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tenoart · 9 months

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Animatic idea I had

Secret life spoilers

Ok it goes to the song Monster from epic

Anything in red is for lyrics

"What if I'm the monster? What if I'm in the wrong?"

Its Scar at the secret keeper after his win. He's been there for weeks. The ghosts of all the others haunting him. Looking down at his blood stained clothes

"What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along?"

Scar turning around seeing all the others ghosts, all blurring together and kind of transparent, like fog or mist. He steps towards them, getting closer to a group: tango pearl and Jimmy

"What if I'm the one who killed you?"

Scar dropping to his knees in front of them, they're faces are blurred, he's crying

"every time I caved to guilt"

Scar whipping his tears. Trying to sit up. Assuming these are all just hallucinations

"what if I've been far too kind to foes but a monster to ourselves?"

Visuals stay about the same, but scar looks over at Scott, in the crowd, he stands out. Feeling guilty for betraying him.

"what if I'm the monster?"

A purple flash of the Evo symbol goes in his eyes. He blinks, all the ghosts fading some except four

"Is the cyclops struck with guilt when he kills?"

Martyn, now looking like his red limited life skin walks past scar towards the secret keeper, dragging a bloodied sword

"is he up in the middle of the night?"

Martyn leans against some of the rocks by the secret keeper, his face becoming clearer. It looks like he's wincing scars still the one singing , looking at Martyn in awe

"or does he end my men to avenge his friend"

Martyn stabs his sword into the ground, looking past scar at Jimmy, smiling, scar looks back at Jimmy to see him smiling back.

"and then sleep knowing he has done them right."

Martyn closes his eyes, with a content smile.

"when the witch turns men to pigs to protect her nymphs is she going insane?"

Pearl flys above scar, landing beside Martyn, it flashes to pearl teaming up on Gem with scar

"or did she learn to be colder when she got older and now she saves them the pain"

Gem backs away, looking upset, pearl looks saddened, but still smiles. The implication being she was sparing gem by not letting her win.

Scar looks back at gem, about to reach out and apologize

"When a god comes down and makes a fleet drown"

Grian flys from the back of the crowd, tackling scar sending him sliding against the grass, closer to the secret keeper and the other two winners. Fist raised like he's about to punch scar

"is he scared that he's doing something wrong?"

It flashes to third life from scars pov of Grian, fist raised in third life, the look of guilt in his eyes flashing back to the cold empty look in his eyes now

"or does he keep us in check so we must respect him"

Grian smiles at scar when scar doesn't look scared, grabbing Grians wrist, seeming satisfied that scar defended himself this time.

"and now no one cares to piss him off"

He flys up on top the secret keeper behind scar, sitting.

"does a soldier use a wooden horse"

Scott emerges from the crowd of ghosts, kicking scars bow towards him. Scar flinches back from his own bow. Scott sings this line, talking about scar.

"because he is vile"

Scott is standing over scar as scar picks up his bow, from scars perspective it looks like he's glaring scar sings this line, calling himself vile

"or does he throw away his remorse and save more lives with guile?"

Scott reaches out a hand and helps scar up, smiling, being the one singing this line, basically praising scar for his win, patting him on the shoulder and walking past him.

"if I became the monster, and threw guilt away"

Scar is standing, looking out towards the bone winner ghosts, they're all still foggy, hard to make out and further away from him now from how grian dragged his ass.

"Would that make us stronger? Would it keep our foes at bay?"

He turns around to the other winners, while the ghosts look empty, lacking distinct facial expressions they all are fully colored like scar, all dressed like the season they won in. On the line keep our foes at bay scar looks up at the watcher symbol on the secret keeper, it glowing purple for a moment before scar sharply looks down, scared.

"if I became the monster to everyone but us? Made sure we got home again who would care if we're unjust?"

Side profile of scar looking at the winners, then in front of him on the line "to everyone" showing all the ghosts behind him as he takes a step forward. the line "but us" moving to behind scar, showing him and all the other winners. Lingering for the rest of this line. Basically meaning that as long as someone makes the sacrifice of remembering, of living with the guilt of killing everyone, then everyone else can move on. That scars win and all the others wins are sacrifices.

"if I became the.. monster"

Scar sings the first part, then he turns around to all the other ghosts, the entire group singing the line monster, slowly moving past him like mist

"oh ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves, and deep down I know this well"

All the ghosts surrounding him, but he doesn't crumble to his knees or fall to guilt, he grabs an arrow from the quiver on his back.

"I lost my best friend I lost my mentor my mom, 500 men gone this can't go on!"

He shoots an arrow through bdubs at best friend, image flashing of them hanging out in hermitcraft season 7, an arrow through Joel at mentor, last life flashing, another through Cleo at mom, flashing limited life. All them disappearing after being shot through. At 500 men gone this can't go on he he goes to put another arrow in his bow, tears falling from his eyes onto his hands

"I must get to see Penelope and Telemachus "

He closes his eyes, happy memories from hermitcraft flashing, mostly from season 9

"so if we must sail through dangerous oceans and beaches I'll go were Poseidon wont reach us"

Images from all the different life seasons in order, throughout them scar becoming more dangerous and hostile

"and if I have to drop another infant from a wall in an instant so we all don't die"

It gets to secret life, scar chasing pearl her getting knocked of the ledge and lightning striking in the memory.

"Then I'll become the monster! I will deal the blow!"

Lightning strikes behind him a transition from the memory back to scar, All the ghosts start going past him, more must then people, he's crying, but determined

"and I'll become the monster"

He turns around ignoring the mist going past him, dropping his task to the ground

"like none they've ever known"

He looks up at Grian, who's smiling, then panels of each of the other winners faces. Martyn looks worried, Scott relived, pearl guilty. All the ghosts chanting monster in the background

"so what if I'm the monster?! Lurking deep below."

Scar turns around, shooting an arrow through the mist breaking it apart

"I must become the monster, then we'll make it home"

He's crying. The camera looking at him from where the arrow shot past, he's breathing heavily. Horrfied. The Evo symbol glowing behind him, purple. The camera panning out as he starts to look behind him at the symbol, showing him and the other winners being all that's left. All in a eerie purple glow, with faint purple eyes

It fades to black while the ghosts still chant monster

I WANNA MAKE THIS. STUPIDLY BAD. IK ITS UNREASONABLY ANGSTY BUT GOD DAMN IT I FEEL LIKE ITS COOL RARARRA .

Characterizations aren't quite canon but

Grian - cares about scar, but distanced himself from scar thinking he was too soft to handle the burden of winning, he tries to punch scar as a test, to see if he's still like that, and is content and happy to have scar around again now that he's strong enough to handle the truth. Creepy fella but not horrible person, just low-key apathetic to non winners

Scott - while hurt my scars betrayal, it's more pity then anything. If he held a grudge for every betrayal he'd hate everyone. He forgives scar, but is sad that he has to win.

Pearl - had to pick between letting scar or gem win. She was closer with gem but feels horrible for scar winning, knowing the burden of the memories is overwhelming. Wishing she could've just won again.

Martyn - is worried for scar, knowing how the close friendship with grian and becoming a winner with all his memories can be dangerous. Knowing how much the weight of it all hurts. How it's easy to spiral and wish it didn't happen. But isn't particularly close with scar, and is just happy Jimmy's curse was at least temporarily broken and wanted nothing more.

#secret life #secret life spoilers #trafficblr #mcytblr #goodtimeswithscar #scar centric

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llitchilitchi · 1 year

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Uhh for the ask game, maybe 11, 22, 27?

11. What do you think c!Dream’s life would have been like in season 2? calmer, hopefully! with a new community house and a farm and surrounded by warmth and noise and people, before the madness of the book takes over - they left too many threads untied, opened up too many questions. maybe it would be closer to an adventure, less dark and more exciting as we learn about ghosts, about the lives system- and hopefully this time there will be someone to pull him back from the brink of madness when he gets in too deep. (am I even making sense?)

22. If you had all the time, resources, and skills to create your ideal piece of c!Dream fan content, what would it be? there are exactly THREE animatics that I've wanted to make for Years at this point. one of them is directly responsible for the long sock hood design because I thought it would look cool in motion. I'd also love to do a figurine of c!Dream in armour, though that might actually come to fruition (except I'll probably make it a Nondescript Knight instead of c!Dream)

27. What do you think is c!Dream’s greatest strength? his massive brain. can you imagine what he could do if he wasn't consumed by Constant Paranoia? he's intelligent, always planning 20 steps ahead, and if he wasn't hated by most of the server and fear for the safety of himself and the ones he loves it could do So Much

#asks #elmhat #dreblr ask game

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sisterofthemoonatla · 25 days

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Far Away by Tiffany Day

I heard this song and now I can’t get it out of my head, especially the ending part because I feel like it taps into this sense of nostalgia. One of my biggest fears in life is of the future, of change, and losing my connection to my past. When I write stories, this theme is present, because my characters give me a chance to explore this fear.

For Lián, in one single night, she loses everything that made her life what it was. Her sister, who she cherished so much, is dead. Her people were attacked and she couldn’t save them all. She’s lost her last sense of freedom with her new engagement with Han. So, she decides to run off with the Avatar, hoping that she can be an asset to his team.

But now, she’s lost. She can never go back to her past in the North, and her future is widely unknown, and that fear can sometimes be paralyzing. I really want to capture those feelings in this animation.

I like to think that if I could draw, this animatic idea would go viral, but for now, you’re gonna have to make do with my descriptions.

So starting off with the background, it is split up into eight rectangles: eight major points in Lián’s journey, eight locations. The plan is that if this were animated, she would be slowly walking across the screen, and each square would light up, highlighting that moment in her life.

Here’s a look at what I was thinking. The poorly drawn stick figure represents Lián, the eight boxes are the eight locations. With each line of the song, Lián will move across the screen. When she’s in front of a box it will light up while the others will be dim.

Here are the lyrics of the song that I would use.

Where am I going?

Life's moving on and on

Wish I could know when

I'll be somebody strong

Where am I going?

I've been here for too long

Wish I could know when

I'll be somebody strong

The first box of the song will be to the line “Where am I going?” The background of this box is The North Pole, and Lián walks next to Yue. They hold hands but Yue is walking slightly in front of her. This is meant to symbolize how pre-battle they were slightly apart because of their different ideas about life, yet they are still holding on to each other because of their love for one another. This is what Lián’s life was pre-battle, her love for her sister was her beacon. This is the life she will never be able to return to.

The next box is to the line “Life’s moving on and on.” The background of this box is a general view of the Earth Kingdom. (It’s not specific because she and the gaang were traveling across the Earth Kingdom, so this major moment in Lián’s life is the traveling.) She and the gaang are running forward. Sokka, Katara, and Aang have less distance between each other, but there’s a slight gap between them and Lián. This is meant to show that while they have accepted her into the group, they aren’t that close to her yet. After all, they spent all of season one growing closer, and Lián is a very new member. This is the second step in Lián’s journey to her future, traveling is what she always thought she wanted, but this journey will be harder than simply traveling the world.

Box number three will be the night sky of Ba Sing Se, and goes with the line “Wish I could know when.” In this scene, Lián is walking with Lee(Zuko) but she’s slightly ahead of him. I think she’s in front of him at this point because when I put people in front they’re the ones leading in a way. Like Yue was Lián’s motivation in the North, her reason for staying, so she’s in front. The gaang were Lián’s reason to leave, so they’re in front of her. Lián is in front of Zuko because she has a stronger desire than him to build their friendship. Their friendship is meaningful because it’s almost a return to normal for Lián. When she’s with the gaang, they’re training, running, and fighting. But when she’s with Lee, she’s simply enjoying the city and his company.

This sense of normal crashes and burns when Zuko betrays everyone. The fourth box is a bit of a turning point for Lián. Set to the line “I'll be somebody strong” with the Crystal Catacombs, Lián stands in the middle. She’s clearly tired, covered in bruises and blood, with a large gash in her hand. This is a bad moment for her, because her trusting nature, her naivety, has led her and her friends astray. Like the battle at the North, she will constantly blame herself for what happens. A moment of triumph is when she cuts her hand in order to escape the rock structure that the Dai Li trapped her in. This is the moment where she truly begins to overcome her fear of battle, and she starts to fight. However, this moment is later undercut when she is unable to help Katara heal Aang because her injured hand is causing her to be in Katara’s way. So overall, this is a bad moment for her, and impacts her throughout the story. Now, she needs to overcome this feeling of letting others down more than ever.

Box number five to “Where am I going?” has the background of the Fire Nation. I’ll be so for real right now, I don’t have a good sense of what I want to do with her arc in the Fire Nation so I don’t have anything to say about it currently.

Box six is the air temple and it goes with the line “I've been here for too long.” This line is less about the location she’s in and more of her mental state. She’s been holding on to resentment, to her fears, to the feeling that no matter what, she can’t do anything right. Up until this point, she’s been trying to make up for what she thinks are her mistakes that she has to make up for, but she has to let that go if she wants to be happy. On the screen, Zuko walks in front of her and she reaches out with her arm, but he’s slightly out of her reach. He’s in front because this time, he’s the one trying to repair their relationship. However, she can’t reach out to him because she is holding herself back. She needs to forgive herself to forgive him and begin to repair their relationship.

