#RIP my writing hands

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, neighbour!price x reader - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

You find out John Price doesn’t play around when it comes to catching up on sleep while he’s on leave.

Struggling to bring in a heavy package one morning, you’re startled by your neighbour emerging from his unit huffing and puffing tiredly about noise in nothing but a simple pair of low hanging pyjama bottoms.

You’re concerned you’re going to get an earful when he wordlessly hoists the box up, uncaring about the way it tugs at his waistband to expose a dusting of hair and noticeable veins. Leaving your delivery just inside your door, he turns to look at you through squinted eyes, and your cheeks heat up when you realize you’ve been caught watching it bob under the loose fabric.

In your defence, he cuts quite the hypnotic figure from the side.

“Thank you, John-“ you try- only to be interrupted by a thick arm hooking around your neck; the other reaching behind him to close your door with just a tad too much force. His free hand lowers to scratch at his belly, prompting a loud yawn as a thick palm dips lower, giving himself a little squeeze. With a content hum rolling around in his chest, he pulls you into his apartment.

“Too early.” He grumbles as he flops onto his well-worn couch, half asleep and tugging you with him. Like a strangler fig, he rolls onto his side and cages you against the cushions, his legs tangling around yours and his cock unmistakably fattening against your belly.

[cochineal-leviat]

"Our dear party celebrate after acquiring the third orb to unlock the House of Dormont. Their location? A tavern. It is a night to drink your worries and sorrows away. Hopefully, they will be able to relax before continuing their formidable journey.

Unfortunately, the booze has more unintended consequences than the group had considered. Especially on their new roguish member."

This is my first ISAT fic (that I have finished), and I am so stoked to share it with everyone! I also drew a comic with it because I was so excited about the story. This is definitely one of my best comics yet. I have been experimenting with panelling, and I am getting the formula down now after much trial and error.

I had a lot of fun designing Siffrin's clothes under the cloak (I even drew a reference for it in my sketchbook). I love designing clothes <3. Especially tunics. It seems a little too fancy for Sif's tastes, but I am chalking it up it being a gift from someone from a long time ago rather than something Siffrin would buy or get on his own)

Please enjoy~!

*Edit*

I decided to continue the comic because of the overwhelming support I received (o゜▽゜)o☆. The link is under this paragraph.

Part 2

(Also, there are no spoilers for the game itself! Except for the ending notes of the fic, but I will place a warning there)

Different coloured pages without text under keep reading

Initially, I worked with different shades of grey for anyone: Siffrin has violet grayscale, Isabeua red, Mirabelle yellow, and Odile Green. But I ended up putting a black-and-white filter on it for unification. Please let me know if you guys prefer the 'coloured' versions more or not, and I will change the comic pages into the OG colouring. The purple for Siff is giving, but I am unsure if it is too noisy.

[allmoshnobrain]

You're a short girl, and sometimes that messes with your confidence. Your boyfriend doesn't seem to care at all, though.

✦ on this fic: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader, fluff, reader is short and it makes her a bit insecure

✦ a/n: this is my first time writing for anything other than metallica/megadeth/venom which is what i usually write for but i've been daydreaming a lot about this man and needed to get this out of my system 😭 also it was a great way to warm up and start writing again after my break!! hope u guys enjoy it 💖

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It takes him a while to pick up on your insecurity.

It's subtle, and honestly, he’s not exactly great with subtle. He fails, at first, to catch the way you pout, the way you frown whenever you see a hot actress who’s taller than you, or a long dress you think would look better on someone with a few more inches.

He finally catches on, though, one night when you’re cooking dinner. It’s kind of a slip up, really — a tiring day and your period cramps the worst they’ve been in the last few hours just making it easier for you to get upset over the smallest thing. So when you can’t reach one of the trays on the top shelf and have to ask him to grab it, he turns around to see you teary-eyed and upset, which is not how this usually goes.

“Love?” he asks, his brow furrowing when he sees your state “What’s wrong?” He glances at the glass tray in his hands. “Did I grab the wrong one?”

“What? No, no, it’s fine,” you mutter, his confused look quickly shifting into worry when he notices the tears in your eyes.

“Hey,” he quickly puts the tray down and gently grabs your chin. “Talk to me. What is it?”

He’s firm, straightforward but not harsh, which just makes you feel even more ridiculous for almost crying over something so dumb.

“I’m being silly,” you say, but he shakes his head. 

“Don’t say that,” he mutters. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

That last part sounds almost like a command, his voice all firm and serious — something that would probably annoy you if he didn’t sound so genuinely concerned. You sigh.

