#Actual DA fic

[sunsetsandsunshine]

AHHH I'm so happy youre back to writing! I felt like the Rottmnt tickle community was dying there.

Been dying for a lee! Mikey Ler! Big bros fic.

~ 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗… ~

❤️💜🐢💙🧡 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: 𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 ❤️💜🐢💙🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙾𝙷 𝙼𝚈 𝙶𝙾𝚂𝙷, 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽 🥲💔⁉️ 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝙺𝙴 𝙼𝚈 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝙸 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂??? 𝙰𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝙸’𝙼 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚖𝚗𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚖𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎…𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝🩷💝💕˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟸,𝟼𝟹𝟸

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛’s: 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️, 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙻𝚎𝚘 🐢💙

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 (𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚘’𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚊). 𝙱𝚞𝚝…𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝…

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚈'𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕. 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!) 

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @shut-up-jo @veryblushyswitch @someone1348 @pocky-dragon

@danineedshelp @jamiesgotchu @saturnzskyzz @savemeafruitjuice

@my-l0v3r-v3rse @mythica0 @titters-and-tingles

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝙲!!! 𝙵𝙸𝙲 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶!!! 

𝚃𝚆: 𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐/‘𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐’ 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙶𝚎𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊 (😵)!!! 𝙸𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚢…𝙸 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 😅…

𝙰𝙻𝚂𝙾 𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚅𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙾 𝙱𝙴𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝙲 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙼𝙴 𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝚄𝚈𝚂 𝙸’𝙼 𝙳𝙾𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰 𝙵𝙰𝚅𝙾𝚄𝚁

𝚂𝙺𝙸𝙿 𝚃𝙾 𝟶:𝟷𝟿– 𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙵𝚄𝙽𝙽𝚈 🕺🏾✨ 

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“MOVE YOU’RE HIPS, MIKEY!!!” Donnie yelled at his orange cladded younger brother. 

“I’M TRYING!!!” The box turtle yelled back, “DOES IT LOOK LIKE I’M SHAKIRA?!”

“WELL, YOU’RE HIPS DEFINITELY DO LIE BECAUSE I SEE NO FUCKING MOVEMENT!” The elder yelled in return which earned a loud snort of amusement from Leo in the peanut gallery; the slider enjoying the chaos and banter between Mikey and Donnie. 

It was a nice Saturday evening and the four brother’s spent the day just…casually hanging out, for no exact reason in particular. The brother’s just truly wanted to chill (for today…).

They did karaoke, binged movies, and y’know…just chilled. That’s what Summer was about: relaxation. 

Well…they were relaxed.

Until their nerdy scientist brother found a TikTok video that he quote on quote ‘Had to learn to get with the trendy trends for his likey likes.’

His words, not mine.

And so, he dragged Mikey into it because the dance required about two people (and Donnie wasn’t trying to make it seem like he was lonely). But sadly and not surprisingly, the young scientist has been trying to teach the youngest the choreography for about…3 hours.

3 hours. 

Let that sit with you for a second. Let that marinate. 

And let’s just say…Donnie’s patience wasn’t exactly the best. Especially when it came to dance. Plus, this dance wasn’t even hard! All that was required to do was move your hips and do dramatic hand movements like some stereotypical blonde ordering an overcomplicated Starbucks order!

In conclusion: not hard at all! 

And Donnie knew he wasn’t raised with a piece of cardboard! Mikey knew how to dance…!

…To an extent, anyway…

“It’s not my fault I’m stiff!” The youngest whined which only caused the second oldest to simply scoff, rolling his eyes with sass, “Well it’s gotta be someone’s fault.”

“It’s probably Draxum’s.” The slider suggested. 

“I concur. It is probably Draxum’s fault.” Donnie agreed, “Anyway, stiff or not stiff, I need you to learn how to do this dance.” The box turtle groaned again at the comment, “Why me though? Why can’t you just do it with Leo or something???”

“Me and Leo already learned the dance!” The softshell huffed proudly, “We learned, practiced and recorded it all yesterday.” 

“Twin type shit.” The second youngest added on, sending Donnie finger-guns. 

“Twin type shit.” The purple loving turtle amusedly agreed, not doing the same hand movement but just doing an awkward thumbs up which Leo couldn’t help but giggle to. 

