#rations and bowler hats

[mindrat]

I wonder if it's just cherrypicking the cool stuff from the 1940s (like cars) or if he has some sort of deep-seated nostalgia for the era because one of those possibilities is way more troubling than the other

[elizabethrobertajones]

going to be honest, I have been staring at Frog's RDM glam and wondering if I do indeed own a bowler hat of my own and while I can't remember, the fact I can even be uncertain about that might be too revealing.

Also I've been wondering if all the frills sticking out the bottom are remotely historically accurate to any era of fancy coat and shirt combo like this, or if her shirt is definitely untucked, which makes the leggings feel somehow more like being caught in her underwear than I intended, and if I am the only person who'd look at this get up and say 'she is clearly undressed like a clown' or if that's rational. I can't remember what the trousers look like for this set tbh. I only have the boots and coat. TRYING not to talk myself out of it because the ahistorical nature of all clothing in this game is getting to me, and just give her a pair of jeans :P

[goblin-writer]

The Cafe and the Storm

Rain thundered against the tall, arched windows of the café. A smattering of characters occupied the tables and three staff worked diligently. Soft jazz piped in from the scattered speakers, very nearly drowned out by the whirring of the coffee machine and the rolling thunder. Everyone diligently stared at their cups, books, and newspapers, not interacting with the world around them. Seeming entranced by the scent of coffee.

The pools of light that were cast by the hooded lights made it seem as if people clustered in islands, separated by dark waters. And the deepest waters, the ones avoided by everyone’s eyes, pooled around a simple wooden door. They had all not seen the figure dressed in macabre white as they walked in.

And they made the greatest effort to not hear whatever was being said in that room.

The running of the coffee machine stopped again and everyone looked up at the relative silence. Nobody ordered more and yet the machine whirred to life again at the barista’s ministrations. Those that were unfortunate enough to have left their cups unfinished found themselves paired with a cold liquid and an itch to leave. But nobody moved.

For a while.

Then a chair scraped backwards and a man stood, placing his bowler on his head, and nodding to the staff, stepped out of the light and toward the exit.

The wooden door cracked open and the customers focused back on their coffee. The man whirled at the sound.

“Do you intend to keep us here?”

There was no response as silence stretched onward. Those nearest the cracked door heard a quiet splash. The man smiled, and nodded.

“Thought not.” And made his way to the exit.

A wave rippled in that darkness and a flash of lightning briefly illuminated what looked like a whale, cast entirely from ivory as it launched itself through the air. And the man disappeared. Once more the café was cast in darkness. The lightning showing that whatever the creature was, it was gone.

Patrons and staff alike were stunned. Their silence ore brittle than before, despite the cacophony from within and without. And the coffee machine fell silent again. Nobody looked up as hushed whispers filled the pools of light. Something had to be done. Could they break their way in and subdue that figure in macabre white? Should they make a run for it?

Would any of them survive?

The building shook with another peal of thunder. Sounding like the deep chime of a bell.

“We need to leave!” one voice hissed.

“No, we need to stop whoever went in there.” another insisted.

“We can’t leave the light.” The barista said. Breaking the agreed upon volume and snapping all eyes to them, “We’ve been moving around back here the entire time, but always in light.”

Murmurs of assent sounded all around as everyone relayed what they had seen. Before the reality of their situation set in. They could not illuminate the entire café.

“We don’t need to,” a woman, with a wide hat put away a book, “We just need to light that door and the darkness around it.”

A young man, dressed well stood on his table, taking a pair of gloves and grabbed the light, pointing it at the door. From within they heard a hiss and the door shut, firmly. They could do it.

But, they realised, they had to either head toward the exit, and leave one person behind, or try to break into the other room and stop that macabre white figure.

A smaller group opted to flee. The larger to fight. The rational being that whatever was in there had to be stopped. And so the two camps consolidated under different islands. Staff crossing over and joining their respective factions.

The larger went to engage, guided by the lamp above the others table. They tore the door open and poured in, reporting a small room, empty except for a desk and a few boxes. Until the door snapped shut and the screaming started.

And then it stopped. A dozen voices, cut off at once. The smaller group had started fleeing. Only the woman with the wide brimmed hat stayed in her seat, alongside the young man who lit the path of the smaller group.

The woman heard a soft splash and side, pulling her hat lower as something surged up, taking the table and the young man. Leaving the group in darkness, and her showered with splinters. The group scrambled to the exit and pulled on the door, finding it not only locked, but barred with a heavy stopper. Again, they felt a surge and again voices screamed.

And again, they stopped. The woman smiled and walked toward the door, bent down, and pulling out the stopper. That white figure rose from the darkness behind her. It did not move closer

“Next time try less screams.”

---

Thank you @flashfictionfridayofficial for a delicious prompt. Wanted to try writing something not in any established setting of mine. Hope you enjoy

[normally0]

Echoes of Infinity: The Divine Comedy of Lutyens, Terragni, and Magritte

In the grand theatre of architecture, where stone whispers secrets and lines dance with light, three titans take their place upon the stage – Lutyens, Terragni, and Magritte – each a maestro in their own right, but together, orchestrators of a divine comedy that spans the ages.

Behold Lutyens, the master builder, his hands molded by the earth itself. With a gaze that pierces the veil of time, he shapes monuments that stand as testaments to human ingenuity and ambition. His columns rise like ancient trees, rooted in the soil of tradition yet reaching for the heavens with an unyielding grace.

Alongside him strides Terragni, the visionary architect, his mind ablaze with the fire of innovation. In his realm, geometry reigns supreme, and the Fibonacci spiral is his muse. With each stroke of his pen, he traces the golden ratio, weaving it into the very fabric of his designs. His buildings spiral and twist, echoing the rhythms of nature herself, as if to remind us that even in the heart of the city, the wild still sings.

And then, there is Magritte, the surrealist dreamer, his canvas a portal to worlds unseen. With a wink and a nod, he challenges our perceptions, inviting us to question the very nature of reality. His apples float in defiance of gravity, his bowler-hatted men defy logic, and yet, beneath the surface, a deeper truth emerges – a truth that transcends the limits of the rational mind and touches upon the sublime.

Together, they contemplate the Fibonacci spiral, that ancient symbol of growth and renewal, and in its swirling embrace, they find a reflection of their own creative journey. For just as the spiral expands ever outward, so too do their imaginations, reaching for new heights with each passing moment.

In this divine comedy of architecture, Lutyens, Terragni, and Magritte are the players, and the Fibonacci spiral is their stage. Together, they dance a delicate pas de trois, each step a testament to the beauty of collaboration and the power of human creativity.

And as the curtain falls on this timeless drama, they stand united, their spirits intertwined with the very fabric of the universe. For in their exploration of the Fibonacci spiral, they have unlocked the secrets of creation itself, and in doing so, they have become immortal – their legacy written in stone, and in the hearts of all who dare to dream.

[therobinsonwayoflife]

that-guy-in-the-bowler-hat reblogged your post and added: “therobinsonwayoflife: therobinsonwayoflife: IM READiNG MOVING PAINS...”

YES YES YES YES YESSSSS I’M SO HAPPY THAT YOU’RE...

o you don’t even know the half of it. their first MTR fic, Revisited, sent me into A TAILSPIN OF EMOTIONS i tell you asdfghjkl

I was only late to the party bc i only now noticed they had an FFnet acct where they put up this second story!!!

@trdwriting i will formally review this fic once i can properly articulate le feels but suffice it to say it was

[bryndeavour]

wip wednesday

** in which a grand house sits on the edge of an old west town, Ms. Win, granted a swift divorce from her philandering and gambling husband, the town Sheriff Thursday, runs a lush house of some repute where gentleman of all sorts give entertainment and comfort for any weary traveler or townsperson seeking their services **

.

Morse stumbled through getting his boots and stiff uncomfortable clothing off, and once finally stripped down he splashed himself at the wash basin for a bit of a refresher. The sun was out but that was as much he knew about the time, so he finally opened his window to the bustle of the street below. Even at this end of the town things were busy in the daylight. Wagons carted goods to all the various shops, errands were run, and business was being put on. The window beside his, within arms reach, had a set of long legs propped on the edge and if Morse leaned forward he could see the smoke wreathing out from behind it. 

“Morning, Morse,” Box’s feet withdrew and his head craned forward into view with a cigarette in his lips and one eye squinted. His gaze dragged from Morse’s tousled hair to his pained squinting and all the way down to his flagrant nudity, “Fuckin hell. You look rough.” 

Morse would have argued it but he did feel like absolute shit so the most he managed was a knowing shrug. 

“Don’t forget,” Box took the cigarette from his mouth and shook his hair back in the cross breeze, “Ms. Win wants us in the parlor at midday.”

“What?” Morse knew it sounded familiar but there was a throbbing in his skull that was drowning out most rational thought. 

“Al heard tell it’s a new doctor,” Box’s brows raised. 

“Mrs-” It was a hard habit to break, calling her Mrs., “Ms. Win told him that?” 

“Well,” Box leaned both elbows on the sill and gestured with his large hands, “Joan and Jim were-” He gestured. 

“Flirting painfully and mercilessly?” Morse muttered and opened his eyes wider with a few blinks. He was waking up slowly. 

“Flutterin’ lashes and all,” Box flicked his cigarette down on the road, except he seemed to be aiming for one particular old man with a bent back and straw hat. The cigarette actually hit the brim, bounced past his face, and fell to the dirt. 

“Son of a bitch!” The man squawked up at him. 

“Oh, that you Howard?” Box smiled in a slimy way that Morse recognized, “Didn’t recognize you with that limp.” 

Morse rolled his eyes. Howard’s wife had started coming round a few weeks ago and she was a loud woman both in the bedroom and without. The entire town knew by now, about both her visits to Win’s and her husband’s particular inability to rise to the occasion. She was rather frank about it. 

“Fuck off, Box!” Howard’s voice actually strained in his genuine annoyance. 

“Got a free slot tonight,” Box curled his lips and winked, “I’ll give you a discount. Buy one-get-one, on your wife’s tab.” 

Howard had also cheated Box out of cards around the same time his wife began to frequent the house. Ronnie was absolutely living for it. 

“The doctor.” Morse reminded Box as Howard went cursing off down the street. 

“Right, so Joan slipped to Jim they got a new doctor. Then Win cancels all our appointments for today. Mandatory house meeting, remember?” 

Morse thought that through. Joan tells Jim, Jim tells Ian, Ian tells Jakes and Jakes tells everyone. There was always the possibility it was a lie but the established predictable train of gossip wasn’t usually wrong. 

“Midday, you said?” Morse scratched across his bare chest and yawned.

Box was moving. Buttoning his open grey shirt and tucking the tails into his dark pants, “Mmmhmmm. Which I’d say,” Box pointed out to the road where a neat little carriage rounded the road and pulled up out front, “Is bout now.” 

The carriage door opened to reveal the voluminous skirts of Miss Frazil, Ms. Win, and a bowler hat wearing stranger who he couldn’t quite see from this angle. Win looked up at him, the windowsill only providing modesty from certain angles, and she furrowed her brows. 

“As rousing of an afternoon it is, Morse dear,” She glanced down his nude body swiftly, “We have company, if you wouldn’t mind putting something on.” 

“And a good afternoon to you too, Morse!” Miss Frazil called with a loud laugh and made no effort to disguise her looking him over. 

The stranger looked up at him placidly through round spectacles. His brows raised but his expression was nearly impossible to read from here. There was something scrutinizing about his gaze, but he didn’t blush or laugh or even grimace. He simply observed Morse there, tilted his hat slightly in greeting, and then moved on to follow the women inside. Morse realized that his sudden warmth wasn’t the afternoon sun, but the slight flush of embarrassment that blossomed over his neck and chest and he swiftly ducked inside and closed his shutters.

[3wrsefesf]

A young girl, by will of her mistress

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it off most of the time before I go home on the train.. Lovejoy was the son of a Maine woman, a native of that state which, barren in all things else, is fruitful in noble sentiments and heroic deeds.

[winterknight1087]

The Trash Pizza Wasn’t Worth It

Summary:  After accidentally traumatizing Patton in a failed prank for his twin, Remus ends up getting into a fight and ends up in the hospital.

Word Count: 2912

Warnings: sympathetic Remus, sympathetic Deceit/Janus, fight mention, hospital, mention of medication, food mentions, injury mentions, tarantula, Remus has some intrusive thoughts, murder mentions due to those intrusive thoughts, cursing

Pairings: platonic sides, brotherly creativitwins

AO3 Link       My Writing

@franthehorsegir I am so sorry this is a little bit late! 2020 ended the same way it went. But still, I hope you enjoy your @sanderssidesgiftxchange present! It was interesting coming up with ways to try and incorporate all your gift wishes and I hope I did it justice! Happy Holidays!