“I wish I was taller,” you whisper, hoping he wouldn’t hear it, but he does. Of course he does.

“You wish you were taller?” he repeats, now more confused than worried. “Why?”

“I just don’t want to feel useless, always needing your help,” you half-lie, because that’s not really it.  And of course, Simon knows — he always does. You can tell by the way he raises his eyebrow slightly at you, disarming you instantly. “I wish I was prettier,” you finally mutter.

“You are pretty,” he says slowly, like he’s still trying to figure out where all this is coming from. “You’re beautiful. And I like helping you.”

“But tall girls are… More beautiful,” you sniffle, and he snorts.

“Who said that?”

“I said,” you frown. “Like, every time I see a cute dress that’s too long, I just think I can’t wear it. It won’t look right on me. I always feel like I can only look cute, but sometimes I want to look, I don’t know, gorgeous. Tall girls just always seem to look gorgeous to me, and I...”

“Oh, shush,” Simon grumbles, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. He tilts your chin up gently so you’re looking at him. “You are gorgeous. And you’re beautiful, and you’re mine. And I like you small — easier to hold.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s shaky, and you try to hold it back, wanting to stay in your little pity party a bit longer. I mean, seriously, what does he mean by "you’re gorgeous" when you feel the exact opposite?

"Easier to hold?" you say, trying to sound offended but failing as a giggle slips out.

"There she is," he hums, kissing the corner of your mouth, and that’s when you realize you’re smiling. "My girl. Don’t be upset, love. You don’t need to be taller to be pretty. And if you ever need to reach for something, well, that’s what I’m here for."

“You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” you tease. He lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Goddammit, woman. Will you quit trying to convince me you’re not beautiful? It’s not happening,” he frowns, then leans in, pressing a small, tender kiss to your lips. His arms wrapped around you are comfortable, warm and firm and feel like home.

It never fails to disarm you, how soft he can be. Out of the blue, always when you’re not really expecting it. Just when you think you’ve finally managed to annoy him or maybe this is the time he’s gonna get tired of you. He never fails to prove you wrong. 

He never fails to prove that he loves you, just the way you are.

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[dewwshi]

i read homeland and this is mostly the impression i got

[catcherwrites]

The first batch of my Arc 3 concept designs are finally done! It felt fitting to begin with the three who started it all: Rayla, Callum, and Ezran

Check out the more in-depth story and design choices below

Rayla

Story Choices

In the wake of S7’s Finale, Azymondias wasn’t just a 2-year-old King of the Dragons, but the only surviving Archdragon. That means he’s a very important figure across Xadia and the Human Kingdoms – and needs to be protected. Shortly after the events of S7, Rayla reclaims her title as ‘The Last Dragonguard’ and resurrects the order to act as Zym’s attendants, advisors, and protectors. She’s spent the last few years travelling between the Storm Spire, the Silvergrove, and Evrkynd, helping where she can and leading her fellow guards (who may be revealed in a later post). Rayla’s relationship with Callum has grown stronger than ever. Even though they’re holding off on marriage until Aaravos is dealt with for good, Callum gives her the Xadian equivalent of a promise ring he handcrafted (Ethari helped). With them both feeling secure with each other, they are more comfortable with being separated…but that won’t stop them from being attached at the hip whenever they’re near each other.

Design Choices

Going into these Arc 3 designs, I had a much clearer image in my head of Rayla compared to the other characters in my lineup. Using reference images of Tiadrin and Lain made creating Rayla’s Dragonguard uniform feel very bittersweet. Unfortunately, from a creative standpoint, uniforms run the chance of limiting the personality in a character’s design. I tried offsetting this by making Rayla’s undershirt and embedded gemstones in her armour more Silvergrove-y than Dragonguard-y. I also kept Rayla’s iconic belt, Arc 2 colour scheme, and added some of Ethari’s swirls where possible. Beyond the uniform, I kept going back and forth about her hairstyle. Keep the Arc 2 bun? Return to Arc 1’s style? Braided? A simple ponytail? Eventually, I settled on a half-up braid that let my sleep-deprived brain think I was getting the best of both worlds.

