at least she didn’t foist upon him a worldview that made no place for him in it.

“It’s not the same thing as childhood indoctrination,” he tells Manuela, “but… becoming the Archivist – it was like being drafted into the service of a god that I never would have chosen for myself. Had Elias told me the terms, I never would have signed the contract.”

“I take it he didn’t tell you beforehand that he murdered your predecessor?”

“That I had to find out the hard way, unfortunately.”

“So you’re saying you’re not so much a traitor to your faith as you are a disgruntled employee.”

“Elias is my boss. Is that a trick question?” Jon is surprised to hear Manuela give an amused snort. “But yes. I’d like to… tender my resignation, so to speak.”

Manuela scrutinizes him intently, as if trying to solve a riddle. “You would give up your power?”

“I don’t want it,” Jon says truthfully.

If he’s perfectly honest with himself, there was a time that at least some aspects of that power were alluring. There was something intoxicating and liberating about being able to ask a question and not only receive a guaranteed answer, but be certain he wasn’t being presented with an outright lie – especially after spending so many months beholden to unchecked paranoia, distrust, and frantic, futile investigation.

But there was never anything benign or inconsequential about invading a victim’s privacy or compelling someone to surrender a secret, no matter how he tried to justify it to himself. Even if there was, even if it wasn’t both reprehensible in principle and harmful in practice, it still wouldn’t be worth the irrevocable costs.

“I want out,” he says, “and if getting out isn’t an option, then I at least want Elias to know what it is to be offered up to a god inimical to every atom of his existence. I thought you might be able to assist with that.”

“How?”

“The Institute is a seat of power for the Beholding,” Basira says. “If we introduce it to your Dark Sun…”

“A mote in the Eye,” Manuela says, intrigued. Her attention swivels back to Jon. “Do you Know what would happen?”

“No,” he says. “But I imagine it will hurt.”

“And then what? What happens after? You let me pack up my relic and walk away?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“I don’t believe you,” Manuela says.

“You don’t pose an existential threat,” Jon says with a shrug. “I have no doubt that the Dark will attempt another Ritual someday, but it won’t happen in our lifetimes. We have no qualms letting you walk away after our alliance is finished.”

“And the Dark Sun?” Manuela presses.

“I don’t know what condition it will be in after exposure to the Eye,” Jon admits. “But you’re free to do as you wish with it after. We won’t stop you.”

So she can hurt more people, Jon’s battered conscience chimes in.

“And if I say no?”

“Then I walk in there right now, Behold it, and destroy it entirely.” It comes out sounding more menacing than Jon had initially intended, but maybe that’s not a bad thing, given the way Manuela freezes up.

“You wouldn’t survive.” Manuela sounds far from certain.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But your Sun certainly wouldn’t.” Jon pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “Do you want to see its potential wasted here and now, or do you want to make all that sacrifice worth something?”

“If you’re so certain you have the upper hand, what’s stopping you from just taking it, then?”

“I’m not its engineer or its keeper. I wouldn’t even Know how to safely transport it. Too many unknown variables.”

“So you need me.”

“Yes. Beneath the Institute, there’s a… a sanctum of the Eye. A place of power, like Ny-Ålesund is for your patron. If you can bring the Dark Sun there, I… well, I’m hoping it will sever the Eye’s connection to that place. Destroy the Institute.”

“How would that work?”

“I’m… not certain,” Jon confesses. “Call it a… a hunch.”

“There’s precedent,” Basira says. “We found a statement that hinted at worshipers of the Dark destroying a temple to the Eye in 4th century Alexandria.”

Manuela’s eyes light up with interest. “How?”

“We don’t know,” Jon says.

“Oh, right. Foolish of me to ask,” Manuela says pertly. “Why would I expect you to know things? It’s only the entire point of you.”

“I never claimed to be good at my job,” Jon retorts. “Look, maybe I don’t Know exactly what will happen, but a focus of the Dark should hurt the Eye in some capacity, I think.”

“You think,” Manuela mutters under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear the derision in her tone.

“Whatever happens, it’ll be more satisfying than anything you’ve got going on here,” Basira points out.

Manuela barks out a contemptuous laugh. “You don’t even have the shadow of a plan!”

“We… haven’t ironed out the details, no.” Jon rubs the back of his neck, chagrinned. “We figured that if you did agree to an alliance, you would want to be part of the actual planning process.”

“And if you don’t cooperate, it’s a moot point,” Basira says.

“Also, I was… I suppose I was hoping you could offer insight,” Jon says. “The Dark is something of a blind spot for me, shockingly.” Manuela shoots him a withering look. “So even if I had any clue how to wield the Dark Sun, I wouldn’t be able to channel its full potential. Not like you could.”

“That much is obvious,” Manuela sneers, teeth gleaming in the torchlight as her lips stretch in a taut, wolfish grin. “You Beholding types always assume that knowledge is synonymous with control. Putting yourselves on the level of Powers greater than any mortal, assuming insight into things you could not possibly understand… you fly too close to the sun and then have the gall to indulge in outrage when you burn.”

We didn’t come here for a sermon, Jon almost says, but he bites his tongue.

“But I accept that I am a supplicant, not a god,” Manuela says, reverence seeping into her tone to supplant the reproach. “It’s pure hubris to assume that you could wield the Black Sun like a tool. It’s a communion, and only those with true and dutiful faith could ever hope to win its favor. Approach it with anything less than respect and devotion, and it will devour you.”

“If you’re done pontificating?” Basira says. She doesn’t give Manuela an opening to respond. “We’re well aware that we stand no chance of wielding–” Manuela looks up sharply, and Basira hastily corrects herself. “Fine – communing with the Dark Sun ourselves. That’s why we’re looking for an alliance rather than just taking it.”

“Do you think you could–” Jon pauses as he searches for a way to phrase his question that won’t unleash another tirade. “Would you be able to arrange for the Dark Sun to be brought into the Eye’s stronghold? Expose them to one another, let them… I don’t know – have it out with each other?”

“I’m capable of bringing it to London, if that’s what you’re asking,” Manuela says primly. “But it would be at a disadvantage on the Beholding’s home turf. If – if – I were willing to test this hypothesis, I would only do so on the condition that I could level the playing field as much as possible. Wait for ideal circumstances, as it were.”

“Which would be…?” Basira asks.

“The winter solstice. The Dark Sun will be the strongest on the night of the winter solstice.”

“That’s months from now,” Basira protests. “Can’t you just –”

“Ideally, I would insist on a total solar eclipse,” Manuela snaps, “but it will be quite some time before London witnesses another. Not until 2090.”

“Looking ahead, are you?” Basira asks.

“It is likely the soonest opportunity for another attempt at a Ritual.” Manuela pretends at nonchalance with a shrug, but she can’t quite conceal her profound disappointment as her voice grows measurably more subdued. “It gives me ample time to study our failure. To discover what went wrong.”

“To refine your Ritual, you mean.”

“There will always be faithful to take up the mantle,” Manuela says, her chin lifting marginally in defiance as she stares Basira down.

“But you won’t be around to see it.” Basira meets Manuela’s eyes with equal nerve. Jon remains silent, looking from one to the other as they face off against one another.

“No,” Manuela replies evenly. “I’ll have to settle for passing on my findings to those who come after. Leave behind a legacy to guide their steps.”

“In the meantime, the Dark Sun will stagnate,” Jon chimes in. It’s a bluff, of course: he has no idea whether or not it’s true. Judging from the unsettled look on Manuela’s face, neither does she. Jon latches onto that uncertainty, carefully twisting the knife just a little further: “Or, you could let it serve a purpose.”

“Its purpose was to usher in a world of true and holy Darkness,” Manuela says acidly. “You’re proposing I give it scraps.”

“Like it or not, you can’t give it the apocalypse it was promised,” Jon says.

Manuela’s fingers flex and clench back into fists. Jon suspects she would love nothing more than to wring his neck. She’s a truth seeker at heart, though. Ambitious, rebellious – idealistic even, albeit in a twisted sort of way, harboring an aspiration that most would rightfully find horrific. Adept at detecting and exploiting the more malleable aspects of material reality where possible, infusing the scientific method with just enough magical thinking to bend natural laws.

However, there are some truths that even she cannot deny, and she isn’t the type to ignore a certainty when it’s right in front of her face. And so, despite the unconcealed vitriol in her eyes and the contrariness sitting at the tip of her tongue, she does not deny his assertion.

“But it can still pay tribute to your god,” Jon coaxes, striving to stop short of needling. It’s a razor’s edge he’s always struggled to walk, but Manuela is still right there with him, toeing the line. “It’s better than nothing at all.”

Manuela directs a venomous glower towards the floor as she vacillates between summary dismissal and the temptation of vengeance. Basira side-eyes Jon as the standstill stretches from seconds into minutes, but all Jon can offer her is an awkward shrug. The ball is in Manuela’s court, and it seems she has no qualms leaving them in indefinite suspense as she painstakingly examines all the variables and weighs her options. The best they can do is wait and hope that tangible revenge will prove more enticing than spiteful noncooperation.

Eventually, she lets out a sharp exhale, raises her head, and breaks her silence.

“The winter solstice,” she repeats, her voice teeming with tension and lingering aversion. “Barring an eclipse, I would have to settle for the winter solstice. The longest, darkest night of the year… it’s second best, but it should suffice. Shame about the light pollution, of course,” she adds, wrinkling her nose with disdain, “but the power is in the symbolism.”

“Jon?” Basira prompts.

“Dream logic,” he says, massaging his forehead wearily. “It tracks.”

“Fine,” Basira sighs. She looks back to Manuela. “So does this mean you’ll do it?”

“I’m tired of haunting this place like a ghost.” There’s a sharp, predatory look in Manuela’s eyes now. “The Dark has lost its crusaders. The Watcher should have a taste of loss.”

Just then, a loud, metallic thunk interrupts the negotiations, reverberating through the space and drawing everyone’s attention to warehouse entrance. The light that had been percolating through from outside had been preternaturally dimmed before, but now it’s been snuffed out entirely.

Jon glances anxiously at Basira. “The wind, maybe?”

“There was no wind.” Basira is already drawing her gun. Like a switch has been flipped at the prospect of danger, her voice goes steely with manufactured composure. “Not strong enough to blow the door shut. I propped it open very securely.”

“We’re near the water, though,” Jon murmurs. “Strong gusts sometimes blow in off the sea–”

Jon’s mouth snaps shut at Basira’s quelling look. Manuela’s posture is defensive again, eyes darting suspiciously between Jon and Basira in the muted torchlight.

“I thought you said you came here alone,” she says accusingly.

“We – we did,” Jon says. “We–”

“Oh, Archivist,” a new voice sings out, oozing with an exultant malice. “Long time no see!”

It’s been ages since Jon last heard that cadence, but it’s horrifyingly, heart-stoppingly familiar even after all this time. It pierces Jon like a knife in the dark. He takes a frantic step back, nearly tripping over his own feet as his panic skyrockets and a tidal wave of adrenaline crashes over him.

“We just want to talk,” croons a different voice, rougher and more ragged-sounding. It’s difficult to gauge the newcomers’ positions through the impermeable gloom, but judging from the sounds of their voices, they’re drawing ever nearer. “Won’t you come out?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Jon breathes an incredulous laugh, distraught enough to border on a whimper. “Now?”

“Who are they?” Basira asks urgently. Jon is still frozen in place, eyes straining against the darkness. Any answer he could make is bogged down with terror, snagging in his throat and forestalling coherence. “Jon!”

Jon swallows hard and finally looks at Basira, his eyes wide with dread.

“Hunters.”

End Notes:

naomi: hey jon. jon. consider: surveillance state kink jon: shut the hell your mouth

____

Both instances of Archive-speak are from MAG 135. A few pieces of dialogue from the beginning of the conversation with Manuela are taken/reworked from MAG 143. The Melanie and Basira gossip is from MAG 106.

Once again, had way too much fun with the text convo btwn Naomi and Jon. Cannot resist those chatfic shenanigans vibes.

In other news, Daisy WILL point at Jon and loudly exclaim, “Is anyone gonna volunteer as wingman for this lovesick disaster or do I have to do everything myself?” and not even wait for an answer. (Jon made the mistake of confirming that he doesn’t mind her lovingly dunking on him about this sort of thing and now she’s a menace. Listen, playful ribbing is basically her platonic love language.)

Sorry for the cliffhanger!! But hey, I think we all knew that there’s no way things would go entirely smoothly for Jon and Basira. And now I finally get to add some new character tags.

I’m very behind on replying to comments. (Tbh, spent most of the last month grappling with this chapter. I was stuck on a scene that REALLY didn’t want to cooperate.) I’m gonna try to catch up this weekend, though. <3 As always, thank you for reading!

#the magnus archives #magpod #tma #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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hitsuackerman · 4 years

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Why Did It Have to be Him? pt. 3 (Aizawa x Reader)

a/n: so yes... i made a very self indulgent part 3 :’) i hope ya’ll enjoy!

Warnings: Student-Teacher relationship, Age-gap, Cursing, Domestic fluff

Link: Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Materlist for my other fics :) here

Every night, ever since he came over, Aizawa would call. The night before you would move into the dorm, the two of you somehow reached the conclusion that he would come over and have dinner. You don’t know how it happened, but things took a turn.

“You know,” You greeted him with a shy smile. “You didn’t have to come here.”

“It’s fine.” He replied as he entered your house. Things felt a bit weird knowing the last time he visited, he pinned you to the wall and lit up a ticking time bomb. “Dining room?”

“O-over here.” You stuttered. Somehow, you hoped he wasn’t striking a conversation with you. Your eyes were savoring his back. He was wearing his civilian clothes. Something you had never seen before. His nape ever so inviting. Broad shoulders that he always kept hidden beneath the binding gear. Indeed, a pretty sight.

Placing the bag on the table, he began to unload the food. Meanwhile, you took out some plates and utensils. What you didn’t know was how his eyes were fixated on you. Sure, you were wearing an oversized hoodie, but your shorts were giving him a rather… hard time.

Sitting down, he took an elastic from his pocket and tied his hair. It was beginning to sink in that he was having an intimate dinner with his student. The silence was a tad deafening. His mouth would open but close not soon after. He wanted to start a conversation, he just wasn’t sure what topic to start.

