#TS Storytime 2021

[thebestworstidea]

I was assigned @the-princey-pie​ for the @ts-storytime​ Exchange, and they went over time, but I still recommend checking their story out. Regency Romance? Yes please!

Read it Here (link to the first part)

[thesarcasticside]

Anything-$00000DDD

Summary

He could have been anything. When he looked inside his own mind, he dug through darkness. Memories like ashes, the particles filling his lungs were all that were familiar to him—and those only felt like nothing. No fragments, just a fine powder.

Janus is a cyborg who works for the Dragon Witch, a criminal mastermind who runs a company that designs cybernetics.

He meets Remus, a self-taught biomedical engineer, and a variety of other robotic and alien characters, all of whom are trying to convince him that he is more than just a cybernetic puppet.

But who is “Dee” if not an empty husk created only to be controlled?

General warnings

Psychological horror, body horror, cybernetics, missing limbs, artificial limbs, Non-consensual forced medical treatment, physical abuse, blood, violence, guns, mind control, permanent amnesia, manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting, nightmares, streams of consciousness, unreliable narration. Content that resembles depersonalization, derealization, or dissociation

More notes, links, and chapter text under the cut

AO3 Anything, AO3 series, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18

This is my story for the 2021 Storytime! Big Bang! @ts-storytime Thank you to @ben-phantomhive-trash, who is the artist I was partnered with for the event! They created this fantastic art!!!! I love it so much I can't even.

Thank you to PunkRock for helping me figure out the shorts characters and other plot things. Also thank you to AryaSkywalker, Thembo, and Carrotflowerking17 and the Big Bang 2021 discord for additional help!!!!

This fic is an alternative entry point to my (In Other Worlds) Series. This fic happens at the same time roughly as Millennia, a companion novel. You can read this fic and then check out the rest of the series, or check out the series and then read this.

Also, I don't use Janus's actual name throughout the fic for thematic and narrative reasons. You'll see. I hope that does not put you off too much. Consider it part of the angst.

Clarification of general warnings and pairings, minor spoilers

I added the tag unreliable narrator, but I will clarify that the narrator is not actively lying to the audience. This tag relates to Janus's memory issues and the uncertainty resulting from that. tbh I would not worry too much about the events being untrue, and more be concerned about these being Janus's imperfect recollection of events.

I think this fic is a bit more violent than Millennia at times, hence I added the archive warning for violence. I still feel like a teen would be fine reading this, so I am keeping the rating Teen and Up. This fic focuses the most on what I dub psychological horror (angst, mind control, memory issues, consciousness, nightmares, etc.). I also tagged this story with disassociation, and content in this fic may resemble derealization and depersonalization.

If you think I should warn/rate this fic differently, I am happy to hear feedback and reconsider.

I tagged this as Remus/Janus, but like, ya gotta squint. Mostly banter and being soft. I love romance, but I have a hard time writing it. Could be seen as platonic too.

HINT 1: KEY.

HINT 2: "kind of" not "kinda"

CHAPTER START

NAME J. D. Dedrick ID 25:35--25:44 / 51:09 ALIENRACE Dūcesnaca OCCUPATION Robotics Researcher

Chapter Warnings cybernetics, missing/artificial limbs (eye, legs), forced medical treatment/experimentation, amnesia, depersonalization/derealization/dissociation, unreliable narration, psychological horror, swearing Chapter Characters Janus, the Dragon Witch, Virgil (not by name)

He could have been anything. When he looked inside his own mind, he dug through darkness. Memories like ashes, the particles filling his lungs were all that were familiar to him—and those only felt like nothing. No fragments, just a fine powder.

He woke up to yellow in his eyes, stinging and unfocused. Lights beyond the veil flickered. He saw a figure move; he looked small. After a brief glance into the world, he began to drown. He threw everything into the yellow encasement, and after an agonizing struggle, the rush of acceleration threw him to the ground.

When the air touched his face, black fireworks exploded in his hazy vision, and the first memory he had was gone.

He woke up again, like a corpse left in the stale air for vultures: beaks plucking out his skin piece by piece. His vision blurry and halved, he stared up at the birds breaking his body into bits.

Reports say he was involved in a huge space crash. DRACANA has generously sponsored his artificiality.

That sounded like a lie. That sort of blatant untruth where there was no connection to reality tied to it. Everything his senses told him felt unreal, everything except the pain that grounded him like a shot duck.

Whispers like gossip broke into his mind between droughts of consciousness. His senses were pieced together and broken apart, like pieces of clay in a kiln shattering. Memories of vultures and lab coats glued together by agony floated through space until eventually he was awake.

Probably just one of her business rivals

Dei’dra—he knew her name—loomed over him, to his right. He could see nothing to his left. The light stung, he squinted and blinked his eye. He could feel nothing on the left side of his face. Dei’dra smiled at him.

“Wake up, dollface. Didn’t think you’d make it, but you pulled through.”

He did not know where he was. He did not know who he was. All he knew was that this woman was Dei’dra, the Dragon Witch, and he hated her.

“Well, he seems to be doing well. Might as well put him under and move onto the next stage.”

He lived out his days creating sand sculptures in his mind. He saw himself running in place, downloading skills and targets and concepts. The sand would blow away each day, leaving him with nothing to remember them by.

Between bouts of black unconsciousness, he saw grey, and white, and pale pink, brown, and blue. Abstract shapes morphing into creatures that prodded at him. Cold metal seething, machines twisting his body together like crochet. He gave nonsense names for some, not even names consisting of words, just pure thoughts.

Slowly, he lost sight of the sand in his brain, yet the grains still dripped from his ears when he shook his head. He became a part of reality. Or perhaps he became part of a hellish dream.

Darkness huddled in the damp sides of his eyes, danger snapping at his bruised joints and soles. Deep inside his chest, his heart damned, words mixed with intuitive instincts, daring his body to live beyond the yellow veil.

Stage One of Project $DEE has been completed.

$DEE was not his name. It was what he was called. One of the words that would echo in his brain. Dee. Dee. Dee. Like a rhythm, like the beeping machines. Like the ringing of the heart monitor. It was embedded in his ears. Baby words jumping around, forming pictures, babbling him into nothing.

Dee, his brain still a desert, started to make better sense of this reality he lived in. He could control his body sometimes. He could move his arms. Or what was left of his limbs. Or what they had lent him.

The second picture in his brain, the one after the yellow veil: it was the artificial lights on Lab C’s ceiling. Grey illuminated by white, he stared up at the square tiles and textured glass, like undulating waves of melted sand.

With how long he was locked in place staring up at this picture, he memorized it. He could close his eyes at any moment and picture it in its exact detail again.

“Time to get up, Doll-face. It’s time for your first mission.”

He saw Dei’dra’s face again. He felt his restraints loosen and break away.

His first mission was not all that glorious. He was lanky, unused to moving in his body. He was a wall of meat. Disposable. He followed a trail like a zombie. He barely spoke to the team he was placed in. He remembered their orders regarding him.

“He’s still pretty out of it. Give him some good experience, but we’d like to keep working on him so bring him back in one piece.”

Dee felt like a puppet, simply put. Some machine inside him aimed his cannons and lasers. He stood in place, shooting at targets. He was guided by an invisible leash by the team he was assigned to. He saw sepia shapes. Blurs of bodies. All he could feel was the emotions in his gut telling him, repeatedly:

Youaregoingtodieyouaregoingtodieyouaregoingtodieagainyouaregoingtodiestoppleasestoppleaseyouaregoingtodiestopstopstopstopstop.

He was kept suspended in place while his body completed the mission. And then he was back in Lab C, mind clearer.

