#master fic project

[kazinsblog]

Home Is Where The Heart Is (HIWTHI) Fic Fanart

Comic under read more

After a month….I can finally post this~! Here’s another Rain Code Fic Fanart! This one was inspired by @pixelatedraindrops aka Space_Nurse on ao3 Home is Where The Heart Is (HIWTHI)

Home is Where The Heart Is is one of the earliest fics I read when I first got into the RC fandom. My personal favorite parts of HIWTHI is that it expands more on Halara, Desuhiko, Fubuki, and Vivia’s character, Yuma feeling super under the weather, and the ending ;W;. I also absolutely love sic fics as well, so that's a huge plusl~! It’s so sweet, you have no idea how much this fic warms my heart :3. 

So… I drew the fic from start to finish! (Fun fact: Pixel drew a 4 page blueprint for me to reference and it became 14 pages) . This one is special cause its a slient comic ;3. I wonder what everyone says~(?)

The comic version of HIWTHI is fully colored and has 14 pages. This is the biggest project I’ve ever done to date yet! And I absolutely love it~ I don’t say this a lot but I’m really proud of this one! Especially the backgrounds, which I could for the life of me could not draw before XD. Drawing the background over and over really does help you improve.

The comic version of HIWTHI is also a birthday gift for Pixel. I’m grateful towards Pixel for being such a wonderful friend/ mentor. And always listens and helps me get through tough times. Thank you so much! ;W; truly~!

🎉Happy Birthday Pixel~ 🎉🎁🎂🎁

Thank you for reading till the end~ Please go read Home is Where the Heart is~! The fic is beautifully written~

[solomonssock]

Imagine taking Diavolo to the human world for his birthday with a promise to show him something unlike he’s ever seen.

You take him with you to traverse the wildlife of a national park, hiking over weathered earth while you take candids of his enthusiastic reactions to the unfamiliar scenery. You send the snapshots to Lucifer and Barbatos throughout the day, assuring them of your safety and reveling in how adorable your lover looks. 

Imagine how your heart swells as you take in the wonderment and childish glee that overcomes him as he insists that you two stop at each infographic on the trail. It’s necessary that he take in each one, he tells you, so that he can learn more of the world you were born upon, and how it formed. 

The world he appreciates as an extension of you.

Imagine explaining to Diavolo how the sun’s warm caress can soon come to burn as you lather him in sunscreen - how he purrs his thanks as you delicately rub the lotion into hard-to-reach areas, and check him over to make sure he didn’t miss a spot. His grin is as unwavering as always, but his eyes are another story. Unlike how they shimmer beneath the Devildom moon, Diavolo’s eyes glimmer in the human world's sunlight. 

This time, you make a selfish request for him to briefly remove his glamor and pose him for a picture that you send to no one. The way the specks of gold scatter through the trees and shift across his skin, blending into his eyes and the collar of his true form, is just for you to admire - your golden Adonis. You press a kiss to his cheek when you two finish, standing on the overlook and spending some time drawing out pictures in the clouds that float by as he hugs you close.

Imagine his complete and utter fascination with the cavern tour you’ve surprised him with. You laugh at how often he has to duck beneath the drapery formations to avoid hitting his head, but grip his hand as tightly as he holds yours as you both traverse deeper and deeper into the earth. Admittedly, snippets of the tour go over your head as you stare at him, unabashedly. You can’t help it with how cute he looks, enraptured by the tales your tour guide spins of human history, strife, and success. He asks questions as to how they initially uncovered and cleaned out the cave, how they’ve preserved the structure, and how they currently manage upkeep. When he is not inquiring, he points out every bat that crosses your path. He coos at how their little feet and talons grip onto the crevices and gasps when the guide shows him closely how they are able to use their wings to hold themselves up as they rest. 

Imagine that near the end of the tour, the guide gives you guys a special treat and turns off all the artificial light planted throughout the cavern. Pitch blackness enshrouds you and robs you of your sight, but you don’t panic. This deep into the earth, there is no noise pollution; a pin could drop and all would hear. Yet, all you hear is the small murmurs and shuffling of the other ongoers who remark at how fascinating and terrifying this is - that no wonder humans once thought only demons resided deep within the pits of this cave. You smirk at that, squeezing Diavolo’s hand. He squeezes your hand in kind before he tugs it gently.

You quietly follow him as he pulls you a bit further from the group. Although you cannot see him, you feel him turn to face you before he kisses you deeply. Yes, humans were made to live in daylight; but demons thrive in darkness. You shiver as the ridges on his wings slide against you, embracing you as they push you into his chest. You melt into his hold as he tenderly rubs his thumbs beneath your eyes, whispering softly so that only you can hear among the murmurs behind you.

“Never will you need to fear the dark or demons, my heart. For I will be your eyes, your strength to command, and swear to guide you safely back to me when you stray too far from my side.” 

Imagine how happily he digs into the plate he’s ordered at the nearby diner, famished from your long trek. He’s tried most of the teas before finally settling on a classic vanilla shake. The warmth of his hand seeps into your own as he interlocks your fingers atop the table.

