#I want a trilogy OwO

[smilesrobotlover]

Popping in to say that I have been appreciating your pirates even if it is from a distance. They are a good vibe.

Thank youuuu fhsjdbdkbsksnsk asks like these make me ugly cry I love when people like my ocs 😭😭😭

[sergeantneko]

I just got blaze posts OwO Whatever that is... @tsunderewatermelon wants me to list 5 femslashes? Bet 1. Enid Sinclair/Wednesday Addams [Wednesday] Go figure, right? But I can't not, they're just PERFECT >.< 2. Claire "Lightning" Farron/Serah Farron [Final Fantasy XIII Trilogy] I know not everyone likes or agrees with incestuous relationships in fictional media, but I do, so that will not be stopping me today. And these two are great, anyhow! 3. Zelda/Impa [The Legend Of Zelda: Breath Of The Wild/The Legend Of Zelda: Age Of Calamity/The Legend Of Zelda: Skyward Sword] Gotta include this one. Remember, all characters listed are of consenting age, so the time would fit in the past memories of Breath of the wild, in Age Of Calamity, or with the Past version of Impa in Skyward Sword 4. Zelda/Mipha [The Legend Of Zelda: Breath Of The Wild] I love this pairing. I feel like they would both benefit from each others' support more than they both think. Please excuse me for using Zelda again! And last, but definitely not least: 5. Peach/Bowsette [Super Mario Bros.] Bowsette is not canon to the games as far as I am aware, but I simply love this character with a PASSION. And these two are just perfect together!

[lord-squiggletits]

Okay worsties I just finished rereading Autocracy and now I have some crumbs of words about my Favorite Character. But mostly what I have to say is that I love how fucking gay Megatron is for Orion, not like in a sexy way but in an obsessive way. Like, Megatron is already planning for the downfall of Cybertron’s government, he has his plans to kill everyone (including Orion) but in the meantime??? He pretty much is laying on his bed kicking his legs in the air going “I wonder how Orion will react to this owo”

Like, I cannot stress enough that in Autocracy Megatron keeps saying ‘I just want to see how Orion will react’ and insists that it would be more fun more effective to let Orion uncover government secrets and tear apart the regime himself rather than Megatron and the Cons themselves kill everyone. Like Megatron basically already feels like he’s won, he’s just waiting to see the fun happen, and he wants to see how Orion reacts!!! It’s so fucking funny!

And Orion is so tsundere about Megatron’s attention too, they have a conversation that’s like (actual dialogue btw)

Megatron: "we could accomplish great things together"

Orion: "don't bet on it"

And it’s just klsdfljskllkjds it’s so funny how Megatron is the one that’s like “come oooooon Orion I know you could tear down the government with me if you just decided to agree that I’m right about everything :3 “ and Orion is like “fuck you Megatron you don’t know me” and Megatron is like “but I DO know you” and it’s just lkdsfjlksdjlkf I love how pissed off Orion is and how OFFENDED he is at Megatron’s attempts to woo him to his side.

Meanwhile Starscream is in the back like “so Megatron are you just going to like kill these guys yet” and Megatron is like “NO I want to see what Orion does next :3″ and there’s even this part where Orion comes back from the dead and Starscream is like “bitch you said you killed him” and it’s just lskjdfklsdlk

In conclusion Autocracy is hella gay with megop and it’s not even the best part of the Autocracy trilogy (as of this point in my ~3rd+ reread I actually think it’s the least good of the trilogy). I can’t wait to read Monstrosity and Primacy

[mary-is-writing]

Hi, I'm still in semi hiatus from my wips because of school, but in the meantime, I have a question for you.

As you know, I have a wip called Where Camellias Blossom (wip intro here in case you didn't owo)b ) which is a trilogy. I was in the mindset of getting almost all of it done before starting posting it, but I'm worrying a little bit that it may took me a tad too long to publish it if I do so, specially seeing how long is taking me to publish TMOWS. Thus, I ask you:

The first book is already drafted so this is why I ask. I could focus on editing it and getting it out sooner, or I could keep writing the drafts of book 2 and 3 and wait until they're all done. I'm not saying I'll do whatever is the most voted choice, I'm saying I want to know your opinion on this.

[chryzure-archive]

i’m so sorry abt the positive covid test again😭😭i’m really praying that you’ll it’ll come back negative soon and you can go on that trip next fro…it SUCKS to be homebound esp for like so long… 🙏🙏🤍hoping for the best for you🥺you really deserve to go out nd have fun again😩

if u need smthing else to think abt tho in the meantime if u dont mind me asking!! abt chrysi mordred bc im OWO. where is this mordred from… whats he about..im invested in chrysi and him alrdy… can he be friends with my mordred. what are some songs on their playlist alrdy👀

Thanks ;;;;; it doesn't feel good, but there's nothing more to be done but rest + take my vitamins + stay hydrated. I really appreciate the prayers!

I don't mind talking about Chrysi and Mordred! They've all I've been thinking about!!

Mordred's from the Camelot Rising trilogy by Kiersten White! He's just... the saddest guy ever. He wants to bring joy and healing, but he feels like he's always causing pain around him. His father never had any feelings for him (as his father was fairy, and he'd forget about his son often ;;;;; ) and his mother was always bent on revenge. He's soooo huggable and sad :((( Actually, he's defs got chronic pain because he's half-fairy--so iron hurts him all the time, and being around things that drain magic hurt him and he has to act like it doesn't. I've made myself sadder ;;;;;;

I'm being incoherent, but I just! I love him! Every time his name was mentioned in the book, I visibly straightened because I hoped I would see him again :(( I love him and Chrysi together. I want him to pledge himself as her knight, and I want him to teach her how to fight better with a sword. Is there anything more romantic than that?

So far! Their playlist has w.o.t.h by Tamino, Once Upon a Dream by Lana Del Rey, Salt by Marcin, Kingdom Dance by Alan Menken, Endless Dreams (Midnight Ver.) from Deemo II, and Scarborough Fair by Dan Avidan and the Super Guitar Bros (specifically this version bcs WHEW). I also think of him whenever I listen to the Quest for Camelot soundtrack, for obvious reasons!

[peppermint-whiskers]

I kudo you forever for your fic! Tell me your secret to write such a long story and not get demotivated please!

Ahh, thank you! <3 I've been writing for about 9 years, so that helps a bit XD

Seriously tho, I think the "secret" in my case would be inspiration and dedication. Before Ragnarok, I wrote a trilogy fanfic I called the Finding Darkness Trilogy. It was my first set of fics, and I think it shows. At the time, I was inspired by Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal and dedicated to seeing the story through. I've faded away from the YGO fandom a bit, so my inspirations now are more myths and fantasy.

Ragnarok was obviously inspired by Norse Mythology. It also helps to have a general outline or at least some notes (I just have a small series of plot points I wanted to touch on because I can't do structured outlines in creative writing). I'm still dedicated to seeing the end through, too (I've had it written down since the beginning ^^)

Ngl tho, I did get demotivated near the first arc of the adventure (them going to Helheim). I solved this by having things go horribly wrong, and that's how I ended up with 49 chapters owo

I hope this helps a bit ^^ Thanks for the ask!

[dickytwister]

questions for authors

i was tagged by @strafethesesinners to do this ngl thank you aaa!!!

tagging @perseus-veil @velvetcardiganbucky @stars-of-the-heart @wewillryesagain @libellule2001 and whomstever wants to do it owo

name: lance or lou!! both work but lou just hits different 😌✨

top 5 fandoms written: huuuhfngl far cry 5, mass effect: andromeda (my beloved,,,) but also the og mass effect trilogy, dragon age (like all three but mostly inquisition again uwu), marvel and a bit of supernatural here and there,,

top 5 fandoms you want to write for/more: far cry 5 bc i write abt it but like,,, not enough >:(( the witcher, fallout, cod maybe??? i rlly liked the modern warfare series so mayhaps idk ngdfhl and OUTER WORLDS pls @ my brain let me write abt the grumpy vicar

stories you wish more people knew about: NONE but also i have a marvel sideblog where i posted like three fics and vanished HHHH i might post more soon tho but i'm not making any promises bc huuuuh <3

ships(s) written the most: elliot and john for fc5,,,, and deancas for spn bc i am not immune to the gay angel 😔😔 also stucky, sambucky and samsteve 👁👄👁

characters(s) written the most: my boy carter quill from my marvel dnd game,,, then i think scott ryder and my main inquisitor in dai!! aaand steve rogers also i think bc according to google docs i have over 20 wips abt him <3

how many ocs do you have: too many. oh my god. every day i wake up and choose to project on yet another oc.

how many series do you have: in my head?? at least three but on paper?? none <3

what do you do with fics you’re no longer interest in?: i usually keep all of them on google docs?? bc i never know if my loss of interest is related to who i am as a person or to genuinely not caring for it anymore so just in case i keep everything so i can go back to it when i'm interested again!!

coming soon: mayhaps i am writing elliot's backstory,,, maybe,,,,, it is a possibility,,,

line from a wip: 

He kisses those same beauty marks when he settles next to him, an arm wrapped around his waist to keep him close, and John somehow manages to snuggle closer, his body like a furnace despite the thick sweater he’s wearing.

“Nice view, huh?” John puffs.