He was thinking in sentences now. He could monologue, like any great villain. That is what he had become, hadn’t he? Why a villain? Where had he learned that word? The more he sifted through the sand, the more words he could find he no longer remembered learning. They were just there, connected to nothing. No memory. No past life.

He kept thinking these words. And then he decided that since his jaw was not glued shut, he would give speaking a try. Garbled and slurred at first, he kept talking as much as they let him.

They made him run between ceilings of grey. They made him speak between illuminated square tiles. He practiced lines of a script. Subterfuge settled in his brain like a mirage in the distance between the settled sand.

He could walk on the unsteady ground once again. He could see. He could hear. He could experience the world around him. He gazed up at the ceiling but was interrupted by a splotch of dark violet.

Another blot. Another vulture. He stood there out of the corner of his artificial eye.

“What are you waiting for? Get on with the tests.” His voice sharp, cutting through his tongue.

This was an unusual time of day for tests. To say it was a time of day was generous. It was more like he would be experimented on for hours upon hours and then suddenly they would stop. Nothing to do but bask in the nothingness it brought.

At this point, Dee thought that he was done with most of the tests. He had his limbs. He had an eye, which he opened wider to get a better look at the violet blotch. Something about the blotch was connected to something else in his brain, but he could not quite place it.

“Well, whatever it is, get on with it, it certainly could not have waited until morning.”

It shuffled closer to him. Less of a blotch now. He could make out shapes. He could recognize his face now if he saw him again.

Air escaped his lungs, and then he said again, asking, “Whatever might you need from me today, doctor?”

The blotch was shaking. “If you are just here to sight-see, I am going back to sleep.” His eyes weighed heavily on his face, eyelids falling through his willpower.

“Are you… okay?”

No, I am not ‘okay’. I am ‘$DEE.’

“Do I LOOK okay? Yeah sure, I am right as rain, having a grand old time—feeling peachy, even.” At this point, the words just spiraled off his tongue and through his teeth. The blotch made a sound, and Dee’s frustration grew, the pain of today’s tests ricocheting in his body.

“If you aren’t here to run another one of your little tests, then just get out. Go tell your superior, or better yet, go tell Dei’dra to go fuck herself and leave me alone.”

And he left him alone. He wondered vaguely what that was all about. He then fell asleep.

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Bookkeeper - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Wuthering Heights 

pairings: logan/patton (logicality), roman/virgil (prinxiety) words: 3216 chapter warnings: mild swearing, mild existentialism chapter summary: once upon a time...

[read on ao3]  [masterlist]

—

“I know a lot of kids who’ve endured Civil wars and famines These kids are wise  Aware  And they’re searching for a little beauty in the world Because life without beauty is unbearable”

                                   – Jordan Tannahill, Concord Floral

 ~*~

Imagine for a moment, the process of a songwriter. One picks a key, uses the notes within the key, and tinkers with the piece until it sounds pleasing, familiar; until it sounds like anything. 

All art is, to some extent then, structured and formulaic. So if that is the case, is there any ‘magic’ in art’s rigid form? In practice, art disrupts the very foundation of its being; creating something out of nothing. Hence, is there any true value—under the nihilistic impression that life bears no meaning—in pursuing art if it, at its core, has no purpose? Where could one derive significance from the way notes scatter on the staff, when it holds no initial meanin–

Logan Fray cursed as he slammed his pen into the counter. He gripped onto the surface of the paper he was writing on, crumpled it, and squeezed it out of the spiral binding of his notebook. Without looking up, he hurled it towards the garbage can to his left. He heard the soft sound of it hitting the metal rim and sighed, flicking his wrist without much thought.

A small spiral of shimmering navy dust shot out of his index finger and caught the balled-up paper before it could fall. He glanced over to his left, realization clicking in his head. Logan sighed and, annoyed, steadily moved his finger across his line of sigh. The crumpled piece of paper followed suit until it hovered over the garbage can. 

Logan narrowed his eyes at his magic. The blue coated the creased edges of the balled-up paper, as if contemplating the survival of this draft and its feeble grasp on the edge of the tin-can cliff. 

“Oh isn’t this quite the show!” 

The loud, triumphant voice behind him jolted Logan forward. He lost concentration on his spell and the paper dropped helplessly into the bin. 

Logan pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Christ, Roman…” 

“Sorry, sorry! Didn’t want to disturb the almighty Wizard Fray and the extraordinary use of his powers! Fray and Far Fables is in for a treat today, fellas!” 

Logan rolled his eyes, spinning around in his chair and watching as the small, fairy-like form of Roman floated in front of shelves. Roman’s red magic formed some sort of feather duster.

“Anyway, don’t mind me! I don’t mean to be a heckler — just doing some spring cleaning!” He exaggerated a flick of the magical duster against a book.

“You don’t have to dust the spines of books, Roman,” Logan drawled. “It is illogical. With your magical wards, nothing here collects dust. And even if it did, your size and your...general aura deems you an ineffective housekeeper.” 

Roman gasped, twirling around in the air to float over to Logan’s face. He hovered in front of his nose with his hands on his hips. 

“I will pretend you did not just hurt my feelings just then!” Roman smiled smugly as he dusted Logan’s nose. Powder puffs of his red magic fogged Logan’s vision. “I will instead pretend you said ‘thank you, Roman, oh dashing bookkeeper!’”

“A happier reality, I’m sure,” Logan huffed, rubbing his nose and holding back a sneeze. Roman floated back to the shelves.

“Besides, someone has to tend to the nooks,” Roman hummed pointedly, landing on the edge of the shelves and leaning against one of the book spines. “Each one is a ghost town at this point.” 

“They were always ghost towns,” Logan gritted out, annoyance growing. “There’s nothing in there.” 

“Yeah yeah.” Roman stuck out his tongue. “ ‘Art has no meaning in a meaningless life’ or whatever, which means there’s nothing in art and there’s nothing in books, yada yada yada – you keep telling yourself that, Specs.” 

“I am not the only one saying that. If you read Virgil Aries’ work on nihilism and its implications on art as a sort of void—” 

“Yawn, Logan,” Roman groaned, “uber yawn. I’m not going to read some sad philosopher’s existential crisis.” 

“Virgil Aries was not sad, he was brilliant–” 

“I’m sure he was.”

Logan sighed, standing up and sweeping the books off the counter and into his arms. He walked around the counter and across the store, placing the books back on the other shelves. Roman flew closely behind him.

“It is nice to see you using your magic again, even in pitiful displays." Roman nonchalantly tilted his head up. "Almost thought you forgot how to.”  

“It was just an impulse, Roman,” Logan muttered, letting Roman dust the floor of the shelves before sliding the books into their proper place. “I was deep in thought and wasn't thinking I will not make a habit out of it.” 

“Ugh, when will you understand that I want you to make a habit out of it– I want to have cool magic duels with you!” 

“More the reason why we don’t need these ‘pitiful’ displays of magic. First of all, I’m not even supposed to be using my magic while we’re open. What if someone walked in? What would you say to them then, hm?”

“ ‘Hey, do you want to see the coolest thing in your flimsy, mortal life?’ ”  

Logan rolled his eyes. “ ‘Cool’ is not how I would describe it.” 

“Ouch!” Roman turned his red feather duster into a small, sparkly sword. He dramatically stabbed it into his chest, bits of his red magic exploding in a small puff around him. The sword dissipated upon contact. “What is up with your...your spiciness today?” 

Logan slid the last book into the shelf and leaned against it.

“I’m just stuck on this speech again .”