You admire his features as the shadows and sun rays pass over him. He intently watches the sun set through the glass window beside you both.

“Volo,” you shake his hand when the last of the sun has dipped beneath the horizon, stars starting to prickle the night sky, “what did you think? Did you have fun?”

“I believe,” he begins, thumb rubbing over each of your knuckles with great reverence as he lovingly looks to where your hands meet, "I am the happiest I have ever been.”

“I also believe,” he takes another sip of his shake and you laugh as you have to thumb off some cream that catches on his lip, “ah-thank you, beloved. Yes, I think tours like this would do well in the Devildom, don’t you? How revolutionary would it be, to be able to share our lands natural formations with other realms, just as you’ve granted me the pleasure of today?”

You smile at the prince, marveling at his endless enthusiasm for, and dedication to, his dream. You know you should hold your tongue. When your love is enamored with an idea, he tends to run with it without thought to the paperwork that piles up as a result.

But you could never deny him. Strong as you may be, you do not have the heart to snuff out the awe that sparkles in his eyes.

“I think it would be a great way for our people to be introduced to the history and customs of one another. A beautiful showcase of the tenacity of each realm and an experience which could peak interest in the scientific study of our vastly different wildlife,” you muse.

“It would be interesting, too, if we could fund some research and uncover ways in which our lands may be compatible, especially in terms of agriculture. It would be good if we could open up trade between the realms sometime soon, and even better if we could grow some food appealing to both groups in either realm to encourage joint food establishments. Maybe a restaurant or food court you can visit after the tour?” 

Your heart flutters as he brings your hand up to his lips and presses a chaste kiss onto the skin there.

“You astonish me as always, my heart. Truly, we are fortunate to have your insight on these matters.” 

“And I,” he leans over the table, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, ”am fortunate to call you mine.”

Later, before you call for the check and prepare to return home, you make sure to set a reminder on your D.D.D. to treat both Barbatos and Lucifer to a bottle of expensive demonus for the unintended work you’ve set out for them.

[bbygirl-aemond]

daeron: if i had a nickel for everytime my targaryen love interest expressed a desire to connect with their non-targaryen dead parent and they ended up as the head of that dead parent's house i'd have two nickels daeron: i know that isn't a lot of nickels but it's really weird that it's happened twice

[blu3cl0v3rs]

Heyyyy, shout out to @ladycrpsss for this idea. Not morrotober.

Summary: Morro has a breakdown

Warnings: unreliable narrator (?), hysteria,

Extra: This is where Morro stomps off to after ripping a door out of its sliding track. This also has a dash of self-projection as I've had my own outbursts like this, and Morro is my torture blorbo so obviously he's getting the brunt of it.

"I'm sorry, but destiny has spoken," Wu said solemnly, face tainted with regret.

Regret. He regrets teaching me, he regrets taking me in, he hates me-

I ripped the door out, the splintered frame flew across the room. "Then I refuse to listen! I am the Green Ninja. You.. made me believe!"

I stomped down the hall in a rage. How dare he, how dare he say I'm not the Green Ninja! HOW DARE HE CLAIM I'M NOT WORTHY! I burst into the courtyard, shoving the door shut behind me as the wind tossed anything loose around.

I slammed my fists and feet into the wooden log dummies. Not good enough, I'll show him! I am good enough, I am worth it, I am the Green Ninja!

A frustrated scream ripped out of my throat as rageful tears welled in my eyes. I wiped harshly at my face, trying my best not to let them fall. I can't cry, I won't cry. I am the Green Ninja. I am, I am, I am!

My knees met stone along with my hands. Tears poured down my face and onto the floor. I slammed my hands onto the ground, the winds howled with me.

How dare he...

[thena0315]

I still prefer the popular fan idea of Professor Amaranth being the truth main villain of Pokemon Journeys.

Would have been a huge plot twist. His true plan was to use Mew for evil and all the members of Project Mew were actually being used by professor. By even gathering legendary and mythical Pokemon to his disposal.

And his actions affect global climate that affects everyone on the planet. Both the people and Pokemon. And the source of the action was in the Galar region.

Leaving the Master Eight and Project Mew to stop him and save the world

[the-painted-siren]

Uh... for requests, how about, your take on an AU were one of the time twins got bit by a fangpyre

The Plan Was Understood

Summary: One second, Krux and Acronix are on top. The next, everything has everything has fallen to pieces. That seems to be the case the longer this goes on.

Notes: Woo! This... got out of hand. I had intended for this to be less than 900 words and now there's more than double. I suppose that's always a possibility when I'm writing AUs since it takes longer to establish the backstory. But hey, I had a good time. And I genuinely hope you enjoy this. Thank you for the request!

There goes a saying from Krux’s hometown—the people who care about you most are your biggest critics. He supposes that could not be more true when he has a twin brother.  

“That could have gone better.” 

“Shut up, Acronix.”

“You should have gone left-”

“I said, shut up.” 

