#the way of the voice fic

[morelikesin]

So this is love.

Mm-mm-hmm

So this is love...

So this is what makes life divine.

References below 💕

I love using my dolls for reference they're just so perfect 🥹🤧

I drew this originally for Valentine's Day a few years ago, but my style and tastes have changed since then - so I decided to revise this piece for this Valentine's Day because I've always really loved it 🩷🥺

[morganbritton132]

Eddie is just trying to film a Tiktok to remind his fans about some upcoming shows but trails off when Steve says off-camera, “Hey, remember that RadioShack guy that was banging your mom?”

Eddie: *flips camera around to show where Steve and Jonathan are sitting on the couch*

Jonathan: …Bob.

Steve: Yeah, him. That toe guy from Lord of the Rings looks exactly like him, right?

Jonathan: …

Jonathan: Gollum???

Eddie: Toe, as in Po-tay-toe. He’s talking about Sam

Steve, snapping his fingers: That’s the guy

Jonathan: Oh.

Jonathan: I don’t see it.

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[tending-the-hearth]

a version of chronicles of narnia where those closest to the kings and queens get put into a sleep when the pevensies are brought back to their world, from which they're awoken only when their beloved four rules return, something à la sleeping beauty.

so the pevensie siblings return to narnia, and logically, it's been thousands of years. their closest friends, those they viewed as family, are, to their knowledge, dead, and they are completely alone now.

until peter and caspian encounter each other in the woods, and are about to get into their fight. it's the moment where peter's back is turned, and caspian has his word raised. lucy is screaming, tears in her eyes, susan and edmund are too far away to do anything, and there's a moment of chaos before caspian's strike is blocked by a larger, longer sword.

oreius, completely disgruntled and still very out of the loop, but only focusing on the fact that his king, his friend, his son, is in danger, glares daggers at caspian, not looking away for a second, even as tumnus gathers a now-relieved, sobbing lucy up in a tight hug, and edmund and susan shriek with joy upon seeing the beavers and mr. fox.

and any feeling of tension or fear immediately seeps out of peter, who drops the rock he had picked up, and stumbles to his feet and to oreius' side, being able to lean on the centaur for the first time in a year, and not have to worry about his safety or his siblings' safety. and oreius, without taking his eyes off of caspian and his followers, just puts an arm around peter.

and caspian remembers. he remembers the stories of the high kings and queens of narnia, and their beloved inner circle, and the absolutely terrifying centaur who called them sons and daughters of his heart, and he can't quite help but think about how utterly fucked he is.

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

Headcanon: When the Last Dragonborn goes to Sovngarde and fights Alduin, during the very moment of their great battle, the Aurora Borealis and all the stars snuff out of the night sky of Skyrim. And when they finally kill him, there is a momentary burst of light in the sky, as if all the stars went supernova and Kyne's Lights burn brighter than they have ever been...👀

[peachcitt]

from: thirteen by @anna-scribbles

art by me :)

start from the beginning // read the november chapter // read the most recent chapter (january)

hey listen. look me in my eyes. have you read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think if you want your life to be forever changed you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think if you are a person who is breathing and alive you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. thank you

[stuffed-x-arts]

HEY GUYS GRINS. IVE BEEN SO OBSESSED WITH SLAY THE PRINCESS THE PAST FEW DAYS IM GONNA FUCKING EXPLODE !!!!! :D

anyways take this.

I don't see them as romantic but they are still so fun. love story !! u can interpret it all how u like though lol i enjoy it all the same and just hope u have fun <3

also below the read more im gonna dump some doodles and sketches of me tryna figure out how to draw the voices and stuff smh. none of it is set in stone also maybe some spoilers idk smh go play the game !!!

HIIII here. hands u this. silly birds.

the cold is one of my faves smh but they are AAAAALL good smh. contrarian. paranoid. hunted. broken. NARRATOR holy fuck i love timeloops and tragedies and horror and narrator characters and AAAAAARGH go play slay the princess RIGHT now smh ive mostly been watching playthroughs but trust me i need to buy it soon and play it a million times over smh

[pastafossa]

“It’s... Really Yellow?” (Matt Murdock x f!Reader, Fanfic)

Ok so in honor of ALLLLLL the good Charlie news today and us getting a little more of him in the red and yellow suit in the trailers, I’ve decided to finally pull this little drabble out of my folders and finish it since I’ve gotten some requests about what The Red Thread!Reader’s reaction would be to Matt’s new suit. You do NOT have to have read TRT to get this, it’s just a nice bonus (and for those who DO read it, just know this is set *waves* in their future).

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Rating: Mildly NSFW at best. There’s some suggestive stuff, lots of innuendo, but no sex or anything.

Summary: Foggy needs you to help him convince Matt that red and reflective yellow are ridiculous colors to wear as a stealthy Devil. Unfortunately for Foggy, Matt knows exactly how to convince you otherwise.

Wordcount: 2,942

Warnings: innuendo, language, Matt turning the Devil voice on you, bad use of puns, Matt’s ability to look good in literally anything

“Look at me,” Foggy said fiercely, pointing at your eyes and then his. “You can’t forget what we talked about when he shows up. Ok?”

You scoffed where you’d leaned up against the humming a.c. unit, relaxing on the rooftop as you both waited. At least it was the rooftop of your and Matt’s building. There were far less things to worry about up here. “Of course I’m not going to forget. That’s ridiculous.”

