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taxicabinmemphis · 4 years

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Prince Charming - Chapter 5

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six

Word count - 3,332 Pairing - Intrulogical, Prinxiety, Moceit (I’m deleting the pre bc I have decided to have a chapter with them getting together) Warnings - some characters are a lil insensitive in spots but I wouldn’t call them unsympathetic, creativitwins angst, swearing, food mention, self-deprecation bc they’re all wrecks, pining, and then there’s Remus-typical behavior (body horror mentions, sexual innuendo/mentions of sexual stuff, and other stuff heh), if there’s anything else that should be tagged or put in the warnings, tell me!

After a hearty and delicious meal of spaghetti and meatballs with a side of broccoli, the sides had all retired to get ready for bed. The adventure had gone terribly late, so dinner was later than they’d ever had it.

Logan stopped when he reached the door to his room. Yes, he knew that the next logical course of action would be to enter his room and get ready for bed, perhaps read a book as his stomach digested dinner, but he couldn’t help but remember how quiet Remus had been at dinner. He was never quiet.

His mind flashed back to what Roman said to Remus when they left the Imagination, and Logan clenched his left hand into a fist. Roman, while always striving to do what he saw to be the correct course of action, could also be awfully insensitive. Especially when he didn’t even know he was doing it.

Logan promptly turned on his heels and walked towards Remus’ room.

He ended up meeting the side in the hallway outside his room. Remus was walking alarmingly slow and seemed to be contemplating something.

“Remus,” Logan called, a good fifteen feet behind him.

The creative side jumped in surprise. He turned to face Logan, eyes widened. “Oh, uh, Logan! What brings you to the dark and hellish end of the hall?”

Logan fiddled with his tie nervously. “I came to ask you about something, Remus.”

Silence followed Logan’s statement, prompting Remus to speak. “Well? Fire away, my sexy robot!”

A pink dusted Logan’s cheeks at the nickname. “Yes. Umm...are you okay, Remus?”

Remus blinked. “Of course I am, Nerdy Wolverine!”

Logan frowned. “I believe that’s a falsehood, Remus.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Really? What can I do to convince ya? Rip my heart out and dissect it?”

Logan shook his head, adjusting his glasses. “No, none of that. Just...I remember what Roman said back when we exited the Imagination. It wasn’t kind, but he also had no cruel intentions. However, I could see that it...affected you. Are you okay? Do you require someone to...talk to?” Logan hoped he was doing this right.

Remus sighed and threw his hands in the air in resignation. “I might be okay. Does it matter?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Remus. It does. You are a part of Thomas’ mind and it is important that you are functioning properly.”

“Functioning…” Remus gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Look, Logan. Ultimately, I am fine. I can intrude on everyone’s well-being just as I could three hours ago. You can go to bed, you don’t need to worry.” He paused. “Why do you care, anyway?”

Logan frowned. “You are a side, essential to Thomas creating and acting like himself.”

“You don’t know that,” Remus disagreed, shaking his head.

Logan closed half of the distance between them, concern written all over his features. “Of course I know that. I can logically ascertain what exactly your worth is as a side, especially considering I spend a significant amount of time with you.”

“Maybe all that time you spent analyzing my contributions in preparation to shoot them down has clouded your judgement, Logan,” Remus replied, spitting out Logan’s name like it repulsed him—when in reality, it did nothing of the sort.

Was that really how Remus thought of Logan? Someone who only listens so he can later tell someone else why everything he said was wrong? Logan tried to be kind like he did with everyone else, and many of Remus’ ideas interested him. He gave him honest opinions, criticisms, and scientific observations on anything Remus pitched him. But did Remus only see him as an instrument of the intrusive side’s demise?

“Remus…”

“No, Logan, please,” Remus interrupted. “Don’t pretend to care.”

“When did I ever say anything about pretending?!” Logan exclaimed abruptly, widening his eyes and putting a hand over his mouth when he noticed his volume. Logan did his best to erase the surprise from his face and compose himself, clearing his throat and making sure to lower the volume of his voice before continuing. “I apologize for the outburst, Remus. However, you seem to have perplexed me with everything you have said so far during this conversation. Presently, I believe the statement to question is your most recent one and I will state that I am unaware of any action I took that would give you a reason to think I was engaging in a deception at your expense.”

“Oh, Logan, you know. Just drop it and go to sleep,” Remus said, turning around and waving his hand in dismissal.

“No, Remus, I’m afraid I don’t know,” Logan said honestly. “That troubles me. Could you elaborate, please?”

Remus turned around slowly. “Maybe you think you don’t know, so I’ll enlighten you.” He took a deep breath. “You’ve been assigned to listen to me. You have to listen to my crazy bullshit whenever I think it up. In return, I listen to your criticisms, opinions, scientific analyses, notes, whatever. Even when you go insanely far in depth into a topic I might’ve brought up with one of my...contributions, as you call them. It’s a trade, a deal. You have to listen to me and then I listen to you because it’s the least I can do. Neither of us would’ve chosen it on our own, we both hate it, and you know you have better things to do. Don’t pretend to care just because some extra time together allows you to know more about me than you should.”

Logan processed what Remus said, staying unmoving only with the exception of blinking. This is what Remus thought of their arrangement? That he hated it, that he thought Logan hated it, that he forgot Logan was the one to suggest the arrangement in the first place? Janus’ words at the end of their sword fight rang through his head. Logan had been scared that Remus, the one side who listened to him, only did so out of courtesy. And he did. Logan’s fear was a reality.

“You forget that I suggested this...arrangement, as you call it. I was the one who pitched it to Thomas. I chose to do this, and do I have anything better to do? That’s subjective, so I don’t know. I am sorry this arrangement you hate so much has ended up being a prison rather than a way to save Thomas distress while not repressing you at the same time, so if there’s anything I can do to make the experience more pleasurable, I am open to hearing it. However, you are also mistaken that I hate it. I do not, I am incapable of such emotions. Though--”

“No you’re not,” Remus said, voice having a shocked tone caused by Logan’s previous statements and admissions.

“Sorry, what?”

“You’re not ‘incapable of such emotions’, you’re not some heartless robot without a soul. You have feelings, Logan, and I’ve seen them,” Remus elaborated, shock slowly dissolving from his tone.

“That’s ridiculous, you even called me a robot-”

Remus shook his head. “No. I’ve seen you interested by anything remotely scientific I bring up, I’ve seen you as burnt as black toast after I’ve talked to you for a particularly long time, I’ve seen you immediately after a conversation with the others when you have a desperate need to be listened to because they refused to, I’ve seen you embarrassed, I’ve seen you flustered—yes, I caught you burying your face in your hands today—and you just said you care about me. Even though that likely isn’t true, you have demonstrated care for Patton, Roman, and Virgil as well. Even just one of those examples is enough to prove you have feelings.”

Logan was silent for a few seconds, his weight shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at Remus himself. Accepting that he couldn’t argue with most of Remus’ statements without communicating a falsehood, he decided to argue over the only one he could. “I do indeed care about you. It’s not just Patton, Roman, and Virgil. How could it be, considering only you listen?”

“I…” Remus tried to think of a good response. “I bother you. I wear you out. I give you all these terrible things to go through, forcing you to pick them apart like a medical examiner does with a rotting corpse, despite how disgusting and terrible they may be. I occupy way more of your time than I should, and I guess I’m sorry for that, so how could you care? I wouldn’t.”

Logan didn’t quite know how to respond. He wasn’t aware Remus thought so lowly of himself. He contemplated his reply.

“See? It’s not that hard to-”

Logan raised his hand as a demand for silence. Remus shut his mouth, only complying out of surprise. He waited as Logan carefully pondered what he would say next.

“Falsehood,” Logan said gently, starting his response. “None of those things are true. You shouldn’t be suspecting such things either, considering you have no way to know your effects on me. I want to say I wish you hadn’t said that, but I couldn’t do so with honesty, since my real wish is for you to never have thought—much less, believed—those falsehoods in the first place. However, I am considering your previous behavior and would postulate you do not believe me as I have not done anything to prove your statements are falsehoods. Would I be correct in saying this, Remus?”

Remus took a moment to respond, still processing Logan’s response. “I..uhh...yeah.”

Logan nodded. “First, you do not bother me. To bother someone is to trouble or annoy someone by interrupting or causing inconvenience. Considering that I volunteered to be in your company—which immediately debunks anything related to interruptions—and that my time with you makes you cause less inconvenience, you neither cause interruptions nor inconvenience to befall me. You don’t trouble me either. I spend time with you so don’t trouble anyone. And, everyone annoys me. So even if you did, which I don’t find to always be true, you wouldn’t be alone in that regard. You don’t wear me out too often either. Working with you only requires my ears and my brainpower, neither of which take much out of me since you rarely say anything that troubles me or forces me to contemplate problems that drain me. When you do, the reasons are typically seeded in my scientific curiosity for something you might’ve brought up, which is something I can in no way blame on you. To be candid, your company can be a relief, especially after dealing with the others.”

“That makes less sense than glow-in-the-dark lungs.”

“I’m not finished,” Logan stated, trying to be as kind as possible. “But if you would like me to restate what I just said-”

“No,” Remus shook his head. “I understand what you said...it’s just...how? How is that the truth?”

Logan’s face softened. “I am Logic, Remus. Many things that would normally affect a person or another side in a certain way will affect me in different ways or not at all. Your contributions don’t bother me as I am aware of their detachment from reality and get less disgusted at them than the others. And you listen to me, which is a far cry away from being a nuisance.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Remus said, shrugging.

Logan gave a small smile. It was hardly visible, but to Remus, it was as if Logan was grinning. Remus relished in the sight, hoping he could see it again soon and wishing it was something he could gaze at every day till the end of time. Logan never smiled, and Remus causing it made him all the happier.

“I am pleased to hear that you understand that I care for you,” Logan said, voice quiet and gentle. “Now, back to my original question. Are you okay?”

Remus turned his head to the side. “I was hoping you’d forget about the question.”

“Yes or no?” Logan pressed.

Remus took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “No.”

Logan nodded, taking a small and cautious step forward. “Do you require someone to talk to?”

Remus opened an eye and peered at Logan. “I don’t need anything, Pocket Protector.”

“Would you like someone to talk to?” Logan rephrased.

Remus shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to listen to me.”

“I already do.”

Remus gulped. “Alright. Yes, I suppose I would.”

Remus took a moment to gather his words, facing the floor but eyes flicking up to look at Logan every other second.

“Well, you were right,” he started. “About Roman, I mean. It was his comment. I know it’s kind of silly-”

“It’s nothing of the sort, he was out of line.”

“-But it still hurt. And yeah, he said none of us besides him were heroic and charming or whatever instead of just me, but still. It was directed towards me, and...he’s not wrong. I’m the resident villain. He’s the hero. I’ll never be heroic, or charming, or romantic while he can go and sweep Virgil off his feet. I guess his comment was just a wake-up call,” Remus continued. “I know he didn’t mean it to be mean and he’s just nowhere near being self-aware enough to take note of his insensitivity, but I still let it affect me. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

“It’s fine if his comment got to you, Remus,” Logan said, taking another small step forward. “Roman says things like that sometimes without knowing what their consequences could be, and so it likely did mean nothing, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be able to hurt you, or that you’re wrong for letting it. But you also have to acknowledge that he’s wrong, and not view it as a wake-up call of sorts.”

Remus frowned, making eye contact with Logan. “What do you mean? I’m the evil murdery green side who will pull your teeth out and string them on a necklace if you’re not careful. Of course he’s right.”

“I suppose it’s a matter of perspective. Anyone can be a villain in the eyes of someone else. However, any establishment that a certain person is a villain ‘factually’ would be incorrect as the concepts of good and bad are arguably meaningless and any action can be seen as wrong or right in the eyes of another human. There is no truth in opinions, only preference.”

“So what you’re saying is…”

“You may be a villain in Roman’s eyes, you can be a villain in your own eyes if you so choose, however, there is nothing that can or will establish you as a villain for everyone forever.”

“So to Roman, I’m a villain,” Remus said slowly, trying to understand.

“Maybe, he could have just been exaggerating,” Logan said quickly. “He also sees everything as very black-or-white, which I imagine contributes a great deal as well.”

Remus nodded slowly. “And I can see myself however I want.”

“Though I’d prefer that you see yourself positively or neutrally. A negative self-image is never good.”

“And you…” Remus trailed, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Logan’s eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t care for labeling those types of things. I do see you as a positive influence on my existence if that was your question.”

Remus grinned brightly. “That answer is better than fermented semen!”

There was an awkward silence between them.

“Do you honestly believe you can’t be heroic, charming, and romantic?” Logan asked quietly, not wanting to scare off the intrusive side.

Remus stared, surprised by Logan’s question. “It’s not an opinion, Logan, it’s fact. I’m a duke, not a prince.”

“And royal status dictates those traits?”

Remus shook his head. “No...I’m just not those things.”

Logan frowned. “Do you want to be?”

Remus took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to reply without confusing the nerd. “No. I know none of them fit my personality, and I don’t want them too. Especially charming. But...it might be nice to experience once. To prove Roman wrong and that it isn’t impossible for me to have the traits of a hero.”

“There are no specifically assigned traits to heroes, Remus,” Logan said, tightening his tie. “However, you can act however you want within the bounds of acceptable reality.”

“I can?” Remus asked, a smirk on his face. He started to take a couple of steps closer to Logan but stopped a good four feet away.

“Yes, you can,” Logan replied, voice quieter at Remus’ confident advance. The logical side shuffled his feet back, only moving a couple of inches.

“Do you think I’m heroic?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Do you think I’m charming?” He took a step closer.

“I-I don’t-”

Remus took another step, a larger one, closer to the logical side. There was likely only six inches between them. He stared deep into his eyes, a fiery passion for the visually impaired nerd burning hotter than any star Logan could name.

“Do you think I’m romantic?”

“I…”

Logan’s words died in his throat as he met Remus’ eyes. Remus, who was intrusive, offensive, bad to the bone, impolite, occasionally funny, interested in certain sciences, and strived to learn whatever Logan could teach. Remus, the only one who ever listened.

“You can if you want to be,” Logan said quietly, finally able to speak but never louder than the volume he was currently speaking at.

Remus hummed and pulled Logan flush against him by the waist.

“Remus?” Logan asked nervously.

“What is it, my bashful brainiac?”

“Do you really hate our arrangement?” Logan asked quietly, the question so painful to ask but the answer was something he needed to know before anything else happened. “And do you only listen out of courtesy?”

Remus sighed, running his free hand through the logical side’s hair. “Not one bit. And you are the most interesting person I’ve ever spoken to.”

Logan let another small smile cross his face and glanced at his feet.

“So I can be romantic, hmm?”

Logan nodded.

Remus smirked. He swept Logan into a dip—one arm around Logan’s thigh, lifting his leg into the air, and the other arm around his shoulders. Remus gazed lovingly into Logan’s shocked brown eyes and admired the red face of his nerd, giving the side a second to process what he did. He then dipped his gaze to Logan’s lips and flicked his tongue across his own.

“May I?”

Logan gulped before nodding.

Remus immediately crashed his lips against Logan’s; the simple nod of Logan’s head acting like a lamp that just turned on and Remus’ lips being their loyal moth.

Logan was still shocked from previous events when Remus’ lips met his, his eyes still open. Remus didn’t hate him, which was a plus, and now Remus was expressing romantic interest in him? He couldn’t believe it.

Yet, it was still happening. Logan closed his eyes, put a hand on the nape of Remus’ neck, and deepened the kiss.

It was something both were desperate for, something they had both wanted for ages—no matter how long they were aware of their romantic feelings for the other.

And so they dissolved into the other: Logan melting wherever Remus’ hands met his body, and Remus putting his desperation and need for Logan on clear display as he kissed him like he never would get to again. Remus got to be romantic, Logan was treated like a beautiful princess, and they both felt so incredibly loved.

The kiss eventually had to come to end, so when they both remembered they had to breathe, they pulled away and opened their eyes. Remus kept Logan in a dip and looked down at him like he was the loveliest thing to ever walk the earth. This only reddened Logan’s cheeks further. Remus gave him the fondest, most loving smile he could muster.

“I suppose I can be romantic.”

Taglist: @the-sympathetic-villain @justanotherhumanstuff @thistledown15

This was technically the end of this story, but I do have a Moceit themed sequel that I have decided will just be chapter six. After that, hopefully it’ll be done! Hope you liked this chapter. Sorry, I meant to get this to you on Thursday but homework piled up and I just had a bad day Saturday so it’s coming to y’all now. (Also um you may have guessed but the image of Remus dipping Logan popped into my head and inspired this fic. It was 18k longer than expected)

#intrulogical #ts fanfic #remus #logan #romantic intrulogical #prinxiety #moceit #prince charming #roman #remus sanders #logan sanders #fic #kill writes #swearing tw #self deprecation #food tw #food mention

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

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To Tell You The Truth Part Three

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Good morning, good evening! I hope you're all doing well. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi

Part One

Part Two

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore and allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

Bakhroma loomed massive and pinkish-tan on the horizon ahead as you bent double, hands on your knees while you struggled for breath. No doubt you had pushed your filter carbon far past its limits with your headlong sprint heats through the Green. A quick look confirmed your suspicions; the indicator blinked sluggishly at the bottom of the red lines.

You bit your lip, barely reining in the panic threatening to engulf you yet again. You had no idea where you were. Damon was the one with the map, and Ezra...he was the only person alive who might be able to help you. Your heart dropped as you realized that all your running had really done was prolong the inevitable.

You sank to the ground, staring up at the planet that dominated most of the sky in front of you. The hazy atmosphere around it was bright orange, fading into the navy blue of the cosmos backdrop. Checking your watch, you saw that the first cycle had kicked into the second several hours ago, though the light level didn't seem to have changed at all. The cloying, overbearing vegetation around you abruptly made sense. This moon was not only humid, it was also bathed in light for much longer than the standard twenty-four cycle.

Moving robotically as your legs began to protest, you lumbered stiffly back to the treeline to suss out the spring you had passed by. You would need water. Even if you weren't in the right headspace to be thirsty, dehydration was not something to sneeze at.

You knelt in the mud alongside the spring, the coolness welcome on your overworked knees even through your suit. Pumping and purifying water always took longer than it ought to, and you found yourself staring blankly off into the distance as you filled your first jug.

You were working on the second when your helmet earpiece suddenly crackled to life with a shrill whine of static.

"-llo...hello to the Green."

Ezra?

You swiveled your head wildly to look around and the static increased with the motion, making you slow to a stop. It was a stationary transmission, then. Your helmet must be picking up a long range somewhere nearby.

You rose to your feet while rushing to stow the jugs of filtered water in your day pack, tilting your head and mentally begging Ezra to keep talking. He did not disappoint, his drawling voice and the bursts of intermittent static your compass through the tangled overgrowth.

"...one or two pearls...that I will be willing to part with for well under the peakest commercial rates. Nothin' funny."

It sounded like he hadn't managed to get what he needed to fix the drop pod. Your eyes burned with tears.

"Just a desperate man tryin' to make a bad deal with the right holdout."

Brick red flickered through the Green's lush verdancy and you realized after a moment that it was canvas. A tent solidified out of the thick brush as you advanced, the roof coated in a generous layer of amber-yellow dust.

"...anyone is out there...don't hesitate to click on." The signal was nearly free of static at this point. This tent was the obvious origin of the broadcast. But now the question was...whether that message was prerecorded or not.

You hid beside a large, gnarled tree and pondered your next move. Sure, you had the pistol. If it did you any good was an entirely different animal, but you definitely had it.

It felt sturdy in your hand compared to the flimsy Boscelot thrower rifle. Solid.

Maybe...maybe you could reason with Ezra at gunpoint. Strike some kind of new bargain. You had nothing to put on the table this time, however. Everything had been in that pack, and you highly doubted the other prospector was interested in your sketchbooks. It would have to be at gunpoint. He had the resources, but you had the gun.

Just like Damon.

You hated yourself in that moment, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. Then, you darted across the space to the tent, ears straining to catch any noise from inside the structure. You couldn't hear much through your helmet to begin with.

