#source: it came to me in a vision like a twisted prophet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unabashedrebel · 4 years

Text

Bad Ideas Come at Night

{Following: Reassurance}

The best thing you can do, the only thing you can do, is find the source of corruption and destroy it. The words he spoke to his daughter earlier in the morning hung heavily on his mind.

Night had descended upon the Vale. War torn and ravaged from the endless assault of the Black Empire. Even in the hours reserved for sleep and unsavory deeds the song of steel clashing against steel echoed through the not-so-sleepy fields. Proving that even in the dead of night there was no solace to be had.

It was near impossible to find a quiet clearing, untouched by the K'thir, or the creatures they had corrupted, much like themselves, to become servants to a grandiose scheme. But Kirollis was no stranger to how it went. He had fought the same chaos many times, and many times prevailed against the encroaching darkness. N'zoth, perhaps the biggest and baddest of all the Old Ones combined, was no different.

Rather, it wasn't himself he worried for. Soriya was in danger, a fierce motivation for the over-protective father. An impossible situation in which, try as he might, she was unable to untangle from the current pandemic. He had to do something, anything, to ease the burden for her. He couldn’t stand to sit idly by, watching, as the nightmares and visions ate away until she was but a shell of the woman he had come to be so proud of.

Looking up toward the starry night sky, Kirollis muttered out with a certain fondness reserved for only one person, “I hope you’re watching. I’m sure you would have had a much simpler solution to all this, you know.” He spoke softly to the thought of his long passed wife.

Stupidity was something he was known for, whether professionally or recreationally, but every now and again he had an idea so boldly idiotic that even he questioned whether his sanity was intact. Often spurned by the idea of a loved one hurt, heroic action, or a chance to play at savior, as he often did, and that was exactly what brought him to the outcropping. Exactly what drove him to the brink of madness without even a whisper of malcontent from invasive voices or prophetic nightmare.

"You out there?" He called out in the empty field, his eyes calmly shut, letting the walls of mental wards and barriers drop with a concerted effort of will. An action he quickly regretted as the hairs at the back of his neck began to stand. "This is me calling. Your favorite pain in the ass."

It went against every fiber of his being, every instinct, every logical thought that he had. Calling out to the very thing that had sewn nothing but destruction, chaos, and dismay. The very thing that had almost killed him a few years ago, that threatened to destroy his city, that he fought tirelessly to defeat- while leaving the sanity of everyone else intact. Memories were thick in his mind like an overgrown forest, reminiscing about the past. All the horror of a few short years ago rapidly returning.

But his daughter was in trouble... and he needed answers. The single thought that cut against every other like a heated blade against butter.

"I know you're loving the state of the world right now. Must feel awfully empowering, huh? I'm a little put-off, I'm not going to lie, all this Black Empire jazz and you didn't even come to say hi?" He called out once more, hoping the Faceless would grace him with an answer.

The wind that brushed against his neck was cold, a chill clinging to it that was unnatural and eerie, like something long dead was standing near enough to breathe across his skin. There was no answer at first, as if whatever it was he called to took great effort to come around, to focus on where and when Kirollis was. But slowly the focus shifted, Their eyes turning to the war ravaged planet.

The rogue bit at the innards of his cheek as the familiar feeling of dread caressed the nape of his neck. His calls answered far quicker than anticipated… but then again, they had always come when he called.

"Not at all." He countered in that smooth and charismatic tone that had been perfected over the years. "If I've done my reading correctly, and I often do, there was even a hate club for good ol' Million Mile Stare."

Something Unseen came to sit beside him, more a feeling of a presence than an actual body of any kind. It was smoke, at best, an outline of what could have been a person but certainly was not in any way human.

<You have not written, you have not called. We had begun to believe you no longer wished to remain Our friend, Kirollis.> The voice mimic’d the rogues' own words from long ago.

Kirollis’ emerald gaze snapped open, drawn to the figure at his side as he found the spiritual medium successful. Unbothered by the ethereal presence, in spite of the shiver that ran up the length of his spine at the utterance of Friends. A common title the creature loved to call him. Even if they were anything but.

"Well, we didn't leave off on the best terms. You know, you tried to kill me, I killed your champion. It tends to put a rift in any relationship. But cheer up champ- I come offering an olive branch."

