#companion fic!

[brightlotusmoon]

I got tagged to write a scene from a WIP. I chose something from the RP turned fic I've been working on with @remmushound but I haven't heard from her in a while. I have been reading through the shared document.

The premise is the Rise Turtles meeting the Bay Turtles. Bay Mikey gains psionic powers, Rise Mikey reveals similar mystic powers, Rise Raph and Bay Leo accidentally piss each other off at first, Rise Donnie is everyone's beloved feral kitten, every character is AuDHD and queer, probably all on the ace spectrum.

The Mikeys have visions of their counterparts. Even Ronin. Also epilepsy.

Full name: Rise. Short name: Bayverse.

Raphael nodded slowly. “I understand fear... I... almost really hurt my brothers a few times before.”

"That wasn't your fault, though, you didn't mean any of it," Mikey said quietly.

“I know... but I still did it. I could really hurt someone...”

Donnie bent to look directly at Raphael’s face. "Could being the operative word. We are all trained to kill, Raphael. Flip the right switch, and..." He snapped his fingers. "We were meant to become warriors. It was chance that made us kind. And for some of us... it can get difficult to compartmentalize between warrior and protector, between fury and softness, when our triggers are directly hit."

Raphael nodded slowly, pulling his head back so his face wasn’t so close to Donnie’s.

“I know... still terrifies me. My brain is so... frazzled from having so many episodes so close.”

Donnie looked back at Mikey, who blinked at him and then made a soft "oh" sound.

"That's something you and Mikey seem to have in common, something to talk about."

"That'd make you feel better, right?" Mikey piped.

Raphael nodded. “I like talking!”

Mikey looked at him, blue eyes darkening. "I...I can feel it. You do feel a little better."

Donnie glanced at him. "Were you unable to?"

"Not with all the...the fog and static." Mikey rubbed his forehead.

Raphael got comfortable on the bed. “I don’t usually get the fuzzy-thoughts after I get weird— only if it was really long or... or there were a lot of them.”

Mikey nodded, thinking.

"Sounds like a deep stress coping mechanism," Donnie said.

"Oh!" Mikey fumbled for his phone. "Didn't we download those psychology textbooks that talked about dissociative trauma? I can study that while you're out playing patrol leader!"

Donnie sighed and shook his head. "You've definitely matured. Or perhaps we just found a whole field of science that finally hits your interest."

"Well, duh! Despite what Leo said, I know I'm brains AND heart."

Donnie blinked back tears. "Exactly..."

Raphael listened happily to the conversation, looking between the two box turtles contentedly. He didn’t even realize his churr was sounding off, vibrating the bed and floor around the bed as he rumbled almost like an old, rusty swing set.

"Awww," Mikey grinned, rocking. "We're making Snapper Raph happy. My job is done!"

-

[brightlotusmoon]

@remmushound we could do something like this with both Mikeys and their alters.

So we definitely need more positive representation of DID, but you know what would be funny? Mildly inconvenient representation of DID.

Oh the world is ending and you need to know about this one specific thing? Yeah I have a guy for that but he doesn't feel like fronting right now

Sorry what's happening rn is this the bad guy? Yeah I just switched in idk what's going on

I know you're dating one alter but we're currently co-con with another alter who hates you so idk how I'm feeling rn

And just who do i think I am? It's funny you should ask that I actually don't know right now

[vavoom-sorted-art]

They kissed in 1941

This goes with @TheScholarlyStrumpet's story "Almost Lost, Always Found" and was a birthday gift for a dear friend of ours! <3

[ellie-writes-games]

Spite Wants To Set A Flame

Lucanis (and by extension, Spite) have been helping Bellara with her romance novel. Flowery language and smut metaphors lead Spite to some surprising conclusions.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗ prev Part 8 of Burn After Reading banter series next ╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝ Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request? Part of an on-going series of fan-writings. See the full Masterlist here.

As someone on the autism spectrum, I remember struggling with interpreting metaphor as a young person A LOT. As soon as it was introduced in Veilguard that Bellara was writing some smutty fanfiction, the first thoughts I had were "Oh, the neurospicy gang is gonna struggle." (Mainly Taash and Spite.)

This is fanfiction written by me, @ellie-writes-games. These are NOT actual screenshots from the game. Peace, love, and mad props to the DA writers.

[calolily]

Stay

For @lunarwench

[pandebunuelo]

borrowed, stolen, broken determination

[brightlotusmoon]

Really? That's so sweet!

Anger + Mikey = What?

I have a deep feeling that the youngest has suppressed anger.

Rage that he never openly expresses because

1. It doesn’t feel great to him

And 2. The emotion itself seemed to cause more problems than help them.

As a result, when things tick him off, he doesn’t openly convey that he is.

Like, you don’t even see his mood change. No hidden hate in his eyes, no muscles tensing, and no lip thinning. Even the tone of his voice hardly changes! Still cheerful and acting like it didn’t happen.

Because that’s what he thinks, if he acts like nothing happen, then nothing happened.

However!

If something finally manages to send him over the edge, he doesn’t explode at all! He just… broods silently.

And let’s just say it freaks his entire family out since the youngest member isn’t running around the lair giggling like some weirdo. Who the fuck is this new guy?

He’s just quiet. He definitely acts like a mixture of all of his brothers.

