#flat franklin

[fdrlibrary]

The elves had a helper today for decorating the President's Study 🎄

[chiropteracupola]

'The Polar bear at Blair Atholl,' 2024.

[comparatorclock]

Benjamin Franklin: The only thing flat-earthers fear, is sphere itself

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

Ann Bradstreet, you old puritan of the people of changing seasons like expose and encouragement to go ahead and view this 7:200 page pine again

Nice pomes

[roosterforme]

Emergency Contact (Rooster x Reader)

Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. My masterlist. Banner by @mak-32

Warnings: injuries while deployed, stitches, bandages, angst (deals with the events from Deployment Diaries Parts 18 and 19)

When Bradley asked you to be his emergency contact, you were overjoyed. This meant he was serious serious. He must have told his mom at some point that he was going to switch it, and she must have agreed that it was a good idea. You'd call Carole and Goose if anything happened. Of course you would. 

But that had always been a far off scenario in your mind. Something that was never actually likely to happen. You'd never expected the day to arrive where you had to be the one answering the horrific phone call.

"This is Admiral Priscilla Franklin. I have you listed as the emergency contact for Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."

"Oh," you gasped. Your hand came up to your forehead as you slowly sank down to sit on the kitchen floor in your yoga pants and sports bra.

"I'm afraid there's been an accident."

You felt yourself on the verge of hyperventilating. You were listening to Admiral Franklin, but her words weren't making sense. You'd barely been able to confirm your full name for her.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw was involved in a mission related incident. I can't provide you with much more information than that."

Your eyes were filled with tears as you choked out the words, "Is he okay?"

There was such a long pause. Part of you wished that Bradley had kept Carole as his emergency contact, because now you were going to have to be the one to soften the blow about an injury to her instead of the other way around. 

Unless it was worse than that. Admiral Franklin wasn't saying anything. What if it was worse than an injury? You were laying flat on the floor, your tongue too heavy and awkward in your mouth as you gagged. 

But you needed to know right now. "Is he okay?" you demanded louder, sucking air into your burning lungs."He's stable at the moment. We are waiting for him to regain consciousness. He has broken ribs, lacerations and most likely a grade three concussion."

He was alive.

As you got some scant details about what happened, you started sobbing. When you ended the call, you collected Tramp in your arms, and he licked your face all over. Someone would be contacting you the following day about collecting Bradley from the San Diego International Airport like he was a piece of lost luggage. 

You didn't want to call his parents. It was so late in Virginia, you would most certainly be waking them up. But when you looked at your lock screen, it was a photo of you and Bradley with Goose and Carole when you'd been in Virginia for Thanksgiving last year, and you just cried harder until you could barely see through the tears.

Once you managed to prop yourself up against the cabinets, you wiped your nose all over Bradley's soft UVA shirt and forced your fingers to work. Unlock the phone. Go to your contacts. Locate the Bradshaws' home number. Tap it. Your hand was still shaking when you heard Carole's voice loud and sharp after just two rings.

"Sweet Girl. Tell me what's wrong."

Your body was shaking with wretched sobs as you tried to get the words out. "He was in an accident. A bad ejection. He's unconscious but still alive."

You'd never seen Carole upset before. She always seemed to know what to do. And even now, while her voice shook slightly as she woke her husband up, she sounded so strong. 

You heard Goose's groggy voice, and you relayed all of the information you had. 

"We'll be out tomorrow," Carole said immediately.

"No," you replied softly. "I think you should wait until I know when he's coming home. Just in case he doesn't even come back to San Diego. The Admiral mentioned seeing a specialist."

There was a long pause on the other end of the call as you wiped your eyes on the sleeve of your boyfriend's shirt. "You'll keep us updated?" Goose asked. "And you'll tell us if you change your mind and want us to come out now so you're not alone?"

"Of course," you adamantly insisted. "I'll call as soon as I hear anything at all."

Then Carole's voice was back, and it was as reassuring as talking to your own mother. "The instant you tell us to get to San Diego or anywhere else, we'll be on our way. So you just give us the word, and we're coming, Sweet Girl."

----------------------------

You were barely given any notice at all. Six hours from now, you needed to pick Bradley up from the airport. Apparently he could walk on his own, which was the best news you could imagine hearing. You called Carole and gave her the update, and she purchased tickets for the first flight out the following morning while she was on the phone with you. 

But nothing prepared you for the mess you found when you finally laid eyes on him. "Oh, Roo. Oh, Bradley." You covered your mouth with your hands. He truly looked terrible. His face was swollen and bruised, and you could see stitches peeking out all over the place. His left arm was bandaged and resting in a sling. But he was smiling down at you as you wiped tears from your eyes, and he ran his right hand along your hair.

"Can I touch you?" you asked softly, and Bradley slipped his right hand around your waist, slowly pulling you closer until your body was gently touching his.

"Please touch me, Sweetheart. It's the only thing that will make me feel better."

You laughed through your tears as you let one hand rest gently on his chest. "You scared me," you whispered, throat tight with emotion. "Like a whole lot, Roo." You let your other hand trail up over his neck and swollen cheeks, avoiding the clusters of stitches when you could.

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," he whispered back, kissing the tears on your cheeks.

It wasn't an easy task, but you got him home and cleaned up and into bed. He was having a hard time breathing, and the ninety-eight stitches on his left arm were almost enough to turn your stomach. His handsome face was creased with pain, even after you helped him take his medication. But every time he whispered your name or laced his fingers gently with yours, you couldn't help but smile. 

Very carefully, you climbed in bed next to him and pushed his hair back from his forehead before you kissed him. "Your parents will be out tomorrow. They can't wait to see you."

"Thanks for taking care of everything and letting them know what happened," he murmured, the pain medication finally kicking in and helping his big body relax. "You're the best. I love you." He was thankfully asleep before you could even return the sentiment. 

The next morning, he only woke long enough for you to change his bandages and give him a million kisses and feed him some toast in bed. You felt wrung out and overly emotional and exhausted by the time you heard Tramp run for the front door. It must be Goose and Carole since you told them to just let themselves inside when they arrived. But when you looked down at the old sweats and Bradley's undershirt you had been wearing, you felt your cheeks grow warm. 

You looked like a mess. Your bedroom, bathroom and kitchen were a mess. They were about to see how bad their son looked as he napped in bed, and on top of everything else, you looked terrible too right now. 

But before you could even fully register your embarrassment, Carole's petite form was standing in your bedroom doorway with Goose behind her, Tramp jumping up to try to get his attention. 

"Oh, Sweet Girl," she sighed, glancing at Bradley and then looking back at you. "You wonderful, sweet thing." She had tears in her eyes as she approached you. "Look how well he's doing. Oh, Goose, look how she's taking care of him."

You let Carole collect you in a hug, and you sagged against her, too tired to try to explain to her that you were tired and out of your element. Instead you just let her hold you as Goose kissed the top of your head and made his way to sit in the dining room chair that you'd carried in and set right next to Bradley's side of your bed. 

"Let Goose sit with him until he wakes up and needs you, okay?" she whispered. "And then the four of us can talk together."

"Okay," you agreed softly. Because while it was a privilege to be Bradley's emergency contact, it felt nice to not have to take care of everything alone now. 

Carole led you into the hallway. "Let's get you fed, and then I'll help you get yourself in the bath. And later on, Goose can walk Tramp while I make dinner. And then you can focus on Bradley like I know you want to, and he can focus on you. And we'll be here to take care of everything else."

"That sounds good."

[shittyassffblog]

In Sickness and In Health

Someone said they wanted noah taking care of Y/N when they were sick and i took that upon myself lol (not at all procrastinating my dissertation noooooo) anyways here. They're married too yay

If anyone wants to go on a taglist for when i post send me an inbox and i'll add you to it!

Warnings: illness (cold and coughing), fluff, any others please tell me.

You woke up to the most annoying sound of your alarm going off. You had never been more pissed at your alarm before and soon you felt it. Your left nostril all blocked up. You groaned out loud and turned under your covers only for the other nostril to be blocked off too now. You opened your eyes to see the other side of the bed empty. Noah must be at the gym.

You got up from the bed to get a shower, hoping that would clear up some of the goo in your nose. As you got undressed, you called your work to tell them you were sick. You put on some calming music and got in the warm water. You lost track of time in there, the warm water being so soothing. You quickly washed your body and hair and got out again. You took your time doing your skincare, rubbing your whole body with bodyoil. You walked into your bedroom to find Noah half dressed, looking through his drawers for a pair of underwear. You hugged him from behind and he juped slightly.

"Hey princess, what are you doing home?" He asked, turning around and hugging you close.

"I'm sick." You said simply, your stuffed nose providing evidence of your claim.

"Then what are you doing out of bed?!" He asked incrediously. You smiled.

"I can shower by myself baby, you go shower." You said and siled at him.

"No?! I'm gonna make you some tea and some good breakfast, and then we will spend all day on the couch cuddling." He said with a firm grip on your arms.

"Okay but could you shower first? You smell." You said and he laughed.

"How would you know that, you can't smell anything." He said kissing your forehead and going to take a shower. You laughed to yourself and went to get settled on the couch with your phone.

You were a good 20 minutes into your tiktok scroll when Noah emerged from the bathroom, wet hair and a pair of black tight underwear on.

"You should never wear anythign else." You said and he grinned.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked and you pondered for a bit.

"Waffles with berries and whipped cream." You said and he laughed.

"Be serious, you can't have that if you're sick. You need healthy food." He said and you pouted. "What about avocado toast? You can have the berries on the side." He said and you sighed through your mouth.

"Alright. But I want juice as well." You said and he laughed again.

"Sure angel." He said.

"Can i have the controller?" You asked pointing to the Playstation 5 controller that was by the TV.

"Of course baby. You want the blankets too?" he asked and you nodded. He wrapped you in the blankets tightly and handed you the controller and turned on the TV, handing you the remote.

"Wait here gorgeous, i'll fix you some food." He said, kissing your head and you smiled as you started up GTAV on the giant flat screen that adorned your wall.

Noah soon returned with the food he promised, placing the plate on your lap and the glass of juice on the little table beside your couch. He plopped down beside you and you handed him the controller to continue the game while you ate.

"You're so trash at this." You said, mouth full of food. He was so concentrated on the game his tongue was sticking out of the side of his mouth, turning the controller the way he wanted the car to go.