If They could smile, They would. <You believe Our Champions do not remain? We find this thought to be...entertaining to Us.> Which was spooky enough in of itself, but They went no further into explanation, content to sit near the rogue in silence.

At the mention of an olive branch, however, the form rippled and shifted - as if They were turning to look directly at him.

A low, deflated rumble emanated from his throat at the mere suggestion of a third round against the Faceless entity. It scared him, unlike most things did, but despite fear he remained stoic like a stone. Unwilling to give any ground, or weakness, that the creature would undoubtedly seize upon.

Sidestepping the irrelevant commentary and pleasantries Kirollis jumped right into the heart of the matter, struggling to admit his obvious weakness to an enemy, he persisted, "My daughter..." He cleared his throat before continuing, "One of yo--... Something is messing with her and I need to know who or what."

<Ah,> was Their response, the wind stirring around the curious exhale. Silence fell around them, the air itself seeming to pull closer, to tighten as if pressure was building. They remained quiet and unfocused as They searched the Many for a name.

"Just give me a name. I know you're well connected. Just give me a name and you'll have earned a favor from yours truly. Your favorite pain in the ass." He repeated the self-proclaimed title.

The air tightened to the point where it might be difficult to draw in a full breath, but before suffocation could occur, it released, the noises in the distance slowly bleeding back in.

<We desire all that you love to remain safe, Kirollis. Understand Us you may not, but We understand the need to protect One's own Child.> They paused before the form shifted and for a moment, it looked...well, human. Two arms, two legs, with glorious horns crowning the top of Their head.

The entire experience was unsettling, as he stood, next to an enemy by nature, asking for a favor. Standing still, with his eyes ahead, he dared not look at the Faceless entity beside him. He waited on baited breath in that lingering silence the entity had left him with. As the air became thin around them, and the worst of his thoughts began to race through his head. Finding nothing but sweet release as he gasped in a full breath.

Qi'vik, Kirollis quickly committed the name to memory as he tried his best to work through the rest of the cryptic statement. It endlessly infuriated him how a cypher was needed every time he spoke to a creature of the dark. But, even still, this was one of the most concise answers he had ever received. It was nothing short of disarming how quickly and easily the Faceless had granted his request. Uncharacteristic of their conniving nature.

He questioned it with a sharp look cast toward the shifting shadow. "That's it? No brands? No marks? No requests of fealty?... just like that?"

The form shifted to look at him once more, what was clearly a face without eyes or any other distinguishing marks flickering in the midst of that curious mist. No mouth, no nose, no ears - a mockery of what a face should be. <What point would it serve to have you swear Us featly when you will seek to break it as quickly as you can? What good are you to your daughter with Us in your heart of hearts? There is no place for Us there, Kirollis. She already occupies it, We can see.>

A heavy lump was swallowed by the Sin'dorei as the piercing speech chilled him to the bone. How aptly it understood what he tried to hide. What he never wanted it to know. What he went through great lengths to safeguard. The only thing that would shake him from his perch and back into the pits of insanity and stupidity: Love.

The air was chilly around the space They stood in, but it was not so cold that it hurt. Yet. <We do not like it when Others try and claim what is Ours, as this star is and as it will be. Perhaps not in your lifetime, perhaps not in your child's. Perhaps We do this out of love for you.> If They understood what love was, that very well could have been the twisted truth.

Kirollis stood frozen under the weight of such a statement. How this fascination of him continued to grow over the years. The last creature in the cosmos that he would ever want to catch the attention of was right beside him. Studying him. Trying to gain his favor, his understanding. But the reason why eluded him to maddening degrees all on its own.

Without further delay he pushed those thoughts free from the recesses of his mind. He had what he came for, the name of the offending creature. There was no time to dally on the why or the price that would inevitably come from the short exchange.

"I'm not as ignorant to think that there's no price... but I'm not going to linger long enough to let you change your mind." He muttered with a relenting voice. "That was all I needed, 'friend'."