Callum

Story Choices

Ezran was disappointed when Callum turned down being his High Mage again, fearing that he’d lose his brother’s support in the council room. In reality, stepping down as High Mage meant that Callum could step up as Crown Prince. In the years following S7, Callum splits his time between assisting Ezran and studying magic on expeditions across Xadia. One of those expeditions leads him to Aaravos’ book in Elarion, which helps him delve deeper into the other primal sources. He’s fully mastered Sky and Ocean magic and has grown incredibly proficient at Earth magic. To Callum’s dismay, even with the help of Lujanne, Ethari, and Aaravos’ book, he still isn’t clicking with the Moon arcanum. He also hasn’t fully unlocked the Sun arcanum, but he’s getting very close and is a strong fire mage when wielding the Staff of Ziard. By Arc 3, Callum has gained the title of Archmage – and people far and wide seek him out for magical assistance, leaving him overworked and exhausted.

Design Choices

I was very excited to come up with Callum’s Arc 3 design for one reason: the parallels. His Arc 2 outfit is meant to resemble Viren, as Callum had taken his place as the High Mage of Katolis. But because he is no longer ‘High Mage,’ and instead ‘Archmage’, Callum’s Arc 3 outfit is intended to reflect Aaravos. I tried to do this with his uncovered arms, the open coat, and the vaguely celestial elements on his tunic. The geometric pattern on Callum’s coat is meant to look like a feather (symbolising his first primal source) while in the style of his Arc 2 coat. Rayla gifted Callum a matching belt buckle to hers (though with a moon opal for emergencies), which he wears alongside his uneven towers buckle from Ezran. His hair is mostly the same, except slightly longer, because I don’t see overworked-mage Callum caring about his hairstyle.

Ezran

Story Choices

S7 was a massive tipping point for Ezran: losing his brother, his true heart, and almost losing himself to the cycle of violence. While he stopped before he could go too far, Ezran was unequivocally changed by what happened. After Aaravos’ defeat, Ezran has been overseeing Evrkynd’s construction, ensuring it’s a safe home for humans and Sunfire elves who lost their home. However, it is also open to anyone, regardless of their origin. While he and Queens Janai and Amaya decided the people would rule the city of Evrkynd, Ezran continues to rule wider Katolis alongside his council. He does spend most of his time in Evrkynd for his royal duties, but Ezran is learning to take breaks – occasionally joining Callum, Rayla, and Zym on small getaways. As is tradition for anyone in the royal family, Ezran began combat training in his mid-teens with Soren as his teacher. He’s grown quite good and can hold his own in a battle (long enough for his Crownguard come to his aid, at least).

Design Choices

Ezran’s design in TDP has always been one of the simplest ones, probably symbolising his humble personality despite his status. I tried to maintain that effect in his Arc 3 outfit but with one major alteration. Going into this design, I wanted Ezran’s struggle in S7 to have had a visible impact on him by including armour in his design. His outer tunic is now gambeson, and his shoulder pads are scuffed-up leather. If he decides to wear it, the gold studs on Ezran’s shoulders are where his cloak will latch on. As should be expected from an age jump this severe, the biggest change to Ezran was his build. He’s finally overtaken his brother in height, much to the dismay of both Callum and Rayla, and is expected to be as tall as Harrow when he’s finished growing.

[yinyuedijun]

thank you to quinn @/madaqueue for tagging me in this game <3 used this website to make book covers of fics by some of my favourite authors!

featuring: do not say Home by @seoafin / cannibals by @inthedayswhenlandswerefew / coin toss by @aimfor-theheart / seabird by @m1ckeyb3rry

open tags!

[holysheithyall]

my son and his bf who i hate

[wildm00re]

cwverse dctv may have had it’s issues, but one thing i could count on was being fed…

[acerathia]

elaboration on this post cw: implied exhibitionism

it's weird, you're aware of that. to be crushing on a stranger with a mask, just because he's actually doing something good. (and because he looks so good in their outfit, muscles ripping and stretching underneath that fabric, almost like he's putting on a show...)

yet, you can't help yourself. your body shivers, fingers twitching, heart racing with every passing glance, every mere thought of this masked phenomenon. and with every single reaction, the guilt buries itself heavier into your lungs.

you have a partner, one you like so so much, one you want to spend the rest of your life with. but how can you face him with these treacherous thoughts about another person, even worse, a stranger you barely have exchanged proper words with.

your desires and the bad aftertaste swirl together into a cocktail of mixed feelings. especially as you find yourself in his arms after a rescue from an attempted thievery.

his face hidden by the usual mask and his arms are securely wrapped around you, as he's transporting you carefully to another spot. and your lungs and heart are drumming, reminding you of the tickles you feel as you think of him, only to stop a beat, giving you a taste of the heartache to be followed in the future if you don't control yourself.

arriving safely in another alley, he begins to unravel his strong grip, taking all the warmth away from you. and everything you have been bottling up suddenly pushes forward, exploding in something you can't explain. maybe you wanted some form of closure, maybe you wanted to confess your complicated feelings to him, maybe you wanted to blame him for everything.

but nothing comes out, as the moment the mask leaves his face, you're faced with your partner, all wide eyes and confusion, worry. the same person you have gone home to every day is the same person protecting the streets. the only two people being able to stir your heart is the very same person. this realization turns your muscles weak, relief flooding through your veins, and you slump against him.