"Yeah well i was learning guitar when i was a kid i didn't play car games." He said and you laughed. Once you were done eating you put down your plate and drank half of the orange juice. You took back the controller, putting Franklin in the game out of his misery and finished the mission. You then put the controller down and opened tiktok, scrolling a few videos down.

"Aren't you going to practice?" You asked Noah, who was supposed to be in the soundproof basement. He shook his head and pulled you close so your head was resting against his chest.

"No, cancelled." He said squeezing you tightly into his body.

"Why?" You asked looking up at him.

"Would rather make sure you were okay. It's never nice to be alone when you're sick." Noah said and your heart warmed. You truly had found the best husband ever.

"But don't you need to practice some of the new songs?" You asked and he shook his head.

"No we're good. Just relax baby." He said and you turned back to your phone.

-

You woke up to the sound of plates clinking in the kitchen, and you looked out the window to see the sun was setting. You didn't know how long you had been asleep for, you don't even remember falling asleep, but apparently now the sun was setting, and from the sounds of it, Noah was doing the dishes. You got off the couch and walked out to find him, wrapping the blanket around you.

"Baby." You said groggily. Noah turned around quickly and smiled when he saw you.

"Hey sweets. You okay?" He asked as he hugged you around your blanket. You nodded into his chest.

"yeah j's missed you." You said and ge chuckled.

"I'm right here baby." He said as he started to sway you slightly back and forth.

"You wanna watch a movie?" he asked and you nodded. You shuffled back into the living room, Noah right on your heels, and you put on Twilight, which Noah had never seen.

"I swear i'm only okay with this cause you're sick." He said and you looked at him.

"Sure. That's the only reason." You said and laid your head in his hand. He han his large tattoed hands through your hair softly as the events of Bella and Edward took place on the screen. You almost fell asleep again if it wasn't because you absolutely loved this movie.

"Is there more of this?" Noah asked and you chuckled.

"Yes. 4 more movies." You said and he yelped in surprise.

"They made that many?!" He asked and you laughed.

"Yes, it was very popular book series, it made a lot of money!" You laughed as he found the next one.

"You need anything before it starts?" He asked as he ran his hand along your leg.

"A cup of tea would be nice, yeah." You said and kissed his hand. He got up to make the tea and you were suddenly filled with a feeling of complete love and joy for the tattooed man you were sharing your life with. You had never felt so loved before, never felt so cared for and you adored the way he was taking care of you and making sure you felt good. Loving Noah was the best thing that ever happened to you and as he came back and sta beside you, unpausing the movie and being so invested in a thing you really loved, you couldn't stop yourself from kissing him deep.

"Great now I'll get sick." He said, no real venom behind his words, and a big smile on his lips.

"And i will take care of you." You said and kissed him again.

________________

So yeah that's it guys. Hope you like itttt. send me requests and feedback in my inbox <3

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1877 home in Franklin, Pennsylvania needs some work and sprucing up, but the interior is stunning. 4bds, 3ba, $279K.

Plus, there's this little servant's house that could be rental income.

The entrance hall needs brightening, but it has original ceiling beams, floors and railings.

It looks like it's currently being used as an office building, but luckily, they haven't renovated it and everything is still intact.

For some reason, they put up this door w/side panels right behind the columns- that has to go. Look at how close it is- it's up against it.

Closeup of an original fireplace. Isn't this unusual? Next to it is an original heating grate. Even if it's not functional, it's a great feature.

This is actually the dining room with two built-in cabinets and an original fireplace. Look at the wonderful inlaid floor.

The kitchen had a DIY reno where they painted all the wood a flat black.

There's a small pantry.

This room is also an office and features a built-in bookcase. I hope they didn't ruin the bottom with all that stuff.

Details of a stained glass window.

Apparently they finished the lovely floor around the bed. I kind of like the flowers on the wall.

This is a nice bedroom with a beautiful fireplace, but again, they finished the floor only around the bed.

The ceiling in this room has a beautiful design.

Look at the wonderful original marble sink.

It isn't often that you find an original bath. Only the toilet is new.

There's a sunporch in the back, but you can't even get in with all the office stuff.

The basement. It may be the old coal room behind this door.

Up in the attic is a lovely stick construction room with a great fireplace and leaded glass windows.

I always liked Victorian stick construction and this vintage bath is great- the sink and toilet look original.

This is a beautiful room.

The lot is .86 acre.

The muddy creek along the property is called French Creek.

[dravenscroft]

So my wife and I are working on a long fic that's a Terror modern AU set in a secondary school. My wife is a teacher and has experienced The Horrors of crappy schools being taken over by academy trusts and becoming weirdly corporate firsthand. We're like 50k into it and it'll probably be like 60k? I think? Anyway we're uploading it on my Ao3 soon but here's a brief rundown of some of the highlights:

Crozier is the new joint head of school, he's been moved there against his will to work alongside Fitzjames, the 'Head of Data', which Crozier thinks isn't a real job.

Franklin is the Executive Head but he's NEVER at the school, he's always busy at head office and has no idea what chaos goes down.

Fitzjames used to be a drama teacher until he got promoted up. He hasn't taught in years and so Crozier has zero respect for him...at first.

Little is the exhausted head of English and he is regularly being verbally abused by the children. He is having a Bad Time.

Hodgson is the music teacher. Irving is the art teacher.

Collins is the maths teacher...he has had a sniffle since the start of the year...he is maybe over medicating with Lemsip and cough medicine in an effort to keep coming to work.

Goodsir is the bright-eyed NQT biology teacher. He is still full of wonder and hope. Oh, to see the UK education system 'with eyes as an NQT...'

Stanley is the head of science. He is not full of wonder and hope. Obviously.

Blanky is the geography teacher who has been there since forever and doesn't take any shit. He's beloved by the kids but they also rightly fear him because he will tell them what for if they misbehave. He also has NO concept of professional corporate speak in emails. He will tell it like it is.

...Oh yeah, there's emails in there too. It's partly epistolary.

Jopson is the highly competent office worker for the school reception. He WILL find a way to schedule the unscheduleable, he WILL handle any difficult parent that comes his way, and he WILL answer every email in a timely fashion.

He works alongside Billy of course, who doesn't want to be there, except maybe for the gossip.

Bridgens takes on the work of several as is normal in a terrible school...he's librarian, and the first-aider, and a TA, along with his husband Peglar who is also a TA.

Tozer is the disillusioned P.E teacher who USED to enjoy his job until Heather left and took another job on the other side of the country and the Academy (Admiralty Trust) took over...now he hates his job and is totally checked out.

And then of course there's Hickey...a problematic parent who has made bringing down Crozier and the school his primary goal. It was very hard to imagine Hickey with a kid but we came to the decision that his daughter was born when he and the girl's mother were like 15, a one-time fling before he figured out his sexuality, and he has Regretted It Ever Since because good GOD this man doesn't want to be a father. He only has her on weekends and isn't in contact with her mother at all. He WANTED to run off to Hawaii like in canon but then his kid's mother said she'd chase him to the ends of the earth for child maintenance if he did. He is NOT a good father, this troubled, angry teenage girl lives off takeaway and pot noodles and they mostly just try to avoid each other when she's at his scummy little flat. HOWEVER, because Hickey is all about his ego, when there are Issues with his daughter at school Hickey takes it as a slight against HIM, and makes revenge his goal.

His daughter also features, she's a 'managed move' student who was nearly expelled from her last school for bringing in a knife. She's very troubled and terrorises the teachers (she's referred to as 'a little terror' in one of the emails...) but she also ends up bonding a little with Crozier, who tries his hardest to turn things around for her. It's just too bad her father wants to cause Problems rather than do anything to ACTUALLY help her.

Anyway yeah. It's mostly comedic but with a few serious issues tackled (like the obvious neglect this girl experiences, for one) - it's mostly been a way for my teacher wife to rant about Academy schools and just the general failings of the UK school system lmao. There is Social Commentary involved.

Anyway it's Coming Soon.

[highways-are-liminal-spaces]

I genuinely want to know what it is about Hollow Earth stuff and unsubstantiated claims that historical figures supported them, because I have found lists like this one, which enumerate explorers whose observations/writings "confirm" or "support" theories of a hollow earth (and no..... they don't, for the most part at least) and then those lists used as sources that all of the aforementioned explorers subscribed to the theory.

I returned to my Terror fic to write a few little codas, so naturally this meant a lot of additional reading about the 1850s and I have found my favorite ever conspiracy theory:

[newtonsheffield]

Is Anthony still protective of Kate even once he isn’t her bodyguard anymore? In what ways? Also just a broad spectrum SWOON.

He is still very protective of her. He was in the military for years before he spent two years protecting her and that’s a hard switch to turn off. He’s constantly aware of the people around them. Probably more aware now than he was before the altercation that saw his retirement.

He nearly knocked Josie’s twin brother, you know a future Duke, clean back with a swift elbow to the chest because he approached Kate too quickly.

“You’re very strong.” Franklin wheezed, bent double as Anthony tried to apologize.

“You really shouldn’t sneak up on me.” Kate tutted, “if you want to talk about my sister being a dickhead at dinner I already know that! I told her not to take Ben and Sophie! Sophie was mortified when she got there and realised it was obviously supposed to be a date.”

“Oh my god. I think I’m dying. God, you’re strong.”

Whenever they go somewhere and there’s a mob of people waiting for them, which is often, Anthony finds himself falling easily back into his old job. He keeps Kate tucked firmly into his side as her security team pushes through the crowd, her face occasionally pressed against his chest when she really didn’t want to be seen that day. Even when he moves out of the palace and back into his flat he hates that security had to assess his flat and put measures in place if it was understood that Kate would ever stay there. And he did it. He let his old team come through and pick through his flat because he wants to keep her safe. And if having the glass in his windows replaced with. I let proof glass is the way that happens? So be it.

[fdrlibrary]

DUN-DUN DUN-DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN 🦈

#FlatFranklin has made his way to the Jaws Bridge on Martha's Vineyard.

[sleepyhutcherson]

you’re home

masterlist

pairing: franklin fox x gn!reader

summary: where franklin, your boyfriend, surprises you with his return from a long work trip.

word count: 1.2k

tags: fluff, no use of y/n, clingy, touch starved, established relationship, petnames (love, babe, baby), just fluff literally.

author’s note: i adore this man. i need this man. he was such a cutie ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) seriously criminal how little content there is of him. expect more content of him from me tho. (also half asleep as i edited this, sorry for any spelling errors lmao)

You were a little bothered Franklin hadn’t called you, usually he would have called by now. He’s been out of town due to a work trip, it was sorted out last minute and with your work schedule you weren’t able to tag along with him. He would be gone for four weeks.