After a quick prayer, you unzipped the tent and cautiously ducked your head to enter, leading with the thrower pistol clutched in your hands.

Someone seized your arm like a steel trap and you were ripped through the doorway, the pistol getting knocked out of your grasp in the process. Your plan effectively destroyed, you succumbed to panic, thrashing and attempting to claw at your assailant even with your gloves on. You twisted your head around to try and catch a glimpse--

And those bloodshot blue eyes seemed to loom up at you from the dimly-lit interior, making you scream out in terror, "No, no, Damon please!" as you struggled to get free.

He all but wrestled you bodily into one of the tent bunks, grunting in pain when you beat your gloved fists into his ribs. You weren't sure if it was just because of the adrenaline or if it was due to how long you had been separated from him, but you had never fought him this hard in your life! You had always just accepted, given in, bowed to his demands. Where had this tenacity even come from?

"Not again, not again!" You sobbed, futilely kicking your legs to try and throw him off of you. "P-Please, please, please--!"

"Gentle soul, if you do not cease tenderizin' my ribcage in this most belligerent and unneighborly manner," a familiar drawl met your ears through your thick helmet, "I will have no resource but to employ far more drastically militant tactics. Be still."

That voice! You froze, your hands still bunched up to tear at the fabric of his exosuit. Ezra.

His large form seemed to solidify in the exceedingly-dreary tent lighting now that you weren't fighting for your life, and you realized with a rush of embarrassment that it hadn't been Damon's eyes you saw, but the distorted reflection of the whites of your own in your helmet's dome. That, coupled with your imagination...

Damon was dead. How could you have forgotten? Damon was dead. It was just Ezra.

Does that make it any better?

You released him without a word, scrambling back as far as you could and drawing your knees to your chest in a defensive stance. Ezra stumbled upright, reaching overhead with his left hand to press a few buttons. The tent's air scrubber rattled sluggishly to life. "You can take off the helmet." He muttered.

You did so almost immediately, taking a greedy inhale of the dubiously-clean oxygen. A bit bar hit the threadbare bunk webbing by your feet and you ripped the colorful wrapper open, tearing chunks out of the crunchy substance with your teeth. As you devoured the bar ravenously, you realized that Ezra was utterly silent.

You dared to flick your eyes up and found him studying you, his expression pensive in the sickly orange twilight of the tent. You gulped down the bite of Calori-paste that now threatened to choke you. "I...I'm sorry." You apologized thickly. "I shouldn't have-"

"Be quiet and finish the bar, gentle soul." Ezra instructed softly. He sounded unsettled, of all things. Like he expected you to turn on him any second. "I believe I have unfortunately deduced the answer to the mystery I had pondered earlier, though I wholeheartedly regret opening that proverbial Pandora's box." He shook his head.

The Calori-paste sat in your stomach like a block of lead. You struggled through the last few bites, washing them down with swigs of plasticky water from your canteen. You held out the other bottle that you had filtered as a sort of silent peace offering and Ezra accepted it without hesitation, the older man proceeding to gulp half the bottle in one go.

"I know you may not be overly inclined towards listenin' to me at the moment," he gasped out, wiping the moisture off his mustache. "But I'm afraid my situation has grown even more dire than previously implied." He raised his eyes to meet your own. "I...I need your help." He confessed.

You took another drink of water to give you the time to collect your thoughts. You were certain your disbelief was plain on your face; you had never been gifted in the art of hiding your turns of expression.

Ezra snorted, lowering his body to sit on the far end of the bunk. "The Saders were not exceptionally keen on barterin' with me once you made your timely departure." He held his arm, wincing and no longer looking at you. "I managed to convince them to swap me some of their ambrosia for supplies, instead of-" He halted, his shoulders going rigid before he carefully continued, "I cannot excise the infection without assistance, and if I do not remove it with an exceedingly low degree of error, I will lose the whole arm."

You swallowed hard, clenching your fist so tight that the handle on the water jug creaked as you asked, "Were you going to give me to them?"

You knew that all Ezra had to do was say exactly what you wanted to hear. But you could live with the prettier lie if it got you off the Green. You could pretend to trust, pantomime the partnership.

His eyebrows drew together in a dark frown and you watched his jaw work sporadically before he finally exhaled a singular, monosyllabic, "no."

You waited for the rest of the sentence, the emphatic declarations of I would never! or what kind of man do you take me for?, but he remained silent, staring at the tent floor. Weirdly, the lack of long-winded antics made his answer feel more honest somehow. He was obviously a gifted liar, tailoring his technique to his target.

You sighed heavily through your nose. "Okay."

You told yourself that the bewildered gratitude in his eyes must have also been part of his ability to tell falsehoods.

Ezra prepared the sparse surgical supplies from your kit with a somber, almost funereal air. He seemed to be already convinced that his arm was a total loss. Maybe he knew better than to put much stock in the abilities of a battered floater.

You were seized with the uncanny urge to prove him wrong. Your need for validation was what had landed you in this mess with Damon all those stands ago, you reminded yourself, but you couldn't shake the habit so easily. "Did I hurt you? When I...when I hit you?" You asked before you could think better of it.

"No more than the average lighthearted dig dust-up would, gentle soul. Do not trouble yourself on my behalf." Ezra replied dully. "I offer my most sincere reparations for givin' you a fright."

"I spooked myself. I...I saw the reflection of my own eyes in my helmet and I thought…" you trailed off, nervously sipping your water.

"That man, Damon." Ezra hesitated, struggling to secure the band around his upper arm. "I know it is rude to ask after personal affairs, but did he-"

"Don't." You said softly.

To his credit Ezra stopped immediately, busying himself with the tourniquet. After he had completed that arduous task, he bit the cap off of one of the porta-surge syrettes, spitting it out to land neatly in the lid of the field kit. He jabbed the needle home in his shoulder with a poorly-muffled gasp of pain, nearly crushing the tube with the force of his motion before dropping that into the kit lid as well. "The lid is for sharps." He informed you. "We lack a tray or a proper sterile environment, so keep your hands clear."

"I'll cap that once I get gloved up." You assured him. "I'm not leaving a sharp in the field kit. Knowing me, I'd forget it was in there and wind up accidentally pricking myself or something."

Ezra nodded, swallowing convulsively. You took the Ralon scalpel from his slightly-shaky hand. "You ever used one of these?" He asked, his voice gone a bit reedy. His breathing in general seemed poor, off-tempo. He was afraid. The knowledge that he was just as scared as you were made you feel more sure of yourself, for good or ill.

You shook your head in reply to his question, explaining, "I've never used this model before. The one I have for harvesting is much older."

Ezra reached over, flashing you a disingenuous smile. "It's easy."

He pressed down on the side of the scalpel battery pack, activating the laser blade. The whole handle buzzed in your grip, feeling uncannily like your handheld stitcher.

"There's five levels of intensity. Use two for flesh. Four for bone." Bone?! You jerked your head up, meeting his terrified gaze. "You got it?" He choked out after a second.

You nodded stiffly. If he wanted you to know the bone setting, then by Kevva, you would.

His eyes softened and for a split-second he looked like he might cry. "Thank you." He rasped, blinking rapidly and then glancing away.

You rummaged around in the porta-surge for the tiny, standard-issue penlight, immensely thankful that the battery still had enough power to work. The tent was poorly illuminated, outside light barely able to filter through the thick material. "Will this...when I start, is it going to hurt you?" The sterile glove packet made an ungodly amount of noise, crinkling and crackling in your hands as you fought to tear the seal.

Ezra scoffed, demonstrating the sensation that his right arm currently possessed by slapping his limp hand a few times. "I won't feel a thing. Hack away." His breathing was still too fast even as he continued to prattle, "quick, confident strokes are best. Try to go full circuit on the first cut."

You nodded again, one-handedly scooping the syrette and pushing it against the side of the lid to shove the cap back on. Then, you disposed of it in the trash bag by the door. Holding the penlight between your teeth, you smoothed your gloved hand down his arm to pin it securely in place. You were really going to do this. Well, if he wasn't able to feel it...

You had peeled multitudes of aurelac gems in your mining career. You were exceptionally delicate when it came to skinning the pearls. You couldn't recall the last time you had punctured one of the blisters and ruined a pull. Surely...surely this wouldn't be much different.

"I've never had to use these syrettes before. Kinda' nice. Tingly." Ezra commented as the scalpel buzzed to life. "Almost like it's…" With something that might have resembled quick confidence, you began your excision. The laser blade whirred through his epidermis with enviable ease, smoking slightly. "Oh shit. Oh shit." The older man muttered over your head, his whole body gone tense.

"What?" You asked around the penlight. Ezra started panting, his chest heaving violently underneath his threadbare waffle thermal layer. "Does it hurt?"

"No. N...h--I-I don't know. Keep goin'." He stammered. "You're doin' great, k-keep goin' until you think you've got it all." His left hand was clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone nearly stark white beneath the layers of ground-in dirt. "Once y...once you finish, dump the juice into the wound and th-then cream it a-all sh-iiit, shut, shut." He continued to instruct you through gritted teeth.

You nodded, wholly focused on your task. At least it wasn't difficult to spot where the infection had reached. It turned the tissue and muscle it consumed to a sinister purple-black. You tried to keep your brain separated from the fact that this was a human arm you were methodically carving a chunk out of, a human arm attached to a living person who, despite his incredibly convincing big talk, could definitely feel what you were doing. You deliberately narrowed everything down to being as rapid and thorough as possible, like when you had to harvest in a poor environment. Every extra second you spent was a precious resource you could ill-afford to waste, literally. Thank stars that he had the tourniquet wrapped so tightly, even if the blade did it's damnedest to cauterize as you cut.

Once you were as certain as you could conceivably be that you had removed all the infected matter from the wound, you sloshed some of the Sader's juice from Ezra's canteen onto the exposed area. It hissed and steamed like boiling water and Ezra buried his face in the crook of his left elbow, biting down on his sleeve and screaming into the fabric.

Your hands finally started to tremble as you loaded the patch gun and listened to him dry heave, but you doggedly kept at it. Just a little more to go. It felt like it took an eternity for the stupid cream to expand. The reload was probably years past its expiration date.

And then it was over.

You carefully gathered up the grotesque little pieces of your handiwork that had fallen on the floor, balling everything into your fist. The gloves squeaked wetly when you stripped them, turning them inside out as you did to keep the blood and organic matter contained. They dropped into the waste bag by the door, plopping sadly down next to the spent syrette on a bed of bit bar wrappers.

You shakily switched off your penlight and took a step back, reaching for one of the tiny antiseptic wipe packets. Despite your best efforts, the skin of your wrists was spattered here and there with blood. You scrubbed at the rusty fluid silently.

Ezra's whole body was shuddering with every groaning retch, saliva hanging in thick strands from the bottom of his slack mouth as he rocked his way through the pain and clearly fought down the urge to vomit. Moved by the admittedly-pitiful sight, you tugged loose your bandanna and wiped off his chin. "It's done." You informed him softly.

He caught your wrist before you could pull away and you were shocked when he pressed a sloppy kiss to your knuckles. "You are Kevva-sent, gentle soul, never let anyone t-tell you otherwise." He grated, "Divinity incarnate; a damn valkyrie in floater's clothing, decidin' my fate on the battlefield."

You squinted at him, down at the grisly mass of expanded foam and then back at his face. "I don't know if I would count this as a battlefield, Ezra."

"Martyr's malfeasance," he swore, his voice cracking, "you can attempt to dismiss it but I will never forget this kindness, gentle soul. Not even in the next life."

"Don't...look, let's just hope I did everything right." The insanity of the task you had just performed struck you anew and hysteria bloomed in your chest. At the same time, his heartfelt proclamations of gratitude settled low in your belly, a flickering flame of pride that you wanted to shelter and nurture. You sat down hard on the bunk, pulling your knees up again. The still-smoking scalpel gleamed at you in the dim light of the tent. "I'm probably gonna' be sick." You warned him faintly.

"You are far from alone in that camp, gentle soul." Ezra replied dolefully. "We'll be spewin' in the same trough shortly, I imagine. I have always been a man...afflicted by the trials of sympathetic vomiting."

"Oh no!" You found yourself caught between laughing and gagging, settling for a retching little snicker. "Come on, don't say stuff like that, you're gonna' make me hurl."

After several queasy moments had passed, he spoke up again, "I know you are just as eager as I to continue on to that mercenary camp, but I must insist on a short reprieve. A burge...burgeoning cloud of exhaustion is relieving me of what little sensibility I possess." He tucked his wounded arm against his chest as he curled up in his bunk. "And I will need time for the syrette to wear off, lest I be rendered an incompetent, staggering buffoon."

"We have to go to them, don't we?" Your voice was tiny.

Ezra sighed. "It would appear so. We will have to throw ourselves upon their proverbial mercies and hope that they are willing to acquiesce in exchange for our harvestin'." He cocked his head to look at you curiously. "Do you actually believe that it's the Queen's Lair they've stumbled upon entirely by chance?"

"Does it matter?" You asked. "Damon thought it was legitimate enough to throw the both of us across the universe in a trashy rental pod. I would say that must count for something, but…" You shrugged, propping yourself up against the end of the bunk.

"I understand. Still though, we will need rest if we are to successfully tackle this conundrum." He drowsily watched you as you dug around in your suit pockets to locate your sketchbook. The current iteration was a beaten memo pad from the pod rental company, each page stamped with the letterhead of Dasha Landcraft Rental.

This was a familiar ritual to you. Turning your brain off whenever you needed to rest was a difficult thing to manage. In your mid-teens you had begun sketching before lights out and found that for some reason, the activity emptied your thoughts enough to allow you to sleep much easier than you had ever managed without it.

You unwound the twine that kept the pages closed and flipped to a fresh one. Trying to recreate the scenery you had witnessed earlier, sketching Bakhroma hovering imposing on the Green's horizon.

"An artist, now that I did not anticipate." Ezra commented. You flinched, realizing how close he had leaned in to watch you. "What else have you drawn, gentle soul? Might I peruse your work?" He requested, his hand extended.

"I'm not--!" You floundered, tilting away and clutching the pad protectively to your chest. "I-I'm not...I'm not an artist. I just…I can't sleep without um, doing. Something like this." You tapped the notepad nervously. "It helps me relax."

Drawing is a waste of time, you should be spending that time cultivating skills relevant to your field.

"No harm in that." Ezra replied agreeably, his words striking a sharp contrast against the echoes of Damon's belittling in your head. His hand remained outstretched, patiently waiting.

You let out your breath slowly, rooting around in your hip pocket for the previous pad you had filled. That one you had pilfered from the Jata Bhalu processing facility, it had an actual hard cover and a loop for a writing implement. You tugged it free and hesitantly passed it to him, stammering once again that you weren't an artist, this was just something you did.

Ezra was devastatingly silent as he leafed through your tiny sketchbook. For someone that you had come to expect to talk, the stillness that permeated the tent made you unnaturally fearful. Your fingernails dug into your memo pad. What if...what if he was judging you? Some of the sketches were tired and messy, some of them smudged from your environment. Tea and coffee and tears blotted the pages. What if he didn't like them?

This was why you didn't show anyone your drawings, you-

"Have you ever considered acquirin' one of the draw-pads? I am no artist myself, but I know that the digital method saves precious space in pods." Ezra suggested. "And a single rainy day could ruins months of this hard work you have stockpiled."

"I...I want one, of course. It's just...they're so expensive and I could never justify it." You murmured, a little sad as you thought back to standing outside the pawn shop of the last freighter and gazing down at the battered box in the window. Out of date models alone were well removed from your price range. You could only imagine how much a brand new one would set you back.

"Puggart Bench West! I'd recognize that dock anywhere." Ezra exclaimed suddenly, wiping his hand off on his leg before he tapped on the page. "West dock is a real hive, isn't it?"

"Oh, y-yeah." You stuttered.

"And this one...a deep space miner? Thing looks at least Fringe kestron grade." Ezra continued, squinting. "Not quite Testin, but it'll do in a pinch. I had a few stands on one of those. Food was shit."

"That was...um, it was just a ship that went by the transport freighter that I was on. Out in the Fringe." You shrugged, grimacing. "I didn't know what kind it was." You reached over with your pencil. "How do you spell 'kestron'?"

"K-e-s," Ezra paused, his brow furrowing, "t-r-o-n. If I'm not mistaken. Hell, it might be t-r-e-n." He admitted. "I'm uncertain, gentle soul. It has been so many stands since I've...since I've seen…" he yawned widely, then set off on another tangent. "In the Pug, there was this...vendor, you follow me, in this mercado." He rolled the 'r' in the unfamiliar word, like he was luxuriating in being able to say it. "They had--shit, it was some sort of...treat, the name is eludin' me. Drizzled honey, cinnamon, that fancy sugar dustin'…"

"Little pillowy things?" You supplied. "When the place made them fresh you could smell them all the way down the block?"

"Kevva, yes, now you got my stomach beggin'." Ezra groaned. "What were they called though?"

"It started with an 's', so...pa-"

"Sopaipillas!" He erupted, his eyes lighting up. "I swear, gentle soul, my heart just skipped a beat." He chuckled dreamily, "As much as I bemoaned the drudgery of it when I was there, I'd love to be back on the Pug right about now. Bench was a eternal shit hole, but at least I could breathe." He lolled his head to the side, looking at you once more. "When you and I escape this Green hell, I insist that you give me the pleasure of your gracious company on an expedition to that hallowed mercado." The older man slurred, his eyes sliding closed. "We will devour countless treats in safety and stroll the docks. A heavenly concept, you must admit."

"That does sound nice." You replied wistfully.

"It is settled, then." He held out his left hand to shake yours and you obliged, feeling childishly hopeful about the whole thing. "Now, set the alarm on that platinum chronometer of yours. Maybe...four hours or so? Kevva knows I'd love longer, but if we hope to arrive with adequate harvest time, we'll need to manage ourselves with caution." Ezra squeezed your hand, his smile weary. "Rest well, gentle soul."

Part Four

#ezra (prospect 2018)#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x reader #ezra prospect imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #slow burn #eventual romance #prospect 2018 #prospect film #prospect fanfiction #I love one man #also take care of your sharps ffs #canon-typical violence

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mother-snake · 4 years

Text

self-destruction pt.1

(welcome to a new series! this will be angsty... but thats to be accepted by now...) tags: @idkanameatall warnings: self-hurt, crying, tears. general angst thrown out the window words:4646 next: n/a

-janus wakes up to a voice in his head he hasnt heard since the day he was created. things can only go down hill from there, cant they?-

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

Nothing had been okay for a while. And no one had realised how much it had been affecting a certain side. the split… Virgil leaving… Remus leaving…

And now he was alone. Something he wished he never was. it had hurt to wake up each morning and make breakfast, only to call on Remus to remember that he was gone. he didn’t know how long he cried when the deep green door wasn’t in its place. The three dark sides had promised each other that no one would be left behind… yet… here he was.

Alone, cold and done. The lines on his arms showing the pain that seemed to break over the surface. maybe that’s why it hadn’t been such a surprise when he woke up late one day, a heavy weight draping over him.

He had laid there for a while before standing up to at least make himself look presentable despite the fact no one was there… old habits die hard.

And when he looked into the mirror. He had been surprised. His once shiny brown hair was duller, grey streaks mixed in, making him look like he had aged years over night. even his scales had matched his grey hair, just darker… his eye was still yellow. Just duller.

He stared at his reflection curiously. Reaching up and running his had along his scales. He flinched as he felt how cold they were. Not warm like they used to be. But now ice cold.

Then he froze in place. A small voice. One he had not heard since the day he was created. But it had stuck with him. And it spoke something that sent a shiver down his back.

“I’m sorry self-destruction,”

And just like that…it was gone.

Had that really been what had happened… had his core shifted? Become something new? this… wasn’t like a split. He would have known if there was one present. Anyone would have.

A weak smile grew on his face. he truly had changed. There was no way the others could trust him when he looked even more like a villain.

he looked around his room. Nothing had changed much to his confusion. Everything was still bright yellow and pitch black.

His eyes landed on his hat. He walked over and picked it up. he brought it up to his chest and held it tight. it was a gift. From the one person who hadn’t deliberately left him. The one gift he had ever gotten… and it had been from Romulus.

