#Dead Effect 2

[ceo-of-sloppy-men]

Edit: people not getting that I made this to mock myself will never not be funny to me.

[666frames]

Evil Dead II (1987) Japanese trailer

[fanofspooky]

Scream King -

Ray Wise

[sskk-manifesto]

Bungou Stray Dogs: Dead Apple and how “ability users” (opposite to “normal people”) learning to accept themselves through the acceptance of their own abilities is a queer metaphor of acceptance of own's sexual orientation and gender: an essay by me

[nashvillethotchicken]

It is deeply unfortunate that Anne Rice and white culture is hyperobsessed with Europe as the supposed hub of culture so all the "it" vampires flock to Europe and France specifically, because I genuinely think Louis and Claudia would have had a ball in Rio

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

I know that it’s a common talking point nowadays to say, “movies are dying, TV is experiencing a creative renaissance,” which isn’t necessarily wrong. I just feel the statement should actually be, “movies are dying, TV and video games are experiencing a creative renaissance”.

[commandertartarsmoocher]

rip bozo

⚠️[volume warning for the attached link] ⚠️

[regwishesshehadmagic]

(Tried out Otis_Inf's photomode tools)

[solemnvowz]

pastel and charcoal study of micah

i also sculpted him yesterday and today...

i rlly need to finish the dutch drawing

[a-little-buggy]

Hello! I wrote an Assassin's Creed fanfic based on @sulfies' ideas about the bleeding effect! (Plus some other HCs that he has mentioned thrown in for flavor) He has SUCH amazing art, you should definitely check it out if you haven't yet! This was actually my first time writing fanfiction, so feedback would be greatly appreciated! Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

Chased by Shadows

Word count: 2,699

Desmond raced through the streets of Firenze, bumping shoulders with people as he passed. Behind him, he could still hear the hurried steps of the guards. "Get back here! You'll suffer for this!"

He glanced back at his pursuers, but collided with a man carrying a heavy crate, which tumbled and busted on the ground. "Watch where you're going next time!"

"Scusami! I'm sorry!" Desmond kept running.

Ahead, he saw a stack of crates, leading to a number of poles and balconies. Surely the guards would be slow to follow. He leapt up, balancing himself briefly before taking another leap. Balance, leap, balance, leap, swing, balance; it was a comfortingly familiar rhythm. But Desmond was exhausted, and felt too at ease with the acrobatics. Relying on muscle memory that wasn't his. He reached for a clothesline, but it slipped from his fingers and he hit the ground.

He rolled enough that he wasn't hurt, (not badly), but the guards were nearly on top of him again. "Cazzo!" Desmond pulled himself to his feet, and was running again.

Ahead, the street was widening into a market. "Perhaps I can lose them in the crowd."

He slowed to mimic the flow of the people milling and shopping, weaving his way deeper into the stalls, always checking over his shoulder. The guards were always just behind him.

He passed through a group of monks, and turned again to check if he was still followed. The guards were further away now, but one of them turned and caught his eye. Desmond began backing away, preparing to bolt again, but squarely ran into someone.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He readied his blade.

"Are you alright, mi amico?"

Desmond wheeled around. "Ezio?" He breathed a sigh of relief. "Dio mio, it is good to see you! Can you help rid me of these guards?"

"What guards?" Ezio peered into the sea of faces.

"They've been chasing me all morning!" Desmond grabbed Ezio's arm, ushering him through the masses, barely steps ahead of his tormentors.

"Follow me then." Ezio took the lead, weaving and wending through the crowd, until they reached the edge of the marketplace. Here, the rows of houses began again. Ezio planted his foot on a windowsill, then leaped upwards. He climbed hand over hand, from the window, to the balcony, the banister, the roof. Desmond followed close behind, mirroring his movements exactly.

The two bounded between the rooftops. Desmond kept his gaze focused on Ezio's movements, but behind him, he heard the continued protests of the guardsmen.

