tagging it even if it's not

“The Courtesan”

Ugh. I adore John Laurens’s design as much as Alexander honestly. Both are freaking amazing. I wanted to draw him, naturally, though I admit I kinda made him too feminine? ;v; welp. What’s done is done!

Of course, this follows the wonderful perfume AU created by @reshille and @tiashipyon. :)

anonymous asked:

So I had this dream where I was a part of the PT and we were fighting this Shadow that could brainwash. They brainwashed me and I started attacking the PT until their words finally reached me and broke the Shadow's hold. So, my request is the Phantom Thieves getting brainwashed and attack their S/O until the voice of their S/O breaks the spell. Bonus points if that's how they confess their love! You know, the cliche "I know you're in there and I love you, so please come back to me." kinda thing?

When in doubt, angst cliche your way out. I gave a few of them some twists, so I hope that’s all right with you! Thank you for the request, enjoy!

Keep reading


the honors zoology-inspired fic that no one asked for

Warnings: OCD, heavily described food, fighting? let me know if there’s any more

Words: 3850 (22000 characters tho which is 10/10)

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - A supporting structure secreted by ectoderm or epidermis; external, not enveloped by living tissue, as opposed to endoskeleton.

    Exoskeletons were one of the major turning points in evolution, following the development of annelid cuticles and allowing an external shell to protect the animal from harm. The Cambrian Explosion, some 550 million odd years ago, gave rise to arthropods with such a feature. Ever since, smaller advancements have been made, varying from one species to another.

    “Hey, Logan? You want some food?” Patton interjects at Logan’s door, tearing his focus away from the laptop.

    “You know as well as I do that we do not require food,” Logan replies. Nevertheless, he puts the screen to sleep, rises from his desk chair, and follows Patton to the kitchen. It really doesn’t make any sense for the sides to have a kitchen in the mind palace, yet here it was, as Roman couldn’t deny Patton any last request. Ridiculous in every sense of the word. Logan straightens his tie in the hall, watching Patton disappear around the corner. Just as ridiculous to have a kitchen in the first place as it was to think that the sides, figments of Thomas’ imagination, required any real sustenance. Of course, he’d been online before. He’d seen the jokes, about him eating books, about Patton eating candy hearts, all of that manner of intelligence. But that’s all they were, really, just jokes from people he didn’t know.

    “Okay, so I know Thomas was gonna take a vegetarian cooking class to surprise Talyn, so I thought I’d do a little structural support from the inside to get him going,” Patton says. Logan slides into his little wooden chair at the little wooden table, not looking at the little wooden smile on Virgil’s little wooden face. “Ta-da!” Patton twirls around from the stove with a flourish of his free arm, the other raising a platter of fake meat things in the air. As the tray is set in the middle of the table with the air of a famous chef in front of a king, Patton takes his seat one spot counterclockwise of Logan, across from Virgil.

    “Pat, I never even conjured any ingredients for this,” Roman says, furrowing his brow at the mountain of food in front of him.

    “I know!” Patton bounces excitedly in his seat. “I found this recipe for using vegetables and stuff that we already had from last time I made dinner, and I got to use them to make something different! Isn’t that so cool?”

    “It’s great, Pat,” Virgil concedes, stretching a sleeve-covered hand out to grab something vaguely burger-like.

    “That it is, Panic at the Dork-sco,” Roman smiles.

    “Not your best. Four out of ten,” Virgil says, tearing off a piece of his not-burger. Logan reaches a hesitant hand out for one of the nugget-things, wrinkling a disgusted nose at the crumbly texture, the bread sticking to his fingers.

    “Oh, the veggie nuggets! I had one of these when I was making them, they’re so good!” Patton gushes, popping one in his mouth. Logan steels himself, swallowing a gag reflex, and takes a hesitant bite. Disgust washes over his soul as he holds the piece under his tongue, desperate to avoid tasting it. He needs to eat it, just swallow the darn thing and move on like everyone else, but he can’t. Just moving the chunk to his molars, he feels the artificial taste squelching out through his mouth. The ghost of a wince crosses his face as he forces the thing down his throat, every impulse fighting it.

    “Tasty, right?” Patton asks cheerfully, eating two pieces at once. Logan offers a nearly imperceptible nod, trying not to look at the remain two thirds of nugget in his hand. He can still taste the last bite on his teeth, the ghost of the crumbs sticking to his gums. The next bite is supposed to go faster, be easier, but no, two thirds of a nugget at once is terrible, latching onto would-be cavities and in his throat and to his stomach, where it sits like a stone.