He placed it back on his vanity. It was time to retire the hat… things were changing. And maybe it was time to start from fresh. Completely.

“just listen to me!” he jumped at the voice that screamed in his head with such agony. this… was Logan’s voice? What?

He felt himself sinking down before he knew what was happening. Drawn like a moth to a flame. His mind reeling from the sudden noise and overwhelming sensation of sadness that had swept over him.

When he arrived. he had been rather surprised. He was in Logan’s room. The walls covered in graphs and papers. It was bigger than his room. Almost double.

His eyes landed on a figure hunched over at a desk. The light sound of tears made his heart ache. But… that was it. he didn’t seem to care as much as he used to. Maybe it was the lack of feeling in his chest.

“Logan?” he said. the logical side seemed to tense at the spoken word. “Logan, are you alright?” Janus said as he made his way over, trying to avoid knocking over the several towers of books.

Logan took a breath and looked over to where the deceitful side was. he blinked and rubbed his eyes… what the… what had happened?

He wasn’t sure what to focus on really.

His hair, scales, eye or the thin lines on his arms that were scabbed and fading. “Janus… what happened to you?” he said as he stared at the other. “that’s not why I’m here,” Janus stated coldly, sending a shiver up Logan’s spine, “I want to know if you’re alright.”

“I… I am fine Janus, I assure you?” “really then?” he said as his lips twitched up, “so you’re not bothered by the fact the others wont listen to you then?”

Logan froze as he turned back to his computer. “what?” his head snapped over to look at the other.

“you’re being ignored by everyone… and its causing you stress. But instead of facing it, you’re over working yourself,” Janus stated. “why do you care deceit,” he spat back. “one, that’s not my title… two because I care. If Thomas’s logic burned himself out due to over working, things could get bad. That and despite the fact you say you have no emotions; there you were not just five minuets ago crying due to the others not listening and messing up the schedule.”

Logan was at a loss for words. He glared at the snake. “falsehood,” he said as he stood up, “im logic. Emotions don’t matter to me. they only get in the way. if this is an attempt to make me join the dark side, I suggest you leave.” he glared at the other. Anger boiling in his chest.

“go talk to the others,” Janus muttered as he cast his eyes away, “tell them that they are making you work over time. That’s all I want to say.”

The small smile was replaced with a blank stare. And he was gone just as quickly as he had come. leaving a puzzled Logan in place. Wondering one thing. what had he meant by deceit no longer being his title…

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

Janus sunk to his knees when he arrived back in his room. Silent gasps filled the air as tears poured from his eyes. he thought that maybe Logan would be able to see past all he had done. Think logically about why he was there in the first place.

He guessed wrong. And the words that had fallen out of Logan’s mouth were like knives to his soul. He would be telling the truth when he said that it had taken so much energy not to break down at his words then and there.

Why had it hurt so much? was it because after several weeks of being alone, that was the first thing anyone had said to him? or was it because of his new core… he didn’t know. But he just wanted to stop crying.

it had taken half an hour before he stopped crying. He moved himself off the floor and onto his bed. he laid sprawled out, weakly holding onto the blanket under him. Burying into the fluff and warmth.

Little to no energy left. The lack of sleep from the previous night getting to him, making it hard to keep his eyes open. soon he caved in, grasping onto the sleep.

Logan had been concerned, the more he thought about what Janus had said. and it was slowly getting to him. “Logan? Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Ah. He was just staring at his toast. Had he been so caught up in thought? “after breakfast I would like to talk to you all, if that’s alright. But I will have something to do first,” he sighed, slumping his shoulders. “of course! But may I ask why you’d like to talk to us dear nerd?” roman asked. “it’s about the schedule. With everything that keeps coming up I’m constantly trying to fix it. and at the minuet I don’t know how Thomas is going to get everything done,” “so you need help cutting some things out?” Virgil said as he took a sip from a purple cup. “basically… yes.” “no problem specks,” Virgil said as he shrugged his shoulders.

“anyways, where will you be going?” “ah… I will be visiting Janus later,” roman and Virgil froze at his words. “why?” roman said with a raised eyebrow. “he… was the one to bring up the fact I was burning myself out. I said some harsh things. I also have a question to ask him.”

The other four sides looked between each other with confusion and worry.

He was outside Janus’s door sooner than he would have liked. But he was okay with that. Patton had sent him away with a box of cookies for the snake. Worried about him as they hadn’t spoken since the Lilly-Patton incident. he unconsciously rubbed his neck.

He sent three sharp knocks on the door. But much to his surprise, the movement had pushed the door open, the deceitful side must not have closed the door properly.

He nudged it open just enough to peek inside. A sharp pain filled his heart as he saw Janus sprawled on the bed that sat in the furthest corner of the room. another thing he realised was just how cold it was. like an icy blanket that covered the entire room.

He entered cautiously, placing the tub of cookies down by Janus’s hat. he looked over to the sleeping side with worry. He had never seen him looking so peaceful. It was kind of worrying truthfully.

He summoned a blanket and draped it over Janus, hoping it would keep him warm for now. he reached into his pocket. A small sorry letter he had written in case Janus wasn’t in. but sleeping was also another reason he hadn’t thought about.

He placed it at the end of the bed. Hoping the other would find it when he woke up. and if he didn’t, that wouldn’t stop him from apologising in person. he knew when he was wrong about something. And he knew he was wrong to say the things he had.

I will make you queen of everything you see, I'll put you on the map, I'll cure you of disease.

He had been surprised when he was slowly waking up. something warm was covering him like the worlds best hug. He would be lying if he said he didn’t pull it further over himself.

But as he slowly woke up, he cracked his eyes open and almost broke. He stared at the blanket that was covering himself only to see the deep blue colour. Logan had been here?

He sat up quickly, scanning his room quickly to see if the side was there. Not to his surprise… he wasn’t there. his alarm clock told him he had been asleep for a while. Lunch rolling around the corner soon.

He pulled the blue blanket over his shoulders and tied the ends like a cape. He forgot how cold he was for a couple seconds.

He looked over to his hat, a small plastic box sitting next to it. a small part of him thought he was asleep. There was no way that a light side would willingly come over… right?

He picked up the container and opened it up. chocolate chip cookies stared back at him. yes… he was definitely still asleep. There was no other way this was happening. Yeah… he would wake up in a couple seconds and he would be alone once again. None of this would be here.

He sighed and reached into the box, pulling out a cookie. a tiny smile formed on his face. he knew Logan couldn’t cook. So, there was a high chance that it was Patton’s or romans cooking.

He placed it back into the box and closed it over. But he held the container in his hands a little longer before placing it down.

Any warmth that had filled him before seemed to dull down as he realised that despite everything. He was still alone. For all he knew they were doing this to keep him away for a while longer…

“why can’t I do anything right!” the voice yelled in his mind. this one he could tell was Patton’s.

He sighed. Today was going to be a long day. He could already tell. he snapped his fingers and changed out of his pyjamas and into something else.

Black dress pants and a yellow button up. his caplet draped over his shoulders. Logan’s blanket still tied around himself like a cape.

And soon he found himself sinking down.

Let's say we up and left this town, And turned our future upside down. We'll make pretend that you and me, Lived ever after happily.

Janus arrived in the light side’s kitchen. Patton stood staring at the wall. he let out a cough, grabbing Patton attention almost immediately. “oh! Hello Jan- “he cut himself off as he looked at the snake with shock, “you…seem to have changed quite a bit there,”

Janus simply rolled his eyes, not as bothered as he felt he should have been by morality’s words. “anyways… I came to ask if you were okay,” he moved himself over to Patton's side.

“I’m… I’m okay kiddo,” Patton said, plastering a fake smile on his face.

Janus returned the smile with a blank look on his face,” that’s a lie. Isn’t it?” he sighed. “I don’t know what you mean?” “you’re bottling it up. you feel like you keep hurting those around you with everything you do,” Janus felt like such a hypocrite, “and you feel like you’re driving them away in the process. Am I wrong?”

Patton felt tears pricking his eyes as he looked at Janus. “what do I do?” he said, “I don’t want to lose them…”

Janus stayed silent. His face scrunched up in thought. His fingers rapped over the counter. “I don’t know truthfully… but maybe you should just confront it head on. Don’t skirt around the issue…” don’t do what I did, that’s what he meant.

Patton looked at him with a sad smile. “would you like to join us for lunch Janus?” he said as he rubbed his eyes, getting rid of the tears that messed with his vision. “as much as I’d love to, I know roman and Virgil wouldn’t want me there,” he said sadly. Patton could feel the small amounts of sadness coming from him. But it was blocked off by something else. As if it was being hidden by something else. Whatever it was, he couldn’t sense it. “well, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to join us.”

Janus gave a weak smile in Patton's direction and turned to leave but froze as he saw who was standing at the door.

Virgil glared at him but he could see the confusion in his eyes. “why are you here deceit,” he growled. “one, that’s not my title any more. And two… Patton simply needed some assistance. I was happy to help,” he said, keeping his eyes of the anxious side.

“excuse me?” Virgil said startled, “what the hell do you mean deceit isn’t your title anymore?” Janus shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the other. “you can call me self-destruction from now on,” he said coldly, glancing up an connecting his eyes with the purple of Virgil’s.

Neither side knew what to say at what the now self-destruction side had said. This was new. sure, there had been splits… but never a full core change… “Janus…” Patton said as he took a step closer. “don’t,” Janus said, holding a hand up. Patton stopped walking towards Janus. His concern for the side growing even more.

Virgil didn’t know what to do, he just stood there dumbfounded. This was the last thing he had been expecting. Okay sure, he had been startled when he saw Janus’s new look. but this… his title shifting to something new. something like that? he didn’t know what to do. And he didn’t like not knowing things…

“how long,” Virgil said as he stared at the snake. “only this morning… no one else knows,” Janus said.

They shifted uncomfortably for a couple more seconds. “well… if you don’t mind, I think it would be best if I left for now,” Janus said, making his way over to the door Virgil had been blocking.

“no,” the anxious side said, “we don’t know what you can do now. How do we know if you wont effect Thomas,” he said staring at Janus. “please, you didn’t care about me before, why change that now?”

Virgil felt his chest tighten at the words spoken by Janus. “as much as I hate to say it… Virge has a point. With a new title… you will have to learn new things about yourself. And having people around might help,” he said carefully, trying to block out the words Janus had previously spoken.

“just let me go,” he muttered, swaying as he stood as still as possible. “Janus are you- Janus!” Patton yelled as he caught the side who had toppled over.

Janus was unconscious before he heard Patton yell his name.

Virgil was by their sides in seconds. Panic spreading through his veins. “Janus… Janus,” he said as he shook the snake, hoping to wake him up. “he’s like ice!” Patton said as he jerked his hand away from his head.

“get the others and tell them that Janus will be staying with us for a while,” Patton said as he picked Janus up bridal style. Trying his best not to shiver under the coldness of the others skin.

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

Virgil gave a sharp nod before bolting out the room and making his way to the bedroom hallway. the first door he came to was Logan’s. he pounded on the door, hoping it would startle Logan out of his work. he heard shuffling on the other side before his door creaked open. Logan looked at Virgil rather surprised.

“get your ass down stairs,” Virgil said before shooting of to the twins shared room and pounding on the door in a hurry.

The door opened on its own and he flung the door open irritably. “get your asses down stairs, now,” he said as he looked at the twins who seemed startled by his sudden appearance, most likely thinking he was Patton.

But non the less they both stood up and made their way down the stairs after Virgil and a rather confused Logan. the three of them got closer to the living room. The sound of shuffling and Virgil pacing was all they could hear until they reached the room.

Patton was draping a blanket over something on the couch as Virgil moved something, placing a pillow underneath. and as the three of them got closer. They stopped moving.

“Janus,” Logan said before making his way over to the other two sides. he knelt down next to the unconscious side, “what happened?” he asked looking at the moral side. “we don’t know, we were talking and he started to sway before falling unconscious. I managed to catch him before he hit the ground, but he’s so cold. Almost like ice,” Patton muttered.

Logan reached his hand and placed it gently on the sides head. Patton was correct. He was cold as ice. “keep him wrapped up in the blankets,” he said before turning to the twins, “can one of you come with me to Janus’s room? I need to check something out from earlier,” he said as he stood up. “oh, and Virgil. Go into my room and get the medical box from under the bathroom sink. His arms need to be covered,”

Virgil stared at Logan, “what do you mean by that specks,” he whispered. even Remus who was normally loud and yelling, his eyes glazed over at his words, “he said he stopped…” he whispered horrified.

“ill come with you then dear nerd, we shall be back soon,” he said as he sunk out with Logan not too far behind.

I will make you queen of everything you see, I'll put you on the map, I'll cure you of disease.

Logan and roman appeared in Janus’s room. The first thing roman did was curse under his breath at how cold it was. “no wonder he was so cold specks… his rooms colder than the artic!” “but why…” Logan said as he began to look around.

The room was much smaller than his own. But it was much more cluttered. A wall of trophies Thomas had won sat high and on display. musical posters and photographs hung the walls. a bookshelf sat facing Janus’s bed. Filled to the brim with books on philosophers and snakes.

Then his eyes landed on something. A small leather-bound book that looked far older than anything on the book case. “roman,” he said, causing the side to look up from his position, looking in a small wooden box. he made his way over as Logan removed the book. it didn’t take too long for him to realise what he was holding. “looks like a diary,” he muttered.

What had caught roman was the symbol printed into the front. One he hadn’t seen in on much. but knew all to well. “why does he have Romulus’s diary?” he said to himself, but it didn’t go unheard by the other in the room.

“no… its Janus’s,” he said as he flicked through the pages, “each one was signed of by Janus. Not Romulus- wait look here,” he said.

The hand writing and use of pen had changed from black to a multi coloured one. Red and green ink swirling on the page. he read over what was written.

They re read what was written. Guilt seemed to flood into them as the read it over and over again. had Romulus and Janus been that close that… oh god… a sick feeling laid planted in romans chest. he didn’t know much about the person he had split from. But he knew that Janus had always played a part in his past. He thought that maybe he had been the cause of the split.

Not that Romulus split on purpose in hopes to better balance out the mind scape for everyone’s sake. Maybe… he would discuss his plan with his twin later. “we should keep looking. And if we don’t find anything… we can put it down to his core shifting and messing with his room,” Logan said; he only getting a nod in response.

Ohhhh... And since we know that dreams are dead, And life turns plan’s up on their head, I will plan to be a bum, So I just might become someone.

Janus needed to stop falling asleep. He was going to mess with his sleep schedule. he noticed three things as he began to wake up for the third time that day. one, he was warm. Not Logan’s blanket, just keeping out the cold. This was full on Patton hug level of warmth. second was the smell of cookies that hung in the air. It was comforting to some extent. Only he knew he hadn’t done any cooking in a long time. third was that he was lying on something soft. His bed had always been stiff and hard. This, he was able to melt into like putty.

He didn’t want to move. He was perfectly fine being here for the rest of eternity. but he was curious as to where he was. so despite his body complaining against waking up, he tried his best to crack his eyes open. A bright light filled his vision, causing him to et out a small hiss of pain.

Then noise filled his ears, the sounds of people shouting and moving filled his head as he finally got his eyes open. he didn’t expect to see all the light sides surrounding him.

“Janus! Are you alright?” Patton asked. he didn’t know what to do. His mind ran at several miles an hour, a light panic setting into his chest as he realised how close they were to him.

Virgil seemed to know the look on Janus’s face, “everyone back away, you’re crowding him. He’s already starting to panic,” he said as he shuffled away slightly.

The others followed suit as they realised Janus was indeed internally panicking. they waited a couple minutes before Patton turned to Logan who gave him a quick nod. He stood up and made his way out of the room. “sorry,” Janus muttered as he bowed his head down. “it’s alright Jannie,” Remus said as he smiled at Janus.

He looked around the room once again. Still confused as to why they weren’t being hostile as before… “what happened?” he asked as he looked at them. Virgil shifted uncomfortably, grabbing Janus’s attention, “you fell unconscious after I confronted you in the kitchen. Patton caught you before you hit the ground,” he said, keeping his eyes away from Janus.

The room fell quiet. But it wasn’t bad… it felt calm. “well, should I put a movie on in the mean time?” roman asked everyone. “I have no quarry with that,” Logan said as he adjusted his glasses. “same here princy,” Virgil said. “sure thing bitch,” Remus said punching his twins arm getting a wince in response.

Janus nodded, moving his hand to rub his arm before looking down, realising he wasn’t touching his coarse skin. Once again, he felt himself freeze in place. They had seen them…

Well he was fucked. “Janus- “he looked up from his arms and towards roman. “is there anything you’d like to watch?” Janus didn’t respond, he only looked at roman before casting his eyes back to his wrists.

It was at that moment Patton entered the room with a bowl of soup. He gave it over to the grey scaled side with a smile. “you missed lunch and dinners still a while away, I thought you might get hungry,” he said cheerfully.

He held the bowl staring at it for a couple seconds. The soup seemed to ripple for a couple seconds. And it was then that he realised he had begun to cry. a pair of hands moved the bowl from him and someone wrapped him up in a hug. That only seemed to make him cry harder despite the fact he had clung onto the person.

“I’m sorry,” he hiccupped as tears continued to pour. he tried to stop crying, but the tears continued to pour despite his best efforts. “it’s okay Janus, you’ve been too strong for a long time, its our turn to return the favour,” Virgil whispered into his ear. another several sets of arms wrapped around him to the best of their abilities.

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

Things were far from fine. That was for sure. But in that moment… he knew why he was crying and it wasn’t from sadness or loneliness or the never-ending coldness that laid over his heart that slowly seemed to be filling up with something warm.

The tears were from the overwhelming love he felt the others giving him despite all he had done. the warm looks given his way. he didn’t deserve them. But it felt so nice.

I will make you queen of everything you see, I'll put you on the map, I'll cure you of disease.

He himself was by no means going to be okay for a long time… but this?

This was a start.

#Janus sanders #janus angst #Roman sanders #Sander sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #ive finally got a story out!#yay!#angst warning #tw self harm #tw crying #angst angst baby

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heresathreebee · 4 years

Text

Garrote part 9

[Starz Power Diego Jimenez x Jazmine Mann (Black!OC)]

Word count: 3k words

Warning(s): Explicit (+18) | sibling angst, mention of past drug use, roleplay sex!, UNPROTECTED sex (wrap your willy before you get silly), clothed sex, dirty talk, oh uh minor voyeurism. Previous Masterlist Next

AN: No beta, all mistakes are my own. Why is it so goddamn difficult to apply gifs to a post. I promise I’ll sort the masterlist tonight! Also tags will be moved to the bottom under the cut. Let me know if you’d like to be added

Gif creator @padfootwantsatummyrub thank you!

Alicia agreed to meet him that same night, and he tried to be presentable, and though he couldn't hide the alcohol on his breath, he was miraculously clean. That was thanks to the girls, of course, he hadn't had a second to snort coke with all their attention and literal begging. His sister was out on a job– Healy had given them the name of the low level thug who stole Porsche. Kennedy belonged to Jason Micic's organization, but Alicia discovered the boy usually did his own jobs. Diego met her just a few miles from his place and watched her work. His presence seemed to make Jason's Right Hand man nervous.

"Look miss," he had been calling her 'lady' sarcastically before he noticed Diego lurking around in the shadows, "I hear what you're saying and I promise we're gonna fix it. By this time tomorrow, nobody's ever gonna know that kid's name."

"Good." Alicia took a drag from her cigarette and held out a hand. The man reached out to shake it, but she snatched his wrist and put the cherry out on his forearm. He screamed, lurching his arm out of her grasp and gaining a few claw marks in the process. "Make sure it never happens again, claro?"

They left him cradling his arm and stalked over to the alleyway of a greasy midnight diner. Diego held the door open for her, instructing her guard with a look to wait outside (his guard did the same). Alicia picked a booth in the back and ordered whiskey and fries– the very mention of which made Diego's stomach growl.

"What do you want, Diego?" Alicia was stoic, already a note of disappointment fell from her voice as if she expected something childish.

He took a deep breath to collect himself.