The mist seemed to go static at that declaration of friendship, thin though it may be. There seemed to be a great deal left to unravel about the extraplanar entity, and yet no real time in which to do so. <We ask not, We want not. We desire only to see that which you love protected. If We can assist further, know that We await your call.> Without further ado, the mist disappeared, warmth returning to the air surrounding the rogue. Yet there was a final and gentle brush of coolness against his cheek before They faded back to wherever They'd come from.

"Sure..." The elf lied as the unsettling weight pressing against his stomach subsided as the mist receded away into nothingness.

{Written alongside @we-the-faceless !}

#story #canon #vale of eternal nightmare #kirollis #wra

24 notes · View notes

girlactionfigure · 4 years

Photo

Superman: From Cleveland to Krypton

The Man of Steel's Jewish roots

Coming over from the old country, changing his name like that. Clark Kent, only a Jew would pick a name like that for himself. —The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, by Michael Chabon

Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, the two ordinary young men who created an extraordinary hero, lived 12 blocks apart from each other in Cleveland. The pair collaborated on stories for their high school newspaper and shared a passion for science fiction and pulp comics. It was the 1930s, and comic book publishing was in its infancy. Like many young Jews with artistic aspirations, Siegel and Shuster yearned to break into this fledgling industry. Comic book publishers actively hired Jews, who were largely excluded from more “legitimate” illustration work.

The 1930s were also, arguably, the most anti-Semitic period in American history. Nazi sympathizer Fritz Kuhn of the German-American Bund led legions of rabid followers on marches through many cities, including Siegel and Shuster’s hometown. Radio superstar Father Charles E. Coughlin of the pro-fascist Christian Front was one of the nation’s most powerful men. And Ivy League colleges kept the number of Jewish students to a minimum, while country clubs and even entire neighborhoods barred Jews altogether.

So Siegel and Shuster began submitting treatments under the pseudonym Bernard J. Kenton, just to be on the safe side. Throughout the Great Depression, the two boys scraped together every penny they could just to cover postage. Shuster sketched on cheap brown wrapping paper.

From these humble beginnings, Shuster and Siegel carved out a character that embodied their adolescent frustrations, served as a mouthpiece of the oppressed, and became an American icon. Many years later, Jerry Siegel recalled the birth of Superman:

The story would begin with you as a child on far-off planet Krypton. Like the others of that world, you had super-powers. The child’s scientist-father was mocked and denounced by the Science Council. They did not believe his claim that Krypton would soon explode from internal stresses. Convinced that his prediction was valid, the boy’s father had been constructing a model rocket ship. As the planet began to perish, the baby’s parents knew its end was close. There was not space enough for three people in the small model craft. They put the baby into it. The mother chose to remain on the doomed planet with the man she loved, and die with him. Tearfully, hoping that their baby boy would survive, they launched the craft toward the planet Earth. Shortly, Krypton exploded and its millions of inhabitants were destroyed.

The idea of for this new superhero came to them in 1934. It would take another four years before Superman would be transformed from a feverish dream to a full-fledged hero. In 1938, Detective Comics, Inc., was looking for a character to launch its new magazine, Action Comics. They paid young Siegel and Shuster $130 for the first 13 pages of Superman. Action Comics #1 came out in June of that year. The issue sold out, and a star was drawn.

In a brilliant stroke, Shuster and Siegel gave their superhuman hero a secret identity, that of an all-too human reporter, the meekly mannered Clark Kent. Practically speaking, this notion of “double identity” allowed for almost endless storyline twists and thematic depth. On another level, it added considerably to the “mythology” that would eventually accrue around this fictional crime fighter. Clark’s shyness undermines his courtship of his co-worker, the gutsy Lois Lane. Siegel and Shuster later admitted that the shy Clark struggling for a date reflected their own social challenges.

Superman #1 was published in the summer of 1939. Across the Atlantic, in Germany, Adolph Hitler was exploiting his nation’s economic and social ills by scapegoating Jews. Living in a country that had stripped them of their citizenship yet perversely obstructed their exit, German Jews resorted to desperate measures. Just as the baby Superman was sent away from Krypton to avoid the mass destruction of his people, many Jewish children were sent on the Kindertransports to seek safety with families in England.