    “You know what? I’m not hungry,” Logan says, drawing the cloth napkin from his lap and wiping it over his lips. “I’m going back to my room.”

    “Lo, you say that every night,” Roman whines. “We know that we don’t eat food, but this is the fun part of being part of Thomas! We get to do human things!”

    “Yeah, no thanks.” Logan pushes his chair back and heads for his room, still feeling the horrible substance forcing its way through his system. He downs one of some fifty water bottles in his room, trying to wash the remainder of the food away. In his haste to calm down, he didn’t close his door on time, which is never a good thing.

    “Why doesn’t he just pretend he enjoys it?” Roman’s voice drifts down the hall, garbled through whatever non-meat thing he happens to be eating. “Pretend like he actually likes us for once, I don’t know.”

    “Roman, it’s fine. Food just isn’t his thing,” Patton responds. Logan licks his lips, feeling the residing taste there. Even a forceful wiping of his bare hands isn’t enough to get rid of it.

    “He’s just so weird sometimes. Why can’t he just be normal or something?” Roman again. No input from Virgil. Not even a word, let alone one to defend him. Logan shuts the door softly, furrowing his eyebrows. They aren’t human, their words shouldn’t hurt him. If he just rebuilds the walls around the heart he doesn’t have, he’ll be fine. Not like his feelings are real, anyway.


Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - Derived from the annelid cuticle but hardened by addition of chitin and sometimes calcium to be tough, chemically resistant, and waterproof, with proteins for flexibility and chitin for strength.

    Logan scowls at the bright screen of his laptop as he hunches over it on the couch. Just a few more paragraphs, a little more research, and he can have this project finished for Thomas before it becomes a problem. As long as no one else has to lose sleep over it, Logan doesn’t mind the rapidly forming bags of exhaustion under his eyes. Thomas is happy, and that’s all that matters. That’s the only reason the sides exist, is to help him.

    “What’re you still doing up?” Virgil asks, shifting from under a blanket on the other couch. To tell the truth, he’d been there the entire night, shivering away when Logan had come in, laptop in one hand, stacks of notebook paper and pens in the other. Rather than wake the hoodie-clad side, Logan tossed a blanket over him before sitting on the adjacent couch and getting to work. Sure, he could’ve done just as much in his room, but with the sounds of Roman living out his dreams in his sleep across the hall? Not so much.

    “Working.” Logan continues maneuvering his fingers over the trackpad with one hand, scribbling furiously on lined paper with the other.

    “On what? There’s nothing big due yet, Thomas said so himself when we were setting up the last video.” Virgil’s voice is slow as he struggles to pick it up, sleep trying to pull him back down into oblivion. Logan doesn’t let his eyes drift to the hair poking out of the blanket, or to the tired eyes illuminated by the glow of the computer screen.

    “Getting ahead. Project’s due in a few weeks, but he wants to do another three videos in that time frame, too. Need to be prepared.” Logan fights the rising yawn in his chest, determined not to show how much of a toll the work has taken on him. He isn’t real, anyway, so the physical and mental effects aren’t real, either.

    “You should’ve told us, we would’ve helped you,” Virgil mumbles. His phone screen lights up the room a little more as he thumbs his way through tumblr.

    “It’s fine. You three need sleep anyway.” Virgil’s protests die out as sleep takes him once more, his phone dropping to the carpet. Vindicated, Logan returns to his work with a vengeance. He had hoped at the beginning that a few paragraphs would be easy, but then paragraphs turned to pages, and pages turned to sleep he wouldn’t get back. He didn’t need it.

    “Logan, you need to go to bed,” Patton announces, parading into the living room an hour or so later. Logan jolts awake, his eyes dry and his vision blurry. Glasses gone, computer dead, and a pretty line scribbled through his last page of notes. Awesome. “I have your glasses and your computer charger, now go get some sleep or you don’t get them back.” Logan scowls in the general direction of Patton’s voice, trying to glean some semblance of coherence from his writing. Nothing.

    “Patton, just give me the glasses back.”

    “Not until you get rest.”

    “Patton. Now.”

    “No! I’m not going to, and you can’t make me!”

    “Hey, what’s going on here?” Roman’s voice interjects. “Logan, where are your glasses?”

    “He took them.” Logan points roughly where he thinks Patton is standing. Everything is just a blob of color.