“Good. Because it’s—I don’t know how you missed it last night—”

“I told you. I was asleep when he came in, and he had to leave early this morning for that case.” You rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “I knew he was going to pick up the new suit last night, and I tried to stay up but passed out on the couch. Woke up in bed when he kissed me bye before work. I figured he could just show me tonight when he was done with his patrol.”

“Yeah, see, that’s my point,” he said quickly, absently shaking out one foot. He was probably trying to keep himself awake. It wasn’t often you both tried to stay up for the moment Matt came back from his circuit around the Kitchen. There had to be at least one person who kept normal human hours. “It should have woken you up. You wanna know why? Because it’s—”

“It’s yellow, I know. You’ve said.”

“Yellow!” Foggy thundered, flinging his hands up towards the sky in an apparent show of outrage. “Yellow and red, ketchup and mustard! How is this stealthy unless you’re disguised as a hot dog? He’s-he’s reflective! This is anti-stealth, and he already gets into too much shit when he is stealthy! He should have woken you up like a yellow disco ball or a mustard torch!”

“What even is a mustard torch?” you mused.

“A mustard torch is what he is now,” Foggy groaned, reaching up to scrub at his face. “It’s absolutely ridiculous. ‘Why not black?’ I asked. Do you know what he said? He just blinked at me like he was shocked and said, ‘but I’ve already done black twice, Foggy.’ That’s what he said!”

“I mean… he has, though, so...”

“Listen to me.” Foggy tapped his temple, trying to psych you up. “No getting distracted. He’ll try it. He’ll use every trick he has on you. You’ve seen him in court. And you are our only tiebreaker. Karen’s staying out of it, Jess just mocks every suit he wears, and Spider-kid is too innocent to bring into this. You need to hold the line. You’re the only one who can talk some sense into him about the hot dog colors. I need reconfirmation you’re with me on this. We need to be a united front.”

And granted, you hadn’t actually seen the suit yet since Matt had only gotten it last night and despite your best efforts, you’d unfortunately fallen asleep  before he’d gotten back. But from what Foggy had said, it did sound… a little silly. It was red and yellow—and not just yellow, but apparently a reflective, gleaming yellow. Matt wasn’t exactly the best judge of color, obviously, but surely even he’d realize that painting himself like a reflective road marker would make the whole sneaky devil thing a whole lot more difficult. This was smug. It was cocky. It was…

Alright, so maybe it was just like him, but still. That was what you were here for. You’d be able to tell him he’d gone a little over the line again.

“Trust me,” you told Foggy firmly, nodding your head. You even widened your stance and crossed your arms, determined to stand strong. “I’m on your side.”

“Thank you! We can teamwork this, ok? So he comes, you see it, you point out the obvious, we get him a can of spray paint or something. Literally, any other color as long as it’s dark. I’d take fucking dark blue at this point, I’d take grey, anything but that ridiculous—”

The sudden burst of warmth inside your chest was the only warning you had before you felt the rush of a breeze overhead.

Years ago you might have ducked, but you’d gotten used to it by now, and instead, you barely blinked as Matt’s acrobatic leap carried him over you. The second he'd passed you, he twisted in the air, the movement transitioning into a smooth roll as he hit the ground. The rise to his feet was just as smooth, just as clean, the finish progressing in one fluid motion as he spun to face you before standing still to await your judgement.

“Theatrics!” Foggy barked, poking Matt’s arm. “That’s cheating, and you know it.”

“She needs to get the full effect,” Matt said defensively as Foggy poked him again, and…

Oh, you thought, your eyes sweeping down.

It had been a while since you’d seen him in anything like his first Devil suit, but you remembered fondly the way all that tough leather and strange fabric had drawn your attention to his broad shoulders, the powerful thickness of his thighs, and the endless breadth of his chest. This new suit looked much like the last in shape and in form despite a few obvious and less obvious changes—and if anyone besides Matt would know, it’d be you, since you’d stripped him out of that old suit often enough. And goddamn if you weren’t being reminded once again that Matt Murdock was always a five-course meal no matter what he chose to wear.

Your five-course meal.

“You are literally the color of a highlighter, that’s the only effect she… hey. Hey! Look at me!”

You darted your eyes guiltily back over to Foggy, breathing a little more quickly. “Yup, looking at you. I am focused.”

“The yellow!” he said quickly, jabbing urgently at Matt’s mask. “Remember what we talked about. Ok? Stay strong.”

Matt hummed. “Have you been tampering with the witness, Foggy?”

“It’s called preparing the witness. I’m not about to let you pull your Devil mind tricks on her.”

Right.

The yellow.

You could look at him and think about just the yellow.

Matt fixed his attention once more on you when he sensed your gaze return. And ok, so the mask was different. The dark, opaque eye lenses of the mask seemed an almost liquid-black in the low light, endless pools of shadow that saw right through you, saw into you beneath skin and bone, fathomless eyes made all the more startling when set within the gleaming, burnished gold of the full helmet. Because it was gold, not yellow, but gold: rich, rough as if weather-beaten, and luxuriously, dangerously warm, and yes, maybe also abso-fucking-lutely reflective, it was true. It would draw attention, maybe too much. But it… it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought, was it? Somehow, it still managed to look dangerous, like something belonging to a wild, untamed thing that you just wanted so foolishly to touch—

No, no, you needed to focus.

Matt parted his lips the slightest bit, drawing the air in across his tongue on a slow inhale. He swallowed, once, as if savoring the taste. And then…

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk.

“Stop it with the sniffing and tasting thing,” Foggy snapped. “Seriously, she’s not gonna fall for that.”