Box number seven to the line “Wish I could know when” has The Fire Nation when Lián leads her tribe to help conquer the kingdom as the backdrop. Zuko is fighting Azula, but The White Lotus feared that the Fire Nation wouldn’t accept the banished prince fully as their new leader, so Lián leads her tribe to take over to secure Zuko’s rise to power. This is an instrumental moment for her because she is joining a fight, and leading it. She’s overcome her fears, she’s forgiven herself, and now she’s fighting for her nation’s freedom directly.

For the final box, the background is the fire nation to the line “I'll be somebody strong.” Lian is in a group with all of her friends, holding hands with Zuko. They’ve won the war.

As Lián moves across the backgrounds, I also want her clothing to change. First, she’s in her dress, then her traveling clothes, Earth Kingdom attire, Fire Nation attire, travel clothes, battle armor, and a fancy princess dress.

Anyway, if you made it this far, thank you for reading my description of an anamatic. I applaud you. Here's a link to my fic if you're interested.

#original character #princess lián #sister of the moon #sister of the moon atla #sister of the moon au #oc #oc x zuko #prince zuko #zuko #aang #the gaang #sokka #katara #atla fanfic #atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender oc #avatar the last airbender fanfic #anamatic idea

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mypondnow · 4 years

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this song makes me think about boomer [bubby/coomer] and its purely just because of me seeing an image of them slow dancing like. once. maybe twice.

#i want. to make....... Animatic. just a quick one of the chorus. step 1 come a little closer step 2 rest upon m shoulder #GOD. thank u mika <3 love his songs they make my brain so happy #listening to happy ending while reading y2kvr's ending was an Experience . i just-so-happened to be listening to that song #as i read y2kvr. it was. interesting

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thewildwaffle · 3 years

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Salted - Part 2

Bet you weren't expecting an update on this, were you? I certainly wasn't! But after I made the animatic of part 1, a lot of people, my fiance included, wanted mooooooooore.... So here we are🥰

You can read Part 1 HERE if you want to refresh. I Will probably do an animatic for this one as well, eventually

*** Garchi carefully rubbed his eyes as he sat back. He needed a break, he'd been at this for so long, he was getting screen strain. Humans sure do love their strange measurements. Teaspoon this, liter that, and then all of the sudden there's something called metric and standard? Why were there two completely different systems of measurement? Why hadn’t humans just transferred to solaric? It made so much more sense! “ Oh hey, Garchi! I thought I'd find you here,” Vera pulled the weary akeno out of his study-induced stupor. Her curly orange hair bounced slightly as she entered and carefully leaned her shoulder against the doorway with her hand behind her. That was a weird position. Was she holding something in her hand back there? “Chris says you've been up here for hours. What are you studying for? I thought you already passed level 5 certification.” “Oh yes, I did,” Garchi sat up straighter and tried to discreetly fix his skewed poncho. “I, well, actually, I'm not studying per se, I'm, uh, well I'm trying to wrap my head around this,” he gestured at the hard-copy book sitting open on the desk surrounded by datapads and notes. “My cookbook?” Garchi nodded for a moment, then his heart froze. “Oh, it’s your book? I’m so sorry! There were a couple in the kitchen area and I assumed they were just stocked by the ship. I didn't realize they were private property!” “Oh no worries, I was just wondering where it went. I couldn't find it and had to use Terri's to bake... this.” She straightened her stance while she pulled out what she’d been hiding behind her back. Garchi stared for a bit. “Is that...?” Vera stepped fully into the room and held out the plate in her hand. On it was a yellow-ish cube that seemed to radiate the most delicious smell Garchi had ever experienced. “It's safe, no chocolate in this one. It's my favorite, so thankfully I had it pretty much memorized. Just a simple sweet butter cake. Well, kind of. I replaced the butter with coconut oil because I know akenos are lactose intolerant. So… sweet coconut cake? I think it gives it a nice flavor, but you tell me what you think.” With that, she handed the plate over. Garchi took the offered cake and gently pushed the cookbook and datapads over to make room to set the plate down in front of him. His heart was racing again as he looked at it. Was this safe for him to eat? Humans loved so many dangerous foods, would this be okay? Vera leaned closer, and for a split tic, Garchi’s heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of his chest as her curly hair fell over her shoulder and briefly brushed him. “Oh, here’s the fork. Nearly forgot.” She set the shiny utensil next to the plate and backed away with an expectant smile on her face. And that was it. It was the smile. Garchi couldn’t imagine letting any hesitation or worry about the cake ruin that smile. Plus, Vera made it for him! She even altered her favorite recipe! He returned a smile and did his best to copy the way he’d seen her eat the terrible chocolate cake he’d made for her only a few cycles ago. The smell of the cake had been amazing, but it did not do justice to the flavor itself. It was sweet and light and warm - not only in temperature but the flavor - the flavor itself felt warm. He didn’t even know flavors could be described by temperatures, but here was this cake, tasting warm! And the texture! It was soft and spongy and felt like he was eating pure fohbra fluff! On top of it all, the frosting was rich and tasted like nectar but it was applied thinly enough that it wasn’t overpowering. “What do you think?” Vera prompted after a few tics. “I usually add a bit of citrus zest to the frosting, especially when I use tropical flavors like coconut, but I wasn’t 100% sure how the citric acid would affect you, so I didn’t want to risk-” “It’s so good!” Garchi blurted out as soon as he swallowed the first bite. He froze. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. It’s just that this is absolutely delicious! It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten!” And he took another, even larger bite. This slice was not going to

last

much longer. “I’m glad,” Vera laughed. “That’s a relief!” Garchi was torn between trying to eat the cake as quickly as he could or trying to eat it slowly and savor it. Before he could really decide what to do, the slice was pretty much gone. Garchi poked at the last bits and crumbs, trying not to waste a single morsel. Whatever ‘coconut’ was, he decided he really liked the taste of it. He almost had the plate totally cleared when he paused and looked over to Vera questioningly. “You said you used coconut oil instead of butter?” Vera nodded. “Yeah, because akeno can’t eat dairy. You’re lactose intolerant.” She scanned Garchi’s quickly creasing face. “It’s nothing bad, it just means you can’t break down and digest the lactose in milk products. That happens to some humans too.” By the stars, was this lactose stuff some more poison that humans loved to eat?! “It happens to humans too?” Garchi asked. “What happens? Why only some humans?” Vera shrugged as if this wasn’t vital health information. “Yeah, humans, and well, all Earth mammals can produce lactase enzymes that break down lactose and drink milk when we’re babies, but some humans thousands and thousands of years ago started being able to produce lactase into adulthood because of a genetic mutation.” Garchi blinked slowly while listening. “Mutation?” “Yeah, and for some humans back then, being able to get those extra calories and nutrients as adults helped keep them alive and spread those genes. I think the latest study said over a third of the human population can drink milk as adults.” Garchi nodded. He should probably be writing this down, but he still had questions and wanted to ask them more than note-taking. “Wait, so butter is like milk? Only some humans can eat it too?” “Yeah. Same with cheese, cream, yogurt, and all that stuff. It’s all dairy. All made from milk.” “Oh. I thought they were all completely different ingredients.” He gestured to the cookbook. “When they’re in recipes together, they’re all listed separately.” He paused and frowned. “I guess I don’t know much about milk. Akenos don’t do that, and I know only a very few species who do, and even then, each one goes about it so differently.” “Yeah, it’s a pretty specialized evolutionary trait. I will say, making milk is one of the main things that sets mammals apart from the other classes of Earth animals.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, though. It’s not like you can eat dairy anyway. It will make your stomach and guts really upset at you.” Garchi looked down at his stomach. Upset? He figured it must be a human idiom for digestive troubles. “I see. Thank you for taking the time and care to avoid that with the cake then.” The beaming smile Vera gave made Garchi’s stomach act like it was “upset,” but in a good way. It was… a weird sensation, but he felt it a lot around her. Vera nodded at the books and datapads that were still scattered on the desk in front of Garchi. “Should I let you get back to studying, or maybe help you clean up so we can go get more cake?” Garchi shot to attention. “There’s more cake?” “Well, maybe,” Vera chuckled, “unless Terri and Chris already found it. I did leave it on the commons table.” Garchi was on his feet immediately gathering loose notes and study materials as quickly as he could. Vera grabbed her old cookbook and the used plate and fork. Soon, both human and akeno were out the door with their arms full and smiles on their faces. “Yep,” Vera laughed to herself quietly as she followed Garchi’s hurried steps, “quickest way to the heart.”

#humans are weird #aliens #lactose intolerant #cake #humans and aliens #humans love aliens #aliens love humans #hfy #humans are space orcs #original writing #humans are awesome #cute

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softbeanofexistentialcrisis · 3 years

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Words and Phrases that make the Dream SMP fandom go ballistic for varying reasons: an ongoing thread from the community:

"Alright"; followed by a zooming discord chat and everyone collectively groaning in their own places

"Soon"; following "i don't trust them one bit I'll believe it when I see the notification", "LORE????" and "COME BACK IT'S BEEN 4 DAYS"

Passport/Plane Ticket/Florida; followed by "i hate him so much", and evryone getting another step closer to becoming a dteam anti

"A happy update! :D" - from Wilbur Soot on reddit; followed by the feminine urge to reject canon and embrace ghostbur and friend being happily ever after in a field of flowers ;-;

"playing Music Disc - Mellohi"; and the so called free-thinkers all collectively going O_o 😮 :0 0.0

Twitter. Need i say more.

Following that, seeing any cc neg trending especially for reasons that are just downright stupid and tell us that most people do not care to even research a situation completely

"warning: the following animatic contains spoilers from the events of Dream SMP" - and the immediate adrenaline that fills your entire body :'D

4/4 SBI in the same call ueueue

Hearing Dream/Quackity's lore voice cplhysdvbn

Mumza

Hearing the first few cords of Jubilee Line, apparently. I've seen it happening.

"Now playing: Fallen Down" and bunch of faint screaming and crying in the distance.

Seeing cc's interacting in the usually untouched parts of the Fandom and the freaking Jumpscare that gives us

Special mention:

Fandom: chilling in a corner; peaceful.

The_Eret: appears

Fandom:

Feel free to add more! :D

#dream smp #wilbur soot #Tommyinnit #sleepy bois inc #dream team #the eret #fandom #Georgenotfound #ghostbur #dreamwastaken #quackity #lore #mcyt

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canmom · 2 years

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Animation Night 112: Bill Plympton

Hi friends, welcome back to Animation Night!

Tonight we’re returning to the American independent animation scene~ last visited, in a way, on Animation Night 9, Animation Night 48, and a couple of weeks ago on Animation Night

If you want to be an independent animator in this world, there are a couple of ways you can go. These days, you can try to make a name for yourself on social media: put your videos up on Youtube, Newgrounds, or even Vimeo and hope your thing will make people sufficiently excited to stroke their chins�� and throw a few ducats your way on Patreon.

But that has not always been the case. For the more old school type of guy, outside of commission work for documentaries and music videos, the big hope is to get your stuff into film festivals. One of these types of festival was the touring animation festival - there is The Animation Show of Don Herztfeldt (Animation Night 89), and I talked a little of Spike and Mike’s Sick and Twisted Animation Festival on Animation Night 48. Another would be The Animation Show of Shows, which ran through the 2000s. You could kind of think of Animation Night itself as a bootleg version of these lol.

And if you look for one name who features in all of these, it’s Bill Plympton...

So, Plympton! Definitely one of the big names in independent animation. He is likely known to fans of The Simpsons as the creator of a number of couch gags, not to mention the guy who Matt Groening calls ‘God’. The guy’s had a long career since the 60s, and has been crazy prolific in that time, creating a number of feature-length films as well as a huge pile of shorts.

For me, I first came across him in Spike and Mike’s festival of gory, grossout animation, thanks to my beloved @mogsk, where he was definitely one of the most interesting creators. She described his work very well:

I like Plympton bc his stuff ranges from, like, delightfully weird to just kinda, like... Smth somebody's awkward dad came up with. But it at least always feels like he's rly into whatever it is he sets out to create!

That’s pretty much on the money, from what I’ve seen of his work. But to be fair, that’s only short films. At his best, Plympton has a gleeful visual inventiveness when it comes to drawing surreal morphing and splatter.

youtube

As you can see in these examples, Plympton’s style is based on directly photographing pencil drawings - no painstaking cel cleanup. He’ll shade with rough hatching, taking advantage of the boiling lines effect to set a mood - and generally speaking adopt a low drawing count, relying on the strength of the static images and strong poses more than classic animation principles around timing. In a sense, his style resembles very detailed animatics.