Pranks were a very common phenomenon around the house. The two main culprits were almost always the twins, each trying to one up the other’s last prank. Everyone has accidentally fallen victim to the twins’ pranks at least once a week. A bucket of soap water dumped on Virgil’s head. The Crofters being traded out for what Logan swears was bubblegum toothpaste flavored jello. Patton got hit with a full-on cake, though he got to eat the rest so it was mostly OK. One time, the twins teamed up on Janus and they have never felt more fear than watching Janus stare them in the eyes as he drank the coffee mixed with salt instead of sweetener, acting as if that were his normal drink. Safe to say the coffee was never a victim of the pranks again at least.

Occasionally, a twin would go too far though. Once Roman shaved off Remus’s mustache, while Remus was fast asleep on the couch. Remus was livid and refused to go anywhere until it grew back. Remus had once accidentally knocked Roman unconscious with his inflatable mace. The others were terrified that Roman was extremely hurt, but once he woke up, he was fine, thankfully. However, one prank mishap will live on as the ultimate disaster prank…

 ***

 “You are going to sit here and wait for RoRo and then jump at him, okay?” Remus whispered to the giant tarantula, currently housed in an empty Crofters jar.

He set the creature down as he replaced the current jar with the prank one. He made sure that it didn’t look suspicious before setting up the rest of the prank. Remus carefully lined a tripwire directly behind where he expected Roman to be. He hid a camera behind the toaster to record the entire incident. The icing on top was a special sticky slime that Remus set up to dump on Roman once he tripped over the wire.

Remus hid in the pantry, waiting for Roman to come down for his afternoon snack. If it had been Roman, or any of the others, the prank would have been fine. Logan and Virgil would be momentarily surprised but wouldn’t do much more than look startled. Janus would have hunted Remus down and stole his fake deodorants as punishment. But no…

A high-pitched scream shot through the house as the sound of glass shattered on the ground. Remus was rushing out of his hiding spot in time to see Patton trip over the wire, onto the broken glass. His eyes were locked on the tarantula and when it moved barely a hair, Patton was screaming again as he scrambled backwards, not aware of the glass. When the slime fell, that was it for Patton. He let out another scream as he scrambled to his feet, frantically trying to get the ‘spiders’ off of him as he ran out of the kitchen.

Remus could hear rushing footsteps and Patton screaming about the ‘creepy crawly death dealers’ in the kitchen. The chaotic rat knew he was about to get into major trouble, so he started cleaning up the kitchen, particularly going after the tarantula first. Once it was in a box to give to Virgil later, Remus started sweeping up the broken glass, thoughts about how dead he was running through his head.

Honestly, the five minutes it took Janus to come down to scold Remus seemed longer than normal scolding intervals. But Janus appeared, caped PJs and bowler sleep hat revealing the snake had been taking a nap when awoken to screams. And one thing with Janus was that no one was allowed to interrupt his nap time unless it was a true emergency. Remus gulped seeing the furious man storm into the kitchen.

Let’s just say that Janus wasn’t his usual suave, collected self when he is rudely awoken by screams.

“I will give you exactly ten seconds to explain why you terrified Patton with a shower of spiders.”

“It was one tarantula and slime! It was a prank for Roman but apparently Pat went in without me seeing him!”

“You damn idiot. We all agreed that anything spider related would not happen in this house. Patton is petrified of spiders, even Vee’s spider curtains set him off. And yet, with all the power of your mere quarter of a brain cell, you decided that it was an OK risk to bring a spider into this house and not have a contingency plan to keep Patton away from it? Remus, I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t realize you were able to lower my standards even more than they already were. Even if it were to be Roman, how would this have turned out any better? Answer me that, Remus. How?”

Remus hung his head. “I don’t know.’

“Exactly. All of us put up with your random weird ass bullshit everyday because we’re your friends, but there has always been a line between an OK thing and a very not OK thing. Sending someone into a panic attack through their phobia? Extremely not OK. You useless trash rat, what were you even thinking!? Probably nothing as that useless brain of yours has only one thought a month.”

“Pardon me,” Logan’s voice cut Janus off, “but can the two of you move out of the way? Patton requires the first aid kit.”

The two immediately stepped aside, letting Logan access the medicine cabinet. This new information added fuel to Janus’ eyes, and Remus couldn’t help but remember the coffee salt incident and now really wanted his twin here to bear some of the fury. He knew the second that he had realized Patton fell into his prank that he had messed up, bad, but Janus was going to make sure that Remus could never hear the word spider without remembering his fury.

Logan left with the first aid kit, focused on how he was going to get Patton to sit still long enough to get the glass out of his hands and bandage them while the other was still panicking about spiders. Not that he would have really had any sympathy for Remus as he faced Janus’ wrath. They had all agreed that even Halloween decoration spiders were off limits. And Remus went and broke that agreement? His own fault for angry, sleepy Janus.

“Out.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Get out. I don’t want you in line of sight right now.”

Remus didn’t even bother grabbing anything as he quickly left the house. It was supposed to be a funny prank on his brother, not a traumatizing experience for one of his best friends. He even passed by his favorite store to terrorize, not in the mood to evade employees to set all the alarms to go off or add random items to people’s carts and wait for them to discover the item.

Go jump in front of oncoming traffic. It’ll save everyone the trouble of having to deal with you.

Remus had already started to step off the curb before violently shaking his head. What did Logan call those? “Intrusive thoughts. They aren’t me. They can’t be me. Those are just unconscious thoughts that come out of nowhere. They do not indicate who I really am.”

But they are your thoughts and you’ve thought of how to murder each of them so that they won’t laugh at you behind your back anymore. You are just a screw up that is a burden on everyone. Your brother had to convince his friends to let you move in with them, and it was probably out of pity or guilt than love.

“Not true.” Remus muttered to himself as he walked aimlessly. “Even for things I wouldn’t otherwise know about, all of them still invite me. They all willingly choose to be in the same room as me, even when I am being more extra than normal. They get upset when I do something stupid. That was something stupid, so they are right to be mad. Not what you’re telling me, you stupid brain.”

Remus didn’t notice his feet carry him to the dumpster behind the nearby Dennys. He was too busy trying to rationalize the thoughts running through his head and weed out Häagen-Dazs Distortions or whatever Logan called them along with his normal intrusive thoughts. Remus barely noticed climbing into the dumpster, but he settled down in the corner before curling up, filled with the rare instance of self-hatred.

He did eventually pull himself out of his thoughts long enough to text his brother’s old friend that he was in their dumpster again and not to panic if someone came to toss trash. It spoke multitudes to the amount of times Remus did this that the only response that he received was a single letter k.

What if you just poison Janus? Then you won’t have to suffer his wrath once you go home.

“Shut up, brain.”

Poison Janus and stuff Patton into a coffin!

“NO!”

Pretty sure if you sneak up on Virgil, you could get him to choke to death as well. Just need to figure out a way to get rid of Logan and Roman and you’ll be free.

“Stooooop” Remus covered his ears, as if that would block out

Janus said you were stupider than he thought, so why not show him how intelligent you can be by murdering all your friends and family and getting away with it?!?

Tears were filling Remus’ eyes as he desperately tried to clear his head. He accepted that these weren’t his thoughts, that they were just intrusive thoughts. He tried all the tricks he normally did that helped, but nothing was working. He even tried moving onto something else to distract him like eating left over pizza he found in the trash.

At least, until something opened the dumpster. In popped a beady-eyed creature in search of food. Remus growled at it, looking for a way to distract himself. Instead of being startled, the creature hissed back. The creature had spent the day running from human toddlers who wanted to do things the creature was uncertain of. It had spent the day dodging cars and animal control. It wasn’t about to let this weirdo stop it from enjoying tossed out hamburgers and pancakes. And if the weirdo was going to fight the creature, well, the creature wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

 ***

 Logan tightened his hands around the steering wheel as he waited impatiently for the light to turn. Janus sat next to him in the front seat, fiddling with his phone, hoping that there wouldn’t be a second call with worse news. In the middle of the van sat Patton and Roman. They were trying to distract themselves by planning the fun activities they could do after everything settled down. In the very back of the van sat Virgil, who’s anxiety and nervous tappings of various limbs magnified the worry that was probably spilling from the van.

Janus wondered if he hadn’t been so mad at being woken up by a hurt and terrified Patton due to an accidental misfire of a prank, would they have gotten that call? What had happened anyway? If they were going to get any call about Remus, it should have been from the local grocery store, banning him for the third time this month (though they always welcomed him back in because he was amusing and took on rude and self-centered costumers so that employees didn’t have to).

“He’ll be alright.” Logan stated, cutting through the worry. “It is Remus we are talking about.”

“Save it, Specs.” Roman muttered. “Until we see how bad off he is, nothing you can say will make things better.”

“Did-did they say what happened, Janus?” Patton asked, softly.

“No, all the hospital said was that he was admitted with several injuries and that I was the first listed emergency contact in his phone.”

“Well, I suppose you would be as your name comes first alphabetically.” Logan mused.

“Of course Wine Mom would be all of our emergency contact.” Virgil commented sarcastically.

“Excuse you, but Logan is mine. I wouldn’t trust the rest of you misfits to actually do anything productive if anyone contacted you all.” Janus spat back, glad for the momentary distraction.

“Fair.”

“You got me there.”

“True, but why you gotta call us out like this?”

There was a small chuckle that passed through the van, but almost as if some invisible barrier ripped the sound from the van, the mood soured as they entered the hospital parking lot. It took Logan a few minutes to find a parking spot and that managed to ramp up the tension and apprehension among the group, terrified of what they would find.

“Pat, you sure you can face Remus right now? I think we’d all understand if you decided to just sit outside the door and wait to hear how he is.” Janus asked, softly.

“No, no, I get that it was an accident. We’ve all walked into one of the twins’ pranks by accident. Accidents happen and I also want to see that he’ll be OK.” Patton answered before admitting, “though, I will need everyone else to open the Crofters jar for at least a month in case there is another giant creepy crawly death dealer in one of them…”

So, with that, the group went into the hospital. Janus went and talked to a nurse who directed him to the room Remus was in. Upon hearing the room number, Janus instantly asked if he had asked to be placed there, which made the nurse laugh. So, with that, the group headed up to room 6969.

“POOPY!”

“Sounds like he’s alive at least.” Roman commented.

A nurse came out of the room, shaking her head. She looked over the group before peeking back into the room and telling the occupant that he had company. The group shared a worried look before filing into the room.

Remus sat in a hospital bed with scratches and gaze all over him. His arm was in a sling, his foot in a cast, and a couple sets of stitches were hidden behind gaze or the hospital gown he was wearing. Despite this, Remus was cackling and being his odd self, so the group let out a collective breath, relieved to see he was alright, for the most part.

“How are you feeling, Ree?” Roman asked, moving over to his twin.

“Mhhhh, like cotton candy sprayed with mist.”

“So, that’s what? Like a 3 on the Remus scale?” Virgil asked.

“I would guess a bit higher but also toned done by medication.” Logan answered. “He would not use a nice analogy like that unless he were sort of out of it.”

“What happened, Remus? Did someone try to mug you or something?” Janus asked.

“Yup, and the racoon won both the fight and my trash-pizza.”

The group froze, staring at the chaotic man before Patton finally asked. “You lost a fight to… a racoon?”

“Yuuuuuuuuup.”

“Remus,” Roman sighed. “You are such an idiot. Don’t do something like this again. You scared all of us to death.”

The hurt one instantly froze, his eyes shooting onto Patton, as he remembered the fact he really scared one of his friends. “Oh, shit. Patty, I’m so sorry for what happened earlier! It was an accident! I was trying to get RoRo BroBro, not you.”

Patton moved over and set a comforting hand on Remus’ unhurt arm. “It’s OK, I know it was. You don’t need to beat yourself up over it.”

“Remus, did you seriously lose a tooth to a racoon!?!”

 ***

 The hospital released Remus a bit later, informing him (and more importantly Logan and Janus) about follow ups and care info. The group then dragged Remus to their van before picking up some (not trash) pizza and heading home. Patton tried to join in on pampering Remus, but their friends stopped him and basically forced the happy pappy Patton on the couch next to Remus, reminding him that he was also hurt and on the pampering list. So, instead Patton curled up and cuddled Remus while the other four went around prepping snacks, movies, games, and whatever else they could scrounge up to make sure the chaotic rat and pun-tastic father-figure were entertained.

Soon enough, Remus was surrounded by the group of people he considered his family (brother, what brother? Remus obviously doesn’t have a twin brother named Roman. That’s just his friend Wroammin). They weren’t going to let Remus live down the fact he lost a fight to a racoon, but how could he stop them making fun of it? It was hilarious and even more, they were checking on him every hour to make sure he was alright and comfortable, so they deserved a good laugh.

And if Remus’ brain tried to throw a couple intrusive thoughts at him, they didn’t stand a chance against the love surrounding Remus. Those weren’t his thoughts because his thoughts were focused on listening to Roman and Virgil argue about Disney meanings, cuddling Patton and waiting for Logan and Janus to return from the kitchen with drinks for everyone. How could disturbing thoughts harm him when he was feeling loved despite all of his failings?