Roman deflated. “Oh, here we go…”

“I just don’t understand what my problem is. I have all my research in place, I know what I want to say about art, I know what I want to do, but nothing I write has any substance! None of it makes sense. I can’t answer the fundamental question of my own damn argument.” 

“Which is…?” 

“ Why, ” Logan hissed, running both hands through his hair. “Why do people pursue such meaningless tactics of escapism if– if they’re escaping from nothing. That, in turn, makes art nothing. Right?” 

“I don't know, Lo. Maybe that actually means it’s not entirely meaningless then,” Roman hummed idly. 

Logan glowered at Roman, whose face was plastered with a shit-eating grin.

“I just need to get this speech done,” Logan stiltedly said, evening his breath. “If I get any of it done by the end of the month, I can be reassured that I won’t make a complete fool of myself at the university conference.”

“It’s a convention of sad, young nihilists with student debt. Everyone there is a fool.” 

Before Logan could respond, the bells above the front door echoed across the shop. Roman and Logan exchanged frantic looks. Shit. Logan didn’t even realize what time it was.

“Book nook. Now,” he hissed. Luckily, Roman already beat him to it. Roman pressed his hand onto the spine of a nearby book on the shelf. His red magic spread across the surface until his hand could go through the spine. Then, with a small yelp, Roman tumbled into the book and disappeared from Logan’s view. 

“Logan! Hi!” a peppy voice rang out at the same time. Logan spun around on his heel to face the front door and forced a smile. 

“Salutations, Patton,” Logan replied, awkwardly leaning against the shelves. He snuck cautious glances to the book Roman had hid himself in, making sure he was completely out of sight.

“I’m here for a book!” Patton chirped, tipping his hat at Logan. He looked up at the shelves around Logan with a smile. “And I have a feeling you have just the one for me!”

“You come here every week, Patton. You do not have to repeat the same thing, I know what you are here for.” Logan, despite everything that was occurring, found himself smiling warmly at Patton. “Please roam around as you see fit.” 

“I shall!” Patton said, moving past Logan and starting on the opposite end of the shelves Logan was leaning against. Logan’s eyes widened. 

“Um, did you end up finishing the book you bought last week? The one by Elizabeth Gilbert?” Logan blurted out as he moved closer to Patton, his back covering the book he knew Roman was hiding in. Patton looked up at him and smiled.

“Oh! Yes, The Signature of All Things, right? I really enjoyed it! I can’t believe you made me enjoy historical fiction — I’d usually fall asleep a few pages in, but Alma’s life is just so interesting!”

Logan nodded tensely as Patton moved closer to him. He pressed his back against the shelves as if that could further hide Roman. “Truly.”

“And I actually brought you a painting!”

“Oh?”  

“Yeah!” Patton fished through his messenger bag, his hat nearly slipping as his head tilted down to find it. Logan could hear a small thump! muffled behind his back. Logan winced. He hadn’t even considered the conditions of the book nook. While he knew none of them could ever hurt anyone—especially Roman—he definitely knew some were not ideal. 

He tried to quietly grab the book Roman had escaped in, slowly turning around to take it off the shelves while Patton wasn’t looking. 

“Here it is!” Patton exclaimed loudly, animatedly pulling out a rolled piece of paper. Logan jumped at the abrupt action, ducking to the side to avoid getting hit by Patton’s arm. “The book took me longer to read– I didn’t even think I’d finish it within a week– so sorry that the painting is a bit crude!” 

“That is quite alright, Patton,” Logan said, adjusting his tie. “It is a gift that you do not have to keep giving yet...you do. So I appreciate the painting regardless.”

“Of course! Take a look and tell me how you like it!” 

Logan took the paper out of Patton’s hand and unrolled it. 

Sprawled across sketchbook paper was splashes of watercolour making up an array of botanical illustrations. The flowers and plants overlapped each other on the old-yellowed background in a way that didn’t seem too suffocated; each plant had space to breathe. Thin, cursive descriptions sprawled across their stems. It almost felt like a map of some sorts, navigating through each individual aspect of a garden.

“It’s a bit reminiscent of my collagist days,” Patton said with a small giggle. “But I like it! I actually drew a lot of inspiration from the cool sketches of all the plants scattered throughout the book. 

“Evidently,” Logan hummed, smiling at the painting. He looked up at Patton. “It is very nice, Patton. You capture the book’s essence very well here.” 

“Oh, well I know how you feel about the art stuff– but thank you for humouring me, Lo!” Patton giggled. Logan’s smile faltered, but he fought to keep it upright. 

Logan kept observing the painting, idly walking away from the shelf, as if mesmerized by Patton’s work. 

“Ooh, this book looks interesting!” 

Patton’s voice suddenly snapped Logan out of his daze. Roman. 

Logan turned around to see Patton standing in front of the book Roman was in. Instinctually, he shot a small burst of magic at the display table behind Patton, sending books tumbling to the floor with a loud thud!

“Oh!” Patton whirled around at the noise. He gave Logan a sheepish grin. “I must’ve bumped into the table or something! Sorry ‘bout that!” 

“No worries,” Logan said with a tight smile. Patton crouched down to start picking up the books as Logan tucked the painting under his arm, quickly moving to the book Roman was hiding in. He pulled the book out slightly. 

“Roman,” he hissed as quietly as he could. “Get out of there.” 

Almost immediately, Roman hopped out of the book, all his clothes dripping wet. 

“An unfortunate choice,” Roman muttered, shivering. Logan shook his head. 

“You can clean yourself upstairs, just go now– ” 

“There you go!” Patton announced, standing back up in a swift motion that knocked his hat off his head.

Logan watched as Roman, clearly panicked, jumped into the back cover of the book and flattened himself onto its surface. Logan, startled, pulled the book off the shelf and pressed it to his chest, attempting to cover the new picture of Roman on the back cover. 

“Everything’s in its place!” Patton continued, brushing off his hands. His stare flitted over to the book in Logan’s arms. “Oh! That’s the book I was looking at! Do you mind– ?” 

“N-No!” Logan blurted out. Patton frowned at him, and Logan squeezed his eyes shut, clearing his throat. 

“I...I mean, no problem. That would be...no problem at all.” 

“Cool!” 

Patton took the book from Logan, who kept his eyes glued to the frantic 2D-Roman next to the book synopsis. 

“Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë,” Patton read aloud. “Huh! Sounds interesting.” 

“Y-Yes!” Logan slowly reached to grab the book back. “How about I get a bag for y–” 

“Let’s see what this is about!” 

Logan paled as Patton turned the book around, almost in bullet-time. Logan caught a glimpse of Roman’s eyes widening and, horrified, watched as Roman slid his flattened form into the spine of the book, becoming squished within its confines.  

“ ‘The wild, passionate story of intense and almost demonic love between Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff’,” Patton continued to read. “ ‘Brontë captures the evocative, conflicted interplay of nature and culture in her’– wow, ‘masterpiece of English literature’!” 

Patton playfully tossed the book in the air, catching it by its spine. “Sounds like I found a winner!” 

Logan yelped, snatching the book back from Patton, who tilted his head to the side. Logan broke into a sheepish smile. 

“Er, let me check you out!” 

Patton winked. “If you insist!” 

Logan flushed red, hurrying to the cash register. He crouched down behind the counter, lowering the book out of sight and disguising his attempts of freeing Roman as him grabbing a bag for Patton. 

Logan knocked firmly on the spine, sending Roman disappearing through it and into the book. He then opened the book and Roman emerged with a gasp, as if he was swimming in the pages.

“Good Fantasy- Gucci–”

“Shh!” 