Whatever confidence he had in the phone, seemingly disappeared. So much for being a pro-hero.

“I really do appreciate you bringing some food…” You broke the silence. It was a little overbearing.

“It’s nothing…” He accepted the plate. The tips of your fingers touching. The way your cheeks slowly turned pink caused a small smirk to form in the corners of his mouth. “I hope you like (favorite food).”

“Oh please, you’re just teasing me.” Taking the seat across, you scratched your cheek and mentally slapped yourself for talking so casually. To your teacher. Whom you were having dinner with. At 7:30pm. Your cheeks turned even redder when he served you some food.

“But, I actually wanted to talk about this in person.” He began. “It’s about all this.”

Leaning into the chair, he looked at your features. They were still soft but there was a hint of anxiety to it.

“Are you sure about all this?” Straightforward. As expected. “This is barely logical and both of us have a lot to lose.”

“I am.” You began to play with your food. Your eyes trying to avoid his. “But, if this makes you uncomfortable then I guess I can back off.”

Resting his elbows on the table, his hand scratched his eyebrow. Your eyes darted to his when you heard him chuckling silently. This would have to be the first time, at least in person, that you heard his deep voice making that sound.

“A little too late for that.”

A soft giggle escaped your mouth. The sound of the chair dragging caught your attention. The man walked over and took the seat next to you. His right elbow rested on the table and placed his chin on his palm. His other hand found the crown of your head. Patting you.

Your heart skipped a beat at the show of affection. Though, you were pretty sure that he does this to his students when he’s proud of them, this one felt a little different. A bit more intimate compared to the others.

“Wanna watch a movie while eating?” You offered. When he agreed, he grabbed the food and followed your lead. Compared to his height, he found it… adorable how he had to look down. This time it was his turn to bump your back. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”

Once the movie and food were gone, silence between the two of you continued. Your eyes would ever so often linger on your companion. The way he lazily sat on your sofa was undeniably attractive in its own way. The space between you two equalled one cushion.

“You can come here, if you like.” Aizawa offered. His arms extended his arms, inviting you to his chest. His eyes avoid yours. ‘God damnit Shota. What if she refuses? You’d look like a fool.’

It took a second for your brain to comprehend what he said. Slowly, you scooted towards him and leaned on his chest. Knowing this position was a bit uncomfortable for the both of you, he adjusted and layed down on the sofa. His body heat was amazing and the moment he draped his arms on your waist (although a little stiff) it felt comforting nonetheless.

“Is this okay?” He asked, his hands barely touching your shirt. Your hair smelled like lavender.

“I guess this is something I could get used to.” You lifted your head to look at him. Your breath hitched when realization came flooding in. This would have to be the second time your faces were near each other. With a less foggy mind, you took in his features.

‘Do not look at his lips, (Y/N).’ You repeated in your head religiously. Allowing yourself to look into his eyes, they were flat as hell but it was evident his mind was working. He could see how your eyes were traveling around his face. He too, only started to realize just how prettier you were.

‘Shota. Don’t look at her lips.’ He chanted.

All the repetitions and chants seemed to fail. At the same time, the two of you glanced down to each of your lips and back up. Inch by inch, it was getting clearer that the both of you were leaning in closer. Maybe a taste was all you two needed to break the ice.

With the tip of your noses brushing against each other, you felt his hot breath brush against your lip. Half hooded eyes slowly closing to further feel the moment. You could feel his arms tightening his hold on your waist. Your fingers held on to his shirt. The rapid beating of your heart ramming in both your eardrums.

When your lips touched, it felt as if Denki had electrocuted your body. His lips were a tad dry but nothing but a few more seconds of kissing won’t help. Letting go of his shirt, your hands slowly wrapped around his neck, pulling him even closer. Wanting to deepen the kiss, you felt his tongue tracing your lower lip. No hesitation on your part, you granted him access.

What started out as slow, started to turn into curiosity and hunger. He would nibble on your lower lip, you would bite then suck his tongue, his fingers found their way to your hair, and a moan and grunt would occasionally fill the room.

Aizawa was well aware that his friend was wide awake. Each second that passed, he felt it twitch. As much as he wanted to, he knew it was a step too far. Take things slow. That’s what he always told himself. Now that the two of you definitely crossed the line, things would no doubt be difficult. Of course, he was willing to try.

Parting your lips from his, the both of you leaned on each other’s forehead. The first inhale you took, Aizawa leaned in and kissed you once more. His large hand softly tucked the strands of your hair behind your ear and cupped your cheek. He felt intoxicated by your lips and wanted to savor it a little more.

“(Y/N)!” A loud voice came from outside your door. That tone, all too familiar.

Both your eyes widened. It was all such a rush. You instructing your teacher, whom you just shared a makeout session with, to go to your room and stay there. Running to the kitchen to dump the plates on the sink. And finally opening the door, only to find your classmates.

“Bakugo? Kiri?” Your eye twitched when you saw them. Of all people, why these two. “Anything I can help you with?”

“We got you some snacks, (Y/N).” Kiri said with a toothy smile. Bakugo simply grunted. Being used to the two of them, you chewed your inner cheeks when they ushered themselves in. Your eyes quickly scanning the area, the tall raven-haired man was not in sight.

The two boys crashed on the sofa. Their eyes fell towards the food laid on the coffee table. Giving Kiri the go signal, he happily fed himself while Bakugo scanned the room.

“Oi. Who’s here?” He bluntly asked. Red eyes digging deep into your soul. “The nearest shop that sells this food is 40 minutes from here.”

“Oh. I left earlier.” You brushed his question away. “My cousin dropped by, hence the big serving.”

“The couch is warm.” He pointed out. He stood up and began to walk around the room.

“Give her a break, idiot.” Kiri teased his friend. He had finished the leftovers. Leaning onto the sofa, he rubbed his full stomach. “Besides, were the ones who came unannounced.”

“Count yourself lucky, extra.” Bakugo added as he sat himself down.

Thankful that he let the topic die down, the three of you chatted for a few minutes. It was pretty clear though that you were a bit distracted. Judging that you were merely tired from having a relative come over, the two boys stayed for a little longer before heading out. The second the door locked, you dashed to your room.

‘What the heck am supposed to call him? Aizawa-sensei? Aizawa?’ You debated before slowly opening your bedroom door. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah.” He had seated himself by the edge of your bed. A book in his hand, lazily flipping and scanning the pages. His hair covering a portion of his face. “Bakugo and Kirishima?”

“Mhmm.” You sat beside him but left a small distance between you two. “They like to bring me food from time to time. Sorry, for panicking like that.”

“It’s fine.” He closed the book and tossed it to your desk. Shifting his position, he was now facing you now. Crossing his arms, he let out a sigh and ruffled his hair. “I have to go in a while, though. You might want to prepare for tomorrow, too.”

“I suggest after 30 minutes.” You scratched your cheek. A slight tint of pink forming. “Bakugo and Kiri get protective of me. That’s why they randomly visit and shower me with snacks.”

“Sure.”

There was a silent agreement that both of you would stay inside the room. Just to make sure that Kiri or Bakugo had stayed behind to make sure that you weren’t hiding anything. During those times, Aizawa and you leaned on the wall and simply did small talk. It was soothing. His voice always managed to calm you down, no matter how dead he sounded to the world.

Your stomach fluttered when you recalled the kiss that you had just shared with him. It was warm, hot, and the epitome of guilty pleasure. In his peripheral, he saw how your cheeks began to turn a shade of red. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation the two of you were in.

Both of you turned to face each other. Mouths ready to say something. Closing yours, you signaled him to go first.

“I should get going.” That’s definitely not what he wanted to say.

Helping you stand up, you accepted his hand. Letting him pull you towards his chest. Once more, your eyes locked with each other. Feeling a little brave, you stood on your toes and planted a quick kiss on his lips. Thank goodness he was looking at you, it would have made things awkward if you needed to jump a bit.

“We’re playing a dangerous game, kid.” He teased as his fingers began to play with your hair. His free hand resting on your waist. “You really sure about this? It’ll get harder to turn your back.”

“I want this.” You’re voice breathy. Somehow, your arms were now wrapped around his neck. It relaxed you when his palm cupped your cheek once more. His thumb brushing your soft skin.

“What are you doing me, (L/N)...” He cut himself and shook his head. “(Y/N).”

“I dunno what I do to you but I sure as hell know what you do to me…” You furrowed your brows and pointed your index finger at him. “I, uh, don’t know what to call you.”

He leaned in and gave you a deep kiss.

“Shota, if we’re alone.” His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. Connecting your lips with his, the two of you began to fumble backwards till your legs bumped the foot of your bed. Still, none of you bothered to stop kissing.

‘Eraserhead. Enough. Leave before things get even more out of control.’ His conscience was screaming. It felt all too real to finally be kissing you with him on top. Straddling you on your own soft bed. It was more than music to his ears when you would let out a soft moan from his small lip nibbling.

Your hands found his jaw and you gently broke the kiss. Flustered, that’s what you were. Giggling at the sight of him confused, you reminded him of his mission.

“I thought you were leaving,” You paused. Knowing you were about to say his name was like a dream. “Shota.”

Blinking his dry eyes away, he smirked and crawled away from you. It took a while but it dawned on him that you had called him by his first name. And damn, did it sound so good.

Before you opened the door, you peaked out the window to make sure that no one could see him leave your house. Though of course, your two bodyguards were long gone by now, you just needed to be sure.

Seeing that things were clear, you opened the door and let him take his exit. Not bothering to turn his back, he waved farewell and kept walking. He knew that if he would turn around, he’d most probably end up staying for another hour. It was also almost his patrol hours, so he knew his priorities.

“Don’t be late tomorrow.”

“I won’t~”

#mha aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #eraserhead #mha eraserhead

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real-jaune-isms · 4 years

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RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 7 Review/Remix

Last episode before the holiday break. The long long long holiday break. And here I am only posting my review the night before we come back... I was having a lot of fun playing my new video games, okay? Let’s just get right into this with the joke everyone has already made. War: What is it good for? Actually a lot, if you can believe it. Only in this specific context though, because the warfare in the American streets these last few days is disgusting and emblematic of what has been wrong with the country for a while. A government leader sending his followers into the nation’s capital on a mission of rage and personal catharsis? Ick. At least in RWBY the tyrant isn’t attacking members of his own population... Oh wait, Mantle. :P

For a moment you might be fooled into thinking we’re starting back in the farmlands of Mistral, maybe getting another look at Oscar’s earlier life or seeing a little more of Nora’s mysteriously tragic past before she and Ren met. But no, these are the wheat farms on the outskirts of Atlas and Sabyrs are charging through like raptors through the tall grass in Lost World. A battalion of Atlesian soldiers, human soldiers I might add, stand armed to meet them. But even if they’re armed they are by no means ready. Monstra keeps coughing up a new wave of Grimm, and I do mean a wave, every minute or two and Atlas is pretty damn whelmed in the face of it. There are some big bots with guns standing in straight lines, but the majority of the defense put up by Remnant’s supreme authority on military power and strength is mortal men with fear in their hearts rather than expendable robot soldiers. And the big bots seem to be lined up in a way that the ones in the front block the ones in the back, so that’s just poor planning too. It’s just a concerning sight all together, and they are not efficiently handling the coming enemy. We cut up to Ironwood in his office, and it seems he is not dealing with this situation well at all. We know he’s under a lot of stress from all the recent events, but they are in fact mostly his own fault due to his poor decision making skills in times of crisis, and his single minded drive he calls a Semblance. Speaking of the eternally expanding list of Ironwood’s bad ideas, he decides to evacuate all the civilians into Atlas’ below ground subway tunnels. Fun fact: There were Apathy among the Grimm Monstra has been spitting out. Second Fun Fact: Apathy were last seen thriving and murdering in an abandoned underground tunnel system beneath a well. If one is familiar with fantasy television pop culture of the last decade, the Crypts of Winterfell might pop into your mind as a similarly poor place to hide all your unarmed women and children. Y’know, cuz in Game of Thrones they were facing a guy who could raise the dead as his minions and crypts are just tunnels full of corpses. Just saying, this could end up being a non-birthday massacre. Whatever captain of lieutenant Ironwood was talking to is hesitant to go along with this idea, but Ironwood puts his foot down by putting his fist down. And so his voice comes on over the city-wide PA system to tell everyone they need to get down into the subway for their own safety. Compared to the organized marching and relative calm of the poor folks down in Mantle, these rich fat cats practically trample each other to run and scream down the stairs. A father is concerned his daughter is going to get snatched up by a swarm of Lancers, but seems even more upset by the squad of airships swooping in to combat them.

Speaking of airships, we cut to the one Marrow and Harriet are flying. The Ace Ops have arrested YRJ, because of course they did, and they all hear radio chatter as pilots are reporting in about how Monstra is too tough for them to pierce from the outside with any of the weapons available to them. Winter checks in over comms to report her team’s limited successes, and Ironwood tells her to stay on jailor duty for a bit. Yang snarks at Winter for continuing to follow orders despite the circumstances, but conversation is stifled by Monstra coming into view for the group. Jaune laments that the beast now serving as Oscar’s confinement is larger than they had imagined from a distance, and Vine continues to be rigid in his assertions as to just what Grimm can and cannot do. “Grimm don’t take prisoners” he says, as if that’s an irrefutable fact. It’s not like any Grimm have done anything new or unheard of recently, like talk or grow wings or exist within a river of evil sludge or shoot up miles into the air as a geyser or have gravity Dust crystals in their underbelly to fly, or as you are witnessing right now belch out ponds worth of sludge from with waves of Grimm are emerging to fight your ground troops. Yep, we definitely know every single thing a Grimm does, especially one brought here by the mistress of the entire Grimm collective who is commanding most of them here. You sure are smart, Vine... Yang continues to be riled up and ask they be let go to help, but Elm and Vine hold her in her seat. Ironwood is heard giving the Manta jets new orders and reveals Command is working on a solution for Monstra. Winter, naturally wanting to be kept in the loop, asks what that might be. He reveals the science team is putting together a bomb that might be able to take the whale out if detonated inside it. That means Winter and the Ace Ops will be delivering it into the literal belly of the beast. I don’t know if he intends for it to be a suicide mission with the bomb going off as soon as they’ve got it inside, or if it’s just incredibly risky to try and get inside Monstra at all, but Winter pales at this news and her eyes go wide before sadly drooping closed again. She composes herself and grows determined again as she accepts the new marching orders. Jaune and Yang are again audibly against these plans due to the risk to Oscar’s safety, but they are subdued as needed, though we see Winter’s act isn’t absolute and her hands are shaking.