“Yeah.” Elliot’s eyes don’t leave John as he speaks. “Nothing quite like it.”

do you accept prompts?: yea sure!! i suffer from being terrified of being perceived so it still scares me to post my writing agdjgkhl but i'd be more than happy to write for anyone who sends me prompts :33

how do you feel about kudos?: i love them!! reblogs are nice and i love seeing ppl talk in the tags, but kudos are great too bc it means i wrote smth entertaining ewo

do you read fic as well?: yess i love reading fics :D i love seeing how ppl interpret certain characters and sometimes reading fics also helps perceiving characters or ships or events in a different light and it's always helpful to have different points of view when i try to build my own little world nfjghl does that make sense??? anyway ahdkgl now i mostly read whatever ppl post abt their ocs bc i am,,, obsessed

[killingsboys]

Can you share what songs remind you of pynch? I haven’t heard Bastille in a long time a would love recommendations! 🧡

oop okay quick break from my creations asks to answer this because!!! heck yes i have a TON of pynch song recs omg!!!!! gonna put it under the cut bc wow did i kinda go off jfkldsjfdlsk

first here are a few non-bastille staples (it’s possible that i’m working on a really long fic and i have a playlist for it and these songs are on said playlist)

queen of the night by hey violet (shoutout to clawsandbeak for showing me this gem because this really is THE pynch anthem okay like don’t get me STARTED on “when the night goes quiet / and we’re up in your room / and you’re kissing my fingers / and i kiss your tattoo”)

steamroller by phoebe bridgers (someone requested a pynch songfic for this and i promise i’m working on it okay but like LISTEN “part of me wants you / but most of me needs you / so i won’t fall unless you ask me to” has the BIGGEST adam vibes)

you are in love by taylor swift (”one night / he wakes / strange look / on his face / pauses / then says / “you’re my best friend” don’t talk to me)

like a prayer by madonna (”it’s like a dream / no end and no beginning” one of the best song lyrics of all time and very pynch)

somewhere only we know by keane (”is this the place we used to love? / is this the place that i’ve been dreaming of?” very cabeswater/lindenmere vibes)

daylight by taylor swift (it’s morning now! it’s brighter now! just a soft song for them because they deserve it)

the louvre by lorde (”our thing progresses / i call and you come through / blow all my friendships / to sit in hell with you / but we’re the greatest / they’ll hang us in the louvre / down the back, but who cares? still the louvre”)

a world alone by lorde (”you’re my best friend and / we’re dancing in a world alone”)

holy roller by cyn (”so you’re like my best friend, yeah, except for the sex / and god damn, you’re such an angel waking up in my bed / better listen to me, i’ve got my hands on your neck” and “i can’t repent for something i mean / besides, you know i love the punishment” and “i’m a sucker for a savior and you save me just in time” okay........)

home by one direction (”could we ever be enough? baby we could be enough”)

now my fav bastille songs for my boys <3

laughter lines (this song really makes me think of adam and ronan being long-distance while adam is at college and yeah......)

warmth (i mean come on “feeling helpless, i look for distraction / i go searching for you / wandering through our city to find some / solace at your door” st. agnes sleepovers anyone? 

the anchor (”all the time, all the time / i think of you all the time” “let the days be dark / let me hate my work / ‘cause you cut through all the noise” wow)

an act of kindness (this is a very adam song, before his character development mostly, like literally the title track on my ode to adam parrish playlist fdkslfjdsl)

send them off (”i’ve got demons running round in my head” “won’t you lay your healing hands on my chest?” “soak the ropes with your holy water / tie me down as you read out the words” “i want to be free as i’ll ever be / exorcise my mind” literally THE song for the demon scene in trk.... anyway)

fake it (”drive around / nighttime / nowhere to go” “i wanna waste all of my time / with you” owo)

doom days (in my head this is the dreamer trilogy pynch theme song okay “when i watch the world burn / all i think about is you” “like a bad religion / tell me all your original sins”)

nocturnal creatures (”you put your arms around me / partners in crime in the dead of night” “this time with you’s elastic / we stretch these hours as far as we can make them go”)

anyway yeah i spent way too much answering this but i hope you enjoy at least one of these songs!!!!!💛💛

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Mourning at Midnight

(UwU so Hey. i’m back with some more trash)

Word Count: 7480

Summary: It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

Warnings (could potentially be small spoilers, nothing too big, but if you don’t have any triggers I’d suggest you skip reading this!):

There are no u!sides in this, nor does anyone have malicious intent, but the other main three (Virgil, Patton, Roman) and Thomas, to a lesser extent, treat Logan unkindly (not on purpose) and don’t realize their errors. This will be resolved! Just… not yet OwO

Being ignored/talked over

Mental/emotional breakdown

An unidentified illness with symptoms including: [extreme persistent nausea (lots of mentions), vomiting (once), bile, weakness/weariness, shaking, lightheadedness, double vision (once), headache, body aches/pains, breathing difficulties]

General negativity including: [self-doubt, self-deprecation/depreciation, feeling worthless or unloveable, self-hatred]

Anger management/temperament issues

Unintentional self-harm (not anything like c-tting, Logan gets a bruise as a result of an angry outburst)

Separate small, vague allusion to self-harm, but it’s not outright and not detailed in the slightest. Could be read as not even talking about self-harm

Potentially triggering descriptive imagery (metaphors and similes to describe how a character feels or percieves a situation, not anything that actually happens) including but not limited to: [glass, sharp things, blood, injection, live wires, loud noises, screaming, general mentions of pain, masochism, sound torture, knives/blades, wounds, drowning/suffocating, pressure]

Temporarily unresolved tension between Logan/Deceit/Remus and the other sides/Thomas (there will be a happy ending in the next fic, though, don’t worry!)

A few vulgar threats of violence (somewhat explicit, be careful) to the other sides from Remus (out of protectiveness; Remus means well but he does Not express it in a healthy way) that is not carried out or even humoured

Remus’ morning star and descriptions of its destructive capabilites

Loceit as a romantic pairing (for now…. UwU)

Sympathetic “dark” sides

That should be it for warnings! Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: So! This is finally done :D !! I’ve been working on it on and off for the past week or so, and although I know it could be way better, I think this is where I’ll keep it! This is technically a sequel to my other fic Tea at Twilight and it takes place in the same universe, and although you don’t need to read that before this to understand the story, I strongly suggest reading that first to get more of a feel for the dynamic! 

This is inspired by @illogicallyinclined and her absolutely amazing Disaster Trio™ headcanons/au, and was prompted by this post so I just started writing! I meant for it to be a bit shorter, but of course my brain would Not let it go, even despite my ADHD, executive dysfunction, and massive amounts of writer’s block. 

This is also unfinished! It is the second of three main works, all happening chronologically in the same universe. The first one is Tea at Twilight as stated previously, then this one, and there will be a third and final installment added to finish off this short little trilogy! I’ll be adding this to the series on AO3, so when the final fic is up, it’ll all be together for an easy reading experience. It is also possible that there will be other small fics in this universe (UA, as has been recently coined) that operate outside of the timeline of the main story, so be sure to watch out for that! 

Thanks to Jay once again for creating these lovely headcanons that haunt my dreams every night, and for inspiring me to get back into my writing groove despite a writer’s block that’s lasted for over three years! Hope this isn’t too terrible, Jay! ilyy <333</p>

Also, a huge thank you to @illogical-anxieties for being such a good cheerleader/enabler! You really do help to keep me motivated and on track (and keep my ADHD in check), which is probably why this was even able to become a full-fledged story rather than a WIP to be buried where unfinished fics go to die T~T Love you tons <3</p>

(If I’m being honest with myself, this is just an excuse for me to live up to my IRL title of “Living Thesaurus”, coined by a friend many years ago and has since spread around to other friends and family. My title is thriving, and I suppose that means I should actually have proof of it, so there’s that.)

(Cross-posted to AO3)

(Read Part 1 here)

He can feel it building.

There’s far too much left to be desired when it comes to frustration. The natural helplessness that makes way for anger when you try so hard to do something or be something for someone and you’re pushed down by anything and everything between ignorance and antipathy. The fear that nothing you can do or say will ever be good enough. The buzzing, ticking, pinpricks upon pinpricks of heat injected into you until your blood and heart have been replaced with glass, fragile as a crumbling stone wall. It’s not as if he hasn’t had his outbursts before, spurred on by the familiar sharp pulse of rage that courses through him in a split-second whirlwind. It builds inside him, and he can feel the pressure in his limbs expand until it feels like his muscles are being squeezed out of existence and then he snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too taut. He’s not in denial of the fact that his impulsive, blinding reaction when met with frustration is not okay, and only detrimental to the demeanour he’s trying to retain. He knows it’s childish. He knows it’s immature, and pathetic, and wholly invigorating, at least until the adrenaline has worn off and he’s in the aftermath of his knee-jerk reaction to the tension coiled in his arms and legs and head.

It doesn’t mean that Logan is particularly in control of it though, despite his self-awareness being far above the level that most people with anger management issues are at. Maybe there’s a certain quality to it that allows for growth; it’s not as if Logan stays angry, or that he wants to hurt people. He loves the others, painfully so (as much as he loathes to admit it), to the point where he’s so desperate for their approval that he tampers down his passion, that spark that used to drive him to learn and speak and be happy just to avoid being cast out and abandoned, alone in the way he never wants to be. He wants to find a way to temper the fall into those dark, consuming waters, a way to mute the buzzing and ticking. He wants to seal those exposed live wires and release the tension to the point where he never lashes out ever again. He wants to, and he doesn’t know how to, and that fact infuriates him in an ironic, endless cycle of self-imposed and self-directed enmity.