Passive-aggressive like Donnie. Sarcasm is now Mikey’s middle name. Won’t talk unless spoken to, but it just sardonic remarks that’ll make you feel stupid; even Splinter is not exempted from his rudeness. (He lets it slide since this not a common occurrence.)

He takes a stance similar to Leo. Arms crossed, and he visibly seems unable to relax. Mikey takes to the cake when it comes to projecting hostility without verbal communication, which is something Leo seemed to master when facing off with Raph.

And he is more intense than Raph. It’s not that the second oldest doesn’t have any intensity; it’s only because, with Raph, it happens often and gets irritating after a while. But with Mikey, he scares people by just standing there, radiating extreme rage, and he doesn’t any have to say anything. Sitting was no longer an option for him.

Everyone will avoid him, and it seems they don’t have to try very hard because he just disappears. Gone for hours. Might come back, and if he’s still furious, ends up leaving again and not coming back for two days.

Comes back a little bruise and back to his bubbly self!

Freaks everyone out again due to not talking about what he was doing while gone.

Splinter would sit with him afterward but won’t even get the chance to ask about what set him off before Mikey apologizes for his behavior. After that, Splinter does try to talk to him about it some more, yet is brushed off multiple times and decides that it’d be best to leave it be, leaving him a warning that leniency would not be given to him if it happened again.

Then life carries on, and the brothers always wonder if it even happened since Mikey’s back to pranking them and eating pizza in the living room.

Tagging : @brightlotusmoon, @whygz, @kokokatsworld, and @coulrofilia-sexuell

[girlwithadragonheart]

A Court of Crows and Rooks

Rook x Lucanis

Requested by @cirillabelle

Summary: What happens when the First Talon of the Crows requests you by name for a job? All eyes are on you and the Demon of Vyrantium as you take to the floor of a Trevisian Masquerade.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Assassination, creepy man

A/N: This was so fun to write! I hope you enjoy <3

DATV Masterlist

The note arrived with the scent of lavender and the heavy, unmistakable wax seal of the First Talon. You didn’t touch it at first. It sat there on the table, pristine and foreboding, as if opening it might unleash something you can’t take back. The address was what unsettled you most. Not “Veilguard Operative.” Not “Agent.” Just your name.

Rook De Riva.

It was signed in the slightly shaky, swooped script that you knew was Caterina’s handwriting.

You had sent for Teia as soon as it had arrived, needing the moral support before you could even open it.

“Congratulations,” Teia says, leaning over your shoulder with that sharp grin of hers. “The First Talon doesn’t call for just anyone. You got her attention.”

You scoff, pushing the note toward her. “If it’s so special, you read it. This is clearly a job for a Talon, not… me.”

“Don’t be a coward,” she teases, snatching it up before you can protest. Her eyes flick across the elegant Antivan script. “Well, well. Looks like you’re going to a masquerade.”

Your stomach twists. “A what?”

“A masquerade. You know, dancing, intrigue, a den of vipers dressed in silk and lace.” Teia folds the letter neatly and presses it back into your hands. “And you’ll need to dress the part.”

You glance down at your worn leathers, the daggers strapped securely to your thighs. “This is the part.”

“Not this time,” Teia says, already calling for an attendant. “You’re going to look stunning. “Deadly, but stunning.”

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

The mirror feels like an enemy, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

The gown Teia had commissioned fit like a second skin, the dark blue silk pooling around your feet like shadows. When it caught the light, the fabric sparkled like stars at midnight, just enough to look expensive without being gaudy. The dress was skin tight with a deep V cut to accentuate your chest and curves. There was a high slit, nearly up to your hip on one side. The hem was embroidered with silver vines, adding a touch of elegance you’ve never thought to claim.

The mask, silver filigree laced with Sapphires, hid enough of your face to make you feel anonymous, though it left plenty of room for scrutiny.

You don’t recognize yourself, staring in the mirror. Your lips have been colored with a seductive burgundy, making them look fuller than you thought possible.

“That’s the point,” Teia says, grinning as she adjusts the mask on your face. “They’ll never see you coming.”

When you step into the main room where the others wait, silence falls. Teia’s grin widens as she steps back to admire her work. Viago gives an approving nod, already slipping into his own role for the mission.

Lucanis is the last to react.

He stands near the door, and for a long moment, he just looks at you, his expression unreadable.

“You are not going alone,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m going with you.” His voice is steady, leaving no room for argument. “For your protection.”

“I don’t need--”

“Yes. You do.” He steps closer, towering, but not intimidating. There’s something resolute in his tone, something that makes you pause. “I won’t let you walk into that room full of snakes alone.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

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

The ballroom is overwhelming the moment you step inside.

Golden chandeliers hang high above, casting a warm glow over the sea of silk and satin. The air is thick with perfume and intrigue, every masked figure playing a part in a grand, dangerous game.

You glance up, seeing Lucanis crouched in the rafters in his leathers. He gives you a subtle nod, and you tear your eyes away, trying not to draw attention as you head inside. Head high, don’t let them smell your fear.

A dance begins soon after your arrival, the music shifting to a lively rhythm. Teia and Viago have already melted into the crowd, leaving you feeling exposed.

Your eyes scan the room slowly, your hands folded delicately in front of your midsection as you gaze at the onlookers. Many sets of eyes are on you; you can feel the weight of them as you walk. Men and women rake their eyes over your form, some practically drooling.

A heavy-set magister with a leering smile---appears before you. His gaze lingers a little too long on your figure as he extends a hand.