The snow-packed ground of the Birchwood Forest crunches underfoot as Krux and Acronix make their way toward the next secluded village. Quiet places have become few and far between in the time it’s taken for them to grow up. That thought itches at Krux’s brain the same way the newest patch of scales itches at his skin. 

Krux struggles to concisely explain their situation. But it goes something like this: 

The world always moves forward. Of all the aspects of time they can control, permanently stopping or slowing it down is not one of them. As the clock continues ticking, so do the tides of war. 

Absolute victory on behalf of the Elemental Alliance meant more frenzied and dangerous Serpentine, which meant more desperate measures—surprise attacks that drained the hearing in Acronix’s right ear and the humanity from Krux’s blood. 

One second they were both on top, the next a Fangpyre had sank its teeth into Krux’s shoulder. 

From there onward, it became a bit of a blur. Krux remembers his vision spinning, his lungs burning, and the sounds of his brother flying off the handle. By the time he had managed to stomp his horror down, he’d found the snow beneath him stained red and his brother lingering above him in total silence. He’d been bitten by a Fangpyre—the one Serpentine bite for which no recorded cure existed. 

“I guess you’ll just have to find one then,” Acronix told him the day after.

The straightforward brutality of the statement had shocked Krux right out of his misery. 

“Find a cure? Acronix, I can’t. There is no cure.” 

“Not with that attitude.” Acronix leaped up from his bedroll and started throwing things into a travel bag. “Think about it, you’re the smartest person I know. If anyone can find something that doesn’t exist, it would be you.” He turned, shooting Krux a blinding smile. “And I can be your bodyguard! Anytime someone threatens you, I’ll just knock ‘em out.” 

Krux could feel a vein about to pop. 

Had his brother gone mad?

“That’s not going to work,” Krux bit out. “There’s too many risks. If anyone in the alliance sees me, they’ll-” The words lodged themselves in his throat. Killing him would be the kindest thing any of them would do. “Acronix, we can’t just-” 

“We sure can. Let’s go!” 

And there went his injudicious brother, marching off headlong into a half-hazard plan with no clear goals beyond deserting the Elemental Alliance in search of a cure that may or may not exist. 

In the present day, it makes Krux wonder what it says about him that the only guy to have complete, total faith in him is one who sometimes forgets how to spell his own name.  

“Hey! It’s not my fault that K and X look so similar.”

“Whatever you say, brother.” 

“And you should have gone left.” 

“I reversed that situation twice,” Krux replies. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I had gone left or right.” 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t have,” Acronix says after a stretch of silence. “Not with Yukio Kimura standing there like a damn omen of death.” 

Krux grits his teeth as the image of the Master of Ice flashes in his memories. Avoiding the Elemental Alliance started out easy enough. Lately, though, news of the final tomb for the Serpentine being sealed had spread like wildfire, prompting much of the alliance to scatter across the land. Villages had become less safe, people more bold, and then twins had to force themselves to constantly stay moving because of it. 

Today had been a nightmare in and of itself for those very reasons. 

The village people had been kind to them when they first arrived. But once someone caught a peek at the scale-ridden face Krux kept hidden beneath his hood, they turned on the twins one by one. Such an occurence wasn’t uncommon, normally he and Acronix would trounce whoever targetted them and the continue onto the next village. 

This time, they hadn’t been so lucky. 

The Master of Ice had seen Krux—seen his sickly green scales crawling over his pale skin, slitted eyes, and forked tongue. Hardly human in every physical aspect. Then Ice had blinked and disappeared in the flap of an owl’s wing. That’s the thing about Ice—he’d always been somewhat cryptic and mysterious, disappearing and reappearing whenever he saw fit.

Acrconix audibly shudders mid-step. “I still think he’s creepy.” 

Krux says nothing but silently agrees. 

“Maybe not as creepy as you but-’ Acronix’s voice cuts off as he soon as he catches Krux’s death-bringing glare. He rockets off into a volley of laughter. “Oh, come on, it’s just a joke, brother. You know I don’t mean it like that.” 

“Of course, not.” Krux rolls his eyes. 

“I mean it,” Acronix emphasises. “You’re my brother no matter what. Even if we don’t find a cure, you will always be my brother. No amount of scales or fangs will change that.” 

As Acronix prattles on, Krux is first somewhat insulted that his brother would assume he couldn’t find a cure—this had been Acronix’s idea. He had been so adamant that Krux could find or make one. Even with no studies conducted or any freeroaming Fangpyre to ask, why wouldn’t there be a cure? Why would Acronix suddenly believe that there isn’t one?

Fortunately or unfortunately—Krux can’t decide—most of that is drowned out by the certainty of Acronix’s words. 

By now, Krux thinks he should have come to expect Acronix’s undying loyalty. Instead, there’s always an udercurrent of comfort at the thought.  

“Okay, did you catch all that? Always my family, yes?” Acronix tromps through the snow to catch up to Krux and sling an arm around Krux’s shoulders. “Besides, we’re identical, aren’t we? That means we have equally dashing good looks and-”

Snap!

Krux and Acronix freeze. They immediately slide into a position where they can see each other but cover their blindspots. 