Meanwhile, Salem is having the time of her life doing her best Mickey Mouse impression. Classical music plays as she conducts the waves of Grimm sludge out of Monstra’s mouth like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice playing conductor to the stars themselves. Emerald watched from a distance, and seems less than thrilled about the whole thing. She heads down the halls and has to use her Semblance to keep a Seer from noticing her and potentially reporting her going where she doesn’t need to be to Salem. And where she’s going is the door outside Oscar’s torture room. He’s coughing up blood, and Hazel is still insisting he start telling the truth before Salem loses her patience and just kills him despite how futile it’d be. Instead Oz starts asking some questions of his own: Does Hazel know why Salem sought to recruit him in particular? It turns out she approached him with the promise of making a new world order where there won’t be any kingdoms or Huntsman Academies. Oz just has to laugh at that naiveté. When Salem gets the 4 Relics, there won’t be a world at all. She’s been around for so goddamn long, all she wants is for it to end, and she thinks taking the whole world down is the only way to get it anymore. This just frustrates Hazel, and we learn why. He’s pretty damn sure Salem can’t die at all, because when she first approached him about working together he spent the better part of a day killing her over and over and over again. This man, whom we know from the Battle of Haven to have massive reserves of Aura and strength to endure and keep fighting, kept fighting until he was too worn down and exhausted to lift his fists again. And in that time of weakness and awe at her power, Salem made her sales pitch that even if he couldn’t kill the one leading the Grimm he could at least have vengeance on the establishment sending young people to their deaths against her. Oz points out that that’s exactly why she went to him, because she could make him believe this was the right way, that it would bring him closure. It’s what Ozpin deserves, Hazel argues, and Oz does not disagree. But does Oscar deserve it? Do the innocent people who haven’t been affected by Salem or Ozpin yet? No, this isn’t for justice, this is personal. Because Salem said it would help Hazel. Has it?

We don’t get an answer to that, instead going back up to Weiss’ room in Schnee Manor where she’s reapplying Nora’s bandages. Still mostly unconscious, Nora mutters “Now what... am I good for?” I can think of a great many things Nora is useful for outside of her great strength and straightforward approach to combat, but its a damn shame no one has actually bothered to tell her that before now. Before Weiss has a chance to offer any, Blake and Ruby enter the room with cups of tea. I’m not ashamed to admit I initially thought they were hot chocolate cuz I’m not used to tea being that sort of amber color. Weiss admits that she’s done the most her limited medical knowledge can offer, and Nora needs more than that. Blake expresses her concern for the other half of their group, but almost slips up and says... well we’re just not sure, but we like to assume she was gonna say she’s especially worried for someone in particular. The shippers can fill that in how they like. Their moping is interrupted by May entering the room with some less than stellar news from Fiona and the others down in Mantle. They haven’t seen Yang’s team in a while, and with everything going to hell like this a search party is at the bottom of the priority list. She’s about ready to get back on the airship and head back down to Mantle, but Weiss protests and this sparks a debate. May points out that Mantle doesn’t have the luxury of the Atlas military protecting them so Ruby’s group and the Happy Huntresses are the only thing keeping the people safe from the chaos of the invasion, but Weiss argues that there are still people suffering up her and I have to agree. Just because a police force is around doesn’t automatically mean they’re doing the best job of keeping everyone safe. But Weiss pushes the wrong button by asking about May’s family. The Marigold’s were ashamed of the way their “son” acted, wanting to help the suffering down in Mantle. And so May would no longer let herself be called that, she became a woman proudly working as part of the Happy Huntresses for the service of the people. She kicked her Marigold name and reputation to the curb and her cousin Henry stepped up as the socialite snob instead.

This cannot have been an easy scene for Kdin to record, but we all need to give a standing ovation for her performance in it. Powerful words that likely hit very close to home. What a queen.

May is sure Weiss gets where she’s coming from with their families casting them aside in favor of a more obedient heir, her being replaced by Whitley after her outburst at the charity concert. Weiss wants to voice her disagreement, but May questions whose side she’s on in all this. Blake doesn’t like that, they’ve heard this talk about taking sides before and judging by her tone she’s none too happy to be hearing it now. May is about to give her a strongly worded piece of her mind too but Ruby stands between them to remind everyone there are no sides. All of humanity needs to be united, and Salem is the one creating the tension that’s dividing them so their real enemy is her. The only question now is how do they get out of this problem? The solution might be hiding just around the corner, literally. Whitley has been listening from behind the door, and he seems a little inspired.

Meanwhile Oz seems to have just finished telling Salem’s dark cursed backstory to Hazel, and it seems her final plan really is to have the world so divided and ruined that when the gods are brought back to judge it they will deem Remnant a failure and destroy it and hopefully her with it. Hazel seems less than inclined to believe this story though, he still holds a damn hard grudge over his sister. Oz is getting nowhere so Oscar asks to be put back in the lead, and so he is just as Hazel is about to wallop them again. Oz is willing to trust him so he can earn Hazel’s trust in return. So he goes right ahead and tells the big guy Jinn’s name and that it’s how you summon her for one last question. Hazel seems mad that Oscar gave up the info so effortlessly after all that, but Oscar asserts that he’s not telling Salem. He’s telling Hazel, and letting him decide what to do with the knowledge and the chance to gain deeper knowledge still. Pretty rad strategy. Wouldn’t you know it though, Emerald is still listening outside the door and heard everything. She goes to tell Mercury, but he’s busy packing a duffel bag for a trip to Vacuo. Guess Salem doesn’t need him here right now so we’ll get to see him again in Volume 9 or 10. He’s less than convinced that they should try and use this behind the scenes knowledge to go against Salem, cuz if Hazel couldn’t do it then why would he change his tune now? And why would they risk their necks too? It’s not like Oz was telling the truth, right? Salem isn’t really gonna destroy the world! But the teens get another surprise lecture from Uncle Tyrian: Of course Salem plans to destroy Remnant!! You couldn’t tell from the start? Everything about her screams end of the world, and it is beautiful! And if you thought she’d do anything different then you must really be crazy... Bold worlds from a psychotic serial killer, but we already know he’s unhinged. Mercury doesn’t much like getting this rude awakening though, especially since Tyrian will be the one going with him to Vacuo. Merc and Em share one last sad look, but he’s made his bed and now he’s resigned to lie in it. Bye bye Mercury, see you after Emerald has probably switched sides and will have to face you as an enemy...

Speaking of ships soaring through the air, we go back to the Ace Ops and YJR heading for Monstra. Yang is protesting the bombing plan since Oscar is still inside, but Vine insists they can’t afford to wait and risk further death and destruction. Jaune offers a side plan, send the three inside Monstra ahead of the bombing squad to scope things out for them and try to rescue Oscar while they’re doing recon. Marrow is shocked that they’d be willing to go into the literal belly of the beast alone, but Yang asserts he’d do the same for one of his teammates if they were in this position, right? He doesn’t have an answer for that. Elm argues that trading their lives just for one other person is stupid, but amazingly it is Ren who objects. Oscar is their friend, and they will do whatever it takes for someone they care about like that. A real turnaround from his attitude of closing himself off emotionally, but I guess he’s realizing how ridiculous it sounds coming from other people? Harriet gets out of her seat to do what she does best and start talking down to someone as naïve and wrong. Feelings are stupid, the job is what matters. When you lose someone you just replace them and forget about them. We find out that Winter is indeed meant to be the new leader instead of Clover, and before Marrow there was apparently a member of the team named Tortuga, but Ren is not about to let anyone tell him that someone is replaceable. You don’t say that to Team JNPR, and we definitely don’t say that about Ren... Not now. In his outrage, Ren suddenly finds... clarity. He starts seeing the world a little differently. In less cryptic terms, his Semblance seems to have evolved and he now sees people’s emotions swirling around them as colorful bursts of flower petals. Harriet is actually furious about losing Clover, she’s lying to herself and trying to suppress her feelings. She does not like being called out like that, but the rest of the squad needs to be put on blast. As opposed to Hare’s red petals Marrow is surrounded by blue that I guess would mean sadness or depression, Elm has orange and some red, and Vine is clouded with green. The meanings of the last two are a little less clear, but they’re all definitely feeling some strong things that they’re trying to hide under a calm façade. This is the reason the Ace Ops lost to RWBY, they’re all held back by trying not to connect with each other so unity and team bonds never formed. Elm does not like being told she’s a loser because she won’t make friends, but at least it’s a a reaction, which means he’s absolutely right. She’s about to deck Ren in the face but Winter steps in to get everyone calmed down. She looks these three “fugitives” over, and makes a decision. She’s going to trust her sister’s friends. They will get the teens in close and give them a small window of time to try and get in and out before the Ace Ops need to bring in the payload and blow it all away. Harriet is pissed Winter is giving these “traitors” a chance, and questions her decision thusly. But you’re outranked, you boob, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop her from showing human decency. They have a very tight schedule to attempt this rescue, and Jaune accepts that fully. The three get uncuffed and are given their weapons back as the ship lands at the front lines. Ren tries to appeal to the doubt and regret he can see in Marrow to get him to switch sides while the getting’s good. Marrow wants to, but he sticks to the job for now. Yang and Jaune head out first, while Ren lingers to tell Winter he knows she doesn’t want to be a part of all this anymore either, and we see a rainbow of many emotional petals around her head. Either she has a balance of many emotions in check and is the most levelheaded of the Ace Ops, or she has the most emotions repressed and her mind is a tempest of feelings that aren’t being addressed and may spell her end... take your pick.

As this militant Schnee considers her options, we go homeward to see Weiss and the others heading for the front door. May isn’t keen to stay her any longer than needed, and the kids need to make a choice about where she’s dropping them off. Either they go to the front lines here in Atlas or back down to Mantle to help with the chaos there. No other options, and especially no breaking their jailbirds out for an assist. May doesn’t have the optimism and heroic hope that Ruby still holds dear, she won’t entertain the idea that this can become a complete victory all around. This isn’t that kind of world. Either they help one place, or they help another. And even then, that’s no guarantee wherever they go will be successful at stopping the invasion. It’s very depressing, and it’s on these kids to accept the facts and make the hard decisions. If you take a look at the last few Volumes, Ruby does seem to have a bit of a habit of ignoring the dreadful possibilities/facts in favor of pursuing a hopeful and bold plan that could fix everything immediately so she doesn’t have to cope with reality and actually grieve her mistakes and losses... I’m not saying it makes her a bad character or that she’s wholly wrong for trying to see a bright side whenever possible, just that this is an unhealthy strategy for a leader with so much on her shoulders. But before anyone has time to make a decision right now, there’s a hard knock on the front door. Everyone draws their weapons and approaches slowly, before Weiss cautiously opens the door. In a most definitely welcome surprise, she is greeted by Klein!!! She missed him dearly, and apologizes for whatever fault she had in his being fired, but while cycling through personalities he assures her she has nothing to be sorry for since it’s all Jacques’ fault, the bastard. Turns out, Klein is here to use his medical knowledge to treat Nora. What, didn’t you know all butlers to heroic millionaires have field medic training? Alfred Pennyworth set the gold standard, I dare say~ But of course, Weiss didn’t call him and none of her friends know his number so who told him to come?... Would you believe it, Whitley is responsible and we could not be more proud of him! Weiss certainly is, and she gives him what might be his first genuinely loving hug in years. Klein heads upstairs to begin treatment, while the rest of the group share a hopeful moment. But this silence too comes to a crashing halt as there is further ruckus outside. This time Ruby answers the door, to see a smoking crater in the front driveway. RWB rush outside and kneel at the edge of the crater as the smoke clears. Penny has crash landed, and lies there in a pool of what we can only presume to be her green synthetic blood. All she has the strength left to do is apologize before she passes out and the screen darkens with her. There lies the end for the next 6 weeks, and we were left to panic and speculate all the while. Too bad I’m a lazy bugger who only got this review out now and there’s no tension left before the thrilling continuation comes tomorrow morning. So lets all get one last panicked sleep in before the living nightmares come for our girls! Penny is totally gonna be under Watt’s control, the Hound is coming, it’s all gonna be a huge damn mess... Can’t wait, can you?~

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irandrura · 4 years

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The Elder Scrolls - a disclaimer and rant

I am going to make some posts about The Elder Scrolls, and in particular, its background, setting, and characters. That means that a disclaimer is probably necessary.

Here’s the tl;dr version: yes, I know about the lore. Please trust me when I say that I was really super into it about a decade and a half ago, and I’ve kept an eye on it since. I have read the Michael Kirkbride forum posts. I have read C0DA, The Seven Fights of the Aldudagga, Sermon Zero, the Loveletter from the Fifth Era, and so on. I know the forum roleplays like The Trial of Vivec. I know that Ayrenn is really a time-travelling mining robot from outer space. I think all the stuff I just referenced varies widely in quality, opinions quite reasonably differ on it, and it’s frequently at odds with what’s actually depicted in the games, but at any rate, I promise that I know it.

So when I go on and talk about Psijics – I know, all right? I know. I am choosing to engage with the setting on a level that focuses more on characters, human stories, and, well, the narratives of the games. The TES apocrypha is interesting, but of limited relevance to the things I’m interested in. There are many valid ways to enjoy TES. Okay?

Now, the longer part:

If you haven’t played TES, and… actually, scratch that, for like 90% of people who’ve played TES, none of the above needed to be said. The thing is, when you play a TES game, it is a fairly straightforward elves-and-wizards-and-dragons fantasy setting in the D&D mould. Indeed, the earliest versions of it, back in the 90s, were based on a D&D campaign. So there’s relatively little surprising about it, and “it’s like D&D” will carry you most of the way towards understanding it.

