#first words said

[zushigirl]

In honor of Come What May…a three part story of how I wish things would turn out… Enjoy! I’ll be posting the full story on AO3 as we go :)

I Take My Coffee Black: Part I

Now…Metro General

“What the hell is this crap?”

Frank practically spits the hot liquid back into the flimsy white paper cup.

“Get off your high horse. It’s Folger’s Instant. Same stuff we used to drink in the desert.”

Curtis takes a sip of his own coffee, studying Frank under the brim of his USMC baseball cap. Curt’s blood shot eyes are a dead giveaway that he – like most of New York – have been up all night. Watching with bated breath as Daredevil and a host of superheroes take on Fisk’s minions.

With a sigh, Frank takes another sip of his coffee. “Goddamn - ”

He hisses slightly, the cut on his lip stinging. Curt had done his best to patch up both Frank and Red after the firefight with Bullseye. Makeup covered most of Frank’s bruises, but it couldn’t conceal the worry in his eyes. He can tell by the way his former medic keeps glancing at him… then at the door across the way.

“This is the best Metro General can afford?” he growls, trying to distract himself.

“At 0500? Yes, it is.”

Frank frowns, looking down the stark pale green hallway. Men and women in blue scrubs walk by at a leisurely pace. Unaffected. Unaware that the bravest, ballsiest woman on the planet is in critical care. Recovering from a gunshot wound.

Mourning the loss of her best friend.

“Foggy!”

He can still hear her scream the Counselor’s name. He can feel her panic, panic he never wanted her to feel. David’s feed made it sound like they were two feet away… instead, it took twenty minutes to get to the bloodbath. Even with Lieberman driving like a maniac.

Goddamnit, we should have gotten there sooner.

His eyes trace the entrance of the recovery room. One of those flimsy blue hospital curtains blocks a small window above the door handle. An added layer of privacy. Damn thing feels more suffocating than any red line.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Curt assures him. “They patched up the exit wound and the broken rib. That maniac may be an expert marksman, but she beat him at his own game.” He pauses before adding, “Karen Page must be a pretty special woman…to make you choose here instead of another war.”

You could choose…you could just choose…

Ocean eyes flicker in his memory. Why hadn’t he told her the truth that day, when he was the one in the hospital bed? He thought leaving her was the right thing. He thought…

Frank stares blankly into the distance as he takes another sip of bland coffee and tries not to think about what could have happened.

Thank god Karen clipped Bullseye’s right hand. The fucker was in custody now. Good thing too. If that psychopath ever made it out of prison…none of Red’s preaching would keep Frank from unleashing hell on Benjamin Poindexter.

Red…

The warble of Channel Five news can be heard from the TV at one of the nursing stations. A flicker of worry rises in Frank’s belly. He wants to be pissed at Red but at the same time…

“You were right Frank. I was just one bad day away. Please don’t let her’s get any worse.”

He can’t shake the hollow sound in Matt Murdock’s voice off of him. Can’t shake the image of the other man standing there in blood. His best friend’s blood. Karen’s blood.

Fuck.

“Mr. Castiglione?”

He turns. A new nurse has come on shift, name tag reads Temple. Her dark brown eyes hover on his cut lip. He gets the impression she takes no bullshit.

“Yes ma’am?”

The nurse sighs, pursuing her lips.

“Karen’s going to be okay.”

She says the name with a warm familiarity. Frank immediately wonders how much this woman knows.

“Blood pressure and heat rate are stable. No signs of any complications from surgery.” Temple hesitates… “Your wife’s a fighter for sure.”

Frank doesn’t meet Curt’s gaze, just prays the other man’s eyes aren’t bursting out of their sockets. There hadn’t had time to brief him on the plan. He was just thankful David was quick to pull some strings. A fake marriage license and a passport may be their only ticket to safety.

The woman pauses, eyes narrowing in the silence.

“I know I haven’t been back in town that long, but I’m kinda miffed no one invited me to the wedding. Thought I would have heard about from Matt or Fog…”

She catches herself, sadness flashing across her face.

“Fuck…I’m sorry.”