It’s been two weeks since he left, since then you’ve both clinged onto your phones eager to see each other through FaceTime or simply hear each other’s voices. You would text back and forth on a daily basis, meaningless conversation, just enjoying the mere words being exchanged.

You arrived from work an hour ago, you had just showered and were just starting on dinner. This was around the time Franklin called. You were feeling extra low today, missing your boyfriend a little more than usual. So you waited for him to call, anxiously stealing glances at your phone eager to pick up the phone the moment it rang.

A few minutes had passed, you were cutting up some vegetables, waiting…patiently. You try to discard the worries running through your mind, convincing yourself he was probably stuck at work. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little worried. It wasn’t like him. For the past two weeks he’s called at the same time every day. Maybe he was just tired today? No, you think, he would call anyway. He would, you know him. You were being dramatic probably so you forced yourself to focus on your hands as they prepared your meal, your eyes flickering towards your phone that you made sure to place with the screen facing up in case you for some reason missed the ringtone.

But nothing, even after 15 minutes.

You shoot him a quick message then asking if he arrived at his hotel he was staying at safely, keeping your chats opened up hoping you would at least see he was typing back. Yet nothing appeared. God, you were overreacting surely.

The sound of someone trying to open the front door of your flat startles you, your heart practically springs out of your chest. Before you can even react, the door opens, and Franklin steps inside with his suitcase. You’re heart races, more than happy to see him. There’s a cheeky grin on his face when he sees your reaction, his arms opening up the second he sees you making your way towards him. “Hey, baby,” he coos, wrapping his arms around your waist, kissing the side of your head, taking in your scent. He melts into your touch, the familiar scent of your shampoo comforting him.

“You’re home,” you breathe out, relieved to see him—to have him back. Your hands are behind his neck, inching slowly up to the back of his head, your fingers entwined with his hair.

Franklin buries his face in the crook of your neck, nestling up there, tickling you slightly. “I missed you,” he whispers, kissing the smooth skin on your neck. He feels so vulnerable right now, your bodies pressed up against each other, sweet words being exchanged between each other. He pulls you closer, barely any space left between the two of you, desperation and greed taking over. He kisses up to your jaw, soft kisses being left on your skin, whispering between each peck how much he missed you, how much he longed for you, how much he’s been waiting to see you: how happy he was to have you this close to him again.

“I missed you, too.” You say with honesty. Your hands play with his hair the way you knew he liked it, tilting your head back a little to give him more access to your neck. The way he kissed you now was different from before, the kisses he left behind were so pure and slow as if he was making sure to take his time. To really enjoy the moment. You loved it, honestly.

You try to withdraw from his grasp a little—only to get a better look at him—but his grip tightens on you, not enough to hurt you but enough to show you he doesn’t want you to let go just yet. “Don’t. Not yet.” you hear him muffle into your neck. He was practically clinging onto you, not wanting to be without your touch ever again.

One of your hands continuously plays with his hair, the other rubbing softly against his back in a comforting manner. “I was worried about you,” you say then, “you didn’t call or anything.”

Now he pulls away, “I know,” he cups your jaw now, locking his deep brown eyes with yours, you nearly melt at the mere glance. “I wanted to surprise you.”

You smile, “you wanted to surprise me?”

He nods, cheeks pink now. “I thought maybe you would want to see me.” Suddenly, he’s much more shy with his words.

Your hands rest against his waist, his breath catching when you start rubbing his clothed skin with your thumb. “Maybe I did,” you pull him closer to you, his hands on the sides of your face, thumb gently rubbing your cheek.

He raises a brow, a smile on his lips. “Ah, did you?” There’s a playful demeanour between the two of you, one that is so familiar to each other. One that you both missed. Your noses brush against each other’s for a brief moment, you let out a soft giggle and Franklin loses it there his lips pressing against yours, and you welcome his kiss immediately. The kiss is soft, your lips moving in sync, your hands trailing slowly above his waist and fuck does it make him weak, the way your hands feel on him.

When you pull away, your hands move up to cup his face. “I’m glad you’re home,” you whisper with a smile, his eyes boring into yours.

He presses a kiss against your cheek but he lets his lips linger there for a moment longer. He would love to stay like this forever, your hands cupping his face, the softness of your palms against his skin, his lips against your flushed cheeks. “I missed you so much,” he says, his words clear but muffled against you. Still, you don’t miss the way his words are chocked up.

You pull him back, your hands gently on his sides again, you knew he loved being touched like that. His eyes are slightly glossy with presumably tears but he isn’t sad, a huge smile is plastered on his lips, and he genuinely seems thrilled. He is happy, that’s the thing. He’s so happy to be in your grasp, to have your lips bestowed on him merely moments ago. “You’re here now, love.”

He presses his lips against yours briefly, just to feel them again. You chase after his lips, your hands moving to the back of his neck to pull him towards you, and you kiss him once more, deepening the kiss this time. You were both happy to be in each other’s presence again, happy to be touched by the other—to be held. Franklin was very obviously in love with you just as you were with him.

When you pull away, he smiles at you like a lovesick idiot, murmuring an “I love you” as he pulls you in to embrace you, wanting to endure your warmth, your scent—you, altogether.

taglist: @cancelledkaley @stanheights-boyfriend @jhutch-bf @laurrrelise @joshfutturman @gryffindorsblog @sofiehutch @obsessivemuso-withnofriends @helen-on-earth

love you all xx ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

[redeyerhaenyra]

It's not warm when she's away

Summary: A part 2 continuation to this fic, what is life like with your three kidnapper exes?

Warnings: Angst, yandere dynamics, unhealthy relationship, threat of physical harm, threat of harm to animals (no actual harm tho), yeah this one is heavy, Steven dislocates readers shoulder, forced imprisonment, let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: Suggested by @ominoose ty bb (she made me do this she is keeping me in her basement tied up as I write this sos)

Marc Spector

Arguably the best of the bunch here

And by best I mean most sympathetic to your circumstance, but that still doesn't mean Marc is going to let you go free

No, he lost you once. They all did. He won't be making that mistake again.

He tries to spend as much time with you as he can, knowing that Steven and Jake can be.. pushy, with you.

Watches movies with you, cuddles you in bed, kisses you and whispers sweet nothings into your hair like this was a normal situation.

Does his best to make you as comfort as possible, to make it seem like you never even left them in the first place.

Marc is the one that gives you thr most freedom- he lets you walk around the flat for a start.

You're still trapped, though. Still a prisoner. And as much as you beg and plead, and as much as he wants to make you happy.. you aren't leaving anytime soon.

Jake Lockley

Ah the kidnapper himself.

At first he was the one part of the system you were most afraid of, having been the one to kidnap you, after all.

But now.. he's only second worst. We'll get back to that later, don't worry ;)

Jake has never acted angry with you, ever. Even now.

When he scolds you for running away like you did, his voice is quiet, his tone is of harsh disappointment, and cuts you deeper than anything raising his voice could do.

On the face of it he's the most restrictive

He'd have you hogtied, blindfolded, and gagged 24/7 if not for Marc's protest

He's not happy about it but he settles for having you tied to the bed with Steven's ankle restraint.

Funnily enough he's also the one you see the least of. You would have thought Jake would force himself to front incase the other two let you free. You hadn't realised they were all in on it.

Jake is the type of person to apologise with actions, not words.

He does sympathise with your situation. He loves you, they all do, and he isn't as upset as you would have thought to find you aren't too happy with your predicament

He buys you things- new clothes, toys for Franklin, he makes you tasty food, anything you could ask for.

Another of the reasons he's sympathetic is that he knows he isn't the worst you have to deal with.

Steven Grant

Oh boy

Oh boy oh boy oh boy

Steven is such a two faced bitch

In the beginning he cared the most, was the one fronting more often, getting you anything you could've asked for, and showering you in affection.

But then you managed to break free from the ankle restraint one night.

You had only made it a few feet across the room before you were bodyslammed into the floor, arms twisted roughly behind your back.

Steven had taken this so personally, like a catty, high-school mean girl.

His words were vitriolic, and he shouted them at you with an anger you thought poor Steven simply incapable of.

He even threatened to hurt Franklin if you tried anything like that again, describing it as "only fair", as the way you "hurt" him would be nothing compared to what he'd do to your poor innocent cat.

Remember how I mentioned Marc was the only one who opposed you being hogtied 24/7? Yeah no Steven agreed with Jake.

He isn't above restraining you like that.

Oh and he's so manipulative

It was like a switch had been turned on in his head. He would never had used his tears to hurt you before you left.

But now he knew how to use his big, round eyes glittering with tears to have you yield to the system's whims

Steven scares you now.

Each time he comes home from work, smiling and so happy to see you and Franklin, sends a cold chill down your spin, as you'll never know when he might snap.

Jake and Marc had been the ones to understand that you don't really want to share the same bed as them anymore, and had taken to sleeping on the sofa

Not Steven. He smothers you in affection whether you want it or not, and even has the gall to ask why you're so rigid when he forces you into the once safe haven of his arms

He wasn't stupid, he understood full well why you were scared of him. The body all three men shared was strong, it had dislocated your arm when you'd tried to run away the first time.

The threat of physical harm was not something Steven was above using.

He'd changed so much, was he always like this? Was he always capable of doing this to you?

You'd never know. But at least, if you kept your head down.. things were.. somewhat stable.

[wide-nose-and-wonderful]

SNOWFALL SEASON 3 Franklin.

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black Fem Reader!

Warnings/Type: Major Snowfall TV Show Spoilers. Established Relationship. Drama, Hurt, Angst, Use of the n-word. ONE SHOT!

Summary: Being Leon's baby sister, you were almost like a forbidden fruit, but Franklin kissed you that night at the amusement park. Since then you couldn't get him outta your mind. The day of Andres funeral you decide to approach him and let him know these growing feelings, unaware the world is about to come crashing down in the worst way.

Word count: 8,220k / Please consider leaving a comment to show some love and support. Like this story? To read other works please check out the Masterlist.