Logan still thinks on this often, even now, wracking his brain for solutions to problems that realistically won’t be solved as easily as he wishes they would. Excerpts and quotes and data and statistics from many different studies about anger and temper management and irritability and everything in between seem to figuratively run amok through his brain, a screaming crowd of witnesses to the chaos and failure found in his ability to filter through the nonsense and come to a satisfying conclusion, any conclusion at all. He notices how his fingers tremble as they slip into the handle of his coffee mug, endures the dull ache in his mid-to-lower back from falling asleep at his desk for the majority of the day under the guise of work so important he holed himself up in his room to complete it. He ignores the way his head pounds, how he feels so dizzy that he might fall over and pass out any second from lightheadedness. He suffers through the loud conversations between the other three that are typical to the dinner routine that Logan cannot deal with today, not with this headache poking at him like figurative needles in his head.

When he senses the summons from Thomas stirring up the familiar but nonetheless odd ticklish sensation on the back of his neck, Logan can feel the tension knot up his muscles, and the combination of the two just makes him want to growl in irritation. The others, having also felt the summoning, seem to get impossibly louder, ringing and stinging and singing in his head. He still persists, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be out doing anything today that’s likely to exacerbate his sickness, because Thomas is important, more so than Logan himself. No matter how much he wants to hole himself up in his room and sleep the day away, his host needs him, so Logan simply forces his mask of indifference to melt into steel. He refuses to budge, not for the first or last time, and he rises up in the real world standing straight and rigid and as put together as he’s always expected to be.

When he’s finally settled into his usual spot, as still as he can possibly be to not exacerbate the roiling nausea disquieting his stomach, he’s able to take in the other four arranged in their usual positions in Thomas’ living room, already having begun a conversation that Logan has missed the premise of entirely through his all-eclipsing, obfuscating malady. His vision doubles, like broken fractals of glass reflecting onto themselves, and then it pulls back together, merging back into something visible, something manageable.

“Well, I’m sure Danny likes you, too! You just gotta ask him, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, high voice pushing through the heavy, suffocating cotton in Logan’s ears, and the words snap the bespectacled side to attention. He needs context, needs to know what they’re talking about, needs to be able to help for once. Maybe he has to endure the bad to be able to put out the good, and this is where the climax is, the top of the rollercoaster at such a high altitude that oxygen is thin and dispersed before he shoots down the tracks in a rush of fresh air, relieving and calm and sanguine as he’s finally able to ground himself. A shiver runs through Logan’s body, between his shoulder blades and down his hip and through his leg, and his eyes flutter under the weight of consciousness. It recedes, the flow is ebbed, and his head clears to a more sustainable level.

“Oh, that’s so boring, Padre! Thomas should hire a band to play! And we can rig up streamers and confetti and there can be a cake and dancing and a party to celebrate!” Roman crows, throwing his arms and hands up into his signature pose to match his full, booming tone. Patton squeals, clutching his cardigan in his hands to pull excitedly at the sleeves as he bounces giddily on his feet. At the suggestion, as the polar opposite to Patton’s reaction, Virgil grimaces, hunching over even further in his jacket as he protests with every way he can think of that the situation could go wrong. Unsurprisingly, Roman takes personal offense to it and refutes Virgil’s points with the same intensity and fervour that’s been present in himself and his interactions with the anxious side since day one. Logan sort of understands, can infer that they’re discussing how to ask out Danny, a new friend of Thomas’ who has very quickly turned into a crush. In that case…

“If I may interrupt? While I don’t share all of Virgil’s worries, I do agree with his position in regards to the fact that there isn’t a need for such extravagance. It might embarrass Danny, for one, and for two, there are many ways such an excessive venture could backfire, such as technical difficulties or general human error. The idea is, while exciting, frankly outrageous,” Logan says, his role as the voice of reason renewed once more. It’s his job to sift through the conversations they have and get to the important parts, and he likes his job. He’s good at micromanaging, mediating the chaos, good at storing information to sort and consider and veto and bolster. It’s how he operates, how he copes. “We can think of something else to–”

“Oh, shut it, Pocket Protector. We all know you don’t care about romance, but this is important! Thomas wishes to find love with the second most handsome prince in the world! After me, of course,” Roman exclaims, in that boisterous, self-aggrandizing way of his, the way that hides his real insecurities he buries so deeply in himself he doesn’t know how to find them again. Oddly enough, it’s not Roman’s defense mechanism that throws Logan off, it’s the way that Logan stopped talking almost reflexively to allow the other side to finish his statement, as if the prince’s words were more important than his own, and it speaks as testament to how much Logan’s been conditioned (or maybe he’s conditioned himself all on his own) into putting everyone else before himself, even when it hurts him or Thomas. Logan is ignored in the face of his implicit trust, and he hates that even as it pours salt in the open wound, he finds himself taking a depraved, spiteful comfort in the familiarity of it all.

“That’s not what I–”

“Awe, c'mon, Logan! Thomas deserves to have a happy relationship and someone he can live out the rest of his life with! Doesn’t that sound nice, to grow old together with someone you love? Isn’t that romantic? Oh, it just makes me so warm and fuzzy thinking about it!” Patton interrupts, hands clutching each other over his heart as he swoons. Logan knows Patton doesn’t mean to be rude, but he still can’t help but be a little hurt by it, especially since he’s now been ignored twice consecutively. He’s just trying to help, and if that means reigning in Roman’s exorbitant ideas that border on egregious at times, then Logan knows it must be done. Although he encourages Thomas to seek a relationship to improve his mental health and provide more financial stability, there is a limit to how much he can disregard himself and others in doing so, and that doesn’t mean that Logan is the bad guy for pointing that out. He knows that. He knows that, so why does the dismissal still feel so sharp in his chest?

“Yeah, romance is cool and all, but what if it doesn’t work? What if Danny actually hates us? What if we ask and he laughs at us or says no and then we’ll be standing there like an idiot and then he’ll never wanna talk to us again because he thinks we’re pathetic and stupid and–”

“Hey, now, don’t be such a Debby Downer, kiddo! I’m sure it’ll go just fine! We’ll just ask him. The worst thing that can happen is he’ll say no, right? Shouldn’t we give it a shot?” Patton consoles before Virgil can go into a spiral. Although his well-meaning reassurances are meant to be comforting, his voice just grates on Logan’s ears, tinny and hollow and misdirected.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!”

Logan wants to keep listening, he really does, but the noise is rising to levels where it’s too much to handle. He’s already sensitive from his illness, but the discussion that is very quickly turning into an argument falls in pulses through his head, sound torture to the broken, hopeless masochist. He’s barely holding onto himself at this point, consciousness like a dangling thread that swirls and dances and twirls with even the tiniest breeze, a hint of movement sending it shivering and quivering as it spins. It wouldn’t take much for the thread to fray from the weight pulling it down, or to saw through it in a clean slice that leaves it floating feather-light upon air currents, petals spiraling to the ground.

Petals. Flowers. Thomas could bring Danny flowers! It’s perfect! Danny is especially predisposed to gardening, and he frequently talks about different flowers and what they mean based on the type and colour. His interest in botany could make this a sweet gift, to show that Thomas pays attention to what Danny enjoys, and can be the perfect segue into asking him on a romantic outing. Yes, this could work! It would appease Roman’s inclination to classic romanticism while still being practical and not unreasonably expensive, give Patton his ideal relationship fantasy (and a “warm and fuzzy feeling”, apparently), and allow Virgil a little more breathing room, so-to-speak. This is something they all should be agreeable towards, and that confidence is enough to supply Logan with enough energy to push past his lightheadedness and offer a solution. He’s proud of himself for taking the others’ feelings into account, something he knows he’s not always been the most proficient at, and for coming up with a compromise that will likely satisfy everyone’s wants and needs.

“What about bringing him flowers?” Logan asks, pleased and antsy as he feels hope well up in his chest. He doesn’t push it down this time, and he thinks maybe, just maybe they’ll finally listen to him, that they’ll tell him that he did well, that he’s being considerate and maybe even say thank you–

“How would you even know, Roman? It’s not like we just go out and hire mariachi bands every Saturday!” Virgil says with furrowed brows, and Roman huffs in indignation, and Patton sighs as he looks between the two of them, and Logan’s words fall on deaf ears. They didn’t even hear. They didn’t listen. They didn’t care they didn’t care–

“Uh, hey, Virgil, what if–” Logan tries once more to speak, nausea rolling angrily in his gut, head spinning dizzy round and round and round and round and Virgil flinches.

He flinches. Because of Logan.

Virgil hasn’t been afraid of any of them for a long time. Sure, in the beginning, when they fought one another on nearly a day-to-day basis, there would be a moment before he could pull on his figurative mask that a flash of fear would go through Virgil’s eyes, and the sadness kept within wouldn’t subside even when he growled and snapped and blustered whichever side had the misfortune of picking a fight with him during a time where his first instinct was to keep away the pain and longing and loneliness the only way he knew how. Over time, that flash of fear dulled, morphed into something more manageable, more trusting. The sadness never really went away, but it was met with warmth, a soft contentedness that danced in his eyes when he realized he had a family to turn to. He hasn’t been afraid for a long time. And yet, he flinches away from Logan, just from him speaking.

Is he really that bad?

Does even simply the sound of his voice have such a negative association for Virgil that it prompts genuine fear and discomfort? Has he really scared Virgil that much? What did he do? How can he fix this?

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Logan’s felt disconnected from the others for quite a while now. He loves them, of course he does, but he doesn’t feel like he fits. He’s the metaphorical jagged puzzle piece, the one that should snap into the final vacant space but is so broken beyond repair that it doesn’t fit quite right. He wants to belong, to feel at home whenever he’s with them, but he doesn’t. He yearns for the acceptance that Virgil earned, the support that Roman is held up by, the respect and adoration Patton seems to acquire so casually and naturally that it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. Logan wants to be like them. He wants to be loved, but… that isn’t really his place, is it?