The sketchy pencil style definitely brings to mind other independent animators like John McCloskey (Animation Night 79) or Joanna Quinn (Annecy 2021 writeup). It is an approach that much closer resembles academic figure drawing - or, in Plympton’s case, newspaper caricature (his other line of work!). He loves to draw a serious-looking guy in a suit, or a caricature of a 50s movie. His process definitely seems to follow the usual steps of traditional animation - storyboard, layout, finished drawing, use of X-sheets - and you can see in making-of videos like this one and this one just how fast and loose he tends to draw, it’s crazy to watch.

As far as his background, you can find a pretty detailed account of his career on his website, which gives starting points to dig up material from elsewhere. So we know he first tried animating at university in the 60s, and joined the National Guard in order to avoid being sent to Vietnam, and worked as a magazine illustrator up through the 70s. He was first approached to animate a film in 1983 by Valeria Wasilewski of satirical musical duo The Android Sisters - I can find very little about them but there is a brief article here with examples of their music. This resulted in a seven minute music video Boomtown (1985) based on a song by Jules Feiffer, satirising the Cold War. Unfortunately, it seem to be next to impossible to find a copy of this film.

Plympton put the money from this film into making more short animated films, and quickly realised that animation was indeed his calling far more than illustration. He secured an Oscar nom as soon as 1988 for Your Face, set to the distorted country and western music of his old bandmate Maureen McElheron. I’m not gonna run down the full list of films here, because there’s a lot, but here’s a list!

Anyway, it seems like he was not satisfied with just drawing multiple short animated films a year, but wanted an even more extreme challenge: drawing his own feature film. For most people I think even a short film is a pretty tall order (certainly is for me), but apparently cranking out 30,000 cels was no problem for this fucking drawing machine here; he funded the endeavour by releasing sections of the film as short films and eventually released it in 1992, reaping a lot of success at film festivals.

I want to emphasise here like: this guy was at this point doing the whole animation pipeline: storyboard, LO, backgrounds, key animation and inbetweens alike. Later on it seems he got an ‘intern’ to help with scanning and cleanup, and I’m not ultimately sure how big his team got, but for the most part these early films seem to have been fully one-man efforts. The trick seems to be keeping the whole process very intuitive...

He spent most of the 90s in live action, which we don’t care about except on Tuesdays in these parts, but returned to animation in 1998 with I Married a Strange Person - kind of an exaggeratedly prosaic title for a very weird film. Since then he’s made a whole load more feature films, usually parodies, e.g. of 50s high school movies or B-movies. Honestly I don’t really know what this guy does but just go down the studio and animate every day. Anyway, as for the immense dad energy - he got married in 2011 and had a kid, so I guess he is indeed a dad now, although this came after most of his films. Just a guy who is like that.

I definitely want to dig in more to the common themes and narratives of his films. There’s a certain amount of eagerness for gore and body horror - he cites the early films of Peter Jackson as an inspiration - and surrealism, which again makes me think of the ero-guro movement lol. Mostly he seems like a very intuitive animator, stringing together visual gags in almost a stream of consciousness way, much like someone like Schuschinus.

That’s about all I have time to write, so I’ll leave it there. Tonight we’ll be watching The Tune (’92), his first feature-length animated film, and I Married a Strange Person (’97), his second - if we have time we might even slot in Hair High (2004). Plus as many of his shorts as I can track down, which... isn’t actually very many!

Animation Night 112 will be starting at 8pm UK time, about 45 minutes from now, to give me time to fry some tofu... I’m also going to try a new venue tonight, Picarto.tv/canmom - just a nicer streaming service all round really! so register an account there if you want to chat (please note your channel display name is also your chat name!) and let me know if that presents any problems

#animation night #bill plympton

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kiljoytrout · 3 years

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Oath of the Cherry Orchard

Based off this illustration by Emily Amiao as well as some details from her animatic The Other Side (check it out on her yt emilyamiao)

Summary: The rebels have won. Now all that's left for Yun on his long list of plans is for him and Elias to sign the sacred oath of the cherry orchard and formally end the war. But when mysterious characters cause familiar screams and snow bleeds red under the cherry trees, it's up to Yun to make some difficult decisions

Word Count: 3.3K

The cherry trees had been dusted in the fine sugar snow of late winter, but now they were covered in the sweet red syrup of fresh blood.

Pointing a gun at the head of his father, who in turn was ready to blow the brains out of the last prince of the Everstied royal family, Yun couldn’t figure out where everything had gone wrong. The subterfuge, the turmoil, he had thought it was all over. The crumbling remains of the Anwei Democratic Party and the prevailing rebels had come to the sacred cherry orchard, the place where Anwei was first woven together, in order to make an oath of peace, to stop the bloodshed that had torn the nation at its seams. Yun had known the possibility of treachery, expected it even, but not even his meticulous planning and preparation prepared him for what had occurred.

Elias had always been slightly apprehensive about the oath.

“ You’re certain the orchard is secure?”, he had asked earlier, for what was likely the hundredth time since the ceasefire.

“ For the last time, it is!”, groaned Yun, tossing a hair ribbon to Elias before taking a glance back at his uniformed self in the mirror.

It was indeed, for Yun had thought of absolutely everything: sniper in the peach grove, weapons check at the old Capitol entrance, dubious area patrol dismissed. Yun was an expert in pointing out the fatal chinks in his opponent’s armor, the weak spot that guaranteed victory, and there was nothing of the sort in his own. Or so he had thought.

When they had arrived at the cherry orchard, the diplomats from the ADP weren’t there yet. Elias raised his eyebrows at this, but Yun shrugged it off. Unlike Elias, he wasn’t used to people being at his beck and call; at any rate the delay gave him time to strategize terms for the closing treaty, which traditionally occurred after the ceremonial peace oath. Elias started squinting at the distance, shaking his head slightly to himself, before looking again at absolutely nothing. After about thirty seconds of this, Yun started to get irritated.

“Cool it, Elias. The trains from the old Capitol are practically snails with windows, it's no wonder they’re late.”

“ There they are, coming through the peach grove”, Elias responded, pointing to where Yun could now barely see the shadowy bulks of three figures walking through the garden towards them.

The two of them with thuggish bodyguard builds were lugging the sacred scrolls needed for the oath towards them. The man in the middle was taller, with an imposing stature that clearly defined him as the person who people would bow down to and the person who expected it. Yet, he had a cold crookedness to his features that was strikingly familiar. Elias blinked, rubbing his eyes before voicing what Yun had already figured out.

“ That’s-”

“Yes”

Yun knew that he couldn’t harm him, that the old Capitol had been purged of weapons and that the sniper were waiting at the only other entrance in the garden to institute peace by any means necessary. But even if every rifle in Anwei was at his disposal, he didn’t think he’d ever feel completely safe from him, the man who now faced them, sacred scrolls in hand.

“Son”

“ Father”

Both spat the words with so much venom that a string of obscenities would have been a more welcoming greeting. After a few seconds of tense staring (which took Elias jamming his riding boot into Yun’s shoddy shoe to dispel), his father sighed and looked up at the cherry trees, sweet red drops sprinkled with snow.

“Now that your insurrectionists are done tearing up the country it's about time to institute some peace.”

Yun snorted. Only his father could make the rebel’s historic takeover sound like a victory for the ADP.

“ How was your trip?”, asked Elias, his tone dripping with the polite contempt required by his princely position.

“ Rather taxing, but I’m sure it was necessary”

“I take it you didn’t appreciate the weapon screenings?”

The two guards knit their eyebrows in confusion at this, but Yun’s father took it in stride.

“ Seemed rather out of place for a diplomatic meeting, but then again my son has always liked his smoke and mirrors. Shall we get on to business?” he said.

“Sure.”

Yun stepped forward, shaking snow off the shoulders of his navy jacket. He extended his frostbitten hand, not trembling a bit in the bitter cold because it was all finally over; his struggles with his father, the arduous battles to take back Anwei, they were all as hollow as cherry trees in the dead of winter. His father’s sneer twisted itself into a satisfied smile as he reached out his hand-

“Yun.”

Yun glanced sideways, but Elias wasn’t there anymore. Instead he was moving closer to the ADP guards, fingers fluttering at the edge of his now empty sword sheath like they always did when he was about to fight.

“Yes?”

Gaze never breaking away from the ADP, Elias continued “ What direction is the old Capitol entrance to the orchard?”

“ East”

“And where did our friends here just enter the orchard from?”

“From the Peach Grove in the -”

Yun stopped short.

“West.”

They had been tricked. No wonder the guards had looked so confused about the screenings, somehow they had bypassed them entirely. But what about the snipers in the Peach Grove and the Pear Garden? Wouldn’t they have sent a message that the ADP was sneaking in another way? Then Yun saw the barely discernible muzzle of a blackmarket gun poking out from between the holy scrolls, and he knew what had happened. For a single moment, nobody spoke, instead flaying each other's eyes, for any remaining sense of humanity, dignity, and civil peace to stop what was inevitable.

The guard on the left reached for the scroll. Whether it was to grab the gun or to pass the oath, Yun would never know, because Elias reached into his elaborate hairdo, whipped out three silver bladed throwing stars, each with the ornate gold accents of the Eversteid crest, and sent the first one ripping straight through the guard’s throat. Any other time Yun would have balked at the failure of his no-weapons plan on two levels, but sudden death appeared to be the ultimate catalyst to snapping out of it.

The resulting scuffle happened so fast that Yun could barely keep track of what he was doing let alone everyone else. The second guard had stooped to the ground in a futile effort to revive his cohort while Yun’s father rushed Elias, who was now swinging five throwing stars at an arm's length. Just when Yun absorbed what had happened, the second guard, thirsty for vengeance of any kind, picked up the gun that had spilled out of the scrolls and aimed it right at him. Yun dove out of the way, just as the first bullet whistled over his head, with a silencer so quiet, he could have missed the sound of gunfire in the falling snow. He scurried over to where a second gun had fallen from the scrolls, feeling it's cold metallic barrel freeze his fingertips, before hastily emerging from the underbrush to confront the second guard.

But the second guard and Yun’s father were several feet away, next to the struggling form of Elias, who the guard had tackled to the ground. His long lavender hair was fanned out behind him, and his treasure trove of throwing stars had been tossed into the snow.

“That one certainly gave us some trouble”, said Yun’s father as he plucked a late cherry off of a tree, the red juice running down his chin as he bit it.

“ That’s for sure. What about the other one?” the second guard replied, binding Elias’s hands with rope, as the latter yelled obscenities muffled by the heel of the guard’s boot.

“My good for nothing son is probably hiding like a coward in one of the other orchards. We’ll find him soon enough”

“Those traitors better pay for what they did to Kierek”, the second guard said, nodding towards the corpse of the first guard, Eversteid throwing star still in his throat.

“ We can take care of this one soon, and my son will be captured and sentenced once we reinstitute order”

“The orders were to kill them bo-”

“I said he will be captured. Do you understand?”

The second guard nodded, noting the violent gleam in his boss’s eyes.

“ But this one has no other use. The royals are too pigheaded to ever give up any information and we don’t have the time for a public execution.” said Yun’s father, spitting out the cherry pit.

“Dispose of him,”

The guard raised the gun to Elias’s head; Yun burst from the bushes and sprinted as fast as he could. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, his stomach in his chest, he was going so fast that the snow fall had become an endless tunnel of white, with Elias at its center. The guard had no chance. Yun plowed through him like a meteor, driving him straight into the snow bank and knocking the gun out of his hands. Yun turned around to free Elias, but standing in his way was the crooked man who had made his life a series of slanting scowls and stolen smiles.

“Don’t you dare”,

his father snarled, the third gun cocked at his side, and his foot on a gasping Elias, who he had given a brutal kick in the ribs.

“Let him go!”

Yun had meant to sound intimidating but in the icy cold his voice thinned out to little more than a squeak, prompting a smirk from his father.

“Such big talk from a greasy little nobody. Just stand around waving that toy some more and we can wait until Roklin comes out of the snowbank and captures you.“

His father was where Yun got his ability to spot weak spots. And Yun’s father had always known exactly where his son’s were.

“We both know you’re really not going to do anything. Even when you were little you were always loudmouth with no spine, crying for mommy, so why don’t you-”

While Yun’s weak spots may have been the same as when he was younger, his temper was twice as short. He rushed his father, blood pounding in his ears, but stumbled on a stray root before faceplanting right back onto the snowy ground. He heard the crack before he felt the pain pumping through his broken nose. The brackish tears came instantly as did his father’s wolfish laughter, hoarsely echoing dead wood.

Amidst the relentless pounding in his head and nose, Yun’s foot kicked aside the stray root that had caused his bloody humiliation. A rather metallic stray root. Yun jolted up, reeling as he snatched Roklin’s half buried pistol from the snow and pointed it straight at his father.

“You wouldn’t have the guts,” scoffed his father, aiming his own firearm at the temple of a wheezing Elias.

Click. Yun cocked the gun.