It had gotten humid inside the ragged old church. The whole morning felt entirely too hot. But the situation had been a form of hell. The irony was an abysmal reality you could do without. You wondered how bad it might feel come afternoon when everything moved over to Cissy’s house for the repass. 

Older women from the neighborhood sat off to the side, lukewarm bottles of water in hand. One program folded, causing a line to stretch across the deadeased face, flapping at a steady pace to offer these warm necks a brush of air and a small release from the heat. 

Once the casket closed, things had become real. No going back, no second chances. You had watched eagerly, with both terror and awe at the sight of death with little understanding of its significance. She’d found her father, head on the kitchen table with a bullet through his brain. The top being lowered in the manner it appeared. A firm but gentle slam, screaming, the end. 

You glimpsed at the program in your hand then up ahead. Melody held tight to a blank stare as the pastor spoke. It worried you whenever your eyes managed to find her among the large crowd of people sitting in pews. She looked, lost. Checked out. Maybe from the situation. Maybe from something else? If the rumors going around the neighborhood were true she had been recovering from an addiction to rock. Or had recently taken a hit to numb her mind. Given the situation, you could forgive her for the latter. Still, you couldn't deny this ominous gut instinct that something bad might happen today. 

You pulled at the side of your dress. The color design, a black and white triangle pattern. Hair up in a high bun, you wore a pearl necklace with matching earrings, black stockings and flats. A light application of makeup had been applied. Another thing that bothered you about funerals. Mascara rolling down in black gunky lines. All the sad songs would have caused the welling up of tears so by the time everything ended the look would be giving something out of one of the horror films you’d watched with your girlfriends every other friday. 

The singer's voice lifted. 

‘Amazing grace! how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch; like me! I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind, but now I see.’ 

You swore, every black person that died had this very song playing at their funeral in some capacity. Didn’t matter if it was first walking in, or walking out, it never failed.

Andre Wright was no different. His sister Bernice even commented on how as a child the song had been his favorite to sing at Sunday service when they attended with their grandparents. Then she trailed off, expressing disappointment in Andre’s low attendance since joining the police force, and that God might be punishing him for the lack of acknowledgement. Luckily Cissy came to counter the conversation, presenting you and Leon a swift escape. You took it, Leon too. What came next would make it awkward for everyone involved. 

But suicide was always an awkward topic.

You bumped Leon’s shoulder. He averted his eyes away from the program in his hand to look at you. 

“This is sad huh?” You said as your gaze moved over the crowd. 

“Yeah. Real sad,” He mumbled. “Fuckin’ hate funerals.”

You kept your eyes on him for a moment. “It’s not reminding you of dad is it? From what you can remember, I mean.” 

Leon shook his head. “Naw. Not dad.” He paused. “Kev.”

You noticed he stared straight ahead when Kevin’s name slipped out. Jaw tight with unspoken tension. What was he looking at? You tilted your head. The casket in his line of vision. When Leon saw you’d caught on, a sad smile found him. 

“Kev’s wasn’t that exact color, but the flower arrangements kinda remind me of how they put his shit together.”  

‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, And grace my fears relieved; How precious did that grace appear. The hour I first believed!’

You discovered Franklin sitting beside his mother and father in a blue button up and tie. His hands in his lap.Thumbs running over each other. His head hung while the music played, all the way up until the point the song finished. You remembered that day. Kevin’s funeral. One of the hardest for Leon. For everyone. Franklin hadn’t been in attendance. You asked Leon why. All he said was that he wasn’t gonna be able to make it. Kevin’s older brother Kane also missed the funeral, but everyone knew where Kane was. He’d been locked up for as long as you could remember. You didn't expect Jerome or Louie to be there. Not after what happened.  

Forgetting you’d been staring, Franklin turned his head to lock eyes with you for a second before he lowered his head once more. Your glare hardened on him. He’d barely been able to look at you. You were tired of his blatant avoidance. The way it started to make you feel took a toll on your control. Keeping those tears in during the ceremony. You hardly heard the preacher for the majority. Something in you somehow began to die. Such a permanent end hadn’t just been reserved for Andre. You lowered your hand and took hold of Leon’s, applying pressure. He offered a gentle smile as the tears rolled down your cheeks. “I know sis,” he whispered against the pastor's words, providing a light squeeze to counter. 

You felt out of place sitting so close to the Wright family, but Leon couldn't oppose Bernice on the seating request. He'd called her Mom once, and ate at her table many times before she’d packed up and relocated to Odessa Texas. 

The funeral continued. You fidgeted with a program while the Pastor called for the congregation to bow heads.

Our father who art in heaven…

Outside Leon was busy giving hugs and conversing with those who chose to stop him on the way to the car. You cared little for conversation. Instead your concentration was fixed. The very last step to the afterlife, or the process that the body would go through. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust…..The casket dissolved into the black hearse. The door closed, securing it inside for the lengthy trip to the ultimate resting place for the dearly departed. The grave location. A marker arranged later with Andre’s full name on it and a quote from the bible underneath, probably.

You shuffled out the church doors. A familiar voice touched your ears the second your foot felt the sidewalk, and you spun your head to the way behind. Alton. Franklin’s father stood, looking at you. 

“You and Leon gonna head over to the house? Cissy could use more help. Seems like we're gonna have a little more company then expected.”

You offered a smile. “Yeah, of course. Whatever we can do to help. We’ll probably leave in a second once he's finished.”

Alton offered an identical smile, but his brown face only reflected dismay. “Thank you both. See you then.”  

You revolted his departure with a look of disbelief and Leon caught sight of the hearse finally taking its leave as you uttered something about being hungry. Leon’s eyes left the dark ghost that took away the soulless thing in the brown box. As it disappeared in the traffic, all Leon could say was "Damn," before licking the dryness from his lips while he pulled out a joint and lit the end up with a low spark of fire. 

…

The atmosphere in the little house on 56th remained a somber affair. Cissy and Alton had done their best with the little space they had, but it felt cramped by the time You and Leon arrived. One of the hottest days in the city's history according to the radio reports. As predicted, the heat had gotten worse, so intense that it made it hard to breathe. Every hour the power would cut out. Anything Cissy had baking in the oven took extra time. Everyone felt it, this imminent trepidation that attached to the burning. Especially Franklin.You played the part of greeter as per Cissy’s request and directed some of the guests inside, keeping an eye on him. He still had on his suit jacket. Just the sight made you feel extremely suffocated. You watched him pass Melody and Bernice. Melody’s eyes strangely tore him to pieces. 

The rest of the mourners sat around, some sharing memories of Andre. Others offered their presence and support where needed. These people. Some you recognized and other’s you didn’t. They’d come one after the other with a comforting arm and words of sympathy for Melody. 

The dead stare hadn’t left her since coming from the funeral service at the church.“I'm so sorry for your loss. Your dad was a great man. He protected this community, put his life on the line everyday and he will be missed,” one officer from Andres' unit told her as he took off his hat as a sign of showing his respect. Something like, Nixon, Nix? Melody mellowed out a quiet thank you and Bernice rubbed her back as a tear would fall. 

You’d taken the opportunity and handed her a box of tissues when some of the people cleared a pathway. Sat down next to her, to offer your own personal condolences for her loss. “We're here for you, Mel. Whatever you need, just ask,” you said, giving her a reassuring smile. And the sorry’s continued on for a while right after yours. “I know this is a difficult time,” and "You are in our prayers,” were some of the many that followed. 

Eventually you found yourself in the bathroom staring in the mirror. You’d used some toilet paper to dab your forehead and relieve yourself of the perspiration that gathered. After you applied a fresh line of deodorant you hit the light switch and stepped out into the hallway. Franklin turned the corner just in time. The both of you stood, not saying anything until a shaky grin danced on him. 

“Hey Beanz.” 

It came, short and sweet. You watched his eyes move past you and toward his room. Another manner of escape. You blocked the path. Franklin walked forward, attempting to get past. 

“Excuse me,” he mumbled. 

You took hold of his arm. “Wait. Can I talk to you real quick?” 

He hadn’t provided you with much opportunity. You couldn’t call Cissy’s without raising suspicion. That, and it would get back to Leon. You only paged him a few times after the night at the amusement park. That same day you’d ended things with the guy Leon warned you about. The same guy you’d swore up and down wouldn’t do you dirty, but ended up proving Leon right. Like always. That same day Franklin showed up. 

What were the odds that he’d be out driving that night to find you walking down the street in tears. What were the odds that cotton candy and laughter would leave you full and satisfied? More than the two year relationship had ever done in its duration. Small moments, a subtle glance, the holding of his hand. The playful pushing. You were like children. Experiencing his whimsical desire to make you laugh at his failed attempt at game play, but then Franklin always was more brain than brawn. Still, you appreciated all of it in more ways you could express.

You believed he was different. Leon trusted him. Leon knew him. You grew up with him. Had a first hand account of his personality, and while growing up you never saw him being anything more than family, that night introduced a different side to him that might be possible.

It did its best to consume you. These thoughts of Franklin and what if. In the days that followed you’d created in your mind different scenarios.You thought you might be crazy at first, imagining yourself holding hands with him. Then it went to the subtle jokes held between you two, all the way to him parking in a secluded area, you climbing on top of him, and the two of you making love until the sun kissed the earth and brought about a new morning. 

The only way you would ever know is if you took a chance and put all your cards on the table. Franklin opened his mouth. For a second he seemed to search for the right words.You let him go when they never came.

“It won't take that long,” you offered as a level of reassurance. You understood that today of all days wasn’t the best time to confess your feelings, but you might not get another opportunity, being Franklin was so hard a man to track down these days. 

He nodded his head and turned to face you. “Okay,” felt from his lips as an utterance. 

You stared up at him. “In private. If that's alright.” 

He held his gaze then turned and started toward his room. You followed and shut the door once you were both inside. With a sigh Franklin turned. You greeted him with a push against the wall as you raised your hand around his neck to link your lips. Deep down somewhere in your heart of hearts you prepared for the worst. That made you bold in taking for yourself what you wanted. Just one more kiss. If that was the only thing you'd walk away with. It was something. Fuck that bastard Darnell for calling you a prude. This was Franklin Saint, no other girl you knew could be so bold. 

You wallowed in the memory of that night momentarily. It would never be like the first time, so unexpected and new, but the sensation of his full lips, soft, safe, and perfect made you glad you hadn't hesitated. He complied at first only to break contact seconds later. 