“Remus, Thomas just texted me saying you were in their dumpster earlier. Did you really lose a fight with a racoon behind the Dennys?”

“Yuuuuuuuuuuuup.”

[technicolor--dreams]

The object of her affection - chapter 4

chapter 1 here

chapter 2 here

chapter 3 here

After two exhausting miles under the scorching july sun, Susan finally made it to the bus station. She dropped her luggage on the ground with a thump, and sat on a bench. Oscar woofed from inside the leather bag and stuck his little tongue out, his beady dark eyes begging for some refreshment. Susan pulled out a bottle of water and a bowl from one of the luggages. She took  Oscar out, and after she filled the bowl, he drank excitedly, wiggling his little tail left and right.

According to the schedule on the far wall the next bus from New Haven to New Bedford, where the ferry would sail to, would be in another hour, at around twelve-thirty. She sat Oscar back inside his bag, pondering what to do in the meantime. She looked over at the cafe next to the tickets office, but she decided she was too nervous to eat. Besides, she had her own ration of food and drinks already. Noticing a newspaper on the other side of the bench, she picked it up, and began flipping through it without much interest. After having quickly exhausted her favorites - the Arts and Leisure, comics, and Lifestlye sections, she moved to the World news and Economics pages. Somewhere between the Irish General election, and Hindenburg accident consipracies, though, she began losing focus, and between the summer heat and her own exhaustion, she started dozing off. She would have fallen asleep like a log, If she hadn't been roused quite suddenly by the sound of tinkling brass bells, followed by a high-pitched squeal.

Susan shook herself out of her reverie just in time to see a tan colored shadow running away in the distance, skirting between a befuddled elder lady's legs to follow a tall man carrying a travel bag.

"Oscar!" She shrieked, dropping the newspaper on her lap to chase after her beloved pet. "Somebody stop that dog!"

She zig-zagged through the crowd, yelling to no avail. Oscar wouldn't listen, and the crowd even less so, everybody too busy getting to their destination to pick up the stray dog.

"Hey, you, Sir! Tall man with the bag! Stop!"

Susan continued her chase for what felt like a lifetime, but was probably a little more than a minute, until the man reached the platforms area, stopping in front of a shiny, green bus.

"You!" Susan mustered all the breath she had left, resting one hand on her left hip, and pointing her finger his direction.

He turned around, knitting a pair of sandy blonde brows that matched his wavy hair.

Susan drew out a breath, getting closer. "You know how long I've been following you?"

"Well, I can't say that I'm not flattered -" the man began speaking, before realizing that Susan wasn't talking to him, but to somebody else. A Somebody that at the momently was most definitely chewing on his bag.

"Hey, get off my bag!" he pulled the dog by his sides, trying to get his grip off the leather, only to get bitten in the process.

"Ow!" he yelped, retreating in defeat.

"I'll take care of it." Susan said matter-of-factly, before crouching down. "Oscar, be a good boy now. Get off the gentleman's bag and I will give you a big, fat, cookie, uh?" she said in a soft-spoken manner.

Oscar didn't budge.

"Fine, two. Last offer."

Oscar growled, slowly letting go of his grip. Susan picked him up and cradled him in his arms.

"Cheeky! How many times have I told you not to run away!" she admonished him.

"You oughta put him on a leash. It's not safe." the man spoke up, rubbing his hand.

"I could never do that to him," Susan said, petting Oscar tenderly, "he's meant to be free. I would be no less animal than him if I restricted him like that."

"He's an animal alright. Look what he did to my hand!" he raised the offended appendage. "Not to mention the bag."

The bag in question now sat on the concrete pavement, slighlty slumped on the side, a couple of bite marks evident in a corner dripping with dog drool.

Susan raised her eyes from the bag, taking a better look at the man. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five, and at least six foot two, if her estimation was right. With sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, he had the homely appearance of your typical corn-fed, all-american male you would see on advertisements. He could pass for handsome, she supposed, If you squinted your eyes, though he had nothing on Joseph. His jaw was too squared, his nose not aristocratic enough, his figure too broad. He lacked any kind of sophistication, in short.

"I don't know what's gotten into him." she explained, "He never behaved like this before. It must have been that bell on your bag that set him off. He's very sensitive to noises."

"I suppose the biting is just a fun bonus." the man deadpanned.

Susan was about to retort, when something stopped her in her tracks.

"Mr. Murphy!" a male voice called from the bus.

Susan and the man turned around at the same time. An elderly gentleman sporting a bowler hat and monocle was peeking out of one of the bus' windows, a scowl on his face.

"Yes, sir?" Murphy replied.

"What's taking you so long? I don't have the whole day, young man! This bus is leaving in ten minutes."

"I'll be righ there, Mr. Sullivan." Murphy said, showing his pearly whites.

Mr. Sullivan retreated back into his seat, muttering to himself.

"So, that's not your bag." Susan winced.

Murphy shook his head. "No."

"Oh."

"You better hope Mr, Sullivan doesn't see that."

Susan tilted her head "It's not that visible."

"It's not not invisible, either."

Their conversation was interrupted once again by Mr. Sullivan, this time bangin out of the window with a cane.

"Hey! I'm not paying you to pick up dames! Let's go!"

"Yes, Mr. Sullivan." Murphy said, finally picking up the bag and stepping onto the bus.

Susan watched the window as the two men talked a bit inside the vehicle, before Murphy put the bag on the suitcase compartment.

"Did he notice?" she asked, once he was back.

"No, thank God, but he will soon. Let's go before he does." he took her by the arm and led her back inside the station. "By the way, where are your bags?"

Susan stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening in horror. "My bags! Oh, my God, I completely forgot about them! You don't suppose they got stolen while I was away?"

"I don't suppose. I know."

Susan sprinted away just as she did before, this time with Oscar safely tucked into her arms and Murphy following them in tow.

Just as she suspected, the bench where she had sat up until a few minutes before was now empty, save for the newspaper she had been reading and Oscar's tin bowl.

Susan dropped Oscar and sank on the bench, resting her elbows on her knees and holding her face with both hands. "This has to be the worst week of my life."

"Oh, cheer up." Murphy sat beside her ."Your life ain't half over yet. There might be worse weeks coming."

Susan turned around to face him, "You have a very twisted sense of humor, you know that?"

"But it keeps me going."

"You know, this is all your fault."

"Mine!?!"

"Yes," Susan poked him in the chest. "Yours. If you had just stopped the first time I called you -"

"Wait a minute! I though we already went over this! You left your dog without a leash. It's on you."

"But you held me up."

"Ever thought about getting a parakeet, or a nice goldfish?"

Susan arched an eyebrow in his direction."You like giving an awful lot of advice, for someone I don't even know."

"That's easily fixed." Murphy conceded, holding out his hand. "I'm Connor."

"Susan." she replied, but she didn't shake his hand. Instead she turned her head, looking around conspicously. "You think he's still here?"

"Who?"

"The gentleman who stole my bags."

"I'd hardly call him a gentleman. But, no. "

"That's just perfect. I got no money, no clothes. No dignity." Susan pouted.

"Say, where are you going?" Connor asked.

"Martha's Vineyard."

"I could give you a ride if you wanted."

Susan furrowed her brows. "Why?"

"I'm a taxi cab driver. I have to get the old clunker back in New Bedford – I can drop you at the port on my way."

"I could still go by bus, you know. I've got ..." she took out a few pennies out of her skirt pocket and began counting. "fifty cents."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but that will only cover you for the bus ride."

"Not if I can manage to pass myself off for a twelve years old."

Connor shook his head. "Would you really rather spend six hours on a smelly bus packed with sweaty European tourists, than spend three hours with me?"

"Three hours?"

"Hmm hmm. I can have you on that Ferry by four."

Susan pondered what do. The stakes were too high to hesitate. Oh, What the hell, If she had to hitch a ride to get to her destination as soon as possible, so be it. What was the worse that could have happened?

"We have a deal."

[paralianprince]

The Crown Prince of Sealand gives an exclusive glimpse into life on the off-shore platform

AS A principality, it doesn't quite have the glamour or style of Monte Carlo. There's no castle for the Royal Family and even basic luxuries, such as soap, are in short supply. Sealand is, in truth, a rather ugly, lonely pile of concrete and rusting metal which rises above the choppy waters of the North Sea some seven miles off the coast of Suffolk.

Yet the “hard as nails” Bates family have put their lives on the line on more than one occasion to remain the undisputed monarchs of their self-styled kingdom since 1966. For them it’s certainly not just two giant concrete legs rising out of the sea to support a thin metal platform measuring 120 feet by 60 feet – roughly the size of two tennis courts. “There is a very powerful family bond with Sealand which is difficult to explain but it won’t be broken,” says ruling monarch Crown Prince Michael Bates, 68, in a rare and exclusive interview.

He is currently involved in discussions with Hollywood filmmakers planning a movie about Sealand, and a book is published this week chronicling its fascinating history. Suddenly, Sealand is attracting an awful lot of attention, mainly because of a public yearning for wild tales of English eccentricity.

Built in 1942 by British engineer Guy Maunsell, it was one of a handful of his so-called Maunsell naval forts put up off the East Coast to stall a German invasion force which never arrived. Marines occupied the forts to pound enemy aircraft with 28lb anti-aircraft shells, destroying 22 planes, one submarine and 33 doodlebugs, a record which justified the cost of building them.

However, at the end of the war the forts were abandoned. Their purpose had been served and nobody knew what to do with them. For years, they lay empty and unloved, convenient rest stops for passing seagulls.

Then former soldier Roy Bates, Michael’s father, had a brainwave. Injured in fighting in Italy in 1944, Roy hadn’t adapted well to life in civvy street.

After literally hurling his bowler hat and briefcase into the sea near his home in Southend, Essex, he told his wife Joan, a former beauty queen he married in 1948 – six weeks after meeting her at a dance hall – he wanted to lead a more exciting life.

He bought a boat and adapted well to the rigours of North Sea fishing but found it difficult to make a good living. The couple also tried running a chain of butchers and an estate agents, but neither business satisfied Roy’s yearning for adventure.

While sailing off Essex, Roy became fascinated with the naval forts. When he learned that one, Knock John, was being used as a base for a pirate radio station he decided to set up his own.

With the help of some Southend musclemen, Roy turfed off Radio City and claimed Knock John as the base for his pirate station, Radio Essex, which began broadcasting on October 27, 1965.

As the listenership grew, advertisers started coming on board but the authorities took a dim view of his activities on Knock John Fort and successfully prosecuted him for broadcasting illegally.

Paying the £200 fine meant genuine hardship, so, undeterred, he decided to take over another fort, called Roughs Tower, which was further out in the sea and did not come under British jurisdiction.

The only problem was the pirate radio station Radio Caroline was using Roughs Tower as a base. But that issue was resolved when Roy and his mates arrived with iron bars on Christmas Day 1966. Unsurprisingly, the Radio Caroline crew agreed to share the platform.

However, the first chance he had, Roy took the opportunity to seize full control and ejected the competition.

“I was a 14-year-old lad at a private school in Wales at the time, but I loved visiting Roughs Tower in the holidays,” recalls Michael.

Roy certainly needed him to shore up their defences, especially when Radio Caroline unsuccessfully attempted to retake the tower. To deter them Michael tossed molotov cocktails down from above.

A later attempt was foiled when one of Michael’s petrol bombs started a fire on the invaders’ boat. His sister Penny, who was three years older, was also on hand to brandish weapons at any aggressor trying to land on what had now become the self-styled Principality of Sealand.

“One of the guns we had was taken from a German soldier my dad shot while he was fighting in Italy,” says Michael.

“The other was a 9mm Beretta Dad brought back from the war.”

There is a famous picture of Penny brandishing the weapons on Sealand, sending a clear signal to anyone else thinking of muscling in. Force would be met with force.

Other weapons in the Bates’ arsenal included a flamethrower and shotguns. Old gas canisters were strategically placed to drop on unwelcome vessels arriving with the intention of scaling the dangling rope ladder, the only way to get to the platform.

The defiance of 6ft 3in “hard as nails” Roy Bates was drawn to the attention of then Prime Minister Harold Wilson, who instructed the armed forces to switfly reclaim the fort.

But when Royal Marines arrived, Michael and his mother armed themselves with weapons and made it clear they would not leave without a fight. Rather than risk bloodshed, the Marines beat a retreat.

On another occasion, when the crew of a navigational installation boat came a bit too close and made cheeky remarks to a sunbathing Penny, then 19, Michael fired a couple of warning shots across their bow.

However, by then Penny was tired of holding the fort and wanted a more normal life back in Southend.

“My father was very demanding,” admits Michael. “I don’t blame my sister for not sticking with it. It was a strange kind of upbringing for sure.”

Penny told Dylan Taylor-Lehman, author of the new book, that life as a Princess was not all it was cracked up to be. Just getting to the principality was gruelling.