Matt let his head gradually tilt, his chin tucking down. You knew that look. It was the look of a predator, the motion confident and dripping with intent, with knowledge of what was around him. It was how he hunted, how he hunted you, and your heart skipped a beat on instinct, a reaction far beyond your control. He opened his mouth bit by bit, drawing your attention to his full lips, to the curl of his tongue as he shaped the word.

“Don’t you dare, Murdock!” Foggy bellowed.

“Sweetheart,” Matt purred, his smooth voice nothing but warm smoke and a low, throaty hunger.

“Shit,” you groaned as your knees went weak, your body flooding with heat. It was that voice, damn him: that rasping Devil voice you always swore you could feel drag along your skin like a physical thing, like torn strands of silk, like the burning brush of his mouth and the heat of a flame. When combined with that familiar silhouette and the smooth motions of his body, there was little hope of resisting. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“The color!” Foggy shouted, throwing his hand in front of Matt’s face as if it would break the spell Matt had cast on you just now, cast on you months ago, years ago. “It’s fucking yellow! Focus, woman!”

“I, um… it is… yellow.” You swallowed hard as Matt dragged his tongue across his lips, trailing his fingers smoothly along the billy clubs at his hip. In fact, the rhythm his fingertips took up looked more than familiar enough to have certain parts of your body clenching. “It’s… it is… yellow, and that might be… attention-grabbing. Which is… not a good thing.”

“I think she needs to see the back,” Matt said abruptly.

“Don’t even think about it!” Foggy thundered. “I’ll throw you off this goddamn roof, I don't give a shit about your training!”

“Sweetheart,” Matt crooned. “Would you like to see the back?”

“She would not!”

Fuck.

“...Yes,” you whispered because the only thing as good as Matt’s front was his back, and you’d never seen his ass look like anything less than a five-star masterpiece that belonged in art museums across the world. “Yes, Jesus, let me see.”

“No-ooo,” Foggy moaned, dropping his face into his hands in defeat as Matt pointedly began his gradual spin, showing off his outline with a smug grin. “Jesus, woman. You’re selling your soul for an ass?”

“But it’s his ass,” you mumbled because it was. Matt had the best goddamn ass you’d seen in your life, and that glorious roundness was now cradled deliciously in tight red leather. And maybe Foggy was right. The yellow pattern along the side of Matt’s thighs was a little obvious, but it also brought out just how much muscle was packed on those thighs of his.

You needed him to get over here.

“Does no one see how obvious the yellow is? Am I the only person—”

“D, come here and let me touch your ass,” you whispered.

“I’m absolutely shocked at how scandalous this trial has become.” Matt shook his head as he finished his spin, doing his best to sound at least mildly dismayed, his mouth the mouth of a poor chaste soul who had definitely not fucked you on a church rooftop last month. “And how would your husband feel about that? I see that ring.”

“You two are literally the worst. You cannot be flirting over the ketchup-and-mustard suit. You cannot.”

“Can and am. As for how my husband would feel, he’s given me a free pass for the Devil since Daredevil saves the city on a regular basis,” you said breathlessly as you fixated on the breadth of Matt’s chest. Yeah, you could get used to the yellow. It was a lot but he’d find a way to make it work. “He’s known about my crush on the Devil for ages. So come over here and let me grope the evidence before I rule in your favor.”

Matt let out a playful growl and ran at you, catching you around the waist and throwing you up over his shoulder with ease as you shrieked before bursting into laughter. Matt quickly spun, slapping you once on the ass and making you squirm as he grinned at Foggy and you pointedly began to run your hands curiously over the suit. “Sorry, counselor,” Matt sighed. “Sounds like the verdict’s been rendered in my favor. Better luck next time.”

“You only won because you cheated!” Foggy groaned as Matt sauntered backwards towards the rooftop door. Hopefully Foggy thought that stumble was because Matt had misstepped, and not because you had, in fact, begun to grope hungrily at Matt’s ass. He couldn’t blame you. It was right there. “This was not a fair trial, and I object!”

“Objection denied. No cheating needed,” Matt snorted. “You should have known better than to put my wife on the stand.”

“I’m a weak woman when it comes to my husband’s ass and chest, especially when paired with the Devil head tilt,” you agreed. “I have not hidden this. I acknowledge my flaws.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you were this weak,” Foggy scoffed, crossing his arms.

Matt spun, slapping your ass again as you shrugged at Foggy, somewhat difficult considering you were still lazily draped over Matt’s shoulder, but you did your best. It wasn’t like you minded, after all. You had a great view of Matt’s ass from here. “Sorry, Foggy. I’ll make it up to you, but I gotta side with D on this one. I rule in favor of these ass-ets.”

“Oh,” Matt sighed, as Foggy made a retching sound. “Now I’ll really have to punish you, because that was a crime.”

“How many more years will I get if I slap your ass right now as an additional crime?”

“A lifetime sentence, Mrs. Murdock. I’d advise you to think very carefully before acting.”

You pretended to think about it for all of about point-five seconds. “Done.”

Smack!

His chest rumbled against your legs as a heated shudder rolled up his body beneath you, a motion easy to track with you draped over his shoulder, with your gaze fixed firmly on the line of him. And you’d gotten him good. The texture was a little different than the last Devil suit, but you still got a nice, loud sound of it, even if nothing would compare to bare, unobstructed skin.

He tilted his head very, very carefully, his lips brushing against your side. “You’re going to pay for that one when I get you inside, sweetheart,” he murmured, so quietly you knew it was just for you.