Love is not an inherent thing. It’s something that’s earned, by doing good things and being important enough to someone that they give it freely. It’s something Logan doesn’t understand, but despite that, still desperately, painfully yearns for. He wants to be loved, the way he loves the others. He wants to be a part of their famILY, to have that implicit trust in each other that only comes from acute, profound, deep-seated love. He wants that fondness directed towards himself, that devotion borne from hapless, radiating appreciation. The humbled esteem, the maudlin, theatrical longing, the passion and yearning and helpless, acquiescent love that bursts from the seams in a manner that will never diminish or fade. He wants that. Badly. And he’s finally ready to accept that he will never have it. He’s okay. He’s okay. He just needs a moment. He just needs to breathe.

The others must have continued with their arguments long ago, seemingly unaware of anything outside of themselves. Logan supposes he shouldn’t really berate them for that since he often falls victim to getting lost in debate as well, but something is wrong with Thomas, going by his expression and demeanour and the logical side can’t ignore it anymore. It’s highly unlikely that the other three will come away from themselves for long enough to notice, and it doesn’t sound like they’re anywhere close to coming to a conclusion amongst themselves, so Logan is perfectly fine with bearing that responsibility upon himself to check up on his host and make sure he’s okay. He’s the most important one here, after all, and it’s Logan’s job to help him, guide him in his life and decisions.

“Thomas? Is there something wrong?” Although the words come out clear and precise as usual, Logan’s throat burns, and he can barely breathe. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, but Thomas needs him, and that doesn’t happen often nowadays, so Logan does nothing but wait impassively. His host bites the inside of his cheek, then sighs as he stares off at the wall, lost in thought. Since he says nothing, the logical side assumes he will continue to say nothing for a few more moments, and decides to give him a once-over to gather more information and any possible context. Thomas’ eyebrows are furrowed, and his posture far from adequate. His expression is troubled, and his arms are crossed loosely, a pointer finger scratching at his elbow unconsciously. There is no obvious cause for his confusion and/or upset in himself or anywhere in the room, apart from the current dilemma, but he was fine before, so something must have changed to distress him now. Logan cannot ascertain what Thomas needs simply from observing him, so he concludes that the best thing for him to do is wait.

So he does. And he does so for a minute, two, five. Every second that ticks by feels like a needle is being shoved into his eyes, his brain, his legs, his everything and it takes more effort to stand than he’s used to. Breathing is difficult, but that isn’t exactly a new development, so at least he knows how to ignore it. Eventually, ten minutes pass with only the sound of the other three arguing in the background, and it doesn’t seem like Thomas is really all there. Although the action makes him want to throw up, Logan shifts forward, moving out of his usual spot and into Thomas’ own. He still doesn’t acknowledge any kind of input outside himself, so Logan lays a hand on his host’s arm gently, which snaps him out of his trance in a slow, unhurried kind of way. Thomas gives him a glance when his logical side sighs, tampering down any audible signs of his nausea in a manner that is unbeknownst to the host, but returns to staring at the wall without a second regard.

“Thomas?” Logan murmurs, bile rising in his throat and shoving his hidden suffering even closer to the forefront of his mind, as though it hasn’t been there all along. It’s hard to think, through all of the white noise and weary irritation and the tiniest sliver of hope that he crushes immediately, but thinking is his job, and he needs to help. “Are you alright? You can talk to me.”

And then Thomas is shrugging him off, turning away as he tells him he should “just stop” with piercing words, that he “can’t do anything to help”, and the rejection feels like a metaphorical knife has been shoved into his gut. Logan can feel the pain and the heartbreak and the insecurity materialize into a cold blade, twisting and twisting just to make him hurt more. Logan is ignored for the fourth time today, by the person it hurts to come from the most, and he can feel the sun whipping and screaming in his chest. His breath is stuck, sucked down into his throat, a sharp pain localizing in his neck, and he can’t help but bring his hand up to rub at the spot with trembling fingertips as he unsteadily lurches back to his regular spot. The others don’t notice, of course, or if they did, they don’t care. Then the nausea he’s been fighting against surges like a violent wave at full force, drowning him and the hurt is forcing its way into his mouth, his throat, his lungs, and he can’t breathe–

His fist flashes down from his neck to the banister, punching the railing so hard it echoes in the reverberation created from his vicious, angry snarl.

It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

There’s a very short window of time where the logical side rushes into the en-suite bathroom after rising up in his bedroom, trembling legs aching with exhaustion. Barely a second passes between him falling to the floor and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet, the bile burning in his tender throat as a reminder of his failure. The floor is cold and hard beneath him, ridges of tiles pressing unrelenting into his knees through his wrinkled jeans. His head spins, unbalanced as it whirls through itself, words and thoughts and ideas that mean nothing and everything simultaneously existing hollowly in a falling echo. There is pain, and aching, and soreness, and exhaustion, and Logan wants to sleep.

It’s hard to rise to his feet, head throbbing and knees shaking as he wipes the spit from his mouth on a folded square of toilet paper. The pain nags at him, persistent and irritating in its attempts to shut Logan out, almost clear in a way that belies the foggy haze blanketing his nearly incoherent thought process. Marking a clear vantage, a faultline to anchor onto is no easy task, and all Logan wants as he stumbles over to his bed is a landmark to pinpoint and find his way back to. He careens toward the mattress once he’s close enough, finally letting his legs give out underneath him when he’s as near as he can bear. It’s so difficult to stay upright in stiff misery, pangs and twinges of sharp pain coursing through his limbs and his back as his muscles are forced together under pressure.

In another familiar, frustrating bout of anger that seizes his breath before it can escape his lungs, Logan shoves his fingers in the knot of his tie, yanking it forcefully even as the motion jerks his own head forward uncomfortably along with it. His fingers run down the length of the fabric, and it falls apart at the end of its cycle, much like Logan has, and he snaps his arm back to chuck the dark blue, silky length to the ground in a motion that does little to relieve the rage built up inside him.

He can feel it building. The buzzing, the pressure, the glass in his veins running on shards. He feels the pinpricks upon pinpricks, the fire burning in his lungs, and the stone crumbles, and tumbles down, and he’s like a rubber band pulled taut.

He cracks, shrill pressure in his knuckles and head and torso, and nothing happens.

Then Logan hears the telltale squeak of his door swiveling on mildly rusty hinges, and a familiar voice echoes right through his bubble, shatters the stone wall like a bulldozer running at full speed, and then the wetness spills over his lashes and over his stony, impassive face.

“Oh, Lo,” Deceit murmurs, sad and tender as the breath rushes out of him and Logan can’t do this. He wants to throw out his fist in a wide arc and pummel the wall next to him until his knuckles are raw and bloodied and bruised beyond repair. He wants to scream until his throat is torn and his voice is gone, lost in the uncaring, empty void that coldly swallowed up his passion. Happiness has never seemed further away, and he knows he deserves it. But then he remembers all of the times where the pressure in his limbs and the buzzing in his brain forced him to lash out, to hurt others, and he thinks that maybe it’s okay for him to hurt right now to even the score. With the last of the metaphorical wall around him in tiny pieces, fragments of a life he never wanted to live but he desperately fought to keep, he lets his guard down for the first time in years.

Logan’s face crumples under the weight he’s burdened his being with, body immediately drooping under the heaviness that he’s forced himself to fight through. He finally submits, and the tears come in an endless stream over his cheekbones, itchy and hot and terribly, mindlessly relieving. It feels so good to finally let the negative emotion he’s pent up inside him out, to fall out of his cage he’s lived in high above a swirling ocean of release and fear and freedom. And he’s so, so lucky because he has someone to save him from the fall.

Deceit’s kneeled down in front of him, wiping away the tears as they fall with uncharacteristically degloved thumbs, and Logan can feel the smoothness of the scales twisting and trailing down his fingers. Every so often, Deceit’s pointed thumbnails catch lightly on the skin of Logan’s cheek, and it just causes him to cry harder. The vulnerability in the room is palpable, a wispy breath of worry and insecurity and trust trailing over their skin, blanketing the room in a warmth that runs even warmer when Logan reaches up to gently lay his hand over Deceit’s own. He shows his appreciation through tactility when the words he so desperately wishes to say are lost in his throat, blocked by the barrier that separates his newfound submission and the part of him that’s still clinging to the feeble grasp at acceptance he craves so dearly.

Logan can barely tell what’s in front of him through the kaleidoscope in his vision, but he doesn’t really need to see to throw himself forward off the bed and bury himself in Deceit’s chest, of whom lets out a surprised noise but doesn’t hesitate a single second in wrapping his arms tightly around the other side. He strokes Logan’s back comfortingly and offers him whispered reassurances through the heart-wrenching sobs and broken, croaky whines that disappear into his cloak, hand coming up to cradle his head in the overwhelming reflexive instinct to keep the logical side safe and happy. It feels like a dagger has gone through Deceit’s chest at the knowledge that Logan has been suffering for so long and hasn’t been able to let it out or just simply be held, the self-preservation that is at the core of his function as a side going off like alarm bells with every sniffle. Logan curls into the first person who’s ever offered him physical affection and emotional safety, and his fists clench the fabric at the snake-like side’s shoulders as tightly as he would if he were to never, ever let go.