“It was hours and hours on the boat going chug, chug, chug. I used to sit there in a blanket and think, ‘For God’s sake will someone kill me please’. It was horrible, horrible.”

While Michael kept himself busy securing defences and fishing for lobsters over the side, Penny survived on rationed tin food and biscuits made from flour and distilled sea water. When the water tanks ran dry, they had to rely on rainfall.

In the late Sixties and Seventies, Sealand stamps, passports and coinage were produced to satisfy the curiosity of an increasing number of people.

There were also plans to go into business with some Germans who wanted to build a casino, a heliport and duty-free shops.

But while Roy and Joan were discussing the options in Salzburg, the crafty Germans teamed up with some Dutch allies and staged a coup. “I was on Sealand when I heard a helicopter approaching,” Michael recalls. “We had a big mast to stop helicopters landing but they came down on a winch and said my father had signed a contract with them to sign the fort over to them.

“I knew my dad would never do that. I kept telling them I needed to speak to my father. I was armed but I didn’t really know what to do.”

By now, effectively kidnapped, Michael was locked up in a room for several days. When he was finally let out there was a physical fight.

“They tied my ankles together and my wrists and I heard one say they were thinking of throwing me over the side.”

He was forced off the platform and dispatched back to land. But after regrouping with his father and friends, they vowed to take back Sealand and, appropriately, employed a helicopter pilot who had worked on James Bond films to assist them.

“When we took the fort back it was the biggest adrenaline rush in my life,” Michael says. “Sliding down a rope with a shotgun around your neck is very exciting.”

After he fired one shot in the air, order was restored and Sealand was back in the hands of the Prince of Sealand, Roy Bates, who died peacefully in 2012, aged 91.

After the death of his mother Joan in 2016, Sealand was pretty much run by Prince Michael, although Penny, now 70, takes a close interest. Michael’s grown-up sons Liam and James spend time on Sealand, along with caretakers to deter potential invaders.

Through the Sealand website, knighthoods can be purchased for £99.99 and dukedoms for £499. England cricketer Ben Stokes was given an honorary lordship, along with the singer Ed Sheeran. Founder Roy has become a revered figure among Sealand supporters who see him as a patriotic ex-serviceman who fearlessly realised his swashbuckling dream to create his own kingdom, complete with its own black, white and red flag.

When a journalist once asked him why he took over the fort, Roy replied: “I’ve asked myself that question many times and I’m damned if I know the answer. But it was a challenge, and I can’t resist a challenge.”

Michael spends most of his time in Southend with his Chinese wife Mei, who served in the Chinese army. Last year he faced the rather more pleasurable challenge of judging a beauty pageant in China, just one of the many perks of being a Prince.

“Life is a lot quieter now but we’ll never give up Sealand. You never know what will happen but we’re ready for anything,” he says with a laugh. If the movie version of Sealand is made, the scriptwriters certainly won’t be short of material.

[chibivesicle]

Golden Kamuy chapters 239 & 240 - character background arrives for Kikuta

Hello all, this is a much belated meta for the past two chapters.  I was very busy with work last weekend and I’m feeling the usual work related exhaustion with the covid-19 situation on top of it.  I’m currently living in a part of the States which still has a much stricter social distancing policy and it is still unclear when I can return to work, even if we follow new social distancing policies.  Suffice to say, it has been a huge struggle for me.  I’m already more prone to suffer from depression and this situation has just been really hard with friends and family very far away from me.

I usually like to give my all into my meta analysis of a chapter but I really didn’t like chapter 239.  The sense of humor that underlies the “midnight shoot out” just well - well.  I wasn’t keen on it.  I have a pretty dirty sense of humor so it isn’t even the fact that it is a part of male body part humor; just how it was implemented.

So I’m just going to go with this.  Usami and our “Jack” convict are men cut from the same cloth who link sexual acts with violence.  The only difference between them is that Usami was found and groomed by Tsurumi, thus appearing to be a more contributing member of society (as a member of the military), while “Jack” has been left to his own devices and is a free roaming serial killer.  Usami is the correct member of the 27th to do the field work for this convict.  What is more interesting is teaming him up with Kikuta.  After Usami and Jack’s “shoot out” Usami pursues him on foot while he’s on horseback.  Usami’s general response is to try to beat someone via brute force.  It isn’t surprising that he just jumps for the man only to get knocked down, he acts on instinct.

Kikuta has a much more tempered response as he first had Usami and him split off to try to pinch him off between the alleys/streets.  It gives him a clear shot at Jack.  Here he’s using one of his revolvers in his right hand.

Jack is lucky as Kikuta hits his top hat. This pause in action allows Kikuta to spring into action.  He sprints towards Jack tossing his revolver so that he can grab onto the convict with his right hand.  What I really like about this is how is shows how Kikuta thinks very quickly on his feet as we saw at the hot springs.

He’s able to use his left hand to reach into his coat where he likely has at least another revolver in a holster.  It should be game over for the man as he tells him that he’s got him with the revolver to the back of his head.

Unfortunately, Kikuta is defeated by “Jack’s” manly abilities and it is just plain gross and unnecessary.  Kikuta is one of my fav current members of the 27th, I just didn’t like this entire scene.  As a result he escapes and Kikuta is likely feeling - well feeling used, gross and assaulted.

Usami and Kikuta continue to pursue him and hear a woman scream.  Sure enough he managed to kill her and Kikuta looks shocked as they find the body.  The fact that Usami looks at Kikuta from the corner of his eyes makes me think that Usami is not surprised by anything our killer does.

In contrast, despite his years of experience, Kikuta is uncomfortable with this type of criminal activity & violence.  He’s no stranger to violence but he clearly has a strong moral compass.

The next day, they return to the scene of the crime in daylight.  The sketchy and questionable police officer is there with our sad and pathetic reporter.  Kikuta muses what the killer is thinking.  Due to all the things that have transpired so far, it is clear that Kikuta is really trying to rationalize things.  In contrast,’knowing’ his mind, Usami just offers an explanation that makes sense to him since it takes one to know one.

This only further highlights the difference between these two men.  It is clear that Tsurumi wants them to keep working together, even if Kikuta is really uncomfortable with Usami.

Usami is eager to visit the other crime scene, Kikuta hangs back and lets Usami go ahead.  He uses this time to casually approach Ariko. Everything about Kikuta’s body language, behavior and vibe scream - spy/secret agent.  He’s able to address Ariko with a calm demeanor and then when Ariko almost panics he instructs him how to behave.

Kikuta cuts the tension by teasing Ariko, stating that he’d recognize his figure anywhere and to think he’d be difficult to recognize is a bit of an insult to Kikuta’s intelligence.

He’s able to approach Ariko about his role as an unwilling double agent.  Since he’s there under direct orders from Tsurumi he knows that for the time to being he should be in the loop as far as Hijikata’s movements.  If Ariko is in Sapporo, it is a logical extension that Hijikata is there as well.

The chapter then wraps up with Tsurumi leading most of his men to Sapporo leaving only two to remain near Otaru to look for Asirpa.  He reports that Kikuta is the one who sent him the telegram about our convict, Jack.  If Tsurumi is reporting the truth to his men, it means that Kikuta only reported on the convict and requested backup but Kikuta may be withholding information about Hijikata being there as well.  This chapter leaves it up in the air as it shows Tsurumi looking military dictator-ish while Hijikata stares off into the distance.

What is most important in this chapter is setting up how Kikuta is going to be some sort of player in the hunt for this convict in particular. 

Chapter 240 begins to bring the manga plot back to the aspects that I like of it, more intellectual, big picture moves of the different groups as well as a side of good old fashioned spy business.

The chapter title page helps us to establish Ariko’s and Kikuta’s personalities even more.  Ariko is playing cat’s cradle with Tanigaki in the trenches while Kikuta literally has Ariko’s back and he watches them.

This shows several things.  1.) Kikuta is similar to Ogata as he’s always watching.  Since he was one of the “Russian” kidnappers, we know he has a background in intelligence and he’s a clever guy.  We also know that he cares about Ariko as a person, hence comfortable enough to lean up against his back as well as cover that back. 2.) It let’s the reader know that Ariko is similar to Tanigaki.  He’s a large, soft, dopey man.  He is simple, he’s outwardly friendly and like Tanigaki he has natural outdoorsman/hunting skills but that he’s an okay solider and but isn’t the most intelligent.  Neither man is a good liar and they are predictable.

Ariko is 100% out of his element and trying to be a double agent is pretty much a situation ripe for failure.  He just can’t do it.  In direct contrast, Kikuta looks completely natural and at ease.  He’s used to doing things like this and he’s confident with the games of espionage and intelligence.

Ariko is barely able to hold himself together, voice unsteady, sweating, looking like he’s got no out.  So Kikuta tells him to team up with him in contrast to Hijikata and Tsurumi.

Of course Ariko is shocked by this statement.  Kikuta continues his argument. He frames himself as Ariko’s only option. They survived the war together, they saw that same moon together.  The flashback shows, Kikuta reaching out to touch Ariko while he goes to hold his hand.

They’ve survived together against the odds.  So Kikuta is willing to ask Ariko to ignore everything else.  Forget about his father’s involvement in the gold theft and his murder and the fact that Tsurumi will try to get his cooperation by threatening family.  He summarizes it doesn’t matter which man he tries to align himself with, the outcome is same - it is terrible. So then he let’s him know that “central” is going to let things play out in Hokkaido.

This is enough information for Ariko to figure out why Kikuta was so keen to regain Tsurumi’s trust.  He’s the spy for central that Tsukishima has been always on the look out for.

The angle of this panel is just great, Ariko is in shock while Kikuta adjusts his bowler hat.  And with that, a running joke that originated on a discord server when Kikuta first showed up became the truth.

With Kikuta’s appearance several of us tried to figure out what is role would be and we came up with a nickname for him, “Roger”, which was coined by Merdopseudo.  This was due to how he looked like Roger Moore, one of the actors that played James Bond.  I 100% agreed with the Roger nickname and as a result, I struggle to write any meta post about Kikuta without referring to him as Roger instead.  I personally was leaning toward a more Clark Gable inspired look but Roger was just better.

The chapter then has Jack hanging around a church with no informative text.

The action then shifts to Hijikata’s group which is all in disguise.

The wee babe, Kantarou is a newsboy, selling newspapers.  Hijikata is a goldfish vendor. Ushiyama and Toni are buddhist monks, and Kadokura is a Koya-san pilgrim.  Ogata is a filial piety puppet performer and Nagakura and Ariko are just random looking civilians. Kirawus remained as himself.  Perhaps they thought if he tried to blend in as Japanese it would be obvious? 

Our morally bankrupt reporter, is able to elaborate on the details of the Sapporo serial killer - calling him a copycat of Jack the Ripper.  The Cliff Notes version of things is that if this is a true Jack the Ripper copycat, the fifth and final murder will happen 40 days after the two murders from the night before.  It seems proper that Hijikata is the one to summarize the situation that his group is in.

Interestingly, Kadokura, Kantarou and Kirawus are shown sweating in the background while Ogata is deadpan.  Clearly, Ogata is not bothered by the 40 day time limit.

This makes a nice transition to Sugimoto, Shiraishi and Asirpa now in Barato.  Shiraishi, being the smart dude that he is, points out an interesting article.  Sugimoto assumes it is about “Jack” but instead he notices children have gone missing.  Boutarou is able to immediately connect these crimes to another tattooed convict.

Asirpa looks nervous as, well she’s a child and she was teased additional information than what Sugimoto got from meeting him.  Boutarou is upfront and immediately is able to identify him for the rest of the group.  Asirpa is totally freaked out as the identifies him as the candy peddler.

Sugimoto then has murder eyes and angry screentones as he concludes that he is of course one of the convicts. 

This chapter is setting up a clear confrontation between all the different groups.  I like how it finally begins to ratchet up the the tension and put pieces in place. Usami showing that he’s terrible at spying and discretion both makes them stand out but also tips Kikuta off that something else is likely afoot on Tsurumi’s side. 

The missing children are a trail indication the direction of Ueji Keiji.  I like how Shiraishi and Sugimoto are looking at the paper while Boutarou towers over them and looks at the paper.

The chapter ends with our two shaded convicts surrounded by swirling newspapers.  Both men are making their actions clear to the public.  I would guess are both reading the newspapers as Jack let’s his activities know while Ueji is potentially communicating with him as his own actions are showing his direction, moving towards Sapporo.

The chapter then ends with a dark Ogata joke.  He’s really into his filial piety act and has to be yelled at firmly by another member of the group. 

Overall impressions on 240 and some brief ponderings.

1.) I love Roger, er Kikuta so much.  His character has a level of class and sophistication that many characters lack.  He is also a ‘self’ made man who rose through the ranks to be a valuable member of military intelligence.  It is clear now why Tsurumi would have kept his distance from him and why he was so insistent on getting back into Tsurumi’s inner circle.  It is clear that Kikuta is not a “Tsurumisexual”.  He is also the type of man who Tsukishima was suspicious of going back to his showdown with Ogata.  Tsukishima is livid that Ogata sniped Maeyama and told him that he’s the pet cat of “central” he’s waiting to sell out the 27th to gain position in the military establishment.