"I'm sorry, sister," he said. She raised an eyebrow, but he continued, "I've been reckless and stupid and I almost got us caught because of it. You said those fucking pigs wouldn't have had anything on us except for my gun, and I can't let that happen again. So until we cross the border… no more coke."

Alicia was, understandably, surprised. "No more coke? You think you can handle that, Diego?"

His eyes were hard as stone– determined. "For us? Yes."

His sister relaxed into the red cushions of the booth. Her eyes searched his– for mockery, for tricks, for falsehoods– until her jaw tightened and some raw expression flashed that Diego didn't know how to read.

"On our mother's grave," he vowed. The trust Alicia was giving him now could not be squandered. It filled him with determination and a desire to be redeemed in her head. On our mother's grave.

She hugged him. After sitting in perfect, tense silence while he ate all the fries and took a sip of her whiskey, as they were walking back out the door, she hugged him. He felt like a kid again. He felt like he had when their mother had passed away. Those were the only times she had hugged her brother, and it left him feeling raw and exposed like a nerve ending. His head drifted as he drove home and he swiped a tear from his cheek.

I can do this, he decided. For us.

It was nearly dawn by the time he got back to the penthouse. The cityscape was always bright at night, but there were a few precious hours in the evening and the morning when enough lights went out that made the city feel truly peaceful. Diego slipped into bed, barely managing to kick off his shoes before falling asleep watching the flurries of driven snow fly past his window.

Someone was jiggling the doorknob. Diego had just enough strength to turn his head and look at the clock to read the time was 5:40 AM. The door to his bedroom opened violently as someone fell in. He lifted his head groggily and recognized the pretty kitten heels hanging from the brown arm with a death grip on the door knob. Jazmine pulled herself up with great difficulty, swaying on her feet like a drunk and slowly maneuvering the door to close behind her. Her half lidded eyes landed on Diego and she smiled.

"Hey." She sounded hoarse and slurred. "I didn't think you'd actually be here…"

Diego groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to sit up just a bit. "You asked me to be here. What do you want?"

Something like sickness flashed over her face but only for a second. Her brow smoothed with determination and she sauntered with purpose to the side of his bed. Jazmine pulled his hair lightly and elicited a grunt from him.

"I saw Haagen last night," she sighed. "When I left, I got a cab and got drunk and… well, here I am."

Diego had a hard time focusing on her words, what with the gentle petting of his hair causing distraction, but he understood the unspoken story hidden between the lines. He rested a hand on top of her thigh and felt her twitch under his touch but not away from it.

"If you're not too tired…" Her soft hand slid down, down, down. Stroking over the side of his neck and the open collar of his shirt, caressing his chest and pressing into the plain of his stomach until it mirrored his own touch on her thigh. She even gave him a squeeze which caused him to twitch as she had. "I could use a nice massage."

Diego felt himself smirk involuntarily. She had his blood pumping now and pushing out the grogginess of a near sleepless night. He squeezed her back in answer but made no move to sit up or do anything else.

On Jazmine's part, she couldn't take her eyes off of the man. There was something about the calmness and the plain white shirt that made him seem altogether a different man. He didn't look like a drug lord right now– he looked like somebody's husband. Maybe even somebody's dad. She could put that thought to good use…

"You like roleplaying, Diego?" His eyes had drifted shut but one opened curiously. "I can start."

"Every girl likes doctor and nurse," he mumbled almost to himself.

Jazmine shook her head. "I've got something else in mind."

She stood up and tossed her shoes to the side. Only as she was taking it off did Diego notice she was wearing a t-shirt over her dress (in his defense, they were the same color). What she wore beneath was modest, something she could pass off in a church, which was a far cry from the little number she had worn to the club. Jazmine started her story by removing his belt with an agonizingly slow pace.

"You," she said, tapping the buckle, "are a 9 to 5 office jockey who loves his parents and makes a decent living wage."

"So sexy," he drawled sarcastically.

"And I–" she ripped the belt from the loops of his pants eagerly and in one motion, "– am your wife."

Diego's voice dropped. "Keep going."

"I take care of the kids and our three story suburban house." She unbuttoned his pants with one hand, struggling and constantly bumping into his junk just to drive him crazy. "And we're so busy with everything we haven't had time to ourselves since our second kid. But guess what?"

The button finally popping forced air out of Diego's lung, and he pulled his pants down himself as he became impatient. Jazmine was intent on keeping control and straddled his hips with force. His hands found their way up her skirt with ease and he fingered the strap of her panties as he waited for the other shoe to drop. "It's their first day of kindergarten."

Diego's lust addled brain took a second to catch up. It was harder to do with her warm core putting pressure on his hardening cock, but he managed, and when he did he cocked an eyebrow at her. "Are you saying we haven't had sex in five years?"

Jazmine hummed. She ground down on his hips, and he couldn't help but buck into her, feeling rock hard and ready. The woman slipped into her role like she was born to it, donning a face of longing with just a pouting lip.

"I've missed you so much, baby..."

God, he could not wait to get naked– this would just have to do. Diego sat up until he was chest to chest with 'his wife' and slipped his hands into his boxers to free his cock from its confines. Jazmine wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held onto him for dear life as he pushed her panties to the side and slipped a finger in.

"So wet, baby," he groaned, "estas listo?"

American girls loved hearing his Spanish and Jazmine was no different judging by the way she shuddered. He had to do everything by feeling since she refused to let go of him. She slid onto his cock like she belonged there, and although it was truthfully the first time, it felt like the first in a long time.

Jazmine gasped when he finally bottomed out. Without a condom, she could feel every single vein and ridge of his thick length wedged into her pussy, and just the slightest movement caused the greatest sensations. Diego's warm breath fanned over her chest and she wished she could reach the zipper on the back of the dress to offer her nipples to him. He was content, it seemed, to try and taste them from the outside, and she squeezed his cock as a reward.

"Oh fuck me."

It wasn't meant as a request but Diego obliged her nonetheless. He gripped the soft curves between her hips and her waist and used them to bounce her in his lap, not too fast and not too deep, limited by the position but also like he wanted to keep her close to him. His watering mouth soaked through her dress and her lacy bra and when he pulled away to attack the other it left the last cold.

The sweet burn of Diego's ministrations allowed Haagen's to wash away like footprints on a sandy beach. All that mattered now was Diego, and the unexpectedly tender way he fucked her like she really was the mother of his children. It made her ache where it shouldn't have, deep in her chest, but she didn't fight it and soon the tightening coil in her core won over her attention.

Diego moaned with his mouth still on her and Jazmine keened in response, wrapping her fingers in his hair and dragging his head up to look at her. His pupils were blown wide but the light from the window still illuminated the deep brown ring of his eyes in a way that was so hypnotic she couldn't look away.

His lip curled (of course) and the unhinged mischief of his former self shone through. "Want another..."

She couldn't tell if it was a question for her or a statement from him. He kept her bouncing on his cock as his eyes drifted down to her mouth and back up again. Every time she came down it was harder and deeper than before as she let her whole weight crash into him. "Put another baby in you, huh, muñeca? Make it three…"

That should not have been as hot as it was. Jazmine whined involuntarily and put both of her hands on his chest to push him onto his back, stalling their impeccable rhythm for a second as she basked in how deep his dick really went.

He could do it. For real– his cock was naked in her pussy and he had the length to do it better than most. Oh fuck, it's curved, she thought, wishing she was fucking him the other way around. Can't stop now. Can't wait.

Jazmine began to ride Diego and listened to all the filthy things that fell from his lips. No wonder I married you.

"Yeah, querida? You like this dick? Want me to cum inside and paint a pretty picture?"

"Yesss," she hissed. "Oh god. Fuck…"

"That's it, mama, keep fucking yourself. Don't need my help, do you? Got it all figured out. Put a baby in you and watch you grow again…"

Jazmine gasped, she was so close, hanging right on the edge. "Fuck, daddy…"

She didn't even know she'd said the magic word, but the pair came together, and hard. Diego's grip on her waist was bruising and merciless, he filled her up with all he had and then some, and just to make it extraordinary, he made her hips grind into him for good measure. Jazmine's mouth dropped low and saliva dribbled out and dripped into his shirt, her hands tearing a button off as her pussy clenched down on his pulsating cock for a true flood. She was seeing stars when the torrent of endorphins finally drew back, and she collapsed onto his chest, boneless and gasping for air.

When their breathing had finally slowed down, Jazmine moved just enough of her weight to make them both comfortable without adding distance– for her sake as much as his. There was sweat cooling in the small of her back, Diego’s chest rose and fell beneath her head, and the memory of Haagen faded away like static on a television set.

“So,” Diego hummed, “I take it that was a bit of a fantasy of yours, eh?”

Jazmine’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Three kids, a house, and a spouse?” She thought about it for a moment and shrugged, “doesn’t everyone, in their own way?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

"I will admit it was probably most definitely brought on by this," she plucked at his white shirt, smirking with pride at the missing button and pocketing it in her drenched bra. "You look like… well I don't know exactly but this shirt screams normal and I figured you couldn't possibly own something like that."

Diego hummed but offered no explanation for the unusual attire. He could probably go incognito through a crowd and never be seen with that thing. Now uncomfortable, Jazmine sat up and flung off her dress, admiring the red handprints on her sides. She lay back down into his embrace and chuckled.

"What?"

She started drawing circles on his chest with a finger. “I wasn’t sure you could get off without, you know, an audience.”

Diego shrugged his shoulders (jostling her head in the process) and she could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “of course I can come without an audience. It’s a preference, not a medical condition.”

“Oh right, sure. Sure.” The warm hand on her back began to slide, tracing up her sides and just short of cupping her face, she felt his fingers graze her earlobe. A groan of irritation ripped through her throat. “I guess you did get an audience after all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean exactly?”

Jazmine took her sweet time answering him as she rolled up and over top of him to get to the other side of the bed and to touch the room light remote on the nightstand. Now brighter in the slick black design of Diego’s bedroom, she leaned over him on her elbow and pointed.

Directly at her fake hearing aid.

Diego stared for a moment before his cheeks puffed and he blew a raspberry trying to hold his laugh. It exploded from his chest like a bark and his entire body curled into it, which in turn warmed Jazmine to join in. For as cool and unbothered as Agent Healy portrayed himself, there was no way he could have been able to ignore the sounds on the other end of the listening device by the sheer volume of the activities on the receiver.

Ever the exhibitionist, Jazmine was not surprised to find Diego’s hand pressing into the back of her neck to draw her closer. She rolled her eyes when he leaned forward to speak directly into the microphone, “like what you heard, Healy?”

The answer came in an instant. Just as Jazmine was debating whether to settle back into the bed or to get up, Diego’s phone rang. The man was having far too much fun as he pushed her under him and reached for the nightstand even though she was closer. His knee fell between her sensitive thighs as he checked the screen. Despite everything, he still looks at her with disbelief as Healy’s contact glares back at him.

Healy’s voice sounded somehow right coming from a speaker. It matched the sometimes robotic way he delivered them lines about his purpose or his plan. “Yes, Mr. Jimenez, I am always on the edge of my seat when you make a pass at my informant.”

The expression only flashes for a second across his face, but for a moment Diego looked as uncomfortable as Jazmine felt. It was strange, knowing the name and the face of the person who was surveilling you. Knowing they hear everything all of the time and forgetting, only to remember and wonder if you’ve done something to warrant the shame and embarrassment that floods through you upon recollection. Jazmine was more often than not completely unaware of the thing until it beeped its death notes. She would have to remember to set a schedule for charging it every night, as Healy had suggested before.

“It’s fascinating the things people get up to when they think they’re alone,” Healy continued, “but if it is any consolation to you, Miss. Mann, I am accustomed to turning a blind eye– or ear, I suppose– to your nonessential activities.”

Well at least that was something. Diego hung up (or Healy did, she wasn’t paying attention), then turned to look her in the eye with a mischievous glint.

“What?”

“Jazz Mann.”