“What was that?” Patton asked from above. Logan’s eyes widened as he stuffed Roman in his pocket, despite muffled protests. 

Logan shot back up with a small paper bag and a forced grin. 

“Shhhh-ure is a great day to buy a book!” An unnatural laugh escaped his lips. “That...that is what I said, heh.” 

“Ah, it is!” Patton slid a few bills across the counter and brought the bag to his chest in exchange. “I’m excited for the new book! Sounds good for a rainy day.” 

Logan tensely nodded, feeling his pocket slowly dampen. “Mhm.” 

Patton’s stare floated over to Logan’s open notebook, his smile faltering. 

“Still stuck on your speech, it seems?”

Logan blinked, following Patton’s gaze and sighing. “It appears so, hm?” 

Patton nodded slowly. 

“I know you explained it to me once, but I still don’t really understand your plan for the speech. Wasn’t the prompt supposed to be ‘finding the meaning of art’?” Patton’s stare flitted towards the shelves behind the counter with all of Logan’s various philosophy and aesthetic texts. “Yet you’re tackling what seems to be the opposite and...and I admittedly don’t get it. Just ‘cause it’s for a bunch of art students doesn’t mean it has to be all deep and dreary, heh.” 

Logan shrugged helplessly.

“I just need something new to say,” he mumbled. “You can’t understand art’s meaning without understanding the implied lack thereof.”

“So you’re stuck in the lack thereof?” 

Logan looked up at Patton and frowned at his slightly-amused smile. 

“It’s a lot more complex than that.” 

“Uh-huh.” Patton’s smile felt filled with pity, or perhaps sympathy. “Maybe the solution– just a suggestion– is to go outside? Touch the grass? Find meaning in the world rather than bury your nose in a book?” 

“Ironic,” Logan scoffed, though regretted it instantly. Patton, however, just laughed. 

“Touché.” Patton shrugged. As he was about to leave, he turned his head over his shoulder. “And hey, I’m sorry that I keep pestering you about the speech, heh. It’s just…” 

Patton lowered his gaze, shifting on his heels. In an uncharacteristically hushed tone, he said, “I care about you, Lo. More than you think. I would hate to see you unravel yourself in trying to find the answers and...well, I fear that you already have.” 

“That’s impossible,” Logan mumbled, though averted his gaze from Patton. “If I were to unravel, it would be because the answers ended up in me, in which case I would need to access them." Logan tugged his collar awkwardly. "But...but they are not.” 

Patton rose an eyebrow. "Maybe we both need to get out there then.” 

“ ‘There’? As in...the world?” 

Patton grinned, holding his new book close to his chest. “And all the other ones too.” 

The door closed swiftly, bells chiming in Logan’s ears. Logan heaved a deep sigh of relief as Roman floated out of his pocket, arms-crossed, unamused. 

“We have to be more careful,” Logan muttered. “Who knows what would happen if he figured out about you, about the book nooks, about me… ” 

“Come on, Lo. It’s Patton , we’re talking about.”

“Still.” Logan grimaced at the thought. “He could see everything in the wrong way and I would prefer to keep some things normal around here.”

Roman just nodded, shaking off like a dog. Small drops of water splashed against Logan’s cheek. 

“Soooo….that Patton sure is a character, hm?” Roman eventually asked, looking at Logan coyly. Logan felt his cheeks heat up. 

“That is what you want to focus on?”

“I just think he has a lot to teach you. And it seems as though your heart is telling you the same.” Roman winked. “Maybe it’s time for you to listen.” 

Before Logan could rebuttal, Roman flew up the stairs to clean himself off. Logan shook his head, walking over to the door to close up early. On his way, he nearly slid on something on the floor. He frowned, picking the item in question up. 

Patton’s hat. He must’ve forgotten about it.

Logan stared at the hat for a few seconds. He held it up and then, without really thinking, held it to his chest. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and then opened them to see a blurry view of the world outside his shop doors. 

‘What does it all mean?’ 

Logan sighed, shaking his head as he flipped the door sign to ‘closed’. He stalked back to the counter, sitting back in his chair and tossing the hat to the side. With a flick of his wrist, a small stream of magic shot out of his index finger and landed on a book behind him, lifting it off the shelves. 

He continued to levitate books without turning back, and Logan began to write once more.

—

next chapter > 

[doydoune]

I had the pleasure to work with the fantastic @dramaticsnakes for @ts-storytime 's Big Bang! They wrote an incredible fic about faes and mysteries, so please do yourself a favor and go read it here!

also bonus because I especially loved these two's dynamic

[birdsongisland]

id : the first picture is a chapter cover with the words "camping trip" in a semi circle golden font. the characters are sit in a circle around a campfire, the background is dark trees. roman is playing the guitar and singing, patton and janus join in, remus sings enthusiastically with his head on logan shoulder, virgil makes a comment while holding a stick with a marshmallow. their tents are visible behind them.

the second pictures is a sketchy gallery of portraits from all the characters in the picture above. from top to bottom : roman he/him, looking ahead with curly hair and freckles, pan and trans pins on his jacket. patton they/them, round face, freckles and a tooth gap, pink hair and heart shaped earrings. virgil he/him, purple emo fringe, dark makeup on his eyes and lips, a few ear piercings. remus he/they, smiling wide, sharp teeth, green hair, a few freckles, he/they pronoun pin, rainbow and ace pins on his jacket. janus he/him, looking to the side, he has a burn on half of his face and straight hair falling on the same side. logan he/him, long hair tied in a bun, wearing a flannel over a tshirt./end id

hello, got hired as a pinch hitter for @ts-storytime with @gaylotusthatexists so have an illustration and the headshots i drafted :) also go read the story it's beautifully written and i got attached very quickly! (tho heed the warnings it's still a murder mystery i just only draw fluff)

[crazygreatgamerperson]

It's that time of the year again! @ts-storytime 's big bang!

Go read @atlasistryingherbest 's story, The Mourning Tree:

Roman, feeling betrayed after the events of the wedding, runs away into the only place he feels he's a hero: the Imagination. Unbeknownst to him, two other sides are in pursuit of the wayward Prince in different ways, intent on keeping him sane and bringing him back. Will they be able to do just that, or will Roman stay lost to the light sides forever?

[Reblogs are better than likes! Please reblog!]

[callboxkat]

The Effects of Family Illustrations

This year for the @ts-storytime challenge I had the pleasure of working with @im-an-anxious-wreck​ to illustrate his story, The Effects of Family! Here’s my artwork to go along with it. :)

Make sure to look under the cut for all of the art :)

[streaks-of-lavender]

This year I participated in the 2021 @ts-storytime Big Bang for the first time! I was paired with the incredible @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, making art for his story, Kidding Around! She's an absolutely fantastic writer, highly recommend reading her stuff. I've never made anything like this before, so it was an interesting learning experience, but overall I'm happy with how it turned out. So, here's my first piece for this year's Big Bang challenge!

[lovelylogans]

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

The view in front of Patton is crystalline and beautiful, dark gray rock and snow a blindingly clear shade of white and the ocean, constantly shifting between deep, lovely blue and bottle-green depths; ice, and rock, and the sun glinting off the sea and the snow, so bright that it almost hurts to look at it. 

It’s so lovely that Patton would gladly spend all day looking at it, if not for the deep chill working its way into his bones as if he’s been here for months instead of minutes. Which is kind of confusing, but he doesn’t think his flannel pajamas and bunny slippers probably don’t make the cut of approved winter gear, so that might be it.

And also the part where Patton went to bed in his apartment in Auckland because of his blindingly bad migraine, and he has woken up headache-free in some wintry wasteland. That part’s kind of confusing him, too.