After the attacks on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, America entered World War II, and so did Superman. In Siegel and Shuster’s comic, Clark Kent tries to enlist in the Armed Forces, but he fails the routine medical examination,. Clark accidentally uses his X-ray vision to read the next room’s eye chart. Distraught, he muses, “I’ve got the most perfect body the world has ever known, and through a sad trick of fate, the army turns me down as hopeless!” This feeling of desperation and despondency was felt across the country. As news of the Nazis’ murderous Holocaust plan emerged, American Jews felt utterly powerless to help their European brethren.

Word of Superman and his ethnic undertones did not escape the enemy’s notice in real life. Josef Goebbels, the Nazi minister of propaganda, denounced Superman as a Jew. In April 1940, Das Schwarze Korps, the weekly newspaper of the Nazi S.S., attacked the comic and its Jewish writers:

Jerry Siegel, an intellectually and physically circumcised chap who has his headquarters in New York. . . The inventive Israelite named this pleasant guy with an overdeveloped body and underdeveloped mind “Superman..

Here were Nazis wringing their hands over a cartoon character cooked up by a couple of boys across the sea. Yet this ideologically driven rant actually touched on something vital–the importance of Shuster and Siegel’s Jewish heritage.

Superman #1 begins with a brief synopsis of the hero’s escape from Krypton, which draws heavily on Jewish sources. Superman’s journey closely reflects the story of Moses. Like the people of Krypton who faced total annihilation, the Israelites of biblical Egypt faced the murder of their male offspring. To ensure her son’s survival, Jochebed places Moses in a reed basket and sets him afloat on the Nile. Her desperate decision is clearly echoed by Superman’s father, Jor-El, who launches the little rocket ship containing his son into outer space.

Moses and Superman are eventually discovered and raised in foreign cultures. Baby Moses is found by Batya, the daughter of Pharaoh, and raised in the royal palace. Superman is found by Jonathan and Martha Kent in a Midwestern cornfield and given the name Clark. From the onset, both Batya and the Kents realize that these foundling boys are extraordinary. Superman leads a double life as the stuttering, spectacle-wearing reporter whose true identity no one suspects. In the same way, for his own safety, Moses kept his Israelite roots hidden for a time.

Superman’s original name on Krypton also reveals biblical underpinnings. Superman is named Kal-El and his father Jor-El. The suffix “El” is one of the ancient names for God, used throughout the Bible. It is also found in the names of great prophets like Samuel and Daniel and angels such as Michael and Gabriel. We may never know whether Siegel and Shuster were aware of these precise Hebrew translations; nevertheless, the name could not be more apt.

While the invincible Superman may have stood the test of time, the lives of his creators were not as triumphant. From the beginning, Siegel and Shuster were so busy they had to hire assistants, but while DC Comics was making millions, Superman’s creators weren’t sharing the wealth. The two men were paid a salary, but their initial payment back in 1938 had included all rights. They had sold their percentage of a goldmine for $130 and were eventually fired from their own creation.

Lawsuits followed. None were successful. Siegel and Shuster tried and failed to create new characters. Their names were familiar only to comic book aficionados. Then, rumors began to circulate in the early 1970s that a big budget Superman movie was in the works. DC Comics received $3 million for the rights to film Superman. Once again, Siegel and Shuster were left out of the equation.

This time, the two men tried a new approach. They bypassed their lawyers and went straight to the media. Newspapers across the world picked up the story of Siegel and Shuster, the poor boys who’d created an American icon, made DC Comics rich — and were now penniless and forgotten. That Shuster was now going blind added to the story’s poignancy.

Legally, DC Comics owed Siegel and Shuster nothing, but bad publicity was costing the company dearly. A financial settlement was reached, and the names “Siegel and Shuster” appeared in Superman comics once more. In 2006, Superman returned to the big screen, and not a moment too soon–in today’s world, we need a hero more than ever.

15 notes · View notes

ts-virgil-angst · 5 years

Note

17 with Patton? Oh my gosh.

TW: trauma, yelling, deceit (he’s not in it much but he’s still there), mutilation (mostly talk), anything else just shoot me an ask

Genre: idk man there’s just a lot happening here.

Word Count: 3270

Summary/Prompts: “AmI The Villain?”