“My dear, may I have this dance?”

Your stomach twists, but you force a smile, placing your hand in his. “Of course.”

The dance is a careful game. You keep your movements precise, your steps measured, all while his hand slides lower than it should and his grip tightens.

“So,” he says, his tone dripping with false charm, “you must be new to this sort of thing.”

“I get by,” you reply coolly, resisting the urge to yank his hand away.

He chuckles, leaning in closer. “Perhaps we could---”

Before he can finish, a shadow looms behind you.

Lucanis, now dressed in formal attire with a sleek black mask, steps in smoothly, his hand covering his heart as he bows slightly. “My apologies, I couldn’t help but notice your beauty among these dogs. May I have this dance, my Lady?”

The magister hesitates, his gaze flicking to Lucanis before he forces a tight smile. “Of course.”

You let out a quiet breath as Lucanis guides you away, his hand steady against your back. “I had it handled,” you mutter, though your heart is still racing.

You take a moment to study the crow---his dark Antivan suit tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders and thin waist. His mask is simpler than yours, a sleek black piece that lets his brown eyes show through. Lucanis glances down at you, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. “You shouldn't have to.”

The music slows, and the couples around you draw closer together. Lucanis doesn’t let go, his hand still firm at your waist. His other hand takes yours, his touch warmer than you expect.

“You’re blending in better than I thought,” he murmurs, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You smirk faintly. “Part of the job, right?” Your gaze holds his, but your smirk falters. “Lucanis, you look…” Your voice trails off.

“Clean!” Spite hisses through his teeth.

You can’t help the slight laugh that bubbles from your chest, tight with anxiousness. “Nice,” you say. “Handsome.”

His lips twitch in the ghost of a smile, but his eyes remain sharp, scanning the room even as you move together in time with the music. His focus is unshakable, though his grip on you doesn’t waver.

“You’re staring,” you tease lightly, trying to break the tension.

“I’m watching,” he corrects, his tone steady but quieter now.

You move as one, each step drawing you closer to the center of the room. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you keep your face neutral, aware of the eyes watching you. As the song draws to a close, Lucanis dips you low. The motion is fluid, practiced, but as he holds you there, his grip tightens just slightly.

You’re close enough to feel his breath against your lips, his chocolate eyes locked on yours. For a moment, the rest of the room falls away.

Then he pulls you upright, the spell broken as quickly as it was cast. “Focus,” he says gruffly, releasing your hand.

You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to steady your breathing. “I am focused.”

Lucanis doesn’t reply, but the faintest flicker of a smile crosses his face before he steps back, the mission pulling him away once more.

It isn’t over yet, but your breath catches as you watch Lucanis slip into the crowd. For a man so popular, he disappears like smoke, weaving through the throng of silk and secrets with a grace you hadn’t quite been able to appreciate until now.

Your heart still pounds, the echo of his lips leaving your skin warm and your mind foggy. Shaking it off, you glance around, searching for Teia or Viago. They’re somewhere in this sea of masks, playing their parts as flawlessly as always. You envy their ease.

Lucanis’s words echo in your mind. Focus.

Easier said than done.

By the time the next dance begins, you’ve managed to slip into a rhythm. The first few exchanges were tense---too tense---but now you move with calculated grace, careful to keep your face neutral and your voice light. The target is watching you again, his lecherous gaze sweeping over you as you pass by.

You force yourself to smile, to keep your movements slow and deliberate. If he thinks you’re easy prey, all the better. A pretty, oblivious smile and doe eyes was all it took to entrap a man like him.

“Careful,” a familiar voice murmurs in your ear, and you nearly jump.

Lucanis is at your side again, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure even in formal attire. He doesn’t look at you, his eyes scanning the crowd, but his presence is a relief you hadn’t realized you needed.

“I thought you were blending in,” you say quietly, keeping your voice steady as you turn slightly toward him.

His lips twitch in the barest hint of amusement. “You’re drawing too much attention.”

You arch a brow. “Isn’t that the point?”

His eyes rove over you, following the dips and curves of your skin and exposed flesh. “Not all of it is friendly.”

You glance past him, noticing a pair of masked figures watching you from across the room. Their posture is relaxed, but there’s something about the way their heads tilt toward each other, their whispers concealed behind their masks, that sets you on edge.

Lucanis follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “Stay close.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, his hand brushing yours as he steps closer. The touch is light, barely there, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

When the music shifts again, Lucanis offers his hand. His posture is formal, the gesture deliberate, as if daring you to challenge him.

You hesitate for only a moment before placing your hand in his. His grip is firm but careful, his touch steady as he leads you onto the floor.

The eyes of the room are on you, everyone else dancing branching out to give you space. You can feel it, but Lucanis’s focus never wavers. He’s calm, confident, and entirely unbothered by the attention.

The music kicks up, and he spins you, pulling your back to his chest, one hand splayed over your stomach, the other guiding you by the hand. The steps are simple at first, the kind you’ve practiced a dozen times in training. But Lucanis moves with an elegance that makes it feel effortless, guiding you with a confidence that’s hard to ignore.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you murmur, your voice just loud enough for him to hear.

“I’m full of surprises,” he replies, his voice smooth and low, his beard tickling your ear as he speaks right into it.

A second later, you’re spinning away from him, his grip on your hand warm and firm as it pulls you back, clutching you close. His touch is like fire, burning through your skin straight to your soul. You let out a breath, trying to keep up with his steps.