You were counting on it.

Foggy rolled his eyes as Matt wrenched open the rooftop door, and you threw Foggy a salute. “Despite my utter betrayal, I want you to know I love you, can’t wait to see that movie tomorrow. Use the other door on your way out, we’ll be locking this one.”

“Mustard-lover!” he threw at you, as you dropped your head to blatantly watch Matt’s ass again, the door shutting behind you both.

The second you were inside, Matt set you down carefully. Then he turned and stepped into you, herding you back with the broad line of his body. You gave in happily, ceding ground as he prowled forward until your back hit the wall, a shiver of anticipation running through you.

This never got old.

Your breath caught when he dipped his head, tilting it as he listened to the sound of your body, his tongue darting against his lips as he tasted you on the air, and you swallowed down an eager moan. He swayed in closer then, tempting you, inching closer until his mouth hovered over yours. Only then did his arms rise so he could brace his hands on either side of you, caging you in. Just like that, you were trapped, the Devil looming over you in heated shades of red and gold, rich lust and glorious indulgence. “Mm, now, sweetheart, I have one very important question before we start.”

Fuck, there was that voice again, nice and low. You couldn’t resist reaching out to touch him again, sliding your hands boldly up from his waist to fan out across his chest. “Uh huh?”

“Suit on,” he purred, his lips feathering against yours with each sinful world, “or suit off?”

“Suit definitely on,” you hummed, sliding your arms around him to drag your nails down the line of his back. “Someone’s gotta break it in, right?”

He threw you a feral grin, then, the low huff of his laugh rolling rich across your skin. “Did I ever tell you I love you?”

“Every day, D. Every beautiful day.”

-x-

“Ok, but is it… how yellow is it, really?”

“I mean, you’re not mustard-colored like Foggy says. More gold. But let’s just say if you polish that helmet too much, you might cause a car accident. That shit is really reflective now that I think about it.”

“Hm. I may have to change that in the future.”

[findafight]

I think part of the reason a few of the "Nancy and Steve relationship post-mortem" scenes in fics don't...vibe with me or whatever is that sometimes they make it seem Nancy has thought things out and come at it objectively when like. She wouldn't. She didn't. Nancy is sixteen/seventeen years old in S2/3, she's not going to act completely rationally! She's not going to be reasonable about this. She's either not going to bring up how their relationship ended with Steve at all ever, or act like she was entirely justified in it, or get upset when Steve acts like a seventeen year old who got his heart broken.

She wouldn't be telling him "I understand why you wouldn't want to fight the government" no!! She'd ask why he's upset if it's been a few months, or if it's been a year and now she wants to talk and he doesn't she wouldn't understand! Because Nancy struggles with any perspective besides her own and she is VERY dead set on her own ideas and viewpoint. She was upset and hurting, for different reasons than Steve, at the end of her dating Steve, and so why would she bother thinking about her ex's feelings on the breakup? It's an interesting character dynamic, and an interesting aspect of Nancy's character that I don't see expanded on too often. She's stubborn and relatively inflexible, and she struggles to understand other people's points of view.

I guess I just want to see all their mess! I want to see a post S2 stancy fight! Crying and yelling and snot!! A blowout of emotions!!

[fluent-in-lesbianism]

the phrase ‘stuttering like an idiot’ needs to be stricken from all forms of media

[morelikesin]

🐰 "Where you goin', lookin' all pretty like that?"

🐶 "On our date, pal."

🐰 "Well - ain't I a lucky guy, pullin' dames like you."

🐶 "Bonehead."

AKA Sam is perpetually on my mind and I had a desire to draw his fluffy, generous bust

[teecupangel]

I really don’t want to add onto your pile of asks you’re working through but I had an idea I just had to send: the Ratatouille thing, but with like Altaïr controlling Ezio or some other combo of the ancestors congrolling each other!

Idk if Desmond’s there too or not, I’m mostly just imagining Ezio fanboying over being possessed by the Altaïr, while Altaïr is just acting annoyed at the whole thing but also fanboying himself over all the knowledge he now has access to.

And then imagine throwing the players into the equation. Just pure and complete chaos, somebody is screaming, guards are getting alerted and killed, and nothing’s actually getting done.

The Ratatouille AU where the ancestors can hear Desmond while ‘playing’, its more unhinged cousin, the Ratatouille AU where Desmond can hear us and the outside POV of Al Mualim thinking the Apple broke Altaïr. (I hope I didn’t forget anything else)

“It is truly an honor-”

“Yes, you’ve already said that.”

“Words cannot express-”

“Then don’t bother saying anything. No. Don’t open your mouth. I don’t have time for any of your insincere drivel.”

Ezio grew quiet as he stared at the open journal on the desk in front of him before he noted, “You are more easily irritated than I imagined.”

“Only when I’m around people who waste my time.” There was a half a second moment of silence before he added, “Or when the person I’m talking to is not saying what he truly wishes to say.”

Ezio rested one of his elbows on the table and placed his chin on his open palm, “It’s simply quite curious that the day I lost Desmond’s voice in my head is the day you tried to control me.”

“I was trying to connect to Desmond.” His voice was laced with annoyance and he took a deep breath before reminding Ezio, “As I explained before, it was never my intention to connect with you, Ezio Auditore. But now that I’m connected to you, I can’t even try to connect with Desmond at all.”

Ezio hummed.

Sure, he had been elated when Altaïr had introduced himself.

But, at the same time…

He had been worried.