“No – uh – he’d…he would have wanted all of Karen’s friends to know.” Frank feels his throat tightening. “He loved her too. Probably better than me or… Re…or Matt … if I’m being honest.”

He remembers the look of stricken panic on the Counselor’s face all those years ago. When he’d asked Karen to stay. What would the man’s reaction be to what he asks now?

An older nurse approaches, waving his clipboard at Temple. “She’s up,” he gestures towards Karen’s room. “Threatened to pull out her IV if I don’t get her a real cup of coffee. Told her it’s water only for the next twelve hours. She wasn’t happy.”

Frank chuckles despite himself. “Atta’ girl,” he murmurs.

“Are you coming, Mr. Castiglione?”

The way Temple sizes him up conveys that she trusts him even if she doesn’t believe his story.

He feels his pulse jump. They’d seen each other in the midst of the fight but they hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t spoken since that horrible day when she walked out of his hospital room barefoot. What could he say to her? How could he possibly ask her to –

“She’s waiting, Frank.” Curt’s voice is one of gentle reassurance.

He takes a deep breath, turns on his heels, the stops. “Curt… go home. You’ve done enough. I’ll stand the watch.”

His friend frowns. “You sure man?” I don’t mind staying.”

Frank pauses before answering, a memory flickering in his mind’s eye. Karen and Nelson, sitting at the hipster coffee shop across from their law firm. Sipping coffee and going over case notes. He’d watched from the roof two streets over, not proud to admit the number of times he’d checked on Karen from afar.

“Proof Coffee opens at 0800. Can you come back tomorrow morning with a real damn cup? Make that two. She takes hers black with a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

The nurse seems impressed that he knows Karen’s drink of choice. Curt has enough ware with all to keep a neutral face.

“I’m on it. I’ll let Lieberman know your staying here. See you in 27 hours.”

He spins on his heels and walks down the hall.

Frank watches him go, then follows nurse Temple across the waiting area. She opens the door to the recovery room, pushing back that damn blue curtain quietly. Then she gestures for Frank to step in front of her.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound of the vitals monitor is a steady hum. It’s oddly comforting.

And terrifying.

It means Karen is awake. It means he’s about to speak to her for the first time in… far too long.

He finds the courage to look forward and he sees her. Sitting upright in the bed. Face turned to the window. The sunrise casting her in a celestial glow. Her expression is a haunted one Frank knows all too well…but not the shock of someone who’s new to trauma.

He realizes in that moment that his gut instinct was right. Karen’s felt this kind of pain before.

“Karen, your husband is here.” Temple’s voice is gentle.

A quiet feels the air. Time stops. In the void, Frank wonders if his heartbeat is loud enough for Red to hear all the way across Manhattan.

He watches Karen turn her head. Watches her eyes widen in confusion at the word husband. Then recognition. Then something he’s too scared to name.

They’re both silent for a moment, not noticing as the nurse slips out. Then tears are welling in Karen’s eyes and Frank is falling to his knees by her hospital bed.

“Hey, hey,” he chokes out. “I lied. I lied. Okay? That day…Karen…”

Soft fingers grab his trembling ones. He places his free palm over hers, holding with two hands now.

“I know you lied, you asshole,” Karen says between sobs. “You’re such an asshole…but I…” Her ocean eyes are bright with the words they won’t say yet.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, I am.”

“Please tell me you brought real coffee.”

The sound of footsteps silences Frank’s answer.

*

27 hours later…

“I’ll take three drip coffees,” Curtis Hoyle smiles at the barista, waiting for a response.

The bleary-eyed girl with wild auburn tinted hair and a cut-off t-shirt reading MJ just blinks at him.

“Cool. You want room for milk or cream?”

“No…uh…actually, can you sprinkle some cinnamon in one of them.”

The girl gives a half nod as Curtis swipes his card. He sighs, stepping to the side of the cheerful yellow counter. He knows he’s getting old, but whoever Proof Coffee’s manager is could have done a better job with hiring. MJ has the bedside manner of cardboard; not great for 0800 on a Thursday –

Piiinnnggg!

The girl passes three paper cups to Curt, hurriedly grabbing her phone from its charging station. He takes a few sips of his cup, watching her agitated movements.