Raph, who was sitting next to Leo on the couch scratched the top of his head a bit, pondering slightly. “Why don’t you try doing a different dance?” The eldest suggested, “Y'know…maybe one that doesn’trequire so much hip movement…?”

“Like The TikTok Rizz Party dance!” Leonardo happily suggested, standing up excitedly which only earned hard glares from all of his brothers. The second youngest rolled his eyes at the looks, putting a hand on his hip, “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You gotta admit: it’s simple to learn.”

“It’s not a dance— it’s a freaking demon ritual.” The snapping turtle deadpanned. 

“Same difference...” Leonardo huffed, sitting back down next to his older brother. Raph sighed impatiently, rubbing his temples like a single Mom that worked two jobs (sorry not sorry for that reference), “I’m too young for all of this bullshit…”

“Raph!” The youngest suddenly wailed, “Aren’t I moving my hips???” Mikey whined impatiently, demonstrating the dance which got a small stifled giggle from Leo. The leader in blue got up, covering his mouth to try and stop himself from laughing as he went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

The eldest turtle grimaced, trying to hold back his laughter as well, “You’re…You’re moving something…” 

“He’s moving his fucking chest and shoulders…” Donnie explained, “Which are nowhere near your hips.” 

“Again: The Tik Tok Rizz Party is still an option.” Leonardo happily said as he went back to the lounge area and started to do the quote on quote ‘Tik Tok Rizz Party’ dance. The purple loving teen inwardly cringed as he watched his slightly younger brother’s antics, sighing sadly as he covered his face. 

Of all the individuals he had to be twins with…

“Sit your hyperactive ADHD ass down.” Raph demanded as he grabbed Leo’s shell with his hand, forcing him to sit back down.

“Anyways. Angel, I want you to move with your hips!” The softshell emphasized again, going behind Mikey and squeezing his hips to demonstrate how and when the youngest was supposed to move them (since the box turtle was apparently having an issue separating his chest from his hips).

Y'know, stiff people problems. Something Donnie couldn’t possibly relate to nor understand. 

“EEP-!!!”The youngest suddenly squealed, his face morphing to one of giddy panic, “D-Deehee! Noho stahahap!”

“I am helping you with your atrocious dancing, you buffon! Now stay still!” The second oldest huffed, squeezing the shortest turtle’s hips again. 

“You’re 'helping' tihihickles!” Mikey complained, holding onto his scientist brother’s wrists in a small attempt to stop him. Which didn’t…obviously. But it was worth a shot. An A for effort some might call it. 

Donnie tried to stifle his giggles, raising a confused brow, “Oho, my helping tickles, now does it? How is that even possible, my dear younger brother?” 

“Wahait w-wahahait dohohon’t— *squeal* nahahaha!” Mikey laughed, throwing his head back on Donnie’s shoulder as his knees gave out, trying to retreat unto the floor but his older brother only followed him as he did so.

“Don’t? Don’t what~?” The second oldest turtle asked incocently, scribbling his fingers against the other’s sides. The box turtle curled in on himself on the carpeted floor, kicking his legs back and forth. 

Donnie snickered, “Dude, I’m genuinely asking! What do you mean 'don’t'~?” 

Michelangelo just hugged his middles as he squirmed and screeched, giggling his small little heart out as his older brother tickled him. The young scientist sighed dramatically, sitting on the youngest’s legs as he stopped tickling him for a moment. 

“Hey, guys?” Donatello said as he turned to the red and blue duo sitting on the couch, “I miiiiight need some help over here. I’m feeling ignored by this one— he’s not answering me.” He deadpanned as he jabbed the turtle below him in the side, causing the youngest to sound like a overpowered drill screwdriver fusion. 

“Say less.” Raph grinned, going over to the PB&J duo as Leo quickly followed right behind. 

Okay…well, this hang-out-with-your-brothers-just-because-you-can hangout was turning left veryquickly. Perhaps that’s what Mikey gets due to the fact that he was spinning left and Donnie was spinning right…

Even though the purple banded turtle told him numerous times to turn the other direction, the youngest didn’t feel like listening. I guess he now knows how the second oldest feels when Mikey doesn’t pay attention to his 4 hour yap sessions.

As one smart, tooootally not demented 21 year old said: Karma’s a bitch. 