According to Altaïr, he had learned of a way to connect to Desmond using the Apple after hearing a disjointed message that told him he should be able to do such a thing by forcing the Apple to do his bidding.

Altaïr was unsure himself because and he quoted, the voice ended the message with a ‘…. maybe? We believe in you, short king!’ which makes Ezio and Altaïr believe it was a message from one of the many voices that Desmond says he could hear.

Ezio had been worried because he lost Desmond’s voice a few days before Altaïr connected with him so he can’t help but think they were connected.

But both of them do not have any other clues other than the possibility that the Apple that he had been searching could hold a clue to why Altaïr had connected to him instead of Desmond.

And maybe Ezio himself could connect with Desmond as well…

Right now…

“Señor.”

Ezio closed the journal and put it on his bag as he quickly stood and turned towards the door.

“We will be docking in Barcelona shortly. Capitana told me to inform you that the guards will be checking the ship but they will start on the deck. They won’t be looking at the ‘place’ he showed you last time.”

“Grazie.” Ezio said with a nod even though the messenger could not see him, “Please give the captain my thanks as well.”

“I will, señor. Good luck.”

Ezio took a deep breath before he said, “As much as I would like to continue to look for the Apple, it’s important-”

“Oooohhhh. I don’t remember this cutscene.”

Ezio stopped.

That wasn’t Altaïr’s voice.

It was a woman…

“Hello?” Ezio asked as he looked around.

There was no answer.

Ezio opened his mouth-

“Are you one of Desmond’s voices?” Altaïr asked before he could.

There was a moment of silence before…

“Are… are you talking to me?”

“Yes.” Altaïr and Ezio answered at the same time.

The voice grew quiet once more before…

“Uuuuhhhh… shit. Did I… fucked my DS up???”

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Come Go With Me

A Michael Gavey fic.

EDIT: Now with art! (just a sketch tho)

Summary: It's the spring of 2007 and Michael Gavey has so far kept to the vow he made to never socialize again after Oliver ditched him. Then he meets a cute girl at a coffee shop. Will the vow stand strong or immediately go down the drain?

Word Count: 3986

Rating: T (plenty of swearing, instances of misogyny, objectification of the female body, atrociously incorrect bagel eating, New York City slander, etc.)

Author's Note: yes, the title is the song by Expose. Also, I'm a corny writer.

Divider by @cafekitsune

“I don’t know or care what Oliver Quick is doing this summer,” Michael said, continuing to type on his laptop, not even making eye contact with whoever asked the question.  The guy who asked left without saying anything further.

Some random guy in the library asked Michael if it was true that Oliver was going to be spending the summer with Felix on his family’s estate.  It was more about prying into Felix’s business than him wanting to know anything about Oliver, Michael thought.  Oliver was not on the same level of being interesting (in the eyes of the general student populace) that the Cattons were.  

Michael didn’t give a shit that Oliver was going to fancy fucking Saltburn with his new, snobby, loser, nepo baby friends for the summer.  Really, he didn’t.  When Oliver humiliated him at the bar, he made the decision then to swear off any further socializing at the university.  It was the best thing he ever did.

Already, he felt less anxious.  He had more time to focus on his coursework.  More time to read new books, attend off campus lectures.  Walks in the park by himself were quite relaxing when he didn’t have to think about topics to keep a stilted, dying conversation going.  He even went so far as to set aside time to play video games again.  Every weekend, for one hour and a half, he lost himself in Fable on his Xbox.  

Michael still felt the sting of the bar betrayal from time to time, as he thought he had finally found a true friend in Oliver (or at least, the potential for him to become one).  The new, lone path taken had helped him realize that he was not the problem.  Oliver was just an asshole, like the majority of those who went to Oxford.  

Sometimes Michael wondered why people didn’t like him.  Must be how smart he was.   There was nothing weird about being good at math.  What was so awful about being good at math, anyway?  He guessed that most peoples’ biggest issue with his smarts was that it reminded them they were stupid. Oh well!  Plenty of time for activities by himself now.

One of those activities was fast became his favorite, after only his fourth visit.  Visiting a little coffee shop he had discovered near the river, he was able to “mingle” among people without having to talk to anyone. No one would bother him here and he would still get his dose of human contact which, after all, was vital to the psychological constitution of a person.  As rigid as he intended on being with his new No Socializing At Oxford vows, Michael did not intend on becoming a psychopath.  Besides, the baristas never got his order wrong. They never talked to him beyond the perfunctory taking of his order but after the third time, when he walked in, instead of asking what he would like the person at the register had asked “The usual?” and Michael would just say yes, thank you, and then pay.

Michael packed up his laptop, shoving it and the charger into his reusable Tescoe bag along with his notebooks. He stood and adjusted his sweater, checked all his pant pockets were buttoned up and zipped closed.  He kept his visits only to every other day so as to not have the monotony grate on his nerves. The coffee shop made fresh bagels every day, however, and he had been looking forward to enjoying one all morning (his favorite was blueberry).  He liked to eat his a certain way, scooping out the insides of each slice before finally eating the hollowed out crusts.  Someone at school would surely have an opinion about his bagel-eating method (not that he cared) but at the coffee shop, Michael was left in peace.

 Walking briskly through the library doors and outside in the crisp spring air, he didn’t even look in direction of Oliver walking up the steps into the library with Felix.  They were laughing about something but Michael didn’t even breathe in their direction.

—---------

The delicious smell of bread baking hit him in a wave as he stepped into the coffee shop.  It looked like a rush had just hit, the baristas busy cleaning and restocking various items.  