“Peter! Jesus Christ! Is everyone okay…”

Her hazel eyes widen in relief and Curtis feels guilty for judging her. MJ’s been worried.

“News. Alright. I’ll take a look. Be careful.”

The call’s barely over before the teen is swiping on her phone. Curtis takes a final swig of his own coffee while grabbing to-go lids, trying to look casual.

“Everything good? You seem a little stressed.”

MJ bobs her head, flipping her phone in Curtis’s face. Apple News.

“Shit,” Curtis mutters as he reads the screen.

He turns to leave, then thinks twice. Grabs the two coffees. He may need them as an excuse to sneak back into the hospital.

“Thank you, Miss!”

He leaves MJ staring at her phone. At the headline…

FRANK CASTLE, THE PUNISHER, REPORTEDLY SEEN AT METRO GENERAL.

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[ashcremated]

continuing with the reposts of my old art in this new blog 🤡 this one was for uhhh. zuko's hot moisturized glowing umbothered girl summer.

[emilnikos]

I need non autistic people to realise meltdowns are a real debilitating thing that has a serious effect on your mental and physical health NOWWWWW!!! The way its been trivialized and lessened pisses me the fuck off. It's not a tantrum and it doesn't come from "being too weak-willed" it's painful and it's embarrassing AND MOST OF ALL IT'S INVOLUNTARY!! Don't claim to be an ally to autistic or disabled people and then make fun of people who have meltdowns. Literally get the hell out of my sight

[maagisterpavus]

Thinking about Dorian in Inquisition, who seems very opposed if not outright afraid to say “I love you.”

DAI Dorian, who has spent his entire life screaming on the inside, spent his entire life putting up walls and locking himself behind glistening gates, hiding himself away from any more pain because enough has been inflicted already. DAI Dorian, who detests confessions, let’s get this over with. DAI Dorian, who says things like “if you don’t make it out of this, I’ll kill you” and “you are incredibly dull, and I hate you.” And a romanced Inquisitor just smiles, knowing he means the opposite, but can’t bring himself to say those words, not yet.

Thinking about Dorian in Veilguard, who sends this letter to the Inquisitor, his love, his amatus.

DAV Dorian, who has been hardened by fighting what sometimes feels like a losing battle over the last decade, and yet softened by the wisdom and clarity that comes with age. DAV Dorian, who no longer cares to squander his feelings because he’s finally realized he doesn’t have to. DAV Dorian, who survived one near-end of the world already, and is now staring down another and won’t, can’t allow himself to hide away any longer. DAV Dorian, who has finally accepted that love isn’t something to fear or be ashamed of. Certainly not trite. It’s something to cherish, and he’s worthy of it.

Anyway, I’m fine.

[cookie-lore-keeper]

FUCKING WHAT????????

[candlebel]

I can't cry... I want to cry... I feel so much sorrow...

[prodigalwitch]

"porn addiction isn't real" "porn isn't harmful" "it's just fantasy!"

then, what the fuck is this?

[arthylia]

he’s a little baby in a trench coat 🧥

[wistfulwatcher]

I'm serious, that was absolutely the worst.

[spookberry]

first words type soulmate au was silly at first but then i hurt my own feelings thinking about baby sakura misunderstanding

like

[ashcremated]

throwback to my very first radiant emperor art. Plot relevant yuri win and yaoi fail <3

[ghost-bxrd]

I think we as a fandom need to have more talks about ✨dramatic✨ Jason running his own AO3 blog where he posts increasingly violent and heart wrenching stories about Robin. (The second Robin. Because he’s absolutely self inserting.)

And the Batfam find out about those fic that have a startlingly detailed layout of the batcave and accurate patrol routes that they choose to investigate (by reading the fics, duh) and growing increasingly upset about how the characters are portrayed.

Especially Robin.

[erufin-art]

I really enjoy the idea of Godpoke just straight up not buying Inspekta's shit

[mapsthewanderer]

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Details: 500ish speed-written words of Caleb getting exactly what he wants for his birthday. We all saw the bulge. I’m sorry, but my brain went straight to feral town the moment I saw that—and apparently, the way I recover from the flu is by writing smut. Again. Jesus Christ. Anyway, this was the first fic idea that popped into the ol’ braincells, so… here it is. Meanwhile, my poor main series? Suffering. As always: This road leads nowhere holy. Turn back if you value the glory of innocence.