However, TES games are also renowned for containing lots of in-game books you can read, which are often some of the most striking and evocative parts of the games. These are supplemented by a large library of apocrypha: often unofficial material, posted by developers (and ex-developers) on the internet. The most infamous of these writers is Michael Kirkbride, who has some… very unusual tastes and interests, but there are a range of other names as well. In any case, the result is that TES has an ‘expanded universe’ composed of these non-canonical writings. Often canonical texts in-game hint at some of this vast, unofficial hinterland, and sometimes ideas invented in the apocrypha sneak back into the games themselves.

Further, the apocrypha often hints at what seems to be a very different setting to the one directly experienced in the games: one that’s less about warriors and wizards and adventure and more one about divine magic, transcendence, myth, and meaning. The descriptions often seem to be somewhat at odds. This can best be demonstrated with some examples.

For instance, here is Michael Kirkbride’s description of a High Elf warship, written before any game had depicted the High Elf homeland:

Made of crystal and solidified sunlight, with wings though they do not fly, and prows that elongate into swirling Sun-Birds, and gem-encrusted mini-trebuchets fit for sailing which fire pure aetheric fire, and banners, banners, banners, listing their ancestors all the way back to the Dawn.

This is Old Mary at Water.

You will immediately notice two things. The first is that this sounds really cool. Some of it you need some context to parse (the old elven homeland is called ‘Aldmeris’, hence ‘Old Mary’ as a mocking nickname given by its foes; the High Elves believe that they are literally, genealogically descended from the spirits that created the world at the Dawn), but even so, man, that warship sounds awesome. This Kirkbride guy can write. The second thing, though, is that it is extremely unclear what any of this even means. Given that descriptions… what does this ship look like? Try to picture it! What the heck does ‘crystal and solidified sunlight’ look like? How exactly does a trebuchet throw fire? What?

You might then go on to play a video game where the High Elves are taking part in a war to conquer the continent. If you’re like me, you’re probably keen to see one of these fabled warships. But then it turns out that in-game, High Elf ships look… like this. Or like this.

(Indeed, the High Elves are often a good example of this. An earlier written text, in a pamphlet enclosed with the video game Redguard, described the elven capital of Alinor as “made from glass or insect wings” or “a hypnotic swirl of ramparts and impossibly high towers, designed to catch the light of the sun and break it into its component colours”. Needless to say, should you visit it in a game, it does not look like that.)

After a while, you start to notice that there is very little connection between the world implied by the apocrypha and the world experienced in the games. Kirkbride says that the “closest mythical model” for the ancient knight Pelinal “would be Gilgamesh, with a dash of T-800 thrown in, and a full-serving of brain-fracture slaughterhouse antinomial Kill(3) functions stuck in his hand or head”, and says “Pelinal was and is an insane collective swarmfoam war-fractal from the future”. Indeed in Kirkbride’s descriptions Pelinal seems to have been an ultraviolent schizophrenic who led a wild, genocidal band of anti-elven warriors, was very definitely gay, and who had only a red, gaping hole where his heart ought to be (which in turn is a reference to the missing heart of the creator-trickster deity Lorkhan, whom Pelinal was in part a mortal incarnation of). You might find that really cool or you might find it banal, but there’s no denying that it’s extremely different to the Pelinal whose ghost you can meet in-game. The apocryphal Pelinal is a mad butcher whose closest mythic model, contra Kirkbride, actually seems to be Achilles; the game Pelinal is a straightforwardly sympathetic chivalric knight. This is complicated somewhat by the in-game books being written by Kirkbride and therefore being gonzo bananas insane, so the ‘canon’, such as it is, is unclear – but at any rate it is impossible to deny that there’s an incongruity.

I could go on with examples for a long time. I haven’t even mentioned the most famous – the 1st edition PGE description of Cyrodiil compared to what it actually looks like in Oblivion – or more recent ones, like the gulf between Alduin the mythic dragon who will consume the world and indeed time itself in its terrible jaws and the frankly quite underwhelming beastie you fight in Skyrim. The point I’m making is that there are effectively two TES settings: one relatively down-to-earth, immersive, and depicted in great detail in the video games, and one that’s this absurd mash-up of magic and science fiction and whatever psychedelics Michael Kirkbride has been taking this week.

I write this long disclaimer because it has been my experience discussing TES in the past that people who are mostly interested in the former – in the relatively grounded setting experience in the games – sometimes run into an elitist attitude from people who are interested in the latter. Sometimes fans of the apocrypha can come on much too strong, or gatekeep the idea of being a fan of ‘TES lore’. Any sentence that starts with “actually, in the lore…” is practically guaranteed to go on to be awful.

My point is not that the apocryphal TES is bad. As I hinted above, in my opinion its quality varies extremely widely: there are things that Kirkbride has written that I think are pretty cool (I unironically love the Aldudagga) and there are things he’s written that I think are indulgent tripe (C0DA stands out). Ultimately it’s all about what you enjoy, and I would never try to tell anyone that they shouldn’t have fun reading or speculating about or debating the zaniness of some of these texts. Indeed, as far as online fandoms and video game fan fiction goes, TES probably has the most fruitful ‘expanded universe’ that I’ve ever seen, and I think that’s wonderful. Kirkbride himself has said that “it’s really all interactive fiction, and that should mean something to everyone” and “TES should be Open Source”, which is a position I wholeheartedly endorse – and does a lot to take the edges off some of the worse things he’s said.

Rather, my point is that everyone should enjoy what they feel most interested in, or most able to enjoy. Further, I argue that there is absolutely nothing wrong – and for that matter absolutely nothing less intelligent or less intellectual – about a person preferring to engage with the version of TES most clearly depicted in the video games. Part of this might be defensiveness on my part, because in my opinion what TES has always done best is a nuanced depiction of cultural conflict: this is particularly the case in Morrowind and Skyrim, and ESO’s better expansions tend to deal in this area as well. As such I take relatively little interest in the metaphysical content of much of the apocrypha. For me, Shor, say, is most interesting as the protagonist of several conflicting cultural narratives, rather than as a metaphysical essence.

I would also argue that the most recent game content has taken a good approach by going out of its way to legitimise a range of possible approaches to the setting. The latest chapter of ESO, Greymoor, includes a system where the player can dig up ancient artifacts, and a number of NPC scholars will comment on them for you. This allows the game to indicate in-character scholarly disagreement over issues fans have previously debated. One item shows disagreement over whether the mythical character Morihaus was literally a bull, or a minotaur, or whether he was a human allegorically referred to as a bull. Another one points to disagreement over the possibility of magical spaceships: apocryphal materials have referred to ‘Sunbirds of Alinor’, ‘Reman Mananauts’, etc., as sorts of magical astronauts, but that seems so ridiculous given what we’ve seen in the games as to be easily discounted. I like items like this in-game because they seem to say to players, “It’s okay to disagree over questions like this – no one is doing TES wrong.”

That said, I am reasonably positive that I’m in the minority here, because I am in the camp that usually says that legends exaggerate, and so Morihaus probably wasn’t a bull and magical spaceships don’t exist. This is not a popular position. My reason, of course, is that I think tales are more likely to grow in the telling rather than shrink, and I have a dozen of what I think are hard-to-deny examples of this happening in TES (e.g. heroic narratives of the War of Betony are very different to the grubby reality you uncover in Daggerfall, or Tiber Septim is almost certainly from Alcaire rather than Atmora). However, this means that I openly take an opposite methodology to Michael Kirkbride. Kirkbride was once asked by a forum poster whether some in-game writings are exaggerated. His reply was: “I prefer, "It is very possible, as is the case throughout this magical world, that some of the exaggerated claims made about some subjects pale in comparison to the Monkey Truth. ZOMGWTFGIANTFEATHEREDFLUTYRANTS."”

Needless to say, I find this implausible, and it means that, for example, I interpret the Remanada as an obvious piece of propaganda, inventing a story about Alessia’s ghost in order to retroactively explain why Reman, probably born the son of a hill chieftain with zero connection to the previous dynasty, really has imperial blood. This is a very different but in my opinion more historically plausible take than Kirkbride’s, who has a naked thirteen year old Reman standing atop his harem and slaughtering recalcitrant followers.

I’m not saying that my approach is objectively correct. It’s all fiction – and as Kirkbride said, TES is open source. The only thing that matters is what you the reader, player, or interpreter find the most interesting. For me, that means generally favouring what is seen in the games over the developer apocrypha, which I can take or leave.

At any rate.

I’m going to go on and make some more fannish posts about stuff in ESO that I liked.

Just… if it’s relevant, be aware that I am familiar with the zany stuff. Some of it I like, a lot of it I don’t like, and I feel no obligation to use it if I don’t like it.

There. Disclaimer over.

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typewriterghcst · 4 years

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Title: But For Me It Was Tuesday Rating: also G-ish, but some allusions to probably what we would consider child abuse in the modern day lbr Characters: one (1) OC, Baron, Natori, Yuki Summary: The events of The Cat Returns, but told through the eyes of the smallest-- oh, sorry, my mistake— the youngest kitchen maid in the service of the Cat King. No romantic pairings. A crush or two may be mentioned, though. Notes: Written for the 2020 TCR Birthday Bash, even though I emphatically missed the deadline rip. This one was for the prompt of ‘Movie Extra’, which I took to mean, well, pretty much just what I wrote— the events of the movie as a backdrop to another character’s everyday life, lmao This is another one that isn't Entirely Finished, but I've been working on it since June-ish and I've just lost all motivation to finish it. Though, unlike the last one I posted that was unfinished, the only part missing from this one is the ending. There's also a part in here involving Natori that needed to be changed, but I liked the wording and imagery of it, and never did get around to figuring out where else to put it, so some of the pacing in here is Off rip

&&&

She oversleeps. That's the first unusual misfortune that happens to her on this particular day. Opens the day, no less, she thinks to herself as she forlornly stokes the ovens' gently smoldering fires. Her ears are still ringing from the boxing she'd received— the fact that Cook had had to include a little hop to even reach them means what little pride she has feels just as bruised.

Were she a more superstitious, flighty sort, she might even have taken this setback as the first of likely many portents of an upcoming stressful day. But instead she is only Topolina, the youngest (but emphatically not the smallest; more on that later) kitchen maid currently languishing away in the employ of the illustrious royal castle of the Cat Kingdom.

Of course, it’s there she stops herself. It’s only the chaos of the morning that has her using such bitter language. She should try harder, she tells herself, not to linger on the unpleasant aspects of her current existence, and instead focus on… on… well, she supposes there’s something to be grateful for in all of this.

Like…

Oh! She has a home. A relatively nice bed to sleep in. And meals, every day.

...Meals which she is most often forced to wolf down in the kitchen in solitude as she tends the fires and keeps a watchful eye on the simmering pots.

Ah.

Perhaps she needs a bit more practice with this gratitude thing, is all.

It’s entirely possible her recent light resentment had begun with her very name, Topolina, a name which had been quite fitting when she stood at least two heads shorter than all the other kitchen maids, one she'd even perhaps viewed with some fondness for its endearing quality. And yet, alas, it now exists as a name which seems only heavily ironic— that is, now that she's hit the tender age of fourteen and found herself towering over all but the very tallest of cats. It feels to dear Topolina like some massive, omnipresent joke that she remains her old timid, meek self, still eager to fade into the background and disappear... now without even the faintest hope of being able to do so.

Metaphorical salt in the wound is the undeniable fact that her pinafore's hem, once perfectly aligned with her ankles and cutely poofy, now drapes awkwardly far above its original position. Perhaps it’s comparatively trivial atop all her other complaints, but when she finds herself thinking back to her old unassuming silhouette, she can’t help but feel at least a little crestfallen. Nowadays, she feels quite akin to a pitifully overgrown shrub, no matter how many well-meaning words to the contrary she receives.

All in all, she imagines such a thing might make anyone feel rather less than appreciative.

It’s as she’s sitting there alone before one of the nine stoves in the palace kitchen, contemplating her rotten luck, that she hears— well. She’s not sure, exactly. It’s something of a crunching sound, like rusted metal grinding against itself, and she can’t imagine what its source could be. She stands, and gingerly inspects the oven itself from every angle she can think of. She even studies her fire iron. Yet still she comes up empty-handed.

Defeated, she flops back down in her original spot.

And then— she squeaks, because the ground under her is moving, slowly twisting back and forth as if she’s sitting on a lazy top. She leaps (falls is more accurate) off the emerging ground once her mind comes back to her, once it stops panicking, and stares in confounded shock as the very spot she’d been settled atop transforms into what appears to be a long-forgotten manhole covering. How long had that been there?! She’s never been made aware of an old servant’s tunnel in this area!

Her perplexion only deepens when she spies just who has made use of this abandoned tunnel— a cat much like herself, though she thinks that he looks quite a sight better than she would have had she just crawled through a dirty tunnel. His off-white suit is pressed and smart, for one, and hardly has a tear nor even a wrinkle to show for the abuse he’s no doubt just put it through.

His sharp gaze falls then on her, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of her ill-fitting, nearly threadbare pinafore, the scuffs of dirt and soot smattered across it, and her probably unkempt fur, smudged and mussed from fire-tending. Oh, if she could just will the earth itself to open its maw and swallow her up—!

“Ah,” he starts, in a much gentler voice than Topolina had expected, turning to her and offering a hand to help her up, “I apologize. It was not my intention to startle you.”

“N-No, it’s okay,” she stammers, taking his hand without thinking. (Were she in a right state of mind, she’d never do such a thing— the very last thing her poor Young Maiden’s Heart could stand is for a handsome gentleman to struggle to lift her.) He pulls her up with little difficulty, though, and in her chest she feels a very peculiar thump, and then a flutter.

“A-Are you here for the king..?” She asks impulsively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, appearing to think that over for a fleeting moment, perhaps aware of the myriad of ways the pairing of her question and his response could be interpreted, before he makes his decision.

“Yes. I would like to have an audience with him. It’s a matter of utmost importance.”

“Y… you’re not here to kill him, are you?” She whispers, perhaps irrationally afraid that the king himself might be listening in on her. And yet, not too irrational— she’s seen his spying Cat’s Eye floating languidly about the castle on more than one occasion.