“Did you hear that?” Acronix whispers. 

Krux makes the “affirmative” and the “quiet” hand signal to him one after the other. The forest holds still. There’s no sound, no movement, it’s as if tragedy wandered through. It’s not unusual for a forest to make noise, of course. Both of them realize that but it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

Then a dark blur flashes between the trees. 

“Five o’clock.” Krux motions with his hand. “Three o’clock. Get ready.” 

All at once, the forest explodes with light. Acronix doubles over first as the sheer power of it turns his surroundings into a field of white. Krux struggles to process before squeezing his eyes shut and switching to his infrared. What follows, as far as he can sense, are things that could have only crawled their way out of his worst nightmares: 

Acronix bolts away. He stumbles around blindly, swiping his dagger through the air. What Krux would describe as a burning white flare shoots across the ground and incapacitates him in one swift motion. 

It then turns on Krux and knocks him out with a solid punch to the face. 

---------------

Acronix wakes feeling like his skull has split in two. He screws his eyes shut immediately after he opens them. A dim, golden-white light pours across the wooded floor in front of him, specks of dust blinking in and out of being. Silently, Acronix hopes it’ll sear his eyes out quickly so he won’t suffer for long. 

Then the sound of paper shuffling touches the air and he decides it’s time to wake up. 

He pulls himself up as silently as he can and takes in his surroundings. 

A glowing, translucent barrier falls from the ceiling to the floor in a magnificent library. Several colors of books and scrolls and trinkets stand crammed together on each and every shelf. A quick glance to the window tells Acronix that night has fallen. A solitary lamp shows him the sillhouette of a single person—one that he knows all too well.  

“Wu?” 

Wu's shoulders visibly tense at the sound of his name. When he turns, his dark eyes land immediately on the outline of Acronix’s figure. Something like relief or quiet joy opens out across his face in a gentle smile. 

“Acronix, you’re okay.” 

A red-hot anxiety bubbles up in Acronix’s stomach as all the memories play back. The blinding light, the white flare darting between the trees, and the speed at which they collapsed, all melding together to create the perfect ambush—one that only a master of war could have so carefully created. Wu did this. 

And Yukio. 

No doubt Yukio had a hand in this as well. He’d probably alerted Wu to the twins’ location. Acronix swore he’d kill that creepy git. 

“Where’s my brother?” Acronix asks, his mouth running ahead of his mind. He presses his hands up against the wall of his prison. “What did you do with him?” 

“I can explain,” Wu says. 

Acronix strikes his fist against the barrier. A shuddering reverb rings out from the impact as its golden, glassy surface gutters and sparks like a dying firework. 

“You better! Or I swear I’ll make you regret this-”

“Please, calm down,” Wu commands, his voice coming in a soft tone. His powers swell up from his hands and flow through the barrier to strengthen it once more. “I have no intention of hurting you or your brother. I’m here to help.” 

“Oh, sure you are.” 

“I am,” Wu continues. “I know you don’t think so but I’m not about to leave you two when you so clearly need assistance. I have… means of helping your brother, I’ve already started the research. It’s the effect of the Fangpyre, right? Its venom isn’t as strong as… as…”

Wu doesn’t say anyone’s name but his silence speaks volumes. Someone he loves. Someone he’s lost, perhaps? Someone whose presence had been dampened by that of a damnable Serpentine bite. Whoever they were, their meaning to Wu does not talk in a language that Acronix understands. He wonders if that’s a bad thing. 

“It’s manageable, is what I’m saying,” Wu finally carries on. “It’s not too late.” 

“We’ve been managing just fine without you.” 

Wu shakes his head. “I know you two are used to being on your own but it doesn’t have to be that way. I can make a cure.”

“We’re fine the way we are, you fool! Krux is no less my brother, even as a Serpentine.” Acronix narrows his eyes in accusatory fasten. “Besides, there is no cure. Krux would have found it by now if there was.”

“There’s notes from neighboring villages that actively prove otherwise.” Wu’s hand brush against the pages of a thick grimoire resting on a nearby table. “If I can obtain a little bit of his blood-” 

“Don’t you dare put your hands on him!” Acronix slams his fists against the barrier again. This time, it doesn’t budge. It doesn’t flicker. It doesn’t fall. He grits his teeth with the cold flood of panic washing through his veins, images of what Wu might do to his brother coming with it, none of them good. “Anything you do to him I’ll do to you tenfold!” 

Wu doesn’t seem to care for the racket. His chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath and steadily makes his way toward the exit. 

“Try not to hurt yourself, please,” he says. “I’ll be back once I’ve finished talking to Krux.” 

“Get back here! I won’t let you touch him!” 

Wu briefly pauses in the doorway to stare as Acronix with an expression of sorrow. 

“I’ll bring your brother back, Acronix. I promise.” 

The door taps shut against the frame as Acronix’s shouting rings out into emptiness.

[teecupangel]

YOU

HI

okay, my brain just exploded with the idea of:

The Ancestor Assassins, the fellas right? Pick or choose, one or all of them, okay??

