#c: jon s

[allelitewrestlings]

[rhaegxr]

"There is more of Rhaegar in you." ↳ Dany & Rhaegar parallels.

[lives4lovesworld]

Daenerys could literally be the devil reincarnated and it is still infeasible for her to be the one to torch King's Landing;

A desperate Cersei (who is essentially a female!Aerys), a violent hord of religious zealots, two (rightfully) blood-thirsty sand snakes, the tyrells and lannisters about to be at each other's throats, shady Qyburn doing gods know what, are all IN King's Landing. A cocky would-be claimant is marching with deadly-infected, nothing-to-lose, bell-triggered Jon who-regrets-burning-a-city Connington TOWARDS it, and murderous crazy newly crowned Euron Greyjoy lusts for the Iron Throne.

Yet according to the ✨smart book experts✨all these plots will apparently freeze and these murderous hotheads will patiently wait for Daenerys to speed run through all of her essosi plots; travel to Vaes Dothrak, gather all the khalassars, travel to Meereen by horse pace, fight the war against the slavers, deal with Victarion, the Iron fleet and the Dragonbinder, deal with Viserion and Rhaegal being loose, Quentyn's death and his remaining companions, Yunkai and its allies, burn the dead from the pale mare and the war, divide fiends from foes, which the later includes her husband and the Green Grace (tho both could be dead by the time Daenerys returns) meet Red Priest Moqorro and Maester Marwyn, hear about Azor Ahai and the Others, meet Tyrion Lannister, face Jorah Mormont again, hear from Illyiro and Varys's many schemes, mend the wounds of her people, get a large enough fleet to carry her host somewhere and cross half of the world (a journey for which Tyrion and Quentyn needed an enitre book) with a bus stop at Volantis, where she will likely meet Benerro and The Widow At The Waterfront and council the slave revolt, etc... so she is The One™ to barbecue King's Landing since *checks note*... itS sO SUbvErsIve, but also; iTs bEen bUilT uP to ThAT sInCe Aegon’s Conquest. 🤡

[rise-my-angel]

Writing these flashbacks is like, Jon is older then the reader by a few years. Which means he has more physical feelings for you then you do him, especially considering your more sheltered upbringing. It's just one constant battle in Jons head of wanting to protect your innocence versus his insides which just cannot stop looking at you wondering what it would feel like to be with you. The non stop frustration that Jon knows hes behaving the exact kind of way he for years has shielded you from noticing that other guys look at you just like that too.

Edit: holy god the religious guilt in a teenage reader is insane, her septa absolutely ruined that girls confidence

[saintedcooper]

It's Complicated (Francis Ch3 | Frank Castle x Reader 1940s AU)

Chapter Summary: After the attack, you awaken with some pain and a lot of questions.

Series Summary: New York, 1949. You’re a waitress trying to find your place in the world and get your footing at your new job. That is, when you’re not being very distracted by the handsome, mysterious writer who frequents the diner.

Previous Chapters: 1 / 2

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Content Warnings: memories of past violence as seen in previous chapter, hot man cooking you healing food (dangerous stuff).

Length: 2,908 words

cross-posted to AO3.

Your dreams are full of dark tunnels and winding paths. Shadowy figures shape-shift into terrifying creatures that you can’t escape. All you hear is the sound of your running feet and your heart pounding like a drum.

You turn down a dark path and stop. There’s a figure in this one but it’s clear, not shadowy like the others. It’s bathed in white light and glowing. It’s a man with his back to you, dressed in slacks and a white shirt with suspenders crossing his back.

As you move closer, the man turns. It’s Francis. Your eyes go first to the soft smile on his lips before traveling down to the twin guns holstered by his sides.

You start to back up slowly and he frowns.

“Sweetheart?”

As you take another step backward, your foot slips. You rear lands hard on the stone path. You’re trying to pick­ yourself up when you notice bloody scrapes on your legs. You turn your hands over to find they’re there, too.

A frown forms on your face.

How did that happen?

As you observe the scrapes, tiny streaks of red slowly bloom and quickly grow.

A gust of cold air draws your attention to your ripped tights. When you reach down a hand to inspect the ripped fabric, a hand appears in the darkness and wraps around your ankle. It tugs hard, pulling you down as you scream.

With a gasp, you startle awake, your eyes flying open.

Your eyes dart around a familiar room. It’s yours. You sigh a breath of relief as you grab your chest, willing your breath to slow down.

The sun is high in the sky, filling the room with warm light and humid air. Your body is covered in a light sheen of nightmare-induced sweat.

In the distance, you hear Maggie plugging away on the typewriter.

You let the rhythm of the keys fade into the background as your mind wanders to the night before. The alley. Those men. Francis.

Francis.

Why had he been there? Thank god he was, but, it was curious.

If you were being honest, there was always something odd about Francis. Sure, he was gorgeous, but there something dark and mysterious about him. It had never frightened you, it intrigued you.

He was kind, a bit sardonic sometimes, and funny. But he was also dangerous. You knew it when he’d shown up to the diner previously with bruised knuckles and scratches. You knew it the other night when you heard him taking down your attackers.

Francis Castiglione wasn’t like other men.

That's what had drawn you to him at first. But now, that hint of mystery was real and violent.

You’d heard the way he’d laid into those creeps, his fits pummeling their flesh like it was nothing. You’d heard him panting like an over-excited dog, telling them to get up so that he could brutalize them again.

It was one thing to know he had that darkness; it was another to witness it.

You hardly know him. He doesn’t owe you anything but you can’t help having more questions than you know what to do with. If the charming writer who’s been flirting with you for months is also the man you saw last night, which face is the mask? How can you trust anything he’s ever said to you?

Even with your confusion the undercurrent of fear you feel isn’t for you, it’s for him.

What have you gotten yourself into, Francis?

With a sigh, you flip back the sheet to get out of bed. Searing pain around your torso stops you in your tracks and doubles you over with a sharp cry.

The typewriter stops and a few moments later, you hear footsteps hurrying down the hall as you slowly try lower your body back to the bed.

Maggie appears a few moments later with a cool towel and a worried look on her face. The towel still drips with water, proof of how quickly it’d be gathered.

“Thank God you’re awake! You scared me half to death. Are you alright?”

You nod and attempt a reassuring smile. It’s more of a grimace.

Trying to lie back down is too painful, you end up sitting with your back propped up against the headboard and your feet out in front of you.

Maggie wrings the towel out of one of the windows before sitting on the side of your bed and brushing the towel across your forehead.

The cool water on your skin calms you enough to begin to relax. You lean into the towel and close your eyes.

“How do you feel?” Maggie asks.

“Like I got dragged down an alley.”

She sighs. “I’m so sorry, honey. I don’t know what to say. Just thank God you’re alright and that Francis passed by at the right time.”

Your eyes fly open. Francis.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Don't you remember?” Maggie says. “Francis was headed home and heard the commotion. Those men got spooked and scrambled away.”

“Right... And how’d I get here? Back home?”

Maggie flips the towel over and brushes it gently across the rest of your face.

“Well, early that morning, I thought I heard you coming through the door. I heard the keys and the floorboards creaking, then a man mumbling or something.” She laughs. “I thought you were about to get lucky. I came out being nosy, trying to get a look at your fella.”

You watch her face as she continues. She looks off to the side and stops brushing the towel against you.