There’s something pitying in his gaze, she thinks, but he replies graciously enough. “You have my word, miss. I am not here to usurp or otherwise harm your king.” Then, while dusting some nonexistent dirt off his clothes, “I do believe I will need a change of wardrobe, however. It won’t do to adress a king while clad in anything less than my finest, will it?”

He says it without flinching, and in such an earnestly straightforward fashion, that Topolina herself is almost led to believe there really is some flaw with his clothing that she simply can’t see.

“Oh!” She says then in sudden inspiration. Without explaining herself first, she scampers to the open alcove behind him, separated only by an unfinished wall. The kitchen servants have long used the area as a makeshift coat rack, and one particularly bizarre ensemble has been there for as long as she can remember. She comes back around the wall bearing the large hat and cloak before offering it to him, embarrassed now that she realizes that, judging by her actions, this is what constitutes ‘his best’ for her: an absurd hat and a dusty, worn cloak.

He himself appears no less than enchanted at her offering, however, and when he stands before her with the hat cocked just slightly on his head and azure mantle thrown over his shoulders, Topolina finds she’s again being assaulted by those odd, vexing heart palpitations. Is she really such a nervous thing? ...Yes, she answers herself firmly. Yes, she is. But she’s far from convinced nerves are to blame in this instance.

“Oh,” she breathes eventually, clasping her paws together and resting them against the edge of her cheek. “You look like you came out of a storybook.”

Well… that was more childish than she meant it to be.

“Then it’s perfect,” he says succinctly. Then, removing the hat and inclining his head to her, he adds, “Thank you for your assistance, ah—”

“Top— erm, Lina.”

“Miss Lina, it is. I’m quite grateful for your help. I am sorry only to startle you and then run without so much as a token for your assistance, but it’s imperative I make good time.”

Topolina shakes her head. “It’s okay— I-I don’t mind!”

And with a final bow, he leaves her and the kitchen behind.

&&&

Peculiar dashing stranger aside, the rest of her day passes in relative normality. There’s a clamor about the servants some time later, and she catches snippets of an excited buzz about something happening with the prince (something that ties in with a group of special guests, but she’s yet to put together how) as she goes about her duties, but in all, for how bizarre the day started out, it all strikes her as rather uneventful.

She’s instructed eventually to scour the floors in the audience chamber in preparation for a banquet, which means filling an old rusted tub with hot water and soap, and then carting it to said room. She’s no stranger to the task, of course, and thinks nothing of trudging through the hall with this metal burden in her arms.

Perhaps as penitence for her lack of investment in the day’s continuing Wonders, another ill-fated obstacle is tossed onto the tracks before her. In this case, literally.

Earlier that day, a courier had accidentally overturned a loose stone in the hallway floor. Scratching his head, staring down at the disturbed piece of clay as though it had personally insulted him in the most obtuse way possible, he’d eventually looked from one end of the corridor to the other and quietly snuck it back into place, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed.

Unfortunately, Topolina notices.

With a decidedly unfeline-like squawk, she trips over the rogue stone; the tub in her arms ends up the victim of gravity, as we all so unfortunately are.

And who should turn the corner then but Natori, just in time to be the unwitting second victim of her bad luck— drenched by the ensuing sheet of warm, sudsy water and so jarred by it, it seems he can do little other than look rapidly from his own sodden person to her no-doubt horrified countenance for near a full two minutes. In the fraught silence that follows, his glasses clatter to the earthen floor, and the tiny sound echoes in her ears like a gunshot. Trembling, Topolina instantly drops to her haunches, paws clapped together in desperate and tearful pleading.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir! Please, I beg your pardon— I didn't mean— i-it was an accident!"

"...Topolina," Natori finally interrupts quietly, gently, even, but the hum of exasperation vibrates just underneath his patient tone like a trapped butterfly, "—retrieve a mop and a towel, please.”

“Of course, sir! R-Right away!”

&&&

It’s afterward, as Topolina does her best to mop around him while he tries to dry himself without incurring any extra… floof, that Natori deems an appropriate time to address his reason for coming this way in the first place.

“It’s possible that Cook may have instructed you about this task already, but the kitchen staff will likely be needing every pot and pan that can be spared for today’s dinner, so do ensure that you tend to the ones that have been, er, languishing in... that corner.” When she chances a glance at him, she sees that his gaze is inconspicuously trained on a particularly infamous corner of the palace kitchens, one where abandoned cookware is just shy of creating its own ecosystem by now. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, some measure of indignation rises in her; she’s so very close to telling him she isn’t the one to blame in this instance! ...At least, not the only one.

Ah. Alas, once more. Her courage withers in the face of this culpability, small as it may be. Instead, she goes back to her doleful mopping. Still, there is at least enough nerve left in her to present him with one continuing question on the topic.

"Is it... is it for the special guests?"

Natori pauses, giving her something of a searching glance. "...It is, yes." Then, after a few seconds spent appearing to think this over, he continues ringing out the bottom hem of his robe. It seems at some point while she was distracted, he’d laid the drenched towel at his feet. "I see word spreads fast through the kitchens."

To herself, she thinks that he has no idea how true that is, nor precisely how fast it truly does.

Finally satisfied with all that the towel can accomplish in drying him off (and evidently feeling his now damp robe will no longer leave any puddles as he wanders through the castle), he returns it to her. "Now, Topolina, please try to keep the mishaps to a minimum. We do have an exceptional guest today, after all."

She only nods frantically, all too aware of her ears flapping up and down. To this, he gives an approving nod of his own, and then finally turns on his heel and leaves. Secure in her admittedly paltry position for at least another day, Topolina breathes a sigh of relief as she puts the mop away.

...An exceptional guest, he’d said. Curiosity flares again, this time stronger than before, and she can’t stop wondering just who they could be. For the most fleeting of seconds, she remembers the cat who had interrupted her delayed routine this morning, but he’s quickly waved away.

Honored guests did not arrive to their own commemoration by climbing through old servants’ tunnels.

&&&

Once the dirtiest, most grime-caked pots and pans are finally scrubbed to perfection, she peeks around the corner in search of Cook or Natori, wondering what other (insignificant) part she may have to play in the care of these exceptional guests. To her consternation, however, the kitchen aside from her seems rather empty, present only to the sound of a maid or two prepping extra portions of stuffed mice on the off-chance they’re requested.

Cautious as always, Topolina all but tiptoes through, still careful not to draw attention to herself, and— once she’s certain she’s not being scrutinized— peeks out of the kitchen itself into the servers’ hallway. There’s music playing, muffled, down the hall in the great dining room— something elegant, bouncy. A waltz, perhaps. She wonders distantly who it is that might be dancing, and if the well-spoken cat she’d crossed paths with earlier is anything of a dancer himself. She could imagine him dancing… Oh, the flutter is back.

“Lina—”

“Yes!!”

She jumps impressively high, her hackles on edge and tail fluffed out in alarm. Yet, when she whips around to face her unexpected company, she’s met only with Yuki. Another of the kitchen servants, Yuki has existed as a consistently friendly, warm presence, to the degree that she’d willingly adopted Topolina’s attempts to shorten her, well, newly embarrassing name, something a few of the other servants (and Natori…) were still having trouble with. Her fright abated, Topolina tries to greet the smaller cat with a smile, but it wavers.

“Oh— Yuki, it’s you.” She’s carrying a large glass bottle, freshly-filled with some unfamiliar pink-tinged liquid, Topolina notices.

“I’m sorry,” Yuki starts in reply. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I-It’s okay!”

“What were you looking at?”

Oh. That.

“I was looking for Cook,” Topolina admits reluctantly. “Or maybe Natori. I’ve finished the dishes they wanted me to clean earlier today.”

“I saw The Corner was all clean. It must have taken a while.” Yuki sounds impressed, perhaps. Topolina doesn’t mention it, of course, but deep down she’s a little tickled. “Natori’s already taken his place in the dining room, though, so I don’t think you’ll have any luck getting more directions from him.”

“Oh…” Thinking back now, she realizes she should have surmised that already. At least, if the banquet has progressed to the point that entertainment is warranted. “What about Cook? Have you seen her?”

“Sorry, I haven’t.”

After a short silence, it suddenly occurs to Topolina that Yuki seems… a little distracted. Troubled, even. Fidgeting, she gathers her resolve for the third time that day.

“...Are you okay? You look like… um, something’s on your mind.”

Just the mention of her evident disquiet is enough to erase its presence from her expression; Yuki almost instantly brightens some, shaking her head gently.

“No, no. I’m fine.” And then, before Topolina can press the issue, “How about this? Stay here— I have to go back in and serve refills. If I see Cook, I’ll ask her what else she wants you to do and then fill you in when I come back. Okay?”

Topolina is just about to enthusiastically agree (leisure time in the sparsely occupied kitchen? Not being the one to personally ask Cook for more work? Of course she’d be on board!), but a sudden eruption of screams and breaking glass from the direction of the banquet room means the two of them are turning their startled attention to the ruckus instead.

“Wh— what could it be..?” Topolina wonders aloud, shaken.

[ and that's it rip the ending i had in mind was that yuki tells topolina to find a safe place, topolina cowers probably in the kitchen the whole time, especially upon hearing an Explosion. and the next day there's all kinds of rumors and tall tales about baron and The Daring Rescue he pulled off. topolina connects the dots and. well basically becomes haru 2.0 crushing on him and indulging in fantasies where she's also swept off her feet by a dashing hero fjfjkda; ]

#the cat returns #do i #still tag it with the birthday bash tag....#tcr birthday bash #i guess #this was my first attempt at writing baron #also yuki

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raziakhatunblr · 4 years

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Mass Healing Word 5e- Aid for all Heal FAQ

Mass Healing Word 5e is the best quality game. Many people Playing this game. I hope you are must be satisfied to play this game. Play Now

What is the Mass Healing word in dnd 5e?

Mass Healing Word 5e:

As you call out words of restoration, up to six animals of your choice, which you can see within range, recover Hit Points equal to 1d4 + your Spellcasting Skill modifier. This spell does not affect Undead or Constructs.

At Higher Levels: When you cast this spell utilizing a spell slot of 4th or higher, the Healing raises by 1d4 for every slot degree over 3rd.

What are the attributes of 5e Mass Healing Word?

Three evocation

Casting Time: 1 bonus action

Range: 60 feet

Components: V

Duration: Instantaneous

Classes: Cleric

How do you compare prayer of healing 5e vs. mass cure wounds?

You can’t use Prayer of Healing in combat, while Mass Healing Word 5e can stop a total party kill if several party members hit 0 HP. The main distinction other than hit points treated is that prayer of Healing has a 10 minute casting time. In comparison, the mass recovery word has a bonus activity casting time. Play Now

5e Aid vs. Mass Healing Word

Pretty self-explanatory from the title. The Aid 5e spell, in the 3rd level, is a flat +10 current and max hp boost.

I typically have many things happening at once, so long as I’ve had the time to establish how I perform clerics. Suppose I am the storm, which I usually am. In that case, I will have telephone lightning heading (or gust of breeze when we are inside ). And worrying about sacrificing my focus on the throw beacon takes away from what I view as my primary purpose, which is crowd control.

For those times, I am not a tempest cleric. Spirit guardians are my go-to for massive CC; throw into a religious weapon for right action, along with my presence in battle, is felt reasonably hard. I can not stress my celebration is rolling low on a d4, potentially only curing six wellness.

The only real downside I can see to picking Aid 5e over Mass Healing Word 5e is that you can aim half as many folks with it. However, the maximum hp growth lasts for 8 hours, requiring no concentration. It is a watered-down version of mass treatment wounds considering 10hp is the average for a 1st level cast of treatment wounds—15hp at 4th level, 20hp at 5th, etc.

Ideas? I play clerics a whole lot but have only recently gotten on board the Assist train.

5e Blessed healer and Mass Healing Word 5e Play Now

You will get the Healing for your personality just once with each throw of Mass Healing Word. The wording in 5e is quite explicit:

When you throw a 1st degree or more significant spell, which restores hit points into a monster other than you, you regain hit points equal to 2 + the spell’s level.

What are the 12 best healing spells in dnd 5e?

The list of spells that can cure is very narrow. In reality, I hardly had enough to create this record! However, I rated these 12 spells together with all the following criteria in mind:

That not only contains how many hit points you return but also the number of goals you may choose to heal with this. If two spells can heal for 1d8; however, one has six goals, it is a pretty clear winner usually.

Spells that spend higher spell slots means that you’re generally losing out on other, more significant spells. If you’re able only to throw a single 8th level spell every day, is this recovery charm worth it versus a weaker spell in a higher slot?

Some recovery charms grant additional bonuses, such as treating diseases, regenerating limbs, or giving temporary hit points. All of these factors matter when some spells only heal.

12 best dnd Healing spells:

Healing Word

Everybody's very first healing charm! As a 1st level spell, it won’t be winning any awards anytime soon. However, it does its job nicely. 1d4 plus your Spellcasting Modifier adds another d4 of Healing. Every single spell slot beyond the 1st is fairly on-par for most charms this early in the match. It gets outclassed as the character grows into more advanced magic.

Mass Healing Word 5e

Source: Player’s Handbook, p.258. One of the first party-wide Healing spells available to Clerics (and only Clerics), Volume Recovery Word doesn’t offer much with only 1d4+ Spellcasting Modifier for up to six goals. And as a 3rd level spell, it’s a pretty hard sell to utilize this over other choices at this level.

Healing Spirit 5e

Source: Xanathar’s Guide to Everything p. 157. A fantastic addition from Xanathar, Healing Spirit, lets you make a tiny moving spirit that heals creatures that pass through it. Or start their turn in precisely the same spot as it for 1d6. It is a flexible spell that lasts for a full moment with concentration. And since it’s a bonus action, you can still cast a cantrip as your routine actions. If you’ve got a Druid or Ranger in your party, it will not hurt to pick up this spell when available.