A moment of silence. The cold wind whipped Yun’s bloody, tearstained face; snowflakes melted in his loose, dark hair; his earring, a miniature rebel flag, waved back and forth in the bitter breeze. He couldn’t be that boy, could he? The one holding a gun to his father? The one who had to make a shot that would haunt him for the rest of his days? No. In that moment Yun was nothing but a cherry tree: frosted with snow, watered with blood, and staunchly rooted in a history that would never be chopped down.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this”

Right as he pulled the trigger, a steel wall slammed into him. Smothered under the heavy armor of the second guard, who had managed to pull himself up from the snowbank, Yun extricated himself just in time to hear the dull thud of a bullet meeting flesh. But the low canine howl that Yun had steeled himself for never came. Instead, a sharp, shocked cry, that could only come from one person.

When he was five, Yun and his friends were running around in the grass, when one of them fell and cut their knee on a jagged rock. The world seemed to separate into colors at that moment : the treacherous gray of the rock, an eggshell pale face of shock, and of course, the crimson that had stained the grass below their feet. The injured child was quickly escorted back home by their guardian, where their sobs were staunched with a piece of candy. But Yun couldn’t stop crying. He had felt no physical pain, his skin was intact, his blood was unspilt, but he had seen all of that and more in his friend’s eyes, the fire, the horror, of being at one moment whole and the next moment not, that Yun had felt it more acutely then if the wound were his own. If that was bad, then seeing Elias, prostrate on the snowy ground of the cherry orchard, a red sea flowing out of the gorey hole in his shin, was a thousand times worse.

Spooked, his father lunged aside, just in time to collide with the second guard, who charged past him through the orchard with seemingly endless adrenaline, his icy obligation to his commander melting away to wet fear.

“ Elias!” screamed Yun, running over to him, ripping off his own uniform jacket and wrapping it around Elias’s leg in a desperate attempt to staunch the gushing blood that poured forth like the pulsing rivers of Anwei. Elias’s face had the same shock as the boy from Yun’s childhood, but so much paler, and with every second he resembled more and more a sculpture made from the snow he was dying on. “Hold on hold on hold on” Yun hiccuped, tying the makeshift tourniquet as tight as he could. Tears blurred his vision, but in the periphery he saw a crooked man gathering the torn scrolls of peace from the ground.

The sight made Yun forget all about Elias and he dropped the tourniquet, concentrating all of his drained energy into raising his blood splattered pistol at the back of his fleeing father. Before he could pull the trigger, his target turned around, but instead of booking it out of the orchard, raised his arms in a scorching surrender.

C’mon just do it, just do it, just do it, Yun thought, Prove him wrong just this once. But his steely self commands froze at his finger, which remained entrenched at the top of the trigger, refusing to push down. Amidst his rancid rage, exhausted adrenaline, and salty tears, he knew one glimmering truth. If Yun pulled that trigger, the last remains of his energy would be spent, and he would collapse into the snow next to a wounded Elias. They would die, they would disappear under the earth, and they would be cherry trees half dead in winter, embracing branches, bleeding fruit, screaming snow.

But Yun always had a plan, and even when he didn’t, the end goal was always the same.

Elias.

Yun would never give him up, even as acid burned through his veins when he pried his frostbitten fingers from the bloody pistol and dropped it into the snowbank, even when his father slinked off through the peach garden with an unreadable expression on his crooked, familiar face, even when he realized how far away the orchard gates were and how he had ordered the night patrol to stay away for his goddamn security measures; no matter how beautiful it was, the cherry orchard would never take Elias as long as Yun could still trick his paper form into the softest pulse of life.

Slippery warm blood, bone breaking cold, rotten raw heart; that was all he could remember for weeks afterward. Mia, Elias’s little sister, and her girlfriend Celine visited him at the hospital everyday, trying to coax him into revealing how a simple peace oath led to all of this. They told him that he was a hero, that he had half-carried, half-dragged Elias past the orchard gates, that a little girl had found them collapsed near her swing set, more dead than alive. But the only question he ever wanted an answer to was always met with avoided glances, shaking heads, and uncertain words. Lost a lot of blood, infected wound, critical condition.

But after a lot of begging, bribing, and borderline blackmailing, Yun was finally allowed a brief visit. The doctor took him down an endless fluorescent corridor, stopping in front of a room with a rusty sign reading Post Operation.

“Only ten minutes!” chirped the nurse as she opened the creaking door, and bolted away, green tea pipe in hand for a smoke break.

Yun crashed into the room, but stopped short when he saw Elias, wrapped in a thin blanket on a too small cot, where he could see a single sock-covered foot hanging off the end. The patient, on seeing him, gave a slight smile, and tried to raise himself up to sitting position.

“Let me” said Yun, walking over to the bed, fluffing and stacking the pillows for a head rest as he observed the tinctures and bandages littering the dinky nightstand.

Among them was a pamphlet emblazoned in cheerful yellow with: Adjusting to Your Amputation. Yun snapped his head back towards Elias, who averted his gaze towards the end of the bed. Without asking for permission, Yun yanked the blanket off the cot, exposing next to a bandaged and blistered leg, a stitched up stump connected to a polished wooden crutch.

“ They’re putting a more refined one in next week. I’ll need to use a wheelchair at first, but after some time I can adjust to a cane.”

The guilt took a second to set in, but when it did, Yun wanted to submerge himself in the oiliest, blackest sea and never come out.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,”

“Why are you crying? I’m the one with the botched leg,” said Elias, the amused tilt to his statement falling flat when he saw Yun’s crushed expression.

“Oh my god, this is my fault, I can’t believe I shot you, I should have aimed better, I should have shot him faster, oh my god, oh my-”

“Hey, HEY!”, said Elias, grabbing Yun’s flailing hands with the reflexes of an ace swordsman.

“Look at me. Look at me. You got me out of there. It’s like I used to tell my sister whenever she messed up at something: whatever mistakes made back there are dead, but you aren’t. It's going to be an uphill battle from here and I need you supporting me, not blaming yourself.”

Yun nodded.

“Okay?”

“Okay”

“Now come over here and tell me about the new siege on the Old Capitol. But first close the door. If that horrid nurse comes back here stinking of burnt tea again, I’m breaking out my sword, prosthetic or not.”

At this, Yun’s tears finally dried into loud snickering; Elias chimed in with some decidedly non-aristocratic chuckles. This continued until the nurse in question barged back into the room, smoke curling from her nostrils as she demanded they keep it down. Yun and Elias practically roared with laughter; a loving crack of relief as deadwood came back to life.

#emilyamiaOC #fantasy #romance #my writing #purple prose #cherry orchard #not my art #not going to lie I thought this was the best thing I ever wrote but reading it now is kinda cringe

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sharysisnhmoonshadow · 4 years

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Tagged by: @veilder

Rules: Tag however many people you want to know better/catch up with and then answer these questions

THREE SHIPS (only 3?!?)

Connor/Gavin/RK900- because I love any and all combinations of these three. I’m especially weak to redemption arcs and a good hurt/comfort story, and I feel that any mixture of these guys would easily lend well to that. Plus in my head these three are like this: Connor, looks like a cinnamon roll, but could secretly kill you. Nines, looks like he could kill you, but is secretly a cinnamon roll. Gavin, looks like an asshole, and really is an asshole, but don’t mess with His People or he will End You.

Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth- Soooooo. The Mandalorian has made me Painfully Aware that I have a competency kink the size of Alaska. No joke, I have way too many pairings that I love for this fandom (plus all the badass women to boot? Be still my bisexual heart). But I loved Cobb the moment I saw him step in wearing Boba Fett’s armor. Two space cowboys!? I. Am. In! Plus, I loved the easy dynamic between them.

Simon/RK900- I fully blame Indigo for my absolute love of this ship! Together they are soft and sweet and fiercely protective and every version of them Indigo writes has me falling in love all over again.

LAST SONGS LISTENED TO

It’s Alright by Mother Mother- this song really has become my anthem lately. Thanks again to Ausp_ice who accidentally introduced me to it via animatic when I needed it the most. Having a rough day or being too hard on yourself? Give this a listen. Pulled me out of a bad headspace.

Madness by Muse - one of the major songs on my Anchor and the Catalyst playlist. Been playing it a lot on repeat, trying to get in the right headspace to actually make headway on chapter 3.

My Demons by Starset - another from my AC playlist. Also one of the main inspirations for the fic itself! Without this song there is no fic.

CURRENTLY WATCHING - Like right now? True crime documentary because I’m That Bitch. But I also recently watched WandaVision which I loved way more than I expected to. It’s a mind fuck waiting to happen and I Am Ready! Ooh and BattleBots! Roommate totally got us all hooked on that and it’s hella fun.

CURRENTLY READING - A shit-ton of Mandalorian fanfic because I’m desperate for more content. And most of the fandom seems all about Found Family and I am loving it!

HOW’S IT GOING? - Ooof. Loaded question. Relief that the inauguration is officially behind us for is overshadowed by a lot of ugliness that made itself known, and some of it was closer to home than I would ever want to believe is true. But I am tentatively hopeful for the future of my country. I am thankful for my work and barn family who have been my only in-person social interactions outside of my housemates (who rock, tf). Their support and similar stances have been wonderful and I wish I could do more to give back. The Caeli monster had another injury at the beginning of October, and as it was completely my fault (bad judgement call, didn’t check how deep the footing was before releasing the beast) I had a hard time coming to grips about it. Thankfully she is well on the mend, and I seriously need to send my vet a thank you card for everything he and his staff have done for my girl, and for giving me reassurance when I needed it. I can officially say I can apply a standing wrap better than my vet (his words!) and am a pro at rehabbing a horse with tendon/ligament injuries.

Tagging- @ilikechampagne @indigo-a-creeping @ausp-ice @the-horny-bisexual-spaniard and anyone else who wants to steal!

#ask games #about me #real talk

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

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look me up and define me (please remind me) (part 2/2)

He is whatever puts Thomas first. But that changes so often that he doesn’t know what he is beyond that.

He is Janus when he is alone, but only when he is not someone else.

Janus has never minded the fact that his identity is fluid, ever-changing. He acts as whoever Thomas needs him to be in the moment, and if that means he doesn't know much about himself as an individual, well. It's never been a problem for him.

Until he gives away his name, and then it very much is.

Chapter Warnings: identity issues, body dysphoria, body horror, panic attack, self-harm (hair pulling), mild injury

Chapter Word Count: 5,947

Pairings: platonic TDLAMPR, implied Moceit

Notes: This is the second part of a two-part fic, so I’d start with part one if you haven’t read it. Also, this fic as a whole was inspired by the awesome ‘The Record Player Song’ animatic by @turbovickii, which, 10/10 would recommend if you haven’t seen it

(part one)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

“Do you ever think about the past?” Patton asks him. It’s a gloomy day, rain beating against the mindscape’s windows to mimic the downpour keeping Thomas trapped inside his apartment. On days like these, he has learned, Patton tends toward melancholy reflection, toward sipping wine in the living room rather than attempting to cook or bake.

He has found himself glad of it, most of the time. Even on a good day, Patton is often too distractible to bake without supervision, and on these days, his eyes glaze and his movements slow as he reminisces on days long gone. Frankly, he should not be trusted anywhere near the kitchen, and they both know it.

“Not really,” he lies. “Not unless it suits. Do you?”

He already knows the answer to that, of course. Patton hums noncommittally, eyes flitting to the rain-splattered windowpane. It’s just the two of them right now; the others emerge from their rooms more often now than they did just after the wedding, but still not often enough. Patton is struggling, both with himself and with his relationships, and for that reason alone, he will do his best to support. Even if he doesn’t know quite how. Even if he himself grows more and more adrift with every passing day.

“I wish we’d been friends sooner,” Patton says. “I was pretty mean to you when we were kids.”

He sighs. “I was pretty mean right back,” he says, ignoring the implications of friends, all the meanings contained in that one word. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

Patton smiles at him, and his heart skips a beat. “Still,” he says. “I’m glad we’re friends now, Janus.”

He doesn’t have a response to that. He can’t tell Patton that their friendship is based on a lie, that who he thinks of as Janus is nothing more than a shadow, that in these moments, he is drawing on a Patton-like persona more than anything else. He can’t tell Patton that he thinks about the past far more than he should, simpler times, when he was someone else, young and fresh-eyed and hopeful, not just willing but eager to do anything and everything to help Thomas and the rest of them.

That was when the trouble started. When deception became integral to his being. When he lost himself under all the rest, if there was ever anything to be lost in the first place. Isn’t it ironic, that Thomas’ sense of self-preservation has no sense of self of his own?

I’m glad we’re friends now, Janus.

He would be, too, if Janus were real. But Janus isn’t real, and he doesn’t know how to make him so.

So, he doesn’t respond to Patton. Just smiles, smiles and smiles and smiles and hopes that he can’t see through the facade. It’s something Patton himself would do, he thinks, and pretends that the thought doesn’t make him sick.

And so the days pass. Life continues. Nothing is solved. He grows closer with the others, more welcome in their discussions, more appreciated by Thomas, even, and he would be ecstatic if it weren’t for the fact that interacting with them is like pulling teeth. They all look at him in a certain way, now, like they understand him, or want to, and it is all he can do to prevent himself from shouting at them, from telling them that they understand nothing. He is a mask built upon another mask built upon more masks, and there is nothing underneath them. Janus is the name given to the void they hide.