“That’s when I saw Francis with you in his arms, covered in dirt and dried blood. Knocked out. I think I must have screamed because I remember him telling me to be quiet and asking about all kinds of supplies. I cleaned you up while he cleaned and dressed your wounds. Then he put you in the bed and left so that I could change your clothes.”

She sighs. “I’ve never been so scared or so certain. It was like I just knew what to do.”

You’d liked Maggie from the moment she stepped onto your doorstep asking about the room you had for rent. You knew a bit about her past but you mostly enjoyed each other’s company in the present. She’s like your wild and free little sister. It feels odd seeing her sad because of you.

You grab her hand and she looks at you.

“Thank you, Margaret.”

She gives you a slight smile as she squeezes your hand.

You finally take a moment to notice that Maggie’s wearing her audition clothes, a smart blouse under a grey wool jacket and matching shirt. “Audition day?”

“Oh!” Maggie stands abruptly from the bed. “I heard you call out just as I was about to leave.”

She gives you a guilty smile.

“I got a call back from that audition last week.” She gnaws on her lip. “I think this is the one.”

It couldn’t be better news. She’s been a struggling artist every day you’ve known her.

“Don’t feel guilty! I’m happy for you. Please, go. I can take care of myself.”

Maggie’s expression of guilt fades quickly into amusement. “You won’t have to.”

“Oh?”

Maggie grins and leaves the room, coming back quickly with a serving tray. The tray she settles around you is loaded up with chicken and rice soup, a hearty slice of bread, a glass of orange juice, and the morning paper.

You gasp. Maggie is a lot of things, but a cook she ain’t.

“Margaret! You cooked?”

She laughs and says in a sing-song voice, “Well, somebody did. Definitely wasn’t me.”

You open your mouth to ask who else it could have been when you hear the floorboards creak in the hallway.

“Hello?” you call out just as the visitor enters your room.

Francis leans up against the door frame. He’s fiddling with his hands and looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“How you doin’, sweetheart? Alright?”

You stare back at him. His knuckles are bruised but he otherwise looks better than the last time you saw him at the diner.

Maggie clears her throat, mouth twisted to the side as she hides a smile. “I should be heading out. Thank you so much for staying with her, Francis.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

Maggie giggles on her way out of your room. Her footsteps recede until you hear the door open and close.

Looking at Francis, all of the questions floating around your mind earlier rush back in at once. You’re intensely aware of a chasm between the girlish fantasies you’ve entertained about him and the fact that you know so little about this man.

Neither you nor Francis speaks for minutes.

“’s gonna get cold,” he eventually says.

You nod, picking up a spoon. The soup smells delicious. You wonder how long he’s been here.

“What day is it?”

“Saturday.”

“Saturday! I slept an entire day?”

Francis nods. “Yeah. ‘s not uncommon. The shock, the overwhelm. When you’re safe, you just sort of…crash.”

You nod.

Wait, Saturday.

“What about Mister Cranston?”

“Museum guy?”

You nod.

“He was by yesterday. Pushy little guy. Grilled me for two hours about that night like I wasn’t the hero here.”

You smile. “How’s he gettin’ on at the museum? I hate the idea of leaving him alone. It’s a big project, he needs help with it.”

Francis wags a finger at you. “He said those would be some of the first words outta your mouth, worrying about him. He also said don’t worry about him.”

Francis gestures to an envelope on your bedside table. “He brought your pay by early.”

You scoff. Typical Mister C. You’re supposed to be paid on Saturdays for the work done that week. You’re certain that check includes pay for two days of work you didn’t do.

You turn your attention back into the soup. Some old, faint voice belonging to your mother pops into your head. “If you must eat in front of a man, dainty bites. No man wants a barn animal.”

But at your first bite of the soup, all ceremony goes out the window. The soup is delicious. There’s flavorful chicken, rice, and vegetables swimming in a rich and full broth. You wolf it down as fast as you can and quickly find yourself slurping up the broth after eating most of the bowl’s contents.

Francis’ laughter draws you out of your search for the last drops of the broth in the bowl.

“There’s more where that came from, ya know.”

You wipe your mouth, a sheepish smile on your lips.

“I haven’t eaten in two days, thank you very much.”

Francis finally steps away from the door, seeming more relaxed now. He sits on the bed, just past your feet.

You wait for him to speak, but he seems to be searching for words. He opens his mouth a few times, an “uh” or “um” coming out before he shuts it again.

You’d try to help him out but you don’t know what to say either. Instead, you grab the newspaper and start flipping through it. You’re hardly paying attention, just skimming to have something to do.

Then, an article at the bottom of the page catches your eye. As you start to read it, your breath quickens.

“WHO PUNISHES THE PUNISHER?”

Over the past several months, the criminal inhabitants of New York City have had a new kind of law enforcement to answer to. A nameless, masked vigilante—colloquially referred to as The Punisher—has been terrorizing the criminal sect, leaving in his wake a trail of dead and mangled bodies.

The Punisher has become a polarizing figure in the city, with many locals grateful to have a criminal who’s on their side, but with others wondering, “Just who does this guy think he is?”

Jeannie Serrano was a witness to The Punisher’s most recent outing in Hell’s Kitchen, during which he saved an unidentified girl from two ruffians in an alley two days ago. Neither man survived the attack.

Serrano says: “I heard a commotion in the alley on the side of the apartment. I went to the side window to check it out and there was a girl running from two men. She’s just screaming her head off and I ran to call the police but then I heard the men start yelling. I went back and there and saw some guy pummeling the creeps. You ask me, they got what they were asking for. Trying to interfere with a girl like that. It’s not right. I’m glad he did it. Maybe now girls can walk the streets without fear. Make those scumbags afraid for a change.”

But other residents aren’t quite as welcoming as Mrs. Serrano. “I don’t like it,” says Brooklyn resident Marvin Akeman. ”Who died and made him the law? Who even is this guy? I know I didn’t elect him, did you? What’s he want? We’re all just suckers sitting around thanking him and who knows what he’s got planned. He could be the worst of the bunch and you’re out here reporting on him like it’s nothing. You ask me, somebody oughta lock him up. See what’s what.”

Polarizing as he may be, if this week’s most recent events are anything to go by, The Punisher has no plans of stopping. Or being caught.

You finish with the article and find yourself just staring. You think back to the morning before the attack. You remembered seeing yet another article about the guy they’re calling The Punisher. He’s been in the news for months now but you haven’t thought much about it. You’re from a small town, you know how it goes. There are some things the law isn’t cut out to handle. You were really surprised there weren’t more people like him in the city, where there’s so much unnecessary danger.

Because you don’t have ill will or fearful feelings about the “Punisher,” you’d never stopped to wonder who he could be. You’d never asked yourself what kind of man might be wrapped up in this.

“What happened to you the other night?” you ask. “When you came to the diner. You looked like you’d just gotten out of a boxing ring. What happened?”

Francis, who had still been trying to figure out what to say to you, knits his eyebrows together and makes a gruff noise under his breath.

He shakes his head. “Nothin’. Just a little disagreement.”

You nod. Your hands subconsciously tighten around the paper in your hands.

“Like the disagreement you had with the men in the alley?”

“Exactly like that.”

An uncertain silence falls between you two. Francis doesn’t break eye contact until you do, looking down at the paper in your hands. As stoic as he can be, Francis is a fidgeter when he’s nervous. You watch out of the sides of your eyes as he cracks his knuckles, picks at his nails, and bounces his heel up and down.

You’re quiet long enough that when you speak again, Francis flinches so slightly you might not have noticed it if you weren’t so focused on him.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say.

