#graphic depictions of pastries

[sephirthoughts]

Father: Verb

Summary: 11 year-old WMD Sephiroth is assigned a new handler/bodyguard, named Vincent Valentine.

(prev chapter linked at bottom)

Chapter 4: Birthday Cake

“Vincent, what’s a birthday?”

Vincent’s oil cloth stopped on the barrel of his gun, and he stared across the workbench at the child who had just cheerfully gutted him. “A birthday is the anniversary of the day of a person’s birth.”

“Well, yes, I had deduced that much,” Sephiroth replied, continuing to polish his katana’s long blade. “But on several occasions, I’ve overheard people saying ‘happy birthday’ to one another. Why should they wish another person happiness on the day of their birth? Why would they even know what day that person was born?”

Vincent felt a headache coming on. “Sephiroth, have you never celebrated your birthday?”

“No. Why should I?” the boy asked, curiously.

“It’s just…it’s a thing people do. Paying special attention to someone on their birthday is a way of showing them that we appreciate and care about them.”

The boy thought about this for a moment. “Do most people know what day they were born?”

“Do you not?”

“No.”

“Then, how do you know how old you are?”

“By the calendar. When the year changes over, I’m a year older. Isn’t that how everyone does it?”

“In some places, it is, but usually, people count themselves a year older on their birthday, not on the new year.”

“Oh. When is your birthday?”

“October thirteenth.”

“Then I want that to be my birthday, too, so we can celebrate them together,” Sephiroth announced. “Only, I don’t know how, so you have to tell me what to do.”

“October thirteenth is in five days. You sure you’re ready to turn thirteen, in less than a week?”

“It’s not as if I’ll really be older. Besides, you’ll be forty-one. Thirteen doesn’t seem very significant, comparatively.”

“Thanks for pointing out my age, brat,” Vincent said, tossing a wadded up polishing rag at him, which Sephiroth caught.

“It’s not my fault you’re old, old man,” he retorted, throwing the rag back. “So, how do we celebrate our birthdays? I’ve never had one before, so we have to make sure we do everything right.”

“Let’s see. My family always made longevity noodles, for birthdays, so we should do that. We should also have a birthday party. That’s where we exchange gifts, all wrapped up with paper and ribbons, and there are balloons, and most importantly, a birthday cake.”

“What are longevity noodles? Also, what’s a birthday cake?”

Vincent scratched his head. “Um…you know the udon you liked? Longevity noodles are a bit like that, except the whole bowl is filled with one long noodle, that you make by hand. I think the tradition came from my mother’s side of the family. Birthday cake…I don’t think you’ve had anything to compare it to. We’ll go to a bakery in town, tomorrow, and I’ll show you.”

When he stepped off the lift, the next morning, Vincent was greeted by the sound of screaming, and a troop of helmeted Shinra guards dashing by. He looked down the hall, in the direction they were going, just in time to see a man in a white lab coat come flying out of a pair of double doors and slam into the wall with a heavy thud.

He crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll, and didn’t move again. Vincent vanished in a whirl of crimson and reappeared at the scene, well ahead of that troop of guards. The scientist’s neck was broken, but it was difficult to tell if it was the impact that killed him, or the pair of scissors jammed into his trachea.

Just then, there was another scream and a loud crash in the room, and a young boy’s voice shouted, “Get away! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”

Vincent stopped the guards, with a raised hand, as they came jogging up. “Secure the area and stand by. Let no one through. I’ll handle the asset.”

“Yes, sir!” the guards saluted, and hurried to carry out his orders, extremely relieved not to have to confront the little monster themselves.

Vincent pushed open the door, and stepped cautiously into the room. Steel trays and various medical instruments had been flung all over the place, the bed was overturned, and a couple of unconscious guards were lying about on the floor.

Sitting against the wall on the left, was a woman in a lab coat, with a very obviously broken leg, and a man, also in a lab coat, clutching one arm to his chest, with one lens of his spectacles shattered, and blood all over his face.

Several guards were aiming air-powered rifles at Sephiroth, who was standing at bay, in a pastel green hospital gown, with tranquilizer darts sticking out of his body in various places.

“Sephiroth,” Vincent said, ignoring everyone else. “Why are you so upset? What happened?”

The boy turned sluggishly and looked at him, with hazy, dilated pupils, which was apparently the extent of the effect on him, of tranquilizers sufficient to take down several elephants.

“Vincent! Th—they tried to cut my hair!” he cried out, piteously. “I begged them not to, but they wouldn’t listen! That woman put something in my IV that made me dizzy. The other one, he had scissors. I told him I don’t like having my head touched! He grabbed my head anyway, and I—I panicked.”

“He was supposed to be sedated!” the man in the lab coat said indignantly, from where he and the woman were huddled. “He just lost it all the sudden and started attacking us! He killed Dr. Irvington!”

“Why the hell were you idiots trying to cut his hair?” Vincent returned. “This was supposed to be a routine physical.”

“It—it’s policy, sir,” the woman explained, apologetically. “All subjects are required to receive hygienic grooming, at the time of their annual health evaluation.”

Vincent’s crimson cloak billowed up behind him, like nightmare wings, as he stepped menacingly toward the two scientists. His eyes flashed gold, and his voice took on a rasping, demonic timbre. “Does he look like he is in need of hygienic grooming? Does he look like an animal in a cage, to you!”

The two had already been trembling and cowering, and now they were also shielding their heads with their arms. “No, sir! We’re so sorry! We made a mistake! We made a mistake! We’ll never do it again!”

“Sephiroth is not your subject,” Vincent growled. “If he tells you not to cut his hair, you do not cut his fucking hair. Guards! Get them out of here!”

The guards stowed their tranq rifles and rushed to assist the injured scientists out the door (and a few even had the wherewithal to drag away the unconscious among their own ranks). When the room was clear, Vincent knelt in front of Sephiroth and plucked out the tranquilizer darts, which he flung away.

Then he took the boy in his arms and hugged him tightly. “That must’ve been frightening, for you. I’m so sorry. I’ll never let them do that to you, again.”

“You’re…not mad at me?” Sephiroth asked, in a weak, slurring voice. “I made a mess and I…I killed that man.”

“Of course I’m not mad at you. This was not your fault, it was theirs. They made a conscious choice to mistreat you, and these are the consequences.”

“Conscious choice…to mistreat me,” Sephiroth murmured, as if he was practicing saying unfamiliar words.

“How’re the sedatives? Wearing off yet?”

“Mm-mm. Still woozy,” he pouted, dropping his head onto Vincent’s shoulder.

Vincent scooped the boy up like a princess, to carry him over to the sink. From the cabinet, he dug out a sleeve of paper cups, one of which he filled with water, and helped Sephiroth drink it, slowly. When his eyes looked clearer and more alert, he set the boy down again.

“Uh. So. I pet your hair a lot, when we’re playing around, but…I didn’t know you didn’t like having your head touched,” Vincent said awkwardly. “I won’t do it anymore, if it bothers you.”

“It’s ok when you do it. I like it,” Sephiroth assured him. Then his expression hardened. “But not other people. No one is allowed to touch me, but you.”

Now that he was sure the boy was alright, Vincent collected Sephiroth’s clothing and boots, from the locker that had been knocked over in the fray, and helped him get dressed.

“I don’t know how good a job I’d do, but if you want, I could try to help cut your hair,” he offered.

Sephiroth shook his head. “I don’t want it cut. I want to grow it long, like yours.”

Vincent definitely almost smiled, at that. “If you’re all better, let’s get out of here. We’re going to the bakery, to order our birthday cake, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

When they exited the examination room, the coroner was present, and the dead scientist was being zipped into a navy-blue bodybag. The unconscious guards and the two injured scientists were nearby, being loaded onto gurneys, by paramedics.

Behind Vincent’s back, Sephiroth shot the man and woman a look of icy contempt, causing them to nearly faint with terror, before he tossed his head and followed Vincent away down the hall.

Later that day, the office of Professor Hojo, head of Shinra’s Science and Research Division, sent out a memo regarding the unfortunate accident in the exam room, this morning, regretting the loss of their colleague, Dr. Irvington, and admonishing the staff to exercise proper caution when operating dangerous laboratory equipment.

No mention was made of Sephiroth’s involvement, but the message was loud and clear: the little silver-haired prince could literally get away with murder. There wasn’t a damn thing anyone was going to do about it.

“Birthday cakes happen to be our specialty!” the pretty blonde woman behind the counter enthused. “Made to order, in whatever flavors you like. Oh, and we have a catalogue to choose from, in case you’re not sure what you want. Let me grab that for you.”

While she went in the back, to retrieve it, Vincent continued to stand there looking dour and out of place, and Sephiroth went to examine the glass case, which was packed with muffins, cookies, breads, and rolls, and a number of other fascinating confections that he’d never seen before.

“Berry tart,” he read aloud. “That looks good. Chocolate croissants…cinnamon buns…profiteroles. Vincent, what are profiteroles?”

“I have no idea,” Vincent said, coming over to squint at the items in the case. “They look like…little bread balls. But they’re covered in chocolate.”

“What’s inside them? Butter?”

“Don’t tell me you two have never tried profiteroles!” the blonde woman chimed, as she reappeared with the catalogue. “Well, we can’t have that. Take a sample, on the house.”

Before they had a chance to agree or object, she’d already skewered two of the golden-brown, cream-filled treats, on toothpicks, and handed them over. Vincent held one stiffly, while Sephiroth bit into the other. His blue-green eyes went wide and he quickly stuffed the whole thing into his mouth.

“That was delicious!” he beamed, when he was finished. “Thank you very much, ma’am!”

“Anything for the handsome little gentleman,” she tittered, glancing sidelong at Vincent. “Such good manners, too. Your mother must’ve taught you well.”

“I don’t have a mother,” Sephiroth replied blithely, as he devoured Vincent’s profiterole. “She died shortly after I was born, and I never met her.”

The young woman laid a hand on her ample bosom and made her very best sympathetic face. “Oh, how dreadful! So, it’s just…you and your father, now?”

“Yes. We’re having a birthday party, for the two of us, since we don’t know anyone else.”

“That is so sweet,” she intoned. “But it’s such a pity to let this fine boy grow up without a mother. Why haven’t you remarried?”

“I haven’t remarried because I was never married, in the first place,” Vincent answered, to the young woman’s discomfiture. “I’d rather not talk about it. Seph, come look at the catalogue and help me choose a cake.”

In the end, Sephiroth chose something called white velvet cake, with strawberry filling, fluffy, white, buttercream frosting, and a ring of glossy, red strawberries on top. Their full names would be quite a challenge to fit on even a much larger cake, so he chose the inscription, ‘Happy Birthday V and S’ to be written in scarlet icing.

The cake was ordered to be picked up on the twelfth, and the two departed directly, much to the disappointment of the flirtatious clerk.

Neither she nor Vincent observed the venomous glance, from a pair of serpentine eyes, that was cast on her, before the beautiful boy followed the handsome man out the door.

“Vincent, why did you call me that?” Sephiroth asked, as they walked down the street.

Vincent had no idea what he was talking about. “Call you what?”

“When we were in the bakery, just now, you called me Seph.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Parents sometimes refer to their children by shortened versions of their names. It seemed appropriate.”

“Will you…call me that, more?”

Vincent paused and turned around. Sephiroth had stopped dead in his tracks, and was looking up at him, imploringly. His eyes were pink rimmed and his lower lip was trembling.

“It’s just. I don’t have anyone to shorten my name. I don’t have anyone but you. So, if you called me Seph, sometimes, maybe it would feel like I had a f—a father.”

“Of course I will. Anything you want,” Vincent said, pulling the boy into a hug (as he’d been doing far too often, lately).

Sephiroth had grown like a weed, even in the short year they’d been together, and his head was already up to Vincent’s collarbone. That was her height, and as her son’s head rested on Vincent’s chest, memory washed over him like a tidal wave.

He found himself submerged in that one moment, all those years ago, when he embraced her, just like this, and she laid her head on his chest. The first and last time he’d ever touched her.

Sephiroth stiffened suddenly and jerked away, drawing Vincent abruptly from his ruminations. The boy’s blue-green eyes were glaring up at him, with a half-accusing, half-wounded expression.

“Who is Lucrecia?”

“Who…what?” Vincent asked, confused. “Where did you hear that name?”

“You said it, just now,” Sephiroth fired back, with swiftly rising agitation. “You were hugging me and petting my hair, and you said ‘Lucrecia.’ Is she…is she your woman?”

“It’s not what it—”

“You said you didn’t want a woman! You said you would never care about anyone, more than me! You promised!”

“Sephiroth, calm down and listen to me. She is not my woman, ok?”

“Then who is she?” Sephiroth demanded, sounding anything but calm. “Why would you say her name, all soft and sad, like that?”

Vincent sighed. “She was…a friend, a long time ago. That’s all.”

Sephiroth was breathing hard and blinking rapidly, like he had dust in his eyes. Vincent watched his hands warily, for any signs of fire flaring up, but to his surprise, the boy managed to pull out of the tailspin, on his own.