How could they possibly understand him when he doesn’t understand himself? When he is slowly beginning to realize that there is nothing to understand at all, that Janus is just a name, and a name means nothing at all if there is not a person behind it, attached in a way that he has never been?

Janus isn’t his name. It isn’t, and it is, but the difference between those is negligible. They all expect him to be Janus, now, but he has never known who that is, has never been anything but an amalgam of the others and of Deceit. How is he supposed to be Janus when he doesn’t--

There is a hand on his arm.

He jerks away, blinking. Virgil is standing close to him, too close, hand outstretched, but rather than his typical snarl, his face is neutral, nothing but a crease between his brows betraying his discomfort.

“You back?” he drawls, but the words are nowhere near as biting as they usually are.

He blinks again, looking around the room. Thomas’ living room. The others are all present, all but Remus, and all of their eyes are on him. They are discussing Thomas’ next creative venture, if he remembers correctly, going over potential ideas and plans, and for some reason, they wanted his input as well. He’s not sure why; they’ve gone through this perfectly well without him in the past, and once the meeting starts, he barely has anything to say. Which allows his mind to wander.

A mistake.

He steps away from Virgil, hoping that the movement comes off as casual, and brushes a bit of imaginary lint from his sleeve. “Apologies,” he says. “Lost in thought. What was the question?”

He ignores the way Virgil’s eyes narrow.

“Uh,” Thomas says, oddly hesitant. “Are you sure about that? We’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now. Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” he says. “A bit tired, perhaps.” Not a lie. He’s exhausted. It’s hardly the whole truth, and something in him burns to be showing any amount of weakness at all, any vulnerability, but better this than sharing any of the rest.

“Oh,” Thomas says. “Well, I just--”

“Falsehood.”

The word is quiet, but it cuts through the conversation like a hot knife through bread. Because for all that the word is Logan’s trademark phrase, it is not Logan who speaks, but Virgil. Virgil, who is still standing too near, hunched in on himself, his face set in an expression he can’t begin to interpret.

For a long moment, there is silence.

“That’s my word,” Logan says. It seems a halfhearted complaint.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Roman says. “Where’s the falsehood?”

“I’ll admit, I’m confused as well,” he says, though he’s not, though his heart is beating far too quickly, though he knows exactly what Virgil means, and both fear and betrayal swirl in his chest and stiffen his spine. His nerves rise to a crescendo, and he has to focus on his breathing to make sure his form doesn’t slip. He must remember how they view him now, how they look at him and think Janus, must remember to maintain Deceit’s face, though the anxiety flooding his senses urges him to exchange the yellow for purple, the scales for eyeshadow, because that’s what he’s always done when he feels this way, when his chest feels tight and his breaths come too short. This is a Virgil-feeling, but he can’t shift right now because he’s supposed to be Deceit, is supposed to be Janus, and if he changes now, the house of cards on which he’s built his acceptance crumbles.

He can’t let that happen. He feels terrible now, but the isolation of before was worse. Now that he’s admitted as much to himself, he wouldn’t be able to bear going back.

“Now, now,” Patton says, “let’s let Virgil speak.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says, brow furrowed. “Virgil, what do you mean?”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Let him explain,” he says, jerking a thumb in his direction. “He’s the one lying.”

And just like that, all eyes return to him. He wonders, idly, if he could get away with summoning Remus, if he could throw a bit of chaos into the mix and watch them all scramble. They’d forget about him in the wake of that, he’s sure. But no, he can’t do it now, not when it would be so obvious. His strengths lie in his subtlety, his skill at misdirection. Remus is a blunt instrument, one not suited for this task.

He raises his hands, claps sarcastically. “Well done, Virgil,” he says. “I’m so impressed by your ability to remember my basic function. Good job. Can we refocus the conversation now?”

The sarcasm helps him focus. Helps him settle into the persona, into who he’s supposed to function as in this moment. He can lie his way out of this. He’s done it before. He can do it again.

“Okay, usually I’m all for calling him out,” Roman says, “but he’s said, like, two things this whole time.”

“Yes,” Logan adds, “and one of those was-- oh. I see.”

“What?” Thomas asks.

Patton gasps. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, no.” Patton looks at him, then, so much warmth and empathy in his gaze that he wants to die, just a little bit, because he doesn’t deserve any of it, doesn’t deserve his friendship, because the person that Patton thinks he is getting to know has never existed in the first place. “If something’s the matter, you can tell us! You know that, right?”

“Nothing’s the matter,” he grits out, but no one listens. He takes a moment to glare at Virgil, who stares back, nonplussed.

“Oh, hey,” Thomas says, looking surprised. Like he never considered the idea that something could be wrong with him. He would have liked to keep it that way, but it might be too late for that now. “Yeah, if something’s the matter, we want to hear about it. You don’t need to lie about that, Janus.”

And Thomas is so genuine in his concern, so compassionate, so kind to a side that he used to hate and fear. But it’s the name that sends him over the edge, the name that makes him flinch, hard, because he can’t escape it, can’t escape the fact that they all expect him to be something that he has never been, that he can never be.

He is whatever Thomas needs, but Thomas has never needed Janus, and he doesn’t know how to be something that Thomas doesn’t need. How to be a person in his own right, how to be the person they believe he is.

Thomas sees him flinch, because of course he does, because it was obvious. He steps forward, worry written plain on his face, but he mirrors the motion, stepping back. Thomas stops.

“Is there anything I can--”

“He doesn’t like it when you say his name,” Virgil says, and the room goes still. Virgil swallows, clearly not comfortable with the attention, but he soldiers on. “He didn’t tell me why.”

“Shut up,” he bites out, before he can stop himself.

“Is that true?” Thomas asks, asks him, all wide-eyed and hurt and he can’t take this--

“That doesn’t seem to make sense,” Logan says, and yes, please, keep talking, Logan, everyone pay attention to Logan now, thank you, “considering that he told us his name himself. Though, to be fair, the way in which he did so could be construed as an attempt to gain trust, rather than because he actually wanted to share.”

“Oh, come on,” Roman snorts. “Nobody was forcing him to say anything.”

“Oh my god, Roman, that’s not helping,” Virgil says. Defending him? That makes no sense, but alright.

“I’m just saying! He took his glove off all on his own--”

“That doesn’t mean Logan is wrong,” Patton ventures.

They just keep talking, all their voices overlapping and intermingling, talking about him, arguing about him like he’s not right here, and he backs up until he hits the wall. He needs them to stop, needs this to stop, needs to spend another week or two alone in his room before he can even think to face them again. He threads his fingers through his hair, pulling hard, but the pain does nothing to help him focus. He wishes he could cover his ears, wishes he didn’t have to hear this, wishes that today hadn’t happened at all. Wishes he could come up with an excuse, a lie to throw them off and redirect their attention, but his mind is frighteningly blank.

“Guys, enough.” Thomas’ voice silences the room, and then, Thomas turns to him. “Janus?” he prompts softly. “Are you okay?” And he means well, he does, but--

He can’t do this. Can’t do this at all, can’t think of a single lie to tell, and nothing else is helping either. He can’t think logically, and his rolling emotions are no help, and trying to summon bravado is a failure, and he is already so scared that he doesn’t see how indulging in any more anxiety could possibly help matters.

He needs--

He needs something else, anything else, anything but this, and--

He shifts before he can stop himself. And once he starts, he can’t hold back, can’t stop seeking comfort in another form because that’s what he always does when his own doesn’t cut it. He cycles through all of them, melting and changing and remaking himself with every second that passes, but nothing helps, nothing abates the buzzing under his skin or the ringing in his ears. But he keeps doing it anyway, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

And the damage is done. His eyes are screwed shut, but there’s no way they’re not all staring at him. The silence is deafening.

He stands there, trying to land on an identity, and finds nothing. Because there is nothing.

“Ja… Deceit?” someone says, and it’s Patton’s voice, trembling and unsure, and somehow, that is the breaking point.

He opens his eyes, meets Thomas’ shocked gaze. And then he sinks out.

He rises up in his room unsteadily, lurching. He almost falls, though he catches himself against a bedpost, panting. His form is still shifting, still fluid; he can feel the changes rippling across his face like rushing water, so continuous that it’s beginning to hurt. He stumbles over to the mirror and watches it, the parade of outfits and hair styles and eye colors, morphing and twisting his face into nothing he recognizes.

And then suddenly, he settles. On scaly skin, on one yellow, slit eye. On a bowler hat, on a capelet, on yellow gloves. It’s his default setting. The serpentine tempter.

He looks, and who he sees staring back at him is utterly alien. The image moves when he does, blinks when he blinks, and the same tears that he feels streaming down his cheeks are reflected there. It’s him, he knows, because it couldn’t be anyone else. But he feels so disconnected from it, feels like he’s looking at a stranger, and perhaps he is. Does he know himself? Does he have a self to know?

He stares, and the image in the mirror stares back. And then, he rears back and punches the glass.

The sound it makes when it shatters is the most satisfying thing he’s heard in a long time.

He stands there, gasping, heedless of the shards embedded in his hand. For a moment, he feels safe, feels secure, as if the enemy has been defeated, as if in shattering the image, he has shattered himself, too, and is finally free. But then, he feels himself shift, feels his body do it entirely without his permission, as if on instinct, and catches a glimpse when he can’t help but look down, a glimpse of capelet sliding into hoodie sliding into green sash into red sash into cardigan into hoodie--

His legs give out, and he lands hard. Glass digs into his hands and knees, but he can’t bring himself to move, can’t bring himself to do anything but shake and struggle for breath and hope that this will end.

He doesn’t know who he is, doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be. If he could figure it out, maybe this would stop, but he can’t think straight, can’t think about much of anything at all past the fact that it hurts, and that he’s scared, and that he feels as though his very bones are trying to burst out of his skin. It’s coming so fast now that he can barely keep track; he is Virgil, then Patton, then Roman, then Patton, then Logan then Remus then Roman then Virgil then PattonthenLoganthenRemusthen--

The door bursts open. Someone enters, black and green, and he can’t focus on their face, can’t do anything but flinch back as their footsteps approach, huddle in on himself and pray that they won’t hurt him, that they won’t exacerbate the pain.

“--ee? Dee?” The voice filters in, and it’s Remus, loud and shrill and concerned, and he wishes he had the strength to comfort him, to reassure him, but he thinks that if he opens his mouth, he’ll scream. He feels like his skin is sliding off, like it’s cracking open, and he has no way to anchor himself, no port in this storm, no control over what’s happening to him, and he’s so scared.

“--ell me what to do, what’s happening--” Remus is saying, and then there are hands on him, on his face, and he jerks away because the touch burns. Remus is still babbling: “--kay, won’t touch you, but Dee, please, you gotta tell me what to do--”

--then his room is suddenly full of people, people standing, watching, talking, saying words he can’t understand, moving toward him, and he flinches back and away, because he doesn’t want them here, doesn’t want them to see him like this, doesn’t want them near him because no doubt they’ll only make it worse and he can’t breathe and he can’t stop shifting because it’s supposed to help but it’s not, it’s hurting him, and he thinks he hears Remus shouting at them, telling them to get back, to go away, but he can’t--

Then, someone presses their hand into his, and tells him to breathe. The rest of the world dissolves into static.

It takes a long time for him to be able to follow their example, but he focuses on the point of contact, on their hand holding his, and part of him wants to jerk away as though he’s been scalded. But the touch is through his gloves, fabric separating their skin, and somehow, that makes it bearable. And the other part of his mind wants to hold on and never let go, so that’s what he does.

His breathing slows. The shifting stops, and the pain subsides into a dull ache.

He looks up, and Virgil is crouched in front of him, the rise and fall of his chest outlining a familiar pattern.

“Can you hear me?” Virgil asks, his voice quiet and the closest thing to calm he ever gets.

He nods.

Someone lets out a breath, a sigh of relief, and he looks around. They’re all here, all of them, crouching around him. Remus is closest, is right by his side, hands hovering but not touching. Patton and Logan are sitting to either side of Virgil, Logan with furrowed brow and Patton looking near tears himself. Even Roman is here, hovering over Logan’s shoulder, and though he’s keeping his distance, worry mars his face. He knows, knows he must look absolutely pitiful if Roman is worried about him.

And Thomas is here, too. Kneeling at his other side, kneeling in broken glass from the mirror, and all for him? After that wretched display, Thomas still came after him?

Thomas is looking at him. His eyes are shiny.

“Sorry,” he rasps, and then frowns. His voice is lower, rougher than he anticipated, and glancing at himself, it is easy to determine the reason. His hands are gloved, but purple-patched sleeves cover his arms. He’s Virgil right now, Virgil, even though the real Virgil is sitting right in front of him, is still, for whatever reason, holding his hand.

“Hey,” Virgil-- the real Virgil-- says, “don’t do that. C’mon.”

He pulls his hand away, trying to school his face into a glare, into any expression that would suit Virgil’s face better. He’s sure he looks miserable. His mind races, supplying him with biting words and insults, and it makes him angry, a bit, because where was this when he needed it? It’s too late, now, too late to pretend that this never happened. They’re all here, in his room, his safe place, his sanctuary.