“Hm?” he says with a raise of his eyebrows.

You lift up and twist the paper around to show him the article. His eyes dart down to it and then back up to your face but he remains silent. You’re glad he doesn’t bother lying to you, but it’s clear you’re going to have to drive the conversation.

“D’you know I’m not from the city?”

“Yeah, I remember some of those stories about your growing up in the country,” he says with a grin. “Pretty sure you told me one about pushin’ some idiot’s face down into a cow pat when got fresh with you.”

“Exactly,” you shrug. “Where I come from, a girl had to look out for herself and failin’ that, we had to take care of each other. Maybe it’d be givin’ a face a slap and maybe that wouldn’t cut it.”

Francis nods. “I get that.”

You watch him for a moment that stretches so long he starts to get uneasy. He shifts his weight slightly on the bed and visibly swallows. A first nervously clenches and unclenches once where it rests on his leg. But he never breaks your gaze.

“I watched my gran run more than a couple of bad eggs out of town with her sawed off. Women beaters. Worse. Sometimes you have to take care of things yourself. Maybe I wish it was different but people doin’ what they’ve got to doesn’t bother me. But with you, I don’t know.”

He looks so handsome with his eyebrows knitted together and his lips pursed. You’d almost prefer to keep him confused.

“You don’t exactly owe me anything here, Francis, but I don’t understand it. It’s always gonna be someone but why you?”

Francis nods, seemingly to himself, as his eyes roam around the room. He stands and walks over to one of the windows, leaning his arm against the frame. The sun is still sat high in the sky and he squints against it.

“Sweetheart…,” he says quietly. He’s still gazing out the window, but he darts his head down as if he avoiding meeting your gaze. “’s complicated.”

You gesture at yourself.

“I’ve got time. Uncomplicate it.”

This chapter has been mostly finished for months but life does life and anyway, it's here now! I love writing these two. Let me know how you feel about this chapter. Comments and good-faith feedback are welcome.

mdni banner by @/cafekitsune | divider banner by @/saradika (sorry for the accidental tags! I have no idea what I'm doing!)

[junkyard-gifs]

BEHIND YOU, LOOK BEHIND YOU

narrator's voice: they did not, in fact, look behind them

Jon Clayton and Anna Sofia McGuire as Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer; Logan Mortier, Lewis Rimmer, and Roberto Facchin as Munkustrap, Plato, and Alonzo. Oasis cast 13, May 2023 (X).

[ruleof3bobby]

MAGGIE MOORE (S) (2023) Grade: C

It didn't find it's footing, wasn't sure if it wanted to be a dark comedy, crime, or a rom-com. The cast is good & Jon Hamm & Tina Fey do have good chemistry from their 30 Rock scenes.

[dcconfessions]

what jonjay is to jon kent is what jayroy is roy harper but you didn’t hear that from me…

.

[multicarinata]

perhaps controversial but iiii can feel no sense of measure. No illusions as we take. Refᵘge in young man's pleasuuuh. Breaking down the dreams we make. real.

[letterboxd-loggd]

Stan & Ollie (2018) Jon S. Baird

November 26th 2022

[just-a-ghost00]

A glimpse at your FS

Group 1

Channeled songs : Youtiful - Stray Kids, Mon Amour - GEMINI, Life goes on - AGUSTD Cards : 8 of pentacles, 2 of wands, Temperance, The Wildling, The Outlaw, Love

Lives at a distance from you, cultural differences, likes to travel for fun.

Apogender (doesn't relate to the notion of gender and has no defined gender, doesn't care about what gender people attribute to them) / genderfluid looks / unisex clothing.

Successful at their work place, feels like they can't be themselves at work.

Closed heart chakra, isn't ready to open up to other people.

Longs for deep connections, very sociable but always feels lonely, only has a small number of "friends". Has a very unconventional view of relationships and love or feels like they can't find their match romantically. Feels like an outcast.

Likes to go on long walks, enjoys spending time alone, tends to keep people at arms length.

Chris / Chan from Stray Kids vibes.

Possible meaningful locations : East Asia / Central Asia / Europe / North Africa / Latin America

Developped 5D connection, astral travelling, connecting through dreams or receiving messages from them at night because of time difference.

Very patient in relationships, longs for someone who can understand them but also call them out when needed.

Looks for fun and surprising connections in which they can feel safe and free to be themselves.

They want someone that will be loyal and trustworthy but will keep them on their toes.

Extras : Sagittarius, Gemini, numbers 2/5/8/14, snakes, masks, knives, crosses, blades, cactus, steampunk, boots

💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️

Group 2

Channeled songs : Connected - Bangchan, Comflex - Stray Kids, Lose my breath SKZ version Cards : 2 of pentacles rx, The Star, King of pentacles, The Alchemist, The Seeker, The Explorer

Possible careers / hobbies : arts / influencers / modeling

Well established, possibly famous or at least people in their field look up to them. High status, very experienced.

High level manifestor, high achiever in all areas of life except for love. They have a lot of knowledge and a lot of skills but when it comes to love they're a noob.

Game of Thrones references, especially Jon Snow vibes ("You know nothing Jon Snow").

You are already aware of who they are and they are aware of your existence but they're either ignoring the signs or downright ignoring you. They're not ready and/or they're scared of the connection.

You both have been manifesting this connection. While you are expectant and wanting to move forward with them, they are freaking out because they were not expecting you so soon.

Their energy is all over the place. They're engaged in a lot of projects, events, activities. They don't have time in their schedule to have a love life on top of that.

You throw them off their balance because you're everything they could ever wish for and they were not expecting to be able to have their wish granted, because whether they want to admit it or not this person has been manifesting you and praying for you.

They have a flirty, social butterfly type of energy. They have been indulging in connections, looking out for their person only to find out that they weren't the one. They've done nothing but flirting. They noticed very quickly that this wasn't gonna work so they quickly gave up. They were a busy bee, flying from flower to flower, never really finding their kind of nectar.

They are very spiritual, though they are constantly working on their material life. They receive a lot of downloads from their guides.

A part of them doubts the connection. They feel like it's too good to be true. Also they're too conscious of the differences between you. They're scared of the public opinion.

Extras : letters C/S/T, numbers 2/8/17, wolves, stars, crows, ravens, hands, bracelets and rings, compass, teeth, cranes, Aquarius, difference of status, overseas

💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️💙✨️

Group 3

Channeled songs : Comflex - Stray Kids, Comfortable - H.E.R, Mon Amour - GEMINI Cards : Underworld rx, destruction rx, Speak truth, knight of cups, queen of swords, The Star

Recently got out of a dark night of the soul / depression.

Is learning to set boundaries and express their truth without fear of being rejected.

Very giving and fair person that only wishes to connect with and love people but life has given them a hard time. They find it hard to believe that people can be genuinely nice to them with no ulterior motive.

They tend to hide their emotional side more nowadays because they're afraid of being taken advantage of. They might be neurodivergent or struggle with ASD.

They are very feminine in their energy. They are deeply connected to their emotions to the point that it can often overwhelm them. They are deeply empathetic and sympathetic. They can sometimes feel other people's pain as if it were their own.

Highly spiritual, highly emotionally intelligent person but also very clever, witty, often sarcastic.

Huge Scorpio vibes.

Will Graham vibes.

Has a hard time being vulnerable with other people, struggles with the notions of intimacy and beauty. Yet, they're extremely beautiful inside and out.