“Shut the– I’m going to fucking strangle you.”

~~~~~

Alrighty, I think this was pretty successful! But know that it’s all downhill from here (OK, mostly downhill from here).

@1zashreena1 @kid-from-new-zealand @nicke0115 @girlpornparadise @mental-bycatch

#Diego Jimenez #Diego Jimenez imagine #Starz Power #Diego Jimenez x OC #three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒#Garrote

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 4 years

Text

Sun Myung Moon, a mysterious romance, a stolen lover – and a triple murder.

The Tragedy of the Six Marys, pages 161-172

by Pak Chung-hwa

Kim Won-deok graduated from Japanese Military Academy during the Japanese rule. After the liberation from the Japanese, he joined the North Korean military, but worked for the South. He was arrested and sentenced to death, but he was saved by his previous boss in the military. He was sent to Heungnam prison, where he met Mr. Moon. After Kim was introduced to me, we became close friends – like brothers. When he was released, he became a security officer in South Korea.

When the Unification Church was in trouble, he helped Mr. Moon in many ways. He saved Mr. Moon when he was attacked by his wife in Busan. She could do nothing about it.

▲ Kim Won-deok

A mysterious romance 162

One day Kim Won-deok told me an interesting story. It was a story of romance that made me jealous. He had taken a night train to Busan from Yongsan station a few days previously. He was sitting in first class. An attractive looking woman surrounded by many policemen got on the train. She appeared to be a lady connected to some high official. She sat on the seat in front of Kim. Until the train passed Daejun, they said nothing to each other. They just looked at each other.

After a while, she started to recite an old Korean poem, while she looked at Kim Won-deok’s profile. Her voice sounded like the voice of angel to him. She looked a little serious, but she was quite emotional. Kim was a man of much experience. He asked her if she was bravely travelling on to Busan. She answered that she was going to Busan on business, and that she ran an aluminum factory in Yongsan.

After that they chatted together until the train arrived at Busan. They parted at the station, but not before agreeing a time to meet again. Later, when they met, they had dinner together and watched a movie, just like an ordinary couple. She behaved like a social woman. She was very attractive. They went to a hotel together. Their short love affair was an something that Kim couldn’t explain. Kim had to stay in Busan ten days longer than he had planned.

A beautiful woman and a ‘Feast’ 165

Kim Won-deok asked me to go to her house with him for dinner. Out of curiosity, I accompanied him to Yongsan.

Her house was an old Japanese style one. “Yoon” was written on the name tag. We were guided by two young women. The first room had a golden statue of the Buddha and candles, the next room was large and looked like a reception room. We were served tea, then an amorous perfume filled the room and she appeared. She greeted us nodding a little smiling.

▲ 尹清淨心 Yoon Cheong Jeong-shim

Her voice was clear like crystal. She looked to be in her late 40s. She was wearing traditional Korean costume. It was like the costume of a bride. When we moved to the next room, a variety of delicious and colorful dishes were ready. She recited an old Chinese poem and we drank for the night.

A strange ability to predict 167

After she had practiced in Kuemkang Mountain for ten years, she said that she could see the future. She could see the fate of a person, and a lot of candidates for the National Assembly came to see her because she could predict election results. She could tell the success or failure of people in university entrance examinations.

Consequently, she said that her aluminum manufacturing plant, which she ran, was a side business. Her true purpose in life was to support poor orphans – especially girls – and to help them to get a university education and succeed in society. She said that many girls had already graduated from Ewha Womans University, and currently she was taking care of 17 girls.

As I heard this story, I did not dare to look directly at her face. After finishing dinner, we parted, promising to meet again. She implied that Kim was her boyfriend, and she did not care about his wife. She only wanted his love. She said there was no problem if they liked each other. I thought she was very different from ordinary secular people.

After that, Kim Won-deok and I were free to visit her house. Whenever we visited her, we were well treated with good meals.

Later she established a construction company, and Kim Won-deok was hired as president. But Kim had no experience in construction and was not able to manage it well. Soon the company went bankrupt. After that they established several different companies but they all failed.

Later on, Mrs Yoon asked us if she could meet Sun Myung Moon. They met finally on October 25, 1954 at Yang Yun-yeong’s house in Shindang-dong.

▲ Yang Yun-yeong [real name. She taught music at both Ewha and Yonsei Universities.]

Sun Myung Moon stole a lover from his own disciple 169

On the appointed day, Kim Won-deok and I took Mrs Yoon to Mrs Yang Yun-yeong’s house. Women members such as Yang Yun-yeong, Lee Deuk-sam, Oh Yeong-choon, Ok Se-hyun, Chi Seung-do, Kim Soon-cheol, Lee Kee-hwan, Yang Yun-shin were gathered there as well as Eu Hyo-won, Eu Hyo-min, Lee Su-hyang, Kim Won-pil and others.

Mrs Yoon was wearing the best traditional Korean costume and seemed like a bride going into the groom’s house for the first night. The members who saw the scene, especially the female members, were overwhelmed. After greeting Mr. Moon, she looked at him with her spiritual eyes and said to him “You are having difficulty in finding a woman who will become a true mother. I came as a bride to greet my teacher as a groom, and I will serve you.” Everybody in the room was surprised again because she spoke so directly.

The atmosphere became like the time when the Jesus took three disciples up a mountain with him. Sun Myung Moon lectured about the principles for a long time that night. Mrs. Yoon sang traditional Korean songs and recited poetry and sang a Japanese tanka and recited haiku. Her voice took over the house as if she was the owner. It was surprising for Mrs. Yang Yun-yeong, a music professor at Ewha Womans University, to hear the sound.

At that time Mr. Moon was being closely watched by the authorities, and the curfew was at midnight. We parted promising to meet again.

About a week later, Sun Myung Moon suddenly visited Mrs Yoon’s house with Eu Hyo-min. Kim Won-deok and I were very surprised at his unexpected visit. I did not know that Sun Myung Moon would come. Mrs Yoon made delicious food with all her heart and entertained Sun Myung Moon. He sat with Mrs Yoon with the attitude of a groom going to his bride’s house. Mrs Yoon also seemed to expect that she would be a bride – like the woman who was preparing oil for the groom in the Bible story. Kim Won-deok and I stayed until late that night – eating, drinking and singing. Finally we left while Sun Myung Moon and Eu Hyo-min stayed.

That night, Sun Myung Moon said he had the pikareum sex ritual with Mrs. Yoon Cheong Jeong-shim.

Kim Won-deok evacuated from the north and came down to the south. In the early days when there was no place for Sun Myung Moon to live, he stayed for a while in Kim’s rented house. And when Sun Myung Moon was in difficult situations in Busan, several times Kim Won-deok took the lead and solved the problem.

Kim was betrayed by Sun Myung Moon who took his lover, Mrs Yoon Cheong Jeong-shim, and he began to avoid Sun Myung Moon. After that, when Elder Song Do-wook was secretary, Sun Myung Moon often visited Mrs Yoon. When Mr. Moon was arrested on July 4, 1955, Mrs Yoon also became estranged from Mr. Moon and the Unification Church for a while.

Kim Won-deok met me several times and expressed his anger and resentment about Sun Myung Moon’s betrayal. I tried hard to explain the principle of restoration to protect Sun Myung Moon, but Kim Won-deok did not want to hear.

Kim Won-deok said, “While there are so many women, how could Mr. Moon steal a woman who was loved by one of his disciples, and take her away. He is making me look like a fool. How can I submit a teacher who does such a thing? No matter how great the teachings of the Unification Church may be, I am not willing to believe them anymore. I cannot forgive Sun Myung Moon. He is just a fraudster who is using women in the name of religion.”

Kim Won-deok was a former soldier, but he was really outraged. I was too. He was really angry about Mr. Moon. He said, “The man called Sun Myung Moon is a horny dog, a dirty animal.”

I knew how angry he was, but I could not say anything further to him.

About two years later, Mrs Yoon, her step-daughter (the daughter of a university student), and housekeeper were killed by someone. There was an uproar about the three deaths.

The police investigated, but it was difficult like a labyrinth. At that time, the relationship between Sun Myung Moon and Mrs. Yoon was still continuing. Preparations were going on by people to make a film to be called “Oh Incheon” about the UN forces landing at Incheon during the Korean War (the 6.25 disturbance). But the sudden death of Mrs. Yoon left no funds and the project was put on hold.

Kim Won-deok was a suspect in the murders. At the time the police visited me to ask his whereabouts. Later I got the chance to meet Mr Kim many times. I looked at his sad appearance. He was quite surprised at what had happened [and said he had nothing to do with it.] We played a game of looking at all those associated with the victim to see if we could find the actual perpetrators. Kim Won-deok had not changed in any way and I was convinced that he was not the culprit.

Kim Won-deok is dead now, and already three years have passed.

_________________________________________

Pak Chung-hwa was never sued for the publication of The Tragedy of the Six Marys – the real Satan is Sun Myung Moon!!. The facts in the book have never been challenged or proved to be incorrect. There are many photos that support the text. One map by Pak reveals the lies of Kim Won-pil who had to hastily republish his Japanese testimony book – with the falsehoods removed.

A couple of years later Pak Chung-hwa was coerced into putting his name on the cover of a book written by the UC of Japan: I Am A Traitor – At that time Satan possessed me! (That is not the usual title for a memoir.)

See: Chung-hwa Pak did not write “I am a Traitor” (The UC of Japan published it)

▲ Tragedy on the left, and Traitor on the right – with the most unflattering photo (screen shot) of Pak that the UC could find. The TV is a reference to this video:

Tragedy of the Six Marys translated video transcript

In the above Tragedy book cover, Pak is standing at the back on the left.

_________________________________________

Sun Myung Moon had a girlfriend in 1941

Moon’s first wife, Choi Seon-gil, and Kim Deok-jin interviewed

Kim Myung-hee, the third wife of Sun Myung Moon

The lie that Kim Myung-hee was raped in Japan

The Tragedy of the Six Marys – Introduction

The six ‘wives’ of Sun Myung Moon

Thoughts on Rape, Molestation and Sun Myung Moon

#Sun Myung Moon #murder #Yang Yun-yeong #Kim Won-deok

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nyc-uws · 3 years

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12 Shocking Things I Learned by Working as a Butler at the Plaza Hotel

You’ll never look at hotel staff the same way again.

Bloomberg Brandon Presser

Old-school service is alive and well at the Plaza: High tea treats are served in brass birdcages, tuxedo-clad bellman whisk away luggage to gilded suites, and chefs bear toques that tower above their heads. But in the age of Amazon Prime—when we all want everything now—what is it really like blending vestigial aristocratic assistance with light-speed wish fulfillment? In order to properly find out, I accepted an offer from New York’s iconic Plaza Hotel to join its team of butlers, a coterie of 10 servicemen (and one woman!) who trot around the property’s 20 floors day and night, making sure 282 rooms’ worth of guests feel like royalty. For two hot days in July 2017, I raced around with a team that, like the city itself, seemingly never sleeps—hearing tales of the trade from the department’s director, Emma, and serving guests alongside some of her most experienced staffers.

This is an elite crew: It bears a combined 147 years of experience, and many have served as house managers for affluent families all over the world. Me? I got express credentials for my two-day residency—unprecedented for the Plaza. They included a detailed orientation of the property and a uniform fitting for my hotel-issued attire (gold-plated name tag and all).

Over my short tenure, I delivered laundry to Middle Eastern princesses and fetched lobsters out of wishing wells—and listened to colleagues delight in the oddities of their jobs, from fielding requests for Viagra or comforting a weeping woman over spilled blueberries. Serving the world’s rich and famous, it turns out, plumbs the depths of an alternative universe that readily embraces the absurd without even batting an eye. And that was only the beginning of what I learned.

Here, 12 secrets to keep in mind the next time you check into a five-star hotel.

One VIP List You Don’t Want to Be On

Hundreds of butler requests roll in each shift—mostly to fill ice buckets, handle laundry, and shine shoes. Complimentary packing and unpacking requests are also common, though they can turn into day-long affairs. A surprising number of international guests will purchase adjoining suites: one to sleep in and one for their luggage.

By matter of corporate philosophy, every guest should feel like a VIP at the Plaza. But a hierarchy still exists among those who check-in at reception. At the top of the pyramid are kings, queens, and heads of state—or as butlers call them: V1s, and they are ever-present on the property. Then come high-payers, long-stayers, guests booking a large block of rooms, and recognizable celebs. They’re called DVs, or distinguished visitors. On the bottom of the VIP totem pole is the SA group, known complainers or otherwise difficult and demanding guests who require “special assistance.”

Bath Time Can Be Awkward

Another common request for the butler team is to draw baths with a signature blend of salt, oil, and roses—especially during the colder months of the year. But the butler’s duties aren’t necessarily complete once the tub is full. Bal, the Plaza’s resident bath-time specialist, said that 95 percent of the time, he’s asked to remain within arm’s reach as bathers suds-up. Most of them, he said, want more hot water or scented oil, and are happy to keep him on hand while they relax in the nude. He is often left to pull the plug from the drain, elbow-deep in leftover water.

It gets weirder. One of my butler colleagues at a previous job in London was asked to ship in and set up a guest’s order of fresh oysters in the bathtub. He diligently filled the tub with ice and laid the oysters out, only to discover that the guest wanted the oysters placed in the tub around his soaking body. Eventually, the client seemed satisfied: He purchased the room next door for his butler so he’d always be near.

Hotel Guests Are Pretty Predictable …

The Plaza’s guest relations team researches everyone staying at the hotel on an individual basis, using a variety of social media tools. (The favorite is LinkedIn.com.) Butlers, on the other hand, often use past trends to size people up on the spot. They send electric kettles to the rooms of arriving Asian guests, who often bring noodles from home to cook in their suite. They keep an eye on the minibar when tending to Americans in their thirties and forties—they’re considered the partiers of the hotel, likeliest to plow through the booze. Middle Eastern VIPs get what is called an “Arabic Amenity”—a tray of dates, dried fruit, and nuts; they tend to prefer these to chocolates, cakes, or other sweet desserts. And the butler staff knows to immediately ask Western businessmen if they have shirts or suits that needs servicing upon checking in; they’re always the ones who treble the quantity of laundry in the basement.

… Except When They’re Totally Unpredictable

Despite the overwhelming regularity of guest behaviors, travelers can mystify even the most experienced of butlers. During my shifts, lobster shells kept appearing in the fountains of the hotel’s interior courtyard. Every day, the staff would fish them out, only to find a new one a few hours later. It turned out that a Middle Eastern prince was ordering cooked lobster from room service for every meal and then throwing the empty shells out the window to land in a fountain below. (Emma asked him to stop—nicely—but pieced together the mystery only on the day of his departure.)

Another time, a woman called Emma hysterically crying “as though her husband died and she just discovered the body.” When Emma finally calmed her down, she comprehended the real reason for the guest’s tears: There was no more Kleenex in her suite, and her young daughter had been forced to blow her nose on toilet paper.

Sex, Drugs and … Come Again?

As at any hotel, requests for drugs and prostitutes do happen—but not frequently. Bal has been asked for drugs only two or three times in his 10 years at the Plaza, and he is careful to stick within the boundaries of the law. Condom needs are another story: Mouhsine, one of the other butlers, always carries a pack with him, especially in the evenings. On being called to fulfill one such late-night request, no one answered the door after several knocks; he gently entered the room to find the two guests in the “go” position, waiting to be walked-in on.

Far more interesting than sex and drugs are the more outlandish client requests. Recently, Emma fielded a service call from a woman searching for some missing chocolate-covered blueberries, which had fallen off a window ledge. Emma offered to obtain replacements from the same brand and store, but the guest was adamant about retrieving her exact snack. Emma and the security team trawled the hotel’s interior courtyard for hours, blueberry-hunting, to no avail. During my brief tenure, the weirdest request was for two liters of intravenous saline solution—meant for a doctor’s ailing wife, who was presumably on the wrong side of a stunning hangover.

Some requests are even more bizarre. One butler told the story of how he was asked to replace all the furniture in a suite because the guest didn’t like the color blue. Another was sent off to scout the city’s reliquaries for a justice of the peace trophy—a prize for a newly minted lawyer. Another arranged for a live tarantula flown in from Africa to be served as a meal. Of course, butlers always deliver with a straight face.

Mind the Pillowcases

Missing pillowcases can be a real issue at the Plaza. But it’s not the tourists that have sticky fingers. And it’s not hotel pillowcases that are getting stolen. At least once a week, a white pillowcase that was brought from a guest’s home gets mistaken for a hotel-issued version and is sent out for cleaning. Sometimes they’re never seen again, in which case Emma dispatches a bellman to purchase new coverings, drawing on the hotel’s coffers, no matter the price.

Christmastime: Not so Merry

“Party season,” which spans October to December, feels like a constant carousel of functions, banquets, and events at the Plaza. Every evening, there are four or five requests for assistance at looping bow ties and zipping up cocktail dresses. And in the last few years, requests for holiday-themed decorations in the rooms have become so commonplace that the hotel now offers a standard Christmas package that includes a fresh, fully decorated tree, assembled by the butlers pre-check-in for $500.

The Customer Is Not Always Right

Complaints follow regular patterns. Every day, a guest will complain about too-slow laundry service. Though forms clearly offer standard and expedited return times, they’re not fast enough for some.

Minibar charges also lead to regular disputes. A full raid of your room’s bar runs $600 at the Plaza—something that happens at least once a week. The likelihood that guests will not want to pay is almost guaranteed.

This requires butlers to document everything with pocket cameras, whether it’s open booze bottles spread across the room, stains on laundry that existed before washing, or evidence of damaged furniture. Every ticket is verified on a computer and photos are attached, so when TripAdvisor.com lights up with a fiery review, the butlers are able to provide evidence to dispel any falsehoods.

The Easiest Way to Get Banned

It’s a lot easier than you might think. The hotel has a strict anti-discrimination policy, and zero tolerance is given to guests who mistreat the staff because of race, gender, age, or creed. Even now, guests sometimes request that staff of a certain ethnic extraction not be allowed to service their rooms; others will ask service members if they are legal in America. Emma, the director of the butler team, cited several incidents of sexism, too, such as the time guests asked to speak with a manager but grew angrier when she showed up instead of a man.

The refusal of services goes all the way up the ladder to DVs. At least two specific celebrities are permanently banned from the Plaza—one, a pop diva expelled for excessive drug and alcohol use and a belligerent attitude towards the staff, the other a sitcom star who took his anger issues out on a suite’s worth of furnishings.

Afternoon Tea Leftovers Don’t Go to Waste

Hidden within the Plaza’s secret back-of-house corridors and tunnels is a cafeteria reserved for the staff. Open during lunch, dinner, and late-night hours for (surprisingly good!) hot meal service, the canteen offers bagels and drinks for the peckish throughout the entirety of the day. But the savviest snackers know to visit the cafeteria at exactly 5:30 p.m., because that’s when the leftovers from high tea at the Palm Court upstairs are put out for the staff. (They serve only the food that was prepped but not plated.) Emma said she practically lives off mini cucumber sandwiches. I liked the tiny blueberry cheesecakes.

A Good Tip Can Make It Worthwhile

New York City’s hospitality workers are protected under a spectrum of different unions. While bellmen and room service are considered “tipping staff,” the butlers do not expect fiscal rewards for their work, beyond the Plaza’s paycheck. But Bal and his colleagues still see a few ex-presidents from time to time.

His biggest tip during the last 10 years? It came from a French model-actress keen on setting up a romantic weekend for her boyfriend, a well-known fashion magnate. Bal placed flowers on every flat surface throughout their suite, organized lunch in a helicopter over Central Park, and tracked down a very specific, very expensive bottle from a specialist store off-site. By the end of the weekend, she handed him $8,000 in cash.

Seven months later, the founder of the fashion label was back at the hotel with a different girlfriend.

When to Call It a Night

The Plaza maintains a Betsey Johnson-designed suite in honor of Eloise, the capricious six-year-old that fictionally lived on the property. It was here that Nimer, another member of the butler team, had his most bizarre service experience to date. A request was put in for someone to come up and read the beloved children’s book as a bedtime story, but when Nimer arrived there were no children to be found. Four thirtysomethings were neatly tucked into one, large bed. Concealing his shock, Nimer read to them for 90 minutes—then tracked down Eloise on video, in case they hadn’t had enough.

This post originally appeared on Bloomberg and was published August 8, 2017.

https://getpocket.com/explore/item/12-shocking-things-i-learned-by-working-as-a-butler-at-the-plaza-hotel?utm_source=pocket-newtab

#Working as a Butler #Shocking Things

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ilovemygaydad · 5 years

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title: sticks and stones may break my bones, and you can always hurt me

pairing: logicality

warnings (read them because they are important): internal aphobia, mentions of abuse, panic attacks, lots of self hate, internal homophobia, mentions of corrective rape, mentions of verbal abuse, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of kissing, anger, threats, mentions of abusive relationships, lying, mentions of overdose, mentions of death, mentions of abusive families, crying, swearing, miscommunication, things are worded to make it seem like a fight but it isn’t, and possibly something else (let me know if something needs to be tagged)

summary: patton needs to come out to his boyfriend, which may seem redundant, but it sure as hell isn’t

word count: 1.5k

inspired by @today-only-happens-once‘s story “exposure therapy,” which I love with all of my heart!

a/n: is this good? probably not, but then again, when is anything that I write?

Patton paced in front of the door to his apartment, wringing his hands. It was silly--he knew that he was being silly--yet his mind wouldn’t lend itself reprieve from the awful thoughts. But at the same time, he needed to prepare himself for all situations. Yes, he trusted Logan more than anyone else on the planet, but he was always told that he trusted too easy, and he’d been burned more often than he’d like to admit. There was no telling what could happen when the truth came out; all he could do was hope that it wouldn’t be one of the worse options.

Like, he really hoped that Logan wouldn’t get mad and say, “so you were leading me on for three years?!” Or that he wouldn’t tell him that asexuality doesn’t exist, and that Patton needs to get over himself and grow up--which was honestly likely seeing as Patton was always called childish. And he really hoped that Logan wouldn’t try--try to--

He just hoped. That was all that he could do because he didn’t have time to put off coming out any longer. When Logan had first started dating Patton, he’d just escaped a physically abusive relation, and he was still relearning where his boundaries were. Selfishly, Patton was happy that Logan had given him the perfect excuse to never need to say that he was asexual, but the time had come when Logan had become comfortable with himself and would inevitably want to go further. And it wasn’t fair to either of them for Patton to hide behind a mask.