Cure Wounds 5e

Source: Player’s Handbook, p.230.Remember that time we dissed Healing Word? Cure Wounds is a spell of the same level and may double the Healing (1d8 vs. 1d4). Cure

Wounds 5e’ downside is a Touch spell, meaning the caster can’t be quite distant from his celebration. That is not too terrible of a drawback, though, since this spell is available to beefier courses, for example, Paladins, Rangers, and Druids, who are more inclined to be on the front line. That allows your Bards and Clerics to hang back and save their charm slots for more excellent choices.

Prayer of Healing 5e

Source: Player’s Handbook, p.267.Prayer of Healing is one of the first “big” healing spells. Clerics have access to, as another level spell. It is a pretty great heal (out of combat that’s ) that allows you to cure up to six targets for 2d8+your modifier. Plus, as you spend spell slots over the 2nd level, you get an additional d8, allowing the charms to scale pretty well into the subsequent levels. One of the big draws against it’s the very long cast time. Ten minutes makes it unusable in combat.

Aura of Vitality 5e

Source: Player’s Handbook, p. 216. This little number provides two of the crucial criteria for a good healing spell: Range, as well as foliage. Any target within 30 feet can find a 2d6 heal as a bonus action, which means a lot since this is a Paladin-only spell. You may have to keep concentration for the duration of the spell (which, let’s be fair, should be relatively straightforward as a Paladin). However, the flexibility and power of the spell are pretty excellent.

Hero’s Feast 5e

Another weird spell is a healing spell, Hero’s Feast. It allows you to summon a making of delicious food for your party that takes an hour to complete. (twelve individuals signifies your DM is most likely yelling after every session). After that hour passes, all participants get 2d10 temporary hit points and heal the same quantity. Hero’s Feast 5e is not a spell you will ever cast in combat (it takes ten minutes to throw it, not to mention that the hour-long Feast). Nonetheless, it offers a beautiful enthusiast to your party before some huge dramatic fight.

Vampiric Touch 5e

A draining lifestyle does heal you. So this charm makes a list on technicality! Once you connect with this, you get to cope with 3d6 damage and cure for half that sum. Plus, you can make this action over and above for a full minute if it’s possible to maintain concentration in the melee range. The biggest drawback of the Vampiric touch 5e spell is that the range.

Power Word Heal 5e

Source: Player’s Handbook, p. 266. The most powerful healing spell that D&D offers, Power Word Heal, enables you to heal a target for maximum hit points. And of course, it also removes charmed, frightened, paralyzed, or stunned conditions from the target. So it is pretty rare that this charm helps in any campaign.

Heal 5e

A single target has to cure 70 hit points with no rolls required, only the 6th level spell slot invested in throwing it. As a bonus, it also ends blindness, deafness, and any diseases affecting the goal. It is hard to argue with results like these.

Mass Cure Wounds 5e

The midfield alternative for curing your party, Volume Heal Wounds, provides a reasonably good cure (3d8+ Spellcasting Modifier) for up to six goals, with no casting time! It’s an excellent spell for Bards, Clerics, and Druids that can cast 5th level spells. No casting period, no expensive components, a relatively wide range, and a moderate heel make this among the most significant Healing spells out there.

Regenerate 5e

Source: Player’s Handbook, p.271.In my opinion, the most potent healing spell available in 5th Edition needs to be this one. Regenerate not only enables you to cure for 4d8+15. But the goal also regrows or re-attaches any limbs which were severed (not counting heads, that is an entirely different spell).

On top of this sizable up-front heal, the goal also heals ten hit points every minute. It is for an hour-long duration, for another 60 points healed on top of the initial roll. Bards, Clerics, and Druids have access to this Seventh-degree spell, so any party should get this in time. Play Now

What is Mass Heal 5e?

A flood of Repairing energy flows from you into hurt creatures around you. You reestablish up to 700 Strike Points, divided as you choose among any number of animals you can see within range. Creatures healed by this spell will also be cured of all Diseases and some other Effect, making them Blinded or Deafened. This charm has no Effect on Undead or Constructs.

What are the attributes of Mass Heal 5e?

The attributes of 5e Mass heal are as follows:

9 TH evocation

Casting Time: 1 action

Range: 60 feet

Components: V S

Duration: Instantaneous

Classes: Cleric

A flood of healing energy flows out of you into hurt creatures around you. The creature healed by this spell gets cured of all diseases and any impact that makes them blinded or deafened.

What is Scroll of Mass Healing Word 5e?

Detect Magic Aura

When you see a magical thing while the Detect Magic spell is active, you’ll see certain auras based on the colleges of magic at work from the merchandise. To get a “Scroll of Mass Healing Word 5e,” auras include:

Evocation

It is an ebb and continuous flow of opposing blues and oranges

Scroll of Mass Healing Word 5e:

Attributes of

Uncommon

Rarity: Very

Scroll

Type:

Sanity Category:

Mainly Consumables

Page Number:

Aura of Vitality 5e vs. Mass Healing Word 5e

Mass Healing Word is just better than Healing Word if more than 1 PC is down concurrently. That is pretty dire. Depending on your DM and the experience, it’s probably more likely one of those PCs is lifeless. It seems like you need to have run away two rounds ago.

Multiple party members moving down at the same round is rare. Aov has far more curative power over time than MHW (you’re able to keep bonus action-ing it on individuals after the battle ends).

I’d go Aura of Vitality 100% every time.

Cure Wounds is also a bard spell, so if you’ve got that and two go down precisely the same round, you could always Heal Wounds one and AoV another. You’ll lose your principal actions, unlike MHW, however, in that rare situation. It’s well worth it, and also, for the other 99% of adventuring, AoV will give you a lot more bang for your healing buck.

#5emasshealingword Aid5e Auraofvitality5evsmasshealingword5e Beathealingspellsin5e Blessedhealerandmasshealingword5e Evoction5ehaal5e Masshea

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writingonjorvik · 5 years

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Can We Discuss Temtem?

This is going to be a weird conversation, which is why I want to preface this before I get into it. This piece isn’t anything like “Temtem is the SSO killer” or shit like that. However, I do really want to discuss this game for its merits because of what it means for SSO. Let me explain.

Ok, so Temtem is a recently released monster battling MMO that just came out on Steam. It’s basically a Pokemon MMO, but that does it a disservice. While there are obviously a lot of elements that it shares with Pokemon, I genuinely think the developers focused on different core mechanics when fleshing the game out. The whole game is built around 2 v. 2 instead of 1 v. 1, and there are loads of really interesting mechanics involved with that system that aren’t in Pokemon, as well as its own twists on things like PP with the Stamina system. With that said, even without being a pro gamer, Temtem is a relatively casual MMO experience. I’ve never really played a lot of Pokemon, but Temtem has done a good job of explaining itself and presenting a charming world.

Now, that doesn’t mean the game is perfect. There are some concerns I have about the economy, very similar to my concerns I have about SSO’s, in that the clothing is currently WAY overpriced, though it functions differently than SSO’s in that it’s a permanent unlock. There also is some lack of stability with the servers, though that’s improved significantly over the past three days the game has been up (went from crashes every 30 minutes to every 2 hours in three days, which is a huge improvement. Not to mention there aren’t queues anymore). It’s also lacking in the social element right now with no chat or group functions, but the game is only three days out. If you don’t have a lot of patience for early betas, I’d probably suggest passing on this game until it’s more stable, but overall, it’s a really solid game and I do recommend it.

But what does any of that have to do with SSO? Right now this is just me gushing about a different game on an SSO blog. Well it’s because of what this game is. This obviously isn’t a “non-combat” game like SSO, it’s a monster battler. Much like Pokemon, it’s basically combat game for kids, and as such I’d lump it into a “casual” gameplay kind of experience, much like SSO is. I’d say it’d attract similar crowds cause of the laidback vibe the game gives off, which is also the appeal for SSO. But it’s more than that.

I’ve said for a long time, sooner or later, SSO’s going to get competition. Part of the reason right now they get to get away with the exploitative high prices compared to other MMOs on their microtransactions is because there isn’t anything easily accessible in the market with them. But that’s changing.

Alicia Online has been out for a while, but I know from my own experience that that game can be difficult to run with any kind of security software installed, and also because of the nature of how it’s run, it’s less accessible. Not as bad as trying to play on the Korean official servers when they were up, but less accessible than SSO. Sky: Children of the Light is another really good free casual MMO, but it’s currently only on mobile and I know I’ve set it down until it’s available for PC. I’ve recommended it a bunch and know that it’s pending port to Android has turned people off too. That makes it also inaccessible. Likely to change, but currently only available to iOS users with devices strong enough to run it.

But Temtem isn’t that. It’s an increasingly stable (I imagine in the next few weeks, reliable so too), solid casual MMO. It has solid mechanics, pretty visuals, and a wide age appeal (it also has they/them pronouns and no genderlocking in character customizing, but that’s another topic). It’s got easy cellshaded graphics that most computers can run and it’s been really well optimized so that’s not an issue for higher end rigs. And it’s on Steam for $35.

Look, I love SSO. But if I had a friend ask me for a casual “non-combat” MMO right now, I’d recommend them Temtem. It’s more affordable, it’s got more clear and accessible content, it’s got an extremely honest and straightforward dev team who have been open to feedback from the get go and clear explanations on direction and bugs, and right now the economics are mostly reasonable and being negotiated with the community. And I know based on polls I’ve run with all of you, money is a reason you don’t recommend people to join SSO. In fact, it’s the leading reason in my polls. But for the same price as Lifetime for SSO, which is the most reasonable deal to get to play SSO, you could get you and a friend a copy of Temtem. That’s two players to every one of SSO’s.

Again, I’m not here to say “Temtem is the SSO killer.” Not everyone is gonna be into monster battling games. However, it is clear with Temtem’s success and with Sky’s success as Apple’s Game of the Year, that casual MMOs like this are in demand. And they’re being made, putting themselves in the market at a far more reasonable price than SSO does, significantly more in line with other MMOs in the industry. SSO’s days being the only casual MMO in the market are running out.

Something has to give. Honestly, a lot of things need to give. This isn’t a threat to the SSO’s devs, it’s an observation. If SSO wants to remain competitive, wants to remain viable as a business, it needs to meet industry standards at least somewhere. Even with $75 being reasonable for a game that doesn’t do expacs, we have to admit that it’s a turnoff as a bar for entry. $30 for one horse skin is enough to buy another game, one that might let you earn that skin without waiting two months. Waiting months for half an hour of content when other MMOs deliver hours isn’t ok, and SSO needs to move to less updates to be able to produce better content like that regularly.

I know players are going to pitch hell about this because weekly is what we expect for updates and any time I mention price changes there’s always someone up in arms about “SSO’s devs deserve fair prices.” But as someone who aims to be SSO’s competition one day with Rangers of Faewere, this has nothing to do with me wanting the game out of business. It’s me wanting that competition. SSO deserves a space in this market and I want it to have a space in this market because this game is filled with charm and zany adventures and wonder that I have been following since launch. It’s why I wanted to make Faewere, it’s why I got into game analysis, it’s how I started Youtube seriously and met so many of you. I want SSO to survive for a long time.

But the industry is changing and SSO isn’t going to be alone for very much longer in it. Something’s gotta give. SSO’s been the most accessible 3D casual MMO for a long time, but it’s biggest hurdle is its price. And someone just put themselves on the market in a serious way by charging half SSO’s entry fee. I don’t know what Temtem will do for its microtransactions, but I hope SSO takes a serious response. Because I want them in this market, and they can’t when the competition is charging $35 or less for entry.

#sso #star stable online #star stable #starstableonline #starstable #woj analysis

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theusurpersdog · 5 years

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The Battle of Winterfell

Okay, I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t particularly care for this episode. I came into it so hyped, because Miguel Sapochnik was in charge of the most important episode of the series to date and he has yet to disappoint, but in hindsight I realized this episode was never going to work. Not that I disliked the whole thing, because there were some moments which I absolutely love, but overall this episode was poorly conceptualized and executed even worse. Below the cut I’ll explain why I disliked it, and how I think the show could have done better. . .

First, I think this episode was poorly executed in the writing room, not by the actors, directors, and behind-the-scenes crew. Watching the Game Revealed for this episode shows just how incredible the crew behind this show is, and its a shame that all that excellent work was largely wasted by D&D.

Visually speaking though, this episode was stunning. The shots of Drogon and Rhaegal against the sky, lighting wights on fire, is legitimately breathtaking. Arya’s parkour is also stunning. Miguel Sapochnik and everyone else involved really did not disappoint, as far as they could carry the episode.

To me, this episode failed on two fronts: its approach to characters, and its approach to the battle.

Characters

The biggest problem this episode had, is that it approached its characters through the lens of the action, and not the action through the lens of its characters. While D&D promised many character moments, there was only one - the Hound deciding to toughen up because Arya was in danger. Otherwise, all of the “character beats” were slow motion shots of people reacting to the battle. Those moments, its important to note, do not come from scripting - those scenes were Miguel Sapochnik desperately trying to ground his action within the emotions of his characters. But these scenes fail to carry the emotional burden the episode needed, because they are entirely generic; that’s what I mean when I say D&D did not consider the action through their characters. None of the scenes in these episodes were written from the perspective of “How would Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion, Sansa, et al, react and how does that change our episode?”, they were all written from the perspective of “These are the exact events we are going to have, what room does that leave for character expression?” - and of course, the answer was very little. Arya’s plotline this episode comes the closest to personalized, and even that falls very short. Listening to the Inside the Episode, the idea behind Arya’s story was “what if we took away her characteristics, what is she left with?” which leads to more near death fake outs, but prevents any real character moments. They intentionally took her back to season one Arya, instead of incorporating 7 years of growth into her scenes.