Notes: It’s a long one lads so buckle up. This one will also have no sequel. Probably. It kind depends on if I can think of anything else. Also Logan’s OOC because I’m rusty.

—–

Patton wasn’t sure there were many positive things Master Roman had said about him. There was, of course, the odd day when he was feeling lenient with his affection. And Roman was always giving him praise. But as for honest to goodness, heartfelt positive compliments? Those were few and far in between.

However! Patton was pretty sure Master Roman always meant it when he called him a hard worker. That was something Patton had always been and prided himself in. He was always there when it mattered most. In fact, that was just what he had been saying before giving him his mission for the day.

“Go to the other side of the wall,” Master Roman was saying, the rooftop breeze swaying his hair. Somehow, he never managed to look anything but regal. “Bring me any intelligence you can gather in a day. Do not disappoint me.”

“As you wish, Master.” Patton bowed deeply before turning on heel, the wings on his shoes springing out he leapt off the building, soaring through the air.

It always amazed him, every time he did it, just how beautiful the city was. Almost entirely made of large, grand buildings and statues. Gold and silver and platinum lined each structure gracefully and seemed to stretch on for forever. Patton would never get tired of looking at the city from above. There was something about a bird’s eye view that made it so much more to him. Seeing everything that he had helped build was awe inspiring every day.

Master Roman had a vision for the world to be beautiful. He was very set in his way and standards for what he considered beauty. Patton was just lucky enough to fit the bill.

Patton sighed, his good mood waning as he approached the Wall. Built nearly as tall as Master Roman’s Command Tower, the High Wall kept out all of the Unwanted. The Unwanted were, well, unwanted. They were unwanted by unwanted by society, unwanted by themselves, and most importantly, unwanted by Master Roman.

He braced himself as he set down on the Wall, taking in a deep breath of filtered air before slowly letting it out. The other side of the Wall was…sub-par to say the least. Everything was low and flat to the group. Houses, unlike in the Command, were squat little shacks that looks like they’d be knocked over with gentle breeze. The buildings here barely hit two-stories, and everything was drab and grey. Patton could hardly bare the barren and dying fields the Unwanted called home, but if Master Roman wishes it, then he would endure it. Besides, it wasn’t all bad.

With one final breath, he stepped over the edge, sliding down the smooth white structure before letting the wings of his shoes come out as neared the bottom. Dust was kicked up as he landed, and Patton let out a meek cough. No matter how many times he had to come out here, he was never used to the low quality of air.

As always, like a prophet, Virgil was standing there, ready to greet him. Even when Patton had first started to come out here for Master Roman, Virgil had been there at the Wall, greeting him and sequestering him away to a quiet place. Even though Patton had never met him and couldn’t be sure of his trustworthiness, he was sure that he could take care of himself. As gentle as he tried to be, he was more than capable of being tough.

“Welcome back,” Virgil signed, a small smirk on his face. As always Patton worked not to stare at the scars on his neck. Near as he could figure, something had attacked Virgil when he was younger causing him to become mute. That was one of the things that they silently agreed on: no personal questions. “Have a nice trip down?”

“You leave my shoes alone.” For whatever reason, Virgil liked to rag on his flying shoes. It wasn’t his fault he could fly on his own; only a few people were born with magick in their blood and sadly he wasn’t one of them.

Together they moved out of the open field surrounding the houses close the wall, moving toward the main street, then moving quickly into the closest house. He knew as well as anyone it was better he not be seen by most of the residents. It was best if he didn’t have to fight them—especially so early into his trip here. Even if he were to change out of his nice clothes or hide his clean hair, there was still something inherent about him that would let anyone know he was from the Command.

“So, how have you and the hubby been?”

“Logan?” He smiled again, shutting the curtains and plopping down at the kitchen table, kicking out a chair for him. “He’s fine. Still not your biggest fan.”

“But are you even a fan?”

Patton knew that he could, he would laugh. “Not particularly.”

“But you put up with me anyway,” Patton sang, furiously batting his eyes. Virgil rolled his, leaning back in his chair. “So, what’s new here?”

“You always ask the same question and I give you the same answer: nothing. It’s the same shitty hovel as always.”

“And you always know that that’s not at all what I mean.”