Now reincarnate them in the modern day, in DESMOND’s era

Have THEM go on an adventure as an outdated assassin in modern times, have THEM meet Desmond while they’re still young, have THEM hide the truth until Desmond has already been kidnapped and put through the animus

Maybe they don’t even meet Desmond until he’s a bartender and then hear about Desmond’s kidnapping and be on his team!!!

Or maybe they’ve known Desmond since the Farm and looked after baby Desmond while judging the whole system, not fully knowing his importance until later

Hell, they could reincarnate after the Solar Flare, but Desmond survived and retired to become a full-time bartender!! Now his bar is a modern assassin’s bureau!!!

(I love this idea and I do not see much of it, just saying)

(Ps. You could add romance, because I know you and your Altair x Desmond fics 👀👄👀, or just keep it platonic, whatever you want)

(More of a Deslex shipper myself, but I love those works anyway lmao)

I’m just going to self-promote my Project Eurydice series which does have the setup of Assassins in the past being reborn in the modern day. It has childhood friends to lovers AltDes, Altaïr screwing up the Desmond Saga’s modern-day setting and Ezio off doing his own thing and messing up the AC movie’s plot. Ratonhnhaké:ton’s version of events as AltDes’ adopted baby is also… sorta planned? I mean, there’s a vague plot and we’ll see if I have time to write it XD

Okay, since I already have a plot for an idea where they are reborn and ‘met’ Desmond when they were young (technically). How about we go for your “they’re reincarnated after the Solar Flare” idea and spice things up.

They were reborn after the Solar Flare and, to make things weird, they were all born on December 21, 2012, at exactly 00:07. The exact date and time that Desmond ‘died’.

So, in this setup, they would know something weird is going on. Maybe Abstergo would even realize it and start looking for people born at that exact date and time.

And, of course, to make this a bit more less obvious, they were born in the same country they were born before so their birth certificate would be a big red herring because they’re all born at the same time but they would only know that if they convert their birthdates and time to EST.

So, that sets us up for their ‘rebirth’.

The next stage would be the world they would be born in.

And this is where things get tricky because…

Well…

If they will all be reborn in 2012, that would mean they would still be ‘children’ by the time AC Valhalla hits.

But this does give us some leeway though.

So, as far as the world knows, Desmond died.

Abstergo even autopsied his body and they used it to make those games.

So…

Uh…

You guys wanna be reminded of something strange?

The pandemic hit the world last 2020 and Layla died in 2020.

This means that AC Valhalla’s modern day setting and Layla meeting the Reader and the two of them deciding to find other calculations all happened in 2020 (August, to be more accurate).

So…

In this setting, the pandemic is in full swing and these children (who are trying to learn the world they have been reborn in) get the same(ish) idea:

Ask their parent(s) to hire an online tutor so they won’t fall behind and they decide on history because, fuck it, that’s the most important subject as far as they know.

Enter a very inconspicuous online tutoring ad that their parent(s) tried out.

And that…

… is how they meet Desmond Hassan, full-time bartender who has a supposed degree in history and is doing this sidegig to keep up with the expenses during lockdown.

Unorganized Notes:

Okay, so I usually make Altaïr an orphan with Al Mualim being his foster grandfather but, for this one, let’s give Altaïr some happiness (and the additional ‘this is what could have been’ angst) and Umar and Maud raise him. (… maybe make Malik and Kadar his childhood friends this time around?)

Ezio is still part of a big family and he’s much more affectionate with them this time around.

Ratonhnhaké:ton is being raised by Kaniehtí:io with Haytham still having ties with the Templars but he doesn’t realize it because, to him, Haytham is just a COO of Abstergo.

I know we’re focusing on the ancestors and Edward technically counts but I want Edward to be a doting grandfather to Ratonhnhaké:ton who videocalls every week to ask how his favorite (“I’m your only grandchild, pappy.” “And that is why you’re my favorite.”) grandchild. He and Haytham have a strained relationship and I kinda like the idea that Edward isn’t an Assassin in this one but he’s sorta allied with them? It’s all hush-hush though but he’s the reason why Altaïr II can go wherever the hell they want. (Edward being the owner of a big shipping company would be fun).

Desmond takes the name Desmond Hassan because he’s not that creative and the mystery is: “Is he really Desmond?” “Is he Desmond and Layla fused?” “Or is he the Reader trying to mimic both Desmond Miles and Layla Hassan?”

Gonna be honest, I don’t really mind large age gaps in pairings and this includes the whole ‘they’re older than they are’ setup so I’m game for AltDes if you’d like. Their relationship can also totally be platonic (I can write platonic AltDes too! (waves hands at The The Second) and …………… technically the fics where Altaïr is just a Bleed like Falconry and The Helios Job? (total silence))

Anyway, if you want this to be Deslex (I’m going to assume that means ProtoCreed Alex x Desmond), the pandemic of AC lore can be a mutated version of Blacklight virus. Not as dangerous and less ‘icky’ than the original Blacklight virus but harder to spot and contain. The idea could be that the whole plot of Prototype happened in the background but it was contained and is ground zero of the pandemic with the public only knowing it as ‘ground zero’ then the mutated, still dangerous but at least you won’t turn into an icky monster, version spreads and that’s when the lockdowns happen.