Therefore, our three “Russian” kidnappers are all originally enlisted men who likely gained a lot of skills working for a fallen elite like Tsurumi.  Tsukishima stresses loyalty to comrades.  Ogata has never shown much loyalty to those around him, but it is obvious that Kikuta has loyalty to Ariko.  He had to put on an act to look like Ariko had betrayed him and Tsurumi.

I have begun to wonder if Ogata is the red herring deflecting the focus from Kikuta.  Ogata doesn’t believe in the words of Tsurumi that are used to stir loyalty and dedication to a cause.  Is this because Ogata believe it is complete bullshit or that he’s aware that Tsurumi uses these types of concepts to control most people?

What I want to know now is if Ogata is working with or in parallel to Kikuta.  I still don’t see Ogata as a spy for central.  It goes against by gut reading on Ogata.  I could see Ogata and Kikuta being aware of each other and their objectives where Ogata may have even tried to make it look like he’s the spy to deflect attention from Kikuta.  Again, Ogata’s goal from this entire situation is still completely unknown.  Was Kikuta linked to the rebel group - RIP bear death trio.  I still haven’t forgotten you.

But based on Tsukishima thinks of Ogata as a putative spy, it fits Kikuta’s personality better.  Kikuta still has loyalty and connection to others from the 27th, e.g. Ariko.  His discomfort working with Usami on Jack’s trail shows that Kikuta has a stronger moral compass and thinks about what actions are justifiable and which are more ‘evil’ or morally questionable.

2.) Ogata needs a therapist.  Of all of the “disguises” he could choose, Ogata picks the filial piety puppet show. >_<  He put on makeup to look like his own father, and a son puppet that has a striking resemblance to his half brother Yuusaku.  Therefore, the bastard child is performing an act where his devoted brother does everything he’s expected to do as a model son for their asshole father.  The fact that his line is “What a dutiful son. Please give him the reward that he deserves.” can be read on several levels.  Basic text reading - Yuusaku was a good son, and he truly deserved the reward for being a good son.  He kept his virginity and purity, was un-corruptable by Ogata and therefore, he had no choice but to snipe him.  Subtext reading - due to Ogata’s clear “daddy” issues, he is actually the dutiful son and he wants the reward that he deserves.  Ogata entered the military and performed well both in intelligence for Tsurumi, on the battlefield as a sniper and did everything that was asked of him before he liberated himself from Tsurumi.  In that regard, Ogata was an excellent solider if not better one that Yuusaku with hands on/real world experience long before Yuusaku was a flag bearer.  I think this situation should both be read on the text and subtext level.  ‘Cause it is Ogata dammit and he’s not some obvious character.

Ogata is a character who wants and desires nothing more than love and acceptance.  Of course being the cynical intellectual that he is, he would pick something like this. . . . it just makes you want to cringe and go “Ogata . . .”

The fact that they almost left Ogata behind indicates to me that he’s acting out his own plan for - something.  Our man of mystery - Ogata.

[mercurygray]

Can you write Peggy Carter encounters the 1940s Girl Gang? Pretty please with a pinch of (rationed) sugar sprinkled on top?

It wasn't every day that one got to meet a group of superheroes.

For girls like Marjorie and June, with younger brother comic book fiends at home, it was akin to meeting God, a figure often discussed but rarely understood, but even those among them who had no siblings had a vague understanding of who the Howling Commandos were, either from newsreels of their real exploits, or the radio show of their slightly fictionalized ones, or (in Judy's case) because they were a frequent feature in the Hollywood fan magazines.

(The admirers, it should be noted, were also not strictly limited to the younger set - Leibgott, who maintained loudly that Captain America was for kids and The Shadow was really the superior Sunday night radio program, had leaned, ever so subtly, on Ruth to see if he could tag along with the girls to the pub that evening. She had declined.)

But tonight, it seemed, was less about Cap's Crusaders and more about the lady paratroopers,  Ruth, Doris, Billie and June holding court at the bar with the Commandos practically eating out of Ruth's hand as she pantomimed her way through one of Sobel's more fantastic failures.

"Something bothering you?" Joan asked, returning from the bar with two Gimlets and slightly less of her usual froideur after Dernier had insisted, as the representative of a grateful nation, on giving every woman present the traditional bises.

"Just thinking that Dugan looks familiar," Marjorie said pensively, taking her drink and sipping thoughtfully. "Where from, I couldn't say. He must just have one of those faces."

Joan frowned. "How many men in bowler hats do you know?"

Marjorie had little time to answer - the door swung open and the main event breezed in with a woman at his elbow, a capable looking thing with very bright lipstick and a steely eye. The Commandos gave a shout of recognition from the bar, and Captain Rogers acknowledged them with a wave and a smile before steering his companion towards the back of the room, and Joan and Marjorie.

"Ladies, allow me to introduce Peggy Carter, our Strategic Scientific Reserve liaison, and a valuable member of the team. Agent Carter, this is Sergeant Gordon - and -"

"Lieutenant Warren," Joan supplied. She'd missed the earlier run-in at their billets and had been read in later, Marjorie complaining that her brothers would never believe her if she didn't have at least one witness.

"- both with the 506th Paratroopers."

"Pleasure to meet you." Carter shook hands with Joan and Marjorie, looking over the two women with a quiet sort of expression that might have been admiration and might have been censure - with the British it was sometimes impossible to tell. "I'm not sure you have a bigger fan than Captain Rogers; he's been following you all very closely after some of the letters his fans have sent in."

"Yes, we heard," Marjorie said with a grin.

"Which reminds me - I brought some with!" Rogers remembered, reaching into his pocket and (with the air of a delighted father) pulling out several well-creased drawings for Joan and Marjorie to admire.

"Oh, look, Joan, she's doing the pose from that picture that Time ran!" Marjorie said, pointing out the woman with the parachute (still open) standing behind Dugan's bowler hat and Morita's slouchy jeep cap.

"Goodness, so she is. Going to want to lose that 'chute if she wants to fight the Germans, though," Joan said with a chuckle. "Might slow her down a little."

"See - you're already a superhero," the Captain said with a smile. "Why not hang up the jump wings and join us? We offer great benefits. See Europe first."

"With all due respect, Captain," Joan said, passing the stack of drawings back,  "Why not use what you already have?" Her eyes tracked pointedly to Agent Carter.

"My involvement with the unit's a bit...hush-hush," Peggy said with an abbreviated smile. "The SSR likes to keep out of the public eye, when we can." Joan and Marjorie nodded. "And I don’t quite fit the whole ‘all-American’ bill - as you’ve noticed. I've been telling him you ladies are probably far better fixed here than you'd be with the Commandos."

Joan gave a sorry smile. "Sorry, Captain - she's right. I fought too hard for too long for what I've got now, and I can't go back." She looked at the drawings, sitting on the table.  "America's girls are depending on us."

Rogers gave a congenial shrug. "Well, you can't fault a fellow for trying. Drinks?" Marjorie and Joan shook thier heads, and Steve nodded, going to the bar for what was apparently an unspoken regular order of Agent Carter's.

"He seems like a nice guy," Marjorie observed, quietly. "I wasn't expecting that."

"He really is," Carter said with a smile. "It's not an act, it's ...just him."

"And...no hard feelings about us turning him down?" Joan asked, out of an excess of caution.

Agent Carter's smile widened knowledgeably. "Captain Rogers knows a little bit about having to fight for something," she said. "He'll understand you completely."

--

The Shadow was a regular Sunday night radio show on CBS; Orson Welles was perhaps the most famous voice actor involved, and the show’s signature catchphrase “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? Only the Shadow knows” still comes up in pop culture today.

Also, because I feel I should mention it anytime I bring up vintage radio - anyone interested in vintage radio should know that WDCB, a jazz station near Chicago, does vintage programming from 11 am to 4 pm CST on Saturdays. You can access a stream on their website, here.  Occasionally they do old-time radio shows like Captain Midnight or The Shadow!

[mexcine]

Mein Leben für Irland [My Life For Ireland] (1941) review: Mein Leben für Irland is a "Nazi propaganda film," but a very curious one.  It's "soft" propaganda, with no Nazi ideology, no German characters, and a foreign, period setting: the main thrust of the film is anti-British, but even the visible villainy of the English is quite mild.  The exciting climax of the film pits Irish freedom fighters against the British military occupiers of their land, mitigating the reluctance a rational person might otherwise have for cheering the protagonists of a Nazi-made movie. 

         The film begins in 1903: a British sheriff and the police evicting Irish farmers are attacked by O'Brien and a group of armed rebels.  The sheriff is killed but O'Brien and his friends are captured and sentenced to hang.  O'Brien is permitted to marry his pregnant fiancee Maeve before he dies.   18 years later, Maeve's son Michael is a student at the British-run St. Edward's College school (filmed at an actual boys' school in Maulbronn, Germany, with the students as extras). He makes friends with new student Patrick O'Connor.  Most of the faculty are British, but caretaker Duffy is Irish: he walks with a limp, the result of a wound he suffered while in the British Army in India.  His commanding officer--whose neglect caused Duffy's injury--was Sir George Beverley, now a member of the British administration in Ireland.  Beverley's nephew Henry is a student at St. Edward's (and spies on his classmates for his uncle).  

      Michael takes several of his school friends to meet his mother; Patrick develops a crush on Maeve.  One night Patrick sneaks into town to spy on her, and sees a man in her bedroom.  He thinks it's her lover, but it's actually injured fugitive Irish rebel leader Devoy.  Patrick reveals his disillusionment to Henry, who's acting as a spy for his uncle; this results in the arrest of Maeve (although Devoy escapes).  To make up for his error, Patrick goes to work for Devoy, pretending to be an informer to earn the trust of the British.  Michael and the other patriotic Irish students torture Patrick to make him confess, but the teen refuses, per Devoy's instructions.

     On graduation day at St. Edward's, the Irish rise in revolt.  The boys (after burning the British flag and their schoolbooks--an ironic echo of real-life Nazi book-burning) raid the school's armory for weapons and join the street fighting.  Devoy is mortally wounded and can't clear Patrick's name.  However,  Patrick leads a group of men into British headquarters through a secret passage, rescuing Maeve and other imprisoned rebels.  Sir George is shot to death by Duffy.  Patrick is mortally wounded but dies happy since Maeve and Michael know he wasn't a traitor.

     The curious thing about Mein Leben für Irland is how tame it is, particularly with regard to the British.  The film begins in 1903 as a British sheriff (complete with suit, bowler hat, and round face, perhaps a stand-in for Winston Churchill) and his men burst into a farmhouse (it says "Dublin" on-screen but the farmhouse is in a very rural area), ordering the family inside to vacate immediately.  When the farmer objects, he's seized by two policemen; a young boy intervenes and is roughly tossed aside, hitting his head.  This suggests the film is going to contain a lot of British atrocities, but in fact there is almost nothing overt after this.  The British have a general attitude of superiority, consider the Irish "uncivilised," and so on, but the depiction of acts of brutality (they shoot a dog, but off-screen) is at a minimum.  

      During the trial of the rebels in the 1903 section, the Irish prisoners mention "thousands have died from starvation...you let them starve! That's murder!"  As they're sentenced to hang, the defendants proclaim the trial "unjust" and "abominable," since they had no chance to defend themselves.  However, from the British point of view the trial was correctly handled and the Irish were guilty of murdering the sheriff, so the impression is of a miscarriage of justice rather than outright brutality.  Later in the film, Maeve is arrested for harbouring the fugitive DeVoy (some bloody bandages prove her guilt): as noted above, her dog is shot when it attacks the policemen, and Maeve is refused permission to change her clothes in privacy, but neither she nor her housekeeper (caught while trying to burn the bandages) is physically assaulted in any way.  Later, a British official makes an oblique comment that prisoners are often "convinced" to talk, but we see no evidence of torture or mistreatment.

     Oddly enough, the only torture shown in the film is done by the Irish schoolboys, who tie up Patrick and repeatedly submerge him in the school's swimming pool in an effort to make him talk!

     It's been noted elsewhere that Mein Leben für Irland has an odd premise for a Nazi propaganda film: it shows Ireland occupied, exploited and oppressed by the British, with apparently no awareness on the part of its makers that one could easily mentally swap "British" for "Nazis," and "Irish" for "French" (or Dutch, or Belgians, or Polish, or...etc.).  Was this irony truly unconscious?  Were the filmmakers so lacking in self-awareness, or could they have been so confident that viewers would say "forcibly occupying a country is bad, but...it's OK when we do it"?  [As "Hitler's Irish Films" notes, the Nazis recognised that Mein leben für Irland was satisfactory programming for German cinemas, but unsuitable for export to occupied countries.]*      *["Hitler's Irish Movies," a 2007 documentary made for Irish television, contains considerable information about Mein Leben für Irland and Der Fuchs von Glenarvon and is well worth seeking out.]