Only, it hasn’t been that for a long time, has it? How long has it been since he was comfortable here? Since he was comfortable anywhere?

The realization makes him shudder, and before he knows it, he is sliding into Patton’s form instead. The grey cardigan settles around his shoulders, but it brings none of the comfort that it usually does. He just feels pathetic, and he knows the others must see it.

He can’t look at Patton. Doesn’t want to know what he’s thinking. Doesn’t think he could bear to see rejection painted there.

His breath hitches.

“Hey,” Thomas says, and he can’t help but turn to look, because he has never been able to help but do what Thomas asks of him. He turns to look, and through vision that is once again blurry with tears, he sees Thomas reach out. Slowly, accentuating the motion so that he has plenty of time to reject him, to pull away. He is tempted to smack the hand away, to gather up the strength to eject them all from his room and lock the door behind them, anything to avoid having to talk about this.

But this is Thomas, so he allows him to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re okay,” Thomas says softly. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay too, but we’re here for you.”

It’s not a lie. He knows because it chimes in the air, clear and bright and true, like a clamoring of bells ringing in the morning. No tricks, no subterfuge, just the one person he would do anything for, telling him that it’s going to be alright, that everything is going to be alright.

He forces himself to shift again, forces the scales back across his face, focuses on maintaining the gloves to cover hands that are cut and bleeding and embedded with glass shards. It itches, itches and burns and doesn’t feel right at all, but if he’s going to do this, he could at least try not to look like any of them while he speaks.

“No,” he says, and jolts at the sound of his own voice, strange and foreign. “You deserve an explanation.”

“Maybe,” Virgil says suddenly, “but that doesn’t mean you owe it to us.”

He swivels his head to stare at him, and Virgil scowls, glancing away.

“Look,” he says, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to hurt you, back there. It’s just, you’ve been weird and spacey ever since you came to talk to me, and I just thought that if something was wrong, and I didn’t know what to do, then maybe somebody else would. But I’m sorry for going about it like I did.”

“I--” His tongue feels clumsy, thick in his mouth. An apology from Virgil is not something he ever thought he would receive, but this, too, hangs between them like a breath of fresh air, nothing but truth in his words. “Apology accepted,” he says, and it feels lacking compared to all that still lies unvoiced between them, but Virgil visibly untenses.

“Cool,” he mutters. “Don’t read too much into it.”

Despite himself, he smiles, just a bit, an upwards twitch of his lips.

And then, Logan clears his throat. “I don’t want to put any undue pressure on you,” he says, “but if you would be willing to discuss what ails you, I am in complete agreement with Thomas. Perhaps we can help you find a solution.”

He takes a breath to steady himself, taking a brief survey of the room, watching all of them gathered around him, attentive and unsure. He… could tell them, he realizes. He could tell them, and they would listen, and they might even believe him. He could tell them, and there is nothing stopping him from doing so but himself, old habits that have been ingrained in him over years and decades, habits that insist that he cannot afford to be vulnerable, that he cannot afford to show weakness, that the moment he bares his throat to them, they will pounce.

But looking at them, at Patton, so determined to help, at Logan, face open and non-judgemental, and even at Roman, who has the least reason out of all of them to want to see him well and yet is here anyway, he wonders if that is the case at all.

Thomas’ hand is still on one shoulder, a steadying point of contact. Without looking, he reaches back and finds one of Remus’ hands, still hovering, and guides it to rest on his other. Remus makes a sound of relief and tightens his grip, and it is almost uncomfortable, but it also serves as a reminder that he is not alone, for once, and that perhaps, he can have help, if he asks for it.

Does he dare do this? It will hurt him, and it will hurt them. Will likely hurt Thomas.

But, he realizes, it’s too late to prevent that. Thomas is already hurt, is already lost and confused and worried. The least he can do is tell him why.

So, he looks to Patton. If he’s going to share this, if he truly wants them to understand, he needs to start at the beginning.

“Do you remember what I used to call myself?” he asks. “When Thomas was young, I mean, before I was labeled Deceit. Back when you were Feelings and Logan was Learning.”

“I--” Patton’s face screws up in an obvious effort to remember. “That was so long ago, I don’t--” He pauses, mouth working silently, and then, his eyes open wide. “You know, I’d forgotten that we used to call you something else,” he says. He doesn’t sound happy about it. “Weren’t you Self?”

He nods. “Self,” he repeats. It’s been so long since he said the name aloud. It’s like an old favorite shoe, well-worn but now half a dozen sizes too small. “That’s right. Back then, I was entirely about self-preservation. Anything that boosted Thomas’ sense of self, I was in charge of.” He closes his eyes, slipping back into the memories. “Deception didn’t become a major part of that until later, until there were… issues. Until Thomas began to doubt himself more, experience more internal conflict.” He opens his eyes again, meeting Patton’s once more. “Then, I did anything I could to keep things running smoothly. I was… whoever I needed to be, whenever I needed to be them, as long as it would benefit Thomas. You usually didn’t catch me.” He splays his hands, relishing the sting of his bloodied knuckles. “I’m like glue, filling in the cracks.”

“You impersonated us that much?” Virgil asks, voice strangled.

He shrugs. “For all intents and purposes, I was you,” he says quietly. “I got used to it after a while. Too used to it, I suppose.”

“What do you mean by that?”

It’s Thomas who speaks now, low and urgent and worried, and he turns to him, turns to the man he has given everything to protect.

“As best I can tell,” he says, and he is not trying to be bitter, but something of the kind leaks through anyway, “I’m a… a mimic, of a sort. Or maybe just a mirror. I’ve spent so long being whatever was needed that I never developed into anything else, and then I told you my name and you started calling me Janus, and I-- I couldn’t handle it. I can’t.” He shudders, closing his eyes. He can’t bear to meet Thomas’ gaze anymore, can’t bear to see the condemnation he knows must surely come now. “I can’t meet those expectations. At best, I’m… a fake. A sham. Janus… it’s my name, but there’s not a person attached to it. Everything I am is built on traits I’ve taken from everyone else.” He shakes his head, a sour smile curling his lips. “Take away the lies, and there’s nothing left of me.”

“That’s why you don’t like us using the name,” Thomas says. “You don’t feel like it’s yours.”

“Nothing that I am is mine,” he answers, and falls silent, waiting for the sentence to fall, the gavel to pound.

For a moment, no one says anything at all.

“That’s not true,” Patton says, and the fierceness in his voice takes him aback. His eyes snap open.

“Patton--”

But Patton shakes his head, his face flushing pink. “No, you let me talk,” he says. “That’s not true, and I’m so sorry that we’ve let you feel like it is. I should’ve--” He breaks himself off, biting his lip. “No, that’s not the point. The point is that you’re not just a mimic, or a mirror, or what have you, and you should never, ever have been made to feel like you had to be.”

He didn’t expect this, didn’t expect a passionate defense. He’s not sure where this is coming from, not sure what he did to provoke this.

“I--”

“I mean, we’ve been spending time together, right?” Patton continues. “And you’ve been enjoying that, unless you were faking, but I don’t think you were. Do you really think that you were only having fun because it was something you’d done when you were being me?”

His throat runs dry. His first instinct is to say, yes, of course, because he’s spent so long thinking this way. But instead of his usual conviction, his mind fills with a buzzing noise, and he can’t bring himself to speak.

“I agree with Patton,” Logan speaks up. “True, there may be some activities that you initially took interest in for the purpose of impersonating one of us. However, that does not make your own enjoyment of those activities any less valid, or any less a part of who you are. You, specifically, not you when you are attempting to emulate one of us. Unless you don’t actually enjoy our chess matches.”

But--

“Yeah, and you don’t have to actually be one of us in order to feel something that one of us feels, or do something that one of us does,” Virgil says. “Just because Logan is Logic doesn’t mean that you have to be Logan in order to be logical. I mean, can you imagine if Logan were the only one capable of basic logical reasoning? You dumbass,” he tacks on.

That, at least, is enough to prompt an answer out of him. “It’s a habit,” he says weakly. His head is spinning. He doesn’t know what else to do, what else to say. How can they be saying these things so easily? How can they so casually uproot the foundations that his existence is built upon?

“You are worthy of personhood in your own right,” Roman adds, quietly. “I… I know that we have had our arguments. But you are our equal, just as deserving of an individual identity. There is nothing you need do to earn that.”

“You’re my best fucking friend,” Remus says suddenly, his grasp on his shoulder tightening. “You are. Not you trying to be someone else. I like you. I’ll kill anyone who says different.”

He feels a pang at that, because that’s just it. Remus thinks he’s his friend, thinks he likes him for who he is, but how can he, when even he doesn’t know who he is himself?

“I know it hurts to not know what you’re doing,” Patton says softly, “or even who you are, or who you’re supposed to be. But you’ve got us.”

“I don’t know who I am when I’m not trying to be someone else,” he says, the admission ripped from him almost unwillingly. “I don’t know who Janus is.” The tears well up again, and he lets them fall.

Patton is so kind. They are all being so kind, even Virgil, who hates him, even Roman, who he has wronged. What has he done to deserve this kindness?

“I think,” Thomas says haltingly, “that I’m gonna hug you now, if that’s okay.”

And he startles, remembering again that Thomas is here, too, even though he’s been quiet. Though he hasn’t been quiet, exactly, has he? They are all part of him, after all; they all make up his thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams, so in a way, Thomas doesn’t need to be vocal himself to make his opinions known.

The realization hits, then, as Thomas wraps his arms around him, that Thomas cares about him. And not just Thomas, but the rest of them, too, piling around him, Remus clinging to his back and Patton tucking himself into his side and Virgil laying a hand on his arm. They are here for him, came after him, and for the first time, he considers the idea that their regard might not be contingent on the presentation of a certain identity.

The concept is foreign to him. He has spent so long being whatever he thought they needed, thought they wanted, and that was what led him here, attached to a name with nothing behind it. He has spent so long pretending to be strong, to be cool, to be collected. There has never been time not to be, never been time to make himself vulnerable, to allow himself to discover who Janus might be, if given the chance.

He shudders, burying his face in Thomas’ shoulder.

“It’s okay not to know,” Thomas says, and the love and acceptance in his voice is so real and so true that he begins to cry harder. “You don’t need to know right now. But we can help you figure it out, alright? We’ll do this together.” His voice softens. “You’re not on your own.”

He doesn’t know who he is. Doesn’t know where to begin to find out. But that much, perhaps, he can believe.

“Okay,” he whispers, and just this once, lets himself trust.

----------

Patton is at the oven, cursing under his breath, trivial words like “shucks” and “darn” and once in a while, a particularly vehement, “Damn!” The kitchen fills with smoke and the scent of burning cookies.

He hangs in the doorway for a while before making his presence known.

“Not having any trouble at all, I see,” he says, and Patton jerks, spinning around. His face lights up upon seeing him, and he hopes the warmth in his cheeks isn’t visible.

“Hi,” Patton says, and laughs ruefully. “What, you don’t think I’m smoking hot?”

He has to bite back his instinctual response, which is just as well, because Patton continues before he can think of anything appropriate.

“I’ve still got enough dough for another try, if you wanna help,” Patton says cheerfully. “Um, is Janus okay right now or no?”

He considers. It still doesn’t fit quite right, doesn’t settle on his shoulders. But he thinks he can do this without falling into the mindset that he has to be somebody else, that he has to wrap another identity around himself. He can do this maskless, and if he finds himself faltering, Patton will help him.

He can do this. And it’s not perfect, but perhaps, here’s a start.

“Janus is fine,” he says, and steps into the kitchen.

Writing Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii

Part 2 Taglist: @bunny222

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the-sympathetic-villain · 4 years

Text

Chaos Reigns

Prompt: The Light Sides react to Logan becoming a dark side.This one-shot is a continuation of my one-shot ‘Choking In The Dark’ inspired by the animatic, "Wires" by Anna Midnight. I would recommend reading that one before reading this one in order for the context to make sense. Prompt from iheartsolangelo

AO3 | First | Next | Masterpost

Word Count: 2955 Chapter Warnings: Food, All of the characters have some less than sympathetic moments, DarkSide!Logan, Horror Elements, Somewhat graphic description of rotting food/bugs, Spit/Wet Willy, Threats, Angst, Unwanted physical contact (non-sexual), Anger, Mentions of Death, Lashing out, Electric shock, Passing out, Swearing (Let me know if I missed anything!)

---

Patton bustled about the kitchen, shifting between his various dishes as he prepared dinner for his family. Warm, humid air carried the scent of his fresh, baked bread down the hallways of the mindscape and Patton smiled knowing the lovely scent would start to draw out its residents as they sensed dinnertime approaching.

“Virgil, could you please set the table?” Patton called out at the sound of a soft shuffling behind him. A soft groan behind him let him know that his shadowy friend had heard him.

“Why’s it always me that gets stuck with the chores, padre?” Virgil drawled grumpily. “Can't you get princey to contribute every once in a while?”