“Hi! I’ll take your order right over here.” came the chipper voice.  Michael turned.

Oh god, a new hire. An American one (he was pretty sure the accent he heard was American) Maybe he wasn’t entitled to feel irritated about changes in the store, it's not like he owned the damn thing, but Michael felt irritated just the same.  This was HIS spot and someone new had just invaded it.

The new girl had long hair parted in the middle, tied back in a bun.  The hair was turquoise. A very bright turquoise, almost neon, he would say.  It pissed him off even more. Dyed hair was so fucking tacky.

He trudged to the register, hating every second of anticipating having to deal with someone new, someone chatty, even for something as impersonal as coffee.  

The girl was almost as tall as he was, eye-level to him, smiling the fakest fucking smile he had ever seen.  I mean, it had to be fake.  Who looked this happy to be taking a stranger’s order? He didn’t even bother attempting to smile back.  Whatever.  Get my coffee, bitch Michael though.

“I’ll have a large vanilla coffee, sugar free, with a blueberry bagel.” 

“Ah, so just cutting back on the sugar but can’t quite quit it altogether, eh?” the girl said with a wink and another smile, totally unperturbed by his attitude.

Michael pursed his lips and said nothing.  The girl, still unbothered, looked down and clacked away on the touch screen.  He quickly looked over her in the few seconds she imputed his order.  

She had long, acrylic nails, painted a pastel kind of purple.  Her name tag said Cat, which he guessed was short for Catherine.  Maybe.  Also her boobs were big.  Not normal big, but stripper big.  Not that he would know, but still.  Too big for the word “boobs”, for sure.  Tits seemed like a more appropriate word.  If he had ever been to a strip club he was pretty damn sure stripper tits would look exactly like hers.  And she had tattoos covering the entirety of her left arm.  Classy, he thought condescendingly. No wonder she was working here instead of somewhere like a bank.

Michael wondered if she had tattoos on her chest as well…he was so sure he could avert his gaze before she noticed but suddenly her fingers snapped and her head lowered into his line of vision, a smug look on her face.  Small wisps of hair hung in front of her ears, he noticed.

“You lose something. buddy?” she asked.  

“I didn’t mean-I was just looking at your name tag.” he sputtered, fidgeting with a cuff of his sweater.  

“Look, it's fine. They’re tits.” 

Michael flinched slightly at her casual use of the word.  It was one thing to talk like that with other guys, but girls? What was she trying to prove?  Tits tits tits. He made a point to stare straight into her eyes and not look away while she continued to speak. “Its not a big deal, I promise,” she said, finishing up his order on the register and offering her hand to take payment. 

Choosing not to respond, Michael set his Tesco bag on the counter so he could unzip one of his pockets to get at his credit card.  The pocket it was in was hard to open and the zipper always caught, so two hands were needed.  

“You can look, you know,  just don’t be creepy about it.” she continued, as he struggled slightly with the pocket.  

Michael did not look at her as he handed over the card. 

Being branded a “creep” was the last thing Michael needed.  He was already the Lonely Nerd at university, he really did not want to become the Creepy Lonely Nerd (that ogles stranger’s tits).  Not that he would give a shit what people thought, but one less socially crippling label was better than one more.

“I mean, it’s not like I can leave them at home, right?  I don’t mind a little look here and there!” she said with a laugh, handing back his card. Unbelievable.  She was still talking about her tits! 

“Can I get that to go?” Michael answered more than asked.  

“Sure thing. Uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m Michael.” He was not staying here. He was not going to stay and become the Creepy Tit Guy.  Given her outgoing nature, Cat would probably have something to say about the way he ate his bagel, too, he was sure of it.  He would become Creepy Tit And Weirdo Bagel Eating Method Guy if he stayed. Maybe dealing with this at university would have been easier but this was supposed to be his relaxation spot. The coffee shop was ruined for him now, he would never come back.  Ever.  Fuck this place and fuck her.

“Alrighty, dude. Be right back!” 

“My name is not…dude..” Michael stepped away from the register, his voice fading away to nothing as Cat got his order ready, unable to hear him.  There was no one else coming in right now, it seemed he came during a lull. The other employees were still cleaning and restocking. 

“Here you go!” Cat said with a smile, handing him his bagel in a paper wrap and his coffee. 

Still not looking at her, he took his bagel and his coffee and got the fuck out of there, practically powerwalking away. 

 It was only until he made it to a nearby park bench that he finally saw what Cat had written on the other side of his bagel wrapper.  A whole paragraph, practically.  Michael, sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. I was just trying to be funny, I swear.  Enjoy your coffee.  Hope you come back! 

Michael felt relief for a moment, before loudly groaning and spilling some of his coffee as he made to slap his forehead with that same hand.  He had left his fucking Tescoe bag at the coffee shop.  His bag that had his computer, his notebooks, his finished papers for a couple of classes. 

He had to go back.  Fuck.

“Yeah, sorry, but she said she knew you.”

Michael swore. The cashier informed him that Cat had just left, her shift was over.  She had taken the bag with her to the Oxford library.  Apparently, she was a student there?  Who fucking knew!?

“You need me to call the police?”

“No, that’s all right, I do know her.”  Michael lied.  “I told her earlier I’d be headed to the library later.  She probably figures she can catch me there.”  Without a single, civil ‘thank you’, Michael practically fled the shop.