"Up ahead!" Ezio quickly rounded a corner, and by the time Desmond had done the same, he barely caught a glimpse of Ezio's boots disappearing under the sheet of a rooftop garden. Desmond leaped in after him. He hadn't slowed down enough, but fortunately, Ezio grabbed hold of him before he could crash into the opposing wall.

The two assassins sat there, sheltering in the shaded box, waiting with hitched breath. Desmond could hear footsteps, murmers, "Did you see where they went?"

"Well," Ezio said, as he started dusting himself off. "That should take care of -"

"Shh!" Desmond slapped his hand over Ezio's mouth and rose a finger to his own. "They'll hear you!"

Ezio glared at him, but frustration was quickly replaced by perplexion and concern. He gently removed Desmond's hand, then clasped it in his own. He entwined their fingers together, staring fixatedly at the blackened hand, as if by some strange. . . burn? Ezio returned his gaze to meet Desmond's, then gestured his head towards the curtain, mouthing, "I'll check." He released the seemingly charred fingers, giving them one last reassuring stroke, then crept over to peer from a corner. He shifted and peeked out another corner, and then another curtain. Finally, he stood up.

"We are the only ones on this rooftop." Ezio looked down at Desmond, who was sat in the corner, wringing his hands. In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, Ezio gave him a sly smirk and added, "Unless those pigeons are the pursuers you spoke of."

"I. . . I was. . ." Desmond shook his head, then rose to his feet to look for himself. The rooftops were empty. He gave a deep sigh, then straightened up. "Bene," He said, as he started dusting himself off. "Those lurido porci must have finally given up!" Ezio was still staring, and it was starting to make his skin crawl. "What is it?"

"I do not intend to seem rude, but. . ." Ezio trailed off, then leaned back against a corner post, folding his arms. "Have you always spoken Italiano?"

Desmond scoffed. "Of course I have!" He said, gesturing furiously. "Why wouldn't I speak my own-"

Oh.

Desmond slumped back down into the corner. He began wringing his hands again. His hands. Then why didn't they feel like his?

Ezio knelt down in front of Desmond, and lifted his face towards the dim light. "You look tired, Desmond. When is the last time you really slept?"

"I dunno. . ." Desmond shook his head, then gave a weak chuckle. "What year is it?"

"Not the answer I was looking for." Ezio's hand still rested on Desmond's cheek, his thumb gently stroking the other man's chin. Ezio lingered, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "Exhaustion can do funny things to a man."

"But don't fret, mi amore." Ezio lowered his hand, now playfully tapping Desmond's chest. "I know where to find the very best beds in this city!" And with this, Ezio rose, and doing a triumphant turn thrust open a curtain.

"I can't say I'm surprised," Desmond responded, and reached his hand up. Ezio in turn clasped Desmond's forearm, and pulled him to his feet, the two colliding slightly.

Ezio again held open the curtain, and with an overly dramatic bow held out his hand and said, "After you."

Desmond rolled his eyes. "Such a gentleman." He took Ezio's and climbed over the low wall. Ezio climbed out after, and they made their way back down to the streets.

Ezio led the way, making idle conversation as they went. "Now, normally, I would be going to La Rosa Colta, but if the intention is to actually sleep, there is a lovely inn a little further to the east, where. . ."

Desmond couldn't stay focused on what Ezio was saying. The streets were too busy; too many faces and voices. They all blurred together, taking on shapes that were old and familiar. He would have sworn that he caught a glimpse of Lucy. Or that he saw Rebecca sitting on a bench. Had Shaun just called his name? He turned around to look, but all of these people were strangers. His friends were not to be found here.

Someone grabbed his arm, and he flinched.

"You're lucky I didn't wander off without you." Ezio started to scowl at Desmond, but abandoned it quickly, instead examining Desmond's arm. "I. . . didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No! No, 'course not." Desmond pulled away, and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just. . . I'm feeling pretty out of it. That's all." He pleaded to whatever powers may be that if his eyes were wet, Ezio wouldn't notice.