Has a very clear and charming voice. Enjoys singing, chatting about their interests.

Possible careers / hobbies : psychic / healer / doctor / teacher / music / writing poetry / influencer / fishing / research / sharing knowledge

Lives at a distance from you, possibly near an important body of water.

Though they wish for romance, they're not really looking at potential partners and they don't put themselves out there. They're waiting for the right person to just show up out of nowhere, like some kind of white rabbit coming out of a hat.

They have the potential of being a very important public figure, maybe even being super famous but they don't believe in themselves enough at this moment to reach that potential. They're not really interested in fame but I feel it is part of their destiny. They're on their way to manifest greater success.

Alice in Wonderland vibes, only they're the Mad Hatter when people think they're the innocent and naive "little girl" chasing after rabbits. People tend to underestimate their power.

Extras : Gemini, Aquarius, letters C / S, numbers 8/17, long hair, water, owls, hands, scars, wings, crosses, cranes, horses, swords, long and flowy dresses, jewelry

[rhaegxr]

" Men died for him because they believed in him, because they loved him. " ↳ Rhaegar & Jon parallels.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

Pool Day | for @steddiemicrofic's April prompt

pairing: steddie (duh) | word count: 1,987 | rated: T | on AO3

“Thanks for having us, Steve Dear,” Mrs. Henderson greets, stepping through the front door after Dustin barrels in and handing him a huge covered bowl of potato salad.

Steve grins at her, taking the dish, “It’s no trouble at all Ms. H; thanks for bringing this, you know it’s my favorite.”

“Of course, hon!”

“Claudia!” Joyce calls from the living room, “Come help me settle this.”

“There’s nothing to settle!” Hop argues in return.

Steve snorts out a laugh, “Good luck, Ms. H.”

Claudia sighs, shakes her head, and heads into the fray.

Steve goes the opposite way, dropping the bowl off in the fridge with the other lunch cookout ingredients Wayne and Hopper will be starting in on in only a couple hours now, grabs a bottle of water for Robin, and follows Dustin’s route back outside to the patio.

It’s a clear, warm, sunny day in the late summer of ‘86. The whole ‘other dimension survivors’ party is in attendance at Steve’s place for the day; Hop, Joyce, Karen, Claudia now, and even Wayne are staying inside in the A/C, the kids are in the pool, and all but the one of the ‘older kids’ are lounging around on the Harringtons’ sun chairs.

Argyle in particular is soaking up the UV rays.

Jon is burning to a crisp under his and Nancy’s umbrella.

It’s Eddie, however, that’s been in the pool practically all morning, and is currently hyping himself up to do… something.. off Steve’s creaky, probably dry-rotted, diving board.

He does look good up there; drenched head to toe with his hair pushed back from his face like that. If he wasn’t covered in pool water, Steve would want to lick him.

…okay, he probably still would.

Robin elbows him as if she can read the thoughts straight from his brain.

”Shut up.” he grumbles out the corner of his mouth, sitting on his previously vacated chair beside her and passing over the water.

She just snorts at him in return, taking the bottle from him and going back to her book..

”Eddie, dude, it can’t be done.” Mike groans, “If I can’t do it, you can’t do it.”

”He’s got an 82 percent chance of landing flat on his stomach.” Erica states.

“It’s gotta be higher than that.” Max says, “I’d give it 93 percent.”

“Never.. tell me the odds.” Eddie declares from atop his perch. The board creaks when he shifts his weight.

His eyes keep darting from the end of the diving board to the clear, blue water beyond it, and back again.

Steve calls across the backyard, “What’s it he’s trying to do?”

“He says he can do two whole flips before he hits the water.” El says, piping up from where she is laying on a towel on the far side of the patio next to Max.

Steve grimaces, “Does he now?”

”…He’s gonna die.” Dustin says. “Again.”

Lucas is the one to go to bat for their DM, ”Give him a chance, dude, he says he’s done this before.”

“See, you say that, but we all know how uncoordinated he is. Can you bellyflop to death? ‘Cause that’s how he’s ‘bout to go.”

“Don’t fuck this up, Eds, I’m not CPR certified anymore.” Steve calls from his spot beside Robin who leans in immediately to whisper, “What are you doing? If he dies you can give him mouth-to-mouth!”

Steve blinks once at her, turning back to Eddie who’s still hyping himself up for his promised double-flip. “Never mind, I remembered it!”

Eddie breaks from his focus on the board in front of him to give Steve an exasperated, questioning look. Steve winks in return, making the sunburn on Eddie’s skin burn brighter.

He’ll get the hint(s, there’s been multiple) eventually… hopefully.

The advice starts coming from all sides; “C’mon, man just do it already!”

“Yeah, Are ya gonna go or what?”

“Let him work up to it!”

“You work up to it.”

“That’s it, you’re going down, Wheeler.”

“You’re never gonna go are you?” Max yells, ignoring the scuffle starting up between Will and Mike

“Do a run-up!” Dustin suggests, and Steve stops that one in its tracks.

“No! No running around the pool!”,

Nancy chimes in, not looking up from her magazine. “Just don’t die, Eddie.”

”And what, desert all you losers? What’d you even do without me?”

“He’s got a point,” Erica concedes, deadpan, “Who would we watch hurt themselves if you weren’t around.”

“Alright, alright, alright, shut up, I’m going.” Eddie says, waving his arms around, “In three…two…one!”

And he does. He goes for it, bounding off the end of the board, completing exactly one and a half turns, and landing stomach-first onto the surface of the water.

Sympathetic hisses of pain and grimacing ‘Oohs’ erupt around the pool as Eddie sinks into the water.

To his credit though, he manages to stand on his own soon afterwards.

Steve calls out to him, “You okay, Eds?”

“I think I’m gonna need that mouth-to-mouth, big guy.” Eddie groans, then flops face-first back into the water dramatically, much to the amusement of the gathered peanut gallery.

“What a doofus, why do I have a crush on him again?” Steve asks Robin in a low voice as he stands from his chair.

Robin sets her book down on her lap, counting out on her fingers without looking up at him: “Big hair, big eyes, big smile, bigger heart.”

“Ah, yep, that’ll do it.” he nods, then drops down off the edge of the pool into the water. “Alright, dumbass, that’s enough pool for you.”

He wades over to Eddie, still floating face-down on the surface of the water, and scoops him up in a bridal carry.

“Blegh…” He feigns death, letting his tongue loll out the side of his mouth. The backs of Eddie’s arms and the very ends of his hair trail along the rippling surface of the water when he lets his head and arms flop backward, bonelessly out of Steve’s hold.

Steve rolls his eyes and drops his arms just enough to submerge him again. His yelp of surprise is muffled when he goes under, much to the delight of the rest of the party.

But Steve gets his arms under him again quickly; Eddie scrambles for a hold around his neck while continuing to splutter, spitting out a mouthful of pool water and pushing the hair off his face to reveal his now-red face.

Steve smirks cheekily down at Eddie’s murderous glare, wrapping his arms tighter around the other man. He walks through the shallows back to the pool steps with Eddie still in his arms (“You bringing me to a chair, Stevie?”), climbs up the first one, then stops.

He looks down at a now confused Eddie (“What? What’s wrong?” he asks, looking around for something what it was that made Steve stop.), smirks mischievously, then, before he can parse out what’s about to happen, Steve twists around and tosses Eddie back into the water.

His flailing limbs just barely miss Mike’s head (Oops, sorry Mike,), the resulting splash hitting at least four of the five gremlins still in the water.