The box turtle squealed loudly as his other brother’s approached next to him and sat down. The youngest immediately retracted into his shell as panicky giggles from him echoed around the lair. 

The three older brother’s collectively groaned, knowing they’ve alllll danced this dance before. “Ugh…I hate when he does that…” Leo complained dramatically as he crossed his arms across his plastron. Raphael cracked his knuckles, his grin widening, “Don’t worry, boys. I got this.” The red banded turtle put the Mikey in his lap, blowing a raspberry directly on the youngest’s stomach. 

The reaction was almost like the speed of light as the orange banded turtle immediately erupted into loud mouse cackles, trying to wriggle his way out of his older brother’s iron grip although now that he was caught in the lion’s den…his attempts of escaping were now futile.  

“WHAHA— *squeak*?! NAHAHA?!?! *Squeak* RAPH RAPH RAHAHAPH!!!” Michelangelo giggly sputtered out, his laugh raising a pitch as Raphael refused to take any breath’s on the raspberry and just continued and continued. 

And Mikey knew Raph. For heaven’s sakes, that was his brother. The paint loving turtle knew (definitely NOT from experience) that Raph would not take a break unless the orange banded got out of his shell. 

“WHYHYHYHY???” The orange banded turtle cackled, his limbs and head coming out of his shell as he tried to glare at his brothers, which they all couldn’t help but awe to. “Awe, there you are~! Now this is definitely a fair fight!” The gentle giant happily exclaimed, removing his head from Mikey’s stomach. 

“ThIHIs ihis ahan ahamBUHUSH!!!” 

“Same difference.” Leo shrugged, squeezing the box turtle’s ankles repeatedly. “NAHAT THEHE FEEHEEHEET!!!” The orange banded turtle cried, kicking his legs around to try and make Leo dislodge his grip on his ankle. “Jeeheez…I didn’t eheven doohoo anything yehet!” The slider commented smugly.

“Guess it tickles that bad, huh, Mikester~?” The blue banded turtle teased. 

“BEEHEE QUIHIHIET YOHOU AHAHASS!!!”

Leo dramatically gasped at the rebuttal, gently pulling his little brother’s toes back and scribbling his fingers all over his arch. “That is no way to talk to your beloved older brother!” The slider lightly scolded. Donnie, who was next to Mikey nodded in agreement, his fingers pinching all over his littlest brother’s ribs, “I think someone needs to be taught a lesson…” 

“NOHOHAHAH! IHI DAHA— *squeak* DOHOHON’T!!!” The box turtle protested, swatting his hands on Raph’s arm like a drunk jellyfish. “And hitting too?!” The blue banded teen announced, “Your reeeeallyasking for it…” 

Raphael raised a hand, wiggling his fingers near Mikey’s neck. The turtle in question paled, “NAHAT THEHE NEHEHECK!!! YOHOU GUHUYS IHI ACTUALLY CAHAN’T DOOHOO THIHIHIS PLEHEHEASE—“

“Your neck? Oh, what a great idea!” Donnie smiled sweetly, one of his hands dancing around the right side of the fake dancer’s neck as Raph dipped his head in the other side. “IIIII…gitchie gitchie gotchu~!” The gentle-giant teased, rubbing his face back and forth in the crook of the youngest’s neck. 

Mikey let out the most inhuman screech to ever exist in between his cackles, shaking his head and scrunching his shoulders desperately, “LEHEHET MEEHEE GOHOHAHAHA!!!” He squeaked. 

“WHYHYHY MEEHEEHEE?!?!” The box turtle whined despreatley through his laughs, unable to do anything but just lay in Raph’s lap and just take the tickles at this point in time. 

Speaking of, WHY was he getting tickled by his big brothers in the first place again??? What the hell did he even DO to deserve this torment? They all just basicslly jumped him as if he had money on him or something!!!

And for the record: Mikey in fact did not. This time at least. 

He borrowed some cash from April last week but immediately put it inside of his piggy bank the second he got home. Since he knew either one of his greedy grubby hand brother’s would snatch that cash cash money cash cash right away…

But…wait.

What was Mikey pondering about again???

“Because you’re the youngest.”The blue loving teen simply said, “Aaaaand we just gotta tickle the heck out of you ‘cuz you’re just so cute~!” Leo cooed playfully, his hands squeezing and prodding at Mikey’s knees. 