“Actually, there was something I wanted to tell you.” He stopped for a second, looking out the window. There was a shuffling sound coming from the door. “Watch out for Logan—” The door slammed open and Logan was silhouetted by the for just a moment. “—he’s a little pissy with you.” And in that moment, Logan rushed from the door, faster than Patton thought he could possibly move, and punched him out of his chair.

The impact sent him flying across the room and crashing into wall, shaking the entire house. Logan was there, above him, his glasses askew from the punch, gripping his shirt and pulling him up. “You have some nerve showing your face here.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Logan,” Patton kept his voice calm and level as he spoke. “Please let go of my shirt.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell that asshole you call a leader is doing to us.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Let go of my shirt.” In his peripherals, Patton could see Virgil get up from the table and close the door, the natural light falling away.

After a moment, Logan let go him, stomping away to the other side of the small house. “Your stupid, ignorant, self-involved, narcissistic sociopathic dipshit of a leader has started to send his armies here. It’s so subtle that most people wouldn’t notice, but I’m sure you’d recognize the little government peons if you saw them, wouldn’t you?”

With a flick of his hand, colorful smoke began to tumble out from his palm forming images—images of people he recognized. There was Dee, the creepy man in charge of tactics. There was Joan, Roman’s main source of entertainment, though Patton wasn’t quite sure what they did in terms of the army. And, of course, there were dozen move faces he recognized from the militia even if he couldn’t put names to faces. Weirder still, they weren’t in uniform. They were disguised in baggy, grey-brown clothing, dirt smeared and a little ragged.

“I—I don’t—”

Logan clenched his fist, the smoke disappearing with it. “You don’t what? Understand? Then let me spell it out clearly for you: Roman is planning on trying to wipe us out. Again.”

“I—I—”

Virgil clapped drawing both of their attention. Without Patton even noticing, he’d moved from the door to the table again, sitting with his legs swinging. “Patton, you’ve never personally done anything to hurt us, but we won’t hesitate to fight you if need be. I know you worship the ground Roman walks on but understand that the reason I can’t speak is directly because of him.”

“What do you mean?” Patton was reeling. There was so much to take in from just that one image. This shouldn’t have been happening. There was no reason for Master Roman to do something like this.

Logan started pacing, hands opening and closing into fists as he walked. “When Virgil was younger—when we were children—Roman himself came down from his tower to slaughter us himself. Virgil was lucky, I supposed. He was only mutilated.”

“No, I-I don’t believe you.” His voice was shaking as he looked up at Logan. He was a lot of things, but for as long as Patton had known Logan, he’d never been a liar and was always offended when called one. And even now, the anger in his voice…there was no way he was faking it.

“Take off those rose colors glasses and see the world for what it is, you privileged jackass.”

Virgil hopped off the table, placing a gentle hand on Logan’s shoulder. He turned toward Patton, looking a little sad. “It’d be best if you left. We can’t risk a bigger fight breaking out here, so close to the Wall.”

Patton didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and was flying the second he got out of the door. Normally he walked away from Virgil and Logan’s place and closer to the wall before taking off, but this time—this time he needed to go. He needed to get as far away as possible from them and this place.

Even though he knew that Virgil and Logan weren’t fond of Master Roman, it was never explicitly stated. Never said in their many friendly debates about the Wall and Command because they knew Patton loved his home and his leader. He knew because no one outside the Wall liked Master Roman. Sure, he wasn’t the kindest to the Unwanted, but that wasn’t really his fault. The Unwanted were just unlikable by nature. Except for Virgil and sometimes Logan. But there were always excepts to the rules.

As he passed through the barrier, he landed hard on the wall, nearly twisting his ankle. He couldn’t be flying distracted, even if there was so much to think about just from that short visit. Virgil must have been mistaken though. There was no way Master Roman was so cruel as to mutilate a kid. There was just no way. It wasn’t in him.

Patton thought back to the sad look Virgil had given him as he Patton what had happened and when he rushed out of their home. The resigned look of someone who had dealt with pain and anger and was used to it.

Maybe… Maybe there was some truth to his story.

No, no! That couldn’t be. He owed everything to Master Roman. For his wonderful life and his good job and a home that didn’t lean or leak in bad weather. He had saved him from being an Unwanted. Saved him from that dreadful life. There was no way he could be a murderer let alone a child mutilater.

