needcake

[needcake]

EngPortWeek @engportevents

Day 6 (May 13th) ~ Canon Nyo!Engport/Goddess

She likes her babygirl.

Just them.

[needcake]

Everything needs to be glass, if it can’t be glass it needs to be ceramic, if it can’t be ceramic it needs to be wood, if it can’t be wood it needs to be stainless steel, if it can’t be stainless steel it needs to be stone, if it can’t be stone it needs to be glass

[needcake]

líder heróico e eterno da América Latina! obrigado por tanto!

[needcake]

[needcake]

EngPort Week Day 6 - Canon Nyo!Engport/Goddess @engportevents

Gloria had long heard of the rumors of the goddess of the isles, the tales told after one too many drinks at the tavern, but she’d dismissed most of them as nonsense. It was just the sort of thing sailors did sometimes, embellish the things they encountered out there in the open sea. She had done it more than once.

And so it was with a certain sense of irony that she approached the palace where the men of her crew had disappeared after she had sent them to scout.

It was the roses that she noticed first. They lined the path all the way to the palace, English roses that she never thought to see this far out into the Atlantic. When she finally stepped inside the palace to see the goddess on her throne, she thought of the roses outside, of the wicked thorns that would prick and draw blood from any that dared to touch.

Gloria tensed as a cold, assessing gaze swept over her. Despite everything, she smiled as she gave a deep bow to the lady on the throne, the sort of bow that she usually reserved for her kings and queens.

“Senhora, pardon the intrusion,” Gloria said as she raised her gaze to meet those that belonged to the unmoving beauty on the throne. “But I believe you have some of my men.”

“Those trespassers, you mean?” She finally spoke, asking in a tone of amusement. “They’ve only gotten what they deserved.”

“I was told they were invited inside, actually,” Gloria argued. Gloria had been told that the goddess, or rather the witch as his deckhand had called her, had introduced herself as Alice and offered them food. He did not think the boy had been lying.

“Ah,” Alice replied with a laugh. “So a rat had escaped.”

“If you should return my men,” Gloria said. “Then we should be on our way, never to bother you again.”

Any trace of amusement disappeared from her face. “And if I should refuse?”

Gloria gripped the hilt of the sword belted on her waist. “Then I believe we should have a problem, senhora.”

Alice bared her teeth in anger, and around her neck, what Gloria had first assumed to be a silver torque moved with a hiss. The coils of the snake seemed to glitter from the sunlight streaming from the window, its obvious displeasure a mirror of its mistress.

“You would dare threaten me in my own home?” Alice gave her a cruel laugh. “It seems you are no different from your men, Captain Gabriel.”

“I am merely someone that cares much for my people,” Gloria answered.

“Then you must understand my position,” Alice declared as she stood from her throne. “You and your men are a threat to me and my children. I cannot let you go.”

Gloria raised her chin in defiance as she drew her sword. “That is your answer then?”

“I suppose,” Alice said as she lifted her hands, sparks flickering between her fingertips. “Though it should not matter anymore for you.”

Gloria braced herself. This whole thing was a gamble, but there was a very specific element to the legends she has heard about these strange isles. The Witch of the Isles, they said, wove her magic against men. Like a rope, the golden sparks between her fingers tried to reach for Gloria but couldn’t quite get a hold of her.

“What did you–”

Gloria fought the urge to cheer as she cut through the golden threads of the witch’s magic to bring her sword up to the other’s throat. When Alice looked at her, her face was flushed in anger, and Gloria grinned. “Are the legends true then? That you hate men and have designed your magic against them?”

“Why does that matter!?” She spat out against her.

“A pity for you then, senhora, that I am no man.”

Her eyes widened in confusion, her gaze taking in all of her. “But your men had said–”

“A necessary fiction,” Gloria answered. “Now, shall we renegotiate the terms of my men’s return?”

Alice clenched her jaw in anger, but she composed herself quickly. Gloria tensed when the witch brought her hand up to her hair, and she watched the shifting coils of the metal snake around her neck warily. Instead of any magic that Gloria was thinking of guarding against, Alice only brought her hair down before pressing a hand over Gloria’s chest. “I am sure there are terms that we can be both satisfied with, captain.”

The tone of the witch’s voice had changed, and Gloria felt her mouth go dry. She faltered, the sword moving away from Alice’s throat. It had been a long time since the last port. She cannot help but be entranced, to be caught in that gaze. Perhaps it was not just men after all that were ensnared by the witch’s guile.

“Yes,” Gloria said, her gaze drifting down onto Alice’s lips. “I’m sure we can come to some agreement.”

[needcake]

[needcake]

fat character who becomes a vampire and loses a ton of weight and blood can not sate their hunger but they can't eat anything they used to like anymore. everyone views it as a positive healthy positive development but they're starving and dying slowly but never truly dying, a living corpse. this is a metaphor for something

[needcake]

📢📢📢

[needcake]

EngPort Week Day 5 - Teachers @engportevents

“You should really stop staring at Henrique before the moms sue you for indecency,” Antonio told Arthur with a mildly disgruntled look on his face.