Features: nanana freaky Caleb, possessive Caleb, biting Caleb, dom Caleb, (unexpected) missionary Caleb, competitive Caleb, yang energy Caleb and absolutely zero self-restraint Caleb (thank fuq). 18+ porn and no plot. Fem!reader.

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Birthday boy | Caleb smut

You said you were going to leave—half-laughed it, standing barefoot in his living room with your heels in your hand. Caleb told you not to. Said it low, a little hoarse, with sugar on his tongue. One kiss turned hungry. Hungry turned horizontal. You ended up tangled on the floor, legs over his thighs, your dress hitched high and one shoe lost under the couch. Neither of you had gotten what you wanted. Not yet. But you were close—so close—and that was half the problem.

So you try to leave again—try to stand, to say something about getting home before midnight—but he pulls you back, voice low and wounded as he says, “Wow. So that’s it? You kiss me into another dimension and just leave me here? In the final minutes of my birthday?”

And before you can answer, he drags you over the cushions, flips you, and grinds you down into the couch like he’s trying to pin the entire night inside you. “Just stay a little longer,” he says simply. “We can be… quick.”

“You’re being a dummy,” you whisper, even as your hips rock up against him. He groans—already grinding back against you. “Yeah? Keep saying stuff like that, I’ll make it even quicker.”

Suit pants shoved low. Your dress barely pushed up. One strap off your shoulder, his hands under your thighs, pulling until both knees are over his shoulders. “Still technically my birthday. Wanna see what we can fit in before the clock runs out?” He mutters, voice low and full of teeth. You laugh, breathless— “Yes—but—Caleb, we’re dressed—”

“I know,” he breathes, kissing you, rough and greedy with a bite of lemon still on his lips. “That’s what makes it fun.” Caleb slides your panties aside and groans at how soaked you are—the reward of every teasing touch and drawn-out minute. Then he drives in so deep, your vision goes white. The couch screams under the strain of each movement. Caleb buries himself inside you like he’s staking a claim. Then he leans in, forehead against yours, sweat beading at his temple as he groans, “Fuck, happy birthday to me.”

Between thrusts, a slow, obscene lick drags across your ankle—followed by kisses and bites climbing your calf, each one blurring the line between penance and punishment.

“You were trying to leave me,” he pants, voice low and vengeful. “This is what you get.”

And you take it—shaking, couch cushions muffling your moans while he’s snapping his hips into you like midnight is something to beat. “You gonna come before the clock runs out?” he murmurs, voice dark. “Or am I gonna fuck you into the bonus minutes?”

You cry his name as you come—loud, broken, full—and he follows with a ragged grunt, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, deep and hot and messy. The pressure gives way to slick warmth flooding you, and with your back arched into the cushions and your dress bunched around your waist, there’s nowhere for it to go but down. Cum seeps out in slow, wet trickles—sliding between your legs, soaking into your dress, into the couch beneath you. He exhales like he’s been gutted, then slowly lowers your legs, presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then higher, mouth hot and reverent on your thigh.

“11:59” he says hoarsely, mouth still on your skin. He smiles against you—smug, breathless, and completely insufferable.

“Nailed it.”

You laugh, trying to catch your breath, still pinned beneath him. “Birthday’s over.”

He hums, trailing kisses down your leg. “Maaybe. But I’m pretty sure it still counts if you come again in honor of my birthday. Like a grace period. An encore.”

You start to roll your eyes—until he thrusts again, hard enough to make you gasp. He grins, biting back a groan as your overstimulated body jolts beneath him.

“You said you’d stay over for my birthday. So stay.” A glance at the clock, a wicked little smirk. “Ten seconds—more than enough to make you mine again. And you’re gonna feel every one of them.”

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Art credit: Guiding Hazard Manhwa, Mao Hanru on X

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[valkugo]

Burke Swanson (who plays Hopper in TFS) on how Stranger Things: The First Shadow and Stranger Things 5 are connected.