He didn’t care how dumb it looked that he was frantically looking everywhere in the library for the familiar, turquoise hair.  People always looked at him funny.  It’s not like he could go to each of them individually and ask them hey could you please stop snidely whispering every time you look in my direction? Old Michael would go back to his dorm, have a cry, wonder why no one liked him and then quickly finish his homework in his dungeon of a bedroom before crying some more and then going to sleep.

New Michael didn’t give a shit.  New Michael was focused 100 percent on his academics and self-care, and right now his academics were in jeopardy because that Tesco bag held papers he had yet to type (Michael liked to hand write his work first, he felt it was more thorough). Also, maybe New Michael should better remember to not forget his shit at random shops.  Old Michael wouldn’t have forgotten. Whatever. 

After scanning the entire first floor of the library, he stomped to the second floor.  If she was a student here, how had he never seen her?  The hair would have been hard to miss.  Of course, it's not like he made it a habit to people watch anymore, especially in the library. 

Suddenly, he saw her.  Way in the corner, at a table right under a huge window, he saw her returning with her nose in a book from the shelves.  On the table, his bag.  

“Give it here.” Michael said, approaching the table.  Cat looked up from her book.

God, she was pretty.  He felt like a troll next to her.  It was so fucking unfair. More importantly though…why was he telling her to hand the bag back?  It was HIS.  He should just take it and go, without a word.  She had basically stolen it.  The girl was a thief and took it to give him a hard time because she was a bitch, like every other pretty girl he had ever interacted with and been cut down by. Maybe he could like her if he gave it a try…but the days of trying to get people to think he was cool or amazing were over.  She was a bitch and he knew it.

Mmm not what the note on your bagel showed, an annoying voice in his head began. That note could only have been written if she liked you because who would write that for a random customer?  You should talk to her an-  

Oh, fucking christ.  Old Michael.  Desperate-to-be-liked-by-someone-ANYONE Michael.  Shut the fuck up, Old Michael. You are dead.

“Yeah, no problem, I mean it is your bag!” Cat said cheerfully, closing her book and holding the bag out to him. “Sorry you had to run all this way to get it, Michael.”

“Um, it’s ok.  I run fast.” Michael said, immediately regretting it. God, that sounded so fucking stupid. He reached out for his bag.

Oh, so we’re no longer on that socializing ban, huh, Mr. Comedian?  I mean, what was THAT?!  Old Michael thought slyly. Shut up shut up shut up shut up!!!!! And, look!  She remembers your name! SHUT UP.

“-couldn’t just leave it there, you know?” Cat had finished saying.

Michael froze. “Huh?” 

What had she been talking about?  Shit. “Uh, why not?” Please let that be the right response.  Please let that be relevant to what she was fucking saying, Michael thought desperately. 

Cat rolled her eyes, but still sounded…not like a bitch?  “The laptop would definitely have been long gone if I hadn’t taken the bag.  I couldn’t just leave it there.”

Oh.  That was it.  That had been all she had said. Michael nodded and mumbled his thanks, ready to go…except Cat still held onto the bag. And stopped him with her next words.

“You play Fable a lot?”she asked.

It’s a trap.  She is going to make fun of you, he thought to himself.  Just get your shit and go. His hand was also still on HIS bag.  That she was not letting go of, for some reason.

“Yeah, I like it a lot.” 

Oh, how riveting.  That will make her swoon! Old Michael chimed in. 

“Really?” Cat responded.  Her tone wasn’t mocking.  It was…interested?  “I like it too but it feels unfinished, somehow.  I wish they would release Fallout 3 for these new consoles already, I bet it would be 1000 times better than this crap that Lionhead put out.”

Michael nodded.  She liked Fallout? She was impatient for the release?? Ask her to go with you to the midnight release next year!!! Ask her ask her ask her ask- No.  Shut up.  Be normal, for once in your life, be normal and chill about something. 

“-able doesn’t feel like it’s TRULY a good rpg, where you can do whatever you want, you know?  You can only go in one direction and can’t put off the main quest at all.”

She was still talking about Fable.  She was still talking about video games, something they both liked, something they had in common.

This is your chance, you know. Old Michael piped in.  Did any of those other people ever show even the slightest interest in the stuff you were into?  Ever? Ask her out!

“Ok,” Michael began. “I see your point, but the mechanics of the game aren’t the star so much as the incredible story and character designs-” 

While he continued to go on a tangent of Fable’s good qualities to Cat, trying his best not to sound too rant-y, Michael frantically gave the idea of asking her out some thought…

What if she said no? Hm what if she says yes? 

It’s stupid. The release for Fallout 3 is next year.  No, not even.  It’s October of that year, so…over a year away!  Almost two fucking years! What kind of weirdo would ask someone on a date almost two years from now?! Plus, she isn’t even into me.  She just likes video games, like any other person.  

Why is she still holding onto your bag, then? Old Michael thought smugly.  Why did she write that little note on your bagel? Why did she remember your name? Why-

All right, all right.  

“Right, so…want to come? To the midnight release for it?  For Fallout 3?” Michael asked, throwing all caution to the wind and swallowing his preemptive rejection rage that already was bubbling up.

“For Fallout?” Cat said, still holding onto the bag. “Which store you going to?” 

“Target.” Please say yes.  I don’t even know you and I know it’s weird to ask you somewhere practically two years from now but PLEASE SAy YES, Michael thought.

“Mm, nah.” Cat, said, letting go of the bag to dig in her bookbag.

Shit. 