A Sense8 inspired AU for @ts-storytime.

warnings: slice of life, slow burn, kissing, off-screen murder, off-screen violence, threats of violence, mentions of homophobia and transphobia, characters wondering if they’re going crazy, please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairings: logan/virgil, emile picani/remy (sleep)

word count: 26,164

notes: a major, major thank you to @cyan-silver​ for making the art for this piece, which you can find here! i’ve had a pretty good time writing out this little slice of life in a sense8-inspired world; i’m already tempted to double back and revisit the world itself. title is from hozier’s “from eden.” i hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!

prologue: (re)birth emile gives birth to a cluster and gets glances of all of them: a london lawyer, a mexican actor, an african botanist, a polish astronomer turned antarctic researcher, a new zealand kindergarten teacher, and a mexican author on the run. chapter one: qualia a newborn cluster is beset with migraines, feeling strange things that aren’t there a moment later; a large, tattooed man in bunny slippers walks through all of their lives. chapter two: limbic resonance the cluster starts to connect with each other and puzzle out what exactly is happening to them; the astronomer and the botanist connect; the lawyer sees someone strangely familiar in his mirror. chapter three: psycellic consentia brothers reunite; arguments are had; brothers reunite; a lawyer is hired; the astronomer connects to an ancient form of google. chapter four: symbiosis introductions are made; a phenomenally stupid plan goes into motion; a conversation is held at recess; the cluster goes to court. chapter five: obligate mutualism life partners clash; kids learn some odd life lessons; a partnership is severed; tension is resolved. epilogue: polyphony it’s a birthday party!

[incognetomisquito]

Do Us Any Harm [art post]

This year i had the honor of participating in @ts-storytime’s Sanders Sides Big Bang. And I am proud to present my art for the fic “Do Us Any Harm” written by the esteemed @edupunkn00b!!

It was super fun to collaborate with them, and if y’all enjoy sailors, pirates, and historically accurate yet angsty shenanigans, this fic is definitely for you!

Read the fic here [or here for Ao3]

Check out my instagram for additional process videos

[concept art under the cut]

[the-panmixxia]

The Family Album - MasterPost

My submission for @ts-storytime amazing big bang! It's been a fun challenge and I'm glad I took part.

Word Count - 15k

Summary: Set in the 'Logan Accidentally Steals Two (2) Kids', which you can find [here], this series of oneshots both continues and precedes the series

Chapter One - 'Remus'

Chapter Two - 'Virgil'

Chapter Three - 'Book Buddies'

Chapter Four - 'Sickly Snake'

Chapter Five - 'Christmas Time'

A massive Thankyou to the wonderful artist I was assigned

@horsecrazypal76 who not only captured the characters so well, but put up with me of all people =D Find their gorgeous work [here]

Extra shout out to my awesome betas @edupunkn00b and @atlasistryingherbest so much for helping my fic be coherent =w= they're the bread and butter of this operation!

[teacupfulofstarshine]

the first part of my fic for @ts-storytime big bang, where the stars kiss the ocean, is up now on ao3! my assigned artist was @easy-meta-knight, so head on over and check out the fic!

summary: logan and virgil are magical marine biologists working at one of the country's most prestigious aquariums. remus and roman are merpeople who work as performers for the aquarium. logan, virgil, and remus have been pining for each other so long that they're essentially living in their own forest, and everyone can see it except for them. here's hoping they get their act together ...

(OR: a modern-with-magic marine biology!au)

[thesarcasticside]

Anything-$00000DEE

NAME Dylan ID 42 33 77 52 11 ALIENRACE human hybrid (unknown) OCCUPATION computer scientist

Chapter Warnings mind control, illusions, manipulation, death threat, emotional abuse, psychological horror, swearing Chapter Characters Janus, Remus, The Dragon Witch, Virgil (mentioned)

HINT 4: MESSAGE STOP (See AO3 for end of fic notes/comment section for secret message)

AO3 Chapter 1 Previous Chapter end

The curtains—their color and texture analogous to that of verdure scraped across a canvas with a palette knife—were suspended by bronze colored curtain rods. Chips and scratches revealed a true grey metal beneath the metallic paint. Sunlight poked through holes in the fabric like constellations. The glass of the panes was fogged, years of weathering clinging to the transparent wall.

Dee’s real hand clenched, the desire to run his fingers through the texture palpable. He gripped the edge of the curtain, the finished seam like the edge of a dull blade against his palm.

Leaning against the glass, Dee let the coolness creep into his pressed limbs, torso, and forehead—he let the filtered light soak into his skin. Dee took a deep breath, exhaled, and let his eyes wander the room—his room.

A single mattress laid on a bed of wires, the metal columns and springs and screws poking out, ready to scrape his shins. The white sheets were clean, just as if they were bought yesterday, but the quilts and crocheted blankets were worn, their colors desaturated over time, into charcoal browns and dead leaves.

Dee could not remove the image of Remus—without hesitation—lifting boxes of junk out of a spare room, clearing it out, for him.

Knowing that Dee had nowhere else to go.

The hardwood floors and paneling were in good condition despite the scratch marks. The walls were covered in random posters and framed pictures, probably to hide more so than decorate. Strings of warm light were strung across the ceiling and wall at the head of the bed.

Bookshelves covered an entire wall—books that Dee did not care to read, judging by their titles.

It was simple—It could be much more elaborate—the memories of grand halls, filigree, murals, he saw on his missions came to mind. Yet it was million times better than the crisp, perfect white walls, the red carpets, the geometric planter boxes, the red tinted windows…

It hurt—that is what it felt like, that swelling in his chest. Certainly not anything that would make him feel giddy with glee, anything that would bring warmth to his visage, or anything that would make him feel welcomed for once in his goddamn life—It hurt that Remus did not hold it over him.

He could come and go as he pleased.

Dee left the window, and left his room, and Remus was there in the kitchen, making some god-awful abomination that might taste good or kill them both.

Dee walked to an open counter.

The ritual of making coffee was quite relaxing. Dee enjoyed it immensely, carefully measuring and grinding the beans. He stood in the kitchen, waiting, watching the coffee dripping through the hourglass, the aroma meeting his senses.

Remus in the background was loud, clunks and clicks, hardy laughter, shimmying shoulders, traversing the small kitchen with skips. Dee was barely halfway through the coffee making process when Remus turned around, jumped in the air like a cat, just noticing his presence, with a yelp. His eyes widened with glee, amused by the scare.

“Mornin’!”

Dee shot out a sigh with a smile and replied, “morning.”

“Hey, if you want, we can go out shopping today for more stuff for your new room, roomie.” By shopping, Dee figured Remus meant dumpster diving. Though, if he asked, Dee was sure that Remus would be willing to travel somewhere off planet for things.

Problem was, Dee never had any possessions before. He did not know what he needed. It was as if Remus was shoveling piles of stuff into his arms, and Dee was starting to get overwhelmed by his generosity.

“Eh, I’m good. Would rather chill today,” Dee, after all his years under Dei’dra, did not feel like doing anything.

“Alrighty then, I had a dream last night and, in my dream, I came up with the perfect recipe for scrambled eggs. Decided to test that out. You’ll be my first taste-tester—Hey Dee? You alright?”

Dee had stopped moving. The coffee held in his hands crashed to the floor.

Dee tried to blink away the silence pouring into his ears, drowning out Remus. He tried to hear the colors and mismatched filigree of Remus’s cramped kitchen, but there was nothing—but white walls and red carpet and grey floors.

He was alone, in a room, suddenly, like every moment he spent by Remus’ side had been a dream.