Grinning widely at the others’ laughs, Steve hurries up the stairs and around to the side of the pool closest to where Eddie fell, looking down at him over the edge as he re-emerges from the water, spluttering and coughing, and flips his bangs haphazardly up off his forehead.

“What happened, Eds? One minute you were safe in my arms, and the next, you were back in the water! It’s the strangest thing.” Steve can’t hold back his grin any more than he could his sarcasm, reveling in the murderous glare Eddie is giving him.

Eddie continues to glare, the other kids snickering off to start what sounded like a game of chicken.

“What’s wrong, Teddy, d’ya not like being thrown aroun–” Steve’s awareness of his surroundings kick in a fraction too late; the kids parting out of the way, the smirk that appears on Eddie’s lips a moment before disaster, the somehow still-cold hands that splay and push against the warm skin of his back, sending him toppling over the edge and into the water himself.

Resurfacing to resounding, howling laughter from all sides, Steve similarly flips his hair back and glares at his new nemesis, Robin, standing above him all smug.

“I… hate you.” he tells her, with no real heat behind it.

“Love you too dingus,” she waves and turns back to her chair.

“So whattya say pot, gonna join this kettle in solidarity against the hoard?”

As if he could ever say no to those eyes.

“Sure Eds, hop up.”

And of course, Eddie makes a big deal about it, “What?! Who says I can’t carry you on my shoulders, big boy?”

Steve shrugs, “Okay, squat down and I’ll climb up.”

To his credit, he actually does, letting Steve get situated (and panic silently about where Eddie's head is… 'Ridiculous.' he tells himself.) and standing up, his arms locked around Steve’s shins.

Steve holds his arms out to help keep his balance on Eddie’s shoulders, “Holy shit man, I didn’t think you had it in you!”

Eddie grits out a low “I don’t..” then pitches backwards, sending them both under the water.

Opening his eyes to the burning chlorine, Steve watches the blurry shapes of Eddie’s legs get their bearings on the pool floor once again.

As soon as his feet are settled on the floor, Steve swims forward and around Eddie’s now-kicking legs, the gangly appendages trying futilely to keep him away.

He’s almost out of breath so he clamps a hand on one of Eddie’s knees, using it as an anchor to get behind him and puts his head between the other man’s legs, sitting the backs of Eddie’s thighs squarely down on his shoulders.

He stands, his hair plastered flat to his forehead by the water, and by Eddie’s hands where they hold onto him for dear life.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Eddie says when Steve attempts to shake the hairs off his face, pushing the offending hairs out of his eyes and back up onto the top of head.

Steve tilts his head back as far as he can, looking up at the man on his shoulders.

Eddie’s head blocks out the sun, and it gives him a halo made of sunlight. “Thanks sweetheart.” Steve says, only to Eddie, then faces down the rest of the shitheads. “Alright shitheads, who’s up first?”

Steve and Eddie play against each of the others, some pairs taking longer, some only taking a single shove to get Eddie to topple down into the water.

And each time Steve scoops him back up, Eddie pushes the hairs off his face, scooches his bony butt around to get situated (seriously, how does he sit for any length of time on that thing?!), and gives Steve’s cheek a pat of encouragement before they face off against another round of kids.

Jon and Argyle go up against them once, and it’s the longest round of the afternoon.

Eventually though, about halfway through their chicken tournament, the ‘real’ adults file outside to the Harringtons’ patio table and start up the grill.

By time Jon finally dislodges Eddie from Steve’s shoulders, it’s time to eat.

Eddie’s the last one out of the water, and Steve savors every moment it takes him to trudge up the pool steps, winded, probably aching, but smiling wide, as gorgeous as ever.

“C’mon Stevie,” he huffs, “Let’s get some grub. I’m starving after beating all these twerps.”

“They kicked our asses, Eds.”

“Yeah, but it was fun though, right?” Eddie grins, walking ahead of him to grab, still soaking wet, a handful of (now also soaking wet) hamburger bun.

Steve smiles to himself, watching Dustin and Lucas gang up on him for adding chlorine to their food. “Yeah it was.”

i had to do the fake one too!!

[batbabydamian]

DC September 2024 Solicitations - Comics Featuring Damian! 🦇

THE BOY WONDER #5 of 5

9/4/24

Written by Juni Ba

Art and Cover by Juni Ba

Variant Cover: Lea Murawiec

The Robins have united to battle their way out of the stronghold of the Demon’s Head, but Damian cutting his family ties to Ra’s al Ghul isn’t just a matter of punching his way through ninjas. Could this fairy tale possibly have a happy ending? Or is the story of Damian Wayne an inescapable tragedy?

TRINITY SPECIAL: WORLD’S FINEST

9/4/24 

Written by Tom King

Art by Belen Ortega

Cover by Daniel Sampere

Variant covers: Belen Ortega, Chrissie Zullo (1:25), Saowee (1:50)

The world’s finest heroes of tomorrow are back for more! The daughter of Wonder Woman and the Super Sons return for more stories filled with laughs, action and awe-inspiring adventure. Can Lizzie survive Darkseid and his terrifying math? Will an innocent trip to the past for homework change the future? Are Damian and Jon’s barks worse than their bite? Find out in this collection of the latest back-up stories from the hit WONDER WOMAN series!

BATMAN AND ROBIN #13

9/11/24

Written by Joshua Williamson

Art by Juan Ferreyra

Cover by Simone Di Meo

Variant covers: Travis Mercer, Christian Ward (1:25)

Batman, Robin, and Bane must escape Dinosaur Island. But they are not alone! A dangerous presence has taken over and won’t let anyone leave the island alive! Can the father and son dynamic duo return to Gotham or will this be their last adventure together?!

DC VS. VAMPIRES: WORLD WAR V #2

9/11/24

Written by Matthew Rosenburg

Art and cover by Otto Schmidt

Variant Covers: Daniele Di Nicuolo (1:25), Caspar Wijngaard, Lucio Parrillo

The peace between vampires and heroes is wearing thin. Lois Lane will try and negotiate a way to maintain a truce, but with Damian’s relentless attacks on the vampire queen and her armies, the only thing that might be able to bring them together is a…Miracle.

*Bruno Redondo Variant Cover C appearance + chance of interior feature

NIGHTWING #118

9/18/24

Written by Tom Taylor

Art and cover by Bruno Redondo

Variant Covers: Bruno Redondo, Jamal Campbell, Tirso, Nicola Scott, Serg Acuna (1:25)

Embark on an exhilarating journey through the streets of Blüdhaven as we bid a heartfelt farewell to the dynamic duo of Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo in the epic conclusion to their award-winning run. With Nightwing’s fear of heights overcome, he returns to Blüdhaven for one final face-off with Heartless and Tony Zucco. It’s the battle you’ve all been waiting for! And if we’ve learned anything from Nightwing these last couple of years, we know he never has to do it alone. One thing’s for certain though: Blüdhaven will never be the same after this!

WONDER WOMAN #13

9/18/24

Written by Tom King

Art and Cover by Tony S. Daniel

Variant Covers: Gleb Melnikov (1:25), Stanley "Artgerm" Lau, Phil Jimenez, Nicola Scott

ABSOLUTE POWER TIE-IN! Gamorra found! Wonder Woman and Robin have finally located Amanda Waller’s super jail holding the powerless heroes they once fought alongside. Can the new dynamic duo break them out before they become trapped themselves? An undercover ally may hold the key to everything!