"Well, I would hate to lose you in this crowd," Ezio said, taking Desmond's hand.

Desmond wished he could feel it, could take comfort in the sensation of Ezio's fingers wrapped around his own, but his charred skin had lost all feeling. As they walked through the busy streets, Desmond couldn't help but feel disconnected from this world. As though he wasn't really a part of it, or wasn't even really here. Some piece of him was grateful for the anchor to Ezio, leading the way through this unrelenting sea of people, but he couldn't help but feel that the noticeable numbness was just making this sense of unbelonging worse.

Ezio could apparently sense Desmond's unease. "We're getting close now. I promise."

Sure enough, after turning another corner they approached a modest inn. It was a tall building, with green banners and curtains to distinguish it from the other houses lined alongside. They entered into a lobby filled with chairs and benches which had a staircase to one side. On the other side sat an older woman at a desk, with several keys hanging on the wall behind her. She was presently checking in another traveler.

"You go ahead upstairs." Ezio released Desmond's hand, and patted him on the shoulder. "I will get us sorted with a solitary accommodation."

Desmond nodded, and proceeded up the staircase, which creaked under his feet. His head ached, and his legs ached, and he stopped after the first flight of stairs to lean against the wall. This floor had just a few large rooms, which would hold several beds, each with the understanding that many travelers would share. The private rooms were likely up another level. "Great," Desmond muttered under his breath. "More stairs." He continued climbing.

Fortunately, the staircase ended at the third floor, which had a winding hallway through many small rooms. Desmond breathed a sigh of relief, and walked a little ways down the hall. Out of curiosity, he tested one of the knobs, but it was locked. It was quiet up here, at least. Desmond slumped down against the door, halfway considering dozing off.

"Well, you took your time getting here."

Desmond jumped up, blinking his eyes. In front of him stood a young woman wearing a blue brocade dress. She was toying with her glittering necklace. Desmond finally realized she was talking to him. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Oh, don't go getting coy now! Haven't I waited long enough already?" She reached out and rubbed her thumb along Desmond'shirt collar.

He looked at her in perplexement, and then drew away, realization dawning on him. "Oh. I get it. Look, ma'am, you've got me mistaken for someone else. And besides that, you aren't real. So maybe you could just. . . save us both some time and vanish? Or whatever?"

"I've been dreaming of this night for so long. . ." The woman crooned, drawing closer. Apparently, his words had no effect on. . . her? It?

He drew back again, this time anger and frustration welling up inside of him. "You know what? I have had enough of all of this! I am telling you, here and now, to LEAVE ME THE FU-"

"Desmond?" Ezio came jogging up the stairs, key in hand. "Who are you shouting at?"

Desmond threw his hands in the air. "NOBODY! Nobody at all! After all, who else would I talk to, if not some figment of my imagination!?"

Ezio reached the top step, and started searching for their door. "Well, you might have an easier time of it talking to me."

Desmond huffed. "Well, I also might have an easier time of it if you hadn't slept with half the women in Firenze!"

Desmond glared at Ezio, who, for his part, looked very lost and confused. Desmond took a deep breath, and buried his face in his hands. "You have no idea what I'm talking about. I have no idea what I'm talking about. Forget I said anything."

Ezio nodded. "You aren't feeling well. I will not hold it against you." Ezio started leading Desmond down the hall, looking for their room. "I remember once when I was young, I fell ill. I had a fever, and was lying in bed. And when Federico came in to check on me, I threw every. . . colorful word I knew at him. He simply nodded and left, and then returned a few minutes later with a hot cup of milk."

He chuckled fondly to himself. "Unfortunately, my mother overheard our one-sided conversation. I love her immensely, but the woman seldom forgives. And I swear to you, she never forgets."

By now they had found their door, which Ezio unlocked and entered. It was a little tight, but it had a bed and bedside table, and a window, and a small chest of drawers with an unlit candle on top.

