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AU where Peter Parker, Matt Murdock, and Frank Castle all lived in the same apartment building together because it was cheap on rent and none of them are rolling in dough exactly.
Peter grew up there because Aunt May and Uncle Ben moved in when he was still young enough to race down the hallway an get yelled at by the downstairs neighbors for shaking their ceiling.
Matt moved into one of the apartments while he was going through law school, permanently exhausted, perpetually broke, and always carrying textbooks under one arm.
Frank technically lived there for years tho his apartment was more accurately the place he returned to whenever the military gave him leave. So like few and far between. Sometimes he was there for weeks. Sometimes months passed with nothing behind his door but dust and unopened mail which May collected for him and kept off to the side for when he returned.
Matt helping Peter with homework once or twice and immediately regretting it because Peter discovered that asking increasingly complicated hypothetical legal questions was an excellent way to keep Matt trapped at the kitchen table for three hours.
Frank fixing May’s sink because the their shitty landlord aleays promised to send somebody and never did. Ben helping Frank drag an old couch up four flights of stairs.
Peter watering Frank’s plants while he was deployed until Frank gently informed him that the very dead fern had, in fact, already been dead before he left.
And over the course of years, completely independently of one another, all three of them become progressively more unhinged New York City vigilantes while desperately attempting to hide this fact from the people living like approximately twenty feet away.
Like imagine Peter attempting to climb up to his bedroom window at two in the morning with half his suit underneath his clothes when he hears Matt coming up the stairs and immediately throws himself behind the fire escape railing.
Matt, who can hear Peter’s heartbeat hammering directly outside the window, pauses for the longest time before he continues walking while telling himself that Peter’s a teen now and teens sneak out at night to go party or meet up with girls, is all. As long as the kids not getting into trouble and just doing normal, dumb, teenage boy things…
Or, Matt regularly returning home bleeding and telling everyone he “fell” and Peter accepts this explanation because Peter has personally arrived downstairs with three cracked ribs and explained that he “fell off his skateboard.”
(Neither of them owns a skateboard.)
Frank watches this happen for approximately six months and becomes increasingly convinced that the building he grew up returning to has somehow become populated exclusively by idiots.
Except Frank isn’t exactly subtle either because he develops new injuries and scars and tell them he got them on a mission despite the fact that Matt knows Frank has been on leave for three months now.
Sometimes men Peter has never seen before sit in cars across the street watching the building. Matt hears Frank cleaning weapons through two walls at three in the morning and decides that whatever Castle does for the military is absolutely none of his business. Peter once accidentally opens Frank’s duffel bag looking for something and immediately closes it again after seeing enough ammunition to invade a small country.
I just want an au where all three of them developing increasingly elaborate excuses and it leads to Matt thinking Peter is involved with something dangerous, Peter thinking Matt is involved with something dangerous, and both of them thinking Frank is involved with something dangerous.
Frank knows both Peter and Matt are involved with something dangerous but cannot figure out what because, somehow, his two civilian neighbors have become incredibly good at disappearing the instant he tries to follow them.
But like imagine Aunt May knows the entire time.
Like you can’t tell me she didn’t know something happened to Peter almost immediately because she raised him and suddenly her nephew could catch a falling glass without looking and started eating enough food for a football team. Even if he was going through puberty, that’s a little much.
But she also knew something was up with Matt because no normal lawyer has that many stitches, and there are only so many times a blind man can claim he tripped down the stairs before May starts wondering why every staircase in New York apparently has a personal vendetta against one Matthew Murdock.
To be fair, it did take longer for May to figure Frank out, not because he was better at hiding it but because May genuinely thought he was doing something classified for the government until she saw the Punisher on television, watched him tilt his head in that particular deeply unimpressed Frank Castle way, and went, “oh for heaven’s sake!”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x f!reader | a gift to @massivescissorsthingperson for their donation to Mikinakoos Children's Fund, Ontario Indigenous Women's Empowerment Fund, Anishinabek Nation 7th Generation Charity |
Prompt: it's your classic case of mistaken identity, turns out there is more than one Kyle in London wearing cargo pants and a fuckass hat.
cw: drinking, mentions of blacking out, kidnapping but like what rapunzel does to flynn in tangled-> (thanks kore), kyle is tied up
Stupid fuckass hat.