ROBIN: SON OF BATMAN BY PATRICK GLEASON: THE DELUXE EDITION

11/5/24

Written by Patrick Gleason and Ray Fawkes

Art by Patrick Gleason, Scott Mcdaniel, Mick Gray, and others

Cover by Patrick Gleason

Damian Wayne died. But like most members of the al Ghul family, he didn’t stay dead. Now that he’s back and done some soul-searching, Damian has decided he has a lot to make up for—but he won’t have to do it alone. With a young assassin named Nobody and a gargantuan dragon bat named Goliath in tow, Damian’s year of atonement will take him across the globe and reunite him with friends, foes, and his own complicated family as he seeks to prove to everyone—himself, especially—that he is a worthy member of the Bat-Family. This deluxe edition features a brand-new cover by writer/artist Patrick Gleason, development sketches, and tons more behind-the-scenes material! Collecting DC Sneak Peek: Robin: Son of Batman #1, and Robin: Son of Batman #1-13.

[saintedcooper]

It's Dangerous Business Walking Out Your Front Door (Francis Ch2 | Frank Castle x Reader 1940s AU)

New York, 1949. You’re a waitress trying to find your place in the world and get your footing at your new job. That is, when you’re not being very distracted by the handsome, mysterious writer who frequents the diner.

Chapter Summary: It’s your day off from the diner and you’re still trying to process what Francis said to you last night. Luckily, you’ve got your free-spirited roommate and your museum job to keep your mind busy. That is, until your night takes a turn for the worst.

Previous Chapters: 1

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Content Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, attempted sexual assault, mention of an under-fed (not by choice) character

Length: 4,324 words

Author's Note: Switched up the tense for this chapter. I find it flows better and I love the idea of this being a dynamic creation experience. I'd love to hear any feedback in the notes, replies, or asks!

Heed the warnings!

It’s almost fully light out when you step onto the landing of the fourth floor apartment you rent in Hell’s Kitchen. You know that Maggie, your roommate, will still be dead to the world but you still grip your keys tight to your palm to keep from making unnecessary noise.

As the door opens and your nose fills with the warmth of the pot roast you started before leaving for work last night. God, do you love working at the diner but you hate the food. There’s just something about city food nowadays, it doesn’t stick to you like a good meal should.

You pull the keys out and quietly maneuver the door shut. As you start toward the kitchen, a young man slinks out of Maggie’s room, tiptoeing with his shoes in his hand and his hat pressed to his chest. He’s so focused on making a soundless exit that he doesn’t notice you behind him.

“Hello there.”

He freezes and spins his head around to look at you over his shoulder. He makes a shocked face so silly it’d make a Marx Brother proud. The surprise doesn’t stop him from keeping mouse-quiet as a he closes Maggie’s door all the way.

“That’s not very nice, you know, sneaking out on a girl like that. She might get the wrong impression.”

He throws on a big, sugary smile and does a mock bow.

“It’s nothing like that, ma’am,” he says with an accent so phony he’s got to be an actor like Maggie. “Maggie and I were up late rehearsing, that’s all, ma’am. I respect your daughter as a colleague, ma’am. I swear, nothing unsavory happened here.”

Your face sets into a frown, suddenly very aware of how hateable his pinched little face is.

You decide you can’t stand him and your feet hurt too much to waste more time talking to him. You spin on your heels toward the kitchen and call back to him over your shoulder.

“You know she’s not my daughter and you don’t live here. Good morning.”

Truth be told, this kitchen is your favorite place in the world. You adore the entire apartment (more so when you lived in it on your own), but the kitchen is a sanctuary. It’s open and bright with a nice big window over the sink. The trim is a pastel green and the walls are covered in a fruit themed wallpaper you hand-painted.

It’s heaven.

With a tired groan, you set your gloves and purse on the counter.

It was a long night of overthinking about what Francis said to you before he slipped out into the night.

I don’t come here for the food.

Just the thought makes you flush again but you temper it. Sure, he’s gorgeous and funny and kind but…there’s also something mysterious about him.

You never quite got the story about his wife but you know he doesn’t wear a ring. Then again, it wouldn’t be unheard of for a married man to forgo it to get what he wanted, would it?

With a shake of your head, you chastise yourself. He’s not like that, right?

You hop into the chair beside the counter and pull the top off of the slower cooker. The scene of the post roast you’ve been daydreaming about all day permeates your senses as you lean in close and take a deep, indulgent breath. Thank god Maggie’s not around to tease you about the pleased sound that comes out of your mouth as the thick cloud of steam fills up your nostrils.

“That smells delicious, ma’am.”

Your head whips around and there he is again, Maggie’s annoying blond paramour, leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m sure as an actor you’re extremely unfamiliar with the concept of rejection, but that ‘good morning’ meant ‘get lost.’”

He holds up his hands but laughs. When he speaks, his accent is less put-on.

“I understand. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I offended you with my assumption. And also that Maggie is a lovely girl but she’s under no illusions about our relationship.”

You shrug. “Alright, sure. Just stop calling me ma’am.”

He nods as you turn back to the cooker to make a plate. When you turn back toward the table, he’s still there, picking at the skin around his nails and shuffling about with uncertainty.

You allow yourself a moment to really take him in. He’s handsome and well-dressed, but skinny. It was easy to miss at first glance, but his skin has a surprising dullness to it and his suit doesn’t quite fit him. But the tell is the way his gaze is fixed on the slow cooker like a wolf’s eyes on a lone, fat lamb.

A true starving artist.

“What’s your name?”

“James, ma’—miss. I’m James Downing, miss.”

“Pleased to meet you, James Downing, now sit.”

He shakes his head eagerly as he all but runs to the kitchen table. “Yes, ma’am!”

You sigh and make him a plate anyway.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

You awaken hours later to the noise of the city and the smell of coffee drifting under your door. The sun bathing your room in warm light tells you it’s just after 1 o’clock in the afternoon.

You stretch out your limbs with a drawn-out grunt and bounce out of bed.

Today’s your day off from the diner but it’s the start of the week for your favorite job. A few months back when you’d been looking to make extra cash to visit your sister, a friend connected you with a job. She knew you painted and loved history and art. The job was for an assistant to the head restorer at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The restorer is a sweet man in his sixties with a horrible comb over and case of the sweats so bad his shirts constantly appear visibly wet. He’s also unfathomably kind of sees within you what others have always overlooked.

You’ve never considered yourself much of an artist, more of a hobbyist. But that man, with all of his experience and worldliness, seeing in you something worth growing gives you just about all the confidence in the world.

You work three days a week, Thursday through Saturday, alongside him. The job was supposed to be to help with filing, organizing tools, and cleaning up when needed. But he’d been so thrilled to have a painter apply that you hardly ever did any of those things. The office has ended up looking like a disaster more often than not but neither of you care. The work is the reward.

Well, the work is certainly a reward, but the job pays well. Well enough that you don’t really need a roommate anymore. But the city seems big and lonelier lately. Besides, Maggie’s a sweet, overly friendly girl and who knows what trouble she’d get into if you kicked her out.

Speaking of Maggie, her life as an actress is…flexible. She’s sure to make coffee whenever she knows you need to be up for the museum.

When you leave your room, Maggie’s at the table reading the paper. Her eyes are glued to the paper, shifting quickly as she reads a story headlined, “Masked vigilante strikes again! Four mobsters slain.” She absentmindedly jabs a piece of toast at her face, just missing her mouth.