    “Virgil took your glasses?”

    “No, Patton did. Make him give them back, please.” A minor scuffle sounds, made all the more infuriating in that Logan can’t see what’s going on, before Roman speaks again.

    “Patton, why don’t you explain why you confiscated Logan’s glasses?”

    “Because he refuses to take care of himself! I’m just trying to look out for him.”

    “There’s nothing to look out for!” Logan shoots back, letting his temper flare up. “I’m perfectly fine, and none of you seem any worse for it, so why can’t you leave it alone?” When none of the others respond, Logan huffs out a sigh, ignoring the papers that scatter as he stands. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.” He heads for his room, shouldering past the featureless blobs standing in his way as he goes.

    The door slams shut behind him, an echoing bang that consumes his mind, but not before he can hear the last little comment from a voice he can’t distinguish. “We’re just trying to help. Why is he being such a freak about it?” Logan sets about rebuilding the imaginary walls surrounding his imaginary heart. Each brick shatters as soon as it’s laid.


Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - A protective outer shell that can withstand more force than the human skeleton.

    “This is gonna be great!” Thomas squeals as he shuts off the camera. “This video is gonna be so awesome, I can’t wait to post it! Just gotta edit it a little and we’ll be good to go!”

    “Thomas, you need ample rest before you can set about working on this project,” Logan informs him. A collective groan rises around the room.

    “Can’t you let him do what he wants? Killjoy,” Roman mutters, sinking out to wherever it is he goes to sulk about Logan.

    “Really, Logan, you’re the last person to be ragging on Thomas about sleep,” Patton tuts, shaking his head. He sinks out, quickly followed by a silent Virgil, leaving Logan alone with a baffled Thomas.

    “What was that about?”

    “You know that big research project?”

    “Yeah, I knocked that out really fast. It was so easy!”

    “That’s because I stayed up for a long night doing the harder work beforehand, so you’d know what you were doing when the time came for you to finish it.”

    “So that’s how your work impacts mine.” Thomas nods thoughtfully. “I guess it makes sense why they were telling you to get sleep, though. That can’t be healthy for you, staying up so much.”

    “It doesn’t matter. I’m not real, anyway.” Logan takes a long breath, forcing back a yawn as Thomas looks on in concern.

    “What do you mean by that?”

    “What is this, an interrogation?” Logan pinches his nose. “You imagined us. Me, Roman, Virgil, Patton. You made us up. We aren’t real. We’re figments of your imagination that you keep around because you feel bad about your own miserable life. If you would get over yourself and your never ending parade of problems, none of us would have a reason to exist. As it stands, we only remain to groom your ego. Figure out your own life, and we’ll be gone. If our existence depends on someone else’s state of mind, then we. Are. Not. Real.” Ignoring the look of shock and hurt on Thomas’ face, Logan sinks out. The yawn on his face looks like a scream.


Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - the external skeleton that supports and protects an animal’s body, in contrast to the internal skeleton (endoskeleton) of, for example, a human.

    “You really didn’t need to hurt Thomas like that,” Roman accuses the next morning, barging in on Logan as he sips at his coffee, scrolling through his computer. “Patton’s in his room and he won’t come out, and it’s all your fault. He’s Thomas’ heart, you should know that. Logical side, remember?”

    “So you, being the creative side, should be able to think of a reason for what I said, yes?” Logan clunks his cup on the table, not flinching at the arc of stray drops that scald his hand. “Or maybe you could craft some magical world in which I do what everyone wants me to, but here I am, the only side that bothers to give any thought to my actions. Patton can stay by himself, but he knows that it’s better to be with others. It’s not my fault he’s locked himself away.”

    “For someone who’s supposed to be smart, you’re really stupid.” Roman scowls, folding his arms. “You need to consider how others feel.”

    “I’ve said it before, I will say it again. I’m not going to protect the nonexistent feelings of nonexistent people. If you would just listen to me for once, maybe you’d know that.”

    “Don’t you care that what you say hurts the rest of us?” Roman’s face crumples as Logan glares back. “Don’t you feel bad?”

    “I don’t feel anything, Creativity. So you can go tell Morality and Anxiety as much, because I do not care.” Logan slams his laptop shut, not caring about the danger to the screen, and rams his shoulder into Roman’s as he passes him.

    “Fine! Run to your room again, see if I care!” Roman drops himself into a chair, shouting at Logan’s retreating back. “Actually, you know what? I do care! Because I’m a good person who knows that other people have feelings!”