Patton ran his hands down his face. He could do this. All he needed was another few minutes to prepare, and he’d march right into his apartment and--

The door to the apartment swung open, and Patton screeched in horror as Logan’s head peeked out.

“Patton, dear, why are you pacing outside of our apartment? Did you get locked out?”

The man in question opened his mouth to answer his boyfriend, but instead blurted out, “I’m asexual. I’m never going to want to have sex with you. I’m so sorry for leading you on, and I know I’m being ridiculous--I really do--but please just--I just--I can’t keep lying to you. I know that you’re probably really upset, which is fair, but--”

“Patton--”

“I love you so much, and I don’t--”

“Patton!” Logan cried, and Patton’s mouth snapped shut immediately. “Oh, god, Patton.”

And Logan was… laughing for some reason.

“Wh-Why are you laughing?”

Logan wheezed and gently rubbed at his eyes as he attempted to pull himself together. “I apologize. This is a very serious moment, and I shouldn’t be laughing, but I just--me too.”

“Me too… what?” Patton asked, tilting his head in confusion.

“I’m asexual.”

The puzzle pieces all fell into place before Patton’s eyes. “Oh,” he said plainly.

It certainly made sense. Logan hadn’t given many details of his previous relationships, but Patton knew that they all ended with a nasty breakup. With the last boyfriend, Logan had said that he’d physically abused him to the point that he had to get a therapist and spend time in the hospital. It had been made very clear from the beginning that Logan would be the one to set the pace of the relationship as he continued to heal, which was completely fine with both parties. For a long time, he didn’t even want to be touched, and he refused to watch many mainstream movies rated above PG because they had content that was “highly uncomfortable” for him to watch. Short kisses were preferred, and cuddling took over a year to be introduced in their relationship.

“‘Oh’ indeed,” Logan chuckled. He gently took Patton’s hand and began to lead him into their apartment. “Now that we have the air cleared, why were you standing outside of our apartment? Why not come inside?”

Patton stiffened, and it took every ounce of control in his body not to tear himself away from Logan. “It’s nothing, sweetheart. I was just caught up in my thoughts.”

“Falsehood. What’s wrong?” Logan turned Patton so they were facing each other, so Patton put on his sunniest smile before responding.

“Really, it’s nothing. Just some things at work that I need to remember to do.”

Logan’s lips turned down at the corners. “Patton, I have multiple degrees in psychology, and your body language and blatant lying suggest that you aren’t okay.” His eyes turned pleading. “Please, tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I…”

What the hell was he supposed to tell Logan? ‘Well, I was worried that you’d hate me or break up with me or rape me when I came out to you as asexual, but it’s no big deal! Let’s go make dinner together because that’s what couples who trust and love each other do’? Yeah, because that would be a great way to end the evening. On the curb not because his partner didn’t accept his sexuality, but because Patton was too untrusting to think that Logan wouldn’t pull something when he came out.

Patton was weak and pathetic and just didn’t deserve love. That much was obvious from the horrible deck that he was dealt. Asexuality and gayness and mental health issues and stupidity and poor judgement. His life was meant to end in a ditch, overdosing on alcohol because he couldn’t trust the one good man that he’d found. Maybe, all those years back, his parents were right to throw him out as soon as he turned eighteen because they knew that their son was destined for an early grave, and it’d be so much easier to just start fresh with their problem child being little more than a distant memory.

“...Pat…atton are...kay…?”

Huh, Patton thought as the world slowly refocused. Logan looks upset.

“...need you to...with me...aving...panic attack…”

Panic attack.

Oh.

He was having a panic attack.

“...four, sev…eight...just like th...you’re doing great…”

After a few minutes of breathing exercises, Patton had regained his ability to see and hear properly. At some point, Logan had lowered them to the ground so they were sitting in the middle of the floor. Patton picked at the skin around his nails. He didn’t want to look at Logan’s face.

“Do you want to tell me what got you so upset? You don’t have to, and I’m certainly not going to force you; I just wish to know so that I may avoid it in the future, okay?” Logan asked in the same soft, quiet voice that he used on his nephews.

“Don’ tr’s you,” Patton mumbled in response, eliciting a sigh from Logan.

“Would you please repeat that?”

“I don’ trust you.”

“Don’t trust me about what?”

Patton moved his gaze to where the floor met the wall. “I thought you were gonna hurt me or somethin’ ‘cause ‘m ace.”

“I see.” Logan’s voice had gone clinically cold--so much so that Patton’s eyes snapped up to Logan’s face. His facial features looked calm at a glance, but the miniscule twitch of his right eyebrow and slightly clenched jaw betrayed the cool façade and exposed the true anger he was feeling.

“‘m sorry. Gimme a day, and ‘ll get my stuff out ‘f the apartment. I just need time to find a place--”

“Who hurt you?”

Patton’s mouth hung open in shock for a few moments before he choked out a tiny, “what?”

“Who hurt you to make you fear that I would do something so god-awful to you because of your sexuality? How many times has this happened in the past?” Logan’s voice echoed down the hallway as his volume rose. “Who did this to you?”

“Lo, we don’t--it’s not a big deal--”

“Not a big deal?!” Logan cried in frustration and anger. “Of fucking course it’s a big deal, Patton! It’s a big deal because neither you nor I should feel as though we’re going to be assaulted for coming out. We don’t deserve to have to be scared because we’re good people. You are one of the kindest, trusting people that I know, and somebody along the way fucked you up so badly that you became afraid to take both feet out of the closet!”

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispered, hunching in on himself as tears welled up in his eyes.

“No, wait--damn it--I didn’t--hold on. I’m not mad at you. I swear, honey; I’m not. Just--can I hug you?”

Patton gently nodded his head, and Logan quickly pulled him into his arms.

“I could never be mad at you, okay? I’m just so angry at the people who hurt us along the way. It isn’t fair that the fear has become so normal to us.”

“I know,” Patton murmured into Logan’s shirt.

“I’m going to track down anyone who hurt you and beat them up.”

That forced a tiny smile out of Patton. “I don’t think that’s allowed, Lo.”

“I don’t give a damn. I’m going to do it.”

“Okay, hon.” Patton snuggled closer. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#sanders sides fic #m writes things #logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years

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Love Isn’t Always On Time Part Fifteen

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

Notes: Not beta-read.

Summary: I pushed down the bubble of pride that swelled at his awed tone; questions like that were just another reminder of the fact that my entire relationship with Steve and Bucky was based on falsehoods.

Warnings: Light cursing

Rating: T (this may change)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

The relative peace of the shooting range was interrupted abruptly as I aimed and fired five shots in quick succession. My groupings weren’t as tight as they had been when I had done my entrance exams for S.H.I.E.LD, but they weren’t so bad.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Steve asked. I pushed down the bubble of pride that swelled at his awed tone; questions like that were just another reminder of the fact that my entire relationship with Steve and Bucky was based on falsehoods.

I lowered the gun, unloading the clip and setting it aside before I set the gun down as well. Bucky hadn’t said a word through the target shooting, but when I glanced at him, his eyes were narrowed at me suspiciously. “I didn’t grow up in the safest of neighborhoods,” I fibbed. What was another lie? Steve sighed, setting himself down beside Bucky. “Neither did we, but we weren’t taught to shoot,” Steve pointed out. “You’ve never talked about that before,” Bucky said. I shrugged, folding my arms across my chest defensively.

“We weren’t at war in Brooklyn. And I don’t like to talk about it.”

I shifted from foot to foot, unsure of myself as the two shared a look.

“Phillips offered you a position with him,” Steve told me.

“Offered, or you talked him into it?” I asked. Steve opened his mouth to retort, but I waved him off. “You’re not sticking me on the sidelines, Rogers.” “It isn’t safe for you out here,” Bucky spoke up. “Oh, and it is for you? Did we or did we not find you strapped to a table,” I snapped. Bucky’s jaw tightened, and I felt my stomach roll. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes to calm myself down. “It’s a war. No one is safe out here,” I pointed out, keeping my voice as level as possible. “Then what’s your plan?” Steve asked, looking up at me, “You stay with me and Bucky?” “I won’t just stay, I’ll help. I can shoot, I can fight as well as any of you… I don’t know if this comes down to you wanting to keep me safe. I think this comes down to whether or not you trust me,” I said. “You told me before we jumped out of that plane that there was a lot I didn’t know about you,” Steve reminded me. “Tell me what you need from me,” I said. “The truth.”

—

“Who’s this, then?” I turned my head at the sound of Dum Dum’s voice. “Oh! Pardon, miss. Didn’t recognize ya,” He smiled brightly. “No worries,” I said lightly, setting my things aside. “You’re coming along?” I glanced over at Morita as he loaded his pack into the back of the truck.

“That alright with you?” I asked. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “More than. You helped us out of that jam in Krausberg. Meant no disrespect.” I gave him a small apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Long night.” “You’re telling me,” Falsworth grumbled as he loaded his things in beside Morita’s. I chuckled at the sight of the hungover Brit. “Morning.” We all turned to look at Bucky and Steve as they approached. I eyed Steve’s new uniform. Stark had padded it to ensure Steve would be adequately protected. I stepped aside, following his movements as he tossed his pack in beside the others. I had never been able to really admire the hues of red, white, and blue on his shield in old photos. I bit my lip to stifle a gasp at the vibrancy of the paint over the Vibranium. I had spent the last few nights away from Steve and Bucky. Despite the number of questions I’d answered for them, I still felt like their gazes weighed heavily on me. And it felt like things had shifted. We were strained, all of us. Bucky and Steve had been close to one another before I’d come into their lives; they would still be close if I left it.

Steve pulled the shield off of his back. Light as it seemed when he handled it, his pack still slouched under its weight. He turned to look at me, eyes set with what I hoped was concern.

“Ready?” He asked quietly. I read that message loud and clear: One last chance to back out. “Ready,” I said firmly. He nodded before turning back to look at Bucky. “Hang on, Cap!” We stopped to see one of Phillips�� associates came scrambling over, camera in hand. “Before you go,” He held the camera up. We all shuffled around, crowding awkwardly together. I tried to move toward the back, but Dum Dum nudged me forward, laughing, “No way will they be able to see you behind me, missy.” I took up a spot in front of Bucky and Steve, shoulders stiff. The cameraman probably told me to smile, but I couldn’t muster one. Close as I was to the two most important people in my life, I had never felt so far from them.

—

2012

“Your shift ended two hours ago.”

“I need to speak to the Director.” Hill pursed her lips, looking at Coulson through the crack in the door she’d opened. “Now is not the time.” “Now is definitely the time.” “You’re well aware that we are dealing with a situation—“ Hill was cut off by a grainy black and white photograph being shoved in her face. She went silent, eyes scanning the faces before she stepped back, letting Coulson through and shutting the door behind him. “Sir,” She said, calling Fury’s attention away from his screens. “This better be good, Agent,” He said flatly. “She’s in Europe, sir,” Coulson said. “And you know that how?” Fury asked.

Hill took the photo from Coulson and passed it to Fury, pointing out the face of their agent. “Where did you get this?” Fury demanded. “My grandfather was in General Phillips’ outfit. He took it himself, sir. I was at home, just going through some of his things, I mean considering what’s going on and I— I spotted that.” “…Motherfu—“

“Sir!” The three turned their heads as Rumlow strode in.

“The lab’s been able to restore power to the machine. They’re asking if we have a destination.” Fury’s eyes darted to the photograph. “Tell them to standby.” Rumlow nodded once before pivoting to leave.

“And Rumlow?” Fury added. The agent stopped, turning back. “Sir?” “Next time, knock.” Tag list: @gloryevans @redryderdesigns @winter-scolder @aactuaaltraash @secretagentben @staplerrrr @moli1497 @adayinmymeadow @allonszassbutt @mannls @witch-of-letters @niallssweetheart22 @uneniffler @rinthehufflepuff @panic-angel3314 ; @firstangeldragonranch

#stucky #stucky x reader #stucky x you #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader

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sidespromptblog · 6 years

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Uncommon Falsehoods: Part 2

Part One, Three, Four, Five, Six

Summary: Something that no one saw coming, Logan and Deceit bond over being the “least popular characters” and at the new development the other sides feel jealous. They had never thought that Logan wouldn’t always be there with them and for them, now though, they have to deal with the fact that not all falsehoods are uncommon.

Sad.

Most usually defined as affected by unhappiness or grief; sorrowful or mournful or being affected by sorrow in a variety of ways.

He wasn’t sad though...was he? The mere idea of it befuddled Logan, envy he could feel, the happiness he too could evidently feel as well, disappointment was a sensation he was adequately familiar with as well. But sadness? He wasn’t sure why the idea of being able to express the sadness of all things seemed to alien to him, especially when he had come to grip with all of the other smaller emotions that constantly got in his way day after day.

Was this it though? Was this the thing that he had been pushing and pushing back every time it had tried to make itself known? How could he be certain though? As Patton had said, Thomas dealt with a lot of emotions on a day to day basis, and thus all of them had a lot of emotions as well. Perhaps he needed to experiment more, or study up on the human emotional spectrum and…

“Logan.”

Deceit’s firm and tense voice snapped him out of the spiral of his thoughts, looking at the snake-faced side he saw something on his face, an expression, or rather an emotion he wasn’t too familiar with. Before he knew it, Logan was shaking his head at Deceit, completely running over whatever the lying side had been about to say to him.

“No.” He quickly said, not leaving any room for an argument, “I’m not sad, I can’t feel sadness. This is something else, you’re lying, but then again that in itself isn’t too much of a surprise. It is who you are, I am Logic.” Repeating the words inside of his head made him somehow feel better and worse all at the same time, was this how Patton felt? Was this how he felt when he was repressing everything and acting like everything was just fine and dandy?

Honestly, it felt awful not that he was going to admit it, the words ‘I am not sad’ felt like a burning poison on his tongue, a poison that felt nearly impossible to swallow down all by himself. However, he could and he would do it, because he wasn’t sad, he couldn’t be sad. Not him.

Before him, Deceit set the spoon down with a surprising amount of force for someone who had once seemed to be pretty calm just a few seconds ago. A muscle in Deceit’s cheek jumped and throbbed, but Logan didn’t comment on it as the lying side’s burning eyes stared into his own like he was trying to scorch Logan alive. He almost seemed...angry? No, the word irritated seemed more in stride to how Deceit was looking at him, of course, he managed to make even Deceit irritated at him as well.

“Lying suits you Logan, you don’t know that and I haven’t had enough.” The words may as well have been hissed from behind Deceit’s clenched teeth, and any previous reservations about touching Logan before went completely out of the window as Deceit reached forward before tightly grasping Logan’s shoulders. His fingers dug into the thin narrow shoulders that he could feel under Logan’s polo shirt, getting a good grip on him.

The other side stiffened up somewhat at the contact, but really, Deceit had gone too far to go back now as he gave Logan a firm shake that rocked his chair back and forth. Logan’s eyes had widened a little bit behind his glasses, letting him know that Deceit had his full attention.

“Don’t listen to me Logan, you can’t feel sadness, and you are not apart of a human and thus you don’t share those feeling that Thomas has. If Roman, Virgil, or anybody else can feel them, then you most certainly can’t! I am Deceit, it isn’t just a job Logan. Don’t listen to me.” Another shake rocked the chair again, but this time Logan planted his feet on the ground stopping the tipping motion that Deceit was eliciting.

The logical side swallowed thickly, as if trying to swallow down a big wad of food that had gotten stuck in his throat.

He didn’t want to believe it, wading through the emotions that he knew was bad enough, but sadness on top of it all? How was he supposed to deal with this, how was he supposed to open himself up and let the others see what was truly inside of him? Could he trust them to see the feelings for what they even were, or would they even care enough to look?

Squadless geek! You’re alone! Roman.

Get over it, you’re the least popular character… Virgil.

Shut your ever-flapping gob-talker Logan. And...Patton.

No, no they wouldn’t.

Warmth trailed down his cheeks, and with a look of abject horror on his face Deceit jerked back away from Logan. Recoiling like Logan was a bee that had stung him on the hand, more than that, Deceit had a look on his face. A look that for once Logan knew the meaning of, he saw it several times when Roman looked at Virgil, and a few times when he looked at Patton.

It was guilt.

“I..I’m n-” Logan’s fingers touched the wetness on his own cheeks, and before he knew it a watery chuckle left him, it sounded every bit as sad and broken as he felt on the inside. He never thought that he’d actually be able to cry, tears of all things had seemed so foreign to him, something that he had yet to experience.

Thomas had cried who knows how many times in the years that he had grown up, and he had seen Patton and the others cry along with him. But they had never come to grace him, and Logan for the longest time had simply figured that tears were beyond him. A feeling, an action, and a response that he couldn’t comprehend, unlike the others. Yet another thing that just set him apart from the others, and something else that only solidified the feeling of sadness being a puzzle piece that he just didn’t have.

Logan shook his head though, as Deceit wrung his hands worriedly around his wrists, like a guilty man rubbing at the place where handcuffs had previously been.

“No..” Logan cleared his throat, attempting to talk as normal as someone who was in the process of crying could. “You didn’t do this, I just…came to a realization.” He attempted to explain as he drew the pad of his thumb under his eye, swiping away the trail of salty tears that had collected there. Before he knew it, there was a tissue in front of his face, and the yellow gloved hand that held it went back to Deceit who was stubbornly looking away.

“I can stay if you would like.” The words were crystal clear, and yet it took Logan a moment to decipher just what the deceitful side was saying to him, and after plucking the tissue from his hand the furrowed pinch between his brows relaxed and softened as it finally dawned on him.

Oh…

“You may stay, my research has been concluded anyway. If you would like to...you may help me put together a puzzle, there are a lot of pieces. Too many for one person to put together.” Seeing Deceit’s head shift over and his eyes staring into Logan with the kind of disbelief of someone who was waiting for the shoe to drop, he couldn’t help but to wonder if he had not only misjudged his own emotions, but those of Deceit as well.

Tagged:

@well-love-has-failed-me

@violetmcl

@im-so-infinitesimal

@neko-ereri

@sugermint

@5am-the-foxing-hour

#kind deceit #good deceit #deceit sanders #logan sanders #Logic sanders #sympathetic deceit

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patt0ncake · 6 years

Text

What Should We Die For Ch3

Title: What Shall We Die For?

Fandom: Sanders Sides.

Summary: When a demon invades Thomas’s mind Virgil is faced with the question. What shall you die for? He just hopes he can make the right choice.

Warnings: Possession, blood, violence, Deceit (the character, and the lies) Manipulation. Uh…let me know if I’ve left anything out!

<--Previous | Ch 1 | A03 |

Tag list: @wisepuma23 @senseless-septic-shambles @genderfluid-pigeon @princeyism @bird-based-anarchy @cdragontogacotar @nephilim-the-jack @queenof-purple

As the door to Roman’s inner room became visible a weary but content smile came upon the royal’s face. Only hours ago, though in his realm it felt like days or weeks because of the magic, he had been called by a few of his subjects to help defeat the Dragon Witch again as she had started to terrorize the outlying villages. And, as Prince, he was duty bound to help his subjects in anyway he could. So, he had gotten his favorite sword, a few provisions and saddled up his favorite steed to ride off in search of the dreaded witch.

That had taken longer than he would have liked because he was a bit worried about Virgil. True, there didn’t seem to be anything overly wrong or concerning about him, but there was something that seemed…off somehow and it was driving him mad. So, he had taken longer than he had originally wanted, only to find that the Dragon Witch had practically disappeared, leaving a great manticore-chimera behind to throw him off her trail. Then, when he had finally defeated the beast and caught up with the Dragon Witch, she had thought it would be funny to curse him with an unfortunate case of hives.

Needless to say, when he had finally been able to come home, there was nothing more that he wanted to do than take a cleansing bath with the special magical-healing-bath-bomb that he had created and enjoy a very long undisturbed nap.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

With a groan Roman spun around and stalked towards the door, feeling very uncharitable to whoever had disturbed his plans of relaxing. Swinging open the door he looked at the bespectacled side and snapped out. “What do you want Microsoft-Nerd? I’m a little busy at the moment.”

Logan’s eyebrow twitched as he took in the rumpled state of the clothes Roman was wearing. “Clearly,” he said his voice dry. Roman puffed up, outraged that he would just dismiss him like that, but Logan spoke before he could. “Why did you do it?”

“Why did I do what, Logan?” Roman asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Falsehood. I can’t believe you would do something like this. I know you were upset about the fact that the fans favorite seems to be shifting, but I didn’t expect you to do something so drastic. And then lie about it to my face as well.” Logan seethed, his face visibly furious.

Roman took a step back, startled at how upset the usually calm and collected side was acting. Then, his exhaustion and stress gave way to anger and snappishness. “Whatever, I don’t need this right now. Come back when you’re able to make sense again.” And with that he snapped the door shut before anything else could be said.

Leaning his head against the door he sighed, wondering why Logan was so mad and why he had chosen to blame Roman. No matter, he decided, he would deal with this after his bath.

WSWDF

Things were tense in Thomas’s mindscape. Logan wasn’t talking to Roman, convinced that he had smashed his beloved Crofters and that this was his way of getting back at the logical trait for some imagined slight. Roman wasn’t talking to Logan because he was appalled that Logan had blamed him for something that he clearly didn’t do. Patton was trying to make peace between the two but ultimately was unsuccessful. Remuel was helping in his own way…or rather, he was egging them on further and then chuckling about it when he was back in Virgil’s room.

Remuel snuck into Roman’s room after he had created a diversion involving Logan, Roman and Patton’s freshly baked cookies. Knowing that the royal would be occupied for a while—or at least as long as Remuel needed him to be—he got to work searching the room.

‘What…are you going to do?’ Virgil demanded, voice sluggish.

Remuel tsked in mock sympathy. “Oh, hon you’re not sounding well at all. Maybe you should just sleep.” Virgil’s flash of anger made him chuckle.

‘Well maybe you should go die in a ditch.’

Remuel smirked “You first darling.”

When his only reply was a grumble and the mental equivalent of flipping the bird he just chuckled again before going back to his task. “Ah here it is!” Remuel purred in satisfaction. Held in his hands looked to be a script of some kind. It wasn’t finished yet but looked as if it had taken countless hours and a few sleepless nights of work. “Oh, look Virgie it’s dedicated to you! How…sentimental.”