“Well, well, well, Margaret. Late night, you see.”

Maggie flushes and hides her face behind the paper for a moment.

She has a way of inspiring the big sister urges in you, what with her button nose and freckled face framed by a curly mess of red hair.

“Honey, I’m so embarrassed. I heard you two talking in the hall, you know. I was just too ashamed to come out.”

She looks at you over the table and you lift the coffee pot as a question. She nods her head and you pour two mugs.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. I almost socked that James of yours, though, until I realized he was just a silly little puppy.”

Maggie laughs airily. “That’s one way of putting it.”

You slide into the seat across the table from her. “It’s nothing, really. I just fed him and sent him on his way. Think nothing of it.”

Maggie nods to you and goes back to reading her paper. You look at her, uncertain for a few moments.

“I’d like to ask you a question. I asked that boy of yours, too. But you think it’s the sort of thing that requires a woman’s intuition.”

“He is decidedly not my boy,” she giggles while setting the paper down. “But yes, please, go on.”

You fidget in your seat for a moment.

“Well, you know that guy I’ve mentioned from the diner? Francis?”

Maggie grins. “I know.”

“Well, last night he was later than usual and Tom wouldn’t hold open the kitchen. So, when Francis got there, I apologized so much and he eventually told me that– Well, I think he said that maybe I’m the reason he goes to the diner away.”

Maggie coos and claps her hands, bouncing excitedly in her chair. “Ooh, yes! Yes. I never told you but I stopped by once to get a look at him, you know, after you told me. And I swear, he’s just about the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. So, then what happened?”

“That’s just it,” you frown. “He said that and then he just left. How do I know he was serious? Maybe it was just a joke. I mean, he does jest somethings. Why else say something like that and then leave?”

“Honey,” Maggie says, leaning into me. “This is the game. Men and women have been doing this for centuries. Ever hear of cat and mouse? Well, he’s seeing if you wanna play.”

You stare blankly at her.

“What?”

“Sure,” Maggie says. “Tell me exactly what happened and don’t leave anything out.”

You take last night from the top, telling her how upset you were with your sister, how Francis had shown up in a state, and how after everything, he’s said that he doesn’t visit the dinner for the food.

Maggie bites her lip and grins. “My goodness. He’s good.”

“So, what do you do?”

Maggie tilts her head and fiddles with the ends of her hair.

“You don’t date much, huh?”

“Maybe not,” you bristle. “There was never much time for it growing up, taking care of everyone. Now it’s…difficult. People assume things and it seems like every guy I meet wants something from me.”

“Everybody wants to be wanted,” Maggie grins as her gaze softens into the distance. Her voice has that dreamy quality it sometimes takes on when you two talk love and romance.

“Sure,” you say before downing the rest of your coffee in a gulp. “But it’d be nice to be seen.”

She looks back at you and the grin gets bigger, “Francis sees you. He likes you. Maybe he just wants to know you see him, too.”

“Yeah,” you rub at a scuff on the floor with your socked toe. “Maybe. I’m going to get ready for work, okay? You wanna walk through the park with me?”

Maggie lets out a wistful sigh, her eyes soft and full of dreams again. “I’d love to. The park is so lovely this time of year.”

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

Balmy air caresses your bare skin as Maggie and you take your time walking through the park. You each have an Italian ice cup in your hands as you wander through the paths. An outsider might think you had no destination in mind.

“Have you ever been in love?” Maggie asks.

“Depends on who you ask. I say no but there was a boy back home I was supposed to be married to. Our families had it all planned out from the time we were small, but my heart wasn’t in it. Everyone kept saying we were meant to be, they’d call me by his last name. But I never felt it.”

“He like you?”

“Oh yeah,” you scoff. “A little too much if you ask me.”

Maggie nods. “He try to get fresh with you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you say with a shrug. “The real problem was that when I did actually meet someone, he’d scare them off. It kept on like that until I moved to the city.”

“At least you had a suitor,” Maggie says quietly. “Even if you didn’t want him, it’s more than I’ve ever had.”

“Margaret, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m completely sure that’s not true,” you laugh.

She whines your name and stomps off to dramatically drape herself across an empty bench.

“Oh, those aren’t suitors they’re boys to play with like a cat playing with the fat rat it killed. I mean I’ve never had a real prospect of love or marriage or any of it. I just fill my time with those boys because they’re everywhere.”

She tosses her empty cup toward the trash and misses. “Throw a rock and hit one, they’re nothing special.”

Maggie stands abruptly, gliding in to the center of the path. She raises her arms above her head and drawls loudly, “I want a man, not a boy. Lord, I desire a man who can sweep me off my feet, show me the world, and save me from the absolute horror of dating one more New York City boy!”

The female half of an elderly couple walking past glares daggers at Maggie. She pulls her grayed, hunchbacked husband in tighter while eyeing Maggie.

“Oh sure, honey! He’s a real catch, keep him close now!” Maggie shouts as the woman drags her husband down the path.

“Margaret!” you laugh as you run over to her. She locks her arm in mine and kisses you on the cheek.

“Yes dear?” she grins.

You two run off in the direction of the museum with your wild laughter lingering briefly in the spaces you leave behind.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

When Maggie walks you to the door, you realize you’re almost 10 minutes late. You sprint up the stairs and around back, shouting “hi there!” and “hello!” to the museum employees you see along the way.

“So sorry, Mister Cranston!” you shout as you burst through the door. You hang your purse and jacket on the door as you look around for Mister Cranston.

His desk is a mess per usual but empty. You glance around the room for his mess of white-gray hair.

You find a tuft of it moving under a table in the far corner of the room. There’s a gentle sound of shuffling papers as he slowly sifts through something.

“Mister Cranston?”

He pops a hand up over the table, “Over here, dearie!”

You walk around the table to find Mister Cranston sitting with at least a dozen piles of paper, shuffling them between piles and muttering to himself. The hand he raised to you lowers to scratch his head.

“I just don’t get it.”

“Do you need help?”

He gives you a warm, friendly smile. “No, sweetheart. I just wanted to find something so I looked for it in the papers and now I’m just amazed. You know these are the artist’s actual letters? He wrote his sister about this very work we’re restoring. He talked about everything: his technique, his motivations, the muse, his hopes for the piece, regrets about it.”

Mister Cranston sighs and lowers the piece of paper in his hand back into the pile.

“It’s a treasure trove,” he frowns. “Beautiful stuff.”

“Why is that sad, sir?”

“Because. I don’t know that I can do this one. In all of my years I’ve never come across such intricate work. To try and replicate it is…” he sighs again and slowly raises from his seated position.

He shakes his head as he walks away.

“I don’t think I have it in me, dearie.”

“Nonsense. Even if you’ve never done it, everything you’ve done ‘til now has been for this.”

He smiles sadly.

“Besides,” you grin. “You’ve got me. I’m no Rembrandt but I can imitate with the best of them.”

“That you can,” he pats you on the shoulder before making his way to his work station. “Ah, the optimism of youth.”

You scoff. “I don’t know about youth but I am optimistic.”

You pull up your stool next to his table. “So. What are we doing today?”

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

Every Thursday, Mister Cranston begins to pack up his tools at 8:15pm precisely. He relishes the extra time working alongside you when you don’t have the diner to rush off to.

When you’d been referred for the assistant role, half the appeal was that you could do what you loved into the night sometimes. Most people still hire women for day shift office work, assuming they must have children and husbands to hurry home to.