He shook himself and took a deep breath, then looked at Vincent again. “Ok. I’m ok, now. I’m sorry I overreacted. Everyone lies to me, all the time, and I hate it. Everyone except you. You’re the only person I trust, and if I found out you were lying to me, too…there would be nothing true in the world. Nothing I could believe in. So, when I thought you had lied to me, I got a little upset. I apologize.”

Vincent’s soul-crushing guilt very nearly broke him, right there in the street. Only by his literally superhuman will, did he keep a straight face, and force himself to carry on with this hellish charade. “It’s alright. It was just a misunderstanding. We still have to buy the rest of the things for our birthday party. Are you ready?”

“Mm. Ready,” Sephiroth nodded.

Vincent took his hand, and they continued down the street, as if nothing was wrong. But Sephiroth quietly engraved that name on his consciousness.

Lucrecia.

There was more to this mysterious woman, than Vincent was letting on, and he was going to find out what.

NOTES:

i know masamune is an odachi, but little sephiroth has a katana

longevity noodles are a chinese tradition and yes i hc vincent half chinese or whatever the final fantasy equivalent is no one can prove he’s not

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

vincent: sephiroth my poor innocent baby what did these mean people do to you are you alright you must have been so scared

dead scientist, two severely injured scientists, and any number of unconscious guards: ...

prev chapter

[nolita-fairytale]

carmen 'carmy' berzatto masterlist

Thee Carmy x Reader 'Make My Heart Surrender' Universe (In Chronological Order):

comfort & chaos (prequel to make my heart surrender)

a series of vignettes: the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you. (completed)

october 2019 | covid & carbonara | heat waves | 2/22/22** | called you again | home**

the phone call (blurb - the phone call that gets reader to chicago in the first place)

make my heart surrender

after quitting your job at the restaurant you both used to work at, carmy asks you to come in and work with his pastry chef at his new spot, the bear. only, the longer you stick around, it becomes clear that you have unfinished business. will one week in chicago change your life, and his, forever? (completed)

tuesday | wednesday | thursday | friday (**18+ for smut) | saturday/sunday | monday | tuesday, again | the playlist

home (final chapter from comfort & chaos - **smut)

try a little tenderness (fluff & angst blurb)

cigarettes & coffee (fluffy blurb)

strawberries & cigarettes (fluffy blurb)

j is for james beard... and for jealousy (**smut oneshot | 18+ only)

your past and mine are parallel lines (fluff oneshot)

pov: carmy makes people magazine's sexiest chef alive list (fluff blurb)

bad moon rising (what if/angst-shot -- guest starring mikey berzatto)

sister-in-law (fluff oneshot -- guest starring natalie berzatto)

still into you (sequel to make my heart surrender)

you, syd, marcus, and carmy return to where it all began: new york city, prompting you and carmy to think a lot about your past... and your future together. (completed)

thursday | **bonus smut scene | friday | saturday | sunday | it's perfect, chef (**bonus smut scene)

don't want to walk alone

the long awaited wedding fic for carmy x reader in the make my heart surrender universe. this six part series chronicles the wedding planning, your (not) bachelorette party, the wedding, and the honeymoon as you build a life with your husband-to-be. (completed)

june/july | august | september | the honeymoon pt 1 | the honeymoon pt 2 | epilogue: november

granola blurb

carmy as your baby daddy

a social media au & headcanon series detailing your first pregnancy with carmy. created for the make my heart surrender universe, but can be read as a standalone work. this has been created in collaboration with @carmensberzattos & @allthefandomstogether , the graphic goddess. (completed)

part one | part two | part three | part four | give you my wild, give you a child (**smut-shot) | part five | part six | part seven

the social media au

scenes from the relationship & this story depicted as social media posts. won't always align with my other social media/moodboards.

part one | part two: first year of dating | part three |

extras/moodboards/headcanons/imagines:

your life as a pastry chef in chicago while dating carmy (moodboard & headcanon)

meeting mikey in another lifetime (headcanon)

pov: you're marrying carmen berzatto (moodboard)

honeymoon lingerie moodboard

christmas with carmy moodboard & blurb

The Bear: Unrelated to Make My Heart Surrender:

(nothing here YET but working on it)

so my darling | sydney adamu x male!chef oc

jealous!carmy & jealous!luca headcanon

stargazing with marcus brooks (blurb)

sneaking around with carmy (blurb)

[koiishyy]

The death of peace of mind (time is a thief)

ღ summary : Your keen sense for imminent threats and disaster's goes haywire during an otherwise once in a lifetime festival, and if you were given one more minute, then everything might have been different. pairing : porco galliard x braun! reader tags/content warnings : graphic depictions of violence, swearing, depictions of a panic attack and survivors guilt. pre-established relationship, hurt/comfort. a/n: this is the first reader fic i've uploaded to tumblr since i was fourteen, be gentle with my soul pls. enjoy!

₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊₊ . ⋆ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊₊ .

There’s a taste lingering on the tip of your tongue.

It’s sickeningly sweet and accompanied by an icy chill that sends goosebumps pricking across your biceps. Dribbling down the side of your hand, it trickles across your skin towards your sleeve. At this rate, it’ll stain the cream-colored uniform. With another lick, you quell the racing liquid.

Strawberries.

It tastes like well-ripened strawberries.

Ice cream isn’t a luxury you’re often afforded within the Liberio internment camp. It’s one of many foods that is solely attainable past the gates. A delicacy that the Marleyans decided to withhold from the spawns of devils. You can stain your hands with the blood of their enemies and do their dirty work, but they can’t even allow the simple, regular pleasure of ice cream.

Today is a different tale, however. Today is a celebration. The war against the Allied Forces took longer than predicted, but even with the countless setbacks, Marley’s victory reigns true.

All thanks to the race they despise so much, of course.

Now, there’s vendors packed, lining the streets of Liberio. Exotic foods and little knick-knacks sit front and present at every booth. It’s supposed to put the foreign guests at ease and make them feel happy that they signed a peace treaty with the country that proceeded to massacre them. There’s supposed to be a play about what you have no idea—at some point in the debrief you had tuned out Zeke’s voice.

The younger candidate’s run amok before you, weaving through the crowd with excitement gleaming in their eyes. Every sweet treat entices them, and every savory dish catches their wonder-filled eyes. Of course, your sister is among them; in fact, Gabi is the most vocal of them. Her brown eyes ogle fascinated over a monstrosity of a chocolate drizzled crepe, the desire to stuff her belly full of the unique pastries setting her up for stomach-aching punishment later.

She’s babbling to Reiner, whom, for once, you’re grateful for, over the treat. He’s been graciously paying for the food, even at your protests.

Over the years of your youth, you’ve butted heads more times than you’d like to admit with your cousin. His arrogance over being a half-blooded Marleyan being the biggest argument starter. Now, after he returned from Paradis, he’s different. Different in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. Whatever he went through with the island devils changed him. You don’t argue anymore, not like you used to.

Pieck has also been keeping up well with the candidates, trailing after them and engaging in conversation. You watch as money exchanges hands and Gabi receives her crepe. Pieck laughs as she practically inhales it after the first bite. You even manage to capture the faint crack of a smile from Reiner.

Udo and Zofia stand off to the side. Udo does most of the talking you notice. The kid has the innate ability to chatter on about any topic. Zofia listens, never once interrupting him or telling him to quiet down.

A little ways away, you spot the Grice brothers, who have ventured just a tad bit further than the group. Colt ruffles Falco’s hair, which earns him annoyed swats from Falco. You’re surprised that Falco isn’t glued to Gabi’s side.

Everyone’s having a fantastic time. Plenty of laughter is being had, and delicious food is being consumed and enjoyed. It’s good company. It’s a beautiful day. Most of the veteran warriors have even let their guards down.

Everyone is happy. So why can’t you be?

“Your ice cream’s melting.”

The words jolt you violently from your endless thoughts. Physically, your head recoils, jerking upwards in the direction of the familiar voice. In the midst of staring off into space, Porco has retreated to your side. He looks at you with a hint of concern and a wealth of curiosity written across his features.

Your eyes trail towards the half-eaten ice cream cone tucked in your grasp. It threatens to become a watery soup. The pink-tinted liquid trails in multiple lines down your hands, sticky and warm now.

“Shit,” You hiss softly, transferring the cone between your hands. You shake the hand covered in liquid, flinging droplets of ice cream against the ground. You’re not even sure why you’re still holding onto it—your appetite has long gone. Porco sighs, pulling a brown napkin from his jacket pocket. He extends it in your direction and you gladly take it. “Thanks.”

“What’s on your mind?” He asks.

“What?” You blink, tossing the ice cream into a nearby garbage bin. Shaking your head, you wipe your hands clean. “Nothing.”

Porco gives you a knowing look—a look you despise. A frown tugs at your lips. He never misses the slightest change in your behavior. You hate it.

“You always finish your food.” Porco points out. “Lying to me is stupid; why don’t you just tell me?”

He’s right; you hate that he’s right. Lying to him is stupid, considering you’re more honest with Porco than anyone else. You’re being difficult for no reason.

Well, you do have a reason, just not a particularly good one.

“I just have a bad feeling.”

Porco’s eyebrows furrow. “About this and the play?” He inquires, and you nod in response. “The allied forces have already signed the treaty. The war is over. No one would be dumb enough to plan an attack in Liberio anyhow.”

“Treaties are broken all the time.” You remind him.

Enchanting hazel eyes trail over your face, and your heart skips a beat. “It’s your gut, isn’t it?” Porco asks.

Instinctively, your hand grazes against your abdomen, a nauseating feeling building in your stomach. “My gut’s never wrong.” You say. “You should know, it’s saved your ass more times than I can count.”

“Not every time.” Porco argues. “Also, I save my own ass and everyone else's—and yours too.”

You roll your eyes. “Name one time I’ve been wrong.”

Porco’s lips part, the resemblance of a word forming on them, only for no sound to come out. They bob open and closed, and you can almost visibly see the gears turning in his brain. He looks stumped. He struggles for a moment, too stubborn to accept the truth, before finally relenting to the glaring reality.

Your gut has never been wrong.

This keen sense for imminent disaster was one of the reasons you earned your warrior candidacy. Gabi calls it your sixth sense. You could sense a threat from a mile away. No one could ever pull a stealth attack on you because your gut was never - and has never been wrong.

Porco’s eyes comb the crowd before wrapping one of his large hands around your wrist. He gently tugs you to an abrupt stop, redirecting your course to a secluded portion of the street—in an alleyway between two nearby buildings. The group continues onward, temporarily oblivious to the loss of two of its members.

Porco turns to you, serious as ever. His intense gaze causes butterflies to awaken and flutter about in your stomach. “Say your gut’s right; do you think we’d need to be worried about it?” He asks, his hand falling from your wrist to your hand and curling his fingers around your own. “It’d have to be one hell of a sneak attack.”

An exhausted, tense sigh falls from your lips. “Of course it would, but you saw how badly Reiner’s armored titan was destroyed by the artillery.”

“That’s because Reiner’s useless.” He grumbles under his breath.

You scowl, continuing with your train of thought. “And Pieck’s equipment takes precious time to transport and set up—time we won’t have.”

Apprehension lingers in him, but you can tell he believes you—or at the very least in you. Your eyes flicker across his face, knowing that he trusts you and that this pointless questioning is only for his peace of mind. He knows you would never be this worked up over something if you didn’t believe it. He knows you. He knows you.

So, he relents.

“I’ll let Pieck know.” Porco says, his hand trailing up to your cheek. He cups the side of your face, sighing. You lean into his touch—his soft, gentle touch. It’s a side of Porco that only you see regularly. “No one will trust just a gut feeling—especially not from us. So stay alert, okay? Stay near me until this is over.”

Relief floods through you instantaneously, and you nod. “I’ve got your back.”

“And I’ve got yours.” Porco smirks. He gazes at you for a moment, his cheeks growing a pinkish hue to them. His usual cool confidence falters. Shyly, he murmurs, “You look pretty today; did I tell you that?”

“No, you didn’t.” You grin. “But I’m only pretty today, though?” You tease.

“What? Well, no, of course not.” Porco flusteredly stammers out. A giggle breaks through your lips. “You look pretty every day; just today you—ah, goddammit, nevermind—forget it.”

It’s rare that you get moments like these. Moments where you are not warriors or dirt-blooded Eldians. Moments where your lives are simple and you get to act like every normal couple.

Embarrassed by your teasing, Porco grumpily attempts to depart. Softly laughing, you tug him back to you. “C’mon, I’m kidding, Pock.” You say, pulling him in by his jacket. “Stay with me. Just for another minute, please?”

He can never resist those puppy-dog eyes of yours. Porco sighs and obliges. “One more minute.”

The two of you lock eyes, and the world dissolves around you. Porco leans down, pressing his lips to yours. One kiss, two kisses, three. His lips envelope yours, gentle but a little sloppily. His hand slides up the small of your back, keeping your body pressed into his.

It’s bliss. Loving Porco is a private affair; these moments that bear the threat of the public eye are few and far between. You cherish them, silently wishing to scream your love from the rooftops. A wish that will never come to fruition—not with your positions.

Coming up for air, you pull back. Still not wanting to break the bubble just yet, Porco leans to press his forehead against yours. The tip of your nose kisses his, and a small smile tugs at your lips. Your eyes lull shut once more, savoring every moment of this temporary peace.