“Not too much now, Leo. You’re a baby brother too.” Donnie commented smugly. “By two seconds!!!” The blue banded turtle pouted, glaring at the soft-shell. The soft-shell in question chuckled at the angry face expression, kneading Mikey’s hips mercilessly. “Two seconds that makes you the second youngest. And a baby brother.” He taunted, grinning at the annoyed look that his younger twin was giving him. 

“What are you guys going on about? You’re all baby brothers.” Raph exclaimed.

“So are you!” Leo huffed, “April exists, y’know!”

“GUHUHUHUYS!!!” The youngest screamed, trying to get his siblings attention as they bickered. “Hm? What’s wrong, little bro? Did the Tickle Monster find a bad spot~?” Raph asked, now blowing raspberries at the orange banded turtle’s neck. 

“YOHOU— *squeal* FAHACK!!! GOHOH AWAHAHAY!!!” The box turtle screamed. Leo rolled his eyes fondly, scoffing lightly, “You love this so don’t even, Miguel.” 

“Why should we go away~?” The eldest fake pouted, tickling Mikey under his chin lightly, “Is this a bad spot~? Is that why? Yeah~? Awe, what a shame…” 

“PLEHEHEASE BEEHEE QUIHIHI— *squeak*!!!” The youngest bellowed, “STAHAHA— STAHA—!!! PLEHEHEASE AHANHTHING BUHUHUT THAHAHAT!!!”Mikey purely went into silent cackles, happy tears falling down his face as tiny mouse squeaks followed. “IHIHI *squeal* SURRENDER!! GUHUYS PLEHEHEASE *squeal* I’M *squeal* GOHOHONNA DIHIHIE!!!”

The three brother’s removed their tickling hands, ceasing their attack as the youngest wheezed out remaining laughs breathlessly, “Ihi cahan’t breeheeathe…”

“Considering the fact that you are talking right now (which requires you to breathe), I think you’ll be fine.” Donnie commented, handing Mikey a glass of water which the youngest basically snatched and chugged in 2 seconds flat.

Freaking heathen…

“Did we go too far?” Leo dramatically gasped, going over and taking the orange banded teen from the eldest’s lap, squeezing Mikey in a hug and looking him over like he was a random exotic species specimen. “You're not dead...right? Oh man, Dad will literally kill me if I accidentally killed you…wait. That would make me the youngest. Oh well, I never wanted a younger brother anyway...”

“Hey hehey hehehey! Slow your freaking role! Ihi aham nohot dead!” The box turtle giggled, raising a brow at his immediate older brother’s antics. The slider sighed mockingly, “Had all my hopes up for nothing…” 

The smallest turtle rolled his eyes at the comment before having a moment of realization, “Whahat were weehee eheven doing agahain…?” Mikey giggly asked, resting his head against Leo’s shoulder as the slider rubbed his carapace. “Teaching you to dance.” Donnie sighed sadly, “But, alas, some things were just not meant to be.” 

Mikey glared playfully before landing his eyes on his scientist brother’s phone that was leaning up on one of the tables. “Dee! You were recording???” The box turtle screeched, hiding his face in his shell as the others laughed. “Don records everything, little bro. With or without his phone. So either way you were gonna end up being recorded.” Raph explained teasingly. 

“You never know, Mikejandro, maybe you’ll blow up on Tik Tok!” Leo suggested, “I’d call it: The Disgruntled Demise of a Box Turtle.” 

“Talk about word vomit…” The scientist mumbled under his breath, going to where his phone stood as his siblings bickered in the background. The soft-shell replayed some of the footage as he muted the video, smiling softly (get it? Soft-shell, smiling softly? I’m so funny you guys…) at the shenanigans that unfolded not too long ago. 

The second oldest chuckled softly (still get it?) to himself, putting his phone in his sweatshirt pocket as he went back to where his brother’s were sitting. 

“…Do you guys think I can fit 5 s’mores in my mouth?” Mikey suddenly asked. 

“Michael…please don’t do that. You could choke.” Donnie shuddered.

“Plus, you’re being a coward.” Leo added, “Try 10.” 

“I think 15 is better.” Raph grinned, “But it’s okay if you can’t do it. No one could ever beat Raph’s 25 s’mores record...” The red banded teen huffed out proudly. 