Michael’s chest began to hurt, the hand holding his bag falling limply to his side.  He could feel his eyes begin to water.  She was just like the rest of them. Pathetic.  So pathe-

“You should come with me to Game on Queen Street, they always price cut!” Cat said, whipping out her blackberry. “Whatever price we show them for the game, they’ll shave 5 off it!  I mean, it’s not much but I’ll take what I can get! Here, put your number in.”

On sheer autopilot, Michael put his number in.  He felt ashamed the entire time, having choked back a scathing insult at the last minute before Cat had shoved her phone at him.

“Are you ok?” Cat took her phone back, eyeing him with a concerned look.

“I’m fine! It’s just-probably something I caught the other day, I can already feel the sniffles coming on and whatnot.  It’s nothing!” Michael babbled.

It cannot be this easy, Michael thought.  It’s been this easy the entire time?  Hanging out with a girl?  Talking to her?  Making plans?  Why did Oliver never like him when they had so much in common?

Holy shit, forget about fucking Oliver! You have a date with your future wife! Old Michael practically screeched. Jesus fucking Christ, you are desperate. Shut the fuck up!! Be Normal!

“You wanna go back to the shop and get another bagel?” Cat asked, putting her books away and sliding on her bookbag. “ We could use my discount, that way-”

“Yeah, let's go.” Michael cut in.  Grabbing her wrist and not waiting for her answer, he turned and began to swiftly move through the library.  He tried not to get excited as Cat uttered a quick ‘cool’ and kept pace with him.  

He also tried not to think about how awkwardly he was holding her hand. Everyone in the library was staring, he saw it in his peripheral.   It had looked so cool in his brain but now everyone could see how his stupid hand around her wrist slightly resembled him holding his limp-no no no no noooo shut up shut up SHUT UP. 

“Blueberry runs out quick.” Michael said, as they both briskly walked.   “I went one time at around this hour instead of my usual time and I had to settle for onion, which is gross as shit.” You’re rambling, Old Michael chided.  She fucking works there, she doesn’t need a play-by-play of bagel supply issues. Let her say something, idiot!  The reason he never noticed her before, it turned out, was that she hadn’t dyed her hair yet.  Cat also began to tell him about her history degree.  Something about the American Gilded age and how she was deep into research of the British Astors or something.  Michael surprisingly found himself not bored.  Were her eyes fucking green?  Oh, fuck, they were green!

They finally saw the shop in the distance.  Right after his anti-onion bagel tirade and her talk of her studies, he set straight into a long-winded verbal onslaught on the statistics of how rare green eyes were.  Micheal thought his heart would fall out of his asshole when Cat adjusted their hands so her fingers were laced with his.  About halfway through the distance, he had cut in when she mentioned her favorite bagel flavor (pineapple) and talked her ear off the rest of the way about his bagel eating method, insisting on its practicality but really prepping her so that she wouldn’t be horrified when she saw him do it and ditch him like fucking Oliver.  She laughed. 

“That’s so L.A. of you.  New York would hate your fucking guts, though.” she said, with a grin.   “Good thing I’m a California girl!  I’d rather deal with horrible traffic and scooped bagels than having to fight rats for sidewalk space.”

Right before they got to the doors, Michael went for it.  “I’m telling people that you’re my girlfriend.”, he said seriously.  She hadn’t run off when he had taken her hand (wrist).  She had noticed the Fable stickers on his computer.  She had remembered his name after one interaction. The American thing was a slight issue but hey, no one was perfect! 

“Cool, because I already told the staff that you were my boyfriend when I took your bag!” Cat responded. “I told them you like to pretend you don’t know me when you get mad and I just play along to pacify you.  It was the only way they were comfortable letting me take your bag!”

Be cool!  Do not fucking freak out! Act fucking normal! Do NOT scare her away! Say something a fucking weirdo would never in a million years say! Old Michael reminded him.

“Let’s go back to my place after and study some calculus.  Your grades in that sound horrendous.” Fucccccck.  You just got yourself a girlfriend and this is the shit you respond with?! Old Michael panicked. 

Cat smirked. “Only if you promise to fuck me into your mattress after.”

Michael stared at her, almost daring her to say she was kidding.  When she didn’t and her gaze briefly dropped to his lips, he abandoned any doubts he had and turned to walk away from the shop, practically dragging Cat with him.  

Cat giggled and adjusted herself to clutch at his arm with both hands, her legs and his in perfect sync as they made their way to Michael’s room.

—------------

“What the fuck?” Felix said to Oliver, pointing. Both were sitting on a bench, relaxing a bit before their next class.

 “Didn’t he go fucking mental at you the first day? Not to be a dick or anything but is she safe with that guy?”  

Oliver followed Felix’s finger and froze.  

He gaped at what he saw:

Michael fucking Gavey, math genius slash freak of nature, walking happily with the pretty American girl who had said no to their bar hopping invite just last week.  It was definitely surprising, but Oliver was now more determined than ever.  If a fucking social reject like Gavey could get what he was after, then someone like himself was sure to have the same luck if he continued to put in the effort.

THE END

[active-mind-15]

Dawg, I'm never looking through the Akashi tag on AO3 again. 16 pages in, and if it's not Akashi × OC/Reader with heavy amounts of smut, then it's yandere Akashi. If it's not yandere Akashi, then it's Akashi with a terminal illness. Ya girl is tired. I give up.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

okay i finished watching the episode and i'm

IM ABOUT TO EXPLODE RAAAAAA

[angelpuns]

me drawing the next kid leo arc: time to change some of thi kid's behaviors cause i wanna :)