Those with high Isu genes (like our reborn ancestors) are immune to it and that’s who Alex is looking for since… well… they may have a clue to how to stop the spread.

Alex ends up meeting Desmond because of his high Isu genes and…

Ends up using his apartment as a base of operation while he’s searching for answers and trying to fuck up Gentek-Abstergo’s plans to weaponize this version of the virus and also steal their data for a cure because they’re planning to use it as leverage to those in power and a way for the masses to think of them as ‘saviors’.

Of course, as with all my other ProtoCreed ideas, Blacklight virus is a genetically altered ‘virus’ that had been based on a failed Isu project led by Tinia.

If this is DesLex, the ancestors would be protective of Desmond and would think Alex is not good enough but Desmond seems happy so… okay. But they’ll be watching. If Alex fucks up, he’d have three Master Assassins hellbent on taking him down.

[realitybitesyouknowit]

Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, Alphard Black, Theodore Nott, Gaspar Avery, Abraxas Malfoy, Richard Lestrange, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Timeline Mashup, (as an example : sirius is alphard's uncle), set in the 90's, Same Age Tom & Harry, Academic rivals, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, or : people who don't like each other (one sided) to friends to lovers, Friendship, Falling In Love, Mutual Pining, please blame the characters i only work here, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved Harry Potter, Touch-Starved Tom Riddle, Fluff, minimal angst, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Romance, Shakespeare, Playwriting, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of Substance Abuse, (both pertaining to a secondary character), Drinking, Smoking, Recreational Drug Use, POV Harry Potter, Beta Read, Updates bi-weekly, (every tuesday & friday), one scene in act 1 has a splash of bodyshaming so TW Summary:

When Harry arrives at the most prestigious theatrical school in the country, under very suspicious circumstances, he doesn't have many expectations. The most unexpected thing he encounters, however, is one Tom Riddle.

Amidst peers of great talent, his worry for his Godfather, unconventional Professors, and a vague sense of unworthiness, Harry falls in love with the only other person who deals with feelings as well as him.

But maybe, just maybe, he and Tom will find out that not all love stories have to end in tragedy.

[clockworkcheetah]

emmet month prompt 6 - emotions

this kinda derailed (ayyy) and not sure if it totally fits the prompt but i still like it

[pokimoko]

perilune - Moon Knight Fic

By pokimoko

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 14K

Fandom: Moon Knight (2022), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Layla El-Faouly/Marc Spector, Layla El-Faouly/Steven Grant, Layla El-Faouly & Jake Lockley, Layla El-Faouly & Steven Grant & Jake Lockley & Marc Spector

Characters: Layla El-Faouly, Marc Spector, Steven Grant (Marvel), Jake Lockley

Tags: Romance, Fluff, Asexual Character, Asexual Marc Spector, Asexual Steven Grant, Asexual Jake Lockley, Aromantic Jake Lockley, Queerplatonic Relationships, Light Angst, No Smut, POV Layla El-Faouly, Protective Layla El-Faouly, Asexuality, allosexual/asexual relationship, Established Relationship, Touch-Averse Jake Lockley, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Layla getting two husbands and a queerplatonic partner: "I see this as an absolute win", Communication, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Season/Series 01, One Shot, Slice of Life, Astronomy, Soft Jake Lockley, Implied Autistic Character(s)

Summary: In which Layla and Marc go to a party and share an important talk, Layla and Steven go on a date under the stars, and Layla and Jake go out for breakfast and come to a realisation.

[uefb]

Falling in love, again, with more OCs 🤷🏼

Yesterday my wife saw the color-coded post-it note tabs in one of my Fantastic Beast companion books and was like, “Can you make your next hyperfixation or special interest housekeeping?” and at first I almost walloped her, because rude, and then she quickly explained, “I’m just saying, in a perfect world where we could funnel your ridiculous ability to obtain and organize massive amounts of information into exactly what we needed, our house would be immaculate” and I was like “yes ma’am, and unfortunately they’re disorders for a reason”

We both had a good laugh. I then posted a fic I’d been working on, confident I’d be able to switch my brain back to another longtime interest (my research) after getting the current FB plot bunny out of my head…

And yet, less than 24 hours later, I’ve started another one. This is exhausting. Make it stop lmao. But 1969 Newt & his 18-year-old son are extremely humorous to me, so whatever

[redvanillabee]

↖️ new icon made by the amazing @starlightpeggy!

(you can find it and the rest here)

[lyekisses]

sometimes i have such a hard time telling my friends good things that happen to me. like who cares.

[lookedlikethebins]

okay but like... what if i wrote some indulgent matty oneshots (w/ the guys of course. they're a set [or a pair]; do not separate). would that be good for y'all would you like that lol

[teecupangel]

Alright.