Ezio crossed the room and closed the curtains. He looked back at Desmond, who had dragged himself up onto the bed and buried his head under a pillow. "Are you not even going to take off your shoes?"

"Mmfph" said the pillow.

"Va bene." Ezio flopped onto the bed next to Desmond, and the two laid there in silence.

. . . . .

"I'm sorry, I cannot do this." Ezio bolted upright and shifted to the foot of the bed, where he began unlacing his boots.

Desmond pulled his head out from under the pillow. "Weeeaak," he jeered.

"My mother may have raised an idiota, but she did not raise a slob." Once Ezio had removed everything but his pants and undershirt, he laid back down on the bed and sighed. "Much better."

Desmond gave him a sleepy smile, but then turned his attention to staring intently at the window. He shook his head and nestled back into the pillow, only to lift his head to peer at the window again a few minutes later.

Ezio rolled over to face him. "Desmond? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just. . ." Desmond sighed. "Ezio, you would tell me if you heard something, right?

"Of course, if it seemed important. Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing, really. I just keep thinking I hear sirens."

"Sirens?" Ezio propped himself up on his elbows, and then placed a hand on either side of Desmond, leaning over him. Ezio's hair had come undone, and his shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, his collarbones and chest hair peeking out from underneath. Desmond gulped. "Desmond, I am right here. Why would you go to some. . ." Ezio's face scrunched with revulsion, "fish-women for sex?"

Desmond blinked. He blinked again, and then rubbed his eyes. "I think we're talking about two very different things."

"Oh." Ezio's ears turned slightly pink, and he sat back on his legs. "What did you mean by sirens, then?"

"Sirens, are. . ." Desmond trailed off, rubbing his temple. "It's kinda like an alarm, but strapped to a carriage?"

"I see." Ezio laid back down on the bed. "If an alarm is raised, I will make sure you are aware. But I truly do not believe there to be reason for concern." Ezio turned to face Desmond again. "I only hope that resting will do you some good. I fear I don't know any other way to help."

"Ezio, you've helped more than enough already. Hell, I might still be running from imaginary guards if it hadn't been for you." Desmond shut his eyes firmly, and took a deep breath. "I. . . I can't hardly tell what's real anymore." Desmond didn't say he was afraid, but he figured his voice had betrayed that already.

"Perhaps you can still find comfort in what you know for fact." Ezio reached over, taking Desmond's blackened hand in his own. "Perhaps you can find comfort with me."

Desmond stared at their hands. "Yeah. . . I guess. . ."

"You guess? You mean, you guess I'm real?"

"That isn't what I meant -"

"No, no. Come here." Ezio wrapped his arms around Desmond, and pulled him close so Desmond's head was now laying on Ezio's chest. "You are safe, Desmond. And you are not alone. So please, try to get some sleep."

Desmond laid there, in the still silence. He listened to Ezio's heartbeat, and felt the weight of Ezio's arms around him. He was grateful for the quiet and warmth. But sleep could not come quickly enough, and silence can also bring worry. Did I offend him? After all, how would I feel if someone else implied I might not exist? Will he resent me for all this?

Desmond's anxiety spiral was interrupted by a new sound. An intermittent low rumbling. He groggily lifted his head to look for its source, before realizing it was in perfect sync with the rise and fall of Ezio's chest.

He's snoring.

Desmond let out a deep sigh, laid his head back down, and closed his eyes. He allowed himself to sink into Ezio's warm, sleepy embrace. And for the first time in what felt like centuries, Desmond slept soundly.

[arthursfuckinghat]

Let death be a lesson to you.

[ceo-of-sloppy-men]

“The blood on his hands cannot be measured.”

No but his dick can be.

[hallowclave]

What a whimsical looking young man I wonder if he has received any job offers recently

Original photo

[redwritr]

Arthur Morgan

reference by the stunning @kaphzzz 🖤

[germanich]

Light blue!