"I love you", you mutter, and it doesn't take for him to do the math, to put every piece together.

yet, instead of disappointment, there's something else you're confronted with, as he presses you against the wall with his body, letting his hands roam over you as he puts the mask back on.

"This is what you like, huh?" he asks, voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine, tingling deep in your belly.

you swallow, feeling yourself getting overwhelmed, especially as you feel his bulge grow where your bodies meet. his hand touches you then where you're most sensitive, pressing against you through the fabric. you gasp and clutch at him, feeling some sense of desperation, of need.

A chuckle. "I know we're going to have fun with this..." His fingers tug at your waistband, and you let him, giving yourself to him, in all of his forms.

[abigmessofablog]

I keep turning this idea around in my head and I need to get it out

post-The Search For Spock Kirk ending up at some 20th/21st century museum through some time travel shenanigans and ending up in front of a painting of Orpheus and Eurydice. He stare at it for a long time until, eventually some other attendant makes some small talk, talking about they always loved this myth. Kirk tells them that he’s not too familiar with the story but he likes the painting. That it feels very emotional, somehow. The attendant seems surprised at this admission and starts to explain, very happy to do so. They explain Orpheus’s love for Eurydice, how he followed her to the underworld to bring her back from the dead and his deal with Hades. “He couldn't hear her footsteps. He tried to call for her but she didn't respond and he got scared, y'know? So eventually..." and Kirk nods with an understanding they couldn't possibly comprehend

"He looked back" he finishes for them

The other attendant laughs a little, like they find it both silly and obvious "Of course he looked back. He loved her too much not to. That's the tragedy, I guess." and with that, they walk away, conversation decidedly over.

Kirk looks back at the painting. He looks at the painting for a very very long time. He looked back, huh?

[lesbianwyllravengard]

Wyll breaking up with the player character if Ulder dies so Wyll must become the Duke makes me wanna throw up sobbing because he actually thinks that just because his father's first duty being to Baldur's Gate made him a Bad Father that Wyll himself will inevitably be a Bad Lover because surely no one could match love with duty if his father couldn't, unknowing he has more love in one hand than his father had in his entire body. fuck

[see-arcane]

After reading and watching several adaptations, I have come to the conclusion that Quincey gets much more respect than Jonathan. Yes he appears much less, but he gets his heroic sacrifice when he does instead of getting bastardised. Three times I have seen him be the one who kills Dracula without Jonathan. In two of those he has the kukri.

Also idk if vampire Quincey is underappreciated, there is a novel all about him.

And in this one Jonathan is revealed to have been a cowardly cheater all along.

You know. Sometimes I think I might be going too overindulgent with my Harker Horrors and lavishing of attention on my favorite special little haunted gothic heroine lad.

And then I get lovely reminders like these that not only am I not being indulgent, I have to actively burn every daydream of an inhibition I have as a writer to unfuck 126 years' worth of doing the whole cast dirty, but Jonathan Harker the absolute worst.

[urproblematicfav-ao3]

Its important to me that everyone know about a really stupid radiostatic fic idea I have lodged somewhere in the back of my brain of a human au kinda thing where Alastor is like, this beautiful fae deer centaur thing that's absolutely a fucking demon that will lure you in and then eat you by being super cute, and Vox is some dude that's currently tripping every available ball that he has, and just assumes Al is some hallucination he's having.

Anyway, Alastor tries to be a temptress, it works too well and now Vox wants to fuck him instead of just sell his soul or something easier. Something something, some kind of dialogue exchange that's like

Vox: Ok but is it morally wrong to fuck you tho. Like, am I on some bestiality shit rn, (along with so much fucking acid) or does the human upper part cancel it out.

Alastor: Well, considering the fact that the parts you want to put your dick in are the only deer parts on me, yes, you are an absolute degenerate.

Vox: Hmn. Alright. Walp, I accept this hypothetical crime.

Alastor: What is wrong with you. Also gimmie your soul.

Vox: If I get literal deer pussy in exchange, then yea sure.

[stil-lindigo]

emily carroll has once again permanently changed my brain chemistry

[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.