“Beanz. The hell you doin’?” 

You'd asked yourself this question only briefly. You took a breath. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean. This. We can't do this.” He moved your hand. He moved away from the wall and under your arm. 

Your eyes followed him.“But we're alone. So It's fine. I just. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Franklin stood by his drawer. “If I was okay,” he asked without making eye contact. 

“Yes,” you said to clarify. “You're walking around like everything is fine. But it’s not. I mean it’s hot as hell today but you seem to be feeling it more than the rest of us in some weird way. You’ve been sweating like a blues singer,” you emphasized accounting for the moisture on his brow. He probably would have laughed at the comparison under different circumstances. “Everyone is being taken care of. I just. I wondered if the same could be said about you. Who’s checked on you lately? Made sure Franklin was good.” 

It was your way of paying it forward. You owed him. He made you feel good. You only wanted to do the same. You reached out to touch his hand. Franklin seemed to consider how the pad of your thumb ran over the top of his skin. You were desperate for any sort of contact, and by the way he responded, he was too.

“I know in a way Andre was like a father to you. To be honest I'm still shocked that he would do that. Kill himself. So, I know. I know you're hurting right now. And I just wanted you to understand. You don't have to be alone. I'm here. I'm here Franklin.” 

Franklin turned his head away and pulled in his bottom lip. There had been a glaze hanging over his hues. Perhaps your sentiment held too much weight. Franklin appeared to be battling with it. He moved his hand from under your touch. Just like a bee sting, you felt the pain. The aftershock at the loss of warmth to a frigid breeze.

“But the other thing is,” you struggled to say. “You've been avoiding me. I just wanted to ask. What. What did I do Franklin? Why are you being like this? So distant.” 

“Listen Beanz.” Franklin's hand found the upper part of his tie. He pulled at the knot to loosen it some, lowered his head and directed his attention at the ceiling before he gave you a brief glare. “Bottom line. I fucked up.”

You hadn't averted your gaze on him, and as diligently as you tried to deconstruct his sentence, to understand, you couldn't. “What do you mean?” 

“What happened that night.” He'd begun to pace the floor. “Shouldn’t have done what I did.” Franklin nodded. “That's my fault. And I take full responsibility. All the blame.” He stopped his pace to look at you. “Okay?” 

Your heart had moved, from its proper location in your chest to your stomach. “You're talking about the kiss, right? On the ferris wheel. What do you mean your fault? You had my full consent Franklin. I mean in the moment it caught me off guard, sure, but I kissed you back, so in that case I'd be wrong too.”

“No. I put you in that position, that was me. I made the move first. So see, you comin' in here like this. I should expect it. Cause of what you think it is now, or what it could be. But you're wrong.”

How was he able to read your mind so easily? It scared you. 

“We're doin’ this shit behind Lee's back. You know that's not right. He ma’ best friend, your brother. It's all fucked up.” 

“It was only a kiss. We didn’t do anything,” you whispered. You hadn't realized how elevated your breathing had become as you tried to process what was happening. Once Franklin dropped his arm at his side you were battling back tears. You thought you were doing the right thing. That being honest with yourself and him would make telling Leon, your mom, Cissy, Alton, Jerome, Louie, and anyone else who needed telling, much easier.

The hardest part had been telling Franklin.

“That's why I wanted to talk to you. I don't wanna hide my feelings anymore. Let's just tell him.” You'd grown a little confidence. Not only that. You spoke as if a love affair existed between you long before that night. “I felt something Franklin. I know you did too. Maybe it will all work out.” 

The naivety of your hope was showing. There was Franklin, this strategic young business man that created for himself his own product operation. Generated an endless stream of funds while successfully keeping peace between rival hoods. Then there was you, eighteen, inexperienced and vulnerable. It all read like a predator and prey situation so you could understand Leon's warning to Franklin, about boundaries and the lines he wasn't allowed to cross when it came to you. But you could reason with Leon. He couldn't always be right, especially about a man he put his trust into. 

“Tell him what?” Franklin turned to face you. His features mingled with anger and frustration. “You're not hearing me B. There's nothin’ ta tell. There is no us.” 

The intensity of his gaze was enough to make your heart stop. Your expression became void of promise that a fantasy could be something more. Still you preferred to fight it, determined that what you wanted meant more than all the logic the world could muster. 

“You feel the same way, I know you do.You just won’t admit it to yourself Franklin.That would make it all too real. Then you’d have to face it. You wouldn't be able to run away. The way you are now.”

Franklin didn't appear to be moved by the break and rise of your voice, but the added bounce in his jaw encouraged you to say more. If he hadn't responded that meant he must be thinking. You took a few steps until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You slowly sat on the surface and found a poster on the wall to stare at. A grimace of expression and you offered his rejection a casual laugh. “Who are you tryna convince Franklin? Me or yourself?” You acquired your own level of frustration.You stood at the edge of a knife. All Franklin had to do was plunge it in. He had the upper hand, but you weren't ready to die. If he could only hear you out, at least consider your argument. Faintly you could hear the song from earlier knocking at your senses and calling you to your final resting place. That place where Andre would be buried deep in the earth with his name engraved on cold stone. Only yours would be one word. Foolish. 

“Lee was right. He never looked your way when he uttered those words. You could see him from the corner of your eye. Instead his attention remained on the window. “We gotta leave it alone. Go back to the way things were.” 

Why had that sounded like he meant more than the night at the amusement park?

“Leon’s just tryna protect you B. So am I. Trust me. The further away you stay from all this. The better off you'll be.”

Franklin's hues swirled with burden. You couldn't turn away from all their trouble, even though his words were blunt and direct. It all went on like a paradox. The passivity shifted, as did his expression, to reveal this troubled man. A man that might be trying to make things right. You wanted to see it that way only, in the moment it felt more like he'd destroyed you purposely, doing so without care or worry, as the aftermath of his personal choices, and your vulnerabilities existed in rubble and ruin together as a constant beat. Yet, not even that could reason you to bring yourself to regret. You blinked. That released the drips of emotion from your eyes. They rolled down the same way they had at the church. Only Leon wasn't there to hold your hand. You shifted your weight on the bed until you broke the air with a whisper. Battle strong, you proceeded. 

“But what if I can’t. Go back to the way things were.” 

Franklin shut his eyes. “It didn't mean anything Beanz. What more do I gotta say to get that through to you. It was a mistake.”

When he didn't provide you with an answer you wanted you swallowed down the rising lump in your throat that would have had you burst into tears, if you didn't fight it back down. You had mulled it over in your head and once you recognized the heat in the room your hands began to shake. “Franklin, if this wasn’t something more then why was it you of all the people it could have been, there at that exact time and place. Are you telling me that was just some coincidence?” You weren't sure you should say the next part. You had no way of knowing his reaction. He'd  stone walled every bit of attempted connection you sent his way. You sucked in a breath as, “I’m in love with you,” slipped out.

“We can’t move beyond anything else but friendship. Sorry.” 

You pulled your bottom lip in to stop it from quivering. A similar action Franklin had taken at the mention of Andre. A short whimper-like sound left you in a “Hmm.” Cold. His tone of voice was so cold. Like a businessman delivering his final offer.

“Listen. Messin wit’ you. It'll only cause problems between me and Lee. And I can't have that.” When he turned and finally faced you, it was your tears that made his eyes go hard. He lifted his chin, “None of this is good for bidness. So It's done.” 

A smack of your teeth, and you remembered the shutting of Andres casket. That final slam. The end. You could go a whole lifetime without ever hearing that word. Franklin threw it around like it meant life or death. You rushed out, shutting the door behind you to lean on its frame as that familiar rise of sentiment tickled your eyes leaving you to finally break your reserve and cry. 

Cissy noticed you. She'd been talking in the hall to one of the men you recognized at the funeral. Another associate of Andres but not quite an Officer. She bid him away with a warm grin and approached you. 

“Honey what's wrong?” 

You tried to laugh the truth away. The truth that Franklin Saint had successfully broken your heart. “Nothing really.” You nulled the real reasons and smiled at her as best you could with the facility. Forgetting that Cissy was by no means a stupid woman and that you'd broken out in tears right after coming from inside her son's room.“It's all just so. Heavy in here with all this. You know. Kinda overwhelmed. And to add insult to injury. I'm still hungry.” You cried out in what turned into a sob. You hoped you swayed her from asking any questions about Franklin. Acting in itself was an overrated profession. It took too much of your energy to perform. 

“Aw. Come here sweetheart.” Cissy pulled you into a hug, which only made the crying worse. “I know it's hard,” she whispered while she gently rocked and patted your back to offer some form of comfort. The same you might be more inclined to receive from Franklin.“Death. Any manner of it. Even though it's a natural part of life. Don't make it any less hard.” Cissy spoke like she knew, but delivered in a way that understood both sides. She broke the hug to look at you. “While I have no control over that. I think I can do something about the other thing you mentioned. We just put out the food. Despite all these God forsaken power outages, it's ready.” Cissy smiled. A smile so infectious that it made you do the same. You laughed, she laughed and you both made your way to the kitchen. 

…

Soft music played in the background. The smell of comfort food filled the air. Macaroni and cheese, baked beans, fried chicken, pasta salad. A line had begun to form when the power cut off for the third time that afternoon. Berniece huffed in frustration as she grabbed a plate and began to fill it with food. They really should be doing something about this. They know how God awful hot it is today. Her voice trailed off in the surrounding chatter. You’d almost forgotten about the heat. The aroma of the food had you desperately wanting to sit, but you’d decided to make a plate for Leon. 

With the influx of hungry people, he’d be in line forever. 

When the line moved, you moved with it, grabbing two bread rolls along the way. You eye’d the dessert table hoping that by the time you finished there would still be a variety of sweets to choose from. 

What was it about death that made a person so hungry? 

When you managed to spot Leon, the two of you found seats at the large table. He’d grinned with his first bite of chicken that still offered a faint swivel of steam into the air overhead, hot. You’d been busy with finishing off your portion of macaroni and cheese by the time he took notice of your plate. 

“Mm. Was you gonna leave some for er’body else?” 

You frowned, choosing not to engage him with eye contact as you ate a spoonful of beans. “What?”

“Damn near got the whole pot don't ya?” He chuckled. “Guess you livin’ up to yo’ nickname, huh?” 