Logan is out of breath even as his heart begins to calm, beating and beating in his ribcage and in his lungs. The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, but he figures it’s okay to not be heard audibly, just this once, and speak with his actions. Although he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he pulls back and wraps his arms around Deceit’s neck, laying his face in the crook of other side’s neck like a small child would, not really, he hopes that his intent still comes across in some sort of intelligible, hopeful way. Deceit seems to take this as a request, a promise, and slides his grip to a point where he can hoist the smaller side up in his hold, carrying him just like a parent carrying their kid to their bed after they fell asleep during a visit to a friend’s house. This situation is much more loaded, stained with impurities and unsure withering, but it’s just as raw, just as real, and Logan finds himself feeling safer than he ever has before.

At some point, they end up on the bed, Logan having been manhandled into a more comfortable position for both of them, which is laying across Deceit’s lap without ever having let go of his neck. The logical side feels small and vulnerable, something that he would normally hate, squash down, bury so deep within himself that he doesn’t even have to acknowledge it. But honestly, right here, right now, he’s so goddamn exhausted, and forcing himself back into the state of repression he’s been in for so much of his life would take too much of a toll, more than he already has on himself. The wetness rolls down his cheeks, bold, blue precipitation falling in droplets onto his skin and the fabric of Deceit’s cape, sinking and spreading and thinning out into airy nothingness. And the nothingness enraptures him, pulls him in even as he breaks and whimpers and spills wisps of forgotten feelings into empty space, at least until his bedroom door opens once more with a loud click, because nothing Remus ever does is truly quiet.

“Hey, are you guys having a sexy party without me? How c–… are you… crying?” Remus asks, suggestive tone split and watered down into something confused, and surprised, and angry. The younger twin kicks the door shut behind him with his foot, more out of muscle memory than conscious forethought, something that stands with nearly every action Remus executes. Logan turns his head wearily, not lifting it from where it rests on Deceit’s collarbone. The latter of the two takes that chance to clear away some of the tears that didn’t get absorbed into his clothing, hoping that since the stream is slowly dispersing, his cheeks will stay dry this time. Remus slowly approaches, body tense and eyes piercing as Logan’s face is wiped off for the nth time, offering no other sounds or words as he crouches down to examine how the bespectacled side’s skin is rubbed red and sensitive.

Logan just whines softly, stare falling to the bedsheets, observing nothing in particular as he tries to figure out why words are failing him. Something that’s such an intricate part of himself, the communication of thoughts and ideas and knowledge that defines so much of who he is and how he exists, it’s dwindled and diminished into nothing. Deceit seems to understand, he always does, and reads him so perfectly it’s a wonder the two didn’t become closer in the beginning, with how much they truly are alike. A scaled hand makes it’s way up to Logan’s head and cards through the soft, disheveled hair there, scratching lightly at his scalp in a motion that seems to draw the aching tension caused by his distress out of his body, leaving his muscles to relax and melt into the chest that holds him upright.

“Something happened before I came in here. I assume it has to do with the others,” Deceit murmurs into thick, heavy air, stale with shame and tired hopelessness. Remus’ eyes flick to Logan’s own, actively searching for some sort of confirmation or denial. There’s a beat of silence, and Logan’s eyes flutter in a fatigued attempt to stay awake, and the nausea creeps its way into his stomach once again like a predator stalking its prey. Deceit repositions himself quietly, pulling the smaller side impossibly closer, as if he knows that he’ll need the added comfort. With his body squished into a protective embrace, and his tie laying flat on the floor below, forgotten and scorned for what it represents, Logan swallows hard around the sharp block in his neck and nods through his nonverbal affliction.

At the minimal admission, something in Remus’ eyes darkens, bathing the bright craze that typically resides there in something hateful, and vicious, and dripping with chemical absolution. He shifts away, rolls onto his haunches in a way that doesn’t read as entirely intentional, as though he’s been physically forced back with the weight of the confession. There’s so much there, in the way his breath comes out shallow and gravelly and low like a beast biting and snapping at the bars that contain it, fighting against the cage it’s locked inside. Nostrils flare, and jaw sets, and fists clench white as bone, and Remus straightens up to his full height, intimidating and looming and dangerous.

“Who?” he spits, venom coursing through the single word in molten streams. It’s a protective fire, serious in a way Remus rarely is, and the storm in his eyes and aura only becomes more turbulent and intense and solid as he reaches behind himself to slowly seize his morning star from where he keeps it at the ready. Pulling it to the front of him is an unexpectedly slow event, yet still ferocious in its quiet, cold fervour. The silver weapon swings in a steady arc around the side of Remus’ body, catching the dim light in a threatening glint, the gleam alluding to its deadliness in a way that’s almost unexplainable. The spiked mace finally comes to its resting point, hovering in the air just beside the fierce side’s leg, unassuming and ready to drive its way into an unlucky antagonist’s skull.

“I’ll cut their fucking throats. I’ll rip off every single limb from their bodies until they’re nothing but a pile of flesh and blood. They’re gonna pay for this,” Remus snarls, each threat bathed in acrimony and malice and choked by fury ripping through the tempest. Logan stares through misty eyes, half-lidded and concerned but too out of it to muster much of a coherent thought. Thankfully, Deceit is still there, soft and warm and well-equipped to deal with Remus and his behaviour. The snake-like side sighs, reaching out to just barely snatch up a frilly black sleeve, tugging him closer and meeting surprisingly little resistance despite the rigidity of the tallest side’s posture. Each breath from Remus comes out like a bullet, brisk and arduous and punctuated by a pang of impermeable guilt.

Even as Deceit motions Remus to lower himself onto the bed in front of them, the latter of the two is still apprehensive, terse movements and restless eyes that flit between anything and everything they can to avoid stagnation. It’s almost fearful, in a way, primal in its aptitude to think, and cultivate, and vindicate a wrongdoing that was never his fault or responsibility in the first place. Logan hates that they need to save him, hates that he doesn’t truly believe they actually care. There’s a level of certainty with himself and with others that the logical side hasn’t reached yet, and it feels too close and yet too far, kept obscure and secluded and almost clandestine in the way it’s ostensibly unreachable.

With the help of Deceit’s hand to guide his way, Remus slowly lets go of his morning star, tossing it to the side with a pensive, trembling swallow. It clatters to the ground, metallic clang resounding in vibrations, tilde-shaped waves that bounce off the façade and yell out to one another. Muted shrieks upon perfect, flat, neutral paint, sepulchral oscillations attacking the drywall.

“You can’t hurt them. I know you’re angry. I am too. But hurting them won’t solve anything, Rem, you know that more than anyone,” Deceit says meaningfully, smiling in a way that’s sad and distant but caring and compelling and relaxing for the tension wrapped so tightly around the three of them. The snake-like side lifts the hand that’s not in Logan’s hair and reaches out to grab Remus’ own, firmly but gently as he squeezes his fingers in a way that reassures, and consoles, and reprimands, not unkindly. He admonishes, and breaks that anger and frustration, and builds up positivity and alleviation and reprieve from everything that allows that buzzing, ticking, those pinpricks upon pinpricks. His care and concern washes over you, paternal in a different way than Patton operates, and it’s why Deceit is so comforting to be around. He manages a respite from vexation, a refuge in sanctuary, discreet freedom for the flawed, defeated dreamer.

“I’m mad. I’m mad that they hurt you, Lo-Lo. I want them to feel the pain you’re feeling,” Remus mutters, frigid and defeated, head bowed and gaze distant in that transparent manner of his that easily broadcasts all of his thoughts and feelings and wishes. Logan feels the pride welling up in his chest without even realizing it, quietly delighted at the progress Remus has made in being clear and forthcoming with his emotions and impulsivity. A weary grin makes its way onto his face, predictably aggravating the soreness in his cheeks, yet he finds himself indifferent to it, unperturbed by the plight that’s ravaged his body for the day, and probably longer without his notice. He wants to reassure the younger twin, to smile and laugh and brush all of it off, but his eyelids droop, and a pathetic mewl is the only thing able to escape his lungs. Of course, since there’s something Logan wants to say, Deceit somehow knows how to communicate it, just as prompt and courteous and perceptive as always.

“We can talk about this later after Logan has slept. Don’t worry too much, Rem, and don’t do anything stupid. If you get angry again, please go to your paints instead of your legs,” Deceit instructs, more of a suggestion than a demand, but he hopes Remus will listen and be mindful anyway. The latter of the two bounces his leg anxiously, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion. As Remus makes his way over to exit the room, Logan nudges Deceit’s hand with his head gently, trying to bring his attention back to the massaging motion that ceased sometime during the conversation. The snake-like side’s eyes flick downward to meet the smaller side’s own half-lidded, teetering gaze, and he huffs a laugh after a moment of searching. Logan doesn’t know what he finds, but he realizes that he doesn’t really care that much about worrying over every little interaction anymore.

Remus finally turns and glances back as he swings the door open, brows still furrowed and shoulders still hunched, but simply shakes his head and leaves. The door closes much softer than before, thankfully, so as not to be too harsh on Logan’s migraine, an unusually conscientious thought from someone that rarely shows consideration to the needs of others that the logical side appreciates that much more. As the sound of Remus’ footsteps slowly fade with his retreat down the hallway, the two of them left are bathed in silence, one that is marginally less heavy and thick than before.

A small while passes afterward, only punctuated by soft breathing and light scratching noises from nails trailing through messy hair. Logan feels like he might pass out any minute, what with the comfortable, quiet understanding the two have come to rest at, but some part of him says to wait, to push through the mind-numbing exhaustion for just a little while longer. That part of him is probably just being considerate toward Deceit, who Logan can’t imagine would be very comfortable with another side falling asleep on him and laying on him for an extended period of time, but he figures that it’s a good of a reason as any. It’s not about him feeling like a burden. It’s not.