Until you hear the distinct sound of someone calling for you, Gabi’s voice rings across the streets. Your eyes spring open, and you catch a glimpse of her on the main road, Reiner in tow. You still, watching as they disappear down the street.

“Minute over.” You murmur.

Porco hums in response. “Minute over.” He echoes, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s go.”

---

One more minute.

Clawing at your throat, bile threatens to spill over from you. There’s an aching in your chest, a hammering against your ribcage. Your heart threatens to crack the very ribs that protect it. Your footsteps feel heavy, weighted by cement. There’s a dull pain thudding behind your dry, bloodshot eyes, the capillaries in them threatening to burst at the seams.

You wish you would have stayed in that alleyway for just one more minute.

Corpses would still litter the streets of the place you call home, crimson blood pooling against the concrete and staining the pavement. The hospitals would still be overfilled—maximized to their capacity—and even then, with patients scattered across the hallways. Smoke would still billow, flames roaring in the midst of building debris. The crisp, icy water of the sea would still hold the remnants of Marley’s naval fleet—pieces of their vessels floating aimlessly across the ocean.

A minute wouldn’t have prevented this. A minute wouldn’t have fixed this.

But for a minute, the vile image of Zofia’s pulverized upper body wouldn’t be on repeat in your mind—the mental image of her limp legs connected to nothing haunting you whenever you squeezed your eyes shut. A minute would have spared you the feeling of Udo’s arm slipping from your grasp in the midst of the panic. A minute would have given you the opportunity to hold your sister close, keeping Gabi by your side and never letting her go. Another would have prevented her from boarding that airship and taking Falco with her.

Breathe.

You have to order yourself to take deep breaths, lest you claw at your skin and tear the feeling of guilt out of your muscles. The miserable feeling clutches your chest like a vise, constricting your lungs. Tears threaten to spill from the corners of your eyes. You blink them back—you don’t get to cry, not yet.

Breathe.

Forcing out another sputtering breath is like swallowing a hot coal. The acidic burn in your throat is only reinforced by the action. You keep swallowing, attempting to provide some sort of aid to no avail.

The Paradis devils. Eren Yeager. They’ve destroyed your home and killed innocent civilians who had nothing to do with the Warriors actions. And now they have Falco and your sister—your baby sister.

Through the shroud of grief, there is only panic.

Is she a prisoner of war? Is she dead? Are they going to torture her for information? Will they use the same methods that Marley does? You don’t even want to think about it.

Your gut tells you she’s alive.

And it’s so hard to breathe.

Breathe.

You failed them.

It’s clear as day, plain and simple. You should have spoken up and told someone with a higher ranking about your gut feeling. Instead, you doubted your judgment. General Magath might have listened, though the rest really would have never believed something as silly as a gut feeling.

But you did fail them: Zofia, Udo, Gabi, Falco, Pieck, Reiner, Colt...

Porco.

Oh god, Porco.

You finally reach his bedside, unsteady and five seconds away from completely unraveling. The feeling of breaking completely only intensifies as your eyes roam Porco’s unconscious body. The Warriors took a brutal assault from Eren Yeager, one that not even your gut could have predicted.

Temporarily, relief floods you. Porco is alive; his body is regenerating. It’s clear the doctors have done all they can for him, the only course of action to allow the titan’s power to complete the rest.

It’s the worst shape you’ve ever seen him in after a battle.

You practically collapse into a nearby chair, unable to stand on the two feet that have been carrying you throughout Liberio tonight. All you can do for a moment is stare at him, watching as his chest slowly rises and deflates. He’s alive. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive...

And Udo and Zofia are not.

Shakily, your hand reaches out for Porco’s, his fingers clammy and cold to the touch as you clasp your hand around his. Thousands of emotions rush through your veins, and your mind fights tooth and nail to make sense of all of them. You cling to him, the relief of him being alive and the guilt of being glad that he is alive swirling within you all at once. How are you going to be glad he’s alive when your sister is gone and people are dead? How are you going to feel glad he’s alive when you should have been by his side in the first place?

You don’t know.

You break.

The tears come pouring out in rapid succession. “I’m sorry.” You say this through gritted teeth, lowering your head against Porco’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left your side.”

You fall asleep curled over his bedside, his hand in yours, clinging on for dear life.

---

Porco doesn’t wake for a while, even after his body has recuperated.

Over the span of his unconsciousness, you’ve been flip-flopping between the hospital and your home in what little free time you’re offered, checking on your parents and giving your aunt updates on Reiner.

Your parents are wrought with grief, convinced that Gabi has been killed. The crying is incessant from your mother, while your father is stone-cold and quiet. But you know better—Gabi is not dead. You don’t tell them that, though; the fate of her being alive in the hands of the island devils might be worse than her being dead.

When Porco does wake up, you’re there.

You barely register the subtle flex of his fingers against yours; he is far too busy spacing off. Porco stirs to life, a pained grunt erupting from his lips. His eyes flutter open, adjusting to the haze of his newfound surroundings and trying to come to terms with what he remembered before blacking out. By the time you notice, he’s already speaking.

“You're going to squeeze my fingers off.” Porco’s raspy voice grumbles from beneath you. Dazed, his tired eyes peer up at you from beneath heavy lids.

His first words to you almost want to make you laugh—or cry—solely because of the fact that he’s speaking. Porco’s always been terrible with words. When he confessed his love to you, it took you a good ten minutes to actually understand what he was saying. It’s one of the most endearing things about him.

But you can’t muster a laugh, and you’ve almost cried your body's weight in water. There’s nothing left for you to do besides softly gasp, “You’re awake.”

"Yeah, and I hurt like hell.” Porco murmurs, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. You turn and reach for the water at his bedside as he props himself up. He squeezes your hand as he takes it. “What happened?”

Your body stills, reforming itself into something statue-like. One wrong move, and you're certain your limbs will crumble into dust. Regardless of what you believe, you have to tell him everything, much like you had to fill in Pieck when she awoke.

So you do. You tell Porco everything that has happened or did happen as a result of Paradis’s raid on Liberio. You recount the death toll as you know it, including Zofia and Udo. You assure him that his parents are okay. You tell him the effort to rebuild the destruction and scrub the city clean is already under way. You tell him about Pieck and Reiner, you tell him about Zeke.

Much like you did, Porco goes through a range of emotions. The prevalent one is anger; you can see it bubble and dwell beneath his skin. A fierce look glints in his eye, and you let him break into a tangent, surprised that he managed to keep his anger controlled this long. Deep down, you know he blames himself, much like you do.

Once he cools, he looks at you. “How’s Gabi?” He asks.

Your mouth runs dry. You had been purposefully pushing that part of the story until the bitter end. “Gabi’s….Gabi’s gone.” You strain out.

“Gabi’s dead?” Porco’s eyes grow wide. He leans forward, all attention on you.

You shake your head. “Gabi’s not dead.” What little tears you can produce struggle their way out, burning white-hot at the corners of your eyes. “S-she’s gone. They took her. She boarded that damn airship, and Falco went with her.”

It becomes a struggle to breathe again. The all-consuming panic crashes over you like a tidal wave. You wish you could be stronger about it, like you have been, but in the presence of Porco, you shatter all over again.

“Hey," Porco coaxes, tugging at you. “C’mere.”

You crawl into the creaky hospital cot with him, careful about where you put pressure. You don’t care what your position is or who sees it; you need him. Porco seems to have the same sentiment as he guides you. You rest your head against his chest, thankful for the slow, steady beat of his heart that thuds in your ears.

“She’s gone, Pock. They took her and Falco, and they killed Zofia, and it’s all my fault.” You whimper against his chest, once again fighting back the trickling downpour on your cheeks. Absent-mindedly, Porco’s fingers comb through your hair.

“Don’t say that.” Porco firmly commands. “This isn’t your fault. This isn’t anyone’s fault but those fucking island devils'. I swear-“

“Porco.”

He sharply inhales, running his free hand along his mouth. “What?”

“I should have had your back.” You say, curling into his body. “I’m - I'm really glad you’re alive.”

Porco’s fingers grow still in your hair. You hear the quick skip of his heartbeat, and your eyes flicker to his face. A faint smirk pulls at his lips. “They can’t kill me that easily, not when I have you to come back to.” He tells you. Porco pulls you as close as he can, mushing your bodies together. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “We’ll get Gabi back, I promise. Whatever it takes.”

You believe him, body and soul, because you know him. Nodding at his words, face brushing against the rough fabric of his shirt, you mold yourself against the shape of his frame. You clutch to the only thing that makes sense in the world at the moment—tired and weary.

“I love you.” You murmur.

A quick second passes, and you begin to believe he hadn’t heard you, until he murmurs back a soft "I love you, too.”

And in that minute, you wish you could stay in his arms forever.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Everything the Same

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 2

Series Masterlist           Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: Swearing, mild violence, descriptions of Frank's nightmares, non-graphic depictions of eating disorder (reader doesn't eat much and it's noticed, that's literally it)

a/n: Writing this chapter gave me butterflies. It's very fluffy. Please enjoy. As always, I love comments and feedback!

w/c: 4.4k

As the weeks passed, and as Frank continued to learn more about you, his infatuation only grew. He learned that you had introduced yourself to nearly the whole building at this point. He found out that you would bake cookies for Gladys in 2B every few weeks when her grandchildren visited and that you were a fan-favorite of the young couple on the fifth floor who claimed you were the only person besides themselves who could get their unruly toddler down for a nap. 

Even Reggie, who was quite possibly the only person more crotchety than Frank himself, had a soft spot for you after you’d helped him find his lost cat. 

He wasn’t quite sure how he, a mass murderer, had befriended the manifestation of sunlight, but he couldn’t complain. You kept his pantry stocked with unique and, honestly, sensational pastries and kept his spirits high with your gorgeous laugh and constant smile. The truth was, you were the best thing to happen to him in years and Frank wasn’t prepared to let that go—despite his more rational side desperately asking him to leave you the fuck alone, for both of your sakes. 

He shoved the warning bells aside, once again convincing himself that a simple friendship wouldn’t be too dangerous for either of you. Besides, you seemed to enjoy his company as much as he did yours, which made no sense to him but who was he to question the choices of an angel such as yourself. 

An angel who was endearingly demanding (I’m not demanding, Frank, I’m insisting) that he sit down to have lunch with her and her coworkers after they closed up shop. 

The cafe was quickly becoming a safe haven for Frank, even on days when his mood was especially bitter. Anyone with common sense would be able to determine that you worked here. Everywhere he turned, there were touches that you had clearly added to the cafe. A sensory sensitive area complete with weighted throws and fidget toys, beautiful arrangements of local wildflowers in the windows, soft upbeat music playing from the speakers. 

Once, when he’d gotten there right as the store opened, he’d been lucky enough to catch you singing along. The sight of you dancing through the kitchen, using a wooden spoon as a faux microphone as you belted out the lyrics to the song playing overhead, had carried him through the rest of the week. With the hope that he could bear witness to the event again someday, he’d basked quietly in your glory, making his presence known after you’d finished your performance. 

While your shop served a damn fine cup of coffee, it was your presence and the knowledge that you had purposefully crafted this space for those you cared about that kept him coming back. 

Which is how he found himself being interrogated by your coworkers as you finished up behind the scenes. Frank hadn’t intended to strike up a conversation with the bakery’s other employees, but they seemed overjoyed to share embarrassing stories and tidbits about you, and Frank greedily indulged. Apparently, you baked homemade dog biscuits for the local shelter once a month, which seemed on brand. You had a complicated relationship with your family, but you were close with your siblings. You were loyal and fiercely protective of the people you loved. Every word out of your friends’ mouths made Frank’s heart grow fonder of you. 

“So, Frank,” The flashy one, Leo, smirked at him from across the booth they were currently seated in. 

“Pete.” You corrected from behind the counter as you grabbed food for everyone. Frank had made up some cock and bull story about a rabid ex-girlfriend who was looking for him and asked you to call him Pete in public. A blush crept over his cheeks just thinking about how stupid that sounded after the fact. 

“Sorry, Pete,” Leo corrected. “How did you become friends with our loveable chef here?” 

“My dog broke into her place a while ago. Fell in love with her. Clearly, I had no say in the matter.” He grumbled, smirking a tiny bit as you spun around, hands pinned to your hips, an incredulous look on your face. 

“‘Had no say in the matter’, who was knocking on my door at 11 pm yesterday because he was hungry and I said I was cooking. Sure as shit wasn’t Max.” You huffed, Frank’s sly grin growing. It didn’t take much to work you up but, fuck, if this wasn’t one of the cutest displays of frustration he’d ever seen. 

“He’s a man of good taste, you’re the best cook there is, Princess.” Leo snorted, giving Frank a knowing look. 

Frank’s brow furrowed. “Princess?” 

“It’s the nickname we gave her.” Your grumpy coworker, Stacy, said with little emotion as she plopped down beside Leo. “Because she acts like a damn Disney character.” 

Frank laughed as you started sputtering, trying to dispute the allegations. “You do act like a Disney Princess, sunshine. Is that such a bad thing?” 

You huffed with an exaggerated frown, plopping yourself in the booth beside Frank, who pressed his shoulder to yours in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Oh god, has she even told you about her baby animal acquisition talents?” Leo chuckled at your growing embarrassment. 