I just posted:

The latest chapter of Zero Eclipse (as promised, this is less heavy than the last chapter)

The last chapter of fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum (14k words, lots of plot, lots of smut)

A sequel/side-story of Old Masters that is Ezio getting reborn in the modern day to screw up AC movie's plot in honor of Ezio's deathday (Nov 30) titled The King (27k+ words, Ezio POV with background AltDes)

And a short Niccolò Machiavelli x Desmond Miles that a reader in AO3 requested for The Relentless Pleasurable Suffering of Desmond Miles (Chapter 4) (I still do not know the difference between power and bratty bottom)

Have fun. I shall now sleep.

[poppiesforthirteen]

no green that you can use

despite everything, yaz isn't alone.

tags: depression/mental illness relapses, surrounding revolution of the daleks, hurt/comfort, tardis telepathy

—

Yaz hasn't left the TARDIS in days.

It feels weird to think of it as the TARDIS. The TARDIS is the Doctor's, all dark and cozy and crystals and hexagons—this one is stark white, always lit so brightly it hurts Yaz's eyes to stare at its console for too long. But it's the only TARDIS she's seen for months, so this might as well be the TARDIS now.

She's been sleeping here, hiding it from Graham and Ryan at first, but she hasn't seen them in a while and she doesn't have the energy to drag her stuff to the side in case they come by during the day. Papers are scattered around her, most of them trails leading to nowhere, places the Doctor could be. Wasn't. Was with them, maybe. Maybe by herself. Yaz sighs. Hopeless.

She thinks she remembers the last time she ate; the box on the floor is from yesterday afternoon's chippie run. Yaz is sick of chips. She's sick of most things.

Her family probably thinks she's been abducted by now. She hasn't been home; when she is she doesn't try and see anyone. Her plait is the last thing keeping her hair from becoming truly disgusting; her clothes already are. She ought to go home, if only to change and shower.

Yaz can't. She just can't. Too tired. Her panic, anger, sadness when landing here seem lifetimes ago. Now all that's left is exhaustion, like lead bones dragging her down, making her muscles a chore to use. Even breathing seems like a task. She rolls over in her sleeping bag to stare at the other wall. Maybe if she sleeps a little longer, the Doctor will come back.

She closes her eyes, shifts uncomfortably on the floor (she should get a nicer mattress in here, since she's spending so much time lying down). This is familiar. This feeling. It's that moment after school when she comes home, having pretended not to exist for a day (not that it ever helped), then going to hide in bed and wish not to exist twice as hard (not that it ever worked). 'What if you never see the Doctor again?' used to spark enough of that same panic in her to keep working, these days it feels more like a torture method. Not enough fear to inspire action, just enough to make her feel sick.

Or maybe that's just her empty stomach. She eyes the box, then closes her eyes again. Hungry, but not hungry enough to move.

Get up, something soft and kind whispers in her ear.

"Who's there?" Yaz sits up with a start, grabbing at something useful to defend herself with and only finding balled-up paper. She grabs it anyway, raising her hand threateningly.

The TARDIS is empty. Yaz stands, reaching for her flashlight (she's never needed it in here, but it makes for a good blunt weapon)—she checks the console room in slow paces, but it's just as barren as always. Her steps trace past the entrance: This is where the Doctor tore herself away; this is where she said my name for the last time; this is where she left. Yaz slumps back down onto her duvet and leans her head back and lets the pain fade into emptiness again.

The pain returns, a sadness that doesn't quite feel like her own. Yaz frowns. "What are you?" she mumbles. The sadness lies around her like a blanket, covering her but not a part of her. Comforting. Heavy.

It doesn't answer. It waits.

"Doctor, if that's you come back to haunt me, you're doing a miserable job of it." The presence laughs, a little tremble through the TARDIS, a wave through the weight on her shoulders.

You miss her.

"What's it to you?" Yaz shuts her eyes against the light and, to her surprise, it dims.

I see you. As Yaz tries to decipher what that may mean, the weight around her grows, all Yaz's fear and frustration and regret and grief—hers, now, but not in her, on her. Then it lifts. I am alone. You and I are alone.

"Yeah?" Yaz says, because she doesn't know what else, and her stomach growls loudly. "I should go eat," she tells the nothing whispering to her.

I will wait for you, Yasmin Khan. The TARDIS' door opens. She steps outside and feels... braver. Like she can do this, like something's got her back. The feeling follows her all the way to the chippie and back—as sick as she is of chips, it can't hurt. It's easy.

Yaz eats on her makeshift bed in the TARDIS and feels a little less alone.

—

In nine months, forty-one weeks, Yaz has spent as much time in the TARDIS as outside of it. Feels like it, at least. It's lit up now, letting her stick newspaper clippings to the walls with fridge magnets, and dims down in sympathy as she sighs.

"What if I never find her?" she asks the TARDIS. It flickers a little, hums. "I've tried everything. I just don't know how to make you work—if only I could..."

Yaz reaches for the console and the comfortable presence of the TARDIS shifts away again. Distances itself.

"Why won't you let me? She can't be the only one who can fly you, not just her and—" Yaz grimaces and occupies herself with rifling through scraps of paper instead. She's talking to a spaceship. Weirder yet, the spaceship is answering.