“…it’s ‘cuz you’re fucking rotund, man. No one would or could beat you even if we hired a whole football team to go up against you.” The art loving teen said. 

Raphael blinked confused, “Ro-tuh-wha—?” 

“He’s calling you fat.” Donnie giggly explained. 

Raph’s jaw comically opened wide in awe, hitting his littlest brother’s shoulder, “RAPH IS NOT FAT!!!” He shouted defensively. 

“Whatever you say, Jupiter…” Mikey retorted almost immediately as the twins completely lost it, the three smaller turtles soon descending into loud contagious cackles. The red banded turtle crossed his arms, glaring at them profusely, “You all are my 13th reason…” The eldest grumbled miserably, despite the soft small smile clearly evident on his face. 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[dorliart]

Crowley sat atop the stone, staring out where the horizon met the tops of trees, and where the chalk hills rolled beyond them. An unlit cigarette rolled between his fingers, as if he couldn't decide if he wanted it or not.

When he was close enough, Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Hello," he started, throat going tight at the sound of his own voice amidst the quiet fields and trees. "It's me."

"Hi, angel. He looked back at him, noting the plate, and hesitated a moment before he tapped the spot at his right. "Sit for a minute?"

Sometimes there's moments in stories that just stick in your brain because they're so good. This was one of these moments.

From the incredibly lovely Divine Restoration and Repairs 🌿

by @sylwritesstuff and skimmingthesurface

Also I thought this would lend itself well to being a picture they hung up at some point, writing notes under it and of course, bickering.

Also hi, if you see this skim, yes I referenced your sims build as closely as I possibly could and tried to get all the details I could find. It’s very lovely.

[gatoraid]

Tag yourself - The Radiant Emperor edition

My bff has not read the books and asked me to make some sort of chart to explain the characters and their relationships to make our conversations easier 😂 after making some more serious ones I also ended up making this.

Pictures taken from various official book illustrations by Glassbearer and Przemysław ’TRUST’ Truściński.

[jon-withnoh]

"What a coincidence, Mrs Lacy, that you should be walking up to the house just as I am returning from the village." "I say, Mrs Danvers." "One might go so far as to suspect you had timed your arrival in order to meet me here." "One might." Beatrice gave her a coy smile. "Though it would be more prudent to cite coincidence, if asked." "Certainly." Glancing over her shoulder, she moved to walk slightly closer to Beatrice. Hidden from sight by the wicker basket in her arms, their hands found each other. Not far ahead, Manderley rose to greet them.

Prompt 18: Walking Home

[laracrofted]

rest in peace district attorney seresin, gone too soon for someone so sexy 😔

[just--vi]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FIRST (and favorite) FIC

This fic was my first dip back into the fandom after a long long break, and I'm 100% convinced it led me to some of my loveliest friends (and turned into several more fics in the meantime).

Lil snippet under the cut if you'd like a preview.

As luck would have it the beach this time of year is frigidly cold. Tourists line the boardwalks in puffers and trench coats with scarves wrapped around their necks and beanies on their heads – if you squint toward the shops it’s a sea of multi-colored bobbles and the occasional ugly beret.

Remus’ spot isn’t far off from the thick of it. An old folding table with uneven legs that is covered in chipping paint, both old and new. He has wedged half a newspaper under the back right foot of it and is using a collection of heavy rocks to keep the painted postcards from whipping off toward the water. Just the other week he’d lost an entire stack of them because some kid had shouldered by a bit too quickly and knocked the make-shift paperweights to the ground, letting the wind catch the postcards and sending Remus scrambling desperately after them.

By the time he’d trudged back up the hill to the boardwalk the kid and his parents were gone.

As foot traffic begins to thin, Remus drops the paintbrush and stretches out the fingers of his right hand. They crack audibly, and the dull ache begins to seep its way toward his forearm. He offers one long, tired sigh before shoving gloves onto his hands and packing his things away into the rolling crate wedged underneath the low barrier between walkway and beach. Old paintings first, wrapped sensibly in plastic now that they’ve dried, newer ones gingerly on top. Paints go into the worn out bookbag that he slings over his shoulder and he waffles for a moment on the decision to try to take everything in one go, or hope his table doesn’t end up stolen or vandalized (again).