     The final 15 minutes of the film depicts the Irish uprising (an explosion ironically interrupts the singing of "God Save the King" at the St. Edwards' graduation ceremony), and is virtually non-stop action of street fighting in Dublin.  The British soldiers use a tank (captured by the Irish and turned on its owners), an armoured car, machine guns, etc., against the Irish patriots behind their hastily-constructed barricades. The Irish students--with Duffy's pleased consent--plunder the school's armory (apparently marksmanship is a popular course), handing over scores of rifles and plentiful ammunition to the rebels.  The battle scenes are quite well done, effectively shot and edited. 

     Although the film is specifically set in 1921 (i.e., 18 years after the 1903 sequences), the “uprising” in  Mein Leben für Irland seems to have been inspired by the actual 1916 revolt against the British, which did involve lots of actual combat in Dublin. 

     The personalities involved in Mein Leben für Irland include some interesting characters.  Director Max Kimmich was the brother-in-law of Josef Goebbels, Nazi propaganda minister and thus in charge of the German film industry.  Kimmich directed both of the Nazi "Irish" films, Der Fuchs von Glenarvon and Mein Leben für Irland, but had an otherwise rather undistinguished career and did not direct any films after 1943.

     Actor-director Paul Wegener has an enduring place in film history for his silent film work, notably his "Golem" movies.  Wegener's role as Sir George Beverley is curiously under-stated in Mein Leben für Irland: by default he's the "main" villain but he has relatively little screen time and does nothing especially heinous.  After the war, Wegener was not ostracised for his participation in the Nazi film industry: he was actually anti-Nazi and apparently secretly worked against the regime, and was able to claim he was coerced into appearing in films like Mein Leben für Irland.

     Not so lucky in the short run was Jack Trevor, who has a one-scene role as the officer in charge of the military trial in the 1903 section of the film.  A British veteran of World War I, Trevor became an actor after the war and relocated to Germany.  He worked in a number of German films, including another notorious propaganda picture, Ohm Krüger (which was far more virulent in its anti-British sentiments), and participated in Nazi radio broadcasts.  Trevor was sentenced to prison in England after the war for his propaganda activities, but the sentence was reversed when he successfully argued that his wartime work was done under duress.

     Mein Leben für Irland is less outré than one might expect and thus has relatively little "camp" value: it's a largely inoffensive period melodrama. Had this film not been made under the Nazi regime, it would be even more forgotten than it is now.  Propaganda can be overt or subtle, but Mein Leben für Irland is so subtle that the propaganda message is practically nonexistent: its ideological content can be summed up as "imperialism is bad, the British are imperialists, hence the British are bad," and "people want to be free and will fight for freedom."  The Nazis would have cause to regret promoting the latter sentiment.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Storytime!

Sanders Sides Canon Divergence AU - fluff/angst - hurt/comfort - some intrigue - actually has a plot (side eyes my other fics) - largely Virgil centric - it’s about growth i guess idk

Words: 4,329 Warnings: Big-ass spiders, food. Characters: Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan, Janus, (Remus Mentioned) Universe: Storytime! Genre: Suspense but only about how much longer they’ll all be oblivious

Chapter 28: In Which Logan Totally Meant to be Shady This Time

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   Deceit sighed and looked down at Virgil wrapped around him in the morning. He got distracted by that stupid story and didn’t figure out what was happening before Virgil passed out for the final time that evening. Remus was very obedient this morning with Virgil still sleeping again, but he was deeply annoyed at the both of them. They could have blown everything. He held his face in his hands and groaned. This absolute and complete buffoon better wake up soon.

   Deceit gently ruffled his hair, trying to pull him out of sleep gently. It had been plenty of time for Virgil to sleep in. He was probably tired from making his needlessly big new pet, still. But his anxiety churned more lazily in him today, shifting against Deceit’s palm on Virgil’s back. It was at least an excellent sign for Virgil. And potentially Deceit if he accidentally woke him too quickly.

   “Virgil,” Deceit hummed quietly. Virgil shifted gently in Deceit’s arm and his eyes fluttered open slowly. Virgil yawned and squeezed Deceit tight before letting go and stretching. “Virgil, what in the world were you thinking running off with Remus in the middle of the meeting?” Deceit groaned.

   “That I wasn’t in the mood to be stabbed because Ream is too impatient to wait. Pat doesn’t want to see that, and he would have had to go through Roman, it would have been a bloodbath,” Virgil yawned again and leaned back onto the bed with his legs still on the floor. “And I was going to go see him later anyway, to write that story with him.”

   “That’s not what I mean, Virgil, Roman and Patton are still afraid of Remus and you ran off with him like you were besst budss!” Deceit growled.

   “I don’t know about best buds, D… You know he scares the hell out of me half the time just to hear me scream, and we do kinda hurt each other just being nearby for too long,” Virgil groaned. “I mean we’re friends and all, but bes-”

   “I know you just woke up but for god’ss ssake!” Deceit hissed and slapped his hand up to his human half of his face and dragged it down in frustration. Virgil flinched at first, but instead of cowering as usual, he just moved to hug Deceit again.

   “How are they supposed to stay afraid of a guy who the literal embodiment of fear just ran off with? Remus even helped Pat last night by not letting them wake me,” Virgil said nonchalantly and stifled a yawn. Deceit froze. Oh, god, was this idiot on to something? Oh, god, he was right. Virgil chuckled and nuzzled his neck. “You can always shut me up if you think I went too far. It’s been ages and every time I bring it up they shoot me down. I’m gonna show instead of tell,” Virgil said determinedly while wrapping himself around Deceit.

   “And when were you going to fill me in on your change of tacticss?” Deceit hissed in frustration.

   “I wasn’t thinking about it, honestly. I think I just rationalized it or something,” Virgil said with another small yawn and scratched the back of Deceit’s neck affectionately. “Sorry about changing your plans and all,” He mumbled. Deceit sighed deeply.

   “We can try it this inane way and repress their memories if it gets out of hand, I ssuppose,” Deceit conceded sourly.

   “Cool,” Virgil smiled and kissed Deceit’s scaled cheek. “Can we do tea later? Or maybe make fun of some more TV shows?” Virgil asked hopefully. This idiot. Deceit sighed again and flipped his hand to shoo Virgil.

   “Go to breakfast before you miss it again, Virgil,” Deceit rolled his eyes. Virgil flipped off Deceit’s hat and kissed the top of his head before smirking and sinking out. Deceit grumbled as he grabbed his hat off the bed and put it back on. That buffoon would be the death of him, damnit. Why did he keep letting Virgil get away with things?

— * * * — 

   Virgil saluted them as he popped into his breakfast chair.

   “’Sup, nerds. Sorry, I slept in late again,” He said and leaned against Roman. Roman was stiff at First, but reached up to ruffle Virgil’s hair. Virgil sat up and grumbled, fixing his bangs and gently elbowed Roman while he was at it.

   “I wasn’t aware you were… chummy with my brother, Virge,” Roman said slowly, sounding kind of off.

   “He’s not that bad, he’s actually pretty fun. Don’t you fight him all the time, Ro? He’s always talking about it,” Virgil asked, sneaking his hand up to also muss up Roman’s hair in revenge.

   “I’m fighting for honor and valor, not for fun!” Roman shot a glare at Virgil.

   “Ream doesn’t see it that way, he looks forward to it. I mean, shoves isn’t loves and all, but it’s his probably his weird love language other than sharing his interests,” Virgil explained and quickly messed with Roman’s hair in return. Roman huffed and summoned a comb.

   “But his interests are weird and horrible, kiddo!” Patton objected. “Don’t they scare you?”

   “My interests are weird and scary, to you too, Pat,” Virgil rolled his eyes. “Of course he scares me, it’s my job to be scared of the stuff he talks about. It doesn’t mean we don’t get along,” Virgil shrugged slightly. “Sometimes, anyway.” He added.

   “Remus really looks forward to fighting with me?” Roman asked, seeming to have just processed what he said a moment ago.

   “Uh, yeah? So do I,” Virgil said and playfully jabbed at Roman’s side, who yelped and jabbed him back. “You’re fun to fight,” Virgil grinned evilly.

   “Boys, no fighting at the table!” Patton whined. That barely counted as even scuffling, but whatever. Virgil shrugged and backed away from Roman.

   “I don’t suppose any of you beautiful angels are interested in feeding me even though you’re all done eating?” Virgil asked sweetly, tapping the table.

   “I will make you a balanced breakfast, if that is what you want, Virgil,” Logan offered, putting down his paper.

   “I would love a properly balanced breakfast,” Virgil said and laughed gently, leaning back against Roman’s shoulder. Logan summoned a plate with fruit, a piece of Canadian bacon, and a small omelet full of vegetables. He pushed the plate towards Virgil, who accepted it excitedly. “Thanks, Lo-berry, I don’t suppose a slice of toast with some crofter’s on it is out of the question?” Logan looked surprised for a moment.

   “Grains are an important part of the diet,” Logan quickly said, summoning a piece of jam toast and placing it on the corner of Virgil’s plate.

   “Thanks,” Virgil excitedly reached for the toast to take a bite. “Oh my god, this is why you ate that whole jar,” Virgil moaned in appreciation and finished off the toast in seconds.

   “It is wonderful,” Roman said with a chuckle, trailing off a bit.

   “So you’re… okay?” Patton asked hesitantly.

   “Why wouldn’t I be?” Virgil asked before taking a bite of the omelet.

   “Well, you left with the duke and all,” Patton’s voice was full of concern.

   “We were mostly writing a story,” Virgil said proudly. “I mean, we fought a little. We always do,” He admitted a little sheepishly.

   “That’s it? Just a story and some scuffling? No… other stuff?” Patton asked worriedly.

   “No? There were no ‘unsavory things’ I wouldn’t mention at the breakfast table,” Virgil answered. At least, not that they were doing. On paper, definitely lots of unsavory things he would not mention at the breakfast table. Boy, did Remus fuck those kids up after Virgil trapped them one by one.

   “Well, as long as you’re safe, kiddo,” Patton said, still sounding a little concerned. Virgil scooted his plate and chair around the table a little closer to Patton and gave him a hug.

   “I’m safe, pops, you don’t have to worry. That’s my job,” Virgil said with a chuckle.

   “You do not seem overwrought today, Virgil,” Logan said evenly.

   “I’m plenty troubled about the stupid schedule and all the work. You’re just not the best face reader,” Virgil said cheerily and returned to enjoying his breakfast. He didn’t know why this pork was called Canadian bacon, but it was lean and sweet and he loved it. Oh god, does that mean he would like Hawaiian pizza? Oh no, that was something he needed to avoid trying at all costs.

   “You look like something just concerned you. See, I am perfectly capable of reading faces,” Logan objected sourly.

   “Pizza discourse is scary, Logan,” Virgil shot at him defensively.

   “Where in the wide world of sports did that come from, champ?” Patton asked and placed a hand on his shoulder.

   “The internet. Pat, will you show me how to knit a cap while Princey is being a writer extraordinaire with Thomas today? You know, so I don’t freak as much when Joan wants to make changes?” Virgil asked, pulling Patton into a small side hug while he continued breakfast.

   “That’s very proactive of you, Virgil,” Logan said plainly, but his eyebrow was raised in curiosity.

   “Wild, right?” Virgil chuckled. Maybe he could knit Deceit a beanie to thank him. And then Virgil could have Voltaire hide that stupid bowler hat.

   “Sure, kiddo!” Patton beamed. Roman punched Virgil on the shoulder and smiled.

   “Looking to be less of a pain in the ass today?” Roman asked playfully. Patton huffed and Roman flipped his hand to dismiss Patton’s objections. Virgil shrugged. It just sounded like something Patton would want. Deceit made it feel much easier to be who they wanted. Virgil frowned for a moment, kind of realizing what that meant. But went back to finishing his breakfast quickly. He’d get to lie on Patton and knit the rest of the morning. That was probably worth it.

—

   Virgil was laying in Patton’s lap, still trying to knit the hat, when he got a notification. The cap was a little more involved than the scarf was and it was taking a while. Deceit texted and offered to let Virgil join him for tea. Hopefully that meant he wasn’t that mad at him, which Virgil relished finding out. Unless it was a trap, but Virgil just couldn’t imagine that today. If he was honest with himself, it was weird that he couldn’t. When Deceit didn’t accept or reject him outright, Virgil was pretty scared that Virgil’s impulsive rationalizing pissed Deceit off. And then Virgil couldn’t be himself with D anymore, and he’d be stuck pretending with the others or intermittently fighting Remus. He was glad D wanted to hang out.

   “I’ve got to go, Pat,” Virgil said as he pulled off of Patton’s lap and brushed Patton’s hair off his temple for a light peck. “Can we finish this lesson later?”