Frank barked another laugh, “The fuck does that even mean?”

“It means, that if there is a hurt, scared, or young animal within a 5 mile radius, it will find her.” Stacy had a small smile on her face as she snatched one of the sandwiches you’d set on the table. “I swear, she’s got like a magnetism.” 

“It’s cosmic, really.” Leo agreed, already halfway done with their sandwich. “This one time, she found a hummingbird outside the cafe. Poor thing was wrapped in cobwebs, couldn’t fly. She sits there and meticulously unwraps it, and, after it could fly again, the bird chooses to sit in her lap for like an hour like they were old friends.” 

“People literally approached her on the street once to ask if she could help them rescue baby bunnies. There was a whole mess of people, they chose her.” Stacy pointed out, smirking as you buried your face in your hands. 

Frank nudged you with his hip. “Hey now, don’t be embarrassed. It’s cute.” 

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You really think so?” 

“Yah, sunshine. I do.” 

“Not to mention, your wardrobe is like 100% dresses.” Stacy sniggered, polishing off the food on her plate. 

“And, you are so graceful yet so clumsy.” Leo continued. 

“And—“ You waved a hand, cutting Stacy off. 

“Ok, I think we are done embarrassing me for the day.” Clapping your hands together, you started stacking plates. Frank frowned, seeing the small sandwich you took for yourself remained mostly untouched. 

“Who are we supposed to embarrass then? Pete?” Stacy rolled her eyes. 

“I’d really rather you didn’t. He’s very sweet and I’d hate for you two to scare him off.” You wound your arm around Frank’s much larger one, rubbing it gently. 

“‘M not sweet.” Frank grumped, graciously allowing you to retain a hold on his arm. 

“Aww see!! Look at that grumpy face.” You poked his cheek and he growled softly, still not taking his arm back. Giggling, you squished in closer to him. “Sorry, Pete. I’m just teasin’”

Untangling yourself from him, you got up to take the stack of plates to the kitchen. The loss of contact exposed him to the blasting AC, and the chill made his scowl deepen. 

“Pete,” Your voice rang out from the kitchen. Waltzing back into the front room, you grinned at him, tilting your head with a question. “Walk me home?” 

Basking in your bright glow, Frank forgot how to speak for a second. “Uh, yah. Yah, I can do that, Sunshine.” 

Dutifully turning off the lights and hanging up your apron, you gave a twirl around the counter—giggling at the way your dress spun. 

“Disney. Princess.” Stacy whispered emphatically to Frank, smirking at his wide eyes and forgotten scowl. 

Frank pushed himself up from the booth and opened the door for you. “Thanks, sweetheart.” You squeezed his shoulder before walking through the door. 

The two of you maintained a good pace, as you walked the few blocks back to your apartment building. You were giddily chittering away about new recipes you wanted to try your hand at and, as much as it pained him to admit it, Frank wasn’t listening. At the very start of your trek home, you’d grabbed his hand so that the two of you didn’t get separated in the midday crowds. The heat of your palm against his pushed everything else away. Your skin was unbelievably soft, and your fingers threaded through his as if they were created with his hands in mind.

“Frank?” Your voice broke him out of a daze. He took in his surroundings, blushing when he realized you’d reached your shared building already. He was so gone for you already. You could’ve pulled him across state lines and he would’ve happily let you. 

“Frank? Are you ok?” 

“Uh, yah. Yah I’m ok. Just tired.” 

Your pristine brow furrowed and his heart sank, hands longing to cradle your face and smooth the crease that had settled on it. “You’re tired? Did my friends and I wear you out? I’m so sorry!” You’d taken both of his hands now and he had to focus a significant amount on the words he was forming. 

“Nah, I just don’t sleep well. It ain’t your fault.” He shrugged, noticing how small your hands looked around his. You squeezed his hands gently, prompting him to meet your concerned gaze once more. 

“You sure you’re ok? I know that I can drain people’s energy—“ 

Frank drew one hand out of your grasp, nestling it against your jaw. “I’m ok. You—you make me happier than anyone has in…a long time. If people make you feel like you’re exhausting, find new people, yah?” 

You chuckled, averting your eyes but leaning into his tender hold. “Yah. Ok, Frankie.” 

“C’mon. Let’s get you home, darlin’.” 

Hours later, a shrill ringtone pierced Frank’s tranquility. Tossing his book aside in a huff, he picked up the call. 

“What do ya want, Curt?” Frank's voice had more of an edge than it should have, but the thought of Curtis and David gossiping about his shitty moods was enough to push him into one. 

“Damn, nice to hear from you too. Didn’t see you lurking at group today, wanted to check in and make sure you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself killed.” The man on the other line sounded equally annoyed. 

“Unfortunately, I am still breathing. That all ya needed?” 

“Christ, Frank. You’re making it really hard to want to be your friend, you know that?” 

Frank sighed. “‘M sorry, Curt. I’m ok. Promise. Not holin’ myself up in my apartment or anythin’. I know it ain’t easy stickin’ with me.”

“It’s all good. Come to group next week, will ya? I know it’ll be…tougher than usual. I’m here for you, don’t forget that.” 

“I appreciate it, man. I—yah, I’ll be there.”

“Good. Seeing your ugly mug will make me feel better before my date.” 

“She didn’t dump your ass yet? You're treadin’ water, man.” Frank chuckled. 

“Yah, yah. I don’t know, Frank. She makes me happy. That’s what it’s all about, you know?”

Frank smiled to himself, hearing your giggles somewhere in the back of his mind. “Yah. That’s great, Curt. ‘M happy for ya.” 

“Thanks, Frank. See you next week then?” 

“Yah. I’ll be there. Bye, Curt.” 

She makes me happy. His friend’s words echoed in his ears. Before he could set his phone aside, an idea formed. He swallowed his nerves and dialed the number. 

Curled up under a blanket on your overly squishy couch, you could feel your eyelids growing heavy as you tried to focus your attention on the screen in front of you. 

Reruns of some 90s sitcom flashed past your glazed eyes. You were tired, but it was barely 7 pm! Letting your head fall against the arm of the couch with a dull thunk, you chided yourself. You knew exactly why you were exhausted at this early hour. The stress of the move a few weeks ago combined with your recent family visits had pushed you backwards into old, less healthy habits. God, you needed to eat something, but your stomach remained silent. 

You rubbed a hand over your eyes, pulling out your phone to stimulate your brain further. Your heart did a somersault as you noticed the text waiting unanswered on your screen. 

Frank: Hey, I ordered too much pizza. You hungry? 

Well, wasn’t that a wonderful offering from the universe. Grinning, you swiped open your phone and typed out a response. 

You: I could eat. If the offer still stands, of course. 

It didn’t take long for another message to pop up. 

Frank: The offer always stands for you, sunshine. 

With a giggle, you lifted yourself from the couch, running out the door and down the hall to rap your knuckles gently on Frank’s door. 

Though you and Frank hung out pretty much daily now, this would be the first time you’d hung out at his apartment. Not that you hadn’t seen it before, he often invited you along on walks with him and Max, but you were eager to really take the place in. A person’s living space can tell you so much about them—and you were dying to learn more about the beautiful, grumpy person living next door to you. 

As if your train of thought had summoned the very man, you heard heavy footfalls quickly pacing before the door opened. Frank’s face was ruggedly handsome. Deep brown eyes that always seemed to be observing above a crooked nose and a magnificent jawline beneath a thick beard. His wavy dark hair was growing longer by the day and you longed to run your fingers through it, to see if it was as soft as you imagined. 

Currently, the sea of black strands was hanging loosely around his face after a day of living whatever life it was that Frank lived. When his gorgeous ochre eyes settled on yours, his expression softened which made your heart sing. Your excitement quickly drifted south as his gaze roamed over your body. Before you could dwell on that fact too much, a scoff-like laugh startled you from the daydream. 

“All dressed up for me, are ya Princess?” Frank’s lips were barely upturned but his expression was impressively smug. 

Looking down at your outfit with a frown, you pulled at the hem of your oversized crew neck which nearly covered the soft cotton shorts you wore. 

“Hey! When you invite me over after business hours, you get what you get. I wanted to be comfortable!” Your frown became a dramatic pout. 

Frank laughed harder. It was impossible to take you seriously when you were so goddamn cute. 

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll order my own pizza.” You huffed, sticking your nose into the air. 

As you turned to go, a calloused hand shot out to grasp your wrist. 

“I’m just kiddin’, sunshine. You look beautiful, as always.” Staring into his eyes, you felt heat creeping up your neck as you realized the compliment was genuine. Pushing away the embarrassment that always overtook you when someone commented on your looks, you rolled your eyes. 

“Sure, sure. Bet you say that to all the girls, Castle.” 

The amusement fell from the large man’s expression. Frank tugged your wrist gently, drawing your body into his with ease. His free hand came up to cup your cheek, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity you hadn’t seen from him before. “I mean it. You’re beautiful, honey. Amazes me every damn day, hand to God.” 

Taking in a sharp breath, you swallowed the lump of emotion in your throat. “Thank you, Frank. That, uh, you don’t know how much that means to me.” 

Frank’s porcelain skin darkened with a blush. “‘S the truth.” Clearing his throat, he stepped backwards into the apartment, gesturing for you to come in. 

You curtsied clumsily, grinning at him. “Why thank you, my liege.” 

Smile returning to his eyes, he shook his head as you nearly tripped with the action. “Christ, sit down before you break somethin’, ya goof.” 

You giggled, happily taking his hand as he helped you sit down on the couch without incident. Breathing deeply, your smile widened at the sight of a scented candle on Frank’s mantle. Stifling another giggle, you let your gaze drift over the space in front of you, absorbing every detail you could about your new friend. 

The room was simple: very few decorations, only necessary furniture. That much was not a surprise, the emptiness of Frank’s apartment was apparent to anyone who caught half a glance past the doorway. Once inside, though, you noticed the details that made this apartment so vividly Frank that you couldn’t help but explore a little. 

There were very few pictures in the apartment, but two frames stood next to the burning candle above the fireplace. One was the smiling faces of two children, a boy and a girl, laughing openly at something behind the camera lens. The next was the same kids seated in front of a beautiful woman on a picnic in a park. The woman was smiling at the camera while the kids looked off to the side. 

Gingerly brushing a finger over the frame, you found your thoughts wandering. Frank didn’t talk much about his family, but two weeks ago you’d noticed the ring hung around his neck. It didn’t take much time for you to piece together who he was, the name “Frank Castle” was nearly impossible to find on the internet these days (someone very dedicated had taken up the task of clearing this man from the digital world), but you’d lived just outside of the Kitchen when his trial was the only thing everyone wanted to talk about. Though your curiosity grew by the day, you tried to respect his privacy by not digging into his history. 

His hesitation to talk about it was enough to signal to you that his memories were not all positive, so you hadn’t pushed—hoping that he’d feel comfortable enough to share his experiences with you on his own terms. The world had taken so much from Frank Castle, the least you could give him was his autonomy. 

Moving on from the photos, you shook your head to clear the images of Frank facing all of these horrors alone. You’d do your best to keep him company going forward. 

Hidden in an alcove near his bedroom was a beautifully crafted mahogany bookshelf, practically bursting with novels. Walking over to the magnificent piece, you began running your fingers over the worn spines of books by Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and the like. But, what stood out to you was the substantial collection of feminist novels and volumes of collected poetry. 

You heard a deep rumble behind you. “Ya gonna eat anythin’ or are ya too busy snoopin’?” Frank’s exaggerated grouse made you chuckle. His large hands balanced a pizza box and two beers. 

“I absolutely had you pegged as a ‘classic lit’ fan, but bell hooks?” You looked at him inquisitively, prying the beers from his hand and plopping yourself back on his worn couch. 

Frank simply shrugged, setting the pizza in front of the two of you. “She’s gotta different perspective than me. Sometimes it’s necessary to think about someone else’s view of the world, I guess.” 

“I absolutely agree. Talking Back is one of my favorites.” You smiled at him, heart spinning as you noticed a blush creeping up past his beard. 

Frank forced his mouth back into a scowl, refusing to dwell on the way his chest lightened after you expressed your approval for some of his more “controversial” literature. Throwing open the top of the pizza box, he snatched a piece and shoved it in his mouth to avoid looking at you. 

“You know, Frank, I’m starting to think you might have ordered this pizza for me, specifically. I seem to recall raving about the #3 from Capizzi when we passed the building last week.” You raised an eyebrow at him before grabbing a slice, closing your eyes as you practically inhaled it. 

Opening a beer, Frank didn’t turn to face you. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” 

“Aww, you like me, don’t ya, sweetheart.” You poked Frank’s shoulder, making him growl. Giggling once again at his persistent grouchiness, you snatched another slice of pizza. “Don’t be embarrassed, I like you too.” 

Frank refrained from smiling, eyes glancing towards you as you ate happily beside him. He was goddamn relieved that you’d accepted his offer. Not just because it meant he got to bask in your presence yet again, but also because there was no way the few bites of sandwich he’d seen you eat earlier was enough to satisfy your gorgeous self. He wasn’t quite sure why you ate so little, but he’d be damned if you starved on his watch. 

Startling slightly as your thigh pressed against his, he heard your melodic voice prompt him yet again. “Which classic author have you enjoyed the most?” 

“Dunno. Depends on the day. Recently, I’ve liked Hemingway. But he’s—dark.” Frank’s brow furrowed, worried that his honesty would reveal his demons and scare you away. 

“Makes sense that you’d like him then, you grumpy Gus.” You snorted, beaming at him as he rolled his eyes. “Just teasing. He’s a great author, despite the blatant sexism. Hills Like White Elephants is an incredible piece. It was on my mind for weeks the first time I read it.” 

“Not familiar with that one.” 

“It’s one of his short stories, just a little thing about a woman being ‘persuaded’ into an abortion. Definitely not the best pro-choice stance, but the symbolism is unique and it comments on an interesting dynamic of some relationships. It’s one of the only stories I actually remember from school, besides The Yellow Wallpaper. That one I can never forget.” You shuddered, turning your attention back to your pizza. 

“Don’t think I’ve read that one, either.”

“Oh Frankie, you have to read it. It’s dark as fuck…you’ll love it.” You grinned at him slyly, making him smirk. 

“You really are somethin’, ya know that?” Crossing his arms, Frank raised a brow as you cackled gleefully. 

“So I’ve been told. Someone’s gotta be a pain in your prickly ass, though.” You let your head fall against his shoulder, looking deep into his eyes. 

Stomach flipping at your affection, he gave into impulse and rested his forehead against the crown of your pretty head. “Better you than anyone else, sunshine.” 

He could feel your brow pinch as your nose scrunched with a smile. Your soft lips pressed a kiss to his shoulder before you pulled away. “Seriously though, you have to read that one. It’s such a mind fuck. I swear I still have nightmares about it.” 

Frank let out a breath, body melding into his mattress. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, you were easing the day to day pain he had grown accustomed to. You’d stumbled into his life on a whim and he was holding onto you for dear life. 

Though very few people had ever seen it, Frank’s loyalty meant he fell for people hard. The pain of losing his family made it easier to push people away, to shelter that part of himself, but you’d scaled those walls without breaking a sweat. You were pure sunshine, golden and heavenly, bringing life and love to those around you. He just hoped that he wasn’t the Hades to your Persephone. 

Falling asleep that night should not have been as easy as it was, but your presence had soothed his nerves. Breathing deeply, he replayed the sound of your laughter in his head until he drifted off to the image of your smile painted on his eyelids. 

Unfortunately, the peace you'd shrouded his apartment in was shattered by his subconscious. 

The nightmare started the same as always. A hazy view of his bedroom, lit by the sun shining through large windows. As he opens his eyes, there’s a figure in the doorway. She’s slender with dark hair and as she steps closer, her face sparks recognition. Maria. 

His late wife climbs into bed, pressing kisses to his limbs. He feels his body startle awake as his eyes settle on her smiling face. 

But it’s no longer Maria. 

Sitting in his lap, grinning back at him beautifully is you, his adorably kind neighbor. 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” It’s your voice, not Maria’s, that makes him shudder with the familiar phrase. Before the dream can continue, the setting morphs. 

You’re in front of him, chained up like one of his Cerberus targets, blindfolded and gagged—struggling ferociously against your restraints. 

He hears his voice echoing across the cavernous space. Trying desperately to calm you while fighting his own shackles. 

“It’s ok, darlin’, it’ll be ok. I’m right here. Right here, babygirl.”

A malicious laugh washes over him and you go eerily still, tears streaming silently down your cheeks. A figure rounds your taut limbs, hand wandering over your figure. Frank growls, pulling with all of his strength. 

“Leave her alone, you son of a bitch, or so help me I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” Billy Russo’s torn up face stares back at him, eyes glinting with power and rage. “Hmm she sure is a gorgeous little pet, isn’t she? How the hell did she end up with a monster like you?” Billy’s marred hand rubs your jaw making you whimper. He tugs off the fabric covering your eyes and they immediately fall on Frank, more tears cascading over your pretty face. Next to come off is the gag and you choke out a sob. 

“Go on, sweetheart. Ask him to save you.” Billy smirks, looking between the two of you. 

“Frank,” Your voice is hoarse and it kills him to hear such pain in it. “Frank, please! Please help me!” 

A cold steel barrel presses to your temple. Billy’s fingers flex over the trigger as he tilts his head toward you in false sympathy. “Sorry, little pet, but he can’t help you. It’s his fault you’re dead.” A gunshot rings out and Frank screams, eyes ripping open as his body rapidly separates from sleep. 

The nightmare replayed in his mind over and over the first night, your desperate pleas for help, the feeling of your warm blood spattering across Frank’s face. His mind’s manifestation of his former brother was right, he was going to get you killed. But the thought of pushing you away was just as hurtful. 

He was so fucked. 

Tag list: @cheshirecat484 @xxdrixx @smhnxdiii @mattmurdocksstarlight

[lotusunset]

Far too many pics of the Palais Garnier (Part Three!)

In October of 2022, I had the extraordinary experience of getting to complete an 15+ year old dream of mine to visit the Palais Garnier. I took a metric fuckton of pictures and now I want to share them with you all, the PotO community!

Before I start dumping, a few things:

Please reblog this post. I usually don’t post a lot, therefore I don’t have a big following. I’d really appreciate people sharing these as much as they can. When I was a dumb kid in ye olden days of the internet, finding a post like this was the sort of thing I would have been hyped up on for weeks. Help spread that kind of joy!

Feel free to use these photos for any sorts of graphics, artistic reference or any other fandom related projects, as long as it’s not for profit. Please just credit me in some way. In fact, I'd love to be tagged to see whatever creations come from sharing all this!

This is part three, which is a continuation of pictures from the interior. I will continue to share information from the tour I took in this post as well. In fact, these are some of my personal favorites, as I never knew about some of these rooms as just some silly American girl on the internet. I hope you guys enjoy these even more than the last!

Part 1 (Exterior) | Part 2 (staircase) | Part 3 (HERE) | Part 4 (stage)

This is the grand foyer, an area that is pretty heavily photographed already. Standing in this room is almost as impressive as the massive staircase. The paintings on the walls and ceilings depict a lot of mythological scenes. In one of them, there is a hidden portrait of Garnier, along with the other artists that were involved in creating the paintings. The doors leading to the 2nd level balcony are located in the grand foyer.

Historically, only the gentlemen were allowed in the grand foyer, as it was seen as a place for them to converse and do business until one night, the Queen of Spain decided that she didn't care about such arbitrary rules. Ignoring it completely, she entered the room. The men all decided to leave, offended that even a queen would dare to encroach on their space. As word traveled around the Opera that night, all the other women soon joined the Queen in the foyer, wanting to see for themselves that she was there. Afterwards, men and women were begrudgingly allowed to mingle.

I found this to be a very interesting room. At the end of the grand foyer, this room was full of sunlight and comparatively simple decorations. The wealthy patrons themselves served as the real decorations of this room, as they would gather here for refreshments! The common folk, while not permitted to enter, would come to simply watch the rich people indulge in lots of expensive treats.

In fact, the menu still hangs on the wall in the form of all the portraits! All the women are holding items that symbolize various food items, tea, coffee, wine, game meat, fish, ice cream, citrus fruits and pastries.

I couldn't help but imagine Raoul taking various treats and sneaking them out to share with Christine.

We weren't allowed to go down this hallway but it just continued to make this place feel like a giant maze.

These two rooms were nearly identical, though on opposite ends of a hallway. A few mistakes were made during their construction. The top room is known as the Sun room, for its warmer ambiance. The bottom is the Moon room.

Firstly, the rooms were meant to be swapped locations. The Sun Room was supposed to lead into the gentlemen's smoking room, but the Moon room leads to it instead. On the ceiling of the Sun room, salamanders are painted. The little amphibians were believed to ward off the danger of fire and protect the building. By the time the mistake was caught, it was too late to change it.

The other mistake can be seen in the mirror illusion in the Sun room. Because of a fault in the construction of the mirrors, the glass is too curved and the error is magnified with the illusion. The light appears to bend around a corner, instead of repeating on into infinity.

I imagine Erik was quite cross with the workers when he realized these errors occurred. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to be on the receiving end of his temper that day!

Looking at the star motifs painted on both ceilings, I wonder if they could have inspired Christine's Star Princess costume in the musical.

PART 1 (exteriors) | PART 2 (staircase) | PART 3 (here!) | Part 4 (stage)

[beatrice-otter]

Festivids is live!

As usual, there are a LOT of really good vids, go check them out!

Here are some ones I liked:

The Only Way to See Fandom: Amaury Guichon - Fandom Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Fanvids, Baking, Chocolate, Pastries, The Artistic Process Summary:

What you feel like, planning a sky.

A fanvid of Amaury Guichon (the chocolate guy).

Lonely Day Fandom: Andor (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Cassian Andor, Maarva Andor, Bix Caleen, Mon Mothma, Vel Sartha, Luthen Rael, Kino Loy, Cinta Kaz, Dedra Meero, Arvel Skeen, Karis Nemik, Brasso the Ferrixian (Star Wars), Syril Karn, Kleya Marki Additional Tags: Fanvids, Angst, Rebellion, Depictions of Police, Family, authoritarianism, Comrades in Arms, Embedded Video, Physical Triggers, brief shot of auditory torture, ends hopefully Summary:

From the loneliest day, new growth springs. Oppression sows the seeds of its own destruction. Featuring the whole Andor cast of characters but mainly focused on Cassian.

Come Forth Now Fandom: Andor (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Cassian Andor, Luthen Rael, Bix Caleen, Maarva Andor, Brasso the Ferrixian (Star Wars), Vel Sartha, Cinta Kaz, Arvel Skeen, Kleya Marki, Mon Mothma, Kino Loy, Karis Nemik, Taramyn Barcona, Clem Andor, Syril Karn, Ruescott Melshi Additional Tags: Rebellion, Hope, some explosions, Police images, Family, Friendship, Fanvids, Embedded Video Summary:

And this is all we need And this is where we start This is the day we greet This is the day, no other

Boys Keep Swinging Fandom: As You Like It - Shakespeare Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Rosalind | Ganymede (As You Like It) Additional Tags: Fanvids, Embedded Video, Crossdressing, Genderbending, Queer Themes Summary:

When you're a boy Other boys check you out You get a girl These are your favorite things When you're a boy

Drink You Sober Fandom: Bound (1996) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Corky/Violet (Bound) Summary:

'I want to feel you'

We Can Be Anything Fandom: Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Evelyn Wang, Joy Wang | Jobu Tupaki, Waymond Wang

How to make a perfect Hanukkah movie… Fandom: Hallmark Movies - Fandom, Hitched for the Holidays (2012), Double Holiday (2019), Mistletoe & Menorahs (2019), Love Lights Hanukkah! (2020), Eight Gifts of Hanukkah (2021), Hanukkah on Rye (2022) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Fanvids, Hanukkah Summary:

…(according to the Hallmark Channel)

Oh No Not Now [Fanvid] Fandom: Philadelphia Story (1940) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Macaulay Connor/C.K. Dexter Haven/Tracy Lord, Macaulay Connor/C.K. Dexter Haven, Macaulay Connor/Tracy Lord, Macaulay Connor/Elizabeth Imbrie, C.K. Dexter Haven/Tracy Lord, C.K. Dexter Haven/Elizabeth Imbrie Summary:

What do I do with this?

The Hunted Fandom: Prey (2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Characters: Naru (Prey 2022), Sarii (Prey 2022), Feral Predator (Prey 2022), Bear (Prey 2022) Additional Tags: Action, Hunters & Hunting, Animal Death, Animal Attack Summary:

The hunter becomes the hunted.

[vid] out with a bang Fandom: Robin and Marian (1976), Robin Hood - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Maid Marian/Robin Hood, Little John/Maid Marian/Robin Hood Characters: Maid Marian, Robin Hood, Little John, Sheriff of Nottingham Additional Tags: Fanvids, Embedded Video, Character Study, Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Summary:

I'm way to young to lie here forever, I'm way too old to try, so whatever...

A Marian character study.

magnetic [VID] Fandom: Romeo+Juliet (1996) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Mercutio (Romeo and Juliet) Additional Tags: gender feelings, Fighting Feelings, your crush keeps falling in love with girls feelings, honestly vidding this made me want enemies to lovers fic for mercutio and tybalt, let's skip the sad ending and just be angry together, Fanvids Summary:

Mercutio's been magnetic since he was a baby.

Trust+Fall Fandom: Romeo+Juliet (1996), Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Juliet Capulet/Romeo Montague Additional Tags: Romcom turned tragedy, Self-Harm, Suicide, Physical Triggers, Depictions of Police Summary:

Juliet met an awesome guy at a big party her parents threw and fell instantly in love! With a meet-cute like that, what could go wrong? (Turns out: literally everything.)

VID: I'm That Queer Fandom: Janelle Monáe Music Videos, Janelle Monae (Musician) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Jane (Dirty Computer), Cindi Mayweather Additional Tags: Physical Triggers, Fast cutting, flashing lights, Glitch effects, Queerphobia, Depictions of Police, Fanvids Summary:

A fanvid of some of Janelle Monáe's Music Videos, focusing on their Cindi Mayweather and Jane characters.

Physical triggers: extensive fast cutting, extensive glitch effects, flashing lights. Other warnings: authoritarian state, queerphobia, depictions of police.

[hebuiltfive]

The Alaskan Train Crash: The Letter

Fresh off the mission, Scott joins Jeff in the family's private office. Apparently it would seem more mysterious are afoot.

Words: 2,450

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Additional Tags: Artist!Virgil, Post season three, slight AU, Mentions of hospitals, Mentions of Blood, description of train crash, Light Angst

Series: Part 1 of The Long Game

Notes: Disclaimers as usual: I own nothing but the words to this particular story.

We're finally at the end of part one! I finalised this chapter back in May, so posting it now just feels like it's been such a long time. Anyone who read the short I posted for Scott's birthday back in April (called Thirty) might remember a certain letter being mentioned. It's finally made it's appearance here! But what does it all mean? What new situation will International Rescue be thrust into next?

The next part and subsequent chapters are very exciting, even if I do so say myself, so I hope you stick around. I will be posting it very, very soon!

Read it below or on AO3 here.

Part 1:

Chapter 1 found here on Tumblr, or here on AO3.

Chapter 2 found here on Tumblr, or here on AO3.

Chapter 3 found here on Tumblr, or here on A03.

Dawn had only just broken over the island. Usually Scott would have been out at first light, getting in his daily exercises before the rest of his brothers woke. Gordon occasionally joined him and together they watched as tropic birds swooped around the trees, their cries echoed throughout the blues and pinks of the early morning sky. There was nothing more beautiful in the world than a sunrise, Scott often thought, but today he was still indoors, sitting in his father’s office whilst he waited for him to arrive. From the window ahead of him, the rising sun cast bright golden hues of daylight into the otherwise darkened space. 

Though he was naturally well kept and tidy, it was Jeff’s years in the United States Air Force that helped hone his trait. His office was spotless. Everything was organised. Bookshelves were lined with all sorts of books from aerospace dynamics to a few older treasures, such as Torchy, Virgil’s favourite childhood story, that he kept for memories sake. 

Scott sat in one of the plush leather armchairs that sat in front of his father’s grand wooden desk. Compared to the rest of the villa, Jeff’s private office was much more ornate. Whilst the villa had been built with the technological advances of the late 21st century, the private office felt more in keeping with the late 19th century. With the dark wood-panelled walls, and furniture made of wood rather than plastic or glass, Scott never understood why Jeff had designed the space in such an un-Jeff-like way.  His father had always been about advancements and up-to-date designs. It was a question Scott had always wanted to ask his father and now perhaps, with him home again, he might finally be able to ask why.

The thought was thrown from his mind when Jeff finally appeared in the doorway of the office. He entered in a hurry and, with both of his hands full, each holding a plate, he closed the door behind him with a soft kick of his foot. Jeff set one of the plates down in front of Scott. The smell had travelled to him long before he saw what was on the dish. Pastries. Fresh looking pastries, that smelt… unusually good. He cautiously took in the sight of the food in front of him as his father took the seat on the other side of the table.

Noticing Scott’s apprehensive look, Jeff quickly eased his worries. “Don’t worry, it’s edible. Do not tell your grandmother but I got Virgil to get these a few days ago. They’re the last in the batch. I figured you’d be wanting some breakfast too.”

His stomach grumbled as Jeff spoke and Scott managed to hide his smile. One bite of the sweet pastry wrap and he was in heaven. Bless Grandma Tracy, but her cooking skills were in dire need of improvement. 

Together Jeff and Scott sat in silence, munching away on their food. The seconds-hand on Jeff’s ornate mantle piece clock ticked away in the quiet. 

“What’s with the Lord of the Manor vibes? I’ve always wondered why it’s so… old in here, but never found the time to ask.” Scott queried in between mouthfuls.

Jeff quirked a brow in question, glancing around the decadent room when his son gestured. He placed his pastry back onto the plate in front of him and wiped his hands free of the flaky crumbs. “When I was a little boy, Pa and Ma used to take me to visit my old grandaddy. He had an office that was as grand as anything.” Jeff chuckled fondly as he remembered. “That space was where I first began to draft up the ideas that were to take Tracy Industries into the future. That space was where I took my call from the Space Agency to be the first man on Mars. That space held so many memories that I had it implemented into the designs when I built this place. In a way, it’s an homage to your great-granddaddy, but it also acts as a reminder, to myself, of some of my most monumental accomplishments.”

“That’s…” Scott trailed off and smiled as he took in his father’s words. He could tell there were emotions that the memories had brought forward. As Jeff took another bite of his pastry, there was a glint in his eye. Family had a way of bringing out the best in people, but occasionally it could also create the most haunting of feelings. Memories with loved ones of times long since passed always remained cherished, but those same memories could also sometimes sting. Bittersweet, that was what memories of family long gone were. Reminders of what someone had, long ago. Scott thought back to those years when Jeff was absent, of the many memories he had of his father that often crossed his mind. None of them had really acknowledged it in the months following the Zero XL mission, but they had been so close to losing their father forever, and they wouldn’t have been any the wiser. Had the Calypso not been on a crash course with the earth, had Brayman not been saved from the watery depths, had they not received Jeff’s SOS…

Scott was tired and his brain was wandering through thoughts he didn’t want to think about again. Quickly he finished up his own pastry and decided to change the subject. “You wanted to talk? What’s new to report, dad?”

Jeff hesitated, and that single act alone had Scott panicked. “I’m heading into the hospital later on today.”

Oh.

Scott tried to keep his face neutral. “Everything alright?”

“Fine, they just want to do some more tests. You know how doctors are, always concerned about something.” Jeff chuckled but the smile didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m leaving at noon with Grandma.”

“How long will they keep you this time?” 

He was trying to not sound irritated, but Jeff seemed to pick up on it anyway.

“Scott, I’m fine…”

“If you were fine, dad, you wouldn’t be needing half a dozen hospital trips every month!” He finally snapped. Not only was Scott physically exhausted from being awake for over twenty-four hours now, but he was tired of having to make the same argument over and over again. Why was no-one listening to him? Why would no-one take his side? Jeff needed to rest, to recover. Despite his father’s constant reassurances, Scott knew that he was nowhere near fine. He knew it wasn’t an easy fact to tackle, but he felt like he was the only one who even dared suggest it. It made him angry, yes, but also so worn out. 

“Son…” Jeff began, but was abruptly cut off by Scott, who had since risen from his chair.

“No, dad! You need to listen to me, okay? You need to start being more honest with how you’re feeling and you need to take a break. All these stresses and strains from work aren’t going to aid in your healing and—”

“Sit down.” Jeff didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Scott recognised the commander’s tone in his words.

He immediately stopped his rant and did as his father ordered. He didn’t care if he came across as rude or impolite. It wasn’t disrespectful to someone if it was the truth, and he’d stand by that if his father accused him of being such.

But to his surprise, Jeff didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead, a look of calm reflectiveness crossed his features and his father sighed. “Look, son, I know where you’re coming from, but the truth is I have to keep busy to stop myself from worrying over whatever the hell is happening to my body.”

Scott could understand that. When they had thought Jeff dead, Scott found himself often burying in International Rescue work. The distraction not only helped him from going insane, but it also had the added bonus of helping other people around them.

“Trust me when I tell you,” Jeff continued, “that I only do what I feel I’m capable of, Scott. You don’t need to worry about me overdoing things. I know my limits.”

An understanding passed between father and son, then. Eight years in the Oort Cloud hadn’t lessened Scott’s trust in his father. He wasn’t about to start letting something break that bond now.

Jeff cleared his throat. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about as well.” He bent down to reach the bottom drawer of his desk and, for a moment, Scott could only see the top of his father’s grey head. How much greyer had he grown in his desolation? Scott could swear his father had more colour to his hair before he’d been stranded…

“You can’t mention this to the others.” Jeff reappeared and in his hand was a crisp envelope. It was whiter than snow, suggesting to Scott that it wasn’t the kind of old, yellowing paper he was used to seeing from his father’s childhood. “I don’t want them to… panic.”

“I can keep a secret.” He was intrigued now. Scott took in the mysterious envelope. “Paper? Who uses paper these days?”

“Someone who doesn’t want to be easily traced, I’d imagine.” Jeff slid the envelope over the table toward his son and then leaned back into his chair. “Tell me what you think of the letter inside.”

Picking up the envelope, Scott peeled back the opening. He noted that it had already been opened, he assumed by his father, and pulled out the sheet of paper. It was equally as fresh as the envelope. The words were not printed on the paper but rather scrawled in black ink. Thankfully, it was still legible enough for Scott to read.

Mr. Tracy!

We hear the patriarch has finally returned home.

Some will be pleased. Some not so much.

We imagine some competitors will be glowing green with envy at the news.

July 8th. 

Fiftieth Floor. Vienna Plaza. New York.

Your old pal Shipman is having a party.

Dress for the Press, dear Tracy.

It will be a night that will go down in history.

Oh, and wondering who we are? Attend and all your questions will be answered.

Or don’t. We don’t control you yet.

Continue living in the dark if you so wish.

But things have changed oh-so-much since you left. It’s about time you joined the sport.

Trust us, you won't want to miss the fireworks.

Signed, deeply concerned citizens.

Scott turned the sheet over, but the message had indeed finished. He reread the note over twice more before slipping it back into the envelope and handing the whole thing back to Jeff. “A little dramatic, don’t you think? Who sent it?”

“I don’t know.” 

He could tell his father was just as curious as he was. Their previous heart-to-heart was a mere memory now as both their minds turned entirely to the puzzle the envelope presented. 

“It arrived on my desk back in Kansas. Marie found it this morning — I suppose it would be yesterday morning now — and she had it mailed over here for me. I sent a copy over to Penelope whilst you boys were out this evening. She’s usually good with this sort of thing but even she’s turning up blank at the moment.”

Scott’s fingers drummed rhythmically against the wood of his father’s desk. 

Jeff noticed and quirked a brow. “I’m assuming they mean Colin Shipman. What came of that guy whilst I was gone?” At his son’s quizzical look, he quickly clarified, “Well, last I heard of him he was struggling to sell his backwater business to even those who didn’t value safety and regulation.”

“He was shut down, a few years back now.” Scott confirmed with a nod. “His business was deemed unsafe by some new military outlet and was quickly forced to liquidate.”

“Well, Casey certainly had no time for unsafe—”

“No, it wasn’t the GDF who shut him down, dad. He’s actually just been granted a new contract with them. Exclusive.”

Jeff blinked. Scott knew exactly what he was thinking before he burst out, “Over Tracy Industries?”

“Apparently Casey’s concerns about Shipman weren’t heard, and the board were concerned about her ‘apparent favouritism’ with us. So far, according to Casey’s updates, he’s actually shown vast improvements in his business. He’s now going under Shipman Robotics last I heard.”

“What exactly is he doing for the GDF?” 

His father was suspicious, Scott could tell, but he could only shrug. “Supplying components for whatever projects the GDF are working on, I think. It’s all very hush-hush. Even Kayo can’t get a good look in. Details are only available to those in-the-know.”

There was a gentle knock on the door, and a head appeared in the crack. “Dad?”

Jeff quickly hid the envelope in the lapel of his jacket, his concerned features transforming into a warm smile. “Come in, son.”

Still bleary eyed from sleep, Alan padded into the office. His eyes crossed from Jeff to Scott. “Was I interrupting?”

“No.” It was Scott who answered. He stood from his seat as Alan made his way toward their father’s desk. “I was just leaving.” Scott ruffled his youngest brother’s hair. 

Alan made a whining sound and flapped his arms around in an attempt to shake Scott off. “Stop it!”

Scott chuckled, ceasing his actions, and turned back to his father with a knowing look. “I’ll try and speak to Penny later, see if she’s got anything. That date is fast approaching. I’ll see if I can clear my calendar for—”

“No-one is going to that event, Scott.” As though he’d forgotten Alan was present, Jeff went deadly serious once again. “Not until we know exactly what this is about.”

“What event?” Alan yawned, wanting in on whatever his father and brother were talking about.

“Nothing.” Scott tried to ruffle Alan’s hair again, but he was too slow. 

Alan dodged him and took a seat in the chair Scott had vacated. “Ha! Oh.” The change in position had highlighted the bags under Scott’s eyes and Alan frowned. “When did you last sleep, bro? You should go try and catch some zees before the day truly begins.”

Though he was far from finished talking to his father about it all, Scott knew Alan was right. Lack of sleep would render him a liability. Besides, no real conversations were going to be had whilst his younger brother was present. Scott made for the door. “We’ll speak later, dad. I’ll try and catch you before you leave for the mainland.” 

[deancasbigbang]

Title: The Shadow of Mount Seelie

Author: butterflyslinky

Artist: lotrspnfangirl

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Dean/Cas, Past Dean/Lydia, Implied Cas/Lilith

Length: 38000

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Implied Rape/Noncon Past Minor Character Death, Domestic Violence, Torture, Murder

Tags: Single Father Dean Winchester, Fairy Tales and Folklore, Mild Sexual Content, Fairy Castiel

Posting Date: November 9, 2022

Summary: Dean and his daughter Emma have moved to the peaceful village of Mount Seelie, where everyone gets whatever they want. Dean soon finds that the villagers are hiding something that seems to center on the odd but handsome local handyman, Castiel.

Excerpt: “Hello, Dean.” Cas looked awkward, but happy. “Thank you for inviting me.” “Yeah, of course.” Dean led Cas inside. “Sorry if I’m a little in and out, I’m working on this single-handed.” “I can help,” Cas offered. “No, you’re a guest.” Cas shrugged. “I hate not working when someone else is. Besides, I’ve observed a certain camaraderie is formed when cooking a meal together. I would like to share that with you, if it’s all right.” Dean just stared at him for a moment. “Um…okay,” he said. “I could use some help, yeah.” Cas smiled and followed Dean to the kitchen. Dean was still trying to sort out what kind of camaraderie Cas could be looking for. Sure, Dean knew that women formed close bonds in the kitchen, but he didn’t know any men who had. Then again, Dean hadn’t exactly grown up in the sort of family where men helped in the kitchen, or indeed, the sort of lifestyle that involved a kitchen at all. Luckily, Cas seemed to be as handy with food as he was with everything else. He chopped vegetables efficiently, had a good mastery of pastry dough, and a good knack for measuring even though Dean’s measuring cup was very worn and hard to read. “Is there anything you can’t do?” Dean jokingly asked. “A few things,” Cas said, his voice and face completely serious. “Though nothing that would generally be a problem in daily life.” “Must have lived an interesting life to have that many skills.” Cas stared straight ahead for a long minute. “More than you can imagine,” he said. They were silent for a moment. “Were you born in Mount Seelie?” Dean asked. He realized that he knew very little about his guest, but he desperately wanted to know more. “No,” Cas said. “I was born in Scotland. But I was brought over a very long time ago and I’ve been here ever since.” “Your family bring you?” “Yes. But they’re all dead now.” “But…” Dean was trying to work it out. “How did you end up…?” Cas studied him for a moment. “How did I end up what?” “Homeless. Wasn’t there a house for you to inherit?” “The house is gone, and it wasn’t home without my family anyway. I couldn’t stay on the property, so now I don’t stay anywhere.” “Do you want to?” Maybe Dean had gotten it wrong. Maybe Cas was happy as a drifter; Dean had met enough men like that in his life to understand at least a little. Hell, Dean’s father had been a man like that. “I do miss having a place to go every night,” Cas said. “And I miss having a family. But right now, I’m just grateful I can stay in town and make myself useful.” “Well, you’re welcome to come here any time,” Dean said. “And stay as long as you need.” Cas looked at him, and Dean thought he might cry. “Thank you, Dean,” he said. “That means a lot to me.”

DCBB 2022 Posting Schedule

[talesfromsiteredacted]

Notice From Site Command

From Site Director Alexandre (REDACTED)

Concerning certain "behaviors" among the Junior Researchers

It has come to attention that a few "bad apples" are making some of their coworkers and anomalies... uncomfortable through their actions. And for possibly the first time in Foundation history, this has absolutely nothing to do with Dr. Bright.

First: any and all media with graphic depictions of rather adult content should be saved for off hours. This includes music, memes, basically... if you don't want Site Command seeing it, don't show it off.

Second: comments that can be construed as sexual harassment are in no way permitted here. No, Karin... 076-2 has no interest in showing you just how far those tattoos go. Stop asking and just stick to your job. On that note, Agent Leonard O'Hare is to report to Site Command ASAP. Your comments toward both Dr. Choi and 105 are in no way appropriate, appreciated, nor welcome. One more report, and you're destined to have a date all right... with 682. Seriously, Choi is married, and Iris is a teenager. Go see Dr. Glass and have your head examined.

Third: if you insist on bringing in pastries... don't forget Site Command. We're all one big weird-as-hell family, so don't forget your aunties and uncles here.

Finally... it's time for the Foundation Intramural Softball Team sign ups. This is our first year participating, so sign up and make Site (REDACTED) proud. We're pleased to announce our new team name... the Site (REDACTED) Sumerian Killing Machines. Anyone but Karin is welcome to submit team logo suggestions. While your art is... impressive Karin, it's also not safe for either work or minors. Let's keep it as PG13 as possible, please.

Stay safe out there, kids.

Director Alexandre (REDACTED), Site Command

[streakfreeshine]

“Imagine a sickie who's *so* busy at their fast paced job that they don't register how sick they are. They get their first lull in work and the nausea hits them like a truck and their stomach only gives them a few seconds as a warning.” Here’s that fic!

I want to preface this with a few things. This is, yet again, inspired my job. My back-of-house (“backroom”) is absolutely puny. The desk isn’t even 3 feet away from the mop-cubby. There’s no door to the back, so anyone in the front-of-house (the space behind the counters) area can easily see into the back and see the sinks, the edge of the desk, and the opening to the mop-cubby.This fic is a little long because I feel that I needed to really set the scene to give an idea on what made his day so hectic. I believe it’s worth it :) I’ll be posting the second half eventually, which will mostly be Ryan comforting Dantae as he struggles. It’s already started, but I’m all edited-out for the day lol

TW: graphic depictions of vomiting and hurt/no comfort style angst.

~2.5k words (sorry not sorry)

Dantae waits in the pouring rain for his store manager to arrive. He's got his hands in his deep pockets, balled into fists. He's pulled his hood up, but his ears are still freezing. His nose is running from the cold. Even listening to his favorite songs doesn't lessen the feeling of foreboding brewing inside him.

When his store manager, Kelly, lets them both inside, the alarm screeches almost immediately; their distributor hadn’t properly set the alarm when they left, very early that morning. While this wasn’t the first time his had happened, it still has Dantae gritting his teeth one his way to the back of house. Kelly quickly disables the alarm and there is a second of silence before the store's radio turns on, blaring nearly as loud as the alarm had. He is almost convinced that the closing crew threw a party as soon as they locked the doors.

Dantae washes his hands and rushes to grab the seven boxes of surplus pastries. Before Kelly took over as Store Manager, the openers didn't need to rush, as all they had to do was put the pastries on display. The pastries that they had recieved in the morning were thrown away every night. Everything changed when she took over. Everything.

Kelly had implemented a new rule of keeping all pastries, in 3 separate plastic bins for two days. Not only did Dantae find this repulsive, he had found that no one labels and dates the plastic bins correctly. He would then have to sort through all the day-old pastries, comparing them to the dates on the lids, in order to make sure they're still in date, then move them all out of the bins, put the new pastries in, cover them with puny sheets of oven paper, then put all the old ones on top. As if that wasn't enough torture, he then has to write new dates for the new pastries and double-check the old dates to make sure they're actually dated correctly. This can take him ninety minutes, minimum, on a good day. Today is not one of those days. He's only just finished putting the new pastries into the bins when it's time to open. The older ones sat out on the counter, away from customers.

Four customers wait at the glass door by the time comes to open.They all seem to stare daggers at him as he continues to rush to put the old pastries away.

"They always look like goddamned vultures", he mutters to himself as Kelly unlocks the doors. They all file into the store, nearly tripping each other to get into line first. An opening manager would normally be able to run register until they get their first espresso bar drink order. Of course, luck is not on their side when the very first order is an espresso drink.

Dantae is forced to ring the next customers up, all ordering drip coffees and slices of bread, none of which he’s had the time to cut before opening. He opens the cabinet in which they store their unopened breads and miscellaneous goods that have three-day shelf life and finds literally three of every item inside. He grits his teeth and takes a strangled breath in, letting it out as a soft hiss.

He has to pull out the stuff that had expired the night before, in order to even grab the stuff expiring at the end of the day. A spare package of coffee cake gets yanked off the shelf with one of the items, hitting him in the neck. He lets out a small growl in lieu of sweating loudly. He finds himself holding his breath as he juggles the items and places them on a counter behind the register. He takes a deep breath when a wave of slight dizziness washes over him.

Barely 5 minutes into opening, he is scrambling around behind the counter, pouring a coffee, then cutting a slice of bread, then running back to the register, then pouring more coffee, then cutting a *different* slice of bread. He does this two more times, all with a different type of bread.

“I haven’t forgotten about the next customer, I promise!” Dantae shouts over his shoulder

By the time he's finished cutting the last slice, there are three more customers, all of whom order espresso drinks, making it impossible for Kelly to help him on register.

There is a brief moment of reprieve, after finishing those three orders, before he hears the familiar chime of their moble order printer. He groans inwardly and puts all the stickers onto the cups. He groans out loud when the machine chimes again. And again. And again. Then a fourth time. None of these orders are single item tickets. Two of them are delivery orders, which are packed by hand, usually by the person expediting the process. Of course, Dantae didn’t have that luxury this morning. One of those delivery orders is six separate items. The other is four. More customers enter the store as he sorts the stickers into two categories; food/drip coffee and espresso drinks.

"I'll be with the next guest as soon as I can!" He shouts, as he sticks what feels like the 400th sticker onto a cup and sets it with the others near the espresso bar.

When Dantae opens the small warm breakfast refrigerator, he wants to curl up into a ball and roll away. There are no items in the small refrigerator. They're all in the back, in the thaw-fridge. He near sprints into the back, grabs the sandwiches he needs for the enormous delivery order, returns to the front and all but tosses them onto the cutting board next to the oven before tending to the other customers. The next person in won't be in for another hour and a half. Until then, Dantae is unable to finish putting away the rest of the pastries and finish the bread.

He spends the next ninety minutes running back and forth from the register, to the coffee urns, to the thaw-fridge, to the mobile order machine. Even when Kelly has the opportunity to help him ring, he’s still jogging around the entire front of house. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees his coworker, Evan, come through the door.

"Help... me..." he mouths as he walks behind him to clock in. Evan gives him a look that practically screams “eek” before disappearing into the back to put his apron on. He clocks in as fast as he can and dashes to the register, finally giving Dantae the opportunity to finish the pastries. He makes the mistake of believing the rest of the day will be easier from then on.

Ever the unlucky, he finds several incorrect labels, forcing him to spend far too long on the aforementioned pastries. He's ready to pull his hair out by the time he's finally finished. He expects to be able to take a minute or two to breathe and mentally recover. However, those precious minutes never come.

As soon as he takes over the bar, there are four mobile orders in a row, then 5 more in-person orders. Kelly didn’t even get the chance to walk away, to start her own work. Dantae gets through three orders before they were being rudely snapped at by an upset customer, who asks about the drink she had ordered not even three minutes previously. She tells him her name and he scans through the panels of orders, making a mental note of the number of drinks across all the orders.

"Let's see... Linda, right? You're 7th in line. We'll get it out to you as soon as we can, I promise!” He cries out in exasperation. She scoffs and glares at him. She then goes on a two minute long spiel about how young people “these days” aren't living up to her unrealistic standards. Dantae has begun to block her out as more orders are queued.

Dantae had been working in a non-stop, dizzing blur, for four hours before he's finally able to take his ten-minute break. He heats himself a sandwich, makes his large iced latte, then staggers to the back. He takes a stress-free minute to catch his breath, take a long drink of cold water, and try to calm himself before he's nearly knocked off his seat by a tornado of dizziness. He's got the computer desk in a death grip as he grabs his latte and takes a deep drink of it, thinking maybe he just needs more fluids. He sucks down a third of it before pulling away. He’s incredibly grateful that it’s Friday and that he has the next two days off.

Not more than thirty seconds later, as he’s looking down at his sandwich, he comes to the realization the sensation in his gut, from the beginning of his shift, was not from an impending sense of doom; it was slight nausea. He wasn't dizzy from holding his breath earlier, but rather because he's sick. He pushes the offending sandwich away from him.

He suddenly feels the muscles behind his jaw clench and his mouth floods with saliva. He has only enough time to slap his hand over his mouth before he's gagging into it. He scrambles out of the chair, making for the nearby mop cubby, as it’s the closest thing he can think of, but manages to get his boot caught on one of its legs. He crashes onto his hip and promptly vomits on the floor. His hand returns to his mouth as he retches loudly. Watery, coffee colored vomit sprays from between his fingers, causing even more of a mess. He instantly regrets gulping down so much water and coffee so quickly.

Kelly peeks around the corner at the sound of Dantae’s retch. The scene before her draws a soft gasp from her. While Dantae is facing away from her, she can still see the pool of liquid in front of him and splattered on the wall. For a split-second she thinks he’s unconscious, until he scrambles, on his hands and knees, to the mop-cubby. She sees his head disappear and his back arch as he vomits again.

She hears the angry screaming from the steam wands and hisses in pain as boiling milk splashes onto her hand. She turns it off and abandons it to rush to Dantae’s side. Evan leans back to peer into the backroom and his mouth falls open. He quickly turns back to the confused customer and comes up with the best excuse he can as he finishes the transaction.

Meanwhile, Kelly puts a hand on his back, but withdraws it as his somtach rebels again. She’s holding her breath and leaning awkwardly over the puddle of sick that Dantae had inadvertently kneeled into and smeared across the floor in his scramble to the cubby. There’s tears of exertion, embarrassment, and pain trailing down his face as he begins to dry heave.

Kellyasks the obligatory, “Are you okay?”

Dantae lets out an exasperated grunt.

“No, I’m far from okay, sorry,” he says, still facing the drain, gagging again.

“Okay, well, I have to call house keeping and close the store, so you sit here, head over the basin, and wait,” she replies, no sympathy detectable in her voice. Dantae nods weakly and spits away the thick string of saliva hanging from his bottom lip.

“Can you hand me some paper towels? It came out of my nose, too.”

“That’s disgusting,” she sneers, but grabs him a few and hands them to him before walking away. He could hear her telling the customers that they needed to leave, as they needed to close. He swears she was more gentle with them than she was with him. He knew they butted heads, but he thought she’d be more understanding of his predicament. The thought hurts his soul.

He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and sends a quick text to Ryan, explaining what happened. Ryan responds quickly, agreeing to come get him. Dantae stares blankly as his phone screen, swallowing thickly. He’s not swallowing back saliva this time, but rather, the lump in his throat. He tips his head back and wills away the tears clouding his vision.

“I thought I told you to keep your head over the drain,” he hears Kelly say as she walked back over to him and sat down in the desk chair, looking at the computer. He tips his head forward again and those tears are back and falling down his cheeks. He stays silent as he listens to her speaking with the head of housekeeping (The mall’s term for the janitors and maintanance workers), requesting a bio-hazard cleaning. His cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame. He closes his eyes but still struggles to keep them dry as he silently sits on the floor, shins covered in his own vomit, waiting for his husband.

It takes Ryan fifteen minutes to reach the store. He sends Dantae a text to let him know that he’s here. Dantae stands slowly, wincing at the pain in his hip and knees. He refuses to look down at his dirty shins and boots, lest he start throwing up again.

“Ryan’s here. I’m really really sorry for the trouble I’ve caused. I’ll see you next week,” he says, his voice wavering. He steals a glance at Kelly as he walks past her, heading toward the front of house. She doesnt turn her head from the computer before speaking.

“It’s okay. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Dantae can’t help but notice that she didn’t tell him to feel better. He knows he’s overthinking, but it still hurts nonetheless. He’s swallowing back tears again, trying to keep his breathing even as he clocks out. He makes his way across the now empty store and outside. He sees Ryan’s car idling in front of the store, speaking with a cold-eyed security guard that he didn’t recognize. He must be new, he surmises. He catches the end of the conversation as he slides inside, careful to not get anything dirty.

“See, he’s here. I wasn’t sitting here for shiggles. Now, if you please, I have to take my sick husband home.”

[circa-specturgia]

“Promise you’ll write about us.”

I want to start by saying that this piece is a bit of a more heavy and serious one in tone when compared to some of the other writing I’ve posted here. It depicts a fictional, yet very real scene. I initially thought against posting it, however after talking with friends, I’be decided that I want to share this piece with people. I want to be clear that his piece discusses some heavy themes:

TW // War, death, ruin, the destruction of war, military. If the events in Ukraine directly affect you, or trouble you, or these topics feel heavy, I ask that you do not read ahead. I trust your knowledge of your own limits. Thank you. While this piece does not contain any graphic descriptions nor active descriptions of combat, I have chosen to add the Violence Mature tag nonetheless.

The rubble under her feet shifted with her weight, tipping and nearly causing her to twist her ankle before she caught herself against a wall, palm scraping against brick. With a wince and a strain of effort she pulled herself up, realigning her messenger bag, pulling the worn newsboy cap tighter over her head, and the flannels and leather jacket tighter around her shoulders.

The wind tore across what remained of the city.

There weren’t any buildings to stop it anymore, the current like an echo of the advancing military, that had torn through here hours ago. Fires still burned here and there. She could hear mortar fire, out on the horizon they had disappeared into.

Stepping forward, she bid mind to her footing. Steel girders and brick and concrete filled the streets, the glint of bullet casings littered around, shards of glass like the remains of a whole that was now so broken and fractured that it was unimaginable for it to possibly be put together again.

She recognized the crimson bricks of the chocolate shop she’d gone to some Sundays to buy pastries for her sister, cracked and littered about. The mangled golden sign once a work of art, laconic curves and flourished now twisted into a pair of jaws.

The tip of her pen touched the page, bleeding ink as she couldn’t bear to move it. What words could hope to communicate this? What purpose would there be to try and describe something so horrible?

A hand gripped her pant leg, nearly making her jump.

“You- You’re a writer… Aren’t you?” The voice coughed, red.

She could only nod, in shock fingers white on the pen. It had been a gift from her father. He’d saved up his wages over the months, putting a bit away, and bought her the pen she’d gone starry eyed over when they walked past the display in the shop window last Christmas. His smile had been just as much a gift as the pen itself.

“Promise… Promise you’ll write about us.” He gasped, the empty, ratting sound coming from his chest making her own tense and throb. “That we- won’t be forgotten. That we fought.”

He couldn’t have been older than twenty. He didn’t have the time to tell her his name.

Decades later, she sat in front of a camera, in a recording studio. Her book, published so long ago, lied on the table between her, and her interviewer. Her pen in her breast pocket.

They looked at her, offering a moment of pause, as she collected herself, giving a shaky breath and beginning again. She’d promised after all. Whether he could still hear her say it or not, when she’d knelt beside him.

She would never let them be forgotten.

Thank you for reading

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[chocmarss]

Sharp and Glorious Thorn (3/9)

Chapter Summary:

“Are you happy?” Obi-Wan helped himself to more tarts —strawberry this time, carefully leaving the blueberry-flavoured ones to her— enjoying their weekly teatime when he wasn’t too busy politicking with their neighbours. “Joyous beyond all occasion? Tremendously underwhelmed?”

This was just blatant disrespect.

Ahsoka stared him down. “I’d like to think that is none of your business.”

tcw. rexsoka. royalty au. marriage of convenience. enemies to lovers. rated M. 3.3k+ words.

WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Rexsoka Week 2022, Day 3:— Trope: Fix-it; Prompt: Exile

“So. How’s life as a Missus?”

No desert in the world could compete against the monotonous look she drilled onto him then.

“Are you happy?” Obi-Wan helped himself to more tarts —strawberry this time, carefully leaving the blueberry-flavoured ones to her— enjoying their weekly teatime when he wasn’t too busy politicking with their neighbours. “Joyous beyond all occasion? Tremendously underwhelmed?”

This was just blatant disrespect.

Ahsoka stared him down. “I’d like to think that is none of your business.”

He used one hand to hold onto his pastry, and he used the other to leaf through the letters he brought with him. “As dull as a potato sack, then?”

READ MORE ON AO3

[ao3feed-xicheng]

Dies Irae Pars II - Satisfactio

by LanEgg10 All Jiang Cheng wanted was his pastry and a drink. That was all. Was it too much to ask? ——— Gold Chain lifted his head and guffawed at the newcomer. "Oh, so you think you're his hero? His Superman swooping in to rescue and save the damsel in distress?" “On the contrary,” Xichen expressed with a cool demeanor, "He was the one who came to my rescue. He is my savior." Words: 4512, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Dies Irae : A Mafia-ries Fandoms: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin, Lan Huan | Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao | Jin Guangyao, Wen Xu (Modao Zushi) Relationships: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin/Lan Huan | Lan Xichen, Meng Yao | Jin Guangyao/Nie Mingjue Additional Tags: Fluff, Cute, Minor Violence, Banter, Flirting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Dark Lan Huan | Lan Xichen, Protective Lan Huan | Lan Xichen, Soft Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin/Lan Huan | Lan Xichen, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin Needs a Hug, Cute Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin, Wen Xu is So Done (Modao Zushi), Minor Meng Yao | Jin Guangyao/Nie Mingjue, Creepy Meng Yao | Jin Guangyao via https://ift.tt/S0uAD7q

[firstprince-ao3feed]

Come as You Are

by RarelyRad Henry Fox is a young aspiring writer living in New York City who is diagnosed with cancer. As he grapples with his illness and the uncertainty of his future, he finds solace in the quiet moments spent at the local coffee shop near his apartment, where Alex Claremont-Diaz works as a barista. Alex, a talented and compassionate young man, quickly forms a bond with Henry as they share conversations over cups of coffee and pastries. As Henry opens up about his struggles and fears, Alex becomes a source of comfort and support, offering a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on during the toughest moments of Henry's treatment. Henry, thinks Alex deserves more. Alex wants to help Henry believe he deserves everything; including to be loved and to love in return. Words: 1027, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston, Red White & Royal Blue (2023) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M, Multi Characters: Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Alex Claremont-Diaz, Percy "Pez" Okonjo, June Claremont-Diaz, Nora Holleran Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Cancer, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Cliche, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Needs a Hug, Strangers to Lovers, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barista Alex Claremont-Diaz, Writer Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Your honor these boys deserve the world, Illnesses, Major Illness, Graphic Depictions of Illness via https://ift.tt/D3zYbHx

[ao3feed-ateez]

I think it's strange that you think I'm funny 'cause he never did.

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/bIHf0Fi by merlmmaid In the enchanting kingdom of Utopia, where the sound of music dances with the scent of freshly baked pastries, two boys found themselves entwined in the melodies of summer. Seonghwa, a free-spirited omega with a heart as vast as the ocean. His days were spent dancing around a ball room and beautiful suits that were to tight to breath in, his soul yearning for adventure beyond the horizon. And then there was Hongjoong, a shy musician whose guitar strings whispered secrets of longing and desire. His melodies painted stories of love lost and found, echoing through the cobblestone streets as if pleading to be heard, being forced to stay in the chambers of his head. OR; the story of two royals, one beautiful and as fresh as dandelions, and another as shy as a wildflower. Blooming timidly amidst a field of vibrant blooms, finds their way to each other's hearts. Words: 793, Chapters: 1/45, Language: English Fandoms: ATEEZ (Band) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: Other Characters: Kim Hongjoong, Park Seonghwa, Choi San (ATEEZ), Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ), Choi Jongho (ATEEZ), Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ), Song Mingi (ATEEZ) Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ), Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi (ATEEZ) Additional Tags: Romance, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Smut, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Trans Park Seonghwa, Falling In Love, Cuddling & Snuggling, Homophobia, Mpreg, Relationship(s), Royalty, Childhood Trauma, Getting Together, Omega Park Seonghwa, Alpha Kim Hongjoong, Alpha Choi San (ATEEZ), Omega Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ), Omega Kang Yeosang, Beta Choi Jongho (ATEEZ), Beta Song Mingi (ATEEZ), Alpha Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Substance Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/bIHf0Fi

[ao3feed-izch]

A Little Madness is Good for the Soul

by Rei_Archer

A cup of tea, a potion that makes you grow small, a pastry that makes you grow big, and a cast of friends straight from a story book. What more could one want?

How about a sword that can slay house sized beasts, powers that make physics weep, and a mouse with a knife? Add to that a mind as sharp as steel, a wit as quick as Hermes, and the guidance of two worlds' greatest heroes and Izuku is well on his way to being a monster of a man.

Words: 2938, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Alice in Wonderland (Movies - Burton), Alice in Wonderland (1951), Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Related Fandoms, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/F, F/M

Characters: Alice Kingsleigh, Midoriya Izuku, Class 1-A (My Hero Academia), Class 1-B (My Hero Academia), Toga Himiko, U.A.'s Big Three (My Hero Academia), Hatsume Mei, U.A. Faculty (My Hero Academia), Past One For All Users (My Hero Academia), Various Alice in Wonderland Characters

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Toga Himiko, Midoriya Izuku/Uraraka Ochako, Midoriya Izuku/Yaoyorozu Momo, Ashido Mina/Midoriya Izuku, Asui Tsuyu/Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku/Melissa Shield, Jirou Kyouka/Midoriya Izuku, Hatsume Mei & Midoriya Izuku, Hagakure Tooru/Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku & U.A. Faculty, Class 1-A & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku & Various Alice in Wonderland Characters, Midoriya Izuku/Alice Kingsleigh

Additional Tags: Midoriya Izuku Has a Quirk, Midoriya Izuku is a Ray of Sunshine, BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku is a Dork, Midoriya Izuku is a Little Shit, Midoriya Izuku Has a Knife, Alice Kingsleigh Returns to Underland, Underland (Alice in Wonderland), Out of Character Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Out of Character Yagi Toshinori | All Might, U.A. is a University (My Hero Academia), Mineta Minoru is Expelled from U.A. High School, Protective U.A. Faculty (My Hero Academia), Bakugou Katsuki is Expelled from U.A. High School, Midoriya Izuku Has Multiple Quirks, Midoriya Izuku Has One for All Quirk, Midoriya Inko's Bad Parenting, Smart Midoriya Izuku, Snarky Midoriya Izuku, One For All Quirk Haunted by Past One For All Users' Ghosts (My Hero Academia), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Toga Himiko is Not a Villain, Toga Himiko is in Class 1-A, BAMF Class 1-A (My Hero Academia), Overpowered Midoriya Izuku, Cryptid Nedzu (My Hero Academia), Cryptid Midoriya Izuku, Polyamory, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is So Done, so many references, Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Manga Spoilers, Multilingual Midoriya Izuku, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Only in Underland, Post-Canon Underland, Smart Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Yagi Toshinori | All Might is a Good Teacher, U.A. Faculty Actually Do Their Jobs

source: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53166007