Kyle wakes to the sound of muttered curses. His head is fuzzy, with a rhythmic pounding and a dryness in his mouth he knows well from past hangovers. Only, typically, he wakes up in his own bed and his hands and feet aren't bound. The ropes are tight, but tied haphazardly, he could easily free himself but the bed beneath him squeaks any time he moves. Each time the muttering in the other room stops and then, after a beat, starts again, feet pacing back and forth.
It's dark, artificial and absolute. His eyes are covered by what feels suspiciously like a plush eye-mask. It smells faintly of lavender. Or maybe it's the pillow. Or the blankets tucked around him.
How did he get here?
Kyle thinks about the night before, the loud pub, his mates from London all rowdy over the footie match that was on the TV. There had been a constant flow of pints and shots and pretty pretty birds stopping by just to say hi. Kyle didn't usually entertain that kind of attention, he was on leave, could be called back at any time, he didn't need to hurt some woman's heart with his choice of career.
But there was someone who caught his eye.
You.
You had come into the pub and taken a seat at the far end of the bar nursing a drink while looking at something on your phone before looking around the bar as if searching for something, or someone.
You had run into him by chance, both of you queued up for the bathroom. You had complimented his hat, said it was patriotic, asked if he served. He had waved you off with a laugh. But he hadn't missed the way you eyed the hat, then his boots and his jacket. None of it was regulation, but he supposes there might have been something vaguely military about it.
He had approached you, slipped into the empty seat next to you and asked what you were drinking. You looked surprised to see him again, even more when he offered to get you a drink. You told him you had been stood up. You had seemed nervous, told him pretty boys at the pub didn't typically buy you drinks. He had thought it was a shame and was drunk enough to tell you so.
It gets fuzzy from there. Had he left with you? Had he left with his mates? Had someone picked him up off the street? Recognized him? Had you been with him?
Stupid fuckass hat.
That same phrase again, the voice panicked and frustrated. He wants to think he recognizes it, that he will get some answers to his questions but his brain is fuzzy and his left arm is starting to fall asleep from the way he's laying on it. And is his captor baking? It smells strongly of sugar, butter and something chocolaty.
When the door finally opens he's ready for it. His feet are free, his hands still tied and numb, but he's listened long enough to know his captor is alone and in the habit of singing along to the songs on the radio in between bouts of cursing.
"Oh, you're a—"
Kyle leaps out of the bed, the room must not have been very big because his shoulder hits a soft stomach, the person lets out a shocked oof as they fall to the floor.
It is you.
You scramble away from him, the eye mask pulling off in the scuffle. You are not dressed like any captor he has met before, typically they don't wear satiny robes and house slippers. Nor do they bake while they have a man tied up in the other room. Well, maybe not the terrorist types he typically deals with.
"Fuck, are you okay? I didn't mean to, I mean, fuck." You drop your head back against the wall.
"Didn't mean to what? Tie me up?"
Kyle wiggles until he can sit up. He's in desperate need of paracetamol and water, and to get his hands free.
"No, I mean, yes because I did tie you up, which feels totally illegal and I'm so sorry, but, shit, would you believe me if I said I thought you were someone else?"
You had tied him up on accident?
Kyle can't help but laugh, it pulls uncomfortably on his arms yet he doesn't stop. His RTI training had prepared him for getting captured but he always imagined it would be by trained professionals, that he would wake up in a chair with guns trained on him. Maybe some light waterboarding, threats to his body, his friends, his family.
"Can you untie me?"
It's a simple enough request.
"I could," you start and then eye him uncertainly, "but could you maybe agree to not kill me? I mean, at minimum it would be great if you didn't call the cops?"
"Fucking hell, kill you?" he asks, shocked because what about him last night or when he had been unconscious had screamed killer to you.
You leap up, not bothering to help him and return, looking sheepish and holding his hat, his wallet with both his ID and his military ID — which you would have seen if you had been snooping— the knife that Ghost had gotten him last Christmas, and his phone which lights up repeatedly with messages.
"I have tea and cookies and there is a cake in the oven and I can make you a cup of coffee if you prefer, just..." you trail off, standing in the doorway with his things.
"Fine, okay? I won't call the cops, just untie me."
Your unease quickly melts away into a smile. Far too naive, far too trusting for someone who had panicked and tied him up in fear he might kill you.