But Mister Cranston has never treated you any differently than anyone else at the museum. Well, aside from trying to set you up with his handsome son, Buck, about once a quarter. And today you were due.

“He’s a handsome devil but handy, that’s hard to come by! Attended university. And get this, he cooks! His ma wouldn’t stand for sending a boy out into the world so helpless he couldn’t cook himself a meal if need be. My mother on the other hand…” he trails off as he wipes at a bit of sweat on his receded hairline.

You nod politely, still engrossed in the painting in front of you. You’d spent ages stripping down the old, discolored painting and now was the truly fun part, getting to rebuild it back to its former glory. It almost felt like you were a real artist.

“I’ve told you before, sir, I enjoy Buck, he’s lovely,” you shrug. “But he’s looking for a wife and I’m not looking to be one.”

“Yeah, well. Can’t blame me for asking.”

He finishes cleaning the last of his tools and tosses them into the supply trunk. He grunts with the effort of closing the heavy old container before turning back to me.

“You almost ready, dear?”

“Hm?” you fight to tear your attention from the section on front of you. “Oh no, don’t worry about me, I’ll just finish this bit up and head on home.”

Mister Cranston frowns.

He says your name with a note of concern, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I know occasionally you’ll stay behind. But the city these days,” he shakes his head woefully. “I don’t like it.”

He moves over to your station and tries to pull the brush out of your hands. “Come along now.”

You giggle and retake control of your hand on the painting, “Mister Cranston, I swear, I’ll be just fine. Hell’s Kitchen is nowhere from where, it’s just a walk through the park and right down–”

“Oh honey, no,” he waves a hand to get your attention. “Please not through the park. At least stick to the streets. Promise me.”

You smile at him, “I promise. Down 5th, across to 45th, no park.”

He sighs and nods, “You’re a strong willed one.”

“S’what mama always said.”

“Right, right,” he walks away mumbling to himself.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

You lean back in your chair with a satisfied sigh. The painting is turning out better than you expected.

You move around the space, looking at it from different angles.

“Looks damn good,” you smile to yourself.

It’s only in the lull of satisfaction that you realize how much quieter it is. You check your watch, 11:09pm.

“Oh god, Mister C. would kill me!”

You make quick work of your cleanup and put things in their proper place before grabbing your coat and running out the door.

The night security guards know you by now and probably haven’t thought anything as they made their rounds.

Your footsteps echo throughout the silent space.

“Night, Gordon!” you yell out as you hurry for the employee exit.

In the distance, you hear Gordon yelling a good night to you.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

The city is never silent but it’s quieter as you rush down the streets. Your strides are long and quick as you make your way home. You take 5th and avoid the park as promised, already feeling guilty enough about lying to Mister Cranston about how late you’d stay.

His worry lives through you as you move, unbothered, through the streets of the city.

You finally relax a bit when you make it to 45th.

A block away from the apartment, you come across a construction site. The ground is dug up and water seems to flow freely down the street. Near the mess is a short man sitting in front of a “No Entry” sign and reading a book under the light of his hand lantern. He looks up as you approach.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Sorry, detour,” he points at the sign, then at the street that leads away from your apartment.

He goes back to his book.

It’s no big deal, having to go around the back and come in through the alley. You did it plenty that month when money was tight and you were avoiding your landlord like the plague. It’s a well-used shortcut during the day.

But as you stand at the mouth of the alleyway, it’s eerie and deserted. It feels different at night.

You stand there staring into a dark space only partially illuminated by two dim torch lamps over the service entry of a store.

You hesitate and start to turn back but there’s no other way in without going a block and a half around. After the trek home, you don’t think your feet could stand it.

With a deep breath, you enter the alleyway moving at breakneck pace.

The sound of your rapid footsteps echoing in the space is a little unsettling but it’s fine. You keep your eyes focused on the light at the end, rapidly expanding in your vision.

You’ve just passed the dumpster less than halfway through the alley when you hear a loud thud against the metal. With a start, you turn around to find a man in dark clothes slinking out of the shadows.

He smiles and a gold tooth catches a faint gleam of light from the lamp. The knife in his hand, shines, too.

“You don’t want any trouble,” he says, stalking toward you. “Just be a good girl and toss me that bag of yours.”

Your brain screams at you to just do what he says but you’re frozen in place, shaking too hard to think or comply with his request. When you open your mouth, a wordless stutter comes out.

As you struggle to form your words or move, another man steps out from the darkness. He’s further back and you can’t make out his form, but the sound of his gun cocking is unmistakable.

“Unless you ain’t got no money,” the second man says, slinking closer gold tooth. “Then…well, what if she ain’t got no money, mack?”

Gold tooth’s smile gets wider. “I don’t know, mack. S’pose we could compromise, bet she’s got something else worth our while.”

His words jolt you, sinking in quickly. You take off toward the end of the alley, screaming your head off.

“Help!” you shout into the quiet night over and over again.

The laughter of the men chasing you echoes through the alley.

You’re almost to the end of the alley when you hear and feel the warm air of a bullet narrowly missing you.

The shock of it seizes your body, you trip and fall across the threshold of the alley, your ribs and chin smashing into the damp concrete.

“Ah,” you groan. You wipe a hand across your chin. When you flip it over, it’s streaked with thin lines of blood. As you stare at your streaked palm, your vision blurs and the lines double.

You’ve almost forgotten where you are when a hand wraps around one of your ankles and yanks you backward into the alley. His other hand starts to pull at your tights. Remembering your surroundings, you scream so hard you can feel a twinge of blood gurgling with the spit in your throat.

Behind you, you hear one of the men shout. As the hand on your leg disappears, a gunshot is fired. You the man who’d grabbed you stand up and then the sound of blows landing. There’s the sharp sound of a blade hitting the ground and the meaty sound of fist pummeling face.

The man collapses back, falling partially on your body with a deflated grunt.

You let out a whimpering cry of pain as you begin to weep. The sobs rack your body as you become aware of the breeze hitting where your tights were slightly ripped. Your arms and face burn where they were scrapped across the ground.

You hear a gruff grunt above you as the man’s weight shifts off of you.

A gentle hand rests on your back. You squeeze your eyes closed and the cries come harder as you weakly kick your legs and hands back.

“Sweetheart, sweetheart, s’alright,” a soft voice calls out as you continue kicking and hitting the man behind you.

Then man lies down on his stomach and gets his face to your eye level. He gently holds your arms in place and calls your name.

“S’alright. You’re safe.”

As the crying subsides, you recognize the voice. You open your eyes to see Francis. He looks worried as he scans over your injuries. You look him over, too. His knuckles are red. He's as scraped up as when you saw him at the diner but he’s otherwise intact.

“You're safe sweetheart.”

You believe him and it makes you cry harder.

He rests a hand on your cheek.

“S’alright now, I promise.”

He cradles your head to his chest.

—–

Oof, I know, poor thing went through it. Thank goodness Francis was there...but why was Francis there 🤔

Let me know how you feel about this chapter in the replies! Reblogs + asks welcome, too. 

If you’re experienced as a beta or editor, feel free to drop me an ask if you’d be interested in helping me edit future chapters.

[junkyard-gifs]

mungojerrie has escaped containment!

he has to climb on the furniture and tell you about the naming of cats

and give that person with a camera a perfect view, in true cat fashion

Jon Clayton in 'The Naming of Cats'; Oasis cast 13, May 2023 (X).