He blinked again and Dei’dra was there in front of him. The room was off—the dimensions were too small. He could feel her breath, which stunk of stale coffee and vomit, on his face, as he looked up at her.

He did not let this shake him. He repeated in his mind that Dei’dra was taken care of. That he was in a Junkyard. That this was not real. He spent long enough not feeling real to know the difference.

“Good day, doll. I hope you’ve enjoyed your vacation in the trash heap. Soon enough, I’ll have another mission for you.”

“Go get fucked Dei’dra. You and I both know you’re going to rot in jail for the rest of your sad human life.”

Dei’dra laughed, but there was a tone in there that seemed to acknowledge that as being somewhat true.

“The reality is, you and I are in this together. Forever..” And he felt a pulling sensation in his mind, like ropes against his brain, the friction drawing blood. “I have a plan—just like I always do—and you’re going to follow it.”

“Oh, really?” He scoffed, “How about you make me? Going to override my systems? Make me Project $DEE again? Good fucking luck.”

“Oh… All that research put to waste, disabled by the hands of a fish.” Dei’dra’s face was twisted—at first, she had appeared as he met her, put together and clean, but soon enough the knotted frizzy hairs and crumpled skin begun to fade into view. “Alrighty then, I’ll call you later. Nice knowing you.” She turned around, leaving this strange room of his mind’s own making.

“Rot in hell,” he managed, his throat filling with sand. She turned around, eyes blinking with colors, colors like the device that was now in pieces.

“Oh, before you go, darling. You remember that house plant of mine?” She was talking about Virgil. He was free. He made sure of it. He watched over him, as he healed, as he flew far away from him and her. No longer burdened with the dragon’s horde.

A chilly unease crawled along his back, gripping his shoulders with icy talons.

“You were quite fond of him, weren’t you?”

“What of him?”

He had to play indifferent. He could not get sucked into this trap. Yet he knew he could not hide this from her. He could never hide from Dei’dra.

“I’m going to be blunt; he is as good as dead. I can kill him at a touch of a button.” And then the woman had the nerve to smile and point at the bracelet at her wrist. “I would love to press it—oh, I want to press it, especially after his big betrayal.” Then she pouted, “It’d be a shame if I had a reason to keep him alive.”

“You’re full of bull, and that’s a lot coming from me.”

“You really think that tracker was all that was keeping him here?” Her eyes were red. “That after all these years, I didn’t think to up my security. Upgrade his controller?” She burst out laughing, “Doll, you are a riot!”

“Leave Virgil alone. He’s free. You lost. He won. Die in prison, you bastard.” He found that his voice was cracking, tumbling into silence.

“I won’t.” Dei’dra’s eyes were shining, bright, like an angel. “Unless you cooperate.”

—And in his mind, amidst the sand, a doorway appeared to him. Texture like that of sandstone, he could feel himself run his hands down the door frame. He could read the engravings, like pieces of memories put back together, but not as it was before—like a sculpture instead.

And he was back in the present, Dei’dra fading from view. And he was rumbling, wind blowing through him, sand blasting at his ribcage, ready to burst from his throat. Dei’dra faded from his mind, but she already got what she wanted.

He had to play this game. It was a rematch. He was just at the loading screen. He would bide his time, play along, lie, and wait.

But he would change the rules. The player characters would be different. The mechanics would shift. He would change.

He was on the ground. He lifted his head. Remus was standing over him, semi-crouched, blunt concern on his face, confusion upon his brows. He stood up, dismissed the offered hand. He brushed his coat, took in a breath, and turned to face Remus.

He was not doll.

He was not $DEE.

He was not even Dee.

But he was going to stop her—kill her—whatever he had to—so he could live his life how he wanted—because fuck Dei’dra.

Remus was staring at him, waiting for an explanation.

“Remus, from now on, please call me—"

He was, “—Janus.”

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Bookkeeper – Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Dispossessed

pairings: logan/patton (logicality), roman/virgil (prinxiety) words: 3399 chapter warnings: mild swearing, arguments chapter summary: with one sunrise comes a sunset.

[read on ao3] [masterlist]

< previous chapter

—

For the next couple of days, Logan felt like he was walking on clouds. 

He glowed pretty much anywhere he went, leaving a dainty trail of blue magic dust behind each step. It felt as though the stars themselves were following him. 

Since the night of the movie, Logan and Patton have been inseparable. Each day was a new adventure that not only Logan embarked on, but Patton as well. Together, they pieced together the fragments of Logan’s question — not to the point where he was able to write about any of it (everything he came up with was too annoyingly optimistic with not enough patched holes to make something interesting), but really, he had little time to write much nowadays.

Patton consumed his vision at almost any given moment. When he turned to grab a book off a shelf, Patton was already doing it for him. When he rolled over to the middle of the bed after a restful night, Patton was there, softly snoring beside him. When he blinked, there was Patton, alongside the feeling of blossoming flowers in his stomach. 

And he found himself mere weeks before the university conference, but he couldn’t care less. All that mattered was that he was filled with a feeling — one of butterflies and light and the kind of magic that would flicker in a child’s eye, except now it’s right in front of him. 

On one of the afternoons in particular, Logan found himself flipping in and out of Virgil Aries’ book, idly writing and, soon after, crossing out any progress he made. He wasn’t necessarily stuck—he had many avenues to go down—but he was swarming with so much new knowledge, he didn’t quite know where to start. 

He levitated another book across the room with ease and brought it to him, just as the door opened.

“Heya, Lo!” Patton beamed. Logan felt his shoulders relax as he set the book aside. 

“Hello, dear.” He walked over to Patton and kissed his cheek. “How are you?” 

“Excited to see you!” Patton giggled. “What are you working on?"

Logan’s eyes lit up as he pointed to a few books on the counter, and lifted all of them into the air in a flurry of blue dust. Patton’s eyes went wide with awe as Logan let them circle around their heads, flawlessly flipping through each one and explaining the many ideas he had scrawled on sticky notes, which poked out of each book.

Halfway through his ramble, he heard someone clearing his throat behind one of the books. He frowned, swiping his hand downwards in the air and letting the book dip down in motion. 

Behind the floating book was Roman, arms crossed with a slight frown. Logan smiled sheepishly. 

“Ah! Roman, you’re up.” He quickly made a brushing gesture with his hands, and the books scattered back onto the shelves. “I hope I didn’t wake you, heh.” 

“I just rearranged the books yesterday,” Roman grumbled, but shook his head. “And you didn’t wake me, I sleep as soundly as Aurora herself.” 

Patton laughed, waving at Roman. “Hi!” 

Roman narrowed his eyes at Patton and gave him a tired, but present, smile. 

“Ah, Patton! Hello!” He let out a small yawn. “Just the person I woke up for.” 

Patton tilted his head. Even Logan frowned, equally confused. Roman stared at both of them, deadpanned, and sighed.

“It’s book nook day, remember? You said last week that you’d rather have it today…?”

“Oh!” Patton looked at Logan with a frown. “Oh, shoot, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot about the book nook. I know we had–”

“Do you guys have plans?” Roman cut in, face twisted with disappointment. Logan concealed his wince.

 “No, no, we can always postpone.”

 Patton’s frown deepened. 

“Are you sure? You’ve been looking forward to this opening ever since we booked tickets…” 

“Janus can give us their own tour at a later time.” Logan took Patton’s hand into his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Besides, we may still be able to catch the opening depending on how long you are in the book nook with Roman.” 

“Oh, not long at all!” Patton said, perking back up. Logan grimaced. Roman was steaming red, even without his magic. 

“I sincerely don’t want to interrupt.” 