Arthur made a strangled sound before looking at the boy sitting on the bleachers beside him. “You—Indecency? And I’m not looking at him like—Look, Toni, where the bloody hell did you learn that sort of thing!?”

On the field below, Henrique had finished leading the children through their stretches. He crouched down to speak with them, and it was not long before they were placing their hands together at the center, a show of teamwork. Arthur’s boys were there, and while Matthew still seemed a bit shy, Alfred seemed just about ready to bounce in excitement.

“You tell me, Mr. Kirkland,” Antonio joked, his disgruntled look turning into a wide grin. Henrique’s nephew was a bit like Alfred in that way, quick to anger but also quick to smile.

Arthur chuckled. “Don’t give me that,” he said. “I’m not one of your teachers.”

Antonio shrugged, fingers drumming on the football on his lap. “I mean, you might be eventually, right?” He sighed in a way that was more dramatic than what the situation warranted. “This is so boring. I want to play already.”

“You’ll get your turn later,” Arthur pointed out. “With the older kids.”

“I know that,” Antonio said. As if sensing their gaze on him, Henrique paused and looked in their direction. Antonio seemed to sink even lower in his seat, trying to hide behind his football. Arthur thought that he could see the brief flash of hurt on Henrique’s face. Antonio was sullen, but he usually was around this time of the year, through no fault of anyone. “This is stupid. They look ridiculous, and they don’t know how to play properly.”

Arthur gave Henrique a reassuring smile before the other man turned back to his charges on the field. The children were clumsy, not quite sure of their movements yet or the rules of the game, but Henrique was ever the patient teacher. “I’m sure you were like that once.”

Antonio wrinkled his nose. “Alfred doesn’t even use the proper name for the game,” he said, his fingernails digging into the seams of the ball. When Antonio hung his head down, forehead pressed to the ball, Arthur reached out to rub his back.

“Do you want me to get Henrique?” Arthur asked. His partner would know better what to do. Henrique was used to dealing with children younger than Antonio, and Antonio was his nephew.

“No, nothing’s wrong!” Antonio exclaimed, sitting up straight. He sighed and placed his hands on top of his football. “Can I have some juice?”

“You know that–”

“I know that we only get two each!” Antonio interrupted with a huff of impatience even as Arthur was already reaching for the cooler they had packed for the games that day. He passed it over distracted by the sight of Matthew tripping on the field. Arthur winced and told himself it wouldn’t do to panic and run over there. Henrique was already helping him up, and Alfred was running around holding the ball, with the older Vargas kid running after him as foul mouthed as always.

Arthur startled when Antonio’s head thumped onto his shoulder, and instinctively, he placed a hand over his head. “Lo siento, Arthur,” he mumbled.

“It’s alright, lad,” Arthur whispered. “It’ll be alright.”

—---

After putting the boys to bed, Henrique found Arthur hunched over his laptop on the sofa, a notepad by his knee full of notes about his students. He kept making small noises of dismay or disapproval, and Henrique paused by the threshold of the living room, a smile on his face as he watched his partner squint at his screen. Arthur really should be wearing his glasses more often than he actually does.

With a soft chuckle, Henrique went to fetch their half-finished bottle of wine and two glasses, surprising Arthur when he approached from behind. “Want a drink, Arthur?” He asked bending down to show Arthur the bottle.

Arthur smiled. “Please,” he said.

“How are your students this term then?”

Arthur sighed as he accepted the glass from Henrique who settled beside him. Arthur shifted his laptop onto one knee, accepting Henrique’s weight as he leaned on him. “Someone submitted a paper written entirely in subscript,” Arthur said, chuckling. “Can you believe that? I thought there was something wrong with my eyes.”

Henrique laughed as he closed his eyes. “This is why I prefer my job over yours,” he said. “No papers to check.”

Arthur hummed, not quite in agreement as he drank his wine. “Just plenty of children to wrangle.”

“It’s a lot more fun than you think.”

“I think our boys are quite enough for me,” Arthur answered. For a while, there was only the sound of Arthur’s typing. “I’m bringing the twins to Marianne’s tomorrow. She thinks we should have lunch together. Are you and Antonio still–?”

Henrique hummed in agreement. “We can meet for dinner after our visit to the cemetery,” he said. He leaned up to press a kiss on Arthur’s cheek before relaxing at his side again. “It should make him feel better before we go home.”

Arthur nodded and turned back to his work. Henrique closed his eyes again and allowed Arthur’s soft sounds of approval and disapproval to lull him into sleep.

[needcake]

OMG CAKE IS YOUR BDAY TODAY?! I'm gonna do something I promise! Have an amazing new year!

It was yesterday! Oh Rosas you really don't have to! I'm already so thankful for this message!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ hope it's a good year for all of us!!

[needcake]

He reached beneath his pillow. He retrieved his logbook and pencil. He lay down on his back, legs pulled up to support his journal, and he flicked through the thick wad to the next empty page.

Gabriel umm’d and ahh’d over whether or not to write anything, twirling his prized pendant around his neck between his fingers. He was deciding if he had anything worth adding—but even the shortest thing would help, he reminded himself, so he took a slow breath in and put pencil to old paper.