The significant difference from your plates had undoubtedly been the beans. You loved baked beans. It was your first words. Not mama, or dada, just, baked beans. Ever since then the nickname seemed to stick. You would always be on the hunt for them at family gatherings or barbeques. Funerals too.  

“Shut up,” you blurted out, almost annoyed that he noticed. 

Leon wasn’t easily rattled. Instead of finding the rebuttal of his observation offensive, he’d countered with another bite of chicken. “I’m just statin’ the obvious.”

Your eye’s were sore and there was some tension, warning you that a migraine was on the horizon. You stopped moving the spoon and shook your head. “You always bring it up. Every single time we eatin’. Like get outta my plate. Worry bout’ what you got goin’ on over there. I mean I'm actually concerned. You starin’ at that chicken hard, like you wanna commercial for it. ” 

“Man. Shut yo’ ass up.” Leon laughed and ate some of his pasta salad.

You rolled your eyes to resume the swirling of your beans before you took in a big mouth full with Franklin passing your view. He saw you too, your plate, and a faint bereaved grin crept his lips before he switched his direction to make his way over. 

“Oh hell,” you mumbled, mouth full trying to chew the rest down. 

Leon greeted him. 

“Sup Saint.” 

“Sup Lee.” 

“You get you somethin’ ta’ eat? It’s pretty good.”

“Naw. Not yet. I will tho. Soon. I’mma let them go first.” 

Suddenly you had lost your appetite. You threw down your spoon, cleared your throat and got up from the table. A couple people sitting down further looked at you as Leon’s eyes met your stance. 

“Where you goin B?” 

You tossed a glance over your shoulder. “See what they got on the desert table. I want something sweet.” 

Leon reached out an eager index finger and shook it at you as you pushed your chair in and began to make your way through a crowd of people. 

“Aye, see if they got some pecan pie!” 

…

Your stomach tangled in undoable knots. There was still plenty left on your plate but you wouldn’t try to finish it, so you made it back to the kitchen and grabbed some foil to save it for later. Later. Maybe you could eat later with much less tension. You grabbed the soap bottle and poured a few drops of the liquid on your hands rubbing both together. 

Going back to the desert table proved to be a grave mistake. You’d gotten caught up in an argument between Miss Patty and Miss Sandra Lane and forgot all about Leon’s pecan pie before you’d made a daring departure. They’d been casually debating on the best way to make peach cobbler. When you came they’d made you try both. When you couldn't decide, they’d begin throwing out different ingredients. Oh well honey, I put cinnamon and a little bit of honey. The counter argument, Well my mama used to say it’s not what ingredients go in, but how much. 

Your elbow knocked a cup that fell to the floor when you went to dry your hands. “Damnit,” you mumbled, bending down to reach it. Another hand came to retrieve it before yours could. You raised your head to see South Central’s high ranking business man. He held the cup out, you took it, then turned, finding it difficult to face him with the feeling of his eyes bearing down on you. 

Franklin sighed. “Don’t stay mad at me forever,” you heard his voice whisper at your back. 

His tone had changed. From direct and blunt to Subtle, gentle. 

You stayed silent. All the words you had for him, you’d left in his room. Your heart might possibly be there too. Sure you were breathing, and perhaps even participating in what was taking place. That didn’t mean you hadn’t died. Attention on the cup. Or the counter, the wall. Anywhere but him. You closed your eyes, and only opened them again when you heard him walk away. You wanted to be relieved, but you still very much grieved the loss of what could have been. 

You promised to be helpful but once alone, you skipped finding Cissy. 

Instead you decided to brave your way outside onto the porch. Some stragglers were making their way in when you wondered out. 

Uninterested in the rest of the arrivals you sat and made an attempt to massage your forehead. The headache had grown worse. Too many thoughts. From inside the house you could hear groaning. The power had gone out. A second later the hot air slapped you when Melody stormed through the front door. You dropped your hand and watched her descend the stairs and cross through the lawn. Almost a minute later Franklin came out. He removed his suit jacket, sitting it down on the rail before he followed her. You took a deep breath as you watched her enter the house and Franklin go in after. Maybe she finally let herself break. He would probably need your help. You sighed, got up from the chair and made your way over to Andre's. 

Closer to the door you thought you heard a shot. Sometimes the kids in the neighborhood got the bright idea to light off some saved fireworks. But you knew the difference between the sounds. The sound that came from a gun rattled you. Although the projects seemed to have more drive by’s then the average neighborhood, you could never get used to the pop, pop, pop. In all fairness you hated guns. So there had been panic, thinking she’d found one of her father’s and pulled the trigger on herself. You froze. But then, another shot, and another. It was like your soul had left you. 

The air was still and heavy when Melody walked past. You called after her. She didn’t stop. Just kept on going. Despite the cumbersome feeling of dread you couldn't resist the urge to see inside Andre Wright's old residence. And where was Franklin? Why hadn’t he come out yet? The unknown parallels drew you in, as you took hesitant steps forward. The front door creaked open when you turned the knob. Light outside barely illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows on the walls in places the sun could not reach beyond the whileding blinds. You hesitated. A chill ran down your spine. 

There was Franklin, laying there on the floor.

“S-She shoot you?” You had become so scatterbrained at the sight, the situation, that the words were dispensable and unwarranted. The power came back on. You ran over, touching him out of instinct only to earn a pain ridden whimper in return. A glance at your hand. Franklin's blood covered the whole of your palm. You looked down at the floor. The puddle beneath him had begun to grow, extending itself on the surface of the wood. It traveled and spread. 

More and more.

“Hold on.” 

Pressure on the wound. You'd heard that somewhere. But how would you decide which wound received the attention? The fabric of his shirt painted a clear picture of the locations in which all three gunshot wounds were located. Three, not one. You couldn't choose. Your mind screamed after a pillow. You scrambled over to the couch and grabbed the biggest one returning to Franklin as you took a deep breath to prepare yourself. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This might hurt.” You situated the pillow at his side where he couldn't see you. You got up, ran around him and as gently as you could, pushed him up, so that his body would turn and lean on his side with the pillow's support. Franklin let out a groan that drug on. The sound would haunt you long after the gurgle in his throat choked him to silence. 

That's how you saw all the blood. 

“Oh my God…” Your eyes were blinded with horrified tears and without realizing, your dress had been tainted to a pretty scarlet. You changed position again. “I'm sorry Franklin. I'm sorry but we gotta put pressure on them.” You picked your memory as to where they'd been located when he laid on his stomach. You had forgotten that fast, but adrenaline had you alert. Every second counted. You found one small hole and reached for Franklin's closest hand. “Come on. Help me. Press down as hard as you can.” You drug his hand to the gunshot wound at his side. He'd barely made any effort to apply the pressure you demanded. You looked down to find that his eyes were heavily lidded, but directed toward the spinning fan. “Hey Franklin. Can you hear me? Franklin!” His mouth moved, but the words were difficult to understand. You leaned down struggling to make sense of them. He said sorry, and one word you would distinctly never forget. Mama. 

You were sure that you had never screamed help as loud as you had on the hottest day in L.A’s history. The earthquaking of feet hadn't stopped you, no matter how close they’d come, arriving just as Franklin's eyes closed.

The only screams that could rival yours were Cissy’s and you couldn't remember just how you managed to switch places. She cradled Franklin forgetting about the pillow, rocking back and forth as she wiped the blood from the sides of his mouth, telling him to wake up. Your hands shook as you tried to differentiate Cissy's movements to the rise and fall of Franklin's chest. 

“Franklin. Franklin please…” 

His name traveled over her lips holding to desperation, in only the way a mother could utter such pleas to a dying child.

“Get up Saint.” You heard Leon say almost through gritted teeth, “Come on.”

“Alton, hurry up!” 

You turned your back, unable to look anymore as you clung to Leon and cried into his shoulder whispering amidst Cissy's screaming over and over, he's not dead. Perhaps wishing that the last encounter between you wasn't set to bitterness. 

Watching the ambulance drive off was much the same experience as watching the hearse. They'd managed to get Franklin on a stretcher. You watched one of his arms hang over the side as they lifted him and used his first name to communicate, although he never answered back. Cissy, glued to his side, was the first to enter after Franklin and the medical team, followed closely by Alton. 

You hadn't let go of Leon. Both of you held the other up. 

For the second time that day, you stood in haunting awe. 

…

“Well. That's it. You have my card. Give us a call if you hear anything else that can help the investigation.”

Between the countless questions and the weather, you'd checked out. It was only after you felt the dryness of your tongue, and the wave of lightheadedness, that you realized you hadn't drank any water in those hours after Franklin had been hauled off. When you were offered a glass, you finished the whole thing almost in one gulp.

“Will do officer. Will do.” 

Leon stood to his feet and watched until the car had faded completely. He crumbled the card in one hand carelessly tossing it aside as a now scrunched down ball that hid within the tall grass. 

“Fuckin’ pigs.” 

You smiled, greeting Leon’s afro with the pride that rested within its tight coils. No one ever called the police in South Central. 

Existing between the community and the boys in blue remained a silent war. It had been ever since the migration black folk made in the 19th century. Of Course it had spanned beyond that, and south Central wasn't an isolated thing. Leon said black people were everywhere. A great migration. You would laugh, Leon could be so serious, but the way he said certain things was funny. Ha, we should have migrated our ass back to Africa. It had always been his dream to visit the motherland. Oh, he read plenty. He never told many people. Sometimes in her complacency your mother could make him feel less than a dog. Leon always ran with the wrong crowd. So by America’s statistics, he was never gon’ be shit. Probably not live to see thirty even though twenty six would be pushing it. When your father died Leon needed a role model to take his place. Like your mother said, he was to be the man of the house. That meant niggas from the neighborhood. Specifically, those belonging to the PJ Watts Crips. Franklin had always been the brains but Leon’s curiosity took him to different places far outside of society. 

“Them motherfuckas is still slave patrol. You can read that shit. Just gotta know where ta' look. Any nigga don’t know that dumb as fuck.They really think I'm bout to rat out ma people.'' 

Leon took a deep breath. With the promise of sundown, the heat and its intensity had faded enough that you both sat on the first step without complaint of being too hot. Another thing you hated about funerals. Why all black? 

“At the same time. I know a few niggas that would snitch tho’, sellout, so I guess I can't speak for er’body.” 