‘What are you going to do?’ Virgil demanded his voice a little stronger than before.

“Improve it.” Remuel said a wicked smile on his face before ripping it into pieces.

‘STOP’ Virgil yelled, angry that he felt so helpless.

“Mmm…no.” Remuel said his voice smug. Hearing the pounding of feet up the stairs Remuel knew it was time to move, so with one last tear he dropped the pieces onto Roman’s bed, placing Logan’s favorite tie next to them. “Perfect.”

WSWDF

Logan was in his room furious at how Roman had been acting. He knew that they were currently at odds with each other, but he had never imagined that Roman would take it out on Patton.

Patton…

Logan’s heart clenched as the memory of Patton’s crestfallen face appeared in his mind’s eye. When the moral trait had seen the trays of cookies—cookies that he had so patiently baked—on the floor he looked like he was going to cry. But when Logan had yelled at Roman for ruining Patton’s cookies Patton really did cry.

A very loud and anguished scream startled Logan out of his thoughts and he bolted out of his room.

“What’s going on?” he asked Virgil as Patton tried to calm down Roman.

Virgil opened his mouth to answer but was cut off as Roman finally noticed Logan.

“YOU!” The royal roared, his sword appearing in his hand. He held it towards the shocked trait, his eyes looking murderous. “How could you do this to me, you fiend!”

“What on earth are you talking about Roman?” Logan asked equal parts alarmed and confused.

“Someone tore up the script that he had been working on,” Patton explained, his voice low and soothing.

“What?” Logan asked aghast. He knew how much work Roman had done on that; he even had come to Logan for his advice a few times.

“Oh, like you don’t already know,” Roman snarled, causing Logan to flinch. “Seeing how you were the one who did it.”

Logan rocked back, shocked at the amount of venom in the words. Then, as his brain finally registered what had been said, his shock gave way to anger. “Me? Preposterous! I haven’t even stepped foot in your room. How could I have possibly rip up your script? Or, for that matter, why would I want to do that in the first place?”

Roman scoffed, “Why? Because you wanted revenge of course. Revenge for breaking your ‘precious Crofters‘ which, as I told you before, I did not do.”

Logan spluttered, looking too angry to even speak.

“Maybe we all should just settle down,” Patton soothed placing a hand on Roman’s arm. “Come on Ro, put your sword away.” Roman started to lower the sword slightly but stopped as Logan straightened in anger.

“Where’s the proof?” Virgil asked suddenly, taking them all by surprise. They had forgotten that he was even there.

Logan smirked. “Virgil’s right. Where is your proof Roman? Where’s your proof that I did it?”

Roman sneered at the look on Logan’s smug face. “You want proof?” He snapped tossing the logical side’s tie at him. “There’s your precious proof. I found it by the pieces of my script.”

Logan stared at the piece of cloth in shock. He had lost this tie a few days ago and didn’t know how it possibly could’ve ended up in Roman’s room.

“Oh Logan,” Patton breathed looking at the logical side with tears in his eyes. “How could you?”

Logan flinched at the accusation in Patton’s eyes. “It wasn’t me. Patton you have to believe me.” Patton just looked away, causing Logan’s heart to twist. He looked at Virgil pleadingly. “Virge, you know I wouldn’t…”

Virgil looked at him and Logan bit his lip at the look in his eyes. “I don’t know Lo. I mean, your tie—your favorite tie—was in his room. That is pretty damning evidence.”

“Fine,” Logan whispered his tone hurt. “Fine don’t listen. I’ll just be in my room.”

With that he stomped into his room and slammed the door.

WSWDF

Remuel snickered quietly to himself as he thought of what had happened earlier between the two warring sides. The two were now unable to be in the same room as the other and poor Patton had been beside himself trying to get them to talk to each other. Remuel had just stood to the side watching in quiet amusement - though he always looked ‘properly sad’ when anyone had looked his way. Shaking his head, he walked through the fog and mist of the subconscious, ready to meet up with the three dark sides that he had agreed to work with.

‘It won’t be long now,’ he mused to both himself and Virgil. ‘It won’t be long until they hate each other and then it will be easy to kill them.’

‘No. I won’t let you!’ Virgil yelled wishing he had never went out patrolling. ‘I swear I’ll kill you first!’

“Mm…I’m afraid your word doesn’t mean much kitten,” Remuel laughed.

‘Go to hell,’ Virgil snarled.

“Oh darling, where did you think I came from?” Remuel said in amusement. “Now hush - the adults are talking.” He looked up as he felt the presence of the others. “Good evening gents. How goes the subconscious?”

Wrath snarled at him looking rather…well…wrathful. “Enough, now what news do you have about the dear light sides?” The term ‘light sides’ was spat out as if it was something foul.

Remuel smirked. “Oh, our dear friends are fighting among themselves I fear. Tis a shame really.”

“What of Patton?” Greed asked his eye glinting in excitement.

“The poor dear is simply beside himself.” Remuel pouted slightly before a wicked grin slid across his face.

“Excellent.” Envy grinned, a cruel one that twisted his features unpleasantly.

“And the Snake?” Greed demanded.

“He won’t be a problem anymore.”

Envy smirked. “Perfect. Now finish them.”

Remuel bobbed his head and gave them a mock salute. “Your wish is my command.”

As he walked back towards the dwelling of the light sides he bumped into Logan.

“Oh, sorry teach,” Remuel chuckled lightly. “Didn’t see you there.”

“What were you doing out in the subconscious Virgil?” Logan asked eyes narrowed slightly.

Remuel ducked his head slightly. “Well, you guys were still fighting, and I couldn’t take the tense atmosphere, so I decided to do a quick patrol. You know, got to make sure nothing bad gets into Thomas’s mind.”

Logan frowned for a moment, his eyes slightly pained before he looked back at Remuel. “Right…well anything to report?”

Remuel grinned up at him. “Nope. It was all quiet. Now if you’ll excuse me I promised that I’d make cookies with Patton, so I’d best be off.”

Logan stepped aside still staring at him closely, he seemed to be thinking about something. “Of course. Don’t want to be late.”

Remuel forced himself to grin, not wanting to come under suspicion when he was so close to his goal. “Of course.”

WSWDF

Logan watched his fellow side go with a slight frown. He could’ve sworn that he heard Virgil talking to someone before he came up, and he seemed to be acting strange. In fact, ever since he had come back from his last recon mission he had seemed….different. More aloof and he spent a lot more time in holed up in his room.

And now with the fighting between Roman and himself he was starting to think that Virgil knew more than he let on. Take the thing with Roman’s script and his tie. He knew that he wasn’t responsible for the torn script, but he had no idea how his tie had got in Roman’s room in the first place and—

He stopped suddenly as something tickled his memory. Virgil had been looking around his room a while back and that was around the time that his tie had gone missing…

“No, it can’t be.” Logan muttered, heart dropping. Metaphorically speaking that is. “He can’t have.” Vowing to get to the bottom of this he rushed into the main room, startling Patton.

“Goodness Logan, what’s wrong?” Patton asked, eyes wide as he looked up from the coloring book on his lap.

“I apologize Patton,” Logan said straightening. He looked at Patton and then at Roman, who was currently glaring at him. “ I do believe we should talk.”

“Well of course, what’s going on Lo?” Patton said setting his coloring book to the side.

“I…would you mind if we reconvene in my room?” Logan asked glancing around the room quickly. He didn’t want Virgil to hear.

“I guess we can,” Patton said looking puzzled. “Let me just get Virgil.”

“NO!” Logan said sharply before clearing his throat embarrassed. “I mean no, we do not need to bother him with this.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And just what is so important, calculator-watch?”

“Not here,” Logan whispered before sinking out.

Once both sides had followed him into his room he made sure the door was locked and that no sound could get out. Turning to his guests he noted that they looked confused and a little bit concerned at his behavior.

“Lo? What’s this about?” Patton asked softly.

“I think there might be something going on with Virgil.” Logan said finally.

“Oh Logan, you don’t know how right you are.” A voice came from the shadows and Deceit stepped out into the light.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #deceit sanders #ts deceit #Demon!Virgil #WSWDF #angst

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rearfwae · 3 years

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redrosella · 6 years

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Avarice - Chapter 2

Summary: Roman hasn’t been feeling well lately. He’s been waking up at random times in the middle of the night, is perpetually exhausted, and he can’t seem to get rid of this damn headache. …If only that was all it was.

Warnings: Mind Control, Brainwashing, Dark Sides, Corruption

Word Count: 1618

Tagged: @sanderstalker @rosie-the-bi

Chapter 1

The sides hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Roman since the last video. It was almost like he was a ghost. All of them knew by now to give him time to decompress after a video, but three days was really pushing it. The most he’d had to leave for before had been two days, and that was only after one of Thomas’ more strenuous musicals was finally over after months of practice and performing.

Almost nothing could keep Roman down for long, which is why it was so concerning to the others that the prince hadn’t appeared even once since his and Logan’s video. It wasn’t like it was a more stressful or engaging video than usual. Sure it was a bit more creative with all the handwritten graphs and lists and the cut out artwork, but it shouldn’t have warranted a three day vacation.

Virgil worried his bottom lip between his teeth, unable to sit still in his seat. “We really should go check in on him…”

“You know Roman doesn’t like to be interrupted when in his room. I don’t believe we should be worried right now, anyway. Perhaps he was simply decompressing, and then went right into another one of his little artistic binges that keep him all cooped up. It is statistically probable given how often he has them that one might coincide with the ending of a previous video.” Logan adjusted his glasses, looking back down at his book.

“I don’t know, Logan. I mean surely he should have at least come down to eat by now? I cooked him dinner and everything!” Patton spoke up, poking his head from the kitchen in to comment. “He must be hungry…”

“Roman can conjure anything, Patton. He can take care of himself.” Logan said, not looking up.

“Why are you being so blasé about this?” Virgil asked.

“I just don’t see the point in worrying about it right now. Roman can take care of himself. He certainly had it all figured out in the last video,” Logan mumbled bitterly. “Is that still bothering you, Logan?” Patton placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure Roman meant nothing personal by the video. He was just a bit over enthusiastic like usual.”

“I am not bothered by it. That would be illogical. I just wish he hadn’t been so dismissive of my points.”

Patton resisted the urge to point out that that qualified being bothered, instead trying to go for a more neutral route. “Well, maybe Roman believed you were dismissive of his ideas as well. He could be hiding away because he feels bothered as well. Maybe you should have a chat when he comes out of his room and sort all of this out. I’m sure something just got miscommunicated, and if you just talk it out and explain to Roman how you feel, you’ll feel better.” Logan was about to reply when he suddenly stopped, hearing the telltale sound of footsteps coming down the steps. Roman walked down looking perfectly normal. Maybe a bit worse for wear in some departments, but certainly not the disheveled appearance he usually had after his creative binges.

“Roman!” Patton called. “It’s good to see you kiddo! We missed you.”

Roman didn’t respond. He just continued walking into the kitchen, grabbing one of the notebooks that he left lying around the house for whenever he got an idea out of nowhere, opening it up and scanning the pages. The moral side’s smile fell.

Virgil furrowed his brow. “Roman?” Nothing. “Roman,” he said more forcefully.

“What,” Roman grit out, not looking up from his notebook.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Then why were you ignoring Patton?”

Roman snapped his book closed, glaring at Virgil. “I don’t need to respond to everything you say. I just came to get my book, and now I’m going to go.” He stalked off.

There was a silence. Then-

“Geez, what crawled up his ass and died?”

“Virgil!” Patton swatted at the side’s shoulder. “Language.”

“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

“I was not quite as crass, but I was thinking the general point. That was not very… Roman-y.” Logan waved his hand to the last word, adding extra emphasis to the eponym. “However, that did confirm that Patton’s hypothesis was correct. This attitude change seems to be in direct reaction to the video we just completed.”

“Well then maybe you should go up to his room and talk to him,” Patton suggested.

“He’s probably been hiding away because he doesn’t want to talk to Logan, Patton,” Virgil spoke up. “He’s not going to want to talk to him.” “I don’t see why. I didn’t say anything horrible during the video that would cause such a strong reaction.”

“Logan, I haven’t seen the video yet, but… well... I don’t know how to put this, but you are very blunt, and Roman is very sensitive. You may have said something that just rubbed him the wrong way accidentally, just like he said some things that rubbed you the wrong way. I’m sure neither of you meant it, but you two both have very different ways of speaking and communicating. Just go up and clear it all up. I’m sure Roman will listen.” Patton patted Logan on the shoulder.

Logan sighed. “Alright.” He put down his book, standing up from him chair. “Thank you, Patton.”

The logical side walked over to the staircase, taking the steps slowly to give himself time sort out his thoughts before going to confront the creative side.

He wasn’t mad at Roman for the video, really. He knew bringing Roman into it that they would have differing opinions, but he also knew that by the end of it they’d come to a satisfying conclusion about it. Or at least he had thought. This time there was no satisfying conclusion. Only Thomas cutting them off in the middle of insulting each other. Usually if they said something scathing during a video they’d apologize by the end of it, or at least see eye to eye in some respects, but that had never happened this time.

All the insults were just left hanging in the air between them with no resolution. It made sense that if Logan was upset by them then Roman would be too, given that they both traded insults several times.

Not that it bothered Logan. That would be illogical.

Logan came to Roman’s door, knocking on it twice and then stepping back, waiting for the side to appear. It took about thirty seconds but finally the fanciful side opened the door a crack, peering at Logan through the small gap.

Logan frowned, expecting the side to have slammed open the door like he usually would, but decided not to question it right now. There were more important things to worry about.

“Roman, I believe we need to talk,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses.

“About what?” Roman asked curtly.

“About the last video. I do not believe we parted on the best of terms, despite how it may have seemed. You have been locked away in your room for three days, and I have been out here, so clearly we haven’t communicated since the video ended. I believe you- we- said some things we may not have meant, so it would be best to clear the air before we continue on.”

Roman deadpanned. “There is nothing to say. Didn’t you hear Thomas? We make a great team.”

“That was quite obviously Thomas trying to end the video on a more positive note. We were no closer to a resolution than before he cut us off and suggested a middle road. We did not reconcile ourselves.”

“There was nothing to be reconciled. You said what you wanted, I said what I wanted, and then you ignored me despite wanting my help.”

Logan frowned. “I apologize if that is how it felt, Roman. I assumed you understood that the point of the videos is to meet in the middle.”

“I don’t think you understand, Logic. I do not want to meet in the middle on this.” Roman opened the door more, stepping out and closing it quickly behind him. Being able to look closer at the side, Logan could see that he was more bedraggled he seemed at first glance. There were bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept for the three days he had been gone, and his glare was almost deadly in it’s intensity. “There was nothing to debate on. We don’t need to focus on trivial little things like you want. Not everything has to be about what you want.”

“Roman that is highly illogical. I thought we went over this during the video. Thomas decided that-” Logan tried to reiterate before being cut off.

“Well Thomas was wrong. He doesn’t have to be right all the time. You’re just influencing him by pushing your own agenda. Well guess what? Thomas doesn’t need you, Logic. You’re just holding him back.” Logan took a step back, almost physically moved by the force of Roman’s words. “I was right when I said you were alone, Logic. No one wants to be around you when you never listen to them and instead try to use them for your own gain.”

“Falsehood,” Logan protested shakily. “I don’t- Roman, what has gotten into you?” “What has gotten into me?” Roman laughed. “Nothing. I’ve just become more aware. I don’t have to listen to you.” He turned on his heel, opening the door to his room and storming into it and slamming it shut behind him.

Before the door closed, Logan swore he could see the room in disarray.

He felt his eyes burning.

#Sanders Sides #Thomas Sanders #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #redrosellawriting #avarice #sanders sides fanfiction

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theonlyjelly-iwillput-inmybelly · 6 years

Text

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Hi, nonny! I wrote prompt 13 as a separate post for my own organizational purposes; I dislike writing fics in the question format because...aesthetics. Idk, I’m weird.

Prompt 13 became a cute lil fic that I so cleverly entitled ‘Ho, Ho, Ho, Bitch’ and you can read it on Tumblr HERE or my AO3 HERE.

Hit up the My Fics page on my theme for more of my fics, or search the ‘my fics’ tag on my blog.

Thank you!

A/N: This is a sharp contrast to prompt 13, and this is also the angstiest, saddest fic I have ever written to date. I’m sorry. I also explored the idea of making the antagonist...Logan. It was an interesting exercise, to say the least (I hurt my bois and I hate it)

Sorry for spelling it’s late and I’m tired

Prompt 16: “Christmas is lame.” -“You’re lame! You, you, you grinch!” -“Oh. Ow.”

Words: 3,749

Pairings: Prinxiety (Roman/Virgil)

Warnings: Swearing, arguing, crying, emotional breakdown

READ IT ON AO3 HERE!

“Come on, Virgil! You can’t hate Christmas that much!” Roman cried out in a dramatically shocked voice, a hand splayed over his heart as he steadied the ladder for Patton, who was in the process of hanging mistletoe from apparently every nook and cranny in the entirety of the mind palace.

“Actually, Roman,” Virgil retorted from the couch, where he was surfing Tumblr on his phone, “I can hate and not hate whatever the hell I want, regardless of the pressure you idiots with your Christmas fetishes put upon me.”

“I’d like to interject with the statement that I have never had a fetish for anything in my life, all things Christmas included, and that I also am not an idiot,” Logan said calmly as he entered the living room from the kitchen, “I have reason to believe you don’t entirely understand what a fetish is, Virgil, so I shall explain. A fetish, according to the Oxford English Dictionary-”

“No, I know what a fetish is, teach, thanks,” Virgil quickly interrupted, “I was just being sarcastic about these nerds’ obsession with Christmas.”

“It is not a fetish!” Roman cried, his cheeks flushing, “I’m just enjoying the Christmas spirit-”

“Now boys, don’t fight!” Patton chided, tying the red ribbon around the mistletoe securely, “Roman, Virgil’s allowed to like or dislike whatever he wants.”

“Yeah, I’m allowed to like or dislike whatever the hell I want,” Virgil said, jutting his chin out and grinning mockingly at Roman. He flipped the creative side off when Patton’s eyes were back on the mistletoe.

Roman huffed and stuck out his tongue, but grinned triumphantly when Patton said “I saw that, Virgil.”

“Saw what?” Virgil asked, tucking his phone and hands into the pockets of his hoodie and staring at Patton with a look of complete innocence. Roman scowled.

“You gave Roman the bird! You know that’s rude,” Patton cried, climbing down from the ladder, “Please make an effort to be nice, kiddo. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Christmas Eve, Shitscram Schmeve,” Virgil huffed, flipping up his hoodie and digging his phone out of his pocket again.

Patton breathed out a heavy sigh as Roman and Virgil began bickering again. The two had become closer friends since the disastrous foray into Virgil’s room, but they still bickered on sore topics that they both stubbornly took sides on. Patton couldn’t tell whether or not their bickering was actually the good humored sniping that came from strong friendships or whether or not they actually still felt malice towards one another based upon an old habit struggling to fade away. It was confusing; they’d argue, but then they’d grin at one another whenever they flipped each other off.

He shook his head of his thoughts in time to hear Virgil mutter “Christmas is lame.”

At this, Roman was flabbergasted. “Dude! How? You know what...Y-You’re lame! You...Y-You grinch!” he said, fumbling with his words.

Virgil looked up at Roman over the edge of his phone, his expression unimpressed. “Oh, ow. That sure hurt,” he said scornfully, flicking his gaze back into the blue glaze of his screen, “I expected a better nickname from the creative side.”

They continued to bicker, Roman even seating himself on the couch next to Virgil so that they could have an easier time at flipping each other off.

“Boys!” Patton said severely, his hands on his hips. He sighed when the other two ignored him, and looked imploringly to Logan, who was coolly reading a book on physics while seated on his armchair. “Logan, can I get some help here, please?”

Logan marked his page and closed the book, gently placing it aside. He quietly cleared his throat, and stood, looking to Roman and Virgil expectantly. Patton grinned when silence fell over the room; Logan had the stern aura of a gentle yet serious professor who would simultaneously give advice yet take no nonsense.

“Roman, I believe that it is best that you heed to Patton’s advice; not everyone in this world has to have the same opinion as you do. Do not give me that look; you should know this by now,” Logan monotoned, silencing Roman’s protest with a furrow of his eyebrows. Virgil grinned, but his smile faltered when Logan’s analytical stare fell upon him.

“Virgil, I believe what you are doing now is what they call ‘lashing out’, which is when a person has something on their mind that is deeply bothering them, so they try to ‘expel’ the negative emotions by taking physical or verbal action that can be harmful to themselves or others,” Logan murmured, taking off his glasses and polishing them on the hem of his shirt, “Naturally, this does not work nearly as well as when someone opens up about the potentially negative feelings they may be harboring. So, Virgil, do you have any negative feelings you wish to expel, or do you wish to keep bottling them and risk injury to you, Thomas, or us?”

Virgil snorted, pulling his hood down further along his bangs and rubbing his chin in mock thoughtfulness, “Well, let me think. Do I, the literal fucking embodiment of anxiety, have any negative feelings?”

“Virgil, language,” Patton scolded.

Logan placed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “I sense that that rhetorical question was laden with sarcasm.”

“Yeah, ya think? Man, you can be dense sometimes,” Virgil hissed, pulling his legs up closer to his chest, his lips curling and his jaw clenching.

Virgil had hit a sore spot; Logan tensed up, his arms folding and his shoulders squaring. “Falsehood!” he snapped, raising his voice, “And what you’re doing now exactly proves my point! You’re lashing out because I appear to have unearthed a sensitive topic; your feelings about Christmas, or, rather-”

“-Hey, leave him alone, Logan, you’re-!” Roman started to say, but Virgil stamped his foot, cutting him off.

“I’m not lashing out about anything!” Virgil shouted, leaping up from the couch, his hood falling back to reveal disheveled hair that only added to his threatening appearance, “Jesus, I voice one negative opinion and you all bash me down and start psychoanalyzing me! I just don't like Christmas, and you all Whos in Whoville just have to accept it!”

Logan, normally so collected, was turning bright red; he was about to open his mouth to argue further when Patton quickly hurried over and laid a hand on his forearm. Logan shut his mouth, and merely fumed as Patton looked reproachfully at Virgil.

“Kiddo…” he said quietly, “Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

Virgil gawked at Patton, blinking incredulously. His arms were stiff at his sides, his legs splayed apart and bent as if he was about to spring. He let out a high pitched, stuttering laugh, one that was heavy with sarcasm.

“Why do I hate Christmas?” he snarled, ferociously zipping up the hoodie, “I’ll let you guys resurrect the Ghost of Christmas Past to answer that question.”