Your kitchen is tidy despite the chaotic way you move around it, first grilling him on his tea preference, then making him a plate with far more sweets than he could ever eat (Ghost would be in heaven if someone tied him up and fed him sweets). You're babbling as you go, something about an ex-boyfriend and a friend and you had been out of town. None of it was making sense and the paracetamol you had given him had yet to do its job.
"Sit down and tell it t'me slower."
You sit obediently, your own cup of tea is only lukewarm now but you sip at it gingerly before turning to Kyle.
"I was away on a work assignment, my friend started dating this total loser, Kyle. Kind of bloke who walks around in camo, has the stupid blacked out flag hat, the stolen valor type. Well he cheats on her, then starts harassing her, following her around to her favorite places and we tried telling the police about it but they didn't give a shit, so I thought I would scare him."
"Scare him?"
"Look, it wasn't a very well thought out plan, was it? You weren't supposed to blackout, we didn't even drink that much. You weren't even the right Kyle!"
"So your plan was to lure back the military obsessed stalker ex to your flat? And what? Scare him straight?"
It's ballsy, he'll give you that.
"No. Yes? Maybe, but when I realized you weren't him you were so far gone. Bloody hell are you heavy, and then I got you here and kept panicking. A knife? Really?"
"And the ex? Evil Kyle."
"Already bothering her at the cafe this morning. Fuck, I am so dumb."
You look as though you want the floor to swallow you, the embarrassment is clear on your face, in the way you bite at your lip.
Kyle's phone lights up again, there's no name on the caller id, but he recognizes the number.
"I gotta take this call, but after you can convince me not to press chargers by telling me about what else you can bake."
Your face brightens, the barest hint of a smile at the corners of your lips, your eyes widening and the frown marks between your brows smoothing out in surprise.
"Okay, yeah sure, you can take it in my room. I promise I won't try to poison you or anything."
Kyle has multiple missed calls and texts, when he calls back the number he isn't at all surprised to hear Ghost's voice on the other end, gruff and bored with his own leave.
"Thought I was goin' t'ave t'send out search an' rescue," he says instead of hello.
"You free?"
"Got a bottle o'whiskey an' a date with my 'and later, why?"
"Cancel the date, got a job for you. Goin' to break a few laws and maybe a few bones."
"Aww, didja meet someone? Too busy fuckin' t'answer my calls?"
"You could say I was tied up."
Simon laughs, "kinky, Garrick, I like it."
AN: if you missed it, a few other writer are doing this in order to raise money to help the Indigenous communities in Canada that have been impacted by fires. Please consider donating, or spreading awareness by reblogging!
Absolutely hilarious that thjazi is equally as horrified to learn that getting attached to julien is what saved him, just a couple of guys who hate each other in the get-along-sweater A+ no notes
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It's kind of hilarious how many Ls House Tachonis (and Primus specifically) have taken just because Julien is himself. Primus pissed off the exact kind of reckless but driven person that would swear revenge against the sorcerer that ripped his father's skull out of his head and mean it and fully throw himself into it, but also didn't have enough regard for him to kill him at the Palazzo Davinos even though he fully could have. Result: Two of his sons are dead, killed by specifically Julien because he has decided that House Tachonis shall join House Davinos. They also very much don't have the soul of Thjazi Fang despite giving him the scar because Julien is the kind of asshole who would spit on a corpse at a wake, evoking the exact kind of magic that is known to circumvent the scar. Result: Julien Davinos, to his own dismay, saved the soul of his hated enemy.
Primus is already livid at the fact that not killing Julien resulted in him being able to sneak into Obramus Manor and kill Koral, so he's surely going to be thrilled to learn that the same man is the reason he doesn't have Thjazi Fang is because that same man was a disrespectful asshole to the dead.
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A 6th-level Disintegrate spell... that does 75 damage on average. Bolaire, you go for the Phantasmal Force. It's batted away. Termina moves around, hits you with a Disintegrate, does not hit you.
[Unnamed Tachonis]: relationship status unknown, but their older brother still has yet to get married, so chances are they haven't done much yet
Occtis: probably can't reproduce; has game but can't recognise it for shit
So the twins either need to get at it with Wick, Ethrand needs to take some PR classes, or the unknown/dead siblings better have/have had some creepy-ass relationships going on or Primus' line is as dead as their domain. You're money-poor, land-poor, and heir-poor, Primus. You fucking suck at the politicking game.
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