Eventually, Deceit must start to get tired as well, or maybe he’s sore from Logan’s weight on his legs, so he sits forward, apologizing quietly for disturbing the peace, and he moves them into a more comfortable position. The new arrangement is far more snug and cozy than the previous one, Logan thinks drowsily, as his head hits the pillow across from Deceit. They lay there on top of the blankets but make no move to pull them up, just content to stare lazily at one another in the dim, ambient light cast by the desk lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“Why?” Logan finally asks, and although he loathes disrupting the silence, he needs to ask. The words are scratchy in his tender throat, a charcoal whisper on a steel canvas that scratches and sketches away with nothing viable left to keep through the wind that blows the dark dust off the surface. “Why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

Deceit just hums, sending Logan a weak, distracted smile. He mulls over the words, tossing about the meaning and possibilities in his head and on his silver tongue, rushing in an uncertain river through valleys of golden sand.

“I am self-preservation at its core. I exist to keep Thomas safe and healthy and thriving, and that also means you and the other sides by extension. But… it’s not just that. Even though I feel physical pain whenever one of you or Thomas is hurt, I specifically want to help you because… I care about you, Logan. I love you, and want to see you healthy and happy. I haven’t really been doing a good job of that lately,” Deceit mutters, gaze somewhere on their shared pillow, and there’s a quality to his tone that’s bitter beyond the line of frustration. Although Deceit doesn’t expand on it, doesn’t offer up a single clarification despite the heavy air and his resigned demeanour, Logan gets it. He understands, and he wants to prove him wrong.

So he does.

And that comes in the form of surging forward, fighting against the current, the pinpricks in his stomach and shoulders and abdomen, disregarding the exhaustion for just a little while longer so that he can let Deceit’s lips meet his own. Logan’s so close he can feel the shocked rush of air leave Deceit’s nose, feel the vibrations through the air as his body trembles in fear and anticipation and relief. The other side eases in, sinks closer, closer, and finally moves his lips in a careful, emotional dance that leaves Logan dizzy and breathless, for entirely different reasons that have plagued him for the past day.

“Lo,” Deceit breathes, low, wanting, and he pulls back to give Logan a chance to catch up. A scaled hand comes up to caress the logical side’s cheek, a soothing, cool balm for the raw skin beginning to heal there. “I didn’t… I didn’t think…”

“I love you,” Logan breathes, the words he’s refused to say, to acknowledge, to confront welling up through his throat and for the first time, he lets them spill out. The dam has broken, debris left to descend and submerge in the depths of the sentiment crashing through in a roaring, passionate rapid at the narrowest point yet. The words come, and they don’t stop, and Logan almost can’t believe how right they feel on his tongue. “I love you, I love you, I–I love you so much, Dee.”

Logan is like a rubber band, pulled taut and still and trembling under the pressure. And maybe he’ll split, shoot apart, torn in two pieces that will never fit back together again. But maybe he won’t. Maybe instead of snapping in half, he’ll snap back, and that thought alone gives him a quiet comfort that he’s not used to allowing himself. He’s waiting, hoping, and he’s okay enough for now.

[dyns33]

So here's some words that form into an ask! Baby Mikey was being a sneaky little baby and stayed up all night and now he's cranky.

Ooooooh a sneaky baby, I love it OwO !! When mommy says something, he should listen, he knows that, but Mikey can be a really stubborn little kid...

           His mommy had said that he shouldn't watch too much TV, because it was bad for his eyes and that would prevent him from sleeping peacefully. She also said that he had to go to bed at 10 p.m. because it gave him 8 hours of full sleep, which was perfect for a big little boy like him, who needed a lot of energy, even if he could always take a nap during the day. People, everywhere, all the time, said that mommies were always right and Michael knew that (Y / N) never refused him anything to hurt him, but because she knew it was not good for him. But he really wanted to see this cartoon, even if it was released a  bit too late. Despite all his requests, his tears, his whims, his mommy unfortunately had not given in, ruffling his hair, promising that they could watch it another time. Michael didn't want to wait. He didn't understand why it was a problem, why he couldn't watch it now, since it was broadcast now. Two hours was not that long. A big boy like him could go to bed at midnight without it being a bad thing. So, even if he felt a little ashamed of disobeying his mommy, he waited until she was asleep to get up slowly, quietly, go into the living room to sit on the sofa, turn on the television, turning the sound down to not wake (Y / N) up, and he could watch his cartoon, which was really great. Several times he had to put his hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing. Midnight arrived, the credits appeared on the screen and Michael took the remote control when the presenter announced that they were now going to broadcast the continuation of what he had just watched. The continuation ! Michael couldn't sleep without seeing the rest, it was impossible ! Two more hours... it wasn't that long, was it ? If his calculations were correct, even if he didn't like math, he could still sleep for 6 hours !  Well, it would have been true if the cartoon he loved so much had been adapted into a trilogy. Finally, without really realizing it, Michael staggered to the bed, totally tired, his eyes aching, when it was already 4 am. (Y / N) had absolutely not noticed his absence, still deeply asleep, not reacting when he collapsed on his pillow. When the sun had risen, inevitably, she was convinced that her baby had slept as well as she did and she found it perfectly normal to wake him up as usual so that he could have breakfast.

           "Stand up little groundhog !" she laughed, kissing his forehead. "It's time ! It's bad to sleep too long."

           "No !" wailed Michael, taking the blanket to hide his face with it. "Sleep !"

           "Mikey... Don't make me take a bucket of cold water or steal the sheets from you. You have ten minutes, I'm making French toast."

Of course, upon hearing the words French and toast, Michael immediately wanted to get up and run to sit in the kitchen, impatiently holding his cutlery until his mommy served him, but he was completely unable to. His body simply refused to leave the bed. He tried to negotiate to have breakfast in bed, as he was entitled to have when he was sick.

           "You don't have a fever." noted (Y / N) by touching his face. "But you have horrible dark circles ! Did you sleep badly, darling ? Nightmares ?"

Michael knew if he said yes he would have his French toast without the need to move, but he couldn't lie to his mommy, he didn't want to worry her when he was fine, so he just shook his head, agreeing to drag himself to the couch, where he lay down and almost fell asleep until (Y / N) called him. He groaned painfully, yawning several times, rubbing his face. It was horrible. Really, he didn't understand why he was so tired. He hadn't slept as much as before, but he had slept. A little capricious, grumpy, he refused to follow his mommy in the kitchen to eat, this time trying to have the right to eat while lying on the sofa. His attitude began to intrigue her.

           "But what's going on with you ? You look... so tired. It's really not right. Maybe... maybe I need to call a doctor..."

           "No !" he cried, managing to sit down, but laying his head on the sofa to continue to doze. "I'm fine !"

           "You really don't look fine, darling. If you slept as usual, you shouldn't be like that..."

           "It's... It's because..."

           "Yes ?"

           "I... I watched my movie. And other movies after that." he decided to confess, feeling that he had no choice. He no longer had the strength to hide it anyway.

This revelation seemed to reassure (Y / N), who sighed, rolling her eyes. Again, he hadn't listened to her, he had made a mistake and he had disappointed her. Michael hated it when it happened, but he was solely responsible. Slowly, his mommy came up to him, putting her hand on his head, making a little pout.

           "Now I wonder if you deserve to eat French toast."

           " I do ! I didn't say I was sick when I could have !"

           "Have you thought about lying ?!"

            "... yes" he recognized, looking down, wanting to disappear into a hole.

           "Hmm. I should eat all the French toast on my own, but... I think you've already punished yourself. After all, you've lost all your afternoon."

           "What do you mean ?"

           "I can already see the looooong nap that you are going to take and that will last for hours. And when I should wake you up, it will be terrible."

Michael was really sad when he realized that he was not going to be able to keep himself from sleeping during the day, he already wanted to, but (Y / N) refused to let him sleep now, explaining to him that there was a time for everything, even for a nap, and if he slept now, he was going to completely disrupt his sleep cycle, he was going to sleep poorly next night and he would be in this state again tomorrow morning. Since he absolutely did not want this, he decided to listen to her, eat his breakfast, struggling to not sleep, even if his head sometimes fell.

           "Tell me one thing, honey." said (Y / N) taking his hand. "Why didn't you listen to me for the film ?"

           "I really wanted to see it. It was great, you would have loved it ! I wish we had seen it together..."

           "But that was the plan. I thought we would watch it this morning."

           "It is not broadcast this morning." wondered Michael. "They won't broadcast it for a while."

           "Mikey, I can buy the DVD or we can watch it in streaming."

           "What is it, strimy ?"

           "It is when television programs a movie or a show which passes at an hour when you cannot watch it, so you ask to be able to see it at another time."

Oh. Michael had no idea they could do this. It was magical ! His mommy was magic and she really knew everything, so the next time he would stay in bed with her, like she had told him, even if he was really impatient to see his movie. It would always be more fun to watch it with her, rather than sleeping deep on the couch for most of the afternoon, as she watched it alone, stroking his hair.

[heavensmortuary]

28, 18, 11 for writing asks? OwO

28: Do you need background noise to write? If so, what do you listen to?

Oh I definitely need music or something!! I'll usually listen to songs that remind me of my WIP, or movie soundtracks with instrumentals. Usually something high emotion lol, I gotta have that angst

18: What writers have inspired you with their use of language? What are some of your favorite quotes?