Eventually, because his fingers are beginning to go numb and snot is starting to drip out of his nose, he folds the table and hoists it up against his hip with one arm. It’s not terribly big, a handful of feet long and not quite as wide, but the worse his joints get the harder it is to lug around. He wraps his other hand around the handle of his crate and drags it awkwardly behind him, dodging evening stragglers and one dog wearing a sweater, whose owner offers up a sweet smile and gives him a rather wide berth.

His car is parked a little farther than he’d really like to walk, but he couldn’t justify the paid spots and when he’d come out this morning he’d really been feeling quite good… Now the short hill leaves him a little breathless and wheezy, and by the time he’s popping his trunk (the seats already laid down flat) his skin is prickling under his sweater, suddenly too hot.

It’s not a pretty sight, Remus wrestling the table up toward the trunk, only the snaps on the legs have long since rusted out and they keep popping open, knocking him painfully in the knee and drawing a stream of quiet curses out of his mouth, the trunk claims his elbow next and he is moments away from giving up entirely when the weight of the table shifts just enough to send him a little off balance, before sliding seamlessly into the boot.

Twisting around to offer a (faintly irritated) thanks to his helper, Remus stops dead. Suddenly the heat in his cheeks is less for the short jaunt up the hill or the bite of the wind, all flushing blood that reaches all the way into his ears.

“Err – thanks, bit of a pain to do on your own,” he mumbles, ignoring the fact that the other man seemed to have had no such problem. At the very least the comment earns him a barking laugh, head thrown backward and eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes him blush harder because it really hadn’t been that funny.

“No worries, I couldn’t watch you struggle anymore without feeling like an absolute jackass – hand alright?”

[sluckythewizard]

BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

[teecupangel]

What do you call a cowboy Ezio? Spaghetti western. Spaghetti” Westerns are a subgenre of Westerns whose name references the circumstances and location of their filming. Generally, a Spaghetti Western is a low-budget film produced by Italian directors (hence the “spaghetti” connection) and filmed in Europe, primarily in Almería and the Tabernas Desert.Feb 18, 2022.

Being in a Spaghetti Western makes me think of an actor AU where Ezio is a popular actor in Italy who gets the part of a major character in a Spaghetti Western movie. The main draw of the film is, of course, the leading man who goes by the name “Connor” (real name is kept a secret because he likes his privacy).

The film is a revenge story of a man who lost his tribe (including his mother), burned to the ground by a certain group for nefarious means and he hunts them down one by one.

Ezio plays the main character’s final target, the “Sheriff Jack O’Leary”, the leader of the group.

The twist of the story is that Ezio’s and Connor’s characters are actually father and son.

The bigger twist is that Ezio’s character didn’t even sign off on the burning of the village, his group did that on the orders of a high ranking politician that was helping the main character is finding this group.

A tale of betrayal and revenge with a downer ending of the main character killing his father because they could not find a middle ground.

Ezio was having fun. He was Italy’s darling, known for playing handsome charming men that women (and men) swooned over. So to play what could be considered as the main villain (or the secondary main villain to the politician pretending to be good) was good for him.

Along the way, he gets close to the cast and crew, even becoming something akin to an older brother to the leading man (who finally tells him his real name is Ratonhnhaké:ton and he chose the name ‘Connor’ as a tribute to a senior of his that supported and encouraged him when he was doing theater before).

Unorganized Notes:

Leonardo is the set director and he’s super passionate about it. He’s a big fan of western movies and an even bigger fan of sci fi movies.

Machiavelli is the director and he’s quite the perfectionist. On the other hand, he had worked with Ezio before and they get along.

Federico works as Ezio’s agent and PA in one, mostly because he’s worried about his little brother and also because he doesn’t want to become the next CEO of the Auditore Bank. Claudia can have that.

Ratonhnhaké:ton’s agent is a man only known as “Mr. Cormac”. He’s also Ratonhnhaké:ton’s bodyguard and Ratonhnhaké:ton admitted to Ezio later on that his father was the one who employed “Mr. Cormac”. “To keep an eye on you?” “To make up for the decades of parental neglect he believes he committed even though he didn’t even know I existed back then.”