Typical Leon, having another private conversation with himself. Although his dislike for the police hadn't stopped him from showing up, he always spoke his mind one way or another. He'd stayed clear of Andre growing up. Franklin came to the projects more than Leon came to 56th. You smiled, and this time laughed only slightly. But when you looked at him again you began to blink back tears as Franklin's words crossed over the paths of your mind. Go back to the way things were. That would mean Andre would still be alive. Kevin too. 

Leon faced you. “What? Wassup?” 

“You got blood on your shirt.” 

Leon peered down at his chest. The muscle shirt peeking through his black button up had speckled red in different places. You'd transferred it to him during the panic. 

When the phone rang you both had forgotten about Leon’s shirt as he hurried inside the house with urgency. You didn't follow. You felt dizzy and confined to your place on the porch. But the waiting for Leon to return stirred up unbridled anxiety. When he did come back you shot up beyond your better judgment with hope dancing on your darkened hues. 

“What happened?” The familiar rise and fall of your chest returned and your heartbeat pounded within your rib cage. “Don't tell me. Please. Don't tell me, he?” You wouldn't let yourself say it, you could hardly even produce such a thought. Yet Leon held all the power. Just enough to make you flatline completely. 

“They said uh.” Leon hesitated, he shook his head as he lowered his gaze to the pavement. Only when he seemed to gain the composure needed to tell you did he meet your eyes with the news. “They had to put him in an induced coma. They don't know if he gon’ make it. It's all just a waiting game now.” 

There it was again. The youthful nativity. It crept up in how you chose to respond. “But can we see him? I mean, is he in the ICU?” 

Gravity steadily pulled you down, as Leon proceeded to tell you the rest. 

“Alton said Cissy don't want nobody up there.” 

You averted your eyes to the sky, then ran your tongue over your bottom lip. A car drove down the street, then another a few seconds later. Consumed in your own private emotions you’d forgotten that Franklin was Leon's best friend. When your eyes found him, he’d taken his seat on the step again rubbing his hands together quietly. You wanted to comfort him, tell him it would be okay, but the new information made it difficult. He didn't fall into a coma, they’d put him into one. That sounded worse. Any other time would have been simple. You could do it with ease when you were removed from the situation. When it didn’t touch you so closely. You watched Leon before trying to force yourself to sit down and throw your arms over him. The gesture kicked off the shakiness that lingered in every word. 

“I'm sorry. Maybe I could've done more to help him. Or I did too much. Probably wasn't supposed to move him. But I couldn’t leave him like that. He called out for her and said how scared he was. He couldn't really speak but I heard it. It was all scrambled and mixed up. But he didn't want to die. Said he was sorry. Sorry for what?” 

Leon’s hand reached up to casually run over your arm.

You hugged tighter. “I remembered when you got shot. How I couldn't sleep anymore after that. Now I'm always looking over my shoulder. Looking over yours. Seeing you in that hospital scared me so much.” 

Leon sighed. 

“Yeah. Shits fucked up. But it's the life we chose, so. Comes wit’ it. I tried to keep you protected. So you never had to see any of this shit.” 

He said it so casually like he'd gotten numb to loss. The last part held your attention. You sat up struggling to see his eyes. They were clouded, but not with tears. Just this hard stare. Vastly different to the one Melody held.

“He's gonna be okay Lee. You made it. He'll make it. I just. Why? Why did she do that? I don't understand. I wanna understand. Why would she shoot hi-?” Your words caught in your throat. As you talked you could see everything all over again even though you'd changed out of your dress and stockings. Irrily, they'd been some of Melody’s clothes that were still hanging in her closet. Simple track pants and a T-shirt, just until you got home to your own things. “She shot him so many times,” you continued. “All that blood. Never seen so much blood.”

Leon raised his head, verbalized something along the lines of. “Fuck. Damn Saint,” so low in revelation, you almost missed it. The hard stare left, replaced by one that conveyed cognizance. He breathed, rubbed at his temple and turned his head to look at you. “You sure it was Mel.”

You let him go and sulked at his question. “Yes I'm fuckin' sure,” you half-way shouted. “I watched her walk down the steps and toss the fuckin’ gun. She had this strange look in her eyes all day. Like she was somewhere else. I mean, maybe she just snapped. It was too much pressure being around everyone given what she was already going through. I mean what, do people on rock do stuff like that?” 

“How tha fuck I'm spose ta’ know? I ain't never done that shit,” Leon said with a scowl. 

You smacked your teeth. “Chill out. Don't come at me like that.” You rolled your eyes and shifted your sitting position. “Damn. It was just a question. You sell it so thought maybe you'd have an idea,” you answered back sarcastically with a roll of your neck. 

You went silent. You were trying to justify everything. Melody’s actions, Franklins. Why out of all days it had to be the hottest? How death became the defining theme in all different aspects of the word. When Leon closed his eyes, you suddenly lost your anger to curiosity. 

“What is it? What aren't you telling me?”

Leon licked his lips and got up. “Nothin’. Nothin’.” He changed positions and faced the house. “Imma go get our stuff and lock up so I can get you home so you can get cleaned up. Jerome should be down in a minute. There's nothin' we can do right now.” 

You placed a hand on your forehead and reached up to fumble with your bun until it all came loose and you pulled the scrunchie releasing some of the pressure as you freed your hair. Discovering that had added to your prevailing headache. 

“Okay.” 

“Give me a minute.” 

Leon left you standing with more questions than answers. You ruffled your hair although most of it remained held up by the gel you’d applied. Why? That word knocked at your brain. Why would Melody shoot Franklin? What had Leon figured out that you were still trying to piece together? The blood on your hands had dried. The red tint held tight to your brown hue. Wondering if you would be able to wash it off completely, you gasped suddenly and swallowed down the taste of bile. That large plate of beans you'd selfishly eaten might come back up because of the horrible truth that hit your mind, connecting the dots in an intricate pattern of reality, that quick! The urge came again and this time it forced itself out of you. What you'd consumed from that morning to afternoon was now a mustard yellow, and brown over the pavement, making itself a brand new color. More came up. Everything you saw and heard the whole day made sense. You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. Random people looked while they walked by. Your throat burned with a bad aftertaste. Andre hadn't committed suicide, you realized as your broken words kissed the heat.

“Franklin killed him….” 

A/N: A little bit of a dark one, I know. But I’ve always wondered how they found Franklin after Melody shot him at the end of season 3. So muse was like write that out why don’t you! 😌🙌🏾 So I did, and that is what we have with our precious reader insert added in ofcourse. This is actually a sequel piece to Brother Ain't havin’ it. During the read you heard Reader and Franklin mention an amusement park. Yeah, that fic explains exactly what happened at the amusement park. Now will I write it? Haha I don’t know 😅. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the reading. If you have time, drop a comment. Let me know what you thought. I dig the feedback, big or small. 🙃 As always, happy reading. 💙

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING. -Wide Nose And Wonderful.

[beardedmrbean]

The White House and its media allies ran a coverup for President Biden after he maligned former President Donald Trump’s supporters as “garbage” — going so far as to edit an official transcript of his remarks, to the outrage of conservatives and other critics who called out “flat out lying” by Democrats and their allies.

Democrats went into damage-control mode Tuesday night due to the president’s trash talk, claiming that Biden hadn’t intended to demonize his party’s political opponents just seven days before voters head to the polls.

“The President referred to the hateful rhetoric at the Madison Square Garden rally as ‘garbage,’” White House spokesman Andrew Bates said in a statement.

The White House in a transcript of the speech also added an apostrophe to the 81-year-old’s poorly timed criticism less than five days before the 2024 election.

“The only garbage I see floating out there is his supporter’s — his — his demonization of Latinos is unconscionable, and it’s un-American,” the transcript read.

In a follow-up X post, Biden added: “Earlier today I referred to the hateful rhetoric about Puerto Rico spewed by Trump’s supporter at his Madison Square Garden rally as garbage — which is the only word I can think of to describe it.”

“His demonization of Latinos is unconscionable. That’s all I meant to say,” the president claimed. “The comments at that rally don’t reflect who we are as a nation.”

Biden was referencing Comedian Tony Hinchcliffe’s joke at a Trump rally in Madison Square Garden on Sunday, when he referred to Puerto Rico as a “floating island of garbage.”

“Donald Trump has no character. He doesn’t give a damn about the Latino community,” the president said on a call with Voto Latino on Tuesday that referenced Hinchcliffe’s humor.

“They’re good, decent, honorable people. The only garbage I see floating out there is his supporters,” Biden said, pausing slightly and leaning back before adding: “His demonization of Latinos is unconscionable, and it’s un-American.”

Some talking heads accepted explanation without question, including film executive Franklin Leonard during an appearance on CNN’s “News Night” Tuesday.

Tim Walz defends Biden’s trash talk about Trump supporters as other Dems distance from ‘garbage’ comment

“As someone who had a stutter growing up, it’s very obvious to me that there’s an apostrophe at the end of ‘supporter’s’ there,” he said. 

“He was referring to the garbage spewed by supporters, not simply the supporters themselves,” added Leonard, who has donated to both of Harris’ presidential campaigns, campaign finance filings show.

MSNBC host and Politico White House bureau chief Jonathan Lemire also accused Republicans of having “seized” on Biden’s comments to claim the president was criticizing “half the country” that backs Trump.

“It’s certainly a story on the Right, who are trying to paint this as the next ‘basket of deplorables,’” Lemire said on MSNBC’s “Morning Joe,” referring to Hillary Clinton’s smear of Trump supporters during the 2016 presidential election.

“They’re trying to make a firestorm out of something,” added host Joe Scarborough. “Joe Biden obviously doesn’t believe that.”

“You can clearly hear Biden say ‘the only garbage I see out there is his supporters.. and .. and.. his demonization..,’” responded GOP strategist Matt Whitlock, accusing Lemire of “flat out lying here and spreading a dishonest transcript.”

“They edited it to say ‘his supporters’ demonization,’” Whitlock said. “Shameful gaslighting.”

Politico scribe Jonathan Martin went even further to argue Biden did not alienate “half the country.”

“Sure, Trump topped out at 47% and a good third of that vote is folks who aren’t enamored w[ith] him but loathe Dems more,” Martin posted on X. “So it’s not remotely half the country.”

The New York Times declared in another headline: “Biden Appears to Insult Trump Supporters as ‘Garbage,’ but Quickly Tries to Clarify.”