“Now, Virgil.” Patton started, pulling out his best dad voice. “You know we all have to do our part to contribute.”

“Yeah, right.” Virgil groaned, pulling his headphones back over his ears as he moved towards the cupboards. “When was the last time you saw Roman wash a dish?”

“Silence, foul demon.” Roman's voice echoed against the walls as he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “How dare you besmirch my royal name in my absence! Where is the honor in such a cowardly action?”

“Cute, princey." Virgil rolled his eyes, pulling a stack of plates from the shelf. “How about you defend your honor by taking these while I grab the silverware?”

“Oh, no.” Roman deflected his attempt to hand him the plates as he flitted over to Patton. “I can't do that.”

“—and why not?” Virgil let out an exasperated sigh as he brushed past Roman and dropped the plates on the table with a loud clattered.

“Why not?” Roman smiled, flipping his hands towards Virgil. “Well, because that’s peasants’ work, of course.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Now, boys.” Patton interrupted as he brought the steaming casserole to the table. “I need you to play nice at the dinner table.”

“Patton, this isn't fair.” Virgil muttered, gesturing to Roman’s smug expression as he stared at him across the table. “He's just standing there watching me work.”

“Patton asked you to set the table Virgil.” Janus' hiss made Virgil jump as the man came up behind him. “Surely the task is not too labor intensive for you to handle on your own.”

“It's about the principle, Janus.” Virgil muttered, slamming open the drawer as he grabbed the silverware. “He could be helping, but he's not.”

“And yet, by some miracle, you seemed to have finished all by yourself.” Janus drawled as Virgil set out the silverware on the table. “Outstanding.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I do make an effort,” Janus replied dryly, frowning as Roman snickered from across the table. “but don’t worry, Virgil. Your complaints have been noted and Roman will be doing the dishes after we eat.”

“What?” Roman’s jaw dropped as Virgil’s face lit up. “Doing the dishes is twice the work of setting the table!”

Janus rolled his eyes, dropping into his seat at the table. “Well then, I guess you should have helped Virgil when you had the chance. Shouldn't you have, Roman?”

“I'm sorry, Janus.” Patton smiled empathetically as he came up behind Janus, leaning over to place the last steaming dish on the table. “I'm sure this wasn’t what you signed up for when you decided to move up here with us.”

“Oh, please.” Janus smirked up at Patton as Roman and Virgil took their seats. “Neither of them has started throwing food yet, so this is already a step up from handling Remus.”

“Good. I'm glad you’re fitting in okay, kiddo.” A smile twitched at the corner of Patton’s lips as he glanced around at his family. “Now, let's eat. I'm sure everyone is starving. Has anyone seen Logan?”

“Geek's been quiet for a few days.” Roman muttered impatiently. “He's probably in his room making a schedule for when Thomas is allowed to breathe.”

“Roman, be nice.” Patton chided him quietly. “Those kinds of words are hurtful.”

“Come on, pops.” Roman pressed. “You know the Microsoft Nerd can barely function when he's not micromanaging the rest of us. Guy sucks pretty hard sometimes.”

“I know Logan can be a little overbearing sometimes, but you still don’t get to call him names.”

Roman sighed, muttering under his breath. “I didn’t hear a disagreement in that statement.”

“Maybe I should go grab him—”

“Do you have to, Pat?” Virgil asked, absently sipping at his water. “Can’t deny it's been nice to eat a few meals without a lecture.”

“Both of you are done speaking until you can say something nice.” Janus snapped with a quick hand gesture, silencing them both simultaneously. “I don’t know what’s gotten into either of you but I've had enough of it.”

Patton shifted nervously, feeling an uneasy chill run up his spine as he took a step towards Logan’s room. “I'll be right back. I'm going to go get him.”

“Oh no, Patton.” The lights flickered and dimmed as an echo of Logan’s voice chilled the air, sending shivers down Patton’s spine. “I really think you should sit.”

All eyes turned to the head of the table as the air seemed to be sucked from the room, leaving them breathless as they stared at Logan. His now jet-black hair was perfectly gelled back. Not a hair was out of place as his eyes glimmered with a danger fire as he straightened the tie on his charcoal-grey suit.

Roman was the first to shake his shock, turning back to the rest of the table. “Will someone explain why the professor is trying to out-edgelord our own resident killjoy?”

“Lay off, princ—”

“Oh, Roman.” Logan’s threatening drawl filled the air with an ice-cold chill, stopping Virgil’s protest in its tracks. “You have such a pretty face. It's too bad you have to ruin the illusion with the words that come out of your mouth.”

Roman stalled for a moment. “We have the same face—”

Logan grimaced, sending a sudden shudder of fear straight to the hearts of the other sides. “Truly, what an awful, grating noise you make.”

The other sides watched in horror as a unsettling grin spread across Logan’s face as he held up his hand and snapped. In an instant, Roman jumped out of his seat knocking his chair back as he batted at his arms. The creative side immediately looked to Logan for mercy as a bright, red crystal crept up his arms but his eyes were cold as he ignored Roman’s pleas for help. Within moments, he was completely frozen in place, completely encased by the crystal.

“Would anyone else care to interrupt me?”

Logan stare turned to each of his former friends’ faces. Silence quickly dampened the room as his empty stare crept up into an unsettling smile.

“I thought not.” Logan continued in a hushed tone. “There are going to be some changes in the way Thomas operates and I don’t particularly care whether any of you like what I'm doing or not.”

Silence hung in the air between them for a long moment before Janus leaned forward on his elbows, bringing his hands together in front of him as he stared down Logan from across the table. “What about Thomas? Surely, you don't believe our creator is going to support your little coup.”

“I'm so glad you asked, Janus. I intend for keep Thomas distracted until it’s too late for him to change anything.” Logan’s white teeth glistened in the dim light as his dark eyes locked onto Janus. “Fortunately, I have a little help in that department.”

A sudden gasp and a shriek for Virgil and Patton respectively surrounded Logan on both sides as the room dropped into darkness. The darkness only lasted a few short seconds but reprieve did not follow as a subtle green light started to radiate from the table. Logan let out a hollow chuckle at Patton and Virgil’s horrified expression as their beautiful dinner turned to rot. Maggots curled in the casserole and the plate of vegetables Patton had spent so much time on oozed a steaming green liquid that seemed to be creeping closer to its maker as Patton edged away.

“Remus, enough.” Janus reached his hand up and snapped, expecting the illusion to fade away. The look of shock on Janus’ face was met with a knowing smirk from Logan across the table as the feast of horrors remained.

“Oooooh,” Remus cooed in Janus’ ear, coming out of the shadows. “Looks like the dirty light-sider doesn't have control of me anymore.”

“Don't underestimate me.” Janus scoffed nonchalantly as Remus leaned over his shoulder. “Controlling you was always about more than just my powers.”

“Oh yeah?” Remus purred into Janus' neck. “If that was true, could I do this?”

Janus flinched as Remus popped his pointer finger in his mouth before shoving it in Janus' ear, still glistening with spit. “Remus, you undignified ball of waste. I’ll kill—"

“Don't touch him.” Logan’s calm voice distracted Janus' rage as he attempted to shove Remus away.

Remus smirked as Janus hesitated, side-eyeing Logan as he gauged the situation. The moment's hesitation drew a giggle from Remus. “Well, what do you know? I might like it when Logey-Bear gets possessive.”

“I'll give you a chance, Janus.” Logan stated plainly, rested his hands in his lap as he ignored Remus’ statements. “You still have the potential to be of use to me. Join us and you can spare yourself a lot of trouble.”

“I don't think so.” Janus stated, glaring at Remus as he stood up out of his chair. “In fact, I think I'll go have a word with Thomas about your actions and see what he thinks of your attempt mutiny.”

“That’s an unfortunate choice, but not unexpected one .” Logan smirked leaning back in his chair as he shared a knowing glance with Remus. “I'm sorry, Janus, but I forbid you from speaking to Thomas.”

Janus turned his cool gaze back to Logan. “Don’t play with me, Logan. I'm the only one with the power to prevent sides from reaching Thomas.”

“Not anymore. You should have taken my offer.” Logan sneered back at Janus as his eyes darkened and he raised a hand up in the air. “Look like this is a benched trial for you, Janus.”

Logan snapped his fingers and the others jumped as Janus let out a yelp. The logical side’s face was void of emotion as the wires that had bound him for so long jumped at his command, dragging a swearing Janus into the hallway.

“Patton, don't!”

Virgil’s worried voice drew Logan’s attention to Patton as he jumped out of his chair. Logan let out a long breath as Patton glanced back at him nervously.

“You’d do well to listen to Virgil, Patton.” Logan muttered darkly, lifting his eyes to Patton in a subtle warning. “Unless you want to share Janus' fate.”

“Why are you doing this to your friends?” Patton started to shake as he turned back to Logan’s vacant stare. “Logan, you’re better than this.”

“You’re not my friends.” Logan whispered, ignoring Patton taking a step back as if he'd struck him.

“Logan—”

“Keep my name out of your mouth.” Logan snapped, pushing his chair over as he rose to his feet. He stepped forward, looming over Patton as he backed into the wall. “I should never have given it to any of you."

Patton flinched, making himself smaller as Logan slowly raised a hand to his face.

“Don’t touch him—”

Logan glanced over his shoulder lazily as Remus shoved Virgil back down into his seat.

“Ah, ah—” Remus grinned, wrapping his hands around Virgil’s collar as the anxious side squirmed against him. “The adults are talking right now.”

“Logan, please.”

Logan turned his gaze back to Patton as his wide eyes lifted up to him.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Logan scoffed, tucking his hands in the pockets of his dark suit. “What exactly don’t I have to do?

“Hurt people, Lo.” Patton whispered, glancing around at the trail of destruction left in the new dark side's wake. “This isn’t you.”

“You’re wrong, Patton.” Logan muttered, taking a step forward as he crowded Patton into the wall. “This is necessary for my survival. Not that you would care about that.”

Patton whimpered as Logan hooked his chin with his finger, guiding his face up.

“I tried to be nice—to let everyone have their say, but I won't take your abuse any longer.” Logan let out a long breath as he leaned in, inches from Patton’s face. “I lost so much of myself to the rest of you that the subconscious tried to tear me apart.”

“Oh, Lo—” Patton’s expression softened as his eyes glistened in the dim light.

“I almost died, and not only were my so-called friends not there to save me, you were the ones who led me to the gallows.” Logan’s eyes glittered like fire and his face twisted into a snarl as a raspy laugh passed his lips at the sight of the sudden guilt on Patton’s face. “Congratulations. Your friend is dead and you were the one to kill him.”

“Logan, I'm so sorr—”

“Stop. Your apology is too little and too late, Patton.” Logan cut him off, baring his teeth at Patton as waves of anger radiated off of him. “Now, I've had enough of this conversation. So, if it’s all the same to you, I think we’re going to skip the rest of this dialogue.”

The lights flickered as his statement finished and in the blink of an eye, Patton was gone.

“Patton—No!” Virgil’s cry rang out behind him as Logan turned to watch him struggle in Remus arms. “What did you do to him?!”

“I sent him into his worst nightmare.” Logan muttered. His voice held a bitterness as he nonchalantly brushed off his sleeves.

“Which is what?” Virgil muttered, shuddering and squirming as Remus licked a long strip up his neck. “Get him off me—”

“No.”

“No? What the hell is wrong with you?” Virgil hissed as Remus pulled him to his feet, curling an arm around his waist to hold him in place. He hissed, spinning on Remus with bared teeth. “Why are you even helping him?”

“Are you kidding?” Remus ran a hand through Virgil’s hair as he breathed into emo's ear. “Dr. Doom is the most interesting thing to happen around here in years. Of course, I wanted in on that action."

Virgil let out a breathy whine, relenting to Remus' grip. “Just—Fine. Where’s Pat?”

“Our dear, pun-loving father figure is in a place of my own creation, deep in the outer regions of the imagination. He's wandering the forests of guilt.” Logan whispered with a sense of finality. “Now, if he was capable of growing a spine and confronting his own feelings, I might be worried he would simply walk free, but I think we both know he'll be walking in circles trying to help the lost souls in the trees forever.”

Virgil sucked in a breath, closing his eyes as Logan stepped toward him. “Where are you sending me?”

“Oh, Virgie.” Remus purred. “What makes you think you get to leave?”

“What?” Virgil blinked, looking up at Logan. “Y-you got rid of the others.”

“They've served their purpose, Virgil.” Logan smiled, feigning innocence as he ran his fingers along Virgil’s jaw. “You still have so much to give.”

“No.” Virgil muttered, staring at him incredulously. “I won't help you.”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I'm not giving you a choice.” Logan whispered, gripping his chin as he forced Virgil’s chin up. “In fact, you’ll only become more useful the harder you choose to fight me, so go ahead and resist with all your might. You’re nothing if not persistent, Virgil.”

“Why me?” Virgil’s shoulders slumped. “What could I possibly do for you?”