Logan opened his mouth to protest before Patton’s eyes widened. 

“Hey! I have a nifty idea.” He turned on his heel to face Logan. “How about you come with us?” 

A beat of silence. Logan let the idea, and its implications, settle into his chest. It’s been...years, and it felt even longer than that. The last book nook he had been in...goodness, he didn’t even know what it was, but he knew it was his grandfather’s choice, because his grandfather was still around. 

Even Roman, all hard feelings aside, gave Logan a worried look. 

“I– I’m sure Logan has other things to do, Patton. Right, Lo? Don’t you have any writing to catch up on–” 

“No,” Logan blurted out. Roman and Patton exchanged glances. Logan straightened himself up, clearing his throat and smiling at Patton. “I...I would love to join you both.” 

Patton broke into a wide grin. Logan then looked at Roman, almost searching his face for any semblance of approval. Instead, he was met with a tight, almost bitter smile. 

“That settles it!” Roman clapped his hands together. “Time for an extra special adventure, then! I would never have expected it to be like this, but...well, here we are…” 

Roman flew past bookshelves and searched for possible books. As he did so, Logan felt Patton’s hand find his own. 

“Hey,” Patton murmured. “Are you okay? I’m sorry for kinda jumping the gun a bit there, heh.”

“No, I’m...I’m fine.” 

Patton frowned. “You don’t really have to come with us– I mean, I’d be thrilled, but obviously if you’re not comfortable…” 

“No, no.” Logan brought Patton’s hand to his lips in a soft kiss. “I will be okay with you.” 

Patton nodded, gently resting his head against Logan’s shoulder. Roman levitated a few books onto the front counter. 

“Okay, so we have a few options here.” He juggled each book in the air over his head as he described them. “We got swash-buckling adventures, architectural wonders– ooh, this one’s in a series of books detailing the adventures a guy who solves moral dilemmas in his living room and is helped by the physical manifestations of his personality– it’s lacked new installments as of late, but it’s still fun...” 

“Ah! Wait a moment.” Logan reached over Roman’s head and grabbed one of the books hovering in the air. He brought it closer to the eye's view and smiled. “How about this one?” 

Roman flew to rest on Logan’s shoulder, reading the title aloud. 

“Le Guin’s The Dispossessed. ” He glared at Logan. “Really? Kinda old, isn’t it?” 

“I suppose, though I remember my grandfather reading this one to me sometimes.” Logan turned the cover to read the synopsis. “ ‘An ambiguous utopia’...” 

“It sounds cool!” Patton said, grabbing Logan’s arm and pulling himself closer to Logan’s side. He scanned the synopsis alongside Logan. “All about the future and different planets and stuff– I don’t know if we’ve visited a sci-fi book before!” 

“Hmm, fine. I don’t know what I expected from Sir Geeks-A-Lot, but whatever!” 

Roman motioned for Logan to set the book open on the counter. He floated off of Logan’s shoulder and went to kneel on the pages, pressing his hands on the words below him. Roman looked down. His hands were starting to glow red, but ended up flickering in and out. 

“Come on… ” 

“Everything okay?” Patton asked. Logan looked over at Roman in keen curiosity, but Roman waved him off. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Roman kept his stare glued to the page, muttering to himself, “Maybe I just need a running start…” 

He cleared his throat. 

“ ‘ It was the most beautiful view Shevek had ever seen’, ” Roman read aloud. “ ‘ The tenderness and vitality of the colours, the mixture of rectilinear human design and powerful, profligate natural contours’... ”

Words slowly began to lift into the air and weaved themselves in Roman’s faded, but pulsing, red magic. Logan, almost instinctively, held close to Patton, whose eyes were fixated on the swirling words around them. In the corner of Logan’s vision, he swore he saw a skyline. 

“ ‘The variety and harmony of the elements gave an impression of complex wholeness as he had never seen, except, perhaps, foreshadowed on a small scale in certain serene and thoughtful human faces’. ” 

Roman squeezed his eyes shut and finished his excerpt: “ ‘ This is what a world is supposed to look like’.”

And when Logan blinked, he was no longer in his shop. 

Instead, he found himself standing on a hill overlooking a city skyline, double helixes of what he assumed were roads suspended in the air and circling some spires. A rising sun peeked through the tall building; and a faded, but ever present, moon eclipsed the sky, larger than life and persistent in the morning glow. 

But this city was miles away from where he were. The grassy hill beneath his feet was lush and soft, and swayed gently in the wind. He looked behind him and saw a glimpse of a forest that lined his vision, which was filtered in warm colours; a stark contrast from any city he had ever visited. 

And it was here , all of it. Logan reached his hand out and there it was: air from a different world. He was really here, in the middle of someone’s mind and creation. He was here. 

“Wow,” Patton breathed out beside him. “This is so cool.” 

“Le Guin has been known for her world building, grand and sprawling with rich imagery,” Roman hummed. He flopped on the book and exhaled slowly. “She was quite brilliant. Subverted a lot of typical speculative fiction tropes, especially for her time.” Roman smiled. “And she made these really good muffins…” 

Roman’s words were drowned out by Logan’s mind as he turned around slowly in his place, capturing each landmark in his mind. It was all real. He was really in Urras– Le Guin’s interplanetary utopia– and he was really in her book. 

“Lo?” Patton placed his hand on his shoulder. Logan jolted upon contact. “You’ve been quiet for a while...are you...okay?” 

“I’m...I…” Logan took a deep breath and faced Patton with a shaky smile. In the distance, he swore he could hear the voice of his grandfather lingering in the air and continuing where Roman left off.

“I’m here,” he finally said. “I’m really here.” 

“ Duh .” Roman laughed from where he laid on the book. “I told you, you’ve been missing out.” He smiled smugly. “Still think there’s nothing in books, Specs?” 

Logan shook his head, not answering Roman as he sat down on the grass beside the laid out book. Patton joined him, watching the sun rise over the horizon.

“I can’t believe it was real,” Logan whispered. It was an illogical thing to say– of course book nooks were real– but he hadn’t been truly immersed in one for so long. Their existence barely flickered in the back of his mind. 

“Just enjoy the view,” Roman murmured from beside him. For a moment, Logan thought Roman sounded almost proud – whether in himself or Logan, he couldn’t quite tell. 

They sat there in relative silence for a few moments, only interrupted by Logan conjuring up a sketchpad and a pencil for Patton when inspiration had struck him. But he relished in the quiet, in the whispering winds that carried a story Logan now knew better. He rested his head on Patton’s shoulder and soaked in the company, feeling an absence that was buried deep in his chest become full. 

“And what have you been up to these past few days?” Patton asked, snapping Logan out of his stupor. He hadn’t even realized that Patton and Roman were talking. 

He looked down to see Roman fiddling with his thumbs. 

“Nothing much.” Roman averted his glance from both of them. “I’ve just...done a bit of soul-searching, I guess you can say.” 

Logan furrowed his brow, but said nothing. Patton obliviously nodded along. 

“Right! That sounds fun!” 

“Yeah, heh. Gotta have something else to do other than cleaning the book nooks.” Roman sighed wistfully. “It’s not a bad gig though. Plus, if someone doesn’t visit them for too long, they start to get a bit grey, heh.” 

“Grey?” Patton tilted his head. Logan decidedly tuned into the conversation, intrigued. 

“Not exactly,” Roman said. “They just...well, they lose their soul.” 

Patton gaped. “They what?! ” 

“I don’t know if you ever mentioned this before,” Logan said, looking at Roman. Beside him, Patton mumbled a whole list of books he vowed to visit. 