Sometimes Yaz thinks she can feel the Doctor in here. When she stands where the Doctor did, moves in certain ways, or sits and thinks about her too long. Most of the time, though, Yaz feels her echo—her own thoughts of the Doctor mirrored back to her. Then others, anger, grief, bone-deep hurt that isn't her own but sickens her with the familiarity of it.

Whoever felt it must have loved the Doctor deeply.

—

The TARDIS full of Daleks folds in on itself until it disappears into thin air. From the safety of the Doctor's TARDIS, Yaz flinches.

—

Being on the same spaceship, one wouldn't think it possible to avoid seeing each other, but it's been some time since Yaz's crossed the Doctor's path. She isn't trying to avoid her, she's just been so tired. It's hard to say how much time has actually passed; Yaz doesn't have the Doctor's time sense; but it feels like ages since she's left her room. Been a while, either way.

Traveling with only the Doctor is exciting, or it should be, but it's just exhausting right now. She has to live up to all that attention given to her, has to be twice as active—the Doctor isn't meant for being alone. Yaz would say she's clingy, but there's so much distance between them that it's not even that. She's just hovering.

And Yaz is avoiding her.

She turns around in bed. There's no light in her room, obviously no clock, and no footsteps in the corridor outside where Ryan and Graham used to come by. Who's to say how much time has passed? They're in the time vortex—Yaz would have felt the TARDIS moving if they'd left—so for everyone but her and the Doctor, no real time has passed at all. Is the Doctor looking for her? Probably not. Does Yaz want her to?

Yaz hasn't been sleeping well. Can't say how much, but no matter the time she spends in bed, she's never refreshed. Hiding in here hasn't let her get away from that uncomfortable hollow in her chest yet.

Is this how the Doctor feels? Yaz hides; she runs. Yaz would try it, try to keep herself busy to train her thoughts elsewhere, but she can't find the energy. She shuts her eyes tightly and opens them again. Swallows the doubt tying knots in her throat.

Her mouth is dry. She has a headache. When was the last time she had water? The bathroom is attached to her room; she wouldn't even have to get dressed.

Get up, she thinks and doesn't move.

Strong attempt. Try again later.

Maybe Yaz should have gone to see someone about these phases years ago, before the whole time travel thing got wrapped into it. Maybe she should have gone to therapy instead of joining the police. But her family doesn't do therapy; they repress things like any respectable person, and now Yaz is seated with this mess.

Get up, something in her mind whispers, and Yaz freezes at the familiarity of it. An image of the Doctor in the console room, waiting, a thought in her voice: Should I? No. Give her space. A feeling, not Yaz's, not the presence. Guilt.

And a comforting weight over her, like Yaz's TARDIS before it disappeared. She misses you, the Doctor's TARDIS hums, and Yaz can't tell who 'she' is. It's the Doctor, but not just her, and Yaz misses her too, misses the Doctor and the TARDIS and the life around her. Her stomach twists with it, a knife to the gut.

No, not gone, don't worry.

Grief, insurmountable grief, the loss of anyone like her, the last of the TARDISes, and it lifts. Hangs in the air like a cloud before rain; Yaz can almost smell the petrichor.

You have chances, young one. Not alone.

The Doctor imagines herself getting up and knocking on Yaz's door and asking her to go somewhere; she flips through the eras and planets like looking for a comfort film on DVD; she stays where she is. The sonic protests in her hands as she turns it. Yaz's throat closes.

"Why are you showing me this?" she croaks. Her mouth is dry; she still hasn't had any water.

I love you.

Tears, like a dam breaking, like fat droplets at the start of a storm. Yaz doesn't wipe them away; she wasn't expecting herself to cry and her body hasn't realised it yet.

"Okay," she means to respond, but her voice dies in her chest. The words remain, not a weight, not an echo or an expectation, no more than the simplicity with which the TARDIS said them. Yaz inhales deeply. "Okay."

She gets up and nearly blacks out as her head spins. Sits back down. The TARDIS' presence is still there; it ripples with a laugh, and Yaz can't help smiling.

When Yaz finally steps into the console room, clean and hydrated and a little more alive, the Doctor is sitting on the stairs—she gets up with a start, beaming, running towards Yaz as if to hug her before moving away self-consciously, her hands folded behind her back. "Good to see you."

"You too." Yaz smiles back and the Doctor relaxes a little. "How long was I asleep?"

"Eh." She waves it off. Busies herself with the console. The petrichor has followed Yaz from her room; the first drops of a summer shower hitting the dry earth as the TARDIS sings, not alone. "Are you hungry? Because I know just the place."

"Starving." The last discomfort lifts out of Yaz's chest as the Doctor pulls the lever. Later, when they're eating sandwiches the size of their heads in front of a valley of waterfalls, the Doctor chattering about the planet's history, Yaz will have forgotten it was there at all.

—

title is from to the young who want to die by gwendolyn brooks, that and the ao3 link will be in the notes

reblogs are appreciated!