“Without Roman's dreams or Patton’s misguided attempts at morality, Thomas will need another reason to stay motivated.” Logan whispered, gripping Virgil’s collar as electricity flickered on his hand. “So, I think we're going to get those neurons firing and stir up a little panic. What do you think?”

Virgil’s eyes widened as the electricity crept up his body, pulling a groan from his lips as his body lit up in a blue light. His knees collapsed as the light flickered and faded, barely held up by Remus' arm wrapped around his torso.

“You won’t get away with this.” Virgil moaned, feeling his vision start to fade. “We won't let you hurt Thomas.”

Remus' giggle in his ear made his heart drop. “You better focus on surviving first, edgy boy.”

Virgil shivered, feeling himself sinking in Remus' arms.

“Don't worry, Virgil.” Logan’s ice-cold voice drew his attention up to the bitterness in Logan’s eyes. “At least I haven’t threatened to prohibit you from breathing yet.”

“I didn’t mean it, L—"

“Too little, too late.” Logan interrupted as Virgil’s eyes fluttered closed. Letting out a long sigh, he turned his eyes up to Remus with a devilish smile. “Are you ready, Remus?”

“You better believe it, white and nerdy.” Remus grinned, flipping Virgil over his shoulder. “I'm ready to wreak a little havoc on Tommy boy's brain.”

“Good.” Logan smiled as he straightened up, adjusting his glasses. “Then, we move on to phase two. Your particular set of skills will be essential for our plan to succeed."

Remus grinned. “That's a lot of fancy words for you to say you’re excited to see me fuck things up, teach.”

“Indeed.” Logan’s devilish grin widened as he glanced around the abandoned meal, letting out a chuckle as he turned to follow Remus as he carried Virgil out of the room.

---

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts patton #ts virgil #ts roman #ts janus #ts logan #ts remus #dark side logan #choking in the dark #Chaos Reigns #one-shot #villain writes

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residentanchor-writes · 3 years

Text

Downside Ch. 2

Summary: Clyde tries his hand at ‘robbing’ a bank. << Chapter 1 Watch the animatic here. Check out the Downside au @robinsdownside! TW: Cursing, mental manipulation

Clyde was anxiously sitting in his trashy car in front of the bank. He wasn't too sure of the thing he was about to do. But he needed the money and he couldn’t crash at Remy’s place forever.

Checking his face in the rearview mirror again, he gladly noted that the makeup still hid his scales that seemed to like to appear more often on his face than anywhere else now. He also let his hair grow out quite a bit to hide them a little behind bangs that fell over the left side of his face. By now he nearly looked like an emo. Working with that style, he wore a gray scarf that hid the scales that had appeared on his neck as well.

Looking down on himself he wondered if his yellow shirt and black leather jacket were casual enough.

Yeah, probably. He was thinking too hard about this. Or not hard enough.

Breathing in through his nose and letting the air slowly out through slightly parted lips, he got out of his car. He could see his breath in the air in front of him. It has gotten pretty cold since he left his parents with the most valued things he had, including his pet snake, a few weeks ago.

With a faked confident walk as he squared his shoulders, he got closer to the glass door and stepped into the building.

He was extremely lucky, there were only three other people inside. Two women who worked there as the tellers and one man who was talking to the woman on the left, so Clyde went to the other teller on the right.

“Hello, sir. What can I help you with, today?” the brunette in the white blouse asked with a sweet smile.

Clyde put on as much charm as he could muster as he smiled back. “Hello there, I hope you're having a lovely day. I'm here to make a withdrawal.”

He was good at pretending to be a more likable person than he actually was. He always wanted to be an actor, but never went to any auditions for school plays because of his social status as one of the “cool kids” that smoked and drank alcohol behind the school. The entire thing was an act in his school days, but he was good at adapting to change.

“Very well, your name sir?”

“Oh, no.” He chuckled “I was under the impression that you just wanted to give it to me,” his smile widened a little.

The woman gave him an amused sound, taking it as a joke. Out of the corner of his eye, Clyde could see the other man leaving the bank. It was just him and the two tellers alone, now.

“Good one, sir, but this would be easier with a name,” The woman spoke with a chuckle. The other teller woman went into a back door and slipped away for the moment. Perfect.

“Well if you want to call me something, I think you could just go with Deceit,” He spoke with a calmness he wouldn’t have thought he could muster at this moment. He felt his hands shaking and start to sweat as he held down his nervousness.

The woman’s smile faltered a little. “Excuse me?”

Clyde looked back over her shoulder to make sure the other girl was really gone. Then, he looked back into the sweet face in front of him which got more confused by the second.

The perfect opportunity.

He looked in her deep blue eyes.

“You wanted to give me $50,000, right? That’s why I’m here.”

His left eye shimmered and glowed with a light yellow and he noticed the familiar sensation of an itch on his left forearm.

He still looked at the woman who stared back with a face he couldn’t quite put into place. It was nearly blank but still a little puzzled at his words.

That happened every time but he always felt the nervousness at that moment again and again. A million thoughts rushed into his head, like what if it didn’t work (again) or what if he phrased it wrong? Happens to the best, and this scenario was new to him.

This was the first time he did something really bad. Usually, he used his powers to get out of trouble for smaller things or to get free booze, but stealing $50,000 directly out of a bank, in bright daylight? That was insanity!

He had felt a weird sensation in his gut since he began ‘planning’ this. Honestly, this whole ‘rob a bank’ thing was an idea he and Remy had the night before while they were balls drunk in the basement of Rem’s parents. His parents that had no clue Clyde was even hiding there.

Rem was two years younger than him but was a pretty chill dude he had hung out with in school. He was the only one he could count on that wouldn’t snitch him out to anyone about his powers and where he was, because, well, he had powers too. Powers Remy’s parents weren’t very fond of, so they generally stayed away from the cellar.

The woman blinked as she awoke from a daze. The moment surely wasn’t longer than a second, but to Clyde, it felt like years.

The brunette locked eyes with him again and put her smile from the beginning back on.

“Of course, I remember now. It will only be a second, Mr. Deceit.”

--------

“Fuck! I did it!”

Clyde opened the basement door so fast he nearly broke it out of the old, rusty hinges. A very startled Remy, who looked like he had just been woken up, fought his way out of the blanket that had been lying on him.

He had been sleeping on his disgusting makeshift bed, which was made of just two stacked mattresses on top of the cold concrete ground. The basement looked like it should have been finished years ago but no one ever bothered to finish the job. At night, they took one of the mattresses off and slid it onto the floor next to the other so that Clyde didn’t have to sleep out on the bean bag. They had tried that the first night, but it resulted in a stiff back and a very grumpy Clyde in the morning.

Clyde-- er, Deceit moved a few steps forward, to click on the floor lamp that only had an old light bulb screwed on top and no lamp shade. The lightbulb was a normal, fluorescent bulb which somehow exclusively produced greenish light. Clyde had asked about that the second day he had stayed here but Remy too didn’t exactly know why either, not that he cared.

With the light, the messy room had become a little more visible. It was even dirtier than Clyde's old room had been, especially since he had moved in. They both didn’t really care enough to clean all the filthy clothes of the ground except when they ran out of fresh clothes, in which case Remy had to go upstairs with a decent sized pile that was unsuspicious to his parents since they didn’t have to know about Clyde’s existence in Remy’s room.

If they found out about the other kid with powers in their basement? That would mean massive trouble for both of them.

Remy’s guardians were already not on best terms with their son since he had intruded their dreams by accident on more than one occasion. They didn’t hate him but Remy had sometimes messed up their sleep so much that they were first confused what was happening, then they screamed at him to stop and at last, they started to get him out of the way.

He was ok with that. He was just in his basement room, enjoying his life without the worry that his parents would storm in.

But if they knew that he invited someone else to live at their house without their knowledge, they would be very mad. They would probably scream at him again and would call Clyde’s parents, even though he was actually old enough to live on his own, as a 19-year-old. Clyde just didn’t have the money to live on his own. He had been fired a few months ago from his job at the pet shop.

He had to leave his home weeks ago in order to hide his powers from his family as the scales became more and more obvious, so he came to the only one he knew that would at least understand.

It wasn’t much fun sleeping next to someone who had the ability to go into your dreams whenever both of them slept at the same time. Rem didn’t do it on purpose of course, the closer you sleep next to him the more likely it is that he just stumbles into your dream by accident. That's why he had to sleep in the basement, while his parents slept on the third floor. They simply wanted him as far away at night as possible.

What the two did all day now was lying around in the dirty cellar on the green bean bag and the mattresses and talked about everything and nothing. Somedays they played games on the old arcade machine Remy had or they had matches on his kicker, all while smoking pot or drinking beer Clyde brought back every time he went out.

But not this time. This time he brought something better. Money. And lots of it.

Remy tried focusing on the guy with the weird scales in front of him as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, “Wha-?”

Deceit ripped away the blanket and threw a full plastic bag him. It hit him in the chest, where you could read ‘Never SLEEP again’ on a gray shirt, and caused him to lay down again with the bag sitting on top of him.

“I said I did it! I actually did it, I stole the money!” Deceit stood proudly next to the ‘bed’, hands on his hips, with the broadest smile Remy had ever seen on the guy. It kinda creeped him out, to be honest.

Then the bank robber turned around into the direction of the old foosball table and lifted his arm triumphantly into the air and tilted his head back so he looked at the ceiling.

“Oh my god! I feel great! This was way better than drugs!” he screamed in euphoria.

Remy leaned up on his elbow and let the bag fall next to him on the bed.

“Flippin’ shut up, man! You're gonna wake the whole street shoutin’ like that.”

Deceit turned his head back to his friend, puzzled.

“It's 5 in the afternoon?”

“Oh really? I'm up early,” the sleepy head grinned.

Deceit made a face at him that could only have meant ‘you fu**king serious?’

Rem's eyes fell on the plastic bag next to him. With one hand he lifted a handle and looked inside. His eyes widened, only now had he realized what Deceit had actually done. He shot up straight on the mattress and put the bag on the ground so he could take a bundle of hundred dollar notes out. He ran a finger across the stop slowly as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

“Jesus Christ, you actually did it?!” he looked up shocked at the criminal who now faced him again. With the head movement, the green shade sunglasses that had apparently been lying on his purple dyed and messy hair the whole time he slept, fell onto his nose.

“Hell yeah, I did! And it was so easy too! Like stealing a lolly from a baby.”

The seventeen-year-old sitting on the mattresses gathered himself enough to get a little of his sass back.

“Cliché.” He looked back down to the pile of money. “Jeez, how much even is this?”

“50,000 bugs,” Dee’s eyes sparkled saying that.

“Holy shit. Holy shit, I can't believe it! I thought we were just joking around yesterday! We were drunk for fucks sake!”

Remy would have never thought that Clyde would actually do something this incredibly stupid. They just talked like idiots about how they could have anything they wanted if they used their powers more, not that he ever actually considered doing so.

“Come on, just imagine what we can do with that much money!” Deceit stepped closer to him, gesturing with his hands.

“With the stolen money.”

“No one knows that!”

“Babe, don't you think 50k will be missed? Where did you even get that from? The bank like we said?” he took his shades with his forefinger and thumb on the rim of the glasses and slid them down a bit so he could look into Deceit's eyes.

“Yeah and no, no one knows I took the money. I made sure the woman was the only one there and I just made her give it to me.”

“50k in cash. Someone will miss that! They’re going to notice that much missing! Did you think of the cameras?” Rem’s eyebrows furrowed as he put his shades back on properly.

“I do not like to repeat myself. She just handed it to me! It looks completely innocent on camera. And as far as she knows, that money belongs to me.”

Deceit got frustrated with his friend. Just the night before he also loved the idea and now he was lecturing him?!

“You can't keep the money here, babe. I'm not ok with that much stolen cash under my roof!”

“It will be gone soon anyway.” He tried again to reason. This was a good thing, why couldn’t he see it?

“You need to leave,” The voice sounded monotone.

Deceit’s shoulders fell. “What?”

“Clyde, sweetie, don’t get me wrong. I'm totally up for all kinds of stupid shit but that's a bit too far man and I really don't want to get in trouble because of you.”

“So, you're throwing me out?”

“You have enough money to rent a hotel room,” he said gesturing to the bag at his feet.

Deceit looked with disbelief into the green-tinted sunglasses that hid Remy’s emotions pretty well.

How could he just throw him out? He thought the other would be happy about the money. He would have even shared it with him for letting him stay here, but now…

He growled “Fine. I'll leave. I don't need you anymore anyway. I can do whatever I want without you. Just don't come crawling back to me when I'm ruling the city.”

“Sure thing rip-off Disney villain.”

“You've seen the last of me.”

With that Deceit took his luggage, bound the bag of money to it and lifted a small terrarium with Terrence in it under his arm and left the basement.

Remy let out a shaky breath into the stifling air of his room.

For a second there, he had been afraid that Clyde- no, Deceit would use his powers on him.

---- Chapter 3>>

#downside au #Sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #ts deceit #ts sleep #ts janus #non canon name deceit #superpower au #ts downside au #ts remy

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