Compare that approach to a previous episode, Blackwater, written by George Martin. Every single scene in that episode (except the dude bro scene with Bronn that GRRM was forced to write) is designed to show you something about Stannis, Davos, Cersei, Tyrion, or Sansa. It was a battle written specifically to highlight its characters. The perfect scene to highlight this difference is Sansa in the Sept during Blackwater, vs Sansa in the crypts during The Long Night. Sansa was not written to be useless this episode; her line “I will not abandon my people” combined with the unaired scenes of her killing wights, is quite enough evidence that the intent of D&D was to feature her. Yet, in the finished product, its very clear that D&D really didn’t understand how to feature her; the scenes in the crypts are entirely superfluous, because they exist solely to include Tyrion and Sansa. Whereas in Blackwater, GRRM wrote the scenes to highlight Sansa’s leadership, kindness, bravery, loyalty, and compassion. She is not even included in the “battle” portion of the episode, but many of her very best lines are from that episode and its corresponding book chapters - because GRRM worked the battle around his characters, instead of D&D who worked their characters around the battle. D&D genuinely didn’t know how to include scenes in this episode that weren’t action, and The Long Night suffered greatly for it. The best way to fix this problem would have been to re-examine each scene from a character’s perspective based on their specific story arc over 7 1/2 seasons. D&D were too focused on the base concept of fear, on how everyone is just terrified of death personified, that they forgot each character has their own story. Like I previously said, only the Hound has a scene like this, where we understand his specific reaction based on his specific story arc.

This episode also failed to incorporate its characters even when the action called for it. While my above complaint is that D&D couldn’t look outside the action to make room for characters, this one is similar but slightly different - even when the action would have been greatly improved by individualized character beats, D&D chose to ignore that in favor of straight battle sequences. The obvious example of this is Daenerys, and her complete ambivalence in the face of Viserion. The only time her character was allowed to influence her scenes this episode, is when she as a Khaleesi decided she could not watch her Khalasar slaughtered; and the only reason that was included, was an excuse to get the battle rolling as D&D envisioned it. But wouldn’t dragon vs dragon content in this episode have greatly benefited from an emotionally bereft Daenerys? I am far from her biggest stan, but it is truly a slap in the face to pretend as if one of her dragons dying, and then being brought back to try and kill her, would not almost kill Daenerys. The dragons are her children; she looks at them and sees herself reflected back, both the good and the bad. Her self worth and importance is tied to them. To not only lose one, but to see it turned against her, is a scene literally begging to be about Daenerys’ loss. And yet, her emotional connection to Viserion is completely irrelevant to her battle with the Night King.

The previous complaints I’ve had with this episode were all things I think would have been relatively easy to fix within the episode itself, but the next problem I have has been building since season one, and was probably unfixable by season 6. And that problem is of Bran, Jon, and the Night King. Obviously I don’t know what GRRM’s plans for the Others are, but I am very sure Bran is at the heart of it. Don’t get me wrong, it was amazing to see a Stark defeat the Night King; but, if we are being honest with ourselves, it was the wrong Stark. Since the start of the series, when we see the Night’s Watch deserter executed through Bran’s eyes, he has been the narrator of the Others. Yet for some reason, D&D made the decision in s1 that they weren’t going to include Northern Mysticism, or Bran’s more supernatural elements. They pretty much eliminated Warging from the show completely (which is entirely unthinkable in the books). By cutting Bran off from his plot with the Others, they filled his role with Jon. Now, Jon is very connected to the North and weirwoods and that sort of high fantasy element, but he is not connected to the White Walkers directly. Jon Snow has never even faced a White Walker in the books, compared to his show counterpart who has had run-ins with the Night King since s5. By making Jon a much more stereotypical Action Hero, they’ve already gutted what the White Walkers are in the books. Once they left Bran out of s5, there really was no going back. To me, its obvious that at some point midway through the show, D&D realized from GRRM just how important Bran was to the fight against the AotD, but it was too late to do anything about it. So Bran being in the Godswood, after an extremely vague explanation of why the Night King wants to kill him, was their desperate attempt to pick up the pieces. That left D&D with only one other option for taking out the Night King - shock value. They literally say as much in the Inside the Episode. All of the above doesn’t even mention how big a problem the Night King existing at all is, but it is a huge problem. The Night’s King, from the books, is not some all powerful figure; he is a man, who made a very stupid choice out of love. The Night’s King story is a deeply personal tale, which most likely revolves around a Stark, which ties the story back to our main characters (specifically Bran). By changing the Night’s King story into one centralized White Walker villain, they took away all the personality of the White Walkers while simultaneously pinning the entire narrative onto one character (which can only lead to an unsatisfactory ending).

The Battle

Now that I’ve explained why I dislike the character element of The Long Night, lets break down why the battle itself falls short. . .

They played this way too straightforward. If they weren’t going to ground this episode within emotional stakes and payoffs, they had to be way more creative within the battle itself. I know Dan Weiss gave his “reasons” for not including Ice Spiders, but they were stupid (for anyone who hasn’t seen the article, he said they didn’t think they could animate giant spiders well); Lord of the Rings came out more than 15 years ago and Shelob was very well done, and you’re telling me that Game of Thrones couldn’t pull them off?

Ice Spiders isn’t the only thing they could have done though. GRRM’s story is some Cthulu level horror and heavy metal stuff, and D&D should have embraced those elements. The shots of the dragons fighting worked so well because it was a visually new experience, but D&D scripted way too much melee fighting to be the backbone of the episode. Sapochnik did the best he could to make it stimulating throughout, but as an audience this can only be entertaining for so long. And D&D were obviously very attached to making this episode feature length, regardless - what I’m saying is, an editor needed to be more involved in the final cut.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #jonsa

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punkscowardschampions · 5 years

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Ava & James

Ava: So, campus bars Ava: Avoid entirely or cheap enough to make the cringe worth it? 🤔🤔 James: use your student loans wisely enough that cheap is avoided entirely Ava: Ugh 😏 I thought you'd give real advice if I got you off the clock James: go with your gut, option 1 James: you're not striking me as someone to base their social life around KCLSU's quiz night Ava: I love trivia like I love cheap white wine spritzers and school spirit James: knew you'd fit right in Ava: Can I put that resounding endorsement on my application then, James? James: it'll carry more weight if you accidentally add the I when you write my name James: but I didn't say that James: slip of the pen, that's all Ava: My lips are sealed Ava: There's plenty of time to meet him and double up on kudos James: I hear the girl's hazing rituals are savage James: stand you in good stead that will Ava: No one is scarier than a high school girl Ava: Nor as petty and sadistic Ava: I think I'll survive James: they've toned it down since that girl had a mental episode post head shave James: sure you will Ava: Very chic Ava: Do you wait 'til the UCAS app has gone through to drop the horror stories usually or are you really bad at this whole recruitment thing on purpose? James: it's my 1st time playing tour guide James: potentially I'm less than cut out for it Ava: I won't lodge a formal complaint Ava: Unless you're turning over DMs as feedback, in which case, awkward James: I won't be, some girls think I have more sway than I really do James: awkward indeed Ava: God Ava: Not even my first choice Ava: Though makes you wonder how effective attaching nudes to your cover letter would be James: they'd have to take that on a case by case basis Ava: 🤞 that you don't get the one token woman on the panel James: not your 1st choice, no need to cross anything Ava: Hypothetically, James II Ava: Why was it yours, then? Ava: Student life evidently not being it James: it was my only James: it's gonna end up being Teddy's too Ava: He hasn't turned up to business studies in time Ava: But slip of the pen, I get you James: my older sister got all the brains and none of the sense of fun Ava: Know the sort Ava: Bet I still likes you better though James: I wouldn't go that far Ava: Too far for a taster sesh Ava: Understood Ava: Don't suppose you'll point me in the direction of where you actually hang now then? James: I suppose I could Ava: Please Ava: Bored is an understatement Ava: I'll still show up all present and correct for the debrief thing tomorrow James: it's such a good thing here isn't your 1st choice Ava: You should give me the real tour Ava: I'll keep my lips sealed James: can't I get another please before you do? Ava: Please do not invite your brother Ava: He got us kicked out of Mahiki last month it was so tragic James: he's a disgrace Ava: Most of them are James: I don't associate with anyone who still goes to Mahiki regularly Ava: It's pretty played out James: if they'll let Teddy in they're getting desperate Ava: 😂 awh James: you ready now? Ava: Already out Ava: Figured you better pick me up from The Vault Ava: Consider it a mini hazing of my own James: keep your lips sealed that I'm going within 100 yards of the place and sure Ava: Don't worry Ava: The others are at the cinema or something equally as lame the school put on for our 'overnight entertainment' Ava: I'm sick Ava: No selfies James: the hangover'll make it look & feel convincing Ava: That's a promise you can put your wallet behind Ava: I am a guest James: you don't want put your fake ID on the line either Ava: Bold of you to assume I've ever needed to buy my own drinks 😏 Ava: I didn't bring it alright, shut up James: you don't need it, I'm only playing Ava: 😾 James: how many drinks has my brother bought you? Of course I need to 1 up him Ava: Total? Ava: Not as much as he'd like but lots Ava: Not trying to milk this sibling rivalry or anything, have known him ages Ava: Well before Mahiki would let him in, like James: hardly a rivalry, you know him well enough to realise Ava: True Ava: You do what feels right and I'll let you know by the end of the night then James: very straightforward James: I like it Ava: You don't know me well enough yet but that's par for the course James: I knew your brother for years & I didn't know him James: we'd need more than an evening Ava: I'm as comparable to my brother as you are to yours Ava: Probably James: show me, I'll show you Ava: Deal Ava: But we will need more than an evening Ava: to make it fair James: you can have until you're bored Ava: You'll want longer when you aren't anymore James: I'm used to things not lasting as long as I want Ava: I'm not your average Ava: You'll see James: bold of you to assume I've ever settled for average Ava: I didn't say THE average James: I heard you say my average Ava: No need to be offended by better, is there? James: bemused at most Ava: You're welcome Ava: but you are meant to be entertaining me, not the other way 'round James: you brought up fairness James: & it's a good point Ava: How do you propose we make it fair then? James: I entertain you tonight, you entertain me whenever you've thought of your own tour worth taking me on Ava: That's actually a good idea Ava: and entirely fair James: Teddy'll cost my dad more to secure his place than I did, I've got some brains on board Ava: No doubt Ava: Gave his name to the right kid, clearly James: My sister was undoubtedly relieved James: though Diana has its own pitfalls Ava: 😬 The jokes write themselves James: they do Ava: Perks of having a relatively untouched name James: it does suit her, she's very much a martyr Ava: Did you do an English degree? Ava: You're good at painting a picture with words Ava: See 👸 so clearly James: sadly not James: maybe I'll go back & do it if I ever finish the current one Ava: Student forever vibes Ava: Fuck real life James: then again, being the kind of dad who drops their kid off for classes & pulls up his own chair at the table doesn't sound like a great idea Ava: Just make sure its not their first choice, yeah? James: oldest's already smarter than me James: won't be a problem Ava: There you go then James: where's yours? Ava: Currently undecided Ava: It's more a case of sorting the 2-5 James: & how's that going? James: this place being a solid 5th Ava: Its been a solid mix of fun and boring working it out Ava: Better than another night in Mahiki at any rate Ava: I'll have to decide eventually but even my mum can't demand I do quite yet James: don't over complicate it James: they're not all that different James: I've got friends studying all over the map and they're still basically doing the same things I am Ava: See, that's what I figured Ava: But try telling that to a woman who was Cambridge or bust Ava: It's more about the vibe of the place, the people, the ethos and the lecturers not being the worst stereotypes of boring/creep Ava: again, if I tell her vibe is on my criteria she'd actually kill me before I could apply anywhere so 🤷 James: your secret's safe with me James: even if our mothers were friends, mine is currently not speaking to me Ava: How's that? James: it's something I'm fairly used to James: she's not a big talker James: more of a fan of a dismissive hand gesture Ava: Gotcha Ava: Not a whole lot to miss James: she's got lots to say about my parenting style but who hasn't Ava: Shame you don't talk to my brother now James: I don't suppose he sees it as a shame Ava: Probably not Ava: He's not one for regrets James: me either James: it's why we started out friends Ava: Feels like ages ago Ava: Since he still lived here James: it kind of is James: he left before he left Ava: It's complicated James: it's not my business Ava: Not mine either so Ava: Whatever James: car's here James: are you going to make me get out for you? Ava: You're meant to come in here Ava: Don't you trust I can keep my lips sealed? James: I don't trust it to be entertaining in there James: hence it's not part of the tour Ava: Please James: Oh Ava James: [but does come in we all know he would] Ava: [clearly making him stay for a drink and play pool or something in this student ass bar] James: [when you're whipped for someone you're not even dating lol] Ava: [When Chloe is your missus] James: [to be a fly on the wall in their relationship tbh literally imagine] Ava: [oh lordy how you have not been missed girl] James: [at least the new kid is young enough she can dress it up still and it can't talk back so she can pretend she gives a shit and isn't blowing his phone up rn] Ava: [in full show-off-to-all-my-friends mode still, somehow still has some lol] James: [lord when you don't even like and comment on pics of your own child anymore though bye do not approve of your aesthetic choices Chlo] Ava: [so awkward, when you only get a look in for the boring/hard bits] James: [basically just get to parent Jay cos she's well over that] Ava: [poor James tbh] James: [have your fun now lad I don't blame you even though everyone else will] Ava: [lord people gonna be SO mad] James: [how far we gonna take this during the tour cos obvs flirty vibes been flying about but like he can't just jump her cos married and she's younger] Ava: [she fully initiated this whole thing lbr but maybe don't sleep with him yet babe as you are aware he's married and has kids so like, some thought even though you young and reckless that, he could always stop it at a makeout 'cos then how embarrassing for her and she'd have to leave it for a bit like what was I doing, angst etc] James: [I vibe with that cos they are gonna be drinking a lot as the night goes on so that'd make both of them give less of a shit about the consequences but because the night is going on eventually chlo is gonna be like are you coming home ever because I like to think he hasn't cheated since she got pregnant with this kid and has actually been trying even though he's miserable af clearly] James: [like maybe it was really bad before and he was actually gonna leave her so she was like simply must trap him and did] Ava: [v much a her move I support it] James: [yeah cos she's invested this much time into him she's not just gonna let him go easily] Ava: [when you have no idea what you've signed yourself up for here babe] James: [I'm rooting for them rn cos nobody else is and I'm 100% that bitch, must not get invested yet when we've only just begun] Ava: [same tho so whoops] James: [he'd be so into it though too we all know that makeout would be 💣🔥] Ava: [hence breaking it off would be hard af, Chloe gotta be blowing his shit up to the degree he thinks maybe one of the kids is hurt lol] James: [literally Chloe is the teenage girl in this situation, girl chill out] Ava: [I'd feel bad if you hadn't also cheated loads and trapped him in this sham life soooo, grant you idk how much Ava knows of that rn but she'd clearly have a rep] James: [yeah I feel like Ava would be knowing some shit cos same circles and Chlo ain't slick plus like he's gonna eventually tell her cos god knows he needs someone to talk to] Ava: [we will get there boy] James: [at least it'll be less awks for her cos it'll be obvious that he didn't wanna break shit off and how hard it was to do] Ava: [there was obvs a vibe to pursue in the first place, still tomorrow morning lmao] James: [he'd so go too hard pretending she doesn't exist like nobody's picked up on the vibe and it ain't obvious okay boy] Ava: [I hope there's some other drama gone down on this little excursion so yous can fly under the radar, someone hold hands at the cinema lol] James: [shit like that always happens don't worry you two] Ava: [thank God for teenage shenanigans when you out here homewrecking on the low] James: [you should do some Chlo texts at me for the lols even if I don't reply cos busy lol]

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zdbztumble · 5 years

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“Kingdom Hearts II revisited” Part III

I had meant to cover the first pass on all the Disney worlds in one post, but this game is just too long, and I have too many notes. For now we’ll just go over everything up to and including Disney Castle/Timeless River. Maybe the second pass can fit into one post.