   “Of course, Virge. I think I might need to go talk with Logan more directly about refusing to let Thomas take a break myself. He deserves one! You’ll get all upset again if Thomas goes too long, and it’s been a nice quiet morning,” Patton said with heavy determination. Patton smiled and kissed Virgil’s temple. Virgil smiled and nodded. That was really nice of Patton. And a maybe a little selfish. Thomas might fall behind if he took a break. But Logan probably had that handled, right?

   Virgil popped into his bedroom and was greeted by Voltaire in his face as soon as he appeared. Volt bit him, but his own anxieties weren’t exactly a problem for him.

   “Volt, I’m not an intruder!” Virgil groaned and plucked Volt carefully off his face. Beeps chastised Voltaire from her silks on the bannister. Volt apologized and Virgil placed him gently on the bannister near Beeps, then removed the bite make from his face. Virgil went to go put down his knitting carefully on the table so it wouldn’t get disturbed and messed up. “Nobody mess with this,” He commanded them. “Anybody need anything before I go?” He checked in with his spiders. He summoned some food for them and left to go hang out with D.

—

   Virgil was cuddled on the couch with D, watching TV they were snarking at in Deceit’s room while they enjoyed their tea. Deceit was also cuddling him back instead of just letting Virgil cuddle him, which was amazing. It took Deceit a while to settle into it, but normally it was a relatively one-sided thing. Deceit’s cool scales felt sublime on his cheek, even with his top between them. Deceit lolled his head on Virgil’s shoulder and stroked his hair slowly. Virgil felt very safe wrapped up in his arms, like nothing could get to him.

   “What is wrong with this world that the adults are just letting literal children run free with no supervision?” Deceit growled and lifted his head slightly to sip his tea.

   “I know, right? How little do they care about their children? It’s like ‘bye billy have fun getting hit by a car or kidnapped while I ignore you for 12 hours’ what kind of parenting is that?” Virgil agreed with a dark laugh. He didn’t want to shift to get his tea, but Deceit must have sensed that, since he reached out and grabbed it for Virgil. “Thank you,” Virgil purred and enjoyed a sip.

   “Murphy’s law,” Deceit laughed sinisterly as the kids ran into trouble and took Virgil’s mug to place it back on the side table.

   “Isn’t that a constant of the universe,” Virgil drawled sardonically. They continued to incessantly sass the TV together and Virgil was so happy to just relax with Deceit.

   After an hour and a half of tea and TV, Deceit kicked Virgil out of his room, much to his disdain. So what if he got more sarcastic and lied flippantly for a while? Nobody would be able to tell. He was always lying to the others, anyway. Virgil flopped grumpily on his couch, sitting on it with his head to the floor, watching his spiders skitter across the bars under his coffee table. He just went through his regular worries in his head as he watched them nest and jump quietly. At least until he heard a very shocked scream. Virgil fell off the couch in surprise and looked up to see Voltaire latched to Logan’s face and poised to strike.

   “Volt, holy shit, get off of Logan! I’m here, I can protect the room myself!” Virgil quickly rambled and got over to Logan to help. Virgil gently plucked Voltaire off Logan’s face and placed him on Virgil’s shoulder. Logan cleared his throat, pretending to be poised.

   “So you can make spiders larger than Beatrice,” He observed very carefully, completely ignoring the fact that he just screamed like he was about to be murdered.

   “Logan, there is nobody else here, we all know that scream was you,” Virgil said with a chuckle.

   “I have absolutely no idea what you are referring to,” Logan said casually and coughed again.

   “Sorry, Voltaire is very enthusiastic. He got me earlier, too,” Virgil apologized and softly stroked Volt, who angrily objected to not being allowed to attack the intruder. “He’s not an intruder, Volt, come on, he’s not exactly sneaking around,” Virgil chided him.

   “You can talk to them?” Logan asked curiously. “They do not have the capacity to speak.”

   “Roman can talk to his dogs,” Virgil said dismissively. “Can’t you talk to whatever animal it is you can conjure?”

   “I can conjure birds, and certain species of birds are capable of mimicking human speech,” Logan explained. “Spiders do not have such capabilities.”

   “Well, I can call all of Volt’s siblings here and we can perhaps see if they can come,” Virgil offered derisively and Logan stiffened.

   “No. I do not require further proof. It is likely similar to the mental magic nonsense Roman utilizes,” Logan said firmly, raising his hand to stop Virgil from acting further.

   “What do you need, Lo?” Virgil laughed.

   “I have your informational packet to collect in the living room if you would… relocate that giant huntsman spider and join me,” Logan said, taking a minute step back.

   “Sure. Volt, can you just let me know when someone enters while I’m not here instead of attacking? Unless it’s Remus sneaking in. Absolutely bite him in the face if he’s acting fishy,” Virgil ordered Voltaire and held his arm on the bannister for Volt to climb up.

   “This morning you had given us the impression you were somewhat cordial with Remus,” Logan stated curiously as he very carefully watched Volt climb up Virgil’s arm to the bannister, then up the wall. Virgil put a hand on Logan’s shoulder to grab his attention before his eyes landed on the giant nest on the ceiling. Virgil didn’t want Logan to scream in his face, even if it was funny.

   “We’re friends, but he knows he’s not allowed in here and he’s been warned. Remus and I don’t deal too well with each other’s aspects. A spider to the face is better than letting him stay in here,” Virgil groaned. It’s not like Remus wasn’t used to a little venom. A lot of venom, really. Virgil wouldn’t be surprised if he had some in him from D’s experiments right now.

   “Noted,” Logan said and sank from the room. Virgil joined him out to the living room.

   Virgil’s packet was sitting on his regular spot on the couch, near Patton who was already skimming his. Roman rose into the room right as Virgil walked over to pick up his packet. When he read the subject line, he barked a dark laugh.

   “Holy crap, Lo, this… this is… you took that thing I taught you last time to heart, huh?” Virgil chuckled. Roman picked up his packet and looked oddly at Virgil, along with Patton. Logan just had his arms crossed, staring intently at Virgil. He thought it was kind of weird he didn’t just deliver it if Logan went through the effort of getting Virgil. Virgil wasn’t capable of dealing with this right now. So he wasn’t going to.

   “What are you talking about?” Roman asked and walked over. Virgil laughed and sent it away haphazardly to the coffee table in his room, flipping his hand dismissively.

   “Logan’s just spilling the tea all over the place. I’ll deal with it later,” Virgil said causally and held up his hand miming playing a game controller. “You want to go?” He asked hopefully.

   “Yes, I have some honor to regain,” Roman said triumphantly and laughed. Virgil stepped over and rubbed Patton’s shoulder affectionately before sinking to Roman’s room. Virgil heard Logan sigh heavily with very uncharacteristic drama as he left.

   Virgil laid on the floor and took the second controller and Roman sat cross-legged next to him as soon as they appeared.

   “We should probably put a time limit on your warm-up if you actually want to get to a rematch today, Princey,” Virgil smirked.

   “So I got a little into the game last time,” Roman rolled his eyes. “I still won in real life,” Roman added proudly and shoved him slightly in response.

   “Just set your phone or whatever so I can kick your ass,” Virgil said and leaned into Roman to shove him slightly. Roman shoved him back and loaded up the co-operative mode.

   Virgil and Roman played through the levels with a significant increase in teamwork this time. Roman took less power-ups that Virgil needed, and Virgil didn’t kill steal as much when he saw Roman bouncing a little, signifying he was into the fight. Virgil was actually a little disappointed when the alarm went off for them to switch to player versus player. That was, until he kicked Roman’s ass embarrassingly fast.

   “I wasn’t fully warmed up yet, Virge!” Roman groaned and Virgil whooped victoriously.

   “Fine, it’s a mulligan,” Virgil rolled his eyes.

   Princey had quite a few ‘mulligans’ before he got into the fights, but Virgil still won 3 to 1 even after Roman showed marked improvement. After an extremely brutal amount of losses, Roman claimed it was an ‘off day’ with a giant huff. They had switched to watching cartoons instead with a promise of future ass kicking. Virgil thought it was hilarious how much Roman hated to lose, but kept himself from laughing so he wouldn’t hurt Roman’s feelings. Plus, they had also switched to cuddling in a pillow fort on the floor in front of the couch, which perhaps was the best possible outcome of Virgil’s digital beat down of Roman.

   Roman leaned up against the couch with Virgil in his lap under the blanket canopy. Roman summoned them hot cocoa and s’mores, possibly to soothe his ego, but Virgil go to enjoy the chocolaty goodness either way. He felt good, sitting in the fort with Roman’s room mollifying him. Virgil snaked around Roman’s neck when Virgil wasn’t leaning away to enjoy a bite of gooey s’more goodness.

   “Oh my god, no, just ask him! Miscommunication is such a stupid trope,” Virgil grumbled as he watched the characters parade idiocy across the screen.

   “You shut your face, Virgil, it’s a classic form of misdirection that directly reflects the human condition,” Roman snarked at him.

   “Oh, like you weren’t just making fun of it for overuse of smash cuts,” Virgil rolled his eyes and curled affectionately around Roman.

   “Yes, and my complaint was valid,” Roman said haughtily, so Virgil nipped Roman’s neck and laughed when Roman flinched. “You bitch,” Roman groaned and gave Virgil a noogie. Virgil didn’t bother fixing his bangs since he’d probably just mess them up again nestling with Roman.

   “Whatever. This show is just so round-about,” Virgil said dismissively. “Wake me when a plot point happens,” Virgil yawned. Roman tried to punch Virgil in the face, but Virgil blocked him and kissed his knuckles. Which got a bright blush and another punch that Virgil blocked less successfully. Virgil laughed so hard at Roman’s reaction that Roman shoved Virgil off of his lap.

   “If you’re going to be like that, you can go back to your own room,” Roman huffed and crossed his arms.

   “I’m sorry, Ro,” Virgil apologized. Roman peeked at him, but looked away in frustration nonetheless. “Geez, aren’t you a drama queen,” He grumbled under his breath.

   “What was that?” Roman hissed and slowly faced Virgil again.

   “Geez, you’re the greatest and I’m a worm,” Virgil offered, trying to dam the sarcasm from breaking out too much, but it was obviously present.

   “Fine, I’ll continue to tolerate you,” Roman huffed and pulled Virgil’s arm to bring him back on to his lap. Virgil sighed and wrapped back around Roman. “So, you’re not acting upset about Logan calling you out again,” Roman said trying so hard to sound nonchalant that he sort of looped back around again.

   “Subtle, Roman,” Virgil said derisively.

   “I’m allowed to be concerned about you, prickhead,” Roman scoffed right back at him. When did that happen?

   “It’s fine, it’s partially his fault, anyway. I don’t care if he thinks I’m not handling it right,” Virgil said dismissively and went for another s’more.

   “Are you going to give me a sip of this tea?” Roman asked sourly.

   “It’s not fully my tea to share, and I’m not a gossip,” Virgil replied and yawned.

   “Ugh, you know I hate being kept out of the loop,” Roman groaned. Virgil put down his partial s’more and wrapped his arms in a circle around Roman. Roman paused for a moment while Virgil held his arm-loop in position encircling Roman’s head. “Oh my god, you tremendous dork! I expected this from Patton, but never from you!” Roman rolled his eyes.

   “Hey, I don’t pick what Thomas likes, I just deal with it,” Virgil said with a shrug and grabbed his s’more to finish. Roman let out a pretty hearty chuckle for a guy who just acted like Virgil committed some kind of sin against humor. “Don’t worry about it, Princey, I’m fine. I’m doing all of that ‘reaching out’ garbage,” Virgil added when Roman settled down and eyed Virgil suspiciously again. Virgil yawned and pressed into Roman sleepily.

   “I guess that’s good to hear, Virge, though I don’t recall you reaching out to me,” Roman said, sounding a little jealous.

   “What do you think I’m doing here?” Virgil asked, stifling another yawn.

   “Stealing my s’mores,” Roman replied cattily.

   “I was lonely and Logan packet did spook me a little so I asked you to hang out,” Virgil explained, nuzzling into Roman’s neck.

   “That’s not really reaching out, though, is it?” Roman said dismissively.

   “Sometimes it’s all I need,” Virgil yawned and closed his eyes.

   “That’s seriously it?” Roman asked in confusion.

   “Not every single terror is worth a meltdown. It’s lots of little terrors that seem to pile up easier when you’re stuck. I’m not unafraid of Logan’s reaction but I’m not dealing with it alone right now,” Virgil said quietly and ran his fingers though the back of Roman’s hair for a moment. Roman didn’t seem to have a response to that, so he listened to the cartoon, seeming more distant by the moment.

   Virgil wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he woke back up again to a dark bedroom. Roman’s face was lit by his phone screen while they sat on the floor against the bed. Virgil pulled off Roman’s chest and looked around. Roman had already changed into a soft shirt and loose pajama bottoms under Virgil. Virgil must have accidentally cut it pretty close to sleeping in Roman’s room all night. Roman ran his hand through Virgil’s hair, smoothing out his bangs, and put down his phone.