And with that, he sunk out of the room.

Logan was the first to break the heavy silence. “I wasn’t aware that Virgil was a Dickens fan.”

“I don’t think he was fanboying about Charles Dickens, teach,” Roman said quietly, his disturbed expression fixed on the spot where Virgil had disappeared.

Patton furrowed his brow, and squeezed Logan’s arm tighter to draw him out of his reverie. “Who’s Charles Dickens? What did he mean, ‘Ghost?’ It’s Christmas, not Halloween!”

Logan chuckled, and pried Patton’s hand away. “He was referring to the famous British novelist and journalist that authored A Christmas Carol, a fictitious tale of a stingy and bitter old man by the name of Ebenezer Scrooge, who was visited by a series of spirits, the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come. They all tried to show him the error of his greedy ways and tried to teach him the magical message of Christmas kindness. All nonsense of course.”

“Oh,” Patton said, his expression troubled, “Why would he mention that when I asked him why he hated Christmas?”

“Well, A Christmas Carol is a rather dark tale for Christmas, so perhaps he hates the holiday because he dislikes Dickens’s view-”

“No, shut up, Logan!” Roman said suddenly, leaping to his feet. Patton and Logan turned to look at him incredulously, but their gazes turned into ones of concern when they saw the alarm on Roman’s face. He was running his hands through his hair and turning in slow circles, a common thing he did when he was feeling guilty.

“Consider me shut,” Logan said after a few moments, prompting Roman to speak.

“...I think Virgil said ‘resurrect the Ghost of Christmas Past’ because he wants us to think back on all of our previous Christmases,” Roman began slowly, his face whitening, his throat constricting violently as he swallowed with difficulty, “So let's think about Virgil’s past Christmases.”

The three sides fell silent as they delved back into their memories.

But no matter how far back they wracked their brains, they could not see a single picture of Virgil enjoying Christmas. There were no memories of him decorating, no memories of him baking, no memories of him watching stupid Christmas TV specials.

And that was because-

“...Virgil has never had a real Christmas,” Roman whispered in a small voice.

Logan blinked rapidly, placing his palm on his forehead, his breath hitching. “Oh, my god…” he breathed.

Patton’s lip wobbled, his hands pressing against his cheeks. “Oh no, oh no…”

Roman sank back onto the couch, the sound of Patton bursting into guilty tears echoing in his ears. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he too felt intense shame and guilt wash over him, pricking at the back of his eyes in the form of tears. He thought his guilt would go away since Virgil had forgiven him all those months ago, forgiven him for believing that Virgil was a villain that Thomas wanted, needed him to vanquish or else Roman would fall out of favor, but here that guilt was again, like a scar or a flashback to a traumatic time.

Roman blinked minutes later, forcing himself to surface after submerging himself with his dark thoughts. He saw that Patton was still sobbing, but he now had a blanket around his shoulders and that the fire was roaring. Logan was awkwardly patting his back, his expression troubled and tinged with guilt.

“Why did you have to go and...and expose him like that, Logan?” Roman snapped, his tone much more vehement than he had intended.

Logan looked up sharply, his mouth a thin line. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone defensive.

“I mean you had to go and nitpick him, saying that he’s got all these problems pent up and that’s why he was acting up!” Roman hissed, his hands wringing.

“But that is the truth, Roman, why be so frivolous when it is much more efficient to not ‘beat around the bush’, as you would say?” Logan deadpanned.

Roman opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out was a hollow, incredulous laugh. Anger seethed in his chest, and he felt himself agitatedly stand up, pacing back and forth, his hands clinging to his hair.

“Jesus, why are you so emotionally dense?!” he hissed, his eyes glinting like sword points at Logan.

Logan was upright in an instant, his eyes flashing. “Because emotions are not my forte! You should know this!”

“And you should know that feelings, especially Virgil’s, aren’t something that are to be dealt with ‘efficiently’ like they’re some puzzle!” Roman shouted, turning sharply to face Logan, his eyes blazing, “He is a person, an actual, feeling person, not some equation for you to solve!”

Logan looked like he was about to shout something scathing when the sound of Patton crying increased and they both saw Patton burying his head in his arms. Logan and Roman exchanged glances before Logan knelt down beside Patton.

“No, no, no, not on Christmas Eve, please not today!” Patton cried, his voice muffled. He shrunk away from Logan’s touch, and lifted his head.

“...Patton,” Logan said quietly, his head drooping with shame.

“I just want us all to have one holiday together with no fighting and no arguing and I just want us all to get along, is that too much to fucking ask for?!” Patton sobbed, his voice growing in volume until it ended with a completely uncharacteristic screech. Logan and Roman were stunned at the venomous tones to the moral side’s voice, and were struck completely dumb by the swear. Patton buried his head in his arms again and wept inconsolably.

Roman was completely shaken. It didn’t hit him until just then that the family was crumbling apart on Christmas Eve.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He turned to leave, trying to force the sound of Patton’s weeping out of his mind. He covered his ears, and stumbled towards his room, his stomach twisting in knots. He paused just outside of his door, his hand reaching for his door knob when he swore he heard something breaking in the far off distance.

He turned his head quickly in the direction he came, listening hard. Oh god, he thought to himself, Patton didn’t throw something, did he? But no, there came another crash, although this time Roman was certain that the noise was coming from deeper inside Thomas’s mind. He turned to peer down the shadowy hallway that lead to the darker corner of Thomas’s mind. Virgil’s old room was there, and that was where he lived before he had been welcome to a room closer to the commons. Roman swallowed, and felt himself moving down the hallway only slightly against his will; he felt an instinct deep in his gut telling him to find out what the source of the crashing was.

He padded farther and farther down the hallway, until it melted into something that wasn’t a hallway, or even an indoor structure, at all. It felt like he was in a huge, cold cavern, and all around him there rushed a cold, damp breeze. Roman shivered. He couldn’t imagine living here.

He kept walking for what felt like ages. The sounds of renewed arguing from the commons had completely disappeared. With every step, the crashing noise grew louder and louder. Roman swallowed nervously, his eyes skittering in every direction. He paused as he felt his lungs tighten and his heart begin to pound.

Suddenly, he knew where he was.

He was in the land of the Forgotten.

This was the place where all the forgotten memories were lost. This was where all the useless information that was cleaned from Thomas’s consciousness by Logan each night while Thomas dreamt was sent. In the shadows there were inklings of thoughts, faces of people Thomas had long forgotten, whispers of knowledge remembered but now lost.

Here in the Forgotten Land, there was Virgil.

Roman paused in his tracks, giving a small cry of shock when a great shattering of glass pierced his ears. The dreadful noise echoed and throbbed throughout the great cavern, the whispers and faces letting out thin moans. Roman swiveled around when he heard a faint growl.

There, on the edge of a precipice, stood Virgil.

He seemed remarkably unflustered for one who was literally feet away from entering a part of Thomas’s mind where he would well and truly be forgotten. His hood was up, the dark purple of the patches pulsating like cysts. The anxious side was conjuring plates and throwing them as hard as he could against the ground; hence was the source of the crashing noise. With every plate he threw, he heaved a grunt of rage.

Roman didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. He bowed his head, the rhythmic crash of the plates ringing in his ears.

“What’s up, Ro?”

Roman jerked his head up sharply. He saw Virgil, his back turned, with his hands now thrust deep into his pockets. Roman was surprised. Virgil didn’t sound mad, or even sarcastic.

He sounded exhausted.

Roman shuffled his feet, thumbing his sash. “...Does that help?” he asked, gesturing to the scattered shards of ceramic. They looked like stark white drops of blood against the dim light and black stone.

Virgil turned around slowly. His hood was up at such an angle so hat Roman couldn’t see his face.

“...Kind of,” he whispered.

There was a thick silence as they stared at the shiny, damp cavern floor, surveying the wreckage of the plates, surveying the work of Virgil’s rage and suffering. The faint wind ruffled their hair, the whispers of the forgotten tickling their ears.

Suddenly, Virgil stamped his foot, his hands grappling at his hood.

“It’s all so fucking stupid!” he cried, grinding shards under his shoes, “We were just screwing around, you know, you and me, Ro?”

Roman blinked, reaching out so as to hold Virgil, his fingers curling into a fist that he withdrew when Virgil began to shake.

“You and I were just messing around, we fight about stupid stuff because that’s what best friends do,” Virgil cried, his voice shaking and sounding as if three people, all speaking in different octaves, were speaking over one another, “But Logan had to go and...had to go and make me remember...”

Virgil slapped his hand over his mouth, and began to shake violently. Roman felt like crying out when Virgil began to quake violently, muffled sobs fighting to escape from between his clenched teeth and suffocating hand.

“Virgil…” Roman said in a small voice, for once completely at a loss for what to say.

“Had to make me remember that you guys hated me, made me remember... remember that I never had a fucking real Christmas. Treated me like...like a t-thing again,” Virgil gasped, sucking in panicked, shaky breaths.

Roman jumped when Virgil snapped his head up, tearing his hoodie back. Roman felt the knots in his stomach constrict and felt his eyes sting when he saw that Virgil’s eyeshadow was pierced by tear stains, the anxious side’s eyes wet and red as more and more tears streamed down his face. He made searing eye contact with Roman, his stare making Roman’s heart squirm with pity and guilt.

“A thing, Roman!” he wailed, clasping his sweaterpaws over his eyes and completely breaking down. He fell to his knees, his joints cracking loudly as they hit the freezing rock below their feet. He wept openly, his body wracked by sobs.

Roman quickly knelt before him, not caring when the shards of ceramic pierced the fabric of his pants and scraped his skin. He reached his hands out, so wanting to hold Virgil, but he didn’t know whether or not he was crossing an invisible boundary he wasn't meant to cross yet. He felt his own eyes welling up with tears as Virgil sobbed brokenly.

“Virgil…” Roman squeaked, his voice cracking with the emotion that was forming a lump in his throat. He quickly cleared it, and continued, “Virgil...you’re not a thing. Logan was just being an utter asshole again. To me, you’re...you’re a friend, a wonderful friend.”

Virgil cried harder, his shoulders hunching.

“No matter what you do, no matter what you think, no matter what Logan ever says, you will never be a thing,” Roman said between gritted teeth, trying his hardest to stop himself from crying empathy tears, “And while it may not seem like it right now...you’re family.”

Virgil sniffled, pausing long enough in his crying to take a breath and look at Roman. He looked utterly defeated.

“Sure, tell that to me again when they’re not always picking me apart like I’m some fucking psych ward patient, or like I’m some corpse on a table.”

“I did say it might not seem like it right now,” Roman reminded him gently, “...We all have a lot to work to do. But just...just understand, Virgil, that I…”

Roman swallowed, and looked at his twisted hands in his lap. When he remained silent, Virgil was bereaved with another round of sobs.

“Virgil…” Roman started again, gently reaching forward to hold the anxious side’s knees, “...C-Can I give you a hug?”

Virgil stiffened noticeably under his hand.

“...Please…” Roman whimpered, “...I just want to help you feel better.”

Virgil melted, crying out but nodding. Shakily, Roman unfolded his legs from underneath himself, sat pretzel style, and gently lifted Virgil under the arms. He was much lighter than Roman had imagined; who knew what bony frame was hidden beneath that hoodie? He situated Virgil in his lap so that Virgil’s side was leaning into his chest. Virgil squirmed until he was as comfortable as he was going to get, and merely shook as he tried to suppress his tears.

But what little composure he had left broke when Roman gathered him close, wiping the tear tracks from wherever he could reach. Virgil’s head slumped against Roman’s chest, and he tilted his head so that he might hide his face in Roman’s shirt. He clung to the fabric of Roman’s sash, crying his heart out as Roman whispered him soothing platitudes and bounced him gently in his arms.

Eventually, Roman just sat in silence while letting Virgil cry, opting instead to stroke the anxious side’s back and nuzzle his nose into his hair so that the other side would be reminded of Roman’s presence when he felt Roman’s breath.

Eventually, Roman couldn't take it anymore. He trembled slightly as tears of his own slid down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut, grieving for Virgil, who was going through a pain Roman had never wanted him to go through again. He squeezed Virgil even closer to his chest, letting himself gasp out one small sob before completely shutting himself off

Eventually, Virgil calmed down enough until he was only sniffling and whimpering, pawing at Roman’s chest and curling closer to the strong warmth.

“I’m sorry I...I’m sorry I forgot why you hate Christmas,” Roman whispered, his voice shaking.

“...It’s OK.”

“No it’s not.”

“...I’m too fucking sad and tired to argue with that right now, Ro. Just...you’re wrong, OK?”

“...OK.”

Thin silence.

“...I wish we could all just...get along.” Virgil whimpered into Roman’s chest.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore visions of Patton crying, himself and Logan yelling, and Virgil smashing plates.

“...Me too.”

Alas, getting along was not to be. For that year, Virgil still did not have a real Christmas.

None of them did.

@celiawhatsherlastname @monikastec @jordandobbertin @greymane902@lostgirlgwen @kittenvirgil @iamahumanwaitnothatsalie @logan-logic @jet-black-hearted-girl @gay-ace-trash @shadowjag@thestoryoferissur @lexboydfandompanda@alyssadashrubjustanotherpurplebutterfly @sarcastic-florist

#my fics #the ghost of christmas past #prinxiety #sanders sides #thomas sanders #christmas

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seedfinance · 3 years

Text

The world’s big tech firms are gearing up for a massive fight with Modi’s India, IT News, ET CIO

Saritha Rai and Vlad Savov

India is becoming increasingly confident in its efforts to control online communications, challenging the practices of Twitter and Facebook and threatening to set a precedent that could go well beyond its borders.

The largest US internet companies are fighting against new intermediary rules enacted by Narendra Modi’s government in February that restrict privacy and freedom of expression. Officials have urged Facebook Inc. and Twitter Inc. to remove hundreds of posts this year, divulge sensitive user information, and submit to a regulatory regime that allows for potential jail sentences for executives if companies fail to comply.

While government efforts to exercise more control over user data and online discourse mirror global efforts to control tech giants and their vast influence, Internet firms are particularly at stake in India because – excluded from China – it’s the only billion people market themselves to the market. In contrast to authoritarian regimes like Beijing, critics fear that measures by the world’s largest democracy could offer other governments a blueprint to invade privacy in the name of internal security.

“India has made draconian changes to its rules,” the Electronic Frontier Foundation wrote in April. They “create new opportunities for state surveillance of citizens. These rules threaten the idea of a free and open Internet based on international human rights standards. “

Holding internet companies accountable for published content – and in some cases making executives personally liable – goes beyond what many countries require and is a key point of contention. Trapped in this tug of war are hundreds of millions in India whose use of the Internet is now at stake. Facebook’s WhatsApp is on trial, arguing that the new rules would bypass encryption, a key feature the company has touted in global marketing.

Modi’s government has been targeting Twitter for the past few months as it is considered the social platform of choice for politicians and celebrities. Cabinet ministers have accused the US company of defying orders and proposed removing it from its intermediary status, which should make it directly responsible for the content posted by its users. In May, Twitter tagged tweets from multiple accounts linked to Modi’s party as “compromised media”. Police investigators have since called officers and their offices, putting business in the world’s second most populous nation at risk.

“Twitter is in a no-win situation here,” said Mike Masnick, founder of tech policy blog Techdirt. “Giving in to excessive government demands not only suppresses important speeches, but opens the company to even more pressure to silence government critics in India and elsewhere.”

Representatives from the Ministry of Electronics and Information Technology (MEITY), which oversees regulation, did not respond to multiple calls and emails asking for comments. WhatsApp and Twitter representatives declined to comment beyond previous statements that they were anxious to comply with state regulations.

India has stated that it welcomes criticism and dissent and its new rules are aimed at protecting public order and preventing harmful content such as child pornography and abuse videos. The country has been grappling with an explosion of fake news on social media in recent years, much of it targeting a largely first-time internet audience unaccustomed to sifting through online falsehoods. It came into conflict with Facebook in 2018 when the government asked WhatsApp to curb the spread of news related to two dozen lynchings. Facebook’s response then was to restrict the forwarding of messages and mark them as “forwarded”.

WhatsApp has more than 530 million users in India, Alphabet Inc.’s YouTube has about 450 million, and Facebook has over 410 million users, making it the largest market for all three. Twitter, a comparatively small minnow with 17.5 million users, is one of the fastest growing areas in India. But that limited reach makes it vulnerable in a nation that was ready to ban popular foreign services a year ago when it banned TikTok – which had 200 million users registered in the country – WeChat and hundreds more China-made apps after a violent clash on the controversial border between the two countries.

As in the US, however, Twitter exerts a disproportionate influence in relation to its size. It is vital to the political discussion in India, and Modi himself is an avid user and has a following of over 69 million, demonstrating its international reach. While ministers have tweeted belligerently on Twitter, no one has yet openly threatened to ban it.

Even during the conflict with China, India can still draw inspiration from its neighbor’s experiences, where the void left by foreign social platforms blocked to resisting strict censorship has created space for domestic alternatives to develop. In fact, Modi’s colleagues have been actively promoting Koo, a local microblogging rival.

“I have to imagine Modi looking at China thinking it can achieve economic prosperity while exercising a lot of authoritarian control over language and communication,” said Katie Harbath, a former Facebook director of public policy with the US the country’s officials worked together in the fall of 2013, ahead of Modi’s first election as prime minister, through earlier this year. “So the big question is where will India go?”

An open letter signed by 14 nonprofits urged the government to suspend implementation of India’s new IT rules that went into effect last month.

Much of the current resentment stems from the government’s drive to control discussions since November over peasant protests, which have centered on proposals to tax farm inputs and remove minimum price support. The government forced Twitter to block some popular figures expressing support for the protesters – such as Punjabi singer JazzyB, whose account has 1.2 million followers but is inaccessible within India – although the company does not have all of its Has implemented demands.

US and EU lawmakers should pay more attention to the South Asian country, Harbath said. Like Masnick, she sees few good opportunities for private companies to oppose laws from above, and it would be up to the international community to steer India back onto a more liberal path.

The US has embraced India as a counterweight to China in recent years and has strengthened defense cooperation as part of the four-nation quad group, which also includes the other democracies of Japan and Australia. For its part, Modi’s government has sought to attract companies looking to diversify their supply chains away from China – which gives it an incentive to maintain good relationships with the Biden government and the American business community at large.

Relationships with American social platforms were much warmer and more cooperative in the early years of the Modi administration. In 2015, Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg invited Modi to a town hall event at the company’s headquarters. The two men hugged and smiled at the cameras. But, Harbath said, whenever the government’s popularity has waned since then – following measures like the sudden currency demonetization in 2016 – it has become more aggressive to steer public narrative.

Most recently, Modi’s government was targeted on Twitter by critics who say it botched efforts to fight Covid-19. In response, she has tried to block recent criticism on Twitter, which shows anger and disappointment with the Indian leader.

“Silicon Valley’s social media platforms have a huge base in India and the confrontation is who controls these users,” said Tarun Pathak from Delhi, research director at Counterpoint. “In the next three to five years, around 300 million new users equal to the US population will go online in India, shifting the balance of power for these companies eastward.”

Twitter appointed an interim compliance officer two weeks ago, long after its colleagues assigned permanent representatives, and that person is due to leave the position. A company spokesman did not want to confirm or comment on the reasons.

Meanwhile, Kenner told ET that Twitter had given the government “in writing” details of its newly appointed interim chief compliance officer. Previously, she had contracted a lawyer to act as a complaint and node officer.

On Friday, the head of MEITY, Ravi Shankar Prasad, temporarily blocked his Twitter account because of a complaint about alleged copyright infringement, according to the company. When the frequent Twitter antagonist regained access, he wrote that his “actions indicate that they are not the harbinger of the freedom of expression they claim to be, only interested in pursuing their own ends.” Twitter declined to comment, but cited its original statement that Prasad’s account was temporarily suspended for copyright infringement.

Twitter was recently quoted by Uttar Pradesh police along with journalists and opposition party leaders for hosting a video provoking communal discord, according to local reports. Delhi police also said they are investigating another complaint against Twitter’s Indian chief Manish Maheshwari related to this video allegedly alleging that majority Hindus are attacking a minority Muslim man. The company has since removed the offensive clip and has left no comment other than its statement of compliance with local laws. The government of Uttar Pradesh has petitioned the Supreme Court of India to have Maheshwari lifted from arrest by a lower court.

Without pressure on India to reclaim its online power – as the Washington Post editors called this month – companies like Twitter must carefully weigh their decisions to avoid being ousted by a huge market while upholding their principles, said Harbath.

It is a delicate dance that is becoming more and more common around the world. Countries as far away as Australia, Poland and Nigeria are cracking down on social platforms, claiming they have undue power to determine what is acceptable and meddling in domestic affairs. Nigeria banned Twitter this month and Germany’s hate speech rules will require platforms to remove illegal content quickly or face penalties.

“It’s complicated. A decision by these companies in India will not apply to India alone,” said Prateek Waghre of Bangalore, a research analyst with the Takshashila Institution who studies digital platform governance serve the rest of the world. “

IT and Justice Minister Ravi Shankar Prasad was in the thick of it as the new social media guidelines became a focal point for a showdown between the government and Twitter and WhatsApp on privacy and free speech issues.

source https://seedfinance.net/2021/07/05/the-worlds-big-tech-firms-are-gearing-up-for-a-massive-fight-with-modis-india-it-news-et-cio/

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