Roman shrugged. “You never asked. Besides, it rarely happens. Reading the book is usually good enough, but visiting its nook kind of gives its soul a bit more of a kick.” 

“So all books have a soul?” Patton asked, leaning forward. Roman nodded. 

“Yup! Stories are people, and people are stories — and souls keep both alive.” Roman smiled softly, looking up at the skyline. “There are multiple parts that make up a soul, which is why you’re able to open different kinds of book nooks in one book. Some books have souls with fragments of knowledge, fragments of adventure and exploration; there are even some books with a soul so powerful that it could breathe life into its author.” 

“ Wow ,” Patton awed. “So...souls are real.” 

“Of course they are, padré!” Roman flew off Patton’s shoulder and hovered in the air in front of him and Logan. He pressed his hands together until they glowed red and pulled them apart, revealing a lively scene of books opening and letting out pencils and scrolls, airplanes and a solar system, hearts breaking and forming and pulsing with light. 

“A good book has a soul that even those who are blind to magic can sense,” Roman continued, balancing each image in the air before they fizzled out. Roman pressed his hands together. “All I do is enhance them so they become physical manifestations. That’s why I usually only bring out landscapes. There’s very few books that have a soul of life. Not to say most books are bad, it’s just that it takes a lot of passion. And for myself, it takes a lot of energy. So I don’t get to do it very often, heh.” 

Logan perked up. “Is that the aforementioned ‘powerful soul’ then? Passion?” 

Roman nodded. “Mhm. An author can usually write one in their whole lifetime, and sometimes not even that.”

Logan’s mind raced, the new knowledge buzzing in his veins like a flame running down a sparkler.

A visit a day before the nook goes grey. 

A soul so powerful that it could breathe life into its author. 

Books that have a soul of life. 

Passion . You need passion; you need revolutionary, blow-the-people’s-minds-in-ten-years passion. You need someone who has spent all their life wondering and wondering, and then you can–

The gears in Logan’s head stopped turning with a loud click! Logan’s eyes widened. 

“So you can bring back Virgil Aries.” 

A beat of silence.

(A building falls in the distance. No one sees this, but it does, Roman knows it does, it does with a crash and it kills the budding life beneath it, it crashes against xylophone ribcages and reverbreates the sound of a heart shattering again, Roman fucking swore he’d never let his heart drop this far again but it does, it does with a rattling clang, it does with the force of the storms that passed over the home he died in, he died, he died without knowing– he died and came back knowing, but he can’t go back, he just can’t .)

“What are you talking about?” Patton stared at Logan with wide eyes as Logan stood up, pacing back and forth across the hill. 

“I…” Roman blinked, falling to the ground in a clumsier way than usual. For the first time in a long time, Roman looked lost for words. 

“I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Logan continued. “I read Virgil Aries’ book everyday– sure, I don’t ever visit its book nook, sure, but that shouldn’t matter because Virgil Aries’ book is rich with his passion– it was his life’s work.”

“It wasn’t his–”

“Do you know what this means, Patton?” Logan ignored Roman and instead outstretched his hand towards Patton, who took it and hesitantly stood up alongside him. “It means that we can ask him questions — questions that maybe he never got to answer in his life– Patton , I could know everything. ”

“Love, I don’t think–” 

Logan pulled away from Patton and knelt on the ground in front of Roman. 

“Roman, please , we have to try.”

“I– I can’t just do this for some speech , Logan–” 

“This goes beyond just ‘some speech’, Roman. I– I could publish this, I could finish Virgil Aries’ work– with his permission of course, just– just imagine what we could learn from him if we just had a moment of his time. ” 

Logan felt himself vibrate with energy, catching a glimpse of his hands glowing blue in the reflection of Roman’s irises. Roman stumbled back, almost horrified, and turned away from Logan, shaking his head.

“The world can do without a couple of sad saps running around and placing seeds of doubt in people who are just trying to get by,” Roman said, bitterness dripping from his voice. 

Logan gritted his teeth. 

“Okay, Roman. Say nothing happens to my work. Say it goes nowhere. What if I just want to talk to him? Is that really so important to admit? What if I just want to talk to the person who built the foundation of my thinking. If you have the resources and energy you need to do this for me, why can’t you?”

“It’s more complicated than that, Logan–” 

Patton reached out for Logan. “Lo, I think you should just–” 

“I don’t understand, Roman.” A flash of blue darted across his vision. “All you do is open books and– and I don’t know, clean them?! I don’t understand how you can’t just do this one thing– just one thing for me–”

“I do a lot for you!” Roman snapped. Logan froze. 

Behind Roman, Logan swore a piece of the sky fell down onto earth. 

“I do a lot for you, Logan,” Roman hissed again. Logan heard the ground crack beneath him. “I force myself to sit down and listen to you go on and on about a question that goes against the very foundation of my being, yet I support you. I support you through and through, even if I know you know the answer. And I force myself to watch you use some– some stupid philosopher to guide your every purpose in such a small, short life– you don’t even know this person, how could you let them run your fucking life?!”

And suddenly, Logan heard the sound of buildings crashing. He tore his gaze off Roman to see the skyline crumble from miles away, then turned around on his heel to see the forests sinking down into the earth. He felt Patton grab his arm with a yelp, and then in the blink of an eye–

 … 

Logan jolted forward, crashing into a display table and falling onto the ground. Books tumbled down around him, crashing like the pieces of the sky that once filled his vision. 

“Lo? Logan, oh my gosh, are you–” 

Logan blinked, rubbing his head and adjusting his glasses. Replacing the skyline were shelves, and he was on wooden floors, not grassy hills. 

He was back in the shop, and everything was gone , just like that.

He looked up and saw the blurry image of Patton sticking out his hand towards Logan. He shakily took it and pulled himself up. 

“Where did– what–” 

Before Logan could finish, his eyes landed on the shelves behind the front counter. In one second, he saw a blur of red move behind the wooden shelves. He swore the red glared back at him. And in the next second, it was gone.

—

next chapter > 

[doydoune]

And here's my entry for the Big Bang project by @ts-storytime ! I had the pleasure to illustrate @thesheriffssecretpolice 's fantastic fic, you can find it here or here on AO3

If you enjoy urban fantasy, time travelling stuff and endless mysteries please go read it asap I swear you won't be disappointed

[gaylotusthatexists]

did you lose yourself? (it’s always in the last place that you’d check)

When Janus first moves to this new town, making the first new friends he’s had in years, he doesn’t know what this means, how this affects him, why he should even care. But as he grows closer to the people around him and finds out more and more about the past, he finds himself caught up in something much larger.

Wandering through the woods, camping under the stars, whispers in the hallways, people staring when they think he isn’t looking, more teens going missing by the week.

And a mystery in this small town. A mystery that has yet to unfold.

pairings: platonic anxceit (could be viewed as a qpr if you wish) with remile and intrulogical in the background

word count: 45039

trigger warnings: past/off-screen major character death, discussions of death in general, disturbing imagery, blood, injury, past bullying, kidnapping, hospitals (very briefly at the end), implied/referenced child abuse (nothing in detail), alcohol consumption/underaged drinking, please let me know if i need to add anything else

this is my entry for the @ts-storytime 2021 big bang!!!! this was so much fun to write (though incredibly difficult considering some of the subject matters, the fact that i had to do my a-levels this year so a whole lot of studying outside of writing, and my steadily decreasing interest in sanders sides, but i got through it and here we are lol), very excited to finally share this with y’all <3

you can find some amazing art drawn by @birdsongisland for this fic here, it’s honestly beautiful i’m still in awe of it

the fic is available to read here on ao3, i hope y’all enjoy <3