“That’s disinformation,” independent Substack journalist Michael Shellenberger fired back to the Gray Lady’s editors. “What Biden said is clear from the video. And now the White House has altered the official transcript in a potential violation of the Presidential Records Act.”

When reached for comment, the White House also refused to tell Axios national political correspondent Alex Thompson whether they had confirmed with Biden that he misspoke.

“Did they talk to Biden to ask him what he meant?” Thompson said he asked the president’s aides before relating: “The spokesperson asked to go off the record. We declined. They didn’t comment further.”

“‘The only garbage I see floating out there is his supporters.’ That’s a direct quote,” emphasized Sen. JD Vance (R-Ohio), Trump’s running mate.

“That’s what Kamala Harris’s boss said,” Vance said, posting a screenshot on X of how the remarks had been spun.

“Do @JonLemire, @alexanderburns, @politico have an ounce of integrity? Will they correct this obvious falsehood?”

Not all Democrats were displeased with what allies had cast as another Biden blunder, with billionaire venture capitalist Vinod Khosla saying his words were an “understatement.”

“Garbage is an understatement for MAGA extremists,” said Khosla, a major Harris donor. “Biden suggests Trump supporters are ‘garbage’ after comic’s insult of Puerto Rico.”

But Harris, 60, distanced from her former running-mate when asked by reporters on the tarmac before boarding Air Force Two for a campaign event in Raleigh, NC.

“I strongly disagree with any criticism of people based on who they vote for,” the vice president said.

Harris is trailing Trump, 78, in the seven battleground states of Arizona, Nevada, Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania, North Carolina and Georgia by one percentage point, according to the RealClearPolitics polling aggregator.

Both Democratic and Republican pollsters are saying the election will be a jump ball heading toward Election Day, though early indications are the GOP is outperforming past showings in early and mail-in voting.

[slippinmickeys]

POL Prompt for you: would love to know more about Mulder’s experiences embedded with the army, and I bet Scully would too…

No beta. Just vibes. Thanks for the ask!

He presses his lips to the tight drum of her stomach, breathes in through his nose. The air is thick with the sour smell of human bodies in a warm, enclosed space, under which hovers the smell of sex and somehow, the linen and eucalyptus scent of Scully herself.  

He’d like to make love to her again, but they’re both lightheaded with hunger, so he rolls over instead, leaning his forehead and nose against the arching slats of her ribs. He reaches down and puts his hand around her knee. Her body hair has grown out, and while the copper hair on her legs is wiry and stiff, the growth on her knee is wispy and blonde. He strokes it, like he’s calming a skittish filly.

Outside the hotel they can hear bullets ripping through air nearby. The fighting is close and the sounds unnerving. 

“Tell me about your embed,” Scully says in a rough voice. He flicks his eyes to hers; they’re round and wet, blue as the Sargasso. 

“Which one?” 

“Any of them,” she says with a shaky breath. “Can you talk to me? I want to listen to you and not the sounds outside.”

“I hate to tell you this, but my embeds involved scenes pretty similar to what’s happening outside.” 

“Talk to me, Mulder,” she says. “I just want to hear your voice. Please.”

He runs his nose up the soft skin of her side, pulls her in close to his body.

“We were in the mountains,” he mumbles into her. “And it was cold.” 

Under his lips, her skin pebbles in sympathy. 

***

He’d had to leap out of a Black Hawk hovering above a rugged mountainside, hugging his camera bag to his chest in an effort to protect his camera and equipment. It had seemed to work, to the detriment of his left shoulder. The ground under the chopper was a chaotic mess of disheveled humans and gear, the rotor wash whipping dust and debris into everyone’s eyes. 

Mulder was the photographer half of a two-man team, working an article for the Times, but in the chaos and roar of their ingress, he couldn’t see Gary, the journalist who’d be doing the writing. He only hoped he’d fallen successfully, a metric applied in the loosest sense of the word – Gary was over forty and overweight – so long as he didn’t need a medic immediately and was on the ground, Captain Franklin would be happy.

The moment the last trooper hit the earth, the Black Hawk tipped backward and roared away into the night. The soldiers around him were up and on their feet immediately, Franklin barking quiet orders to hustle the men along – the chopper had given away their location. 

Operation Saber Tooth was a battalion-wide mission to root out senior rebel fighters that were hiding in and around the mountains. Franklin would hang back from the fighting with what was called the overwatch team, but First and Second Platoons would be on the front line, entering villages and searching homes, going on the offensive if attacked. 

Franklin had given Mulder and Gary the option of staying back with him and the overwatch team– who would position themselves behind the platoons’ fighting in order to monitor and command the operation–or accompanying one of the two Platoons. Mulder thought they’d get a better story and certainly better pictures if they went with the fighting forces, but it would also mean walking through the mountains at night carrying all of their gear; food, water, clothing, work equipment and sleeping bags. Each patrol would be gone for a week, patrolling, camping and trekking in the mountains. Mulder wanted to go with First Platoon, but one look at Gary’s face and he told Franklin they’d hang back with overwatch. 

Mulder had no idea what they were supposed to do next, so he followed the line of troops up a ridge and onto a small flat crest of rock thousands of feet up that abutted the mountain on one side and had a clear view of the valley on the other. The area would serve as the Tactical Operation Center for the mission. There were no tents, walls or roofs – just bare patches of rock and a few gnarled trees. As Mulder watched, the overwatch team unpacked cumbersome machines that looked like they had been airlifted from Vietnam. 

Gary came shuffling over the ridge and to Mulder’s side, breathing hard. 

“We should get some sleep,” Mulder said, unrolling his sleeping bag while Franklin and the JTACs communicated with airpower. 

A small group of rebel fighters had been spotted by the retreating Black Hawks moving towards their position, and Mulder and Gary fumbled with their equipment and tried to stay out of the way while an air attack wiped out the small force. 

When Mulder woke in the morning, First and Second Platoons were gone, but the overwatch team were still working, hunched over a speaker that was spitting out insurgent chatter from a radio intercept. 

“Bring the Dushka,” the interpreter said, repeating what he was hearing in a language no one else understood. “We can see them on the mountainside.”

The overwatch team was tense. The nearby rebels knew where they were, but not the location of either First or Second Platoon. A Dushka, Franklin explained, was a giant Russian machine gun that spit out .50 caliber bullets that could effortlessly slice through a brick wall. If the two platoons didn’t find the rebels before the rebels got the gun into position, Mulder and the men around him would be rendered to pulp and Operation Saber Tooth would be over before it began.

“Didn’t Franklin say overwatch would be the safer option?” Gary said, hunched up in his sleeping bag and looking miserable.

Mulder reached into the brown plastic of the MRE one of the soldiers had handed him and pulled out a small pack of M&Ms. 

“I think he just said there’d be less walking,” Mulder replied, popping a handful of candy into his mouth and pulling the black knit cap he was wearing lower over his ears. 

Gary began taking notes and speaking with some of the overwatch soldiers, getting down interviews, but Mulder could do nothing but take a few photos of the team against the backdrop of rock and dirt; mostly guys blowing hot air into their fists and hunching around the radio speaker.  

As dawn gave way to full daylight, Mulder’s attention strayed from the chatter of the TOC detailing the progress of the First and Second Platoons to the increasingly pressing needs of his own body; he really had to pee. 

Most of the soldiers had been relieving themselves at a rocky outcropping at the edge of the ridge upon which their small camp sat, but a gusty wind had picked up from along the valley and was now blowing up the crest of the hillside. If he peed off the side as the other soldiers had done, he would probably end up covered in his own piss courtesy of the wind. 

He decided to amble a little further off, down a short slope upon which laid the remains of a fallen tree. The area was probably too far from what Franklin had said were the boundaries of where he felt comfortable letting them go, but it was sheltered from the wind and it would only take Mulder 30 seconds to relieve himself. 

He was just zipping up when he caught a flash of movement from 40 yards away across the small valley between the mountain they were perched on and the next. When he looked up he connected eyes with a man peeking out behind a boulder, Kalashnikovs bristling up around the rock like needles in a pincushion. A group of rebel fighters. And they had seen him. 

He dove behind the single fallen tree on the slippery bit of scree behind him as the rebels opened fire. Bullets whizzed past the tree and thunked into it, spraying the air around him with bits of desiccated wood, and he could hear the shouting from the TOC and the garbled sound of the rebels yelling at each other and into their own radios. It took only moments for the Americans to begin returning fire and Mulder was absolutely pinned down, unable to do so much as move his arms up to protect his face, so close were the bullets in the air above him. And he had left his flak jacket and helmet next to his sleeping bag. 

He laid prone, eyes squeezed close as the guttural sound of combat erupted from everywhere  around him. An AC-130 circled overhead and he could hear the roar of a fighter jet scream low over the mountain. But the air support would not be able to help them, he knew; the rebels were too close to their own position and an attack on them would likely be deadly to Mulder and the rest of the overwatch team. 

Suddenly, the sounds of gunfire from the TOC position went into overdrive, and a moment later two soldiers slid onto the ground on either side of him, their comrades above laying down cover fire. 

“Let’s go, bud!” said a soldier named Martinez, who plunked a too-large army helmet onto Mulder’s head and grabbed him by the arm. 

On his other side, a private named Smyth said “We’re running in three-two-GO GO GO!” And the two soldiers hauled him up and all three of them ran all out, scrambling back up and over the ridge to the meager protection of the TOC. 

***

“Not three minutes later,” Mulder mumbles, “the rock above our heads started exploding.” 

Her fingers brush through the hair growing long down his neck. “The Dushka?” she asks.

He nods. “The Dushka. Luckily Second Platoon was almost on top of them by the time they were in position to fire and took them out before any person or any equipment was hurt. Five minutes later it was dead silence and we spent the rest of the afternoon using baby wipes to get the dust off our skin and equipment. My Canon Mark IV was never the same.”

On the street outside the hotel, the gunfire similarly halts. 

Scully inhales expansively and turns so she’s facing him. “How was Gary?” she asks. 

“A true professional,” he says, leaning forward to kiss the skin above her breast. “He grabbed my camera and took some damn fine pictures.”

“I’d like to see them someday.” Her voice is fading, sleepy. “If we ever get out of here.”

Mulder pulls the tatty sheet up and over them both. 

“You will,” he says. He’s gotten out of worse.