With two quick steps he launched himself from the wall, flying over the city once more. He couldn’t go back to quickly or else he’d have to face Master Roman’s anger, but he could hover around the city for a bit before returning.

As he flew over the city, admiring the want the gold glittered and the silver shined, he noticed something odd. People were generally everywhere this time of day. It was prime shopping time, the sun was in just the right position to provide enough shade to relax in outside, and there were always people outside practicing their magick. But right now, there was no one enjoying the shops or parks. There were just rows and rows of people on the main street in dirty clothes moving slowly.

He dropped to some of the lower building, peaking over the edge as quietly as possible without getting caught. Squinting, he looked over their face and then, with a gasp, pulled his head back over the edge. They were soldiers dressed as the ones he’d seen outside the Wall had been, imitating the clothes of the Unwanted.

No, no, no. This could have been. The Unwanted were a nuisance at best, taking up space that could be used for agriculture. But to send an army in disguise out…

This was Dee’s doing, he thought to himself. There was no way Master Roman would approve of such an underhanded tactic. It had to be him.

With his ankle still soar, ended up tripping over the edge, careening toward the group, but righted himself in time to land gently in front of Dee. He was heading the line toward the northern gate, sitting in a tent and going over some papers.

“A pleasure to see you as always,” Dee said before Patton could get a word out. “While I love your never-ending optimism and cheerful little notes, but I don’t have time.”

“What is this, exactly?”

Dee glanced up at Patton, smirking at his slightly haggard appearance. “Been crying recently? What over this time? Saw puppies that were too cute?”

Patton quickly wiped off his face. He hadn’t even realized he’d started crying. “No. Just… Just tell me what this is? If you did this without Master’s permission—”

Dee laughed; his head tilted back. “Without his permission? My dear Patton, I may not be as close to him as you are, but I am all about self-preservation.” At Patton’s blank look, he sat up in his chair, perusing the papers again. “No, Patton. He knows very well what I’m doing because he ordered me to do so. Of course, there’s no reason you shouldn’t know. Leo! Tell the next group to leave.”

“Why? What have the Unwanted done now?”

“What have they done? Nothing. They exist still, I guess. What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.” Patton turned on heel to leave, the new information whirling around in his head. It just didn’t make sense. For the longest time Master Roman had expressed no interest in it. He said that there was no way to use the people, so he couldn’t truly be bothered by them. That was what he had said whenever Patton came back from his visits. He only sent him over there to make sure there was no plans of breaking down the Wall. And for as long as he had been going, there had been none. Virgil wouldn’t have given him an explicit warning, but he would have done something to let Patton know—and he never had. They weren’t content to live the way they did, there was just nothing they could really do to change it.

Patton took to the skies again, suddenly conflicted about which way to go. For the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to the Tower. For his entire life, he had never really questioned what Master Roman asked him to do and everything he did always felt so harmless. Check on the Unwanted. Give the army this tech. Take these shoes and keep an eye on the citizens. It never felt like what he knew it was now: espionage.

As much as it pained him, he knew what he needed to do. He flew back across the border, sneaking as quietly as he could manage. He couldn’t risk Dee seeing him on the Command side or the soldiers on the Unwanted side.

Quietly, he worked his way through the field, picking out Virgil and Logan’s house out of habit. He opened the front door closing it quickly behind him, only to feel a hand around his throat. His eyes barely had time to adjust to the change in lighting, but he knew it was Logan.

“You have some nerve showing your face here.”

“I—” Patton gasped, looking around the room, surprised to see more than Virgil. A few people he recognized from his fly-bys over the place and some he’d never seen before. “I know. I c-came to warn you.”

“About the army? Because we know.”

“N-No. There’s—” He tried to gasp again, but his vision was going dark, black blossoms blooming in his eyes.

He heard a clap and then suddenly Logan’s grip got tighter, then was gone. He crumpled to the ground, wheezing. Virgil appeared in front of him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Why did you come here?”