The script is written by Altaïr under the pseudonym Philip S. He’s a well known scriptwriter who churn up lots of scripts a year and just give them to whoever wants them. No one has ever seen his face. Whenever he has to get an award for his script or asks for a meeting, some poor guy named Desmond Miles would appear, apologize for his boss’ rude behaviors and then just do whatever was needed. Some rumors say Philip S is a woman and that’s why they don’t want to make an appearance. No. Altaïr just don’t want to mingle with people he doesn’t know or even like. He just likes to write. Desmond is actually his secretary/live-in houseworker who got the job because no one else could stay as Altaïr’s houseworker long enough to learn Altaïr was also a writer. The pay is good, Desmond doesn’t need to pay for bills since he lives in Altaïr’s house and sometimes Altaïr’s hot childhood friend visits to make sure Altaïr hasn’t died yet (his words, not Desmond’s) so the view is nice.

Haytham Kenway may or may not be producing the film under one of his shell companies. No one is really sure what the Kenway family does but it’s Hollywood during the mid 60s so… it’s shady af.

Kaniehtí:io is alive and is supportive of her son’s rising popularity while being worried about him. She and Haytham never married and she never actually told him about Ratonhnhaké:ton. Haytham only learned about him after Ratonhnhaké:ton became a movie star.

Yes, Ratonhnhaké:ton started in theater (as a child actor) and Connor Davenport took him in as his ‘protege’. Connor Davenport, unfortunately, died (Hollywood drama)

[eff-plays]

Honestly a lot of the romance pipeline joaks just aren't relatable to me at all.

Zevran > Fenris > Solas > Astarion? What is the man of mid Solas doing among those kings? He's nice like they're not, powerful like they're not, and doesn't play into the trope of being mean/"evil" and sexy. He also has so much power over Lavellan, which the others do not have over their love interests. Get him out of there. Yes they're all sad elves but that's it. Surface level reading.

Also I don't think Cullenites who are now obsessed with Astarion like Astarion for the same reasons I do. That is all I will say on the matter because I am seeing a large gathering of people outside my window and they seem to be chanting wishes of my death and gripping pitchforks.

[astonmartingf]

and when i'm free from the leashes of my comprehensive exam reviews, i will post my dbf fernando alonso fic that has been plaguing my drafts for a very long time!!!!

[flower-do0dles-dump]

I went to drawing concept art for my next Chapter of TOTMK to drawing nonsense REAL fast!

[poorlittleyaoyao]

btw there's nothing in the text about jgy and qs sleeping in the same bed everynight, idk where that other anon found it

YOU MEAN I SAT HERE GOING ON A CHARACTER STUDY TO PROCESS THIS NEW INFORMATION FOR NOTHING??????

anons plz you cannot tell me things about the novel. you cannot. I will believe you until someone refutes, it and then I will believe them, and so on and so forth. unless your claim falls within the events of the two volumes I read this summer, in which case I will internally go "nah, that's not right" but then be seized with doubt because maybe it came up in a later volume? who am I to say? and I will say nothing no matter how right I am pretty sure I am.

[gatoraid]

My contribution to the Kitchen Extended Universe! And it's an OT3!!

5900 words, Esen POV

Established Ouyang/Xu Da, eventual Ouyang/Xu Da/Esen (but it takes them years to get there)

Featuring Esen realizing some hard truths about life and trying his best to be a girldad

[theomegapoint]

Title: i begged and convinced them (i made them pinky swear) Pairing: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa Rating: Mature Word Count: 4,157 Warnings: Contains breeding kink, mentions of hypothetical orgies, and a very complicated polycule that's inscrutable to outsiders.

Summary: “Okay,” Hongjoong says the day before they’re set to fly to California to perform at Coachella, “ground rules for everyone when we’re in California: no random pick-ups. Not backup dancers, not other artists, not strangers on hookup apps—zero people I do not already have in the spreadsheets.”

[shivunin]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @greypetrel and @palipunk (on the other blog); thank you both!