Going back to KH II after KH III, you notice certain things that would probably have been taken for granted before. One example is how little talk there is about the “world order.” That’s something that’s existed as a concept since the first game, but it isn’t a big deal in the early part of the series. Outside of King Triton knowing about the Keyblade, our heroes never breech it, and there isn’t an excessive amount of pressure to maintain it - unique looks for certain worlds, and line or two is about all the first game spends on the subject. That pattern holds true for the second game. Granted, most of the worlds in KH II are worlds either used or alluded to in KH I, involving numerous characters who are well aware by now about other worlds. But as of this writing, I’ve played through the first pass on Port Royal, which has no such ties, and the closest thing to a mention of the world order is Sora and friends remarking how different the world looks to the others when they first show up. That’s it. If anything, they’re too blase about it in Port Royal, but I’ll come back to that another day.

The point is - the “world order” just wasn’t a major issue in the early games of this series, nor did it need to be. It certainly didn’t need to turn into a one-note running gag of Donald berating Sora for disregarding the world order, especially when Sora - in the limited time given to the subject in these early games - is fairly mindful of it.

And that’s another thing that changed in the time between KH II and III - who’s the butt of the jokes made about the mission. KH III is loaded with characters chastising, critiquing, demeaning, mocking, and castigating Sora, and having been thoroughly retconned into a shonen doofus, Sora unfortunately gives them some justifiable cause (though I would argue it’s still excessive.) But in this game, the butt of the jokes is Donald. And while there is some teasing involved, most of it is without commentary, and comes from Donald doing the same shtick he’s known for in the mainline Disney canon - being hot-tempered, greedy, impulsive, boastful until challenged, or desperate to avoid trouble with Daisy. This works so much better as a source of comic relief. Donald is a character specifically designed to end up with egg on his face, and since he’s not the protagonist, using him as a go-to for comedy doesn’t undermine the credibility of the hero.

Now, onto the Disney worlds themselves...

KH II has been criticized for the way it handles the Disney worlds. It’s been charged that they’re nothing but filler, that this is where the trend of stiff re-tellings of the movie plots began, that Sora is irrelevant in them. At least for these first four, I can’t say I agree on any of those points.

To start with the “filler” charge - look again at Yen Sid’s briefing. He gives Sora a pretty straightforward assessment: the Heartless are back, and there’s also Organization XIII. Looking at the first three Disney worlds, we have one where the Heartless ally with the resident Disney villain, one where a member of Organization XIII is up to something, and one where both the Heartless (in service to Pete, and by extension Maleficent) and Organization XIII are active, demonstrating that they’re at odds, along with the local villain. That flows pretty organically from what Yen Sid tells Sora. It’s such a smooth move from that talk to the Disney worlds, in fact, that it only reinforces my feeling from last time that Hollow Bastion should have been saved for later. You don’t have the interstitial cutscenes of villain plotting that gave KH I a sense of a continuous story; things are more episodic here. But that’s not a bad thing, and it doesn’t mean that any of these worlds are “just” filler - they do logically follow from preceding set-up.

The idea that the worlds do noting but recap the movies is a charge only relevant to one of these first four worlds, the Land of Dragons. And I will admit that, compared to the few KH I levels that did adapt the movie plots rather than create their own, the story content here is closer to the film. But that, in and of itself, isn’t a bad thing, provided it’s done correctly. And I would argue that it is done correctly in this game, at least for the Land of Dragons. While the plot holds true to the back half of Mulan, it’s abridged, with appropriate adjustments made to the remaining material to make major character turns and stake escalations work - and to allow the movie material to be in service to the larger KH story. Mushu having been a Summon in KH I gives a great springboard into the action, moments for interplay between the KH characters and the movie characters are well-chosen (Donald picking a fight with the three soldiers comes to mind, though I question Sora’s involvement; similar scenes in later worlds show him being more sensible), and most importantly - the changes mean that Sora is relevant.

To keep using the Land of Dragons as an example: in that world, it’s now Sora who suggests the way for “Ping” to prove “himself” in the army. He and Mulan make several key decisions together. And the final boss battle has Sora fighting alongside Mulan against the actual villain of the world, not some random Heartless conjured out of nowhere to keep Sora busy while plot keeps rolling without him. The same pattern holds for the Beast’s Castle and Olympus. That the protagonist should matter to the story, and be involved at the point of action in each world of a video game, should be a no-brainer, but this is another example of KH II wonderfully executing a basic idea that later games somehow managed to completely botch.

I have no issues with the pacing of the story material in these worlds either. I have a huge problem with the pacing of something in between these worlds - but we’ll get back to that. If any of them get a little rocky, it’s Olympus - with the three sets of villains running around, things get a little scattershot, which results in things like Auron’s reveal being rather rushed. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing - multiple villains jockeying for their own agendas would leave things rather scattershot. Giving Sora another hint towards Roxas’s identity is a good touch in that world too. I must say, though - Demyx is dumb. Like, really dumb. If you take Organization XIII to be more effective as a unit than as individuals, as I do, then Demyx as the first unmasked boss makes his level of cartoonish idiocy more palatable, and I suppose it fits the tone of the Hercules movie. But he is just so dumb.

Some great little gags and character quirks litter the first four Disney worlds. There’s the re-write of how Mulan gets exposed via Mushu’s big mouth, the fake-out with the wardrobe refusing to tell the Beast’s backstory, Donald being astounded by the talking objects (whereas Sora takes it in stride - remember that the next time you see him getting so worked up over a talking snowman in KH III), Queen Minnie being an absolute badass, and Shang saving the emperor in a way that I think is more impressive than the actual film. And I love that the joint action commands make it easier to finish boss fights while working together with Disney characters.

But if I can start to critique the gameplay now, I would say that things being too easy is a problem with KH II. The “hallway” complaint about the world design is an apt one, making the maps rather bland to navigate despite being pretty to look at. There’s also the problem of special tasks not offering the variety and challenge one might like from them. Lighting the lanterns in Beast’s Castle is a great example. That’s a puzzle, with a literal ticking clock. It could have been a fun bit of gameplay, very different from the usual Heartless battles...if the lanterns were in any way difficult to find, or spaced out to really push the clock to the limit. Instead, it’s such an easy exercise that I have to wonder why they even bothered putting it in. (I will say, though, that Beast’s Castle’s first pass offers up a wonderfully creative boss that does present a decent challenge - moreso in its first stage than its second, but still a fun fight.)

On the other hand, I think the AI for battle partners took a step back with this game. Now, my experience with the KH AI has never matched up to common opinion, so I’m not claiming this as an objective problem with the game. All I can tell you is that, customized properly, Donald in KH I has always been a reliable battle partner for me, while Donald in KH II spams spells and wastes items no matter how I work his settings.

And there are few things about the gameplay that just irk me. The lack of logic behind why some party members drop out at given points is one (really, why would “Ping” not help you fight the swarm on the mountain?) and the changes to magic are another. I love to use magic in these games, but something about it here just isn’t as satisfying. Fire as a close-range defensive spell is just wrong.

But those are, if not exactly nitpicks, relatively minor complaints. The game is still fun to play, after all. There are larger issues - story issues - within these first few Disney worlds.

To start with the smallest one - my problems with Sora’s character remain. He is, for the most part, attentive to duty and a competent, charismatic presence for the other characters to follow, as he was in KH I and CoM. But every now and again, the signs of what’s to come crop up. I mentioned him joining Donald in the brawl in the Land of Dragons already, but it’s more a problem of attitude - just how lighthearted and casual he can be toward his latest adventure. I grant you that, at this point in the game, nothing except possibly Maleficent’s infiltration of Disney Castle would indicate to Sora that the stakes are anywhere near as high as they were last time. And his greatest lapses into this attitude happen in Olympus and Disney Castle, two worlds based around comic Disney titles. But with hindsight, it’s hard not to watch those moments and cringe, because of what they led to. Sora in this game is oddly split, with one-and-a-half feet still back with who he was initially, and half a foot over the line to shonen doofus, and the dichotomy is very strange to see play out.

The big pacing issue I mentioned before is caused by our old friend Winnie the Pooh. The first game may have compelled you to at least start on his storybook, but in nowhere as obtrusive a manner as is done here. To be forcibly yanked from the world traveling, just as a nice flow is going, is maddening. Chances are good that many players (me among them) would have happily played the storybook minigames even if they were optional, so there was no need for this. KH II having the Heartless attempting to steal the book gives a better motivation to jump into it than KH III’s effort, but that isn’t saying much. And it doesn’t help that, at the end of the day, collecting the torn pages is a retread of the first game’s plot for Pooh. There is a clear variation on the theme, with the goal being to restore Pooh’s memory. I’ll even give them some credit for, perhaps inadvertently, giving Pooh a thematic connection to what Sora went through in CoM. But the end result is the same - find pages, find the characters within the pages, play the minigame. Given that repetitive nature to the book’s set-up, and its intrusive drag on the greater plot, I have to say that I think Pooh should have been retired after the first game - something I don’t say with any great fondness, as I love Pooh’s world in KH I.

I also love the way Belle and the Beast are used in KH I, and still question their presence in this game. That is based on one very basic problem, one that has plagued Disney in every attempt they’ve made to do something with the animated Beauty and the Beast since the original film: it’s not a story meant for prequels, sequels, or midquels.

It’s the midquel that Disney has tried multiple times, and by its nature, Beauty and the Beast just can’t support them. The Beast can only generate conflict with Belle by remaining beastly for so long in that setting before it undermines the believability of his shift, and romantic tension can’t exist between him and Belle any earlier than it does in the original film without undermining the ticking clock of the rose. The midquels Disney made ignore both these issues, and turn Belle into a much more gentle and passive character than she was in the original movie - someone more like a counselor or social worker for the Beast than a prisoner-turned-friend, and someone actively trying to “fix” him, an unpleasant spectacle in more ways than one.

Pretty much the only way to effectively tell another story with Belle and the Beast is what KH I did - take those two characters out of their own story, with all its internal logic and constraints, and use them in someone else’s. Fans of Beauty and the Beast can bring their attachment to those characters to KH I without the baggage of the plot, and no more is done with those characters except what is needed for Sora’s story. It let two of the best Disney heroes be a part of this fantastic crossover experiment, and it didn’t betray anything that fans loved about their personalities or the integrity of their film’s story.

KH II is a different story. I can appreciate that, with Kingdom Hearts creating alternate versions of every Disney world brought into its orbit, I can’t hold the story material in Beast’s Castle to the same standard as I would those horrendous midquels. We aren’t told that Belle is any kind of prisoner, for one thing, and the timeline may be very different. But the enchanted objects are all here. The ballroom and the west wing are all present. The backstory of the Beast is the same. And the rose - and its rules - are the same. The level of romantic tension shown between Belle and the Beast by the end of the first pass on their world just doesn’t jive with that ticking clock.

I was prepared to say a lot about the Beast’s behavior in this world too, but playing through it again - I do get what they were going for. His demonstration of cleverness, taking preemptive action to protect his friends in case Xaldin proved as devious as he seemed and corrupted the Beast, is well laid-out. The wording of the dialogue undermines the content of his scenes. But...that dialogue is really bad out of context. And Belle, as she is in all those midquels, is much too passive here compared to the film.

However, the biggest problem I had with any of these first four worlds on a story level was the Timeless River.

Not Disney Castle proper - that’s all amazing stuff. If one could have guessed that there would be Heartless battles there when it finally became a world, I don’t think it was as easy to guess that it would be an immediate issue, or that Maleficent herself would strike at the center of the world. It’s a wonderful bit of story and world-building, all of that.

But the Timeless River is another instance where I can see a trend getting worse, and in this case it’s the trend of pointless mystery. There is absolutely no in-world reason for Merlin not to tell Sora that he’ll be going into the past. Not telling him only leads to misunderstandings and wasted time once Sora gets there. The only reason Merlin doesn’t say anything is because, if he did, the gimmick of finding out that they’re in the past via those windows into Pete’s mind wouldn’t work. But it’s so obvious that they’re in the past, so early in the stage, that it strains credulity that Sora and the others can’t figure it out. If Sora remaining ignorant of his ties to Roxas is an example of denying a protagonist knowledge the player has done right, this is an example of that concept done very, very wrong. This series’ love affair with pointless “mystery” without any internal logic only strengthened with time, but it’s more painfully felt here for me, because the Timeless River is a wonderful idea for a stage and is loaded with charm. I couldn’t give a shit about a lot of the cryptic mumbo-jumbo surrounding Organization XIII’s members in this or future titles, but to saddle a beautiful Disney world with this kind of crap really gets under my skin.

One mystery that I would like an answer to, though: why is the Gummi route leading to Olympus the one themed after a ghost pirate ship?

#z's crits #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 2 #critique #commentary

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