“There’s—” Patton let out a deep sigh. “There’s hundreds of them. Dee is letting them in, in small groups. Magick users, regular soldiers, and both.” At that he heard a few gasps around the room. “Dee is a highly trained tactician and he’s leading them. I’m sure he gave them instructions before sending them over, but I don’t know what it is.”

Virgil lifted Patton’s head up, gazing at his neck before sighing. “Why are you telling us this? You know that we won’t sit by while they attack.”

“I know. I’m—I don’t know. I guess I was hoping that warning you would help somehow?”

“Do you think this can make up for what you’ve done to help them?” Logan’s voice was full of venom as he spoke.

Patton looked up at Logan before casting his eyes down again. “No, I don’t. But I want to help. I want to be able to make up for my mistakes. I didn’t know that he was planning this.”

“Didn’t know or didn’t want to know?” Another person spoke up from the back. Patton vaguely recognized him as one of the few Unwanted who looked clean. His name-tag read Emile Picani.

“I didn’t want to.” Patton shifted folding his legs underneath making sure to keep his hands visible. “I never stopped to question all of the things I did. Or all of the terrible things I’d seen. I brushed them off, forcing myself to think that they were necessary. But they weren’t. Your trauma wasn’t necessary, Virgil. The constant policing of the people isn’t necessary, here and the Command. The aggression and wanton abuse everyone here feels and experiences everyday isn’t necessary. I never stopped to ask am I the villain because I was never made to feel that way.”

There was silence as he glanced around but Virgil was smiling. He was the only one, in fact, as he stood and held out his hand. Slowly, Patton took it, allowing himself to be hoisted from the ground.

Virgil didn’t let go as he signed, “Do you swear on your life you will help our cause? To help us in our mission and to do everything in your power, no matter the consequences?”

Patton couldn’t be sure if he would. Even though his view of Master Roman had changed, there was still a part of him that wanted desperately for what he learned to be a lie. He shook himself mentally. He had to do this—if only to make up for all the things that he had let happen.

“I swear.” As the words passed through his lips, he felt something burning on his on his skin, like words being cut deep with a knife. When Virgil pulled his hand away, a feather in beautiful rainbow colors was iridescently shining on his arm. It was beautiful.

In his head, a voice he’d never heard before said, “Welcome to the resistance, Patton.” Virgil was smirking, but unlike every time before, he could tell there was true joy and playfulness behind it—and it was then he knew the voice belonged to Virgil. “Welcome to the resistance.”

—–

@wikkedwolff @mira-jadeamethyst @genderqueerwriter @raisin-oatmeal-cookie @finiteframe3 @frustratedwaffle @queerweare @zoeyheys @analogically-prinxiety @polysandershell @prinxietys @jadorefreedom @inalandofmythandtimeofmagic @thebaagelboy @vampyrsarah @deafinitelyfangirling @agentflash18 @gaysaxaphone @winds-and-stardust @the-laarmy @cisnesincorbata @fugitive-angel @netzoflix @paragonofsophistication @angsty-anxxiety @kentato-kenreblog @hells-angel-hevens-demon @antisocialili @saltequeen @theanxofthethomas @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @miniritzcrackers @ninjas-forever @citygjrl @maizieandbirds @thesmallestalien @stjernemaskin @deathshadowrules @nessie-drawgon @misty2-0 @kenanscloud @tea–ghost @massivehoagiepastahumanoid @aznasalon @lilreadergurl @fury-of-rome @spooky-ash-because-its-halloween @cosplayingdisn3rd @lunareclipse-13 @probablysomeproblems @choppedfestdelusion @julia-loves-cupcakes @aropicanipie @seukizuo

#virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #sanders sides #thomas sanders #ts sides #my shitty fic #big sorry about this being astronomically late #but like #i was Big Sad for a long time #anyway #enjoy

28 notes · View notes

my-analogical-heart · 5 years

Text

Am I The Villain? (Patton)

TW: trauma, yelling, deceit (he’s not in it much but he’s still there), mutilation (mostly talk), anything else just shoot me an ask

Genre: idk man there’s just a lot happening here.

Word Count: 3270

Summary/Prompts: “Am I The Villain?”

Notes: It’s a long one lads so buckle up. This one will also have no sequel. Probably. It kind depends on if I can think of anything else. Also Logan’s OOC because I’m rusty.

---