#this ended up way longer than i intended it to

[wayward-stardust]

been thinking about how none of the adults in the isat party really had any plans for after defeating the king. it wasn't just siffrin! even as early as acts one and two, it's hinted at if you pay close enough attention to the dialogue.

isabeau brings up his dream of becoming a clothing designer exactly once: in loop zero. before fighting the king. when the thought of actually winning is still a hope rather than a reality.

as soon as that happens, his story changes.

he plans on taking up his old job again. the one he quit to support mira. the one he said he wouldn't go back to, in a timeline that's been long since overwritten. which may feel like a contradiction, but a) this isabeau never had that first conversation with sif and b) the atmosphere's completely shifted with everything else that's happened over the past day.

isa's supposed to be the rock of the party (pun intended). the emotional support. and now, he's supposed to be celebrating their victory, and ruining the mood by admitting he's not going back to anything meaningful would be breaking the persona he's worked so hard to craft. (also this dialogue occurs immediately after isa fails to confess to siffrin, which might have affected his mindset)

and even in that first scene, back at the favor tree in loop zero, isabeau's still unsure of himself.

he willingly admits to sif that he, too, doesn't have anything else planned for after. (in act one, where it's so easy to forget by the time sif actually succeeds). why would he? his closest friends are traveling with him. he's not particularly close with his blood family (especially after his change, i imagine, although he never talks about them enough to say for certain.) he abandoned his career that he no longer likes.

mirabelle, on the other hand, is very committed to staying a housemaiden. her original plan (in act one) for after is to start traveling again and go on her own pilgrimage. but, to me, it's never really felt like that's what she wanted to do, but more like what she felt she had to do.

she needs to go on a pilgrimage to change. because she's a housemaiden, which means prioritizing change, and she's already not dating and not getting bonded and not capital-c Changing so she has to make up for that elsewhere, and if even this whole journey to save vaugarde didn't change her she has to try harder, (and what she wants is to keep traveling with her friends but she's not going to admit that,) and... and so she has to!

even so, like isabeau, those initial goals fade away once she's actually defeated the king.

her dreams of continuing to travel and see the world and change things are replaced with just... staying at home. living in dormont. going back to her normal life. maybe, we can hope, part of that's because of the conversations she's had along the way — either her friendquest with siffrin or the whole "not being blessed by the change god" snack room discussion, alongside euphrasie's praise of her. maybe she's grown more comfortable with her relationship with her faith and her home (particularly in a friendquest run).

or maybe she's like isabeau and siffrin, wanting more out of her future but being unwilling to potentially sour the mood by asking for it. i suspect it's both, actually: she gets some character growth from the finale of her journey, but there's no way all her feelings of inadequacy can be erased in a day. she knows better than to actually admit that, though: after all, everyone else seems happy with their plans! they're the odd one out here!

madame odile’s the only one who keeps her story straight between iterations — no matter when siffrin asks her, she's still deciding whether to keep traveling or go home to ka bue.

(act 1 "what will you do after" conversation)

(act 2/3/4 end room conversation)

but, as she brings up at the end of act 5, that's not the whole story. she'd prefer to keep traveling with at least some of the others, but the whole group’s a bunch of blinding cowards she hasn’t found the right time to ask yet. unlike isabeau and mirabelle (particularly the post-King versions of them), odile's not hiding the fact that she's unsure of her plans. after all, she's more confident in herself and her goals: in fact, she's already succeeded at her goal of learning more about vaugarde.

like the two of them, though, there's still the uncertainty. the not being confident in what to do next. the thought of going home feels like an afterthought, almost. isabeau even says it, in act five.

it's what they "should" do next. what they're expected to do. what they all think everyone else wants to do.

but none of them really want to go home.

not siffrin, without a home to go back to. not odile, both ka buan and vaugardian by blood but never finding a true home in either. not mirabelle, growing beyond the home that she never felt comfortable in. not isabeau, leaving behind his home because he didn't like the person he was there.

or maybe they do want to go home — or more precisely, to stay there.

home is where your family is, after all.

[nerdygirlramblings]

lots happening folks. we're almost at the end, now. this one's a little longer than normal.

Despite the plan you had when your gods were here, now, watching your people respond to Fra's blessings, you know you cannot continue on the path you intended. Many of your people seem to trust the gods on blind faith, their miracles evidence enough of your people's blessing. The Elders, however, remain steadfast in their collective unease.

At night, you try to discuss it, but your gods already know. "We trust you will restore them, my queen," Jon murmurs into your hair, twining his naked legs with yours as you rest against Tav's chest. More and more often, when you see them at night - for you accept these are not truly dreams - they are all together. You also find yourself desiring to give them your body in these moments, not out of an obligatory sacrifice but because it is what you want for yourself. What you want from them.

Their trust in you to bring the others back gives you the courage to approach the Elders after the next full moon and ask for an altar for Lex. You explain his role as a messenger and how the people's prayers are better served with Lex's aid. Elder Stigr is outright suspicious of you, but the others are less so, though your place as a woman, seer or not, does not help you. They do, however, concede to your wish.

The night Lex's altar is completed, you dream of a tall man with hair like wheat and an open, inviting smile. He tells you to tell Vigi, one of the older farmers, to pay attention to how the flowers along the main path out of the village grow. You do not understand his message at first, but tell Vigi of your dream anyway. Vigi is like Elder Stigr and does not fully believe because he does not see.

A week after your dream of Lex, Vigi finds you tending the shrines and tells you he's figured out a way to get the crops to grow faster and stronger, something he could do only because of the dream you shared.

At night, your gods tell you how some villagers have set up small altars in their home. Si mentions how the village healer, Thone, has a shrine of his to which she prays twice a day: in the morning she asks Si to spare those whom she can save, and at night she thanks him for ending the suffering of those she could not help. Tav and Gaz boast of several farmers who have altars to them both, with frequent offerings and prayers for a good harvest. Even Jon comments on an Elder, he doesn't say which, who secretly prays to Jon to maintain the current peace.

One full moon goes by. Then another. A third. You request no new shrines. At night, conversation is on anything but the task your gods have set for you. Si shows you the land of the dead where souls are cared for, and those who suffered most are most tenderly watched. Jon shows you how, slowly, they are reclaiming their palace on Fjall Gothar. He delights especially in the throne room where one throne, larger and more ornate than the others, his, sits in a place of pride.

By the fourth full moon, you approach the Elders about the altars for Las and Wel, more than confident you will get what you ask. You've learned from your gods how to manipulate the hearts and minds of men grasping for power, and with this request you will put that knowledge to the test. Elder Stigr's wife, Unnr, whom he married after his first tragically passed in childbirth, along with the babe, is pregnant again, and this time it seems the child will survive until their birth. You know Stigr desires little as much as he is desperate for an heir. When you explain who Las and Wel protect, you watch the anger war with hope on Stigr's face. "Why have these twinned goddesses not been part of our prayers earlier?" Stigr snaps, voice laced with accusation.

"The tome I found, the one I used to beg help from the others only listed Jon, Tav, Gaz, and the god of death. Fra and Lex have come to me as we seem to need them. Perhaps this is the same with Las and Wel. Perhaps the gods feel Las and Wel can help us continue to thrive." Most of the Elders had nodded along as you spoke, having seen how interventions from the earlier gods seemed to come at the moment they were needed.

Elder Stigr must have felt the pull to do all he could to protect his wife and unborn child for his was the first voice to approve the new altar and, more surprisingly, even volunteered to help source the materials to build and shroud the altar. The night it is completed, you dream of several women. You recognize Thone and Unnr as well as the goddess Fra. With them are two women you know must be Las and Wel. Like Lex, Las has hair the color of grains and a strong, sturdy frame. Wel is her dark counterpoint: hair dark as night drapes down around a willowy build. The goddesses talk with Thone about how to care for Unnr, how to ensure she bears a healthy baby boy.

Members of your village have never been in your dreams before, so when morning comes, you stop in to see Thone. As you approach her house, she is bustling out, arms loaded with tinctures and remedies. "Oh!" she says, nearly bumping into. "I'm sorry. Did you need me? I must be off to see Unnr." Your confusion must show as Thone lowers her voice conspiratorially and leans to you, "I had a dream. Several women - they said they were goddesses though I had only heard of one, there is a shrine to her with the others I think - told me Unnr's baby would be stronger than the last few. That he would make it, but only with my help." She stands and finishes with, "I'm not like you and don't put much stock in my own dreams, but when I woke, I couldn't shake the feeling like I should do as the dream said."

You watched, dumbfounded, as Thone left her home for that of Elder Stigr. Your job was almost done. You were dually excited and terrified of what would happen when at last Ale and Rudi were restored. But that was a concern for another day. Instead, on your morning rounds, you made sure to leave extra offerings for your goddesses in thanks.

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series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @hidden-treasures21 @lostintransist @sirbonesly

[chambersandfogg]

April 16th, 1933 

Well, that was a smashing success. Such a success, I’m still feeling woozy this evening, though it’s been nearly an entire day since I last imbibed. Immortality does not protect one from the dreaded morning head. 

And all this malaise and head-pounding caused by just beer and wine! It seemed appropriate to limit the party’s libations to those less potent alcohols given that is what the President has decreed legal to sell, but I suppose I’ve become accustomed enough to bathtub gin that the sweeter stuff went straight to my blood.

The pain of today was well-earned and well worth it - nearly fifteen years we’ve languished under this oppressive prohibition and now, finally, we can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Why, the first state ratified the amendment just the other day! I expect that California will be swift to follow. It isn’t as though myself nor anyone I know has actually stopped the consumption of liquor since the eighteenth was put in place, but it’s the principle of the thing. It will be a relief to no longer be breaking the law (in this at least; my identity continues to be a fraud). Not that I have such great respect for the law—at least, not all of them—but it does add undue stress to one’s life to break so many so brazenly so often. 

Even Charles was in excellent spirits at the news (pun very much intended). When I had first proposed a celebration in honor of the President’s announcement last month, he was immediately all aboard. Despite the fact that I encouraged him to partake in the burgeoning commercial flight business (as I have yet to do so), he refused to go up in the air, too afraid of falling right out of it.  But he made quick work of his train journey from Washington, D.C. and has been staying with me for the last week. I can’t recall when we last spent such frivolous time together and it has been extremely rejuvenating. Perhaps it is seeing each other in the Los Angeles sunshine, but I daresay we both appear lighter and younger than we have in decades. 

He’s become more of a social butterfly since I last saw him—perhaps all that politicking in D.C. has been good for him. Every one of my guests found him terribly fascinating (as he is) and were deeply curious once they discovered we’ve known each other for the bulk of our lives. I suppose I have some kind of mystique amongst my cohort here in LA and they were all eager to take advantage of Charles’ presence by peppering him with questions about what I was like as a younger man. Questions he was more than happy to answer, even if he had to bend the truth here and there. Seems that Charles’ penchant for teasing me outweighs any guilt he feels at lying to people. 

It is a burden I’m willing to carry. With every story he told of my antics, his smile would widen, his laugh would grow more robust, and a glittering spark would make its way into his eyes. I think there’s probably all manner of ridiculous things I would do to be responsible for that.

[from the personal diary of J.S. Fogg]

[to read the pre-1917 entries, join Atypical Artists and get access to the archive of 24 entries (5,000+ words), as well as ad-free episodes of Atypical's whole catalogue. to receive future monthly missives straight to your inbox, sign up for free here]

[bats-and-the-birds]

I made a post involving young/feral/perceived cryptid Dick Grayson and someone tagged something about Barry Allen losing his mind when this terrifying child befriends his nephew and I have NOT stopped thinking about this since.

Because like, imagine you're Barry Allen. You've been doing this hero thing for a while, and you've seen a lot of things, but now your nephew has gotten himself wrapped up in this too, and goddamnit, you're worried because you know this life isn't easy.

Then he makes a friend - Ollie's boy, Roy Harper - and you breathe a little bit easier, because you know that however rough this life is, it's worse without friends. Besides, it's sweet. They're young boys, and they roughhouse, and tell stupid jokes, and play video games together sometimes. It's nice to see Wally just be a kid with someone that he doesn't have to hide from. And, yeah, sure, they get into trouble sometimes, pull pranks that go too far, get themselves in danger because they think they can take on something they can't, but it's still a net positive, because you need friends in this line of work, and that's exactly what they've found.

And you think about Robin. Not often, but you do think about him. Because you know nothing about him, and you don't want to, but he still has the face of a boy that's younger than your nephew. You wonder if he has friends.

But really, you don't think about him that much. You don't want to. He's freaky, and generally, thinking too hard about anything to do with the Bat is inadvisable.

Then there's a fight. A big one. You don't even really know who's fighting on your side until everything has cleared. It was basically the entire Justice League, no one dead, but a few injuried. And your nephew's there too. And Roy. And Robin.

No one really goes near Robin, ever. It was an unspoken rule, of sorts, and you're pretty sure it's just because everyone's scared of messing with Batman's little bird, though whether that was due to fear of Batman or the bird himself, you're not sure.

But Wally doesn't seem to know this. Wally doesn't seem to care. He runs up to Robin with a big grin on his face and grabs his hand, trying to tug him over to where Roy was patching up some injuries.

You notice that Robin doesn't go with him immediately. In fact, he looks confused. But if you know anything about your nephew, he's persistent, and eventually Robin lets himself be dragged over. Roy seems unconcerned, but you can tell that the other adults in the vicinity shift uncomfortably, unsure of what they should do, or if they should do anything at all.

It doesn't last long anyway. Batman calls for Robin and he bounds off, but you notice he stops and hesitantly waves a gloved hand at your nephew before he leaves. Wally waves back.

You don't think much of it.

Then, the next time you and Ollie catch Wally and Roy fighting something they shouldn't be, Robin's right there with them. It's the first time you've seen Robin without Batman in close proximity, and you think he looks just a little bit more human. He smiles sheepishly with the other boys when they're chastised for fighting things that they shouldn't, and you watch Roy ruffle his hair like there's nothing to be worried about. You're still worried.

You still don't think much of it though. Even when Robin's there with the two of them the next time, and the time after that.

But then, oh dear god, he's in your house. You don't actually notice him at first, for two whole hours, because it's normal to see Wally and Roy sitting on the couch and playing video games. You just don't realize that there's a third head in between them until you sit down in an adjacent armchair to see what they're playing, because Robin is just short enough that his head doesn't peak over the back of the couch.

You have to blink a few times to make sure what you're seeing is real, because nestled in between the two slightly older heroes in their civilian attire is Robin, sans his gloves, cape, and boots, but otherwise still in full uniform with his mask still firmly in place, holding a video game controller and laughing while Wally elbows his side to try to make him lose.

And you just sit back in your chair and stare, because what the hell are you even supposed to do in this situation? Your nephew has decided to make friends with Batman's goddamn son - the boy that you've seen sneak up on League members with super hearing, break a grown man's femur, and somehow fade into shadows in a bright yellow cape - and it worked. And now he's playing video games on your couch. And you don't know what to do about that.

[mandatory-ftmbreeder]

I like to draw a lot and lately I've been having a hard time finding references for a new project I'm working on.

I ask you if you wanna come over and let me take some pictures of you to use as reference, we can hang out and it'll be fun. You agree, happy to help your friend and have an excuse to hang out.

You come over and I ask you to do a few simple action poses. Nothing crazy. But then I point out the fact that your clothes are kinda baggy, so it'll be hard for me to understand your anatomy beneath them. I ask if you'd be willing to just wear your binder and boxers, and I promise these photos will only be seen by me. You agree again, because you know I won't share them, and we're both trans guys, so it's alright, right?

The poses get a bit more ... specific. I ask you to get on all fours. To lay on your back and stomach. To sit with your legs spread. Poses that are definitely meant to be provocative.

I finally tell you what the project is for. I'm drawing a lot of self-indulgent trans guy porn and want to make a short comic about it. I say that the most difficult thing to get references for is t guys with their pussy visible. So if you really wanted to be helpful, you could take your boxers off and let me see everything.

You agree. You kick your boxers off, and I continue making you pose in all sorts of ways that now feel outright humiliating. Sit on your ass and hold your legs open with your hands. Get on your hands and knees face down, ass up, and really put your ass up high. Lay like you're about to get fucked missionary style. Press yourself against the wall and spread your legs wide. Let me get a few up close pictures of you spreading your hole as wide as you can.

And despite how embarrassing this is, that I'm just your friend asking for a favor, you're getting wet. Really fucking wet. It only makes you even more embarrassed and you wonder if I notice it, because if I am, I'm not saying anything.

But I absolutely notice it. Its hard not to, when your pussy is literally fucking glistening in the light. I want to touch it so fucking bad its taking every last ounce of self restraint in me to not just start playing with you. I think of any excuse I can make up to touch you.

Finally I get my chance. You're in a pose where you can't reach your pussy very well to spread it open, so I use my fingers to spread it open myself.

"Holy shit, you're really wet right now. Are you wet like this all the time?" I finally ask, my fingers gently rubbing around your hole. It's actually a little shocking to me just how wet it feels.

You shake your head. Obviously, you're probably not gonna constantly be dripping, but I just wanted to make you say it.

"Why are you so wet right now, then? Is it because... of what we're doing?"

Slowly, you nod, feeling more embarrassed than you have this whole time.

"Huh. I didn't know my friend was such an exhibitionist slut." I say, fingers teasing up and down your cunt. Your entire body trembles and you let out a whine, unable to even formulate an answer right now.

I tease my fingers right around your hole. Pressing in just a slight bit. Pressing more and more until two of my fingers finally push inside your cunt, sliding deeper till they’re fully inside. “Sorry, I would’ve asked if I could penetrate you, but… I mean, its pretty obvious that’s what you want.”

My fingers sliding in and out of your hole faster till im fingerfucking you. My other hand coming up to gently pinch and pull at your clit, all thick and fat from T. You whine and grind down against my fingers. I flick your clit a few more time with my fingers before finally rubbing it in earnest like you so clearly need.

“I’ll let you cum, as long as you let me shove a dildo up your cunt later and take pictures of it. I need some good references of a little bitch getting fucked.”

You don’t just agree- you outright beg me to take all the pictures I want, just so you can cum.

“And its good jerk off material for me, too. Hope you don’t get too mad at me if I ‘accidentally’ take a few videos of it too.”

I slap your cunt with my hand, the noise wet and loud and filthy, before going back to rubbing your clit just how you love it being touched. Your entire body trembles at how turned on you are, how good you feel, and suddenly your orgasm is rushing through you, making your hips jerk, cunt clench around my fingers, as all you can do is let it take you. I keep fingerfucking you and rubbing you through your orgasm, not stopping till you seem coherent again.

“That’s a good fucking bitch.” I say, pulling out my fingers and licking them clean. I give your ass a firm slap as you collapse to the ground in exhaustion.

I take a quick picture of you like this, looking sated and well-fucked. “You’re the best model a guy could ask for. Now let me see your hole, I wanna capture the way it looks all stretched out right now.”

[shesnake]

hello here's my little Armand essay. spoilers for season 2 and content warnings for discussions of racism, csa, intimate partner violence.

[shanalikeanna]

I saw the artwork below the cut and kneeeww I had to draw Doflamingo 💖🦩

@doffyslittledove @physics-of-one-piece @mandiemegatron

[empressofthewind]

Honestly it always makes me a little upset when people say Near is a copy of L/too similar to him, because as much as that's the point of his character, I also don't even think it's that accurate?? Visually he's similar, but in personality, there are a lot of key differences that get overlooked in favour of the cosmetics. Their treatment of Light/Kira is a major one that comes to mind, with regards to the notable respect L shows towards Light and his methods. Near is also quite a bit more expressive than L; L mostly alternates between "deep in thought" and "mildly annoyed", with some minor flexibility outside of that, whereas Near has a distinct look of excitement when things are going his way, looks distraught when his team members die, and gets angry several times to the point of physically breaking things. Near's manner is more blunt, and he's a much bigger nuisance to Light on the basis that he's more inclined towards brutal honesty, whereas L is a notorious liar with a habit of deception. Near also focuses more on morality in his approach to the Kira case, and doesn't have the same ego or personal investment in detective work that L does. L is a lot more physically active than Near too, with his record as a tennis champion and occasional tendency to pace while speaking. The move to enrol in college, for example, is not something I could ever see Near doing. Near was specifically groomed to be L's successor, so there's definite overlap in their attitudes and methods, but they're actually quite different characters if you look beyond the surface, and I think it's important to treat Near as a unique character who takes on L's role rather than an outright clone.

[geni-bathroom]

thinkin about Astarion mending Wyll's clothes for him but also embroidering something on them when he does. I imagine with all the fighting and traveling Wyll ends up with rips and holes in his clothes pretty often and eventually Astarion gets sick of watching him walk around in tattered clothes (most people likely wouldn't even notice but of course Astarion isn't most people). the first couple times he does it he just mends the damages and gives it back, but maybe one time Wyll ends up with a particularly large rip in his shirt and Astarion decides to take the opportunity to cover the damage with a small bit of embroidery to tidy up the repair. Wyll thanks him for repairing his shirt (again) but then he notices the embroidery and pauses for a moment in both surprise and marvel. "did you do this?" he says, carefully running his thumb over the delicate stitches, he knew it was a bit of a stupid question but he couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. (cont. under the cut bc this got kinda long)

"it was a pretty nasty rip, even with my skillful hands," Astarion flashes Wyll a suggestive grin to emphasize his innuendo but Wyll is still to busy admiring the embroidery in his hands, "I wasn't able to make the repair look presentable on its own, but a bit of embroidery does well enough to cover it up"

"it's beautiful." Wyll breathes.

"yes, well, you're welcome." Astarion retorts, his voice thick with snark to hide how much Wyll's earnest praise flustered him.

Wyll chuckles and thanks him again before they part ways.

the next time Astarion repairs some of Wyll's clothes when he returns the item Wyll once again notices a small patch of embroidery but this time it's somewhere totally unrelated to the damaged area. it's lovely, and he spends a moment admiring it before giving Astarion a questioning look. "there was a stain, I couldn't wash it out so I just covered it up. you're welcome, by the way." Astarion defends, and it's almost believable. it might have been more believable if it didn't keep happening.

every time Wyll hands over a damaged piece of clothing to be repaired, it's returned to him with some new embroidery adorning it. it starts off subtle but after some time he has a collage of embroidery along his left pant leg, starting at his hip and extending further down towards his knee with every repair. the collar and both shoulders of his shirt are adorned with delicate designs in colourful thread. he also, notably, becomes a bit more careful in battle, not wanting to damage Astarion's embroidery.

once, an opponent manages to graze his shoulder with their blade, the cut isn't deep but it slices through his shirt. and through the embroidery. as soon as he glaces over and catches sight of the torn thread, he's furious. he dispatches the enemy quickly and rather ungracefully. when he hands the shirt over to Astarion to be repaired he's positively dejected. "swiped at my shoulder, I didn't manage to deflect it in time, cut straight through the embroidery..."

Astarion clicks his tongue, assessing the damage, "no respect for craftsmanship these days..."

when he returns the shirt most of the old design has been picked out and replaced with a new one. a simpler design, Wyll notes, likely easier to repair if it were to get damaged again. he admires it with the same appreciation as the first. "is your shoulder alright, by the way?" Astarion asks rather suddenly.

"hm? oh, yes, barely grazed it. nothing a bandage and a night or two's rest won't fix."

"good." the silence that follows is almost palpable. so many unspoken words, concern, affection, hanging in the space between them. "well. do try to be more careful." Astarion finally says, then hastily adds "at this rate I'm going to run out of thread before I get a chance to get more."

Wyll smiles softly at him. (so softly it makes Astarion's chest ache) "of course." (the idea that Astarion cares about his safety makes Wyll's chest ache as well)

[hikamancer]

A Perspective on Arthur, Dutch and Hosea

As the game progresses, there are a lot of ways Arthur becomes more and more similar to Hosea, most especially in chapter 6. Much like Hosea, Arthur questions and confronts Dutch on behalf of the well being of the other gang members. Like Hosea, he feels and expresses remorse for the decisions he's made in life and regrets that he has little time to change things and make them right. All throughout chapters 1-4, you can hear Hosea having heavy bouts of coughing, and it's implied that, like Arthur, he's dying of an illness. Hell, Arthur even looks kinda like Hosea when he was younger.

But perhaps the clearest example of their similarities is when Dutch outright says it during this conversation in chapter 5.

"You sound like Hosea. I miss... him."

What stands out to me about this line and its delivery is how dismissive it feels. When Dutch hears Arthur expressing concern about the rest of the gang, reminding him of the potential of costing more lives with his recklessness, he doesn't fully hear it as Arthur speaking. He hears Hosea's words, and it strikes grief in him, but he doesn't respond to what Arthur is saying.

I think that to Dutch, Hosea and Arthur always had their specific places/roles at his side. Dutch and Hosea co-founded the gang, united by a common dream. They'd been close friends for 20 years, and Hosea was always there as his consultant. He respected Hosea perhaps the most out of anyone in the gang, and he was one of the few people who he'd actually listen to and seek advice from.

On the other hand, Arthur is the boy whom he and Hosea raised. They brought him up into their life of crime, teaching him, instilling their values into him, and he became their protégé and the gang's lead enforcer. That's the way it was for Dutch. He was the leader, Hosea was the right hand and the brains, Arthur was the left hand and the brawn. And he loved and relied on them both for what they were. But while his love for Hosea was one born out of a more genuine respect of equals, his love for Arthur came with taking him very much for granted. Like a loyal guard dog.

But now Hosea is gone, and Dutch has lost the only voice that kept him in check. The disastrous Saint Denis bank heist and Guarma have left Dutch completely disarmed, but instead of actually reflecting on the deaths he's responsible for, and recognizing what's at stake for the rest of the gang, he instead scrambles to reassert himself and continue trying to "win the chess game" so to speak ("Maybe life ain't such a thing to cling onto so tightly").

(It's worth noting that the chess moves Dutch recites before intiating this conversation is an actual maneuever called "the Dutch Defense," where you sacrifice all your pieces to win.)

But Arthur has started to see things beyond just Dutch and his game, especially after his TB diagnosis. Though Arthur, at his heart, remains loyal to Dutch, he was also loyal to Hosea and, consciously or not, espoused himself to Hosea's ideals of prioritizing the safety and morality of the gang ("I guess I'm more interested in saving lives than winning at chess").

Dutch, however, does not properly recognize Arthur's shift in perspective. Throughout chapter 6, he views Arthur's many attempts at saving those around him as acts of disloyalty and betrayal. Because Arthur's role has not changed in his mind at all. Arthur is still meant to be his muscle, his workhorse, to have his back, because that's what he relies on him for. But Arthur is speaking and acting on ideas above that station. "You sound like Hosea." And so he dismisses Arthur's concerns, dismisses his actions as disloyalty. And it hurts him. All he can see is Arthur changing and turning on him, and that breaks his heart. And he responds to these feelings by detaching himself from Arthur, lashing out at him in anger and disappointment, clinging ever tighter to his own interests and leaning on Micah, a blatant yesman to all of his reckless actions.

It's not until the very end that Dutch is able to realize those feelings. When Arthur, beaten and dying, is lying at his feet. Warning him of Micah, telling him how he gave him all he had, that he tried so hard to save everyone and was still trying to save Dutch. This boy that he raised, that he loved for 20 years, gave him everything. And Dutch did nothing but take advantage of him until it was too late.

I think in that moment, not only did he see Arthur dying, he finally saw Hosea dying in front of him as well. Only then, once everything else had fallen apart, did he realize how much he loved Arthur, how much he loved Hosea, how much they and everyone else who died loved him, and that it was all his fault. And being confronted with that reality, seeing it in the fading of Arthur's eyes, hearing it in his last breaths, was too much for him to bear.

So he just walks away.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 19th december, 2022 ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

this was my view the first time i listened to arctic monkeys. i was sitting in a parked car in the middle of a downpour, waiting for a friend who was at an appointment. i had an hour to kill, and i didn't feel like reading my book. i scrolled restlessly through my spotify library, and, on a whim, decided to listen to 505. it'd been on my playlist of 'to listen to' forever, but for some reason i'd never felt drawn to it until that particular afternoon. i pressed play, and when the song finished i pressed play again. and again. and again. i had goosebumps and my heart was full of something music hadn't evoked in me for a very long time.

i found the 'essential arctic monkeys' playlist and listened to everything i could, suddenly wishing that i had more than an hour, that my friend's appointment would go on and on so that i could stay here in this magical little bubble forever, feeling my heart opening itself up to something brand new and yet hearing parts of myself i'd known forever in the words, like they were somehow waiting for me to come and find them. it felt like someone had switched on a light. like something had come in and reignited a spark i didn't know i'd lost, and i was suddenly glowing with it. nothing had ever spoken to my creativity in the same way; after a long time squashing or trying to reshape it, i could feel it coming to life again, feel it being spoken to so vividly by the music it was as though they were having a direct conversation.

i love a lot of bands and a lot of music, but i've never fallen in love with any music as quickly or as deeply as i did with arctic monkeys. i don't think there's any other band that i've had such a profound first listening experience with, where i remember exactly where i was and how it felt. but the memory of listening to 505 and crying lightning and don't sit down 'cause i've moved your chair and arabella in that parked car, watching the rain slide down the glass and smudge the dusk, is something i know i'll remember forever. i could *feel* my world shifting on its axis, and, looking back, that instinct was totally spot on. completely out of the blue and in a way i never expected, arctic monkeys reunited me with my creativity in a way i'd needed for years. within days of listening to them for the first time, i'd started writing my novel, and a couple of months down the line i'd written over 40k. it was the most i'd written in years, and that's not even to mention the fanfic that rapidly became the most fun and fulfilling escapism i'd discovered in a long time. i felt myself seeing and connecting with the world around me in a brand new way that felt exciting and vivid, strange and beautiful and full of subtle, unnoticed meaning. it felt as though i had suddenly been given permission to write the world the way i experienced it, rather than trying to capture on paper what i thought other people wanted it to be.

as if all that wasn't enough, their music has also allowed me to connect with some incredibly special people and make wonderful friends both here and in real life.

it's truly hard to put into words the profound and unexpected impact this band has had on my life and just how much solace their music brings me, but at the very least i wanted to recognise that by acknowledging the anniversary of the first day i listened to them. it's a wonderful reminder of how the smallest action can change your life, and how those changes you need can find their way to you in ways you'd never have foreseen. i will be forever grateful to the serendipity of boredom and spotify playlists on that rainy afternoon in december 💖

[cosmic-kinglet]

Just saw a silly post involving ALL of the kids together, including Jack and Dazzle, and that just got me thinking about some VERY cute things.

First, the idea of Eclipse having Jake and Andy back (and maybe even in their own bodies) in time for Earth and Monty's wedding, and him being able to actually attend. Firstly, I can't decide which is better: him just bringing all of his kids with him because why wouldn't he? Or him originally intending to go alone, but being guilted into bringing all of the kids.

Second cute thing: He arrives to find most of the other guests (almost exclusively Celestial family members, though Nebula also very carefully planned out her work to have time to be there) already there and mingling. Of course, his arrival draws attention (especially since he brought a whole pack of kids with him). Earth had mentioned to all of her siblings that Eclipse had been looking after some kids, but none of them were really sure how much he was actually taking care of the kids; they figured he might just be housing them and only making sure they have what they absolutely need.

That question drops the longer Eclipse and his kids are there. They all see him sharing sarcastic quips with Andrew, comfortably allowing Charlie and Jake to snuggle against him on either side, patiently (at least for him) answering Jake and Andy's barrage of questions (they're especially interested in Lunar, who seems to have unnatural capabilities for an animatronic). Overall, everyone sees Eclipse genuinely caring for these kids.

Next thing: As soon as the ceremony's over, Earth and Monty are able to mingle with everyone. Of course, Earth goes in for hugs with her siblings first. But, then she goes down the lineup to Eclipse. She runs over to him, excited, saying how happy she is that he was able to be there. Still at max excitement, she asks if she can hug him. His reply, "It's a special day. Sure," in his usual monotone. He opens his arms and finds himself being squeezed seconds later.

Now, the kids: Of course, each group of kids is curious about the other. Jake, Andy, and Andrew are quickly taken by all of Jack's features, Jake even pestering Solar a little bit about Jack's construction. While Charlie also finds these things cool, she ends up spending more time with Dazzle. During introductions, Dazzle mentions that her name used to be Evelyn but that she mostly goes by Dazzle now. And, whether this is enough of a clue on its own, or if the name brings a quick flash of mysterious memory, Charlie asks if Dazzle is a dead kid. When Dazzle says yes, Charlie eagerly shares that she, and the rest of the kids with her, are ghost kids. Dazzle quickly jumps from this topic to starting up a game with Charlie, then recruiting the other kids to join in.

Final thing: Eclipse spends most of the time after the ceremony just hanging back, mostly keeping a distant eye on the kids while they play. But, eventually, Sun goes over to join him, starting with a stereotypical, "Kids, huh?" This is met with an aloof sigh. "Yeah. Dead kids." "Yeah...Dead kids." Sun then goes on to ask about each of Eclipse's kids. He knows Eclipse knows about Evelyn, since he was around for the incident. So, he just asks Eclipse to tell him about his kids: which ones he knew before their deaths, what he knew about each of them, what they each like and dislike, etc. There's no mushy talk of how much Eclipse has changed, or any mention of the past. There's just two dads talking about their kids.

[cryptidiaz]

desperately want to see buck calling bobby "pops" more!! there's something really sweet and heartbreaking to me that we never see it in canon, we just hear of it happening. but i think that's because buck called bobby pops before he actually knew him.

like that was season one! buck was learning how to not be a shitty person for the first time and bobby was deeply suicidal and unwilling to share himself with anyone close to him. they only had a working relationship at this point. he considered bobby his work dad, they went to a concert together (so funny to imagine lol), and bobby (mostly) put up with his bullshit. up until now, buck has only ever seen fatherhood presented as concern for safety or discipline. and s1!bobby fits that mold, so he's gonna latch onto that and display vulnerability the only way he knows how to- with jokes.

then bobby opens up to the team and him and buck continue to get closer and closer over the seasons, and it feels weirder and weirder to joke about bobby being buck's dad. because by now we know how shitty buck's real father is. and we've seen the deep care bobby has for buck, and how that's evolved from him stifling buck while trying to protect him, to finally letting buck grow and thrive on his own. there's a real relationship now.

so, ostensibly, there's a lot of pressure around what was supposed to be this silly bit but is now a deeply meaningful honorific. and i desperately want them to explore that tension!!! bobby will help buck with something small and he'll throw out a "thanks pops!" and walk away and bobby just kind of blue screens because that's his kid right there and he didn't even realize how much it would effect him to hear that said so flippantly and he kinda walks around in a daze til the next call. AND THEN maybe something almost happens to buck on that call and bobby is kind of freaking out more than usual and hen and chim are concerned, but not that concerned, like come on, it's buck, he'll be fine. but bobby is not fine, and when he finally gets a moment with buck he doesn't even know what to say, and he just kinda puts his hand on his shoulder and just looks at him and buck is gonna let him say what he needs to say but he can't seem to say anything. so buck is getting shy from being fussed over so obviously and he's like "i'm fine pops, don't worry" and bobby just sorta breaks and hugs him really tight and buck lets him. and when bobby pulls back, he's clearly steeled himself and is now more captain than he was before he went into the hug, but he still says "i always worry about you, kid" before he walks off to finish commanding the incident or whatever he does and buck is now in his own blue screen moment.

WAHHH FAMILY😭

[stevenrogered]

ONE DAY ↳book > screen

Imagine one selected day struck out of your life and think how different its course would have been. Think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on that memorable day. - Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

[deltatxt]

Story Idea: Assassin’s Creed - Sugar Baby AU (EzioAltDes)

I got the idea for a Sugar Baby AU about four days ago, and it has rotted my brain spectacularly since. Below is a quick summary of the AU, but under the cut will be the background information, the main trio's occupation and backstories, and the actual outline.

Since it's about ~5k words total, I'll be more or less dividing them into sections (just like my Ego Sum Qui Sum work) for each chapter/mini-arc of the AU.

Feel free to use this idea and/or outline!

WARNING: This AU includes mentions of child death (Federico & Petruccio) and child abuse (implied with Altaïr, explicitly stated for Desmond). While not graphic, these themes are present. Additionally, IX. The Ultimate Test features Ezio struggling with his mental health. Please skip or click off if any of this makes you uncomfortable.

Summary:

Ezio Auditore is broke, exhausted, and entirely too stubborn for his own good. Between law school, commissions, and barely making ends meet, he doesn’t have time for handouts—especially not from two annoyingly rich bastards who think they can sweep in and take care of him.

Altaïr and Desmond, unfortunately, have other plans.

Ezio resists. He really does. But then it’s their coffee in his hands, their jacket around his shoulders, their apartment he keeps finding himself in. One day, he wakes up and realizes he hasn’t paid for a single meal in weeks. He should be horrified.

Instead, he just feels warm.

Or: Ezio tries to resist being spoiled. He fails spectacularly.

AU INFORMATION

If you end up using this, feel free to change the title, but I've been calling it "Spoiled Sweetly (to my blissful doom)"

Modern AU (No Assassins, Templars, or Isu/First Civ).

Altaïr and Desmond are already in an established relationship by the start of the story.

This story is meant to span from Ezio's sophomore year to the start of his junior year (2nd Year to 3rd Year of University).

For the sake of the AU, Bad Weather (the nightclub Desmond canonically tended to) is a luxury location where the rich and wealthy gather.

I placed a timeskip between parts IX and X!

BACKGROUNDS

Ezio's Background

Law student, 2nd-year/sophomore, barely scraping by.

To make ends meet, he takes on odd jobs and art commissions, inspired by how he painted targets in canon.

The Auditores aren't exactly wealthy, but they get by.

However, when Ezio was young, a violent incident (break-in? mass murder?) took the lives of his father and brothers, leaving his mother in shock.

With no financial stability, debt collectors, loan sharks, and all kinds of opportunists swarmed them.

Maria, who was a housewife, had no means to fight back, and Ezio and Claudia were too young to do anything. They lost everything.

Maria fell ill from grief, and Claudia followed soon after.

Ezio tried his best to take care of them—worked odd jobs, bargained, and more,

But it wasn't enough, and he was all alone.

He was placed in the foster system, bouncing between orphanages and bad homes until around 16.

He fought tooth and nail for an early emancipation, managing to also get lucky enough to get a university scholarship early, even with the sub-par orphanage-provided schooling.

After managing to save up and get his own apartment, he worked odd jobs with terrible pay and dealt with awful commission clients just to afford rent and groceries.

Altaïr's Background

Runs a VIP security service that caters to high-profile clients, former military, and the elite.

People find his personality generally unappealing or difficult to deal with, but he's in high demand because he's just that good at his job.

He was born into what was essentially a cult that worshipped god-like figures (inspired by the Isu/First Civ, though they don't exist here.)

The cult's leader, Rashid, took him under his wing after his father died.

He was raised under strict, militant discipline—trained from childhood to be ruthless, efficient, and detached, resulting in a variety of scars—including one on his lip.

At 13, he met Desmond Miles, a runaway escaping his father, William Miles.

In usual Desmond fashion, he challenged everything Altaïr had been taught, managing to shift his perspective on the world.

Somewhere along the lines, he ended up leaving the cult with Desmond.

Altaïr ended up landing a job as a bouncer at a bar where he gained a reputation for being brutally effective.

His skills eventually caught the attention of legitimate security services, leading to a job offer in private security.

Over time, he saved enough money and built enough connections to start his own security company.

He and Desmond had spent years making allies on the streets who desperately needed jobs, and so those were his first hires.

Desmond's Background

Highly successful bartender serving celebrity clients and high-profile figures with information dealing as a side job.

Extremely charismatic with a wide social network—a keeper of secrets too. People talk when they drink, and Desmond makes sure to note things down for later use.

Born into a private military family with high expectations—his family has a long line of sergeants.

As the only son of William Miles, a high-ranking officer, he was pushed to his limits from a young age.

He was trained relentlessly, sparred constantly, and lived under strict discipline.

At 13, a sparring match with a live blade went wrong, leaving him with a scar on his lips.

Deciding that was the final straw, he ran away, eventually crossing paths with Altaïr.

He landed a job as a waiter at a bar, the same one where Altaïr worked as a bouncer, and quickly worked his way up over the years, eventually becoming a bartender.

He steadily climbed the ranks, moving from small bars to high-end clubs—Altaïr always close behind, of course.

Eventually, get managed to get an exclusive event bartender gig, leading to more elite events and connections with the wealthy and the powerful.

As a bartender, he hears a lot of confessions, knows things he legally shouldn't, so if someone needs information or a connection, Desmond is the go-to guy.

OUTLINE

I. Coffee & Coincidences

Desmond and Altaïr are on a rare, private date at a cafe.

Ezio, meanwhile, was rushing to class, having stayed up to finish an essay that was due the night before.

It’s actually Desmond who bumps into Ezio, though the coffee spills on Altaïr’s coat.

Ezio stares for a moment because that coffee had been a luxury—a little reward for himself after surviving back-to-back lectures and all-nighters to finish a commission.

- He had spent minutes justifying the expense in his head before ordering - He didn’t have a budget for another one. - But that was his problem, not theirs.

Ezio starts apologizing, offering to cover the dry cleaning even if he knows he’ll have to cut on his already meager grocery budget to afford it.

But Desmond is amused at the notion,

- “You gonna foot the bill for that, pretty boy?” - “I spilled it,” Ezio shot back, crossing his arms. “I’ll pay for it.” - “You sure? Because this coat isn’t exactly cheap.” - Ezio scowled, “What, you think I can’t afford it?” - Desmond grinned. “Oh, I know you can’t afford it.” - Ezio's eye twitched. - Altaïr sighed.

Introductions happen (reluctantly on Ezio’s part). Ezio doesn’t recognize them at all, though that’s not a surprise.

Desmond waves the incident off, and when Ezio tries to protest, Altaïr steps in and tells him to let it go,

- Ezio was suspicious. - But he was also late for class. - “Fine,” he muttered, grabbing his bag. “But this isn’t over.” - Desmond chuckled. “Looking forward to it, baby.” 

The pet name doesn’t register as Ezio rushes out.

Desmond is entertained, Altaïr is unimpressed, and Ezio has unknowingly marked himself as their newest obsession.

II. "Accidental" Encounters

Ezio never believed in fate—life had never really given him any reason to,

But when he started running to Altaïr and Desmond again—and again, and again—he should have been suspicious.

Instead, he mostly just felt annoyed,

- “You again?” - Desmond smirked. “You sound happy to see me.” - “Forgive me," Ezio scoffed. "I’ve had a long day.”

He runs into Desmond at a cafe after getting groceries,

- Desmond subtly prods questions at him, though he doesn’t realize. - "You get all your meals from here?"

Then Altaïr is at the library while he’s studying a case for his Criminal Law class.

Then, at a bookstore, while Ezio was struggling to justify buying a secondhand law textbook (that still cost way too much!).

Then at the university gym (Altaïr was apparently an expert at hand-to-hand combat and had an irritating way of critiquing Ezio’s form).

Then at a vendor’s stall (Desmond buys a meal and smugly offers to split, the bastard).

Ezio isn’t stupid. He notices the pattern,

- “Are you two following me?” He finally demanded after yet another ‘coincidental’ meeting at a bus stop - Desmond snorted. “That’s an interesting accusation.” - Altaïr, frustratingly enough, didn’t even blink. “Do you really think we have the time for that?”

Ezio hesitates because it's not like they had a reason to stalk some broke law student. But it's still weird as hell.

Desmond just laughs and says it's fate, Ezio counters by saying he doesn’t believe in it, and Altaïr just cryptically says maybe he should.

If Ezio had been paying attention, he might have noticed the way Desmond leaned in slightly.

Or how Altaïr’s smirk held something more than just amusement.

But he wasn’t…

Oh well.

III. The Soft Sell

It starts small.

Desmond started showing up to the cafe (suspiciously always at the same time Ezio did), getting to the cashier first and conveniently ordering one extra coffee,

- “Don’t be ridiculous,” Ezio scoffed the first time Desmond held it out to him. “I can pay for my own coffee.” - Desmond raised a brow, “Then pay me back later.” - Ezio narrowed his eyes, “I will.” - “Sure, pretty boy,” Desmond drawled, sipping his own drink with far too much amusement. - Ezio grumbled but took the coffee.

Next, it was Altaïr at lunch in the library,

- Ezio just stared at him. “You can’t be serious.” - “You don’t eat enough,” Altaïr said, utterly unconcerned. - Ezio scoffed. “I eat plenty.” Altaïr didn’t even look up from his book. “You eat whatever is cheapest and smallest.” - Ezio bristled. “That’s not—” - Altaïr finally met his gaze, sharp and knowing. - Ezio clenched his jaw. - “This is not charity,” Altaïr said simply, pushing the food closer. “Eat.”

Ezio barely recovers before the next ‘coincidence’ happens.

This time, Ezio’s walking home from university—it was getting late, which was dangerous considering where Ezio lived.

Then a sleek black car pulled up beside him, the window rolling down,

- Desmond, grinning far too smugly, leaned against the steering wheel. “Need a ride?” - Ezio exhaled sharply through his nose. “I am perfectly capable of walking.” - Altaïr flatly scanned the dark, empty streets. “Sure.” - Ezio crossed his arms. “I don’t need saving.” - Desmond smirked. “Who said we were saving you?”

And it keeps on happening, over and over.

The thing is, Altaïr and Desmond never pushed or forced anything. They just… became a constant. A presence that became normal.

Ezio should have resisted harder, really, but every time he moved to argue, they would argue, deflect, or just plain ignore his protests,

- A well-timed reminder that he wasn’t eating enough. - A teasing remark to make it feel less like charity. - A casual offer for something he hadn’t even realized he’d need.

Yeah, Ezio was losing this metaphorical war.

IV. Desmond Plays the Long Game

Ezio had always been stubborn—it was both a blessing and a curse because it kept him going when most would have folded, but also made him terrible at accepting help.

He had a habit of brushing off kindness, of turning down offers even when he clearly needed them.

Desmond found it infuriatingly endearing.

So he did what he did best—he observed, learned, and most importantly, he waited.

He started picking up on the little things,

- The way Ezio tapped his fingers against the table when he was lost in thought - The absent-minded way he ran his hand through his hair and tugged when he was frustrated - The quiet sighs he let out when he was too tired to keep his guard up

Most people wouldn’t notice, but Desmond did, so he started to intervene.

Desmond starts dragging Ezio into late-night walks, started by a casual text at odd hours,

- Desmond: You up? - Ezio: Unfortunately.

They never have a destination in mind, sometimes ending up at a 24-hour cafe, other times, they just walk.

Ezio talks about anything and everything during these, and Desmond, ever dutiful, listens.

He gets attached, naturally, because underneath the exhaustion, beneath the snark and stubborn pride, Ezio was brilliant.

One night, after yet another exhausting day, Desmond invites him over to the one he usually tends to—Bad Weather,

- Desmond: Come by Bad Weather. You need a drink. - Ezio: I can’t afford Bad Weather. - Desmond: I didn’t say you had to. - There was a long pause before Ezio finally caved.

Desmond didn’t think he’d show, but Ezio just rolls his eyes and accepts the drink Desmond poured for him without thinking.

The bar’s full of rich and powerful people, so Ezio feels a little out of place,

- Ezio glanced around the bar, brows furrowing slightly, “I feel like I should be wearing a suit just to be here.” - Desmond chuckled. “Please. Half of the people here inherited their money and have no idea how to spend it. You actually work for a living. That’s worth more than their net worth combined.” - “That’s a dangerous mindset for someone who makes money off of these people.” - “I don’t take their money. They give it to me.”

Then, Desmond prods about law school, causing Ezio to start ranting,

- “So, tell me. How’s law school treating you?” - Ezio groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t even get me started.”

Desmond slides more drinks to Ezio as he talks. A few drinks in, and he was looser, his usual sharp edges softened.

Desmond keeps him talking about schoolwork, his workload, his art commissions.

He files every little detail away.

Then, casually—too casually, really—he asks,

- “What if you didn’t have to worry about money?"

Ezio laughs, thinking it's a joke,

- “What, are you offering to sponsor my education now?”

Desmond doesn’t correct him.

V. Altaïr Pushes Buttons

Altaïr, unlike Desmond, took the opposite approach.

He engaged Ezio in a battle of wits and endurance, a game neither of them would ever explicitly acknowledge but would play anyway.

And Altaïr, much to Ezio’s frustration, was really, really good at challenging him.

It starts subtly, with a few questions here and there,

- “Explain this case to me,” Altaïr said, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. - Ezio, naturally, rose to the occasion. “Which part?” - “All of it.”

Ezio would huff, but his eyes would spark as he picked the case apart piece by piece.

Altaïr would listen and absorb every detail, then poke holes into Ezio’s reasoning, questioning him and countering the logic.

Ezio thinks Altaïr’s just being difficult, but then he’d see the subtly curl of Altaïr’s lips when Ezio found a way to counter his arguments, something almost like approval flickering in his expression.

And Ezio thrived.

It becomes routine, the late-night debates over cases, philosophy, or even finer points of morally gray areas.

They argue for hours until he’s exhausted, slumped over a table but grinning,

- Altaïr, the smug bastard, always looked perfectly composed in contrast.

Somewhere in the mix, Altaïr starts pushing Ezio’s boundaries in other ways, too.

Sometimes, Altaïr would slip a casual Arabic phrase or word, and subconsciously, Ezio starts picking up on their meanings.

Ezio doesn’t realize he’d been absorbing it, just nodding along and responding until one day, when Desmond called him out,

- “Since when did you speak Arabic?” - Ezio blinked. “What?” - Desmond gestured lazily. “You just responded to Altaïr in Arabic. You even said it right.” - Ezio turned to Altaïr, eyes narrowing. “You planned this.” - Altaïr just looked at him, perfectly neutral. “Did I?”

Then there would be the meals, surprisingly enough.

A moment where Ezio forgets to eat—not intentionally, of course, but with everything going on, he just… forgot.

Then, suddenly, Altaïr places a plate of food in front of him,

- “I’m not hungry,” Ezio muttered, glancing back at his notes. - Altaïr didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just said, calmly, “Eat.” - Ezio scowled. “I said—” - But something in Altaïr’s tone made Ezio hesitate. - Altaïr simply watched him. Unmoving. Unyielding. - Ezio glared for a few more seconds. Then, with a quiet huff, he picked up the fork. - He ate.

VI. The Unravelling

With all that had been going on in the whirlwind of Ezio’s life, it made sense that he didn’t notice at first.

When Desmond paid for dinner, Ezio barely batted an eye now. Didn’t argue, didn’t reach for his wallet, didn’t even register the exchange until he was walking back home.

He brushed it off, told himself that it would just be this once.

But it happened again.

This time it was at the cafe he frequented—Ezio walked into the building where Desmond was already waiting, rubbing his temples after a brutal lecture, and Desmond just… slid a cup to him.

And Ezio automatically took it. Didn’t even realize until half of the cup was empty. Ezio opens his mouth, but Desmond beats him to it,

- “Don’t even start.” -Ezio narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t say anything.” -“You were going to.” - Ezio scoffed. “You don’t know that.” - Desmond raised a brow. - Ezio huffed. He took another sip, muttering under his breath. “Bastardo.” - Desmond just grinned. “Love you too.”

Then there was Altaïr.

Ezio hadn’t commuted anywhere by himself in weeks.

He just started expecting to see the familiar sleek, high-end car idling at the curb at the end of university.

One day, Ezio just reaches for the passenger door handle before even registering what he was doing.

It happens again while Ezio is studying.

Now, he expects Altaïr to have a snack or meal waiting for him every time he stops by the library.

Absentmindedly reaches out to the container before he even sits down because his stomach is growling.

But the breaking point happens on a cold night outside a restaurant.

All three had just finished dinner, Ezio halfway through a debate with Altaïr about some case study, while Desmond stepped away to handle the bill.

A cold wind rushes past, making Ezio shiver, then Altaïr shrugs off his coat—the same expensive one he had spilled coffee on when they met all those months ago—and drapes it over Ezio without a word.

Ezio barely reacted, only pulling the coat around himself tighter as he kept talking.

It wasn’t until they were halfway towards the car that it hit him—the already paid bill, the warm and heavy coat, the car waiting at the curb.

Oh.

- Ezio froze mid-step. - Desmond glanced over his shoulder, “You good?” - Ezio stared at the coat. Then at Desmond. Then at Altaïr. - “…I’m getting spoiled.” - Desmond smirked. “Finally noticed?” - Ezio opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked genuinely horrified. “No. No, no. I— I am not—” - Altaïr raised a brow. “You are.” - “I am not,” Ezio insisted. “This—this is just—you offered—” - Desmond snorted. “Uh-huh.” - Ezio turned to Altaïr, desperate. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.” - Altaïr’s face was perfectly neutral. “He’s not.” - Ezio looked betrayed. “You—You are both ridiculous.”

Altaïr and Desmond exchange a knowing glance.

And that’s when Ezio realizes that they weren’t going to argue or fight him on this, not because he’s wrong but because—

- They were waiting. - Waiting for the inevitable. - Waiting for him to give in. - Waiting for him to realize there was no way out of this. - Ezio’s heart pounded. - He was losing.

VII. The Breaking Point

Ezio’s day had been shit.

It started with his exam results—he had worked hard, studied until his eyes burned, and poured hours into preparation.

But when the grades were posted, his score wasn’t what he expected.

It wasn’t a failure—not even close. In fact, he had done well,

But it wasn’t enough (not for his standards anyway).

Yet Ezio was still Ezio, so he clenched his jaw and decided not to think about it.

Then came the commission.

He had been counting on it—rent was due soon, and his budget was already spread thin,

But the client backed out with the excuse of finding another artist who could do it for cheaper, despite already agreeing to Ezio’s rate.

He swallowed down the frustration and sent a polite response, even though his hands ached to throw something,

And then, just to really twist the knife, his apartment’s heating broke.

The landlord? Useless. Maintenance? Busy. Earliest it could be repaired? Next week.

- Ezio sat on his bed, wrapped in his thin excuse for a blanket, and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. - Just for a second. - Just to breathe.

Then his phone buzzes, and as Ezio is staring blearily at the screen, he realizes it's Desmond,

Desmond: Dinner. No Arguments

Ezio hesitates, because he should say no. He should stay in, tough it out, and deal with it like he always did.

But he was cold, tired, and the thought of being in his freezing apartment all alone made something in his chest curl tight.

So he puts on a sweater and goes.

When he steps inside Bad Weather, it's the warmth that hits him first.

Not just the temperature, but the atmosphere—the low hum of conversation, the scent of food and liquor, the way Desmond looks up from behind the counter and immediately smiles,

- “Hey, gorgeous.” - Ezio scoffed, shaking off the cold. “Don’t start with me.” - Desmond just slid a plate across the counter. “Your usual.” - Ezio paused. Looked at the food. - Hot, fresh, and exactly what he would have ordered.

Ezio should argue. Insist on paying. But he’s too tired, too cold

So he sits and picks up the fork,

- “Altaïr’s here, by the way.” - Ezio barely had time to register that before a heavy warmth settled over his shoulders. - He stiffened and turned his head. - There Altaïr was, draping a thick, expensive-looking blanket around him like it was the most natural thing in the world. - Ezio blinked. “What—” - Altaïr said nothing, instead pressing the edges into place, making sure it was snug around him. - Ezio’s throat felt tight.

He wants to fight it. To push it off—to pretend

But he doesn’t. He just sinks into it, lets it happen.

Lets himself be taken care of.

VIII. Indulgence

Now that Ezio has finally caved, Altaïr and Desmond stop trying to be subtle at all.

Fancy clothes? Bought. Expensive sinners? Scheduled. “Random” gifts? Constant.

Ezio protests, of course, but it’s half-hearted at best now

One night, they catch him in a sweater Altaïr bought him and a watch Desmond picked out.

Another night, Ezio just steals Desmond’s drink and a piece of meat from Altaïr’s plate.

One minute he’s complaining about his old laptop—how the battery barely holds any charge, how the fan sounds like it’s dying, how he lost an entire legal brief because it crashed mid-save

Next thing he knows, he’s being dragged to some high-end electronics store by Altaïr and Desmond,

- “Guys,” Ezio protested, digging his heels in, “I don’t—” - Desmond just slung an arm around his shoulders like he was a particularly stubborn shopping cart. “Come on, baby, just look around.” - Ezio scowled. “I don’t need a new laptop.” - Altaïr, who was already heading to the premium section, didn’t even glance back. “Yes, you do.” - Ezio sputtered. “I already have a laptop!” - “You have a relic,” Desmond corrected. “That thing belongs in a museum.”

Before they can argue further, Altaïr just hands him a brand new laptop—top-of-the-line. Sleek. Expensive. The kind that costs more than three months’ worth of rent,

- “What the fuck.” - “Consider it an early graduation gift,” Altaïr said, tone utterly impassive. - Ezio was a sophomore. - He gripped the edges of the box like he was considering throwing the damn thing. “I hate you both.” - Desmond grinned, “Love you too, baby.” - Ezio groaned, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “You absolute bastards.” - Altaïr just sipped at his coffee.

Following that, they drag him to a designer boutique of all places.

Ezio, of course, takes one look at countless racks of stupidly expensive clothes and tries to turn around and leave immediately.

Desmond catches him by the back of his sweater,

“I am not doing this.” - Desmond just grinned, way too pleased with himself. “Pretty boy, you are doing this.” - “No.” - “Yes.” - “No.” - “Yes.” - Altaïr—who had been watching the exchange with all the patience of a saint—finally stepped in. “Ezio.” - Ezio gritted his teeth. He knew that tone. That specific tone meant ‘stop fighting and accept your fate.’ - Ezio narrowed his eyes. “You planned this.” - Desmond didn’t even have the decency to deny it. “Yeah, kinda.” - Ezio groaned. “I hate you both.”

He ends up with an armful of clothing anyway.

At some point, Desmond shoves a leather jacket into his hands, and it fits. It fits ridiculously well. Too well, even.

Because it made him feel like he belonged here, in a world of luxury and excess, with Desmond and Altaïr.

It made something in his chest twist,

- Desmond stepped closer, adjusting the collar and smoothing out the sleeves. His fingers lingered at Ezio’s wrists, his voice softer. “Just take the damn thing, baby.” - Ezio swallowed. - For once, he doesn’t argue.

IX. The Ultimate Test

Ezio doesn’t mean to push them away. Not really, but the thought, once it appeared, refused to leave his head.

But as he stares at his reflection, wearing new clothes and spotting the new laptop sitting on his bed, some unpleasant thoughts start to make themselves known.

A whisper at first, then a murmur, and now a constant, vicious snarl in his head.

- What the fuck are you doing, leeching off of two guys who are happily in a relationship? Clinging to them like you belong? - The thought was unbearable.

It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. But the thought won’t leave him alone.

They had each other before he even came into the picture. They would be fine without him. Have been fine without him.

So what the hell is he doing? Why is he letting them take care of him like some helpless pretty thing?

Ezio is just… there. Their charity case. Their idiot, stray law student that they’ve inexplicably decided to pamper, and for what? What does he bring to the table? What does he give them?

The answer is obvious.

Nothing.

So Ezio stops.

He decides, in the only way he knows how, that he’s going to prove to himself and them that he doesn’t need them. He digs in his heels and stubbornly refuses everything.

For the first three days, it isn't so bad.

Desmond swings by his apartment to pick him up for class. Ezio tells him he’s already on his way (A lie—he takes the subway and hates every second of it).

Altaïr hands him a coffee when they cross paths on the way to one of his odd jobs. Ezio shakes his head, feigning indifference. (The caffeine withdrawal headache kicks in two hours later.)

They try to buy him lunch, and he refuses.

They ask him about dinner, and he makes up some bullshit excuse.

Desmond and Altaïr watch him. They don’t push, but Ezio can feel their gazes, sharp and considering, like they’re waiting every time they just so happen to come across each other.

By the fourth day, Ezio is flagging.

The subway is miserable. The coffee withdrawal is worse. He’s eating the bare minimum—whatever he can scrounge from his apartment or afford on his own.

It’s familiar and lonely and stupid. So stupid.

But the thought of giving in—of crawling back with his tail between his legs—is unbearable.

By day five, he’s pushing through on sheer willpower alone.

He’s exhausted. His body aches. His assignments pile up. He doesn’t sleep because there’s too much to do, and the lack of proper food is starting to get to him.

But he can do this. He doesn’t need their money or their stupid fucking kindness. He doesn’t need—

He doesn’t mean to pull an all-nighter, but the legal brief he’s working on refuses to cooperate, and before he knows it, the sun is rising and he hasn’t slept at all.

He’s sluggish, thoughts slow, and the only thing keeping him upright is sheer force of will.

He goes to class running on fumes, doesn’t hear a single word of the lecture, and stumbles back to his apartment in a haze.

And then, somehow, Desmond is there,

- Ezio blinked, sluggish and barely comprehending as the door swung shut behind him. - Desmond is standing in the kitchen, completely at ease, a bag of takeout on the counter.

The smell of food hits him like a punch to the gut, stomach cramping angrily, all the while Desmond looks at him with knowing eyes,

- “Hey, baby.” Desmond’s voice is too soft. Too knowing. “Rough couple of days?” - Ezio stiffened, his grip on his bag tightening.  - Don’t fold. Don’t fold. - “I’m fine,” he rasped, pushing past him. “Don’t need—” - His stomach growls. Loudly. - Desmond snorts. “Yeah. Sure.”

Ezio’s vision blurs for a split second as he grits his teeth, exhaustion making his body sway, and then Desmond is there, steadying him and guiding him into a chair before he can protest,

- “Sit down,” Desmond murmured, nudging the takeout towards him. “Eat.” - Ezio swallowed. His throat felt tight. His hands clenched uselessly in his lap. - “I hate you,” he croaked out. - Desmond just smiled, brushing his knuckles against Ezio’s cheek. “I know. Eat, baby.” - Ezio picked up his fork with shaking hands and took a bite. - It’s over.

The first swallow nearly undoes him. The second makes his vision blur. The third—

Fuck.

Ezio makes a broken noise before shoving his sleeve against his eyes, before the tears can fully spill over.

But Desmond sees. Of course he does.

And suddenly there are arms wrapping around him, pulling him close, his head tucked against a broad chest, and—

- “Shh, sweetheart,” Desmond murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” - Ezio gripped the front of his hoodie with shaking hands, unable to stop the way his body folds in.  - He doesn’t sob, not quite, but the tears don’t stop, and when a second pair of arms wrap around him from behind, Ezio makes a choked sound - Altaïr’s voice is quiet, firm. “Enough of this, Ezio.” - Ezio swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I just—” - “You are not a burden,” Altaïr cuts him off. “You are not an inconvenience.” - Desmond tightened his hold. “You’re ours.”

It’s not fair how they make it so easy to fall apart.

They hold him, firm and unyielding, as Ezio lets the last few days break him.

When he stops shaking and the tears finally slow, he sags against them, wrung out and exhausted,

- Desmond pressed another kiss to his hair, voice warm with affection. “Better?” - Ezio sniffed, rubbing at his sore eyes. “No.” - Desmond snorted. “Liar.” - Altaïr hummed, a rare note of amusement in his voice. “We’ve let you suffer long enough.” - Ezio scowled weakly. “Didn’t let me do anything.” - Desmond flicked his ear. “Yea, okay, baby.” - Ezio groaned, but it’s softer now, the fight bleeding out of him. Fuck. He hates them. He hates them. - (He doesn’t. He never could.)

He isn’t getting rid of them, no matter how hard he tries,

- “You’re not getting rid of us,” Desmond murmured, his voice dropping into something quiet, something unshakable. “Stop trying.” - Ezio closed his eyes, breath stuttering. - “Okay,” he whispered.

Ezio doesn’t move for a long time.

He eats.

He lets them hold him.

He’s theirs.

X. Sweet Surrender

Ezio should feel victorious.

He thinks he’s entitled to feel some sort of sense of accomplishment. After all, he lasted longer than anyone (not that there are others to compare to).

A year ago, he had snarled at the mere suggestion of letting anyone, least of all two disgustingly rich bastards, take care of him.

Three months ago, he had been dead set on resisting.

Now?

Now Ezio’s sitting in the passenger seat of one of Altaïr’s many cars, wearing a jacket Desmond bought him, with a new phone in his pocket holding a cup of coffee he hadn’t paid for.

Desmond was in the driver’s seat, humming under his breath as he cruised comfortably through town towards their apartment (Because that was a thing now, Ezio having moved in over the summer).

Altaïr was nowhere to be seen, having gone into some high-end restaurant to pick up their food.

Takeout because Ezio had refused to go inside and sit at a table where the cheapest thing on the menu cost more than his entire (old) grocery budget,

- “…I’m getting spoiled,” Ezio muttered. - Desmond snorted. Didn’t even look at him. "You’re just now figuring that out?" - Ezio glared. “I didn’t say it was a good thing.” - "Didn't say you did." Desmond’s lips twitched, his smirk sharp enough to cut. “But you're sitting in Altaïr’s car, drinking my coffee, waiting for our boyfriend to bring you dinner." - Ezio choked. “You two are not my—” - "You’re wearing the jacket I bought you, with the phone Altaïr picked out, and you haven't paid for coffee in weeks." Desmond tossed his phone onto the dashboard, turning to him with an obnoxiously satisfied grin. "Face it, baby. You’re ours." - Ezio scowled. "I hate you." - Desmond reached out, smooth and lazy, like he’d done this a hundred times before, and tugged Ezio in by the collar of his jacket, pressing a kiss to his temple. - "Love you too, baby," he murmured against his skin.

He’s happier. Healthier. More comfortable in his skin than he’s ever been.

Ezio still insists on paying things when he can, still glares when Desmond or Altaïr swipe their cards before he gets the chance.

But nowadays he lets it happen, lets them take care of him.

There’s a moment, one lazy afternoon, where it truly sinks in.

He’s sprawled on the couch, half-asleep, head pillowed on Desmond’s lap while Altaïr sits at the other end, reading.

Desmond’s fingers are in his hair, absently combing through the strands, and Altaïr’s hand rests against his ankle, warm and grounding.

Ezio sighs, sinking further into their touch. He doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t argue.

He doesn’t need to.

Because, for once in his life, he doesn’t have to do it all alone.

Because he is theirs, and they are his, and that is more than enough.

Wow, this was long, haha. I went a little wild in IX. The Ultimate Test... I really like writing and reading angst, okay?

I have a few ideas for a spin-off and possibly a sequel, though nothing as concrete as this outline. Let me know if you'd like to see that too!

[designernishiki]

it’s kinda funny to me how that dumb scene in kiwami 1 of majima getting shot and left for dead in the harbor was basically just added as a half-assed way to explain majima not being around for a bit of the plot, but they accidentally(?) just made it seem like start of a chain reaction where majima ended up feeling slighted and heartbroken after being abandoned like that and then lashed out about it via smashing a big truck into the building kiryu was in. and yeah that isn’t inherently a romantic thing as-is but then they go and add the part where majima grabs a hostess and performatively hits on her as in-kiryu’s-face as possible, she says she’s already in love with someone, and majima lets her go immediately, no questions asked, making a big fucking point of it just to say see THAT kiryu? I appreciate when people are HONEST about their FEELINGS. people who won’t just BACKSTAB someone who CARES about them to save themselves. is that so crazy kiryu?? huh??? anyway make it up to me get down here and fight me right fucking now