OH SO MANY WRITERS AAAA

Just to name a *few*, Rick Bragg, C. S. Lewis, Wendell Berry, S. E. Hinton, Jeff Vandermeer, Jerry Spinelli, Lois Lowry, Elizabeth Enright... So many more.

Heres a few quotes that resonate with me, though its hard to pick just one from these authors.

C. S. Lewis, from his Space Trilogy: "He had read of 'Space': at the back of his thinking for years had lurked the dismal fancy of the black, cold vacuity, the utter deadness, which was supposed to separate the worlds. He had not known how much it affected him till now - now that the very name 'Space' seemed a blasphemous libel for this empyrean ocean of radiance in which they swam. He could not call it 'dead'; he felt life pouring into him from it every moment. How indeed should it be otherwise, since out of this ocean all the worlds and all their life had come? He had thought it barren: he now saw that it was the womb of worlds, whose blazing and innumerable offspring looked down nightly even upon the earth with so many eyes-and here, with how many more! No: Space was the wrong name. Older thinkers had been wiser when they made it simply the heavens. The heavens which declared the glory.” (sorry, I had to include the whole quote bc wow. Also dude used the term "Deep Heaven" to describe space so I mean, bruh)

Wendell Berry: "The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free."

Another by Wendell Berry: "Nobody can discover the world for somebody else. Only when we discover it for ourselves does it become common ground and a common bond and we cease to be alone."

Jeff Vandermeer, from his Southern Reach Trilogy:

“I could not tell which part I craved and which I feared, and I kept seeing the inside of nautilus shells and other naturally occurring patterns balanced against a sudden leap off a cliff into the unknown."

"It seems like a myth, a kind of mythic tragedy, a lie, that I once lived there or than anyone lives there still. Someday the fish and the falcon, the fox and the owl, will tell tells in their way. Of this disembodied globe of light and what it contained, all the poison and all the grief that leaked out of it. If human languge meant anything, I might even recount it to the waves or to the sky, but what's the point?"

Jeff Vandermeer, from his Borne Trilogy: "What would you have done, reader, who has been able to follow me like the Magician followed me, invisible and ever-watchful and without consequence?"

And for Rick Bragg, I honestly wanted to put down like, all of his writing, but I'll pick a few:

Rick Bragg, from his book All Over But The Shoutin':

"This is a place where grandmothers hold babies on their laps under the stars and whisper in their ears that the lights in the sky are holes in the floor of heaven."

"Every life deserves a certain amount of dignity, no matter how poor or damaged the shell that carries it."

"Passion is something you really don't miss, after it has cooled. It is like looking at an empty bottle on the side of the road and thinking, "Boy, I wish I had a Coke." The loves you miss are the ones that go away when they are still warm, even hot, to the touch."

From his book, Ava's Man: "It is easy to be liked when the world has no jagged edges, when life is electric blankets and peach ice cream. But to be beloved, a man needs a dragon."

11. Set the scene for us. What are your settings like, and do you have any pictures saved that represent them? Do your characters travel and see more than one? What are their names?

(Ok Im gonna make another post for this right after this ask and tag u bc this ask is getting,,, long ajsjajjd)

[almondvaledeer]

20 Questions

Tagged by @curiouslilbird Oh my gosh thank you! What a happy little surprise! 💚💚💚

Rules: Answer 20 questions, then tag 20 bloggers you want to get to know better.

Name: Markus

Nickname: Almond, Deer, Al, Mark

Zodiac Sign: Gemini

Height: 5’3”

Languages: English (native), German (can read it for the most part), Spanish (still learning but I can read it somewhat)

Nationality: American

Favorite Season: Autumn

Favorite Flower: Violets, lemon trillium, and bat orchid

Favorite Scent: Vanilla, lavender, mint, coconut, spring rain in the mountain forest

Favorite Color: Green (all of the green), black, burgundy, maroon, and grey

Favorite Animal: Deer, of course! All the deer, especially the smol ones

Favorite Fictional Character: I have many! But, I shall name just a few ;3

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)

Ogrim/Dung Defender (Hollow Knight)

Ripto (Spyro Reignited Trilogy)

Solas (Dragon Age Inquisition)

Mordin (Mass Effect)

General Grievous (Star Wars: The Clone Wars)

Hermaeus Mora (Skyrim)

Black Hat (Villainous)

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: Yes 83 hehehehehe

Average Sleep Hours: Ya never know know. Sometimes 8 sometimes 5 hours with 0 sprinkled here or there ;w;

Dog or Cat person: Meow! =OwO=

Number of Blankets Slept With: One big fancy lookin purple comforter! I get warm easily so I can’t have too many blankets :c

Dream Trip: Visit. Every. Single. National. Park. One day, I will do it! No one will stop me >:3

Blog Established: November 2018

Followers: 186

Random Fact: I apparently evil laugh in my sleep and throw pillows across the room too. I never knew this until I lived with a roommate and spouse. Imagine all the stuff we’re unaware of when we sleep. Is cool hehehehe

Tag You’re It!! Hehehehehe

@keezree @inkteresting-art @therozpoz @troiz @dreamyartistworld @phantira-spectar @skeksisloving @podge-a-saurus @krakenguard @sapphzeal @eidenna @dood1e-bug @thefredricus @ethereal-comrade @undergrounddweller89 @misslooni @valeska-was-here @willdarkness @amamiyya @zazzygirl1987

No pressure! Just for fun ^w^

[cloud-gays]

thanks @babethepig for tagging me! 💖

Name: mars uwu (not really, more of a nickname but y'know)

Nicknames: my family calls me moly, mo or how my mum calls me molita; peeps at uni call me mery or mari or my name (it's fun how many names can i have)

Zodiac: i'm a centaur aka sagittarius! :D

Height: i'm 1.50cm or 4.9'? that's how it works right? i'm smol that's what i'm saying

Languages: english and spanish :>

Nationality: bolivian!

Favorite season: winter ❄ really tempted to say summer just because stormz~

Favorite flower: lavender and other kind of purple flowers

Favorite scent: lavander again, eucalyptus and mangoes <333 and just that warm scent of travelling to tropical places

Favorite color: green! like dark green and blue, dark blue, and purple/lilac

Favorite animal: dinosaurs lol, also felines i love all kinds of felines

Coffee, tea or, cocoa: all three! depending on my mood and the weather

Favorite fictional character: the first one that came to my head was samwise from lotr, also this girl (Nadia) from my favourite book trilogy and flowey (and papyrus) from ut bc i can't leave them out of this lol

Average sleep: 8 hours to 9 in a good day, other days may vary between 3 or 4 hours to ten

Dog or cat person: i love both a lot! not more of anything, in this house we stan all kinds of animals

Number of blankets: rn? four

Dream trip: i'm thinking of some hiking in the mountains, like some trip to a mountain with snow and stuff. or a trip to the beach, i've never went to one so that'd nice

Blog established: 2014 ig

Followers: 69 OwO

Random fact: i'm a hoarder, i collect things and put them in my cave to make the perfect nest for me to be content lol

i tag: @lovestillaround @obsessivelymoody @superbestfriendsandsoulmates @intoapuddle @manchester-dayz and @honeywreath! (do it if you want <333)

[watercolourferns]

lavender, dahlia, geranium

Dahlia: Do you have a favorite scent?

Yes! OwO Cupcakes. I guess it’s actually vanilla, but there was this perfume called Colors by Benetton. It smelled like a cupcake, but I had it in high school, and it ran out after a year of using it... and ever since I haven’t found it. I’ve been trying to emulate the scent, but I can’t... I just want to smell like a cupcake...

The closes one is the one I’m using right now. It’s called ShawnMendes signature. I found it by chance in walmart. It’s not perfume, it’s body spray. I don’t even know who Shawn Mendes is, but it smells very similar to Colors, but more like a cookie than a cupcake... I’ll take what I can get, though...

Geranium: Have you ever been in love?

Not before now. I am currently in love. And I have some crushes that now I finally know ARE crushes and not just... like... something similar to crush, but not really, which could develop into love if... given the time.Love for me, due to my disorder, has been really really hard. I feel it too much, too fast, too hard, so it’s not love but something else I have no word for. It’s taken me years of therapy and introspection to finally realise what love really truly is within all that whirlpool of emotions and I’ve come to find out I didn’t really love my previous boyfriends. I had an attachment to them, which made me feel I had to act one way or another because that’s expected from a “girlfriend”, but it was never really love, and they never really loved me either. Specially my last ex before my fiancee. With my fiancee I know what love is, and as such I realised I’m polyamorous, can love several people at the same time, demisexual and demiromantic, and that what I feel IS love, I just need to take my time. 

Lavender: What’s your favorite book?

Oof... umm... The Harry Potter Saga, my H.P. Lovecraft compendium, The Hunger Games trilogy... Twilight is my sinful pleasure, I mean it’s awful but so good at the same time... like... licorice. XD Books by Isabel Allende, Some books of the Vampire Chronicles (the ones I’ve been able to read so far).... I love reading books. It’s hard because of my dyslexia, but I really do love reading books. ^_^

[mary-is-writing]

(The banner is by @ecwrenn)

Hi there!! I read about this activity proposed by @ecwrenn and I thought about giving it a try. A Year of Writing is basically a newsletter to sumarize the writing you did throughout 2021, as a way of closing the year.

I don't have the greatest memory so it took me a little bit more than I thought to remember all I did this year, so I got my summary done by quarters.