[ happy bday @needcake! ] [ read on ao3! ]

[needcake]

[needcake]

i love the conclave. what do you mean the entire world has tv cameras trained on the chimney of an old italian palace waiting for days or weeks until the color of the smoke changes and we find out who’s been elected as the next supreme dictator of catholicism

[needcake]

EngPortWeek @engportevents

Day 5 (May 12th) ~ Teachers

A common day at work with a marriage of teachers who met at college once.

(Plotwist: Gabriel a much stricter teacher than Arthur and Kirkland is the nice guy. I swear.)

I had the idea but not time today, sorry for the bad color~

[needcake]

Engport Week 2025

Day 5: Teachers

@engportevents

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Mother’s Day meant arts and crafts to Arthur. It meant colored paper, glitter, round-point scissors and paint. It meant twelve small children in his classroom busy making handmade cards, some prettier than others it had to be said, while Arthur enjoyed a nice cuppa in the blessed silence.

Across the hall from his classroom, however, Mother’s Day meant chaos and screaming in Gabriel’s class. Arthur often watched from the little window in his door, drinking his peaceful tea, and wondered what the hell happened in there, raising an eyebrow when one of Gabriel’s students made a run for it and he followed right after, his ponytail speckled with glitter and paint all over his clothes like he had just been sentenced to death by the firing squadron. Gabriel would moments later come back to his class, runaway child under his arm, and give him a friendly wave and a smile through the door window. Arthur sipped his tea and watched, curious, but not curious enough to venture out the peaceful kingdom of his classroom.

This year, however, Gabriel had apparently decided to innovate. Instead of the usual piles of colorful paper, glue, paint brushes and glitter, Gabriel showed up to the teachers’ lounge that morning with two very big and very heavy bags of clay.

“Are ashtrays for moms not a thing anymore?” he asked when Arthur approached warily to ask, and laughed at his own joke immediately after, keeping his real reasons to himself and leaving Arthur even more curious.

By mid-morning, after Arthur had his students sufficiently engaged in silent card-making, he brought his cuppa to the door window and looked over across the hall, peering through trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on in there. For the first time in the many years he and Gabriel had taught their kindergarten class across from one another, there was peace and quiet coming from his classroom near Mother’s Day, and Arthur asked himself if Gabriel had given up on his clay project and instead made the kids watch a movie or given them extended nap time.

Curiosity got the better of him and he glanced back to his students to make sure they would be okay for the next 5 minutes before going over to Gabriel’s door.

“Oh, hey,” Gabriel greeted him good-naturedly, voice hushed, opening the door for him once he caught him coming over. “You have to be quiet, they’re in the zone.”

Arthur opened his mouth to ask, but on the first step inside Gabriel’s classroom he received his answer. All twelve of his little goblins were deeply entranced in the art of making humanoid sculptures out of brown clay, some more figurative than others it had to be said, but all incredibly engaged.

“Finally got rid of the paint?” Arthur asked quietly, watching with mild bewilderment as the children got around their sculpting process.

“I’ll never truly be rid of the paint,” Gabriel privately laughed, taking the opportunity that Arthur was so close to him to sneak a hand on his waist and brush his lips against his cheek. Which Arthur promptly and half-heartedly pushed him away with a huff for.

“Not in front of the kids.”

Gabriel snorted softly, nuzzling his ear, “What, I can’t kiss my husband?”

But that word apparently activated the sleeper code that awoke the beast in the children. One girl in pigtails on the back of the class caught it and pointed at them, screaming loudly at the top of her lungs.

“K I S S !”

The entire class of small children erupted in screams, clay projects abandoned, “K I S S! K I S S!”

Arthur looked back at Gabriel in a fright. “I just taught them spelling,” Gabriel explained as he turned Arthur away and pushed him towards the door, “Go, save yourself!”

“Wha—”

Gabriel smiled, apologetically, and shoved him out, the door to his classroom slamming shut on his face while Arthur tried to bring himself to understand what just happened. Right at that time, the janitor passed him by pushing his cleaning supply’s cart.

“Da Costa’s class is always the lively one, eh?”

Arthur watched the man go by and looked back at said classroom with a frown. The entire classroom was now chaos and screams, and a lump of clay flew into the door window near Arthur’s face. Slowly, he retreated back into his own classroom across the hall and clicked the door shut. His kids were still very much quiet and entertained in their card-making.

“Right,” Arthur said to himself, still confused at what the hell just happened. “I’m going to make myself some more tea.”

[needcake]

M | EngPort (+ other ships) | 19th century shenanigans

After a long day in hell, one of the city's many factories, Arthur takes his frustrations to underground fighting rings where he might have a moment to feel strong, alive.

Sometimes he wins, other times he's left bruised, and in truth, the results don't matter. All Arthur cares about is a man in the crowd—the chance to be noticed by his love, Gabriel.

A birthday gift for @needcake 💖

Read on ao3

[needcake]

a veces uno necesita que un brasilero le diga "siempre que llovió, paró" y seguir