“You’re good at this,” you admit reluctantly, your hand covering his on your stomach.

He doesn’t reply right away, but you can feel his eyes studying you intently. “You’re better than you think.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and for a moment, you falter. His grip tightens, steadying you before you can fumble.

“Focus,” he says softly, the word almost teasing now.

You roll your eyes, but a quiet laugh escapes you. “I am focused.”

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

The target watches you from the edge of the room, his expression unreadable behind his mask. You’re acutely aware of his gaze, of the way he lingers a little too long, as if trying to decide whether to approach again.

Lucanis notices too. His hand shifts slightly, his fingers brushing against the small of your back in a subtle but protective gesture. He leans down to your ear, murmuring so only you can hear. “Get him to the balcony. This ends soon.”

You nodded subtly, and Lucanis disappeared into the crowd again. Immediately, you missed his warmth. The absence of Lucanis felt like stepping into shadow after basking in sunlight. Without him at your side, the weight of the room seemed to press in on you. You let out a steadying breath, forcing yourself to relax into the role you needed to play.

The target was still watching, his gaze lingering on you like a spider waiting for its web to tremble. You met his stare with a coy tilt of your head, your lips curving into a faint, inviting smile. Slowly, you began to weave through the crowd, your steps deliberate, drawing him in like a moth to flame.

He took the bait. His hulking form detached from the edge of the ballroom, his movements smooth but predatory. The mask obscured his features, but his posture screamed arrogance. He thought he’d won already.

You led him toward the open doors leading to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you stepped outside. The space was quieter, the music and chatter from inside muffled. Stars sparkled overhead, their light glinting off the silver trim of your gown.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” he began, his voice thick and dripping with false charm, “you’ve captured the attention of the entire room tonight.”

You turned to face him, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “And yours, it seems.”

“Of course.” He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the soft glow of the lanterns. “A beauty like you doesn’t go unnoticed. Though I must admit, I’ve been curious about who you truly are beneath that mask.”

His hand reached for it, but you stepped back with a playful laugh, keeping the distance just enough to leave him wanting. “Now, where would the fun be if I gave away all my secrets?”

He chuckled, but there was an edge to it, a hunger. “Perhaps I can persuade you.”

The air shifted, the predatory undertone in his voice setting your teeth on edge. You glanced toward the shadows near the balcony’s edge where you knew Lucanis would be watching. The target was close now, too close. His hand grazed your arm, and your pulse quickened---not with fear, but with the need to act.

“You’re quite bold,” you said, your voice light but firm as you stepped back again, toward the railing. “And here I thought Tevinter men were supposed to be more subtle with their charms.”

The target smirked, following you like a hound to prey. “We are, but I’ve always found boldness more… rewarding.”

His hands grabbed your hips, sliding lower as he pulled you into him. You hummed, your hands splaying out over the railing behind you. The cool stone was solid beneath your palm, grounding you. 

“And what is to be your reward tonight?” You asked coyly. 

He smirked. “Oh, my dear. The reward is you.” He leaned in, flashing his teeth in a predatory smile. Your hand slipped to the dagger hidden on your thigh. As he went for your neck with his lips, you went for his with the blade. Your touch was light with your free hand, tilting your head as though to allow him access. Before he could taste your flesh, your dagger sunk into his skin. 

Blood splattered across your cheeks, matching the darkness of your painted lips. The magister tried to cry out, but gurgled as blood filled his throat. You stepped out from under him, watching his body tumble over the side of the balcony.

“Ta ta, darling. So sorry, I must’ve slipped. A shame you couldn’t catch me.” You smirked, hearing a dull thud from the ground below.

A hand started to slip around your waist, and you turned, pinning them to the wall with a dagger to their throat. Lucanis’s lips upturned. You pulled the blade away, sheathing it back under your dress.

“That was exquisite, Rook,” Lucanis said. “For all of Viago’s complaining, he was right about one thing.” His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you close to mutter in your ear. “You make a wonderful Crow.” He pulled back to look at you.

“Lucanis, you’re staring again,” you flushed from head to toe under his gaze.

“Perhaps I’m simply watching. It’s hard not to with such a beautiful woman before me,” his lips turned up, chocolate eyes appraising you.

“Who knew the Demon of Vyrantium was a flirt,” you teased.

“Ah, no, you seem to have mistaken me for Illario.”

“Just shut up and kiss me.” Your hand fists in the collar of his formal sirt, pulling him toward you.

Your lips meet, and Lucanis pulls you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other gripping your hip. You hear the music swell inside, fireworks going up into the air and exploding, bathing the gardens below in warm light. Lucanis leans over you, bending you backward, your hands gripping his shoulders as he holds you up.

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

A/N: Let me know if you want to be on the Lucanis tag list!

Have a good day/night!

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

(ep8 spoilers ahead)

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

He had tried to push through, really, he had, but the journey back to the Faerie Kingdom alone is long, let alone Crisipia. It didn't take long for the children to notice his sluggishness, and they insisted they find somewhere for Pure Vanilla to get some well-earned rest before they continue.

He can't be surprised by his exhaustion. Time in the Spire was a strange, nebulous thing, but however long he'd been there, he hadn't had any chance to rest, and he hadn't rested for a good while prior to setting foot in the Spire either. And all that wasn't even considering the exertion that his spar with Shadow Milk had required.

Pure Vanilla winces slightly, a bare twinge of guilt that he brushes past by turning his head against the pillow. They had found an abandoned old cottage, half buried under encroaching plants but fairly untouched inside. Pure Vanilla had helped dust the place off before Gingerbrave put his foot down and banished him to the bedroom. He can hear the children bickering amongst themselves through the wall now, and warmth sweeps through him along with that stubborn little flicker of guilt.

He's meant to be the adult here, but here they are, fussing over him. He's also meant to be sleeping right now, but he can't, no matter how hard he tries. Pure Vanilla's whole body aches like a fresh bruise, something deeper than exhaustion, and the mattress is uncomfortably hard beneath him.

It almost makes him miss his room in the Spire, which is a silly thought, because he barely spent any time in it. He was only able to sit down on the bed for a few moments before the children came knocking, but that had been enough for him to notice how the mattress was as soft as marshmallow, inviting him to sink into in like he sunk into the Yogurt River. He imagines it would be a balm for his pains now.

Even in his listless haze, he remembers being surprised by the effort put into the construction of that room. The care taken to replicate his bedroom in the Vanilla Kingdom, like a reflection of nostalgic comfort. It was thoughtful. Shadow Milk was thoughtful.

Pure Vanilla's thoughts have been full of Shadow Milk, too. They always circle back to him, fragmented into different, clashing tones. There's the horror, the anger, the maniacal cackling, the snarled threats, the barbed jeers, the glint of bared fangs and forked tongue, the children struggling in his grasp, the distress, the despair, the sensation of falling from the top of the Spire for forever and for a second, down, down, down, down.

But- but there's also always, eventually, the snatches of something past the veil of dark and malice. The room, the almost patient way he taught him about the cards, his half-lidded eyes over the game boards, the genuine joy that overflowed out of him, bubbling up like he couldn't contain it. The warmth as Shadow Milk had cupped his face between his palms, noticeably careful with his claws against his cold cheeks. The warmth as he repeated again in a softer hiss, almost a reverent whisper, "Now, you are mine," before pressing their foreheads and Soul Jams together.

The frustration always tumbles into fondness, and the fondness always leaks into the frustration. At this point, Pure Vanilla is certain the merging of the two is creating a new emotion entirely, but he isn't sure what it is, even though he's become quite the expert in merging.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

The guilt hasn't quite subsided yet. In fact, it only continues to curl gently in the pit of his stomach, switching targets with every shift in topic his thoughts take. He thinks, maybe, he should have tried a little harder to stop Shadow Milk when he made his escape from the Spire, or said something slightly different. Perhaps, if he had, Shadow Milk would believe that his kindness was backed by determination, that the offer of friendship wasn't simply a whim of the moment.

But there is nothing to be done about it now. The past is the past, Pure Vanilla is far too familiar with that fact, and no Cookie can live without making a few mistakes. All he can do is accept it, let it breathe and move forward.

Pure Vanilla exhales, laying a hand on his Soul Jam. It pulses faintly beneath his fingers, and the familiar hum grounds him as he focuses his attention elsewhere, away from the hard mattress and the little cottage and the children's muffled chattering. He splits his consciousness in two, peeling away from reality as he wraps himself in his other-realm.

It's a new development, but wielding it is as easy as breathing, like an extension of himself. The bright white that greets him might be blinding to most, but to him, it is welcoming and soothing. Slowly, he blinks dozens of golden eyes open, bracing for some disorientation but pleasantly surprised when there is none.

Instinctively, Pure Vanilla searches for Shadow Milk within the space, because up until now, he has only used it in his presence. Even though he knows better than to really expect it, he is still slightly disappointed when all he sees is white and gold, unrolling smoothly and peacefully outward.

Somewhere in the distant nowhere, and in the immediate everywhere, Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

Still, he stretches himself thin across the other-realm, the sensation of his dubious tangibility strange and perfectly natural. He nudges against the wobbly, not quite real edges of the space, feeling along the fuzzy lines in an attempt to find Shadow Milk's other-realm.

He knows the two are connected, because he was only able to discover his other-realm through Shadow Milk's. Technically, it had been a single other-realm then, woven by their joint power, but the emotional fallout of the confrontation that followed had forcibly seperated them. There must still be a lingering connection, some way for him to reach him.

And yet, Pure Vanilla cannot find a single trace of that energy he knows so intimately now, dark and cool and slithering. There is no evidence of the other-realm's other half anywhere - Shadow Milk must have closed it off from him, antsy that he would try something like this. It makes it feel like Pure Vanilla really is alone here, drifting in the glittering waves.

Pure Vanilla wouldn't exactly say that he misses it, but there is a certain nostalgia when he thinks back on his memory of Shadow Milk's other-realm. The weightlessness, the relaxing chill, the suffocating pressure in the air, tightening around him, made to confine, made to protect. Shadow Milk had delighted in inviting him inside it, into something special for just the two of them. It seems the invitation has now been revoked.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

Pure Vanilla could try and push through to Shadow Milk's other-realm anyway. He has the ability to try, at least, with the power he has now unlocked, to pull at the stitches that keep Shadow Milk's other-realm sealed and see what happens.

Pure Vanilla doesn't. He decides to give Shadow Milk his space - it might have been for the best that he didn't try too hard to stop him back at the Spire, after all. He doubts Shadow Milk would have taken kindly to it then, and he probably wouldn't take kindly to it now, not yet.

Settled by the thought, Pure Vanilla closes a dozen golden eyes and blinks back into reality. The hard mattress and the little cottage and the muffled sound of shuffling through the wall. He wonders what the children are doing out there.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

This mattress isn't helping and neither is his inability to sleep, but he thinks very little would actually help. Despite his strengthened power, any attempt to heal himself with his light had done nothing, since the problem isn't physical. Exhaustion worsens the feeling, but it isn't the core of the issue either.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches, and he knows why.

Pure Vanilla has never felt like he was incomplete or lesser, but in the instant when he and Shadow Milk merged souls, he had suddenly felt like More. More than himself. Like something he hadn't even known was missing slotted into place, bringing sweet relief.

For the first few moments, it had been nothing but an overwhelming bliss, his cunning plan stuttering away with his thoughts under the tide of rightness. Shadow Milk's dark and cool and slithering energy intertwined with his, spilling into each other, trading components like they were old friends that couldn't share everything that had happened since they last saw each other fast enough. In a way, that was what the Soul Jam was. What they were.

It was in the middle of this dizzying exchange that Pure Vanilla had caught that tiny drop of longing buried deep within the twisted rush of the rest of Shadow Milk. It was familiar, so familiar that Pure Vanilla almost mistook it for his own, but no, it was far older than his. Far older than him. It was bitter and crystallised into a hard, jagged thing, warped by the malice of the rest of him.

He had immediately wanted to reach for it, pull it out from where it was lodged, but that was when they had parted, just enough to come back to their own bodies. Souls are abstract things rather than physical, so it wouldn't have worked anyway.

Their power was blended into one, buzzing as a near tangible connection between the two of them, and it was so, so warm. No, maybe not warm as it would be defined as temperature. It was...comfortable. The sensation of being embraced lingered even though Shadow Milk had pulled away, like their souls had remained moulded together despite their physical distance.

Until they hadn't. Until the connection snapped, leaving a ravenous ache behind.

Pure Vanilla isn't actually sure who it was that caused it. He hadn't been meaning to sever it entirely, because he still wanted to fish out that frozen loneliness, but he could have done it accidentally. Shadow Milk could have done it in the flare of his anger, ripping it apart with his growling teeth. Maybe they were both partially responsible, pulling at both ends until it broke. Whatever the case, it leaves him like this.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

Pure Vanilla is no stranger to loss, and so he is no stranger to longing. It has lived in his heart for most of his life, sneaking in one day as he watched White Lily's back grow smaller and smaller, unsure of what he could do to make her stay, unsure if he should do anything. It is a thing that mutates and grows with every loss he collects, sometimes lying dormant but inevitably rearing its head once more. He is used to the feeling of it, the tender ache that follows him.

This, though, is new and different, incomparable to anything else. It is not a longing of the heart. It is a longing of the soul, engulfing his heart and his head and his body along with it. It is almost unbearable, an absence felt so strongly it is like half of him is gone. Half of him is gone.

Half of him is gone.

It had been fine when Pure Vanilla hadn't known any differently, but now that he has experienced being More, that missing piece is stark and unavoidably painful. And Shadow Milk has been carrying this burden for far, far longer than he has, for thousands and thousands of years. From the moment his Soul Jam was broken down by the Witches.

It's no wonder he's so resentful. Pure Vanilla has barely nursed this ache for a few hours, at most, and it is already agonising. He cannot imagine nursing it for what seems like a stagnant eternity, with no hope of alleviating it.

No, Pure Vanilla would never have been driven by this ache to do the things Shadow Milk has done, but he can sympathise with it. He can understand it.

Of course he can. He's the only one who can, because now it is not only Shadow Milk's ache. It is theirs. It has always been theirs, even when Pure Vanilla was unaware of it.

Pure Vanilla sighs shakily, fingers idly tracing the smooth surface of his Soul Jam. Its pulsing rhythm syncs with his careful breaths. He shifts, grasping it and gently pressing it closer to his chest, as if that could somehow help alleviate the ache.

It doesn't. He knows what would, he knows who would, but he isn't here.

It's alright though, he tells himself. They will see each other again soon. Shadow Milk promised it, and even if he hadn't, they would have been drawn back together eventually. This feeling is proof of that.

And when they finally meet again, Pure Vanilla can reach out for him again, and keep reaching out until Shadow Milk believes him when he says he understands. Until Shadow Milk sees his sincerity. Until Shadow Milk takes his hand.

Then, and only then, they can become More again. Not a Beast of Deceit. Not an Ancient Hero of Truth. Just the two of them, together, a fragmented Soul Jam of Knowledge made whole.

Pure Vanilla's whole body is warm, chest bubbly like soda.

He knows it won't be easy. Shadow Milk is lonely, but he is also not good, not as he is now. He is prideful, arrogant, controlling, sadistic and cruel. Pure Vanilla knows all that first hand. Friendship will not fix everything, but it is a good starting point.

Besides, he feels like he owes it to Shadow Milk to try. Or, rather, he owes it to himself.

His desire to befriend Shadow Milk is mostly out of kindness and partly out of selfishness, he is self-aware enough to admit that. In doing this, he is proving a point against Shadow Milk's cynical philosophy, and he is ridding himself of this soul-deep feeling. As long as he can convince Shadow Milk to give him a chance, to stay, then neither of them will ever have to feel this way again.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches with warmth.

He is pulled from his drifting thoughts by shouting in the other room, followed by an audible squeak and a loud crash. Pure Vanilla sits up in the bed in alarm, already leaning over to the cabinet to reach for his staff, even though he was supposed to be asleep. If he was, that certainly would have woken him, anyway.

"What was that crash?" He calls, concern thick on his tongue. "Gingerbrave? Wizard? Strawberry?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Gingerbrave replies, with a yelp to his voice that makes his words very unconvincing. There's a scuffle in the next room, before loud footsteps hurry over to the bedroom and the door opens, Gingerbrave standing in the opening. His grin is sheepish. "We were just trying to get a book from the top of the bookshelf, but we were all too short."

"I could have gotten it with a spell, if you'd given me any time at all to think before you tried to lift me on your shoulders, you brute!" Wizard berates him, marching up from behind to wack him on the head with his Candy Wand. Little sparks of lightning buzz out, and Gingerbrave yelps again at the harmless shock, turning around with a petulant frown.

Before the two can inevitably start arguing, Strawberry pops up between them, fidding with her sleeves as she looks at Pure Vanilla with worried eyes. "Um, we didn't wake you, did we?"

Gingerbrave jolts up at that, whipping back around to face Pure Vanilla with a guilty look. "Ah, shoot, that's right! Sorry, Pure Vanilla, we didn't mean to be so loud."

"We wouldn't have been so loud if you hadn't acted stupidly." Wizard grumbles at him, but the way his shoulders hunch give away the fact that he feels bad about it too. Gingerbrave spares him a pout, and Pure Vanila chuckles, endeared by his children as always.

"No, no, there's nothing to apologise for." He reassures them. "I was just waking up, anyway."

A simple little white lie, just to keep them from unnecessary worrying. Another gentle chuckle, quieter, swept away by his breath – Shadow Milk should be proud of him.

The children, at least, instantly ease. Pure Vanilla continues, shifting to get out of bed, staff in hand. "How about you three take a turn of the bed and have a nap? You haven't had a good opportunity to rest either."

The children blink at him, exchanging some silent glances as if communicating telepathically. Eventually, Wizard pipes up, "Well, it would be nice, but are you sure, Pure Vanilla? You haven't been asleep for all that long."

"Yeah, do you feel any better now?" Gingerbrave tacks on, placing his hands on his hips, trying to put on a stern face.

Pure Vanilla smiles, fondness filling him once more at their blatant care for him as he softly replies, "I do, I promise."

For every lie there is a truth, like how a coin has a heads and a tails. So Pure Vanilla means it when he says that, flipping the coin of his white lie to a sincere truth.

He does feel better.

Pure Vanilla's whole body still aches, but it has lessened slightly at the reminder of their inevitable next encounter and the opportunities that come with it, almost as if relieved.

[sourtomatola]

Thank you @writing-prompt-s for the prompt idea

Teddy bear and Monster from under the bed team up to go find their missing child.

Next

[brightlotusmoon]

We have a whole scene where the Rise and Bay Turtles learn that Jason from the Purple Dragons has turned into 03 Bishop, even calling himself Bishop. It's in the word document. I can try to find it. He kidnaps most of the group and psychologically torments everyone in Kendra's mansion. Epic super villain. Sunglasses and everything. Poor Rise Donnie.

So many Invader Zim vibes, of course.

rise and 2012 crossover fics where 2012!leo finds rise!leo annoying and obnoxious is so boring. i want crossover fics where rise!leo says the stupidest things ever and 2012!leo is trying his hardest not to laugh. i want fics where 2012!leo is protective of rise!leo cuz he doesn't want rise!leo to grow up like him

@brightlotusmoon i'm looking at you 👁️

[brightlotusmoon]

I was reading a fic I had written back in 2017 as part of a series. I got distracted by the TV show in the background, then switched to a new tab to do some research because it was a documentary about the rise of POC TV in the 1990s. I then flipped channels to a familiar adult cartoon that I already had watched a hundred times. Then I went back to reading the fic. And then I forgot that I wrote it and wondered who the hell thought exactly like me about these characters, when was the author going to update the series because oh damn the author oh damn.

Like, oh damn I have to write the stuff I want in order to read it.

Then again, a lot more people in the fandom have been writing what I want to read. And some of them told me it's because of me and my fics, the stuff I wrote back then. Like. Oh.

And now I'm sitting here with multiple unfinished chapters begging one of them to just tell me what the story wants. Otherwise I'm just going to throw angst at it.

[den-ai-d]

Creationism 🤖

Professor Turo definitely has complicated feelings about his robot 😤 Multiple variants available on my patreon!

Preview and link under the cut 😊

Link to my PATREON

hmm...I wonder if there's already fan fics that explore this dynamic? Better check ao3...😙

[ellie-writes-games]

Spite, Love, and Limes

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗ prev Part 10 of Burn After Reading banter series next ╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request? Part of an on-going series of fan-writings. See the full Masterlist here.

I know. I know. I know I know I know. The fandom REALLY likes the idea of Spite being...uh, active, in Rookanis. Here's the rub: the pure, delicious, indulgent fan-made stuff is out there and it is KILLER.

But that's kind of not my goal. The fun and the challenge of writing this kind of content, for me anyway, is playing within the limits of what the game gave us. Making it as close to some of the wonderful dynamics that are already there with the cast of Veilguard, and just playing. I'm also a game writer. Not for Bioware, no, but I do this kind of stuff for a living. I have mad respect for the folks who have shaped this world and the characters we all know and love. This is one of those weird personal lines where I don't want to step too far out of the canon with a set of characters that you can spend literally over a hundred hours with in a single playthrough. I think that gives us a pretty clear idea of what they were going for, whether or not it's your personal headcanon. Some wickedly talented folks poured a lot of time into fleshing out this found family and their delightful little interpersonal dynamics, and I want to try and honor that. I apologize to the Church of Spite and it's many devoted followers. I wish you all the spiciest of fics. Just know that's not where this is going. ✌😘

This is fanfiction written by me, @ellie-writes-games. These are NOT actual screenshots from the game. Peace, love, and mad props to the DA writers.

[calolily]

“Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as he heard the door latch shut. He tried to utter a soft “hello,” but his greeting was quickly stifled into the fabric that clung to Gale’s chest as he was pulled into a warm embrace.

For a moment, Astarion stood perfectly still. He felt the heat of his short breaths against the cotton of Gale’s clothing, bewildered and paralyzed by indecision. He was no stranger to hugs, rare as they were. He wasn’t unfamiliar with Gale’s hugs, either. But there was something about being held by Gale at that very moment that felt alien and strange to him. It felt like the first hug he’d ever received in his lifetime.

Astarion decided that maybe the world wouldn’t end if he allowed himself to rest his chin on his damp shoulder. The sun wouldn’t fall out of the sky, even if he did slowly wrap his arms around his body. His fingers clung to the edges of his hoodie, feeling the smooth, plush skin of his lower back gently graze his knuckles. The stars wouldn’t burn out if he focused on the sound of his heartbeat and compared it to his.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

A familiar intrusive thought crossed Astarion’s mind, louder than it had ever dared to speak before:

Gods, I wish you would kiss me.

Shame and regret pooled in the pit of his stomach, rising up to his chest.

Would you even want that?

With little warning, the story of Orfeo and Proserpina that had been vividly carved into the proscenium archway from his nightmares barreled its way to the forefront of his mind. He pondered her death. His descent into the Hells to find her, lute in hand. The botched rescue.

He pictured the tangible anguish immortalized in his face as he watched her vanish into the ether.

Astarion felt his raw, red eyelids squeeze shut almost instinctively. He was both enamored and terror-struck by the safety he felt in Gale’s arms. He drew in the scent of sandalwood that mingled with the fresh notes of petrichor on his neck. He could feel the cold, wet, wavy strands of his hair clinging to his cheek. He felt so damn real. And he was real. Corporeal—not the immaterial figment of his imagination, the shade of stardust that seeped into his every dream. If he gave himself permission to look upon his face, just for a moment—if only to verify that he was more than a phantasmagorical apparition come to torment him with sweet, meaningless nothings in his darkest moment—would he vanish, too?

Dire as the mythological consequences sounded, Astarion dared to tempt fate—the chances he was dreaming were slim. Defiance was the one way he could think of to prove his theory to be true.

He opened his eyes.

To his relief, his feet were still firmly planted on the ground. His fists were still balled up in cotton fabric. He was still in Gale’s arms.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Neither of them were.”

[spiderlot]

now that you've seen companion........ hcs for dating iris post-liberation?? cus I've been thinking abt it a lot.....

iris getting to make her own memory of meeting her first ACTUAL love of her life.... ☹️☹️☹️ getting to experience first dates and awkward first kisses that weren't already programmed inside of her :(

i feel like she'd be just as devoted as she originally was made to be? she just has a lot of love for you!! soo clingy too. also think she'd take a little time to fully trust you because of josh, but once she lets you in, you cant get rid of her 😖 not that you'd ever want to but! she's glued to you

maybe she buys an apartment with the money she took and you're her neighbor!! you help her bring some things in and she offers you some water or juice for your time and you guys end up chatting until you have to leave. getting closer to her, coming over and talking about your shitty job and she talks about how she wants to get one too :( iris who has to look up how to ask people out even though she probz has her intelligence set really high 😭 everything inside her just breaks when she thinks about you and it never felt this way with josh cause she already loved him yk?

def pays for the first date... i mean, what is she to do with all that money anyway? i like to think she took you shopping for clothes first and when you asked why she was so adamant on picking something expensive-ish, she then confessed it was for your date. with her. which she never told you about until now. you're both bashful and she falls even more head over heels when you suggest matching 😖 also just watching her model clothes for you because iris's outfits were always so cutesy :(( picking out her headbands and jewelry.. the correct chapstick that you definitely spend time testing out after the date.......

iris saying "hey, you" but the morning after your first time 😖😖 she actually got to experience real pleasure and took her time getting to know your body because she was already programmed to know everything about josh, so she really loved how awkward and clumsy it was

also, i dont think she'd get her hand repaired! she flaunts it proudly. thinking of it being winter and even then when you go to put mittens on her, she refuses for that hand to be covered. cue to a couple of hours later when you have to warm her hand up by the fire because all the wires froze 😭

road trips in her car!!!! dates where you're parked somewhere with a nice view and laying a blanket on the hood so you can have a picnic and watch the sunset... little makeout sessions that end up with her confessing her love over and over because she really loves you :( she wants you to know it.

and vacations ofc! actually going to japan with her and she's your translator :3 staying at the best hotels and getting pampered and pampering her because she deserves for being such an amazing girlfriend