*Gonna say in advance that I am still getting straight who all writes fic and/or does art, especially if I follow both of your personal and fan blogs, so if I sometimes tag you and sometimes don't just lmk if you do/don't want to be in on these things and I will do my best to oblige! I know people are busy/life is a pain in the ass lately and I don't want anyone to feel pressured or stressed or left out over it

I've been working on my Morrigan scarf, pictured below (hand for scale) and am getting close to finishing the main body of it. I'm really excited for some of the finishing touches, which will hopefully include fringe-like elements along the bottom edge. If they work out right, they'll look similar to feathers (fingers crossed), but if not they'll be irregularly-sized pieces that more closely resemble her skirt. We'll see c:

And here's a bit of writing from an unfinished chapter of Book of Memories; I've been fiddling with the beginning on and off for months, but I would really like to post it sometime in the next few weeks. (CW for fantasy racism and blood/injury):

He could have sworn he'd only taken his eyes off the children for a moment—hardly any time at all for them to get into any trouble—but just then, Leander ran up, his fine tunic torn at one shoulder, his cheek bloodied, and he was panting. 

“What’s happened?” Fenris asked, his body shifting slightly in a way that Cullen immediately recognized. 

Neither of them were sufficiently armed, but Cullen reached for the support of a sword hilt anyway, his hand falling to his belt knife instead. Fenris crouched, bringing his face level with the boy’s, and Leander pointed toward a crowd forming near the small side garden. 

“Adhlea,” he panted, and that was enough—Cullen was already running. He didn’t bother to make sure the Hawkes were following. His daughter needed him, was in danger perhaps—nothing could slow him now. 

Adhlea was, in fact, in the center of the crowd. He could hear her piping voice even before he managed to shove through the crowd of bodies. 

“You take it back, you—you Blight of a boy!” she was yelling, accompanied by a yelp that was not hers. “Or say that to my face, coward!” 

Cullen went on elbowing his way through the huddle of people, his mind racing: Why hadn’t someone pulled her away from whatever was happening? What could possibly have made her this angry? The undercurrent of this all, the fear that made the rest of it unbearable, was this: 

She is a new mage. If she hurts someone with magic in front of all these people, what can I do to keep her safe?

“Mongrel,” a garbled voice said. “You and that other—oomph!” 

There was a dull sound, flesh striking flesh, and Cullen made his way to the front at last. There was a reason nobody had interrupted her: somehow, Adhlea had called up a barrier, and the bubble of it stood between them and the observers. She seemed well enough—though blood was dripping from her chin—and the boy she was pummeling seemed to be in one piece, for all that she had him pinned. 

Maker preserve him. Maker preserve them all. 

“Adhlea Rose,” Cullen bellowed, and more than one of the surrounding observers took a step back. “You stop that this instant.” 

His daughter didn’t seem to hear him at all; she raised a bloody fist and aimed for the boy’s cheek. Fenris was faster; in a moment, he’d reached through the barrier with one hand, the tattoos that marked the backs of his hands and arms lighting up all at once. He pulled her, squirming, from the barrier by the back of her nice Chantry dress. 

Some other time, Cullen might have found this funny; she looked rather like a kitten picked up by a rather annoyed cat. In the moment, he only felt fear. 

“Adhlea,” he said sharply, and she stopped fighting. The barrier had popped soundlessly as soon as she’d left it. The boy was summarily scooped up by an older woman—presumably a caretaker—and tugged back from their little quartet. 

“What happened?” Cullen demanded, crouching to examine her carefully. 

One of her teeth had been knocked loose, leaving an empty space on the upper row of her mouth. Her hands were both bloody about the knuckles, and her lip was already swelling. The redness around her eye would almost certainly be a black eye soon enough, and if the laundress could get the blood out of the gown it would be a miracle. 

“He said I was trash,” Leander said unexpectedly, though his green eyes were fixed on Adhlea, “I thought it was stupid. I can’t be trash, because trash is a thing and I’m not a thing. But he said he could prove it and—”

“He was going to shove Leander into the trash can!” Adhlea said, shaking with indignation, tears spilling from her injured eye, “I couldn’t let him—it’s not fair! We didn’t do anything to him!”

Tagging: @ndostairlyrium @daggerbean @layalu (unless you prefer the other blog?) @idolsgf @brother-genitivi

[cutiesigh]

i miss my old account 💔 we were moots but i doubt youd remember me, i think that was when i had a garfield pfp

aaa no, I remember you!! Unfortunately I don't remember your URL verbatum (I'm so sorry >.<;) — but if you follow here, I'll follow back again!