   “Hey, little house of horrors. It’s time for bed,” Roman said softly. Virgil rubbed his eyes briefly and yawned so hard it hurt his face.

   “’Kay, I’ll go see my other cuddle buddy,” Virgil yawned again and rolled slowly off of Roman to sink out of his bedroom.

personal taglist: @gdaygdaymatey​ @elizabutgayer​​ 

taglist repository tags (ask to be removed):

canon divergence au:  @legendsgates​ @rainbowbowtie​ @10moonymhrivertam​

virgil-centric:  @demoniccheese83​ @thatgaydemigodnerd​ @arya-skywalker​

hurt/comfort:  @callboxkat​ @nonasficcollection​ @supernovainthenightsky​

literally everything sanders sides:  @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun  @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven  @ananonsplace @ollyollyoxinfree

[we-cant-fight-gravity]

*approaches the counter* hi can I get uhhhh... Javier headcanons about him reacting to you bringing him a new bowler hat because his last one has a huge bullet hole in it? Or bringing him a new knife because his was lost during a quick getaway? And like you try to play it as not being a huge deal even tho you think about him constantly. Pls + thanks 🙏🏻!

Who am I to deny you of wholesome Javier content anon??? I love my knife babey so I had to incorporate that, but I love the hat idea as well! I’m kind of unsure about how this turned out, but I still hope you enjoy :)) My ask box is open and I’d love to get some new requests, so feel free to drop something in there !

Víbora - Javier Escuella x Reader Headcanons

The escape from Blackwater was rushed and frantic, and to be frank, Javier was lucky to be alive. There were others in the gang that couldn’t say as much. Sean, Jenny, Mac and now Davey? The whole thing was a fucking mess.

In spite of that, there was a part of him that yearned for the material possessions he had left behind. It was only a small part of him, but it still left him questioning himself. People fucking died, and he couldn’t take his mind off of useless objects? Pathetic.

Still, he couldn’t help but bring his thoughts back to the items he had left in the small chest beneath his cot. It was mostly newspaper cuttings and photographs; things that had no value to anyone other than himself.  And while the thought of losing those memories hurt, what he was most upset with losing was his family’s knife.

The Escuella family knife was a real thing of beauty. With a handle of solid ebony and a blade of shining silver, it could line the pockets of any man willing to part with it. But Javier didn’t want it for the money. It’d been in the Escuella family for hundred years or better, originally belonging to his grandfather’s great-grandfather. Javier had planned on presenting the knife to his own eldest child when they became of age, as tradition dictated.

But the tradition was all but dead now, seeing as the heirloom was miles away, most likely stowed in the belt of a Pinkerton. To be truthful, Javier would rather have the knife in a thousand pieces than in the hands of one of those slimy bastards. At least that way, his own legacy couldn’t be used against him.

It wasn’t until you and the rest of the gang settled in Horseshoe Overlook that you noticed there was something bothering him. The usually chatty and upbeat man had been slinking silently around the camp, sticking to the outskirts as if to avoid contact with others.

You found him just outside of camp one evening, leaning against a tree, bottle of whisky in hand. At first, he was hesitant to talk about his dampened spirits, assuring you that you shouldn’t have to shoulder his burdens. But it wasn’t hard to convince him otherwise. You suspected it was the drink going to his head. But, maybe it was because he actually trusted you enough to vent. Either way, you were eager to listen to what he had to say.

He almost seemed embarrassed to tell you the reason for his somber mood. The knife, he explained, was one of the only things he had on his person when he left Mexico; and he had convinced himself that it was a token of luck.

You could very much empathize with Javier. You left a lot of valuable and sentimental things back in Blackwater as well. But to lose such an important family heirloom would be devastating. You assured him that his feelings were very rational for someone in his situation. 

He seemed almost surprised by your sympathetic reaction. There was some small part of him that expected you to mock him for being upset over something so small in the grand scheme of things.

You stayed with him for a while longer, talking about anything and everything. Before heading back to camp, he pulled you into a quick hug and thanked you for lending him your ear for a while. You laughed nervously into his chest. He pulled away and you assured him that he could seek you out any time to have another chat. He chuckled, noticing the blush across your cheeks. You were so easy to fluster.

As he turned to walk away, he made a comment about possibly taking you up on the offer. He looked back at you, the smirk across his face bordering on devilish. You gave an awkward nod in return, not quite knowing what to say. You really were putty in his hands.

Javier’s mood had improved somewhat after your conversation, but he still sulked around camp, his knife sheath empty. 

You couldn’t deny that you’d always felt a strong physical attraction to Javier. What you didn’t realize, however, was the amount of joy and goodwill he brought into your life until it was gone. His constant joking, smooth talking and your botched attempts at flirting back somehow made the days seem shorter and less boring. 

Marston had dragged you into Valentine to peruse the local gunsmith when you saw it. It was nowhere near as beautiful as Javier’s knife, but it looked very similar. The only major difference being an engraving of a viper on the blade, inlaid in blued steel. 

You asked the gunsmith about the piece, and he proudly informed you that he was the one who engraved it. Its price tag was a whopping $45, but he knocked it down to $35 because you seemed so enthused. He also agreed to engrave the initials J.E. at the bottom of the blade for free.

John gave you a questioning look as you dug the money out of your satchel, but you ignored him. He wouldn’t understand human decency and the concept of gift giving if it slapped him across the face.

You approached Javier that night, as he sat alone by the campfire, strumming his guitar idly. The look on his face as you handed him the knife was that of pure shock. He immediately set the instrument aside to admire his new piece of weaponry. 

He couldn’t get over the engraving of the snake. He kept running his finger over it, as though he somehow expected it to slither away. His focus then moved to the crudely engraved initials at the base of the blade. His gaze shifted from the knife to your face, his dark eyes full of nothing but adoration. 

‘You didn’t have to do this,’ was the only thing he could think to say. He’d always figured that you had a soft spot for him, not that it was hard to tell. You constantly gravitated towards him, and he could hardly say anything to you without you turning beet red. He assumed it was a crush. A child-like infatuation that would fade. But that theory was questioned now that you’d gone and done something like this. He’d never really had anyone who actually cared for him before. He always seemed to be good at catching people’s attention, but he could never quite get it to linger. 

When you tried to play it off as nothing, Javier brought up the price of the knife. Something so stunning must have cost a decent chunk of change, no? 

‘It wasn’t about the money,’ you argued. You wracked your brain for a lame excuse. The best you could come up with was: ‘I just couldn’t have you out there without a decent knife. I’d be worried sick.’

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. He shoved the knife into the sheath strapped on his thigh and pulled you in for another hug. This time it was tighter. He thanked you, though you could barely hear the sentiment over the thumping in your chest.

Javier still did miss the knife he left back in Blackwater; it was a piece of his family’s history. But as he looked down at the knife that had replaced it, he thought of the future. More specifically, his future with you. Maybe one day when this all died down, he would saunter back into Blackwater and search for it. But until then, he was pretty fucking content. 

[heidi-in-high-school]

Sanders Sides Characters - An Essay

I know I said that this account was going to be used primarily for school-related posts, a blog to keep track of my success during the school year. That’s all well and good, but a few days ago came a very monumental episode of the web-series Sanders Sides by Thomas Sanders and Joan S. I was so moved by the episode that I ended up ranting to my friend for so long that it ended up into a 14-paragraph essay. This essay doesn’t speak about the plot (as to not spoil anything major for my friend; it still spoiled stuff, though), but it does speak about the characters and their importance to the story. So I implore you to now realize my obsession with this series through this essay (you can also use this to explain the basics of the Sides to anyone willing to watch the series).

•••

Thomas and the Sides

Thomas is the "Host" of all of the Sides. When combined, all of the Sides would create Thomas. He represents the idea of personality to the story.

On the subject of the sides, there's Logan, Roman, Patton, Virgil, Remus, Deceit, and potentially others. Each Side has a purpose and powers that affect Thomas (and sometimes other Sides) directly. All Sides have the power to shape-shift and summon themselves and others into scenarios.

Along with this, there are two categories of Sides, Light and Dark. 

The Light Sides

The Light Sides contain the three original Sides, Logan, Roman, and Patton and possibly others. Their power is weak compared to the others, and they are susceptible to any tricks that they pull on each other and/or the Dark Sides pull on them. They are considered to be the “good guys” in the series, but that is up for suspicion. 

Logan wears a black collared shirt with a blue striped tie, along with a pair of black glasses. He represents Thomas' logic and intelligence, along with his rational thinking. Logan has the power to pass on his rational thinking unto others, even if his presence isn't felt by Thomas or the others directly.

Roman is Thomas' hopes, dreams, GOOD creativity, and passion. He wears a regal costume; a white jumper with a red sash and small yellow frills around his arms. Roman has the power to give Thomas convincing ideas quickly without having to explain them at all and the power to conjure things, specifically puppies. Roman is pictured to be very confident and joyous at first, but after a few episodes, we start to see his insecurities shine through, along with some bouts of depression, even.

Patton has a light blue collared shirt with a grey cat hoodie wrapped around his shoulders. He wears the same glasses as Logan as well. Patton represents Thomas' heart - his emotions, his inner values, and his morality. His power is more of a hindrance than anything, as it's a way for others to ignore bad emotions and enhance their other, happier emotions. This was shown in "Moving On 1&2" when they all ventured into Patton's room to ignore the sadness of a recent breakup that Thomas had. That did NOT end well.

The Dark Sides

Now we enter the realm of the Dark Sides. This category contains Virgil, “Deceit,” Remus, and possibly others. These Sides have more power than the aforementioned Sides and use it to wreak havoc.

Confirmed in the newest episode, Virgil was a former Dark Side that turned into a Light Side (main character) after his story arc (Accepting Anxiety 1&2). He is known most for his gravelly voice and his smeared, black eye-shadow, which are both important to remember in the future episodes, as both get more intense per episode. His costume is a "homemade" stitched hoodie (a la "Nightmare Before Christmas") with a ripped, purple shirt under it. Virgil's power is to bring light to insecurities that any of the other Sides have (Roman fears for his reputation and is insecure about how others perceive him, Logan wants to be taken seriously, and Patton doesn't like his surge of emotions). It's obvious when this is happening because the other Sides (and eventually Thomas) generate eye-shadow under their eyes as Virgil's voice becomes multiplied and more demonic. In actuality, Virgil doesn't like his power and these instances usually happen on accident. He would do anything to get rid of it and seem "normal" in the Light Sides' eyes.

Then comes Remus. He is the twin brother of Roman that Roman pushed away for a long while. Their sibling rivalry was canonically based on the Roman myth, "Romulus and Remus," where Romulus kills Remus and finds Rome (hence Remus' question at the beginning of the [newest] video: "Have you ever imagined killing your brother?"). Remus represents Thomas' unfiltered and BAD imagination, along with his impulse thinking and irrationality. He wears the negatives/complements of Roman (green and black) to show that as well. He has the power to muffle sounds and tune out the outside world so he can speak to Thomas directly. He also produces hallucinations for Thomas and the others to see that are used to get them all wrapped around his finger.

And finally, Deceit. “Deceit,” despite what he claims, is not his real name, and there is no current information about his name yet. He wasn't shown explicitly in the [newest video], but he was the first Side to be represented as a Dark Side, the leader, if I am not mistaken. He represents Thomas' deception and will for self preservation, which was violently displayed in "Selfishness vs. Selflessness," the episode prior to the [newest one]. Deceit has the power to lie very convincingly and manipulate others into doing what he wants. Because of his lying persona, he is a metaphysical hybrid between a snake and a human, with one side of his face being covered in scales with a large cut in the middle (there is no meaning behind the cut yet) and his personal left eye is a yellow snake eye. He mentions often that he is the "snake to trick Thomas into sinning," as he is comparable to the snake in the Tree of Knowledge that fools Adam and Eve into eating the Forbidden Fruit in the Book of Genesis in the Bible.

Deceit wears a black cape around his shoulders with a deep purple, almost black, vest underneath, along with his signature bowler hat ... and yellow gloves. Though being a snake/human hybrid, he can (kind of) be compared to the Greek Hydra, which is a Greek/Roman monster that has multiple heads that multiply every time one is decapitated. Instead of having multiple heads, however, Deceit has 6 arms that seem Slenderman-esque that represent every Side.

“Potentially Others”

It has been teased by the cast and crew that the Sides listed above are not alone, as humans have multiple different aspects of their personality and how each asset can fluctuate between Sides. For example, Logan is shown as rational and pristine, whereas Virgil is shown to be thinking rationally from time to time, without the power to express that physically or verbally.

Each Light Side is also paired off to a Dark Side -- it has been confirmed that Remus and Roman are paired off because they are twins and that Deceit and Patton are paired off because Patton represents truth and Deceit represents dishonesty.