    “Is that so?” Logan asks, stopping in his tracks. A cruel smile spreads across his face as he turns his head back to sneer at Roman. “Then would you care to explain why you were so cruel to Virgil before? Or was he just not a person until it was convenient for you?” A sharp gasp is what makes Logan lose his composure, turning back toward his bedroom door. Virgil steps out of the shadows from down the hall, his face expressionless.

    “Maybe you should take some alone time.” His voice wavers between octaves, contrasting the utter lack of emotion in the rest of his face. Logan feels the imaginary walls around his imaginary heart threatening to shatter.

    “I’m sure you’d know so much about that, wouldn’t you?” Logan cocks his head to the side, considering Virgil’s still form. “Given how alone you were before Thomas decided you were worth listening to. Too bad it took getting rid of you a second time for you to stick around.” Virgil’s jaw twitches, water threatening to leak from his eyes, Roman running to his side, but Logan doesn’t see any of it, slamming his door shut behind him.

    The imaginary walls go back up, busily rebuilding themselves harder, stronger, better. Steeled against the soft sobs in the hall. The walls stand taller than before.


Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - Exoskeletons contain rigid and resistant components that fulfill a set of functional roles including protection, excretion, sensing, support, feeding and acting as a barrier against desiccation in terrestrial organisms.

    It’s been weeks. Nothing has changed, except for Logan’s habits involving the other three. Hide out in his room, sneak to the kitchen for food, and ignore any calls for help or interaction. Basically what Virgil does, but productive. Granted, his eye bags of sleeplessness are far more pronounced than the anxious side’s, and his fingers tremble when he writes, but he’s fine. He’s getting things done. He’s making himself useful, when his opinions are what put the others off from him. He’s just being realistic. He’s just telling the truth. It isn’t his fault that they can’t accept their own nonexistent mortality.

    “Hiding away from us won’t fix your problems,” Roman calls through the door. A daily occurrence at this point, and one Logan has learned to ignore. Just like always. The computer screen swims before his eyes, letters dripping into incoherent nonsense, towers of paragraphs wobbling back and forth, ready to fall off into the white oblivion of the internet. He glances at his fingers, can’t make his eyes focus, blinking too much, can’t see anything. He doesn’t remember putting his hand over there. He doesn’t remember crashing off of his chair. He doesn’t hear the shouts of concern from the hall. He doesn’t hear the replies to ignore him.

    His fingers twitch over the carpet, scratching the fibers. Can’t feel anything. Shouldn’t have expected to, anyway. Not real, can’t feel, no big deal. His mind feels like an overturned bucket in a rainstorm, pounded by a million thoughts it can’t retain. He wants to scream, but he’s not real, so why bother trying? He lets his eyes bounce across the floor, at the coffee cup on the ground. He doesn’t remember knocking it over. He doesn’t remember its burning contents pouring over his bare feet. He watches with morbid fascination as his skin roasts, turning bright pink. He feels nothing.

    “Logan, you really should come out,” Patton says with a knock. Cotton stuff itself in Logan’s mouth, preventing any words from escaping. Can’t respond. Why bother, anyway, if this interaction isn’t real? Nothing is real. He can’t feel anything, so why bother? “If you don’t give me a verbal answer, I’m going to come in.” Honey sludges through Logan’s head, mucking up the gears and blocking any sense of reason. He watches the coffee drip, drip, drip over his foot. The door clicks open.

    “Logan, are you—Lo, what happened?” Patton darts to Logan’s side, grabbing his hand. Logan doesn’t feel it. Patton pulls at his hair, looking at the rugburns on Logan’s cheek. He doesn’t feel them. “Lo, your coffee’s everywhere. Why didn’t you ask for help?” Logan can’t even muster the energy to blink. “Roman! Get in here!” The sound of trudging feet screams in Logan’s ears, the sound of an unwilling prince, ready to assist. “Get his arm, he’s not moving.” Through some form of teamwork that Logan doesn’t move his head to watch, his arms are raised and he’s dragged down the hall to the common area, where his limp body is deposited on the couch. He doesn’t feel the way his ankle twists under him, ready to snap.

    “Is he okay?” Virgil asks from the other couch, pocketing his phone.

    “A little brain dead, but what else is new?” Roman scoffs. Logan doesn’t care enough to think of a witty response. He doesn’t care at all.

    “Roman!” Patton hisses. “He needs food or water or something, I don’t know. We can’t leave him alone anymore, that’s for sure.” A whispered scream escapes Logan. No food, please God no. The others don’t hear it, busying themselves finding sustenance for someone who would rather wither away in solitude. Logan finds some kernel of energy deep down, whipping himself off the couch and onto the floor. His head smacks the edge of the coffee table on the way down, the world spiraling into dark. Better than this artificial hellscape the others think is reality. Why can’t they just listen to reason?


Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - Since exoskeletons are rigid, they present some limits to growth.

    He wakes up back on the couch, covered with a weighted blanket, glasses at an angle on his face. The other three are squeezed onto the smaller couch, watching the television. Roman is the first to notice Logan shift, nudging the other two.

    “Lo, are you okay?” Patton asks, leaping up from the couch. “We came back with food and you were on the ground and—”

    “I’m fine.” Logan waves a hand flippantly. “Not real, therefore don’t get hurt.” He rises on unsteady feet, ignoring the way his sight goes fuzzy. Patton runs to block Logan before he can get past the staircase, a hand held up to emphasize it.

    “Regardless of how imaginary you may think we are, we still care about you. We want you to be safe.” When Logan doesn’t respond, instead staring at the ground, Patton advances, arms outstretched for a hug. Wrong move, as Logan notices a split second before impact.

    “Get off me!” Logan shouts, shoving Patton away. The latter stumbles backwards, his back slamming into the guards around the stairs, the railing digging into his back as he sinks to the ground, a look of hurt in his eyes.

    “Logan, we just wanted to help. If you would just listen—”

    “I don’t want to hear it, okay? I have work to do, and you three keep interrupting it with your nonsense!”

    “Logan, I think you need to calm down.” Roman moves to kneel by Patton, a hand raised in defense.

    “Calm down? I need to calm down? That’s rich, Roman, really. I, the logical side to Thomas, as well as a non-corporeal being, need to calm down. But wait, I don’t, do I? Because I’m not real.” Logan can see the emotions racing through the three in front of him, Virgil’s terror, Patton’s disappointment, Roman’s flaring hatred.

    “Not real, huh?” Roman rises, leaving Virgil with Patton. “What we’re feeling right now isn’t real. Okay. Sure. Makes sense.”

    “Just stop it, stop it both of you. Please.” Patton wavers his focus between the two, desperate to keep the situation from escalating.

    “None of it’s real.” Logan crosses his arms, not backing down.

    “You may not think it’s real, but what you’re feeling is,” Patton insists. “Let us help. Please.”

    “Your help isn’t real, either, Morality.”

    “How about this?” Roman punches Logan square in the nose, sending him crashing to the floor. “Was that real enough for you?” Roman takes Patton’s wrist in one hand, Virgil’s in the other, and marches down the hall, leaving Logan alone to rebuild his imaginary walls by his imaginary self.

    The imaginary walls are not made of chitin or cartilage or calcium carbonate this time.

    The imaginary walls are made of steel and diamond and graphene.

    They do not break this time.

Tag List:

@sakurahayasaki @erlenmeyertrash @lemonpepperpizza @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @milomeepit @leesacrakon @virgilmood @pantasticpanini

OK i am so tired of people saying everyone loves timmy because he played a white guy in a gay relationship and he’s just someone for cis white girls to fawn over. i can only speak for myself, but i adore timothée because of who he is as a person. do you know how many interviews i’ve watched of his? a lot (don’t @ me, i’ve got a lot of free time). he has this way that he carries himself and speaks. you can just tell he’s such a genuine person that is really humbled by the attention he’s getting. he’s just a regular kid that still gets starstruck whenever he see’s other actors at events that HE’S nominated for. he blushes and looks at his feet when people call him handsome (see both his ellen appearance and when neil patrick harris interviewed him). hell, he dabbed on jimmy fallons show and nervously laughed and said “i don’t know why i just did that”.

anyways, timothée chalamet has a bright soul that makes me and a lot of people happy. i adore him not for the role he played, but because of the life he exudes.

(ps- if you’re heated about this post, please please don’t interact. i’m super soft and i don’t deal well with conflict. just keep scrolling, my dear)

“all I wanted to do when I was                                                                 a kid was get dropped off at a                                                          radio station—- one of the ones I                                                           listened to and watch how the                                                                              shows worked.”

                       reblog → follow→ tune in every FRIDAYS, SATURDAYS, AND SUNDAYS!                                                                        

I love these talented boys so much!