It's under the cut, but before that I wanna say that I'm super glad I got into writeblr because I've met a lot of cool people who bright my day just by seeing them in my dash (I'm sorry I don't talk a lot on discord tho Dx). Even if my following is small I'm happy each one of you is here, and to know there's people who like and show interest in my writing has been a boost to my confidence.

Anyways, thanks!! It's been a good year. Now for real, here's my year of writing:

~ January - April ~

It was on February this year when I decided to change my blog to go into writeblr and I did the post that's pinned on my page.

Around that time I was writing the third act of The Monsters Only We See, as well as the outline for Where Camellias Blossom. After the many troubles a single plot hole on TMOWS story gave me, I finally reached the point where I could finish the second act and go fully onto the third. It was very exciting because I felt I was getting closer and closer to the end of the 1st draft after having to take a big detour to fix the plot hole.

Seeing that I was near the end of writing, I thought it was time to start prepping for another wip and I picked WCB. I had already wrote around 45 pages, but decided I wanted to take a step back and do the outline. And... Well I already new that the story in my head was long and I wasn't gonna be able to fit everything in one book, but the more I wrote the more I realized this needed to be a trilogy. After fixing stuff here and there post-writing, I managed to structure the whole plot on 3 books.

Then I got excited and also plotted a spin off. So the whole series has 4 books now I guess. Oh well.

On March I pushed myself and wrote 80 pages on 10 days or so for a contest and I was very proud of myself. I didn't won and, looking back, I get why: the stories there weren't that good. Still, I was happy to get them out of my brain and into words, and it was a good writing exercise. I'll never repeat what I did to make it to the deadline tho, that left me exhausted mentally and creatively.

It was during this time where I also did a bunch of posts about TMOWS and WCB, a new post a week for like 2-3 months. I thought about keep doing it but my writing speed is simplu not enough for it, and having to do weekly posts kinda stressed me out. So, even tjos I wanna keep doing posts like those, I think I'll avoid the weekly release format for now.

Ah, and on February, my comic celebrated its first anniversary!!! owo)/

~ May - August ~

Okay so one of the most important things of this year happened between this months because I finished the first draft for TMOWS!! I was so, so happy when I did, and ever since then I've been working on editing it. After the 2nd draft was done, I gave it to my first betaa readers and 2-3 said good things about it and also gave me insight of elements to change for the 3rd one.

Not a lot else happened here, I was mostly working on this wip and progressing on my comic, but also enjoying summer vacation and watching the Tokyo Olympics. I probably got a few new wip ideas but I'm too lazy to check them out and see which ones xd

~ September - December ~

So now, finishing the year I managed to do a 3rd draft for TMOWS. However, I think it's better to consider it a 2.1 version of the 2nd one, since the changes were minimal. I also submitted it for a contest and I'm expecting news about it for next year :D

But obviously, the most inportant here was Nanowrimo 2021!! Tho I didn't finish it I managed to reach almost 20K on WCB, so I'm calling that a win. I also realized a few errors on my outline that need to be fixed, so I'd been working on them as I write and thinking about how I'm gonna pace the first book, considering that many things and characters need to be introduced here and I want to make it as smooth as possible, without info dumps. It's gonna be tricky but, hopefully, I can do it.

(Maybe I can do a little bit of info dump and get away with it, who knows, we'll see.)

And I did the 100th page of my comic a few days ago, too! I believe it's already scheduled on Tapas for next year to be published.

~ Next year plans ~

A friend encouraged me to translate my works myself and tho I still feel intimidated by the task, I think I'll do it. So based on this, I want to open a BetaBooks account next year to get feedback on the translations I do, but also on the book in general (this won't happen if I get to win the contest tho)

I definitely want to find a way to publish TMOWS at some point next year, wether it is traditional route (via the contest) or indie route.

Maybe do something with Patreon, too? I saw somebody on Tumblr talking about using it as a platform to release book chapters and at the end give the e-book, but Idk if it'll work for me. And since my book releases aren't exactly gonna be regular, asking for a monthly payment seems like too much. We'll see, but I do wanna give it another look to see how I'll use it.

Of course, I'm gonna keep writing WCB and, hopefully, can also get a good progress on That One Wip I have in the back waiting for me. But next year's Nano is gonna be WCB again for sure, and it'll keep being that until I finish the trilogy I guess.

Thank you for a great year, and see you in the next one with more writing and more wips!!!

[chryzure-archive]

HELLO HII👋👋🤍🤍 I am curious about Chrysi/Jacks in general OwO. What’s the book Jacks is from +what’s it about? How did they meet and how did their relationship + impression of each other develop?

Also what would a more modern AU with them be like ? :0 fhjd I really like hearing abt those for some reason🤍

Origin:

Jacks is from the Caraval trilogy by Stephanie Garber!!! He shows up in the second book as the main antagonist, and in the third as a secondary antagonist! He’s got fucked up morals and cursed kisses that kills everyone with the misfortune to make out w/ him and the ability to control ppl’s feelings / hearts (hence the name Prince of Hearts). He’s a Fate, which is an immortal with super special powers, and he was trapped in a deck of cards for centuries (called the Deck of Destiny). He can’t experience true love for too long without becoming a mortal (again, I theorize, since he mentions he used to be human briefly), but regretfully, Chrysi’s immune to his kisses (only his supposed true love is immune, but Chrysi’s also jst naturally immune since she’s not exactly human either) and his heart starts beating again.

(The trilogy is about these two sisters playing a game called “Caraval” that’s more about a messed up sort of carnival where you can’t tell if everything is real or fake. As the series progresses, it becomes obvious that each game is becoming more and more real for the two of them!!! It’s rlly rlly fun + there’s a new series coming out with Jacks in it. I’ll be honest and say I like the original trilogy more, but this new series DID give me vampire!Jacks AND sleepy Jacks, so it’s not all bad :>)

Chrysi/Jacks Dynamic

As for how Chrysi and Jacks met!!!! It was at a ball (since he seems to go to a lot of those. For some reason.) and he was instantly interested in her, given that she seemed resistant to his emotional manipulation. Plus, she was hanging around Mistress Luck (another Fate). Eventually, after a fun sequence where they dance together and quip back and forth), Jacks agrees to become a correspondent with Chrysi. They help each other out with information gathering and exchanging favors.

At first, Jacks thought this was a pretty sweet deal for him. He wanted to kiss Chrysi and this cat-and-mouse game was fun for him, but she’d eventually die when he did, and he didn’t mind that. But then they met up at another ball and they kissed and like! Yikes! She doesn’t die + his heart starts beating! So he starts freaking out, because apparently he’d fallen in love with her without realizing it!!!

They continue to work together (Chrysi’s so horribly mean to him, mostly because she’s still reeling from Azure no longer being her lover ;;;;;; but also she finds Jacks insufferable. They argue constantly), but Jacks is trying to hide his feelings for her. It eventually comes out after he briefly turns into a vampire and back (in the Caraval timeline, that issss), but she ignores her own feelings for him until he almost dies in an attempt to save her. So. That’s that.

They‘re very tentative about their feelings for each other. Chrysi doesn’t want the other Fates to find out (all of them are very cruel, and some would kill Jacks for the fun of it. Which, fun fact! When Fates die, they become Fated objects—meaning their magic can’t be destroyed, but rather it becomes a whole new object hehe), so they try to keep their love secret.

Unfortunately for Jacks, Chrysi’s also struggling with her own immortal problems (the whole “Sephera slowly possessing her through her blood / faetelle” thing), so he runs the risk of losing her too. There’s a fun possession concept I’m playing with, with a really fun scene that is, yet again (surprise, surprise), set in a ballroom setting. They really do go to balls a lot. It’s the best place for drama, tbh, PLUS, as a higher class, it makes sense for them to be invited to balls regularly!!!! (I’m justifying all of this ljhkjghfghiuj).

Modern AU:

So!!! A similar concept, where they initially only contact each other as business partners! Shortly after Azure breaks up with Chrysi (to protect her, as this is also in the same universe as my Warehouse 13 stuff), she starts using Jacks as a regular informant / business partner.

Jacks is initially thrilled with the setup, but like before, he realizes that he’s losing out a lot on his deals with Chrysi. But before he knows it, he/s working alongside her in everything as a part of her new paranormal investigation organization.

They work primarily on cases in Salem, Mass. and Chrysi‘s niece, Emery, moves in with her after a falling out with her mother. This is important because Emery picks up on Jacks’s feelings for Chrysi before anybody else does (besides maybe Simeon, who is one of Chrysi’s... on-call outside helpers?? I guess I’d say? He eventually joins up with them, but he still doesn’t know about his healing powers at the time).

There’s a lot of slow buildup here, but essentially, Emery knows that Jacks and Chrysi love each other the moment Chrysi puts Jacks as an emergency contact at school, Simeon knows that they have feelings for each other when Jacks spends every other night at Chrysi’s house, “helping with the cases at hand” (AKA making sure Chrysi is safe / has proper company / is taking care of herself), and Chrysi finds out he has feelings for her when he almOST DROWNS WHILE TRYING TO SAVE HER.

They end up officially moving in together, and Evangeline (rather than being a love interest for Jacks, which is gross because she’s the same age as Chrysi’s niece (17)) winds up being Emery’s friend, and they’re all a fun group of friends.

But of course I throw Azure in for relationship drama + there’s always fun curses and problems that arise from being a paranormal investigator. Also, obligatory “Chrysi is dying from faetelle / struggling with Sephera trying to take control“ and obligatory “Jacks is trying not